It was obvious that Tang Li Yue's idea of resting was, evidently, theft. The organized, efficient, apocalypse-approved and with the owner's permission kind of theft.
After the crates of ammunition and medical kits vanished from the shelves one after another. Protective vests, radios, emergency blankets, water filters, gun cases, ration boxes, fuel cells, and even a stack of folded tarps all quietly entered her storage ring like obedient disciples returning to the sect.
Tang Li Yue felt her mood soaring with every empty shelf.
How healing.
How peaceful.
Now, if only the jiangshis died off on their own without requiring outside help. That would be even better.
Behind her, Gao Jun stared with his mouth slightly open.
Xu Ren's cracked glasses slipped down his nose.
Chen Qiao, who had only just stopped crying over Zhou Han's miraculous return from death, looked as if his soul had been slapped twice.
