Lin Feng rubbed his face with both hands, not the least bit embarrassed.

"Daryl, Orion — sorry to make you run this one. See how many usable containers there are... actually, no. Bring back anything that seals properly. Can't store grain? Fine. It'll still hold gasoline or diesel."

As for whether chemical residue might mess with an internal combustion engine down the line, no big deal. They had a master mechanic back at camp. It would be fine.

Daryl and Orion nodded without a word.

With that problem handled, Hershel took the women from camp along with Otis and Jimmy to scout out other areas, planning to clear a sun-drying ground first.

Because Lin Feng hadn't said anything about only harvesting Hershel's farm. With a move this big, was anyone seriously going to believe Lin Feng hadn't set sights on every farm in the area?

Better to get ahead of it. If the wheat came in and there was nowhere to dry it — if it just rotted — God would never forgive that.

Abraham watched Lin Feng moving around full of energy and fell quiet.

At first, Abraham had figured this guy was just another survivor camp leader. Looking at him now, Lin Feng seemed more like the founder of a utopia.

Which was a shame. They weren't walking the same road.

Once this stretch of work was done and the debt was repaid, Abraham would take Eugene and keep heading for Washington.

What Abraham didn't know was that Eugene's mind was entirely occupied with one question: how to come up with a better excuse to stay.

The place was safe. Food wasn't a problem. No need to stay on high alert for walker attacks every waking moment. And Eugene got to live right next door to Rosita. It was practically paradise, okay?!

Why else did anyone think Eugene had suddenly spoken up, tried to offer suggestions, tried to contribute?

Too bad the suggestion hadn't been taken.

Rosita stood nearby, sun hat on, gaze fixed on Lin Feng with an intensity that gave no hint of what was going through Rosita's head.

Meanwhile, after a quick word with Rick, Lin Feng handed off the rest to Rick and Shane, grabbed his weapons, started up the pickup, and drove out toward another small town.

As for what he was going there to do, what else would he be doing?!

Dinner was done. Lunch was done. Obviously it was time to get back to the grind of leveling up!

One agenda item for this afternoon: walkers must die.

Finding fuel drums and grain storage containers, that was just a bonus on the side.

The truck rolled into the east-side town and stopped. Lin Feng killed the engine, yanked the keys, shoved them in his pocket, and racked the bolt in one clean motion. Speedrun mode: activated.

He drew the handgun first, fired two loose shots to pull walkers in, then switched to precise single taps.

With the suppressor on, the gunfire was kept to a manageable level. Not silent, but not the kind of noise that would drag a horde out of the woodwork after every shot, either.

Round after round of 5.56 spat from the muzzle, and every walker in his line of sight got its skull opened.

The EXP panel lit up, numbers climbing fast.

[Walker slain ×1, EXP gained ×1]

[Walker slain ×1, EXP gained ×1]

[Walker slain ×1, EXP gained ×1]

The system chimed with each kill, one after another. Cold bullets, converted into white-hot EXP.

By the time Lin Feng swapped to the sixth magazine, one shot caved in a walker's skull, and the chime changed.

[Walker slain ×1, EXP gained ×1]

[EXP bar full, Attribute Point ×1 gained]

[Congratulations, host, achievement unlocked: Thousand Zombie Slayer. Reward: Space Expansion Voucher ×1. Applied automatically.]

Lin Feng exhaled.

There it was. He'd known leveling up this time would come with something extra.

First time had been First Blood, one cubic meter of storage space, which he'd packed with food, water, and a handful of weapons. Second time was Hundred Man Slayer, space expanded to eight cubic meters, enough to finally fit more weapons and a stock of grain seeds.

Now, after using this voucher, the inventory hit sixty-four cubic meters. A massive jump all at once. Plenty of room to keep filling.

Man, if he ever stumbled onto an armory, rocket launchers, grenades, explosives, the whole spread, all he'd need was one massive horde. One big send-off. Instant ascension.

Lin Feng daydreamed about that for a moment, emptied the last rounds in the magazine, and headed inside a nearby house.

