After the acquisition talk, the rest of the morning went by like someone had hit fast-forward.
The efficiency on Summer's side was faster than Ethan had expected.
Before noon, she had already sent over the formal letter of intent—
a board-level emergency meeting had pushed it through.
Some wording was tweaked, but the core conditions were exactly what he'd proposed:
Cash acquisition, valuation: 50 million.
The project and team would be folded into a newly created "Smart Commerce Division" under Qingyuan Group.
He himself would keep a purely symbolic "consultant" title, with no hard attendance requirements and the freedom to walk away at any time.
For the year 2128, this was already a very decent ending for a startup.
Ethan glanced through it once. He didn't add any extra demands, just signed his new name at the bottom.
That signature wasn't just selling a company.
It was him personally cutting off one section of the chain that had dragged him to death in his last life.
Qingyuan's legal and finance procedures would be completed over the next week.
The first payment would hit the designated account within three days.
For most founders, those three days would mean anxiety and sleepless nights.
For Ethan, it was just a timestamp.
The real preparations could start now.
Close to noon, he called the core management team into the conference room.
He announced the acquisition in the simplest possible way.
No bloated slide deck.
No motivational speeches.
Just calm facts, and a very short explanation.
"Once Qingyuan takes over, the project will keep scaling. Everyone's role will basically stay the same, compensation will be adjusted up a bit."
"As for me, I'll be stepping away from operations."
"There's only one reason—
I want to do something more free."
Some people were shocked.
Some were envious.
Some were quietly speculating.
But he didn't give anyone time to perform their feelings.
Fifteen minutes later, the meeting was over. He handed off all follow-up work and went back to his office alone.
The door closed. The noise outside was cut off.
The world went quiet.
He sat down at his desk, opened his personal terminal, and looked at the numbers on the screen.
Existing savings.
Stocks.
Wealth management products.
A few small "rainy-day funds" hidden deep in places no one knew about.
Plus the first tranche of acquisition money that was about to arrive.
And beyond that—
two days from now, the "unrealized gain" of an eight-hundred-million lottery ticket.
"Stage one capital… is enough."
He drew a line for himself in his mind.
Not money to show off with.
Not "financial freedom" money.
But the first construction fund for building an Ark for the end of the world.
One o'clock in the afternoon.
He made a call.
"Mason, come to my office."
It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door.
"Ethan."
The young man was still a little stiff, but his eyes were much firmer than in the morning.
After getting a new job and knowing his brother's medical expenses would be fully covered, it was like someone had dragged him halfway out of a swamp.
"Sit."
Ethan gestured.
Mason sat down, back straight as a board.
"There's something I need you to handle over the next few days."
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to rent me five warehouses."
Mason froze. "Warehouses?"
"Yeah."
Ethan tapped his fingers on the desk, his tone calm, but every tap sounded like a chess piece landing.
"Five of them. At least ten thousand square meters each."
Mason sucked in a breath.
Ten thousand square meters—
one of those was already logistics-hub level. Five of them…
This was preparing to do something big.
"Any location requirements?" he instinctively slid into execution mode.
"They don't need to be very close to downtown, but they can't be out in the middle of nowhere either."
Ethan said slowly, "Ideally they're in the same administrative district, not too far from each other, spread across different industrial or logistics parks."
He had two reasons for that:
First, it would make it easier later to move physical goods into the warehouse space without drawing attention.
If the locations were too close together, and people never saw any trucks come or go but the stock kept disappearing, someone would start asking questions.
Second, if something ever went wrong at one site, it wouldn't trigger a concentrated spotlight. Even if the environment went sideways in the future and one or two sites had issues, the others could still hold.
Mason wrote as he listened, brow subconsciously furrowing.
"What about the lease term?"
"One year."
Mason blinked. "O… one year?"
To most people, leasing that kind of space for just a year made no financial sense.
Fit-out, racking, labor, depreciation—spread over only twelve months, the cost was brutal.
But Ethan didn't hesitate.
"Yes. One year."
"After that, whether those warehouses exist or not… doesn't matter anymore."
He said it lightly.
The moment the apocalypse officially began, he remembered clearly.
By then, his only truly important "warehouse" would be the one he carried with him.
Mason couldn't understand it.
But he didn't ask.
He remembered what Ethan had told him that morning:
"You might not understand what I'm doing for now.
But you need to believe—I will never harm you."
So he just nodded. "Got it."
"One more thing."
Ethan went on, "The warehouses are storage only. No sub-leasing, no third-party logistics, no external business of any kind."
"For locations, prioritize: solid flooring, newer builds, high ceilings, independent transformer, full utilities, and preferably a loading area near a main road."
"As for rent, don't sacrifice conditions just to save a little money. On this point, I'd rather pay more."
"Understood."
Mason scribbled quickly.
"When you go to negotiate, you can use the name of a new investment company I set up."
Ethan sent him a file.
"It's already registered. Name's Pingchuan Capital."
"Starting today, that's the company on your business card."
He paused, then looked at Mason, gaze steady.
