What Are You Barking At Here?

"I think Director Zhang is trying to kill me."

Song Weishi rubbed her hands together, her breath turning to white mist in the cold air. The chill stung her face, and she narrowed her beautiful eyes—a look far removed from her usual timid demeanor. It was languid, weary.

This was a small staff lounge in the scenic area. The table that once stood in the room had been chopped up and burned for warmth. Beside it were a few hastily found iron-frame beds, piled high with clothes for insulation.

Zhong Xiaomin sat huddled by the fire, shivering despite layering every short-sleeved shirt she owned over herself.

She inched closer to the flames and stammered, "That can't be right. I mean, Director Zhang is usually harsh with you, but he wouldn't go as far as murder, would he?"

Her voice trailed off quickly. The orange-red flames leaped and danced, illuminating the room and half her body. She caught sight of the long, gleaming dagger in Song Weishi's hand and fell silent—clearly, that wasn't something that belonged here.

Song Weishi sheathed the dagger and stared at her own fair, delicate hands, so different from what she was used to, lost in thought.

She had crossed over last night, into an apocalypse novel she'd casually opened before bed—one whose title she couldn't even remember.

In the novel, the apocalypse had arrived, heavy snow sealing the mountain pass and burying the road out for the company that had come to Garden of a Hundred Herbs for a cheap team-building trip. Coincidentally, the cannon fodder who didn't even survive two chapters shared her exact name. She'd immediately closed the novel and cursed her bad luck—only to blink and find herself here, as that very cannon fodder.

Not reading further was Song Weishi's loss, but she had no time for regret.

Because when she arrived, the original owner was burning with fever, unconscious. Director Zhang had sent Zhong Xiaomin away and tried to kill her. Of everyone there, she'd always been the most inconspicuous existence.

The whole department had been trapped here for five days now. They couldn't contact the outside world, and all the food was gone—at the end of their rope. Director Zhang had resorted to murder, whether to save rations or make jerky, either worked fine.

He'd chosen the original owner because she was weak-willed, soft-hearted, timid, and conveniently sick. Even if she died, no one would stand up for her.

And so, just as Director Zhang was about to make his move, Song Weishi crossed over.

The feverish girl suddenly opened her eyes and stared coldly at Director Zhang, sending him fleeing in panic, clutching his head. He didn't even grab his weapon before bolting out the door.

Song Weishi couldn't resist her body's instincts. She'd blacked out again after opening her eyes, and now here she was, awake.

The two fell silent. Song Weishi heard a system voice repeat its mission: "Greetings, host. This Death Evasion System is at your service. Since you have already died in the real world, as long as you follow the main plot, you can accumulate energy and transfer to the next world. Once you've gathered enough energy, you can return to the real world."

Actually, she'd heard it the moment she crossed over last night, but she'd been too weak to bother with it.

If Director Zhang had been bolder than usual, she'd probably have already achieved what the system called "transferring to the next world."

After a night's sleep, the original owner's high fever had miraculously receded. Song Weishi's mind cleared, and she immediately spotted the loophole in the system's words.

She didn't speak aloud, directly asking the system in her mind: "Why do I generate energy when I die in this world? Is it your energy or mine? What's the next world like?"

The system fell silent for a long moment before speaking again. Through its cold mechanical voice, Song Weishi detected a hint of gritted teeth: "Host, the energy from your death belongs to the system. This death is permanent. The next world will have the next host."

Song Weishi's brow twitched. The system was playing word games with her, wasn't it? This was just a one-life clear, so why dress it up as "death evasion"?

At the same time, she confirmed something: it seemed this system couldn't lie to its host, or she wouldn't have heard all those things that worked against it.

As if reading her thoughts, the system continued to explain: "Deaths related to the host can accumulate energy, which belongs to the host. This system does not support killing the innocent."

This seemed to be a supplementary agreement from the system. A gray shop interface appeared before Song Weishi, all functions showing as locked. Below it was an energy bar of 100, which hadn't started filling yet.

According to the system, it seemed killing anything counted. She was in the apocalypse, and she remembered the book's vague description of this world included monsters.

If those counted toward energy, then things would be easy.

Song Weishi had barely begun to think when a gust of cold air blew in from outside.

She tugged at her worn-out sweater, and Zhong Xiaomin beside her shivered.

A group stomped in from outside, bringing with them biting wind and complaints.

"I'm freezing to death! Damn it, what kind of weather is this! Xiaomin, did you get through to the outside?"

Zhong Xiaomin hastily fumbled her phone out from under her clothes, her gaze deliberately avoiding Director Zhang, who had just walked in with a grim face.

"Not yet, Brother Wang. There's no signal on the phone. Did you guys have any signal out there?"