The walker inside lurched toward him, and immediately caught its feet on a table leg and went down before it got anywhere close.

Lin Feng swallowed the laugh, drew the Bowie knife, drove the blade in through the back of the walker's skull, gave it a short twist, pulled it free, wiped it clean, and sheathed it.

He shut the door, dropped into a chair, and started pressing rounds into magazines. Easy, unhurried.

No getting around it. The M4 was a modern piece of hardware, not some magical weapon with unlimited ammunition. Magazines ran dry. Reloading was just part of the job.

Lin Feng didn't mind. If anything, it was a chance to breathe, to rest.

He spent one attribute point while he was at it, dropping it into Perception. [Perception 6 → 7.]

Click.

The second the round seated into the magazine, the sound hit differently. Louder wasn't quite right, clearer was. Every small mechanical sound registered more sharply than it had before.

He'd always been decent at picking up environmental details. Now it felt like the world had been dialed up a notch. Enemies hiding in shadow wouldn't get as much of a free pass anymore.

Tsk. If he'd had this Perception level during that Volatile fight, he might have caught what it was going to do before it moved, put a bullet through its skull before it even had the chance.

Oh well. Better late than never. It was just...

Lin Feng glanced at the EXP panel.

[0 / 500]

...He actually had to do this two more times.

He snorted and started laughing at himself.

Back when he was rapid-firing the recurve bow, a full round of shooting netted him barely over seventy EXP. His arms had ached so badly afterward that he'd had to spend attribute points just to take the edge off.

Now here he was, complaining. He really had a short memory.

Click.

The last round locked in. Lin Feng racked the bolt, stood up, and walked back out through the door.

Halftime over. Round two.

➤ Next: A Gunpowder-Scented Dinner Table

Chapter 82 - A Gunpowder-Scented Dinner Table

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Lin Feng fired the last round from his chamber.

The bullet punched through a skull and blasted out dark-red fragments. Fifth round of walker Match-3: complete.

He slung the rifle onto his back and twisted his right arm back and outward, trying to stretch the shoulder muscles jarred by the M4's recoil. Useless. The aching numbness stayed.

Lin Feng clicked his tongue and left it alone.

A minor internal injury. Hardly worth mentioning.

He allocated the newly earned attribute point into Constitution. [Constitution: 7 → 8].

Warmth flooded through his body all at once, like sinking into a hot spring while a top-tier therapist worked a deep-tissue massage across every muscle group.

It was an invigorating ache, and his body surged with fresh strength.

The battered shoulder muscles eased the most. That bone-deep inability to lift his arm faded to a mild soreness. One good night's sleep and it would be gone.

Spirit, on the other hand, was still sitting at 6. Well. He'd definitely pick it next time ╭(╯ε╰)╮.

Lin Feng turned and looked back. Corpses lay strewn across the abandoned street in every direction, nearly all of them with their skulls blown open.

Tsk. Solo-clearing a whole town of walkers, huh.

He chuckled to himself and walked into the backyard of the town's agricultural supply station.

The yard was desolate. Weeds everywhere. Steel drums stacked and scattered across the ground in no particular order.

About half of them were ordinary 55-gallon tight-head drums, sealed, no idea what they'd held before, but going forward they'd only be good for fuel.

Useful, but not especially.

The other half were the real target: 55-gallon open-head drums with locking rings. Didn't matter what they'd stored before, as long as it wasn't chemical agents, every single one of those was going home to hold grain.

Now those were the workhorses.

Lin Feng went through them one by one. He checked the paint, intact or flaking. He checked for rust. He checked the locking rings, made sure they seated properly, made sure the rubber gaskets were still there.

Then he popped the lids and ran the simple test: smell. Any drum reeking of leftover pesticide got pushed aside.

Out of the dozen-odd candidates, eight passed. Maybe usable for grain storage, a closer look back at camp would confirm it.

He stashed all eight into his extradimensional storage and left the rest where they stood. They'd still be here whenever he came back for them.

He stacked the remaining drums, tied them down with rope, started the pickup, and rolled out before the sun fully set.

