Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 69: Old Zhou... Deja vu

Chapter 69: Old Zhou... Deja vu

March 17th, 20xx — 2:17 PM

Zone 2A-Δ – Apartment 205

—

The hallway here was quiet. Too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet you get from peace, but the brittle silence that builds after people give up. The kind that sinks into the floorboards and stains the walls. You could feel it in the way the air hung still. In the smell of burnt wiring, old shoe polish, and rust.

I raised a fist and knocked once.

A pause.

Then a voice, low and tired. "It’s open."

I pushed the door gently.

The interior smelled of grease, metal, and cigarettes. Tools lay scattered across a dismantled old scooter. The living room looked like a workshop, and a bunker had a one-night stand, then decided to raise a kid in a closet.

The man behind the mess sat hunched on a stool, one leg braced with a reinforced knee brace made from salvaged scrap. He didn’t look surprised to see me. Just tired.

His eyes flicked up, and I caught the same stare I used to see in the mirror on my worst days. That mix of fatigue and readiness. The look of a man who’d been through enough to stop hoping things would get better, and started preparing for when they got worse.

"You must be the new top floor guy," he said without smiling. "Got a loud reputation."

I didn’t respond immediately. My gaze scanned the cluttered room—scrap metal sorted into old bread bins, spare wiring coiled neatly beside a cold cup of instant coffee. Despite the mess, everything had its place.

"Are you a mechanic?" I asked.

"Used to be. Still got the hands. Just not the leg to go with them."

I nodded. "Name’s John."

"Zhou."

We stood in silence for a beat. Just long enough to make it uncomfortable.

"Did you come for anything specific?" he finally asked. "Or are you just checking who’s still breathing?"

"I’m recruiting," I said, plain and simple.

He didn’t blink. Just shifted on the stool and leaned over, adjusting the torque wrench without looking at me.

"You’d better tell me what that means. Real slow."

And I did.

"I’m building something upstairs," I told him. "Territory. Walls. Power. Storage. It’s safe, it’s clean, and it’s got room for the right people."

Zhou didn’t lift his head. He just twisted the wrench once, checking resistance, and set it down with a clunk.

"Sounds like a cult."

"It’s not."

He chuckled dryly. "They always say that."

I stepped further in, careful not to knock over the container of ball bearings beside the door. "It’s a system, alright? Not religion. You help out, contribute... I provide food, medicine, protection."

Zhou finally looked up. His gaze drifted over me for a moment, lingered a little too long on the clean fabric of my shirt, the smooth metal buttons, the faint scent of soap that still clung to me.

"You don’t smell like someone who’s been scavenging," he muttered.

"I haven’t needed to," I said truthfully.

That made him pause.

I didn’t press. Just walked to the far wall, touched the metal pan where an old picture frame leaned half-buried under wires.

It was a photo. Faded, scratched, but still holding on. A woman with tired eyes, soft cheeks. A girl—maybe eight? Nine? Messy hair, proud smile. Zhou stood behind them in overalls.

"My wife died two years before all this started," he said quietly. "Cancer. Nothing heroic. Just... slow."

I nodded, not pretending to understand.

"My daughter’s still out there," he added, more to himself than to me. "She was studying in Linbei, the northern Campus. One of the first Safe Zones. If she’s alive, she’s there."

His voice didn’t shake. That’s what made it worse.

"That’s why you’re still here?" I asked.

"I promised her I’d hold the place until she came back."

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I didn’t.

Zhou rubbed his knee once. "I can’t fight. Not like I used to."

"Can you use a gun? Maybe drive, if I help get that leg fixed?" I kept my tone casual, but my gaze didn’t leave his. There were tremors in his hands, sure, but the old man didn’t shake like someone useless. His spine was still straight. His voice still carried weight.

It wasn’t impossible.

The system store had things that could heal things like arthritis, so a bad knee should be nothing!

He gave a dry grunt. "Sure. You got a time machine in that backpack, too?"

"Not a time machine," I said. "But maybe something close."

He looked up. Just a flick of the eyes, nothing more.

"There’s... medicine," I said, choosing the word carefully. "Experimental stuff. Military prototype, maybe. It helped someone who was supposed to die a few days ago. She’s walking now."

