Chapter 149
Not long ago, when the hunger became unbearable, Mu Dongsheng had stood up unconsciously, instinctively moving toward the stall.
It was Wang Rong and Wang Tao’s hurried footsteps that snapped him out of it.
Watching the starving siblings, he silently guided them toward the stall—letting them discover it.
Partly to help them survive.
Partly to test whether this inexplicable stall in the wasteland was truly offering kindness to travelers… or hiding something darker.
After all, nothing in this world came for free.
But later, when the siblings emerged well-fed, their energy cores even restored—Mu Dongsheng was certain.
It really was just a porridge stall.
With a steaming stove, fresh porridge, a hospitable owner and waiter—something so precious, so rare in this frozen apocalypse.
“……”
Returning to the present, Mu Dongsheng pressed his lips together.
Even if it was real… it didn’t matter. He could never go there. He couldn’t bring trouble to the stall owner.
He’d rather starve.
The growling in his stomach grew louder.
Seven days and seven nights—an entire week without food. Even if the S-class mutant parasitizing him could shield him from other mutants, it couldn’t defy the laws of energy conservation to keep a body without an energy core alive after starving for so long.
Mu Dongsheng lowered his gaze, the normal half of his face forming a faint smile. He stared at his emaciated wrist:
“Not long now…”
He could feel it—the quiet, sweet embrace of darkness inching closer. Just a little longer, and he would slip into its eternal hold.
Yet the pollutant inside him grew increasingly restless.
Why was it so agitated? Mu Dongsheng didn’t understand. It was a free, highest-tier pollutant—even if he died, it could easily find another suitable host.
But it seemed fixated on him. From the moment it possessed him seven days ago, it had done everything to force him to stay alive.
Its murmurs grew deeper, as if chanting in some ancient, abyssal tongue, buzzing relentlessly in his mind. The words blurred together, repeating over and over:
“Not allowed… Ah-Sheng can’t die… Ah-Sheng is mine… mine mine mine mine mine…”
The eerie, slightly distorted cadence sent chills down his spine.
Mu Dongsheng felt his hairs stand on end.
Because he sensed the obsession and madness in that voice. It wouldn’t let anything take him away—not life, not death.
A cough wracked his chest. His breathing turned ragged, and suddenly, a metallic tang rose in his throat—
“Cough—! Cough cough!”
Bright red splattered across the snow.
At the sight of Mu Dongsheng’s blood, the parasite inside him snapped.
…The mouth on his mutated face gaped wide, countless slimy tentacles bursting forth, frantically lapping at the bloodstains in the snow. Its whispers grew feverish: “Ah-Sheng is all mine… mine mine mine mine…”
“Why are you so fixated on me?” Mu Dongsheng asked hoarsely, face ashen. “I’m dying. Go find someone else—let me go!! Do you really think you can force me to live—”
His words cut off abruptly.
His lips parted in stunned silence.
Because…
His body, defying his will, stood up and began moving forward.
Mu Dongsheng looked down in horror as his limbs trudged mechanically through the snow, step by step, toward the distant porridge stall. No matter how hard he tried to stop, it was futile.
Helplessness and despair crashed over him.
That stall owner was just an ordinary person.
If an S-class pollutant showed up… he would die.
Mu Dongsheng’s eyes widened as the stall drew nearer—he could now see the fluttering curtain, the wind chimes, and the young owner standing expectantly by the tricycle.
‘Run. Get out of here!’
He wanted to shout, to wave his arms—but even lifting a finger was impossible.
Mu Dongsheng’s head drooped in defeat, yet the mutated half of his face twisted into a grotesque, chilling grin.
He heard his own voice rasp:
“Ah-Sheng… you need food… we need food… Ah-Sheng… let’s go… eat eat eat eat eat…”
He had lost all control.
All he could do was pray—that the stall owner was smart enough to flee at the first sign of danger, not foolishly welcome death…
But fate had other plans.
The owner, spotting this bizarrely moving “customer” in the distance, actually brightened and hurried over.
The young man beamed, utterly unaware of the doom approaching:
“Welcome, honored guest! How about a steaming bowl of mushroom and chicken porridge?”
*
Rewind slightly.
