A Single Misstep

Jiang Qingrou closed the window and stepped back inside. She didn't care where that person was headed, as long as she wasn't bothered. For now, she needed to recover her health quickly, prepare herself, and follow in Song Weishi's footsteps out of this place.

Though survival was possible in the short term, no one could last long in this frozen wasteland without supplies. The world outside had changed, and she couldn't afford to wait until her provisions ran dry to think of a plan.

Jiang Qingrou gazed in the direction Song Weishi had gone and began gathering her belongings.

Meanwhile, Song Weishi had settled in, completely unaware that Xie Yi had already reached her previous location from yesterday. Still, she figured the other woman wouldn't be far behind—just where exactly, she couldn't say. The snow left obvious tracks, and at first, she'd nearly overlooked the fact that someone could follow them. As long as it didn't snow again, her trail would be easy to spot.

Fortunately, today she'd traveled across the frozen lake, leaving virtually no trace on the ice. Even if Xie Yi managed to reach Jiang Qingrou's position, she wouldn't be able to track her here.

The villa's interior was bare concrete, barely finished. Song Weishi remembered staying in similar houses back in the countryside in her original world—impressive on the outside, but no money left for the inside. Concrete walls radiated cold, and when heating such a space, you had to raise the brazier off the floor, or the thermal expansion could crack the cement.

She found a small room with no furniture, perfect for setting up her bed. She installed the stovepipe she'd salvaged from the stone house into an existing vent—it fit surprisingly well. The window had a bit of a draft, but she stuffed a cushion into the gap.

The room soon warmed up, and she calculated the day's progress. Traveling along the frozen waterway, she'd covered a remarkable hundred kilometers. By car, it would have taken about two hours, but with her beat-up vehicle and skis, she'd managed quite a distance. If not for the risk of getting caught in the dark, she could have pushed further.

It felt like a caveman stumbling back into modern society.

Yet her mood grew heavier with each kilometer. Even this far out, the temperature remained bitingly cold. Were all those different weather patterns mentioned in the novel only occurring in other countries? Or were they seasonal? If the latter, her trek was pointless.

She chewed on some roasted meat, irritation creeping in. "System, did you even read the synopsis of this novel? Why haven't we reached the destination yet?"

She'd already covered nearly four hundred kilometers in a straight line, far faster than any conventional route. Only about a hundred remained—just two days away. The map's route had become clearer too. Song Weishi dipped her meat in seasoning and took another bite.

The system replied, "Apologies, Host. The synopsis contains no specific directions, so I am unable to provide assistance in this regard."

"You may go," Song Weishi said.

"°ω° Understood."

"Wait," she called out. "Can you at least offer some alternative route conveniences?"

"Apologies, Host. This function is not available at the moment."

Song Weishi closed her eyes, suppressing her frustration. Nothing useful when she needed it, yet she'd been given a space—she supposed she should be grateful. She opened today's supermarket cart. Three items were loading.

Today's items updated:

Drone ×1

Latest communication wristband ×1

Heavy-duty cooling machine ×1

Song Weishi blinked in disbelief. What was this? All electronics? And what was she supposed to do with a cooling machine? She was already in an icebox—a freezer would feel like a furnace in here. Without exaggeration, this thing was utterly useless.

Darkness crept over her vision. Today's haul had to be the worst yet.

But she quickly let it go. No power or network now didn't mean things would stay that way outside. Maybe she'd have internet coverage once she got out.

"System," she called.

"Hello, Host."

She had an idea. "Can you charge things?"

After she spoke, she noticed the system fell silent for a moment. Since it could pull such items, she refused to waste any chance to interrogate it.

"I'm afraid not..." the system finally said.

Song Weishi narrowed her eyes and set down her tongs. "'Afraid'? I recall we agreed not to hide things from each other. Are you keeping something from me?"

The familiar voice didn't answer, and she knew it was playing dead again.

"System!" she shouted, her voice rattling the glass.

"Haha, Host, here's your one-day electricity card. Enjoy!"

Song Weishi, full and satisfied, lounged on the bed, turning the card over in her hands. The system had exchanged its energy points to create it. Those points, after conversion from earlier rewards, hadn't vanished—they became energy sustaining the system itself. Its needs were minimal, since it hadn't actually helped her much, leaving its reserves untouched.

According to the system, without her recent killings, no new energy had come in, so it would've remained dormant. She hadn't asked, so it had quietly kept the points for itself—but once she questioned it, it couldn't lie or hide the truth, and had to cough them up.

The one-day card could be used at any time, paused, and stored in her space—quite convenient, meaning charging her phone was no longer an issue.

She wanted more cards, but after several calls, her mind stayed empty. No matter how she coaxed or threatened, the system refused to respond, apparently blocking her out.

Exasperated, she muttered about its stinginess but kept calling anyway, all while pulling out her phone to play an offline game. Days without touching it had left her itching.

After a hot shower, she settled into bed, already anticipating tomorrow's journey. Outside, the wind howled like a banshee, but she drifted into a dreamless sleep, warm and cozy.

The next morning, she packed up and set out, but the system, still sulking, remained silent.

Muttering about its pettiness, she departed, the terrain sloping gently downhill, letting her glide without effort. Yet something felt off—terrain usually undulated naturally, but here it only descended. She checked the map: the direction was right, and a roadside sign read "Reservoir."

She skied forward into a vast expanse of white. Wearing sunglasses she'd picked up from who-knows-where, her visibility was limited, though she could still dodge obstacles.

As she glided, the slope grew steeper. She stopped her poles, trying to brake—then suddenly, the ground vanished beneath her feet. A terrifying sensation of weightlessness seized her, and with a scream, she plummeted straight down!