The temperature had already broken the scenic area's thermometer lower limit. Everyone shook from cold the moment they stepped outside, so they could only huddle indoors for warmth. But the snacks the original owner had brought had been mostly consumed over the past few days.

Director Zhang, to save money, had brought them to this godforsaken place for team building, and even insisted on staying overnight. When the snow sealed the mountain pass, they couldn't get out of Garden of a Hundred Herbs, nor could they make it down to the hotel north of the scenic area.

Trapped in this transfer station, they'd spent most of their time hungry.

The original owner was frugal to a fault with food distribution—perhaps that was another reason Director Zhang resented her.

Today, of the five people in the company, besides the sick Song Weishi and Zhong Xiaomin who stayed to care for her, basically everyone had gone out. They all came back empty-handed, clearly having found nothing.

Garden of a Hundred Herbs, aside from some amusement facilities, was filled with lush bamboo and tall trees. Even the grilled sausage vendors were few and far between.

Without a car, they might not make it out even walking from morning to night.

The snow outside was already as deep as a person, making travel even more difficult.

They had no idea that outside had already turned into something else entirely. Being cut off from the outside might actually be safer for them.

After all, no one would come to this remote, worthless scenic area.

Song Weishi was only in the original text as cannon fodder, mentioned in passing to highlight human nature.

There were seven people in the room. Wang Jie and Zhong Xiaomin sitting beside her were both on good terms with her.

In the original text, when they learned Song Weishi had died, both had been shocked. Sitting across from them were four people: Director Zhang, and Xiao Li, a new intern who was very rule-abiding. When she was killed, Xiao Li reacted the most violently—and became the second person to be slaughtered.

The two veterans—a bald team leader nicknamed Di Zhonghai, and Xiao Wang, a peer who'd joined the company at the same time as Song Weishi—didn't stop Director Zhang's evil deeds. In fact, they became accomplices.

Now the count was three against three, plus Song Weishi made four. If it came down to a real fight, they wouldn't be without a chance of winning.

But the original owner's personality was far too weak. Not only did she share her snacks freely with everyone, even Wang Jie and Zhong Xiaomin, who were close to her, couldn't bear to watch and urged her to look out for herself. Song Weishi nodded timidly and stuffed more things into their hands anyway.

The two sighed and couldn't bring themselves to accept, preferring to go hungry rather than take advantage of her.

The other three made her do all sorts of exhausting chores. Upholding the principle of helping colleagues, the original owner worked hard to scout outside, and in the end, she caught a fever in this frozen wasteland and became their food supply.

Song Weishi was the complete opposite. She didn't like letting others push her around, nor did she tolerate being pushed around herself.

She stayed where she was, not giving up her warmed spot as she usually would.

The three who'd just entered stood in front of her for a moment, awkwardly settling into seats farther away.

Director Zhang flashed his usual kindly smile, though a silk scarf he'd found from who-knows-where was wrapped around his head, making his normally commanding face look utterly ridiculous.

"Little Song, how much food do we have left?"

Song Weishi found that face disgusting. He was pretending nothing had happened, even though he'd nearly killed her yesterday.

Her face was expressionless: "Sorry, Director, I don't have any food left."

Director Zhang's face changed, barely holding onto his smile, and he asked urgently, "Didn't you say there was half a bag of snacks? When did they run out?"

Song Weishi gave a faint smile: "Director, didn't you say you didn't like them?"

When they'd first arrived, the original owner had bought a lot of food that took up a huge chunk of the trunk. Director Zhang had shown displeasure on his face, even scolding her for buying so much and taking up so much space.

She'd explained it was for everyone, and Director Zhang had called it wasteful, saying they could just find a place to buy instant noodles during the trip instead of bothering with all that hassle.

The original owner hadn't even made him carry a single thing, yet even so, he made it out to be a hassle—while he shoveled food into his mouth the whole ride.

"That's different. This food is our only supply now. Communications are down, and who knows when rescue will come. Little Song, I know I spoke a bit harshly before, but you shouldn't hold a grudge. I only did it for your own good. How can young people not take a little criticism?"

Song Weishi stood up, cutting off Director Zhang's rambling. The more he talked, the more self-righteous he became, and the faces of the three others also soured.

Song Weishi took a step forward, gripping the sole of her shoe, and walked right up to Director Zhang.

The frozen-leather shoe was like a brick, slamming hard across Director Zhang's face.

He didn't have time to react. Two loose teeth flew out, his glasses fell to the ground and shattered in two, and he collapsed facedown on the floor. The room went dead silent—you could hear a pin drop. Everyone stared at Song Weishi, utterly dumbfounded.