Nine

Thanks to Jiang Wen’s connections, Ye Yin managed to acquire two “secondhand” military Humvees from the black market. She then spent a fortune hiring experts to modify them. While she wouldn’t claim they were indestructible, they could certainly smash through a small horde of zombies and escape unharmed. As for firearms and ammunition, Ye Yin wasn’t especially enthusiastic—she only bought a token amount, with no intention of becoming an arms dealer. In the early days of the apocalypse, firearms were in high demand, but their drawbacks were considerable: the noise easily attracted zombies, their effectiveness was limited without extensive professional training, and resupplying ammunition was a major headache.

Take rocket launchers, for example—their firepower surpassed even that of a level-four thunder-element ability user, but paled in comparison to level-five, not to mention other, less lethal weapons. With a cultivation field more formidable than the heroine’s, Ye Yin figured reaching level five wouldn’t be difficult for her, so there was really no need to stockpile heavy weapons.

Most importantly, given the current climate in Z Country, amassing such dangerous items in bulk would inevitably attract the attention of government authorities. The weapons wouldn’t even get a chance to be used—she’d be executed hundreds of times over before that.

Because she’d had the vehicles' engines modified and considered the generator set in the new house’s basement, Ye Yin purchased large quantities of diesel and gasoline at a 4:1 ratio. With transportation, clothing, and accommodation more or less settled, she had just under 900 million left, which she decided to spend entirely on food supplies.

As a once-seasoned homebody, Ye Yin knew exactly how to use the internet to gather intelligence. She quickly found a site devoted exclusively to emergency bulk purchases, offering some relief to people who’d failed after blindly following trends in agriculture or livestock farming.

For instance, last year, a few so-called experts had hyped up the price of tailless mountain chickens, causing their market value to increase tenfold in just a few months. Many farmers, caught up in the craze, abandoned their fields to raise chickens instead. But when the fad passed, the price of mountain chickens plummeted below that of ordinary chickens, and buyers were scarce. Many watched helplessly as their precious chickens became unsellable burdens—a bitter pill to swallow.

Items in this oversaturated market were selling at shockingly low prices, well below cost, clearly a last-ditch effort to minimize losses. At first, Ye Yin felt a twinge of guilt at taking advantage of others’ misfortune, but she soon realized that if these goods didn’t sell, they’d just spoil anyway—she was actually giving some compensation by buying them.

Top-quality sweet radishes were just 0.08 yuan per jin, honey tangerines only 0.4 yuan per jin, fist-sized chestnuts 0.6 yuan, green-skinned melons 0.35 yuan, free-range eggs 1.5 yuan per jin… Everything was priced like a going-out-of-business sale, which delighted Ye Yin. She picked items that were easy to transport within the province, and every time she found something suitable, she’d buy out the entire lot. In just three days, her transactions on the site totaled over 60 million, shooting her account status from “Goodwill Angel” straight to “Super Philanthropist,” breaking the previous record for fastest promotion to the top rank.

Her rapid-fire purchases caused the site’s help-wanted posts to drop by two-thirds almost overnight. Many sellers posted thanks on the forums, and some out-of-province sellers even offered to deliver goods in person. The commotion soon reached the site’s upper management.

Long before she began buying food, Ye Yin had already rented seven large refrigerated warehouses and, with Jiang Wen’s help, set up a shell food company, with professional financial advisors acting as the official proprietors. As a result, no one could trace her real identity. It was the site’s deputy administrator who, being particularly sharp, found her email in her registration info and sent her an enthusiastic and polite invitation to attend a banquet honoring all Super Philanthropists.

Ye Yin thought about it for a long time before sending a tactful refusal, explaining that she had social anxiety and didn’t like such events.

The deputy administrator didn’t give up, instead proactively giving her his phone number and MSN, saying he had an attractive business proposition for her—one involving a farm acquisition.

The mention of a farm piqued Ye Yin’s interest. She created an account and added him as a contact, asking for details about the farm.

The deputy administrator’s name was Gao Shu. The farm’s owner was his college best friend, Du Dabao. Dabao was a second-generation rich kid who could have lived comfortably without working, but after being provoked at a banquet, he impulsively invested a large sum to establish a green, eco-friendly mega-farm, hoping to prove to those who said he was useless without his parents’ money that he could accomplish something.

His dreams were lofty, but reality was harsh. As it turned out, Dabao really was rather mediocre. The farm operated at full tilt, but he failed to sell a single shipment. As he watched produce spoil in his own hands, Dabao, for once, made a smart decision: to sell the farm before losses deepened.

As soon as he put out feelers about selling, those same people who’d taunted him came forward as buyers. Realizing he’d fallen into their trap, Dabao was furious and asked Gao Shu to help him offload the farm at a rock-bottom price: “I’d rather give it away than let those bastards have it.”