After seeing off Wang Tao and Wang Rong, Jian Yunlan adjusted the “Simple Porridge Stall” sign and waited eagerly.
The charcoal stove still glowed, the clay pot kept the porridge warm, and the dozing Taotie-dog had already started snoring.
Ox-Head, however, was in high spirits—the siblings’ praise had clearly boosted his confidence. He had two large pots of pear tea ready, prepped to serve the next guest.
Jian Yunlan checked his remaining ingredients. Enough for five to ten more servings—or just one, if the customer had a particularly large appetite.
Yet no new guests arrived.
He waited and waited, but all he saw was endless white snow.
In all his time running the stall, he’d never faced the embarrassment of not selling out.
But what could he do? Even the cleverest housewife couldn’t cook without rice.
With a sigh, he muttered:
“Ah, is this place really that remote?”
In this apocalyptic world, most people stayed inside their bases. Only the unluckiest—like Wang Tao and Wang Rong, who’d gotten lost and missed curfew—wandered outside past 10 PM.
Encountering two such unlucky souls in a single day was already a stroke of luck for Jian Yunlan.
No wonder Weasel-face and Li Zhou’s group had been so confident.
In this apocalyptic world, any vendor hoping to make a name for themselves needed the backing of a platform like the black market. Otherwise, all grand ambitions were just pipe dreams.
By now, Jian Yunlan was starting to regret his decision. Without customers, there was no point in running the stall.
But he’d already made his bold declaration—it was too late to back out now.
After what felt like the hundredth glance at the empty, snow-covered landscape, Jian Yunlan sighed and gave up all hope of any new customers showing up.
“Maybe I should pack up for today, find a place to rest, and try again tomorrow?”
…Tomorrow, during the day, when mercenaries were out on missions, business might pick up.
The only downside was wasting the remaining ingredients.
As a conscientious street vendor, Jian Yunlan never sold day-old food, and tomorrow he planned to switch to a different porridge—no more mushroom and chicken.
Of course, the leftovers wouldn’t go to waste. He could share them with Ox-Head and Taotie, or even sneak some to Hu Danggui at the orphanage.
With that settled, Jian Yunlan made up his mind to call it a day and resume tomorrow.
But just as he reluctantly began packing up—
A black dot appeared in the distant snow!
At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
But after rubbing them, the dot didn’t disappear—it grew larger.
Closer, closer, until Jian Yunlan could make it out clearly.
It was a person.
—From afar, the figure was tall but unnaturally gaunt, exuding a skeletal frailty. Swathed in a loose cloak, hunched over, their face was hidden.
Despite the eerie aura, Jian Yunlan’s excitement instantly spiked.
A customer!
A living, breathing, trekking-through-snow customer, fresh and ready for porridge!
And judging by how thin they were, they probably hadn’t eaten properly in ages. What a poor soul.
Jian Yunlan resolved to give his most sincere service, showcasing 120% of his professional skills to ensure this guest left full and satisfied!
With that in mind, he eagerly stepped forward to greet them.
Thus, an utterly surreal scene unfolded in the Death Desert:
Before the tiny tricycle stall stood a gaunt, towering figure, speaking in an eerie, eldritch murmur:
“Hungry… Ah-Sheng and I need food… eat eat eat eat eat…”
Beneath the cloak, a pair of blood-red eyes fixated on the young stall owner, brimming with ravenous greed.
Its throat bobbed as a skeletal finger extended—
Only for the handsome vendor to seize that withered hand without hesitation.
Like meeting a kindred spirit, Jian Yunlan clasped it tightly, offering a warm, compassionate smile:
“Look how starved you are… Come inside, sit down, and warm up with a bowl of porridge!”
Pollutant: “?”
Mu Dongsheng (trapped in his own body): “???”
Both souls short-circuited in unison, freezing the body in place.
The pollutant tilted its head in confusion.
…Seizing the moment of hesitation, Jian Yunlan gave it no time to think—he pulled the figure through the curtain.
At the same time, he tied on his apron, took a deep breath, and delivered the ultimate trump card:
—”Since you’re already here!”
So Mu Dongsheng going be consuming the last ten bowls and still has credits on his card and be amazed that Jian Yunlan’s simple congee is too good with the tea?