The truck hadn't even reached the camp gate when Lin Feng heard it: the violent roar of a diesel engine grinding hard.

Deafening noise. Thick black smoke. Andrew stood off to the side with a furrowed brow, then finally shook his head and muttered something low, the way a person does when they've already made their decision.

Merle killed the engine, jumped down, turned around, and kicked the combine's massive rear tire hard enough to feel it. The cursing that followed was creative.

Lin Feng wandered over to the camp's dining table and took a plate of pasta from Nancy. "What happened?"

"This is the third combine Merle brought back," Nancy said softly, "but it seems like there's something wrong with this one too. Dad shook his head — probably can't be fixed."

Even Andrew couldn't sort it out? That bad, then.

"All right. Don't let me hold you up."

Nancy smiled, bright and unhurried, gave a quiet nod, and turned back toward the stove.

Abraham walked over, eyes tracking the grime covering Lin Feng from head to toe. The frown came naturally.

Closer now, and there was no missing it: gunpowder. Still clinging to Lin Feng's clothes, sharp and unmistakable. "Run into trouble?"

"No. Hit a small horde. Took a bit of effort."

The corner of Abraham's eye twitched. The smell coming off Lin Feng was thick enough to suggest a full firefight, and the man was calling it "a bit of effort."

Would it kill him to drop the act?

Lin Feng didn't explain. The truth wouldn't be believed anyway.

He smiled and carried his plate toward the table. "Don't just stand there. Eaten yet? Sit down — Nancy's cooking is worth it."

Abraham nodded. "Fair point. After two-plus months grinding through this damned apocalypse, this is the best hot meal I've had."

Lin Feng paused mid-reach and took the opening. "Then think about staying."

Contra shook their head. "No. Once the wheat's in, I'm moving out, back to escorting Eugene to Washington. End this catastrophe for good."

Lin Feng didn't push. He nodded, smiling. "A genuinely great mission."

"So come with us. You can't just dig in here forever."

"I'll pass. Even if a real viral serum exists, I don't believe those politicians and oligarchs would hand it out for free. It'd be just like..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. The dry mockery in his voice carried the rest, and Abraham understood exactly what lay underneath it.

Abraham let it go. Lin Feng's concerns weren't Abraham's problem.

Simple enough: distribute it to whoever you want. But no one is stopping this path.

Andrew and Eugene were still standing beside the combine, heads together, talking in low voices.

Everyone else had drifted toward the table, picking up plates for dinner.

Rosita carried a plate over and sat down, quietly, without ceremony, right next to Lin Feng.

A faint glint crossed Maggie's eyes. Two steps forward, and Maggie sat down directly across from Lin Feng.

Their gazes met across the table for one brief moment. Neither spoke. Each read exactly what the other was keeping behind their eyes.

They both looked away at the same time. Each one silently mouthed a word that started with B.

Lin Feng's hands went still. Two figures had appeared on either side without warning and something felt distinctly wrong.

Wait. Someone's out to get me.

He looked up. Sister-in-law across from him. Rosita on his left. His neck suddenly felt itchy.

He quietly picked up the pace, eating faster and faster, leisurely long gone, and then another figure sat down.

Amy.

Running in the exact same lane as Beth, Amy had made the sharp call to sit next to Maggie. Eyes perfectly controlled, glancing over once with the look of someone who just happened to end up there.

The corner of Maggie's mouth curved a fraction. Not bad. But not sitting next to your own sister Andrea kind of gave it all away, didn't it?

Maggie's gaze drifted to Lin Feng for just a second. Tsk. Had to admit, Beth was eating well these days.

Lin Feng finished what was left at a pace that could only be described as inhuman, grabbed a cup, knocked back two mouthfuls of water, and pushed back from the table to escape this increasingly hazardous dining situation.

"Lin!"

He turned toward the voice.

Dale Horvath. The old man had a radio raised high over his head, face lit up, calling across the camp:

"Lin! That distress signal — it's back!"

➤ Next: That's Not How the Script Goes!