"And from today on, anything you do for me—
you can ask about execution details and offer suggestions."
"But don't ask why. At least, not this year."
Mason pressed his lips together. "…Okay."
"It's not because I don't trust you."
Ethan knew there'd be questions in his heart, so he added:
"On the contrary, it's because what I'm about to pull you into…
knowing too much right now would keep you up at night."
He smiled, a small smile, with a sharp edge pressed down beneath it.
"All you need to know is: it's all legal and compliant. I will never dump risk on my own people."
Mason looked into that steady, friendly gaze, and the rush of emotion in his chest made his throat tight.
He didn't say anything extra. Just agreed, and left to work.
The rest of Ethan's afternoon was cut into fragments.
Calls.
Broker meetings.
Park leasing managers.
Site visits.
He drove out to several large industrial parks on the outskirts, and also checked a few office towers in the city—points scattered across the map that looked random.
But only Ethan knew:
these were the very areas that, in the end times, still had a chance to remain habitable.
Some were near heat pipeline convergence points.
Some sat on top of exceptionally solid underground infrastructure with high quake resistance.
Some were on slightly higher ground where the later acid rain pooling wouldn't drown them.
In his last life, he'd been shivering, half dying, dragging himself through those places, searching for "buildings that could still hold."
This time, he was going to secure the right to use those locations in advance.
One contract.
Two contracts.
Three…
Draft leases hit his terminal one after another.
Each one looked terrifying on paper in absolute numbers.
But compared to their future value, they were nothing more than small entrance tickets.
Six in the evening.
Mason dragged his tired body back to the hotel and found the man he was looking for in the lobby.
"Ethan."
"Sit."
They sat down in a corner of the lounge and did a quick handover.
"Here's the first batch of warehouse info."
Mason pulled up floor plans, photos, and draft contracts for five sites.
"Each one's between ten and twelve thousand square meters. Ceiling height at least nine meters, load-bearing checks out. Four are near the ring expressway, one's in a renovated old industrial park."
"I've done some basic checks on park management too. All relatively standardized. Entrances and exits have cameras, but management doesn't meddle too much."
Ethan scanned through once.
"Good."
"Rent is already pressed to a reasonable floor. Any harder and it'll start looking strange. The contracting party is Pingchuan Capital, and they want the full year's rent paid up front."
"Pay it in one go."
"Yes."
Only now did Mason really feel it sink in:
this man had just sold the company he'd built from scratch—
and on the very same day, with almost cold-blooded decisiveness, was committing to renting multiple large warehouses whose only purpose was to stockpile goods.
No near-term profit.
Zero PR value.
From a normal standpoint, it didn't make any sense.
So if Ethan wasn't crazy…
Then he was seeing something no one else could see.
Ethan said:
"I've got an internal layout plan for the warehouses. I'll send it to you later."
"Simple version:"
"First, every warehouse gets high-density racking. Zoned by category—grain, water, energy, medicine, protection gear, equipment, tools, building materials, and so on."
"Second, aisles must be wide enough for forklifts to pass each other. Corners get convex mirrors and bump guards."
"Third, every rack gets a code. Zones get clear signage. We mark storage areas and safety corridors on the floor."
"When a warehouse is fully stocked, I'll go there myself."
"Then we seal it."
"On sealing day, all you need to do is clear everyone out of the interior, do a full inventory, and keep the reports on file."
Ethan's tone was light.
"Once the seal is done, that warehouse will be treated as 'transferred to an upstream partner of Pingchuan Capital'."
"You don't need to know who that upstream is."
"Just remember—
from that moment on, as far as you're concerned, the warehouse is no longer your responsibility. When it's emptied out, I'll have you procure a new round of goods and fill it again."
"If anyone asks," he added with a small smile, "the unified answer is: 'The stock was allocated away.'"
He chuckled softly.
"And the truth is, the goods will be moved."
"Just not by trucks—by a different method I happen to have."
Mason's scalp prickled, but at the same time, a strange heat was burning in his chest.
"Ethan, isn't this… a bit much? Five warehouses… can we really fill them?"
"We will."
"And it won't take long."
There was a light in Ethan's eyes—
a kind of extremely calm excitement.
"First wave of goods starts buying tomorrow. You'll hit the market and find suppliers for bulk orders."
"Priority order is:"
"Number one, staple foods: rice, wheat flour, dried noodles, compressed biscuits."
"Number two, water and purification: bottled water and filtration gear."
"Number three, base energy: diesel, gasoline, generators, small solar panels, batteries."
"Number four, common meds and medical supplies."
"Tomorrow I'll give you a detailed list."
"When you negotiate, you can push for a better price, but don't ruin the suppliers' mood just to save a little—
we're going to be doing long-term business with them."
Mason nodded hard.
"And then we hire."
"Hire?"
"Yeah."
"Warehouse managers, forklift drivers, loaders, security, basic admin."
"You can work with temp agencies or recruit directly."
"Only two conditions—"
"First, pay them a bit above market. Make them feel this job is worth doing."