Ye Yin looked over the documents and photos and found the farm’s facilities impressive and the design well thought out; its only real issue was sales. For Ye Yin, that wasn’t a problem—she couldn’t buy enough as it was, so why would she sell it off?

She discreetly asked about Dabao’s asking price. Gao Shu was refreshingly candid: “He invested over 50 million when he started the farm. Now he’s desperate to sell but refuses to let those jerks have it, so 30 million should do. Since you’ve been buying so much produce lately, you must have sales channels. This farm is a guaranteed profit for you.”

To be honest, this price was a bit higher than buying up scattered goods from the site, but the convenience and stability made it worth it. It was only spring, so the farm would yield plenty over the coming year. Plus, she could invest more to diversify production—growing her own was always cheaper than buying. She understood this well.

Ye Yin considered for a minute, then replied, “Alright, I’ll take it.”

Gao Shu was overjoyed, thanked her profusely, and immediately called Du Dabao to arrange the transfer. All the paperwork was in order, and within a week, Ye Yin went from unemployed drifter to major landowner—she only lacked a few henchmen to go around harassing honest men.

When Ye Yin reviewed the list of operations, she found most of the farm was devoted to meat, poultry, eggs, dairy, fruits, and vegetables. She placed massive orders for premium pearl and fragrant rice, as well as top-grade flour from several major grain provinces, spending most of her remaining funds. In the apocalypse, most people survived on high-yield, easy-to-grow staples like sweet potatoes and soybeans—these were fine for an occasional change, but eating them long-term made one’s insides feel rough. Rice and white flour were considered luxury foods, only available to a privileged few, and at their peak, prices soared to dozens of first-grade crystal cores per jin.

Ye Yin worked non-stop until late June, and her stockpiling was finally winding down. By then, she and Ye Hua had moved into their fortress-like home on Changqing Street.

Changqing Street was divided into east, south, west, and north sections. Ye Yin and Ye Hua lived at Number Two, South Street. There were over thirty households on South Street, most of them shopkeepers. The first floor of each building was a storefront, with the family living above. Clothes hung over the shop signs, and neighbors often greeted each other or stopped in to buy something—a lively, communal atmosphere.

Unlike other places, Lihua District had no particularly tall buildings; most were single-family homes or small apartment blocks. Especially on Changqing Street, every house was a two-story villa, fanciful and practical, but few were as fortress-like as Ye Yin’s. The residents still had the warmth and openness of small-town folk, never treating others as outsiders and often dropping by for visits or inviting the Ye sisters to dinner. Everyone quickly became acquainted.

Since moving in, Ye Yin and her sister were frequently asked about their background. She knew the neighbors meant well, but to avoid complications, she kept her story simple—her parents had run a farm but died in a car accident, so she now managed things herself.

The sisters dressed modestly, and with Ye Yin’s gentle demeanor, no one imagined they owned a massive industrial farm—they all assumed it was a small, family-run agritourism place. Still, for a young woman, managing even a small farm was impressive, so everyone praised Ye Yin’s resilience. Some particularly enthusiastic neighbors even tried matchmaking, introducing her in florid, sentimental terms: “A bolt from the blue—the sisters lose both parents; but bravely, the eldest holds up half the sky,” and so on.

It had been a long time since the sisters experienced such warmth from neighbors. At first, they felt shy and awkward, but gradually, they grew accustomed and were touched by the community’s spirit. People here truly believed that a close neighbor was better than a distant relative; even if disagreements arose, they’d soon be forgotten. No matter how much they might bicker, if anyone faced trouble, everyone would rally to help—after all, these were their own people, unlike outsiders.

The farm had its own management staff, so Ye Yin only occasionally appeared to play the role of owner. Most employees were honest, hardworking farmers, with a few researchers devoted to developing high-tech agriculture. They didn’t care who the boss was, as long as they could keep the jobs they knew and loved.

When Ye Yin first showed up, everyone was curious—she was so young, like a delicate flower. Some older workers, after getting to know her, found her unpretentious and respectful of elders, and soon treated her like a granddaughter, eagerly taking her fishing or tomato picking, which delighted everyone.

Moreover, Ye Yin maintained the original benefits, reduced the pressure on the sales department, and even introduced generous bonuses to incentivize hard work. The staff shamelessly celebrated the departure of the old boss and welcomed the new one. If Dabao ever found out, he’d surely be crestfallen.

Everything was progressing smoothly, yet Ye Yin couldn’t shake a vague sense of unease, as if she’d overlooked something important...

Author’s Note: I am the Draft Box Spirit, rolling on behalf of Aba to beg for favorites and comments~~ (Aba has business away these days, so I hope to see tons of favorites and comments when she returns ><* Love you all~)