Zhou didn’t speak.

He just sat there in that too-low chair, knuckles resting against his cane, eyes locked somewhere in the grain of the floorboards. Not sceptical or hopeful. Just... still.

I didn’t rush him.

Guys like Zhou had already buried too many people to get excited over maybes.

"You’re thinking I’m trying to sell you something," I said.

He snorted without smiling. "Kid, I sold machine parts out of a storage closet for three decades. You think this old dog doesn’t know when someone’s working the hook?"

"I’m not selling," I said. "I’m offering. You’ve got skills. Experience. People like that are dying every hour out there. But I can’t feed mouths unless they give something back. I need drivers. Fixers. Steady hands."

Still no answer.

"You have someone out there?" I asked. "Someone worth sticking around for?"

Zhou’s jaw twitched. Then he reached slowly to his back pocket and took out a worn wallet.

No money. Just two photos.

One was yellowed and cracked—an old wedding picture. Black suit, red cheongsam, both of them smiling in a way people don’t anymore.

The other... was of a girl.

Bright-eyed, wearing a university uniform. Long hair tied in a tight bun. The photo was newer but dog-eared like it’d been touched too many times.

"My daughter," he said finally, voice low. "Studying up north. Said they were turning the place into a shelter. Haven’t heard from her since the second night."

"Which university?"

"Linbei campus," Zhou answered after a beat. "Longwan University."

The name landed like a weight in my gut. I’d seen it—on the map, during one of the late-night scans before sleep had a chance to claw me down. The edges had been red. But the core? Still green.

I didn’t say anything.

Instead, I pulled open the system interface, flicking my fingers low at waist height where Zhou couldn’t see. It responded immediately—soft blue icons overlaying my vision. I leaned slightly toward the wall, letting my body angle away just enough to mask the movements.

[TERRITORY SCAN: EXPANDED REGION]

Searching: Longwan University — Linbei Campus...

Status: GREEN ZONE CONFIRMED

Last Updated: 03:27 AM, March 17

Estimated Survivors: 200-400

Military Presence: Minimal

Known Threats: Stage 1 Clusters nearby, slow migration

Infrastructure Status: Semi-Stable

[REMARK: Human activity detected. Evac operations failed. Survivors created an autonomous defence loop.]

A rare flicker of hope stirred in my chest.

"She might still be there," I said slowly. "No guarantees. But it’s standing, if you can help me I will arrange a group to head north within three days."

"W-What?"

Zhou let out a breath he didn’t seem to know he’d been holding. His eyes didn’t light up, but his hand gripping the arm tightened enough to tear the old leather. He didn’t cry. But the way he dropped the wooden cane... that said enough.

To hide using the system, I squatted and picked up the stick.

"You ever drink, Zhou?" I asked after a moment.

"When I could afford it."

I reached into my inventory and materialised a bottle of whiskey—nothing fancy. Just a half-drunk bottle from my old apartment, stashed before the world turned to rot. I followed it with two glasses. Real ones. Not plastic.

Zhou’s eyes widened slightly.

"You’re full of surprises."

"I ration for the right moments." I poured evenly. No toast. No words.

He accepted the glass, and we sat me on a cracked tool chest, him still in that crooked seat by the wall. He turned the dial on an old, battered radio sitting beside him. It buzzed and crackled for a few seconds, then landed on something almost musical. Some old broadcast, maybe still looping out of habit.

For a few minutes, we didn’t speak.

Just the occasional creak of the building above, the faint rattle of wind through the window cracks, and the hum of that static-choked signal.

He finally spoke again. "I’ll fix anything you need. Can’t fight, but my hands still know how to hold a wrench. But I do have some skill in shooting, but that was decades ago."

"That’s all I need. I will help you get what you need."

He tapped his glass once against mine.

"To the stubborn bastards," he said.

I drank with him and enjoyed a moment of calm, letting it burn its way down, slow and warm.

For the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel dangerous.

I wouldn’t let another die like Old Lei, and if I could... then I would learn their stories beforehand to avoid tragedy.

’A young woman at university, and talented people...’

Though my true goal was selfish, the whiskey was still sweet.

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