"Second, set the rules up front—
no phones in core rack areas, no photos, no loose talk outside. We're not running anything illegal, but what we're doing is… 'not something the whole world needs to know about.'"
"Understood."
Mason felt like he'd been dropped into a game of Go so big he couldn't see the whole board.
Strangely enough, he wasn't afraid.
He trusted this man.
Nine that night.
Ethan returned to his hotel room.
The door closed.
The first thing he did was dive into the warehouse space.
That vast, white expanse was still quietly waiting.
The entire disassembled hotel room setup had been restored to reality, leaving only a few items he'd kept in the "living supplies" zone.
A transparent screen floated in front of him.
[Ark · Inventory System V1.0]
This was a new function he'd just added to the space.
He'd discovered here, he was something very close to a god—
anything he could clearly conceive of, he could impose on this space as a "feature" or a "device".
It just couldn't be taken out of here.
Every category of goods in the warehouse now had a clean set of numbers.
In the future, as long as he filled a warehouse in the real world and then swept it all into this place with one thought,
the contents would auto-sort according to his layout and display on this panel.
His job was to repeat this cycle, over and over.
Fill.
Lock.
Store.
Fill.
Lock.
Store.
Until this seemingly endless white world was packed solid with real, tangible supplies.
He murmured to himself:
"Like this… even if I'm betrayed, even if someone comes hunting me, the only thing they'll ever find—"
"—are a few empty shells."
"The real grain, medicine, fuel… all stay in my hands."
In his last life, what bound him was exactly this—
others clearly saw his value,
but didn't treat his life as worth anything.
This time, he was going to flip the board.
He would bury his true trump card so deep that not even the people closest to him could see it.
Even if one day he was tied up again, locked down, pushed onto the edge of a knife—
as long as his mind could still move,
he could still strike back at the world through this Ark.
"So——"
He silently repeated the line he'd written that morning:
Hiding the ability always comes first.
After a shower, he sat on the edge of the bed and let out a slow breath.
The phone lit up.
He opened the Twelve Star Guard · Candidate List and drew a small check mark behind Taurus · Mason.
His gaze slid down to the very first line.
Aries · Blaze (Male)
Positioning: First attack sequence · Close-quarters demolition
Personality: Charge, loyalty, straightforward
Future combat style: Short-range berserk, armor-breaking assaults, flesh-and-blood breakthrough
In one battle in his previous life,
from the shattered skeleton of a high-rise, Ethan had watched a man soaked in blood drag a wounded leg into the demon swarm again and again.
Bones shattered one by one.
Muscle tore.
Blood vaporized into white mist.
In the end, he went off like a living bomb, forcibly punching open a critical chokepoint and buying the city three minutes of breath.
Only after that did the name Blaze start passing quietly between survivors.
And later, in a round of internal purges between the human city-states, he'd been used as expendable fodder—
and died under human blades.
No monument.
No official record.
Just a few fragmented evaluations:
"Guy's a lunatic, but in a fight? Absolutely top."
"Talks about loyalty like it's oxygen."
"Damn shame."
This time.
"There won't be any 'damn shame'."
Ethan pulled up another file.
He'd sorted this "real world coordinate" last night in the Ark.
Blaze
Age: 29
Current status: Discharged three years. Team lead at a small security company, mainly on night shifts.
Side work: Underground free-fight coach, occasional stand-in fighter.
Family: Parents farming back in their hometown, only child.
Past-life personality profile:
Once he recognizes someone as "his boss", he'll stake his life on them.
Utterly ruthless to enemies.
Zero tolerance for betrayal.
In Ethan's mind, a recruitment plan assembled itself:
Right now, Blaze was strapped for cash.
First step: recruit him as security for the warehouses.
Then, spend time with him. Ethan knew he was fiercely filial and fiercely loyal.
Find the right opportunity to put some real money in his hands,
tell him to take care of his parents,
so they don't have to break their backs on the farm anymore.
Better yet, rent them a small place in the city near the warehouses. Give them relaxed, paid positions.
Take care of Blaze's parents—
and Blaze would give him his heart for life.
He also knew that at this moment, Blaze was working part-time as a coach at an MMA gym in the neighboring city, and secretly fighting in illegal bouts to earn more.
Tomorrow, he planned to go see this future "Aries war banner" in person.
He'd show up as someone who "appreciates his skills" and offer him an absolutely premium security contract.
If things went well, by tomorrow, the second Star Guard would be in place.
One rock-solid wall.
One frontline battering ram.
Outside the window, the city lights burned bright.
No one knew that a man who had just sold his company and was about to lease five huge warehouses
was already quietly stockpiling lives for a future of blood and fire.
He lay down and closed his eyes.
His consciousness sank into the warehouse space one last time,
checking the virtual zones he'd planned—
staple foods,
water and filtration,
energy,
medicine and medical gear,
equipment and building materials…
And the key to this Ark, which would one day be crammed full of supplies for a broken world,
was held by one person only.
Him.