Reborn As A Doomsday Villainess
Chapter 219

Chapter 219: 219

The silence that followed was thick and grim.

The men stared at her, some with defiance, some with disbelief. But none moved.

Qingran’s eyes darkened, and her voice dropped, quiet and deadly.

"I’m not repeating myself."

Blue light flickered at her fingertips again. A single spark flared, streaking through the air like a shooting star and embedding itself in a plastic crate. It didn’t explode, not yet — but the faint sizzle, the way the plastic blackened and melted in seconds, was more than enough warning.

The pockmarked man with the missing teeth jerked back. "S-She’s insane!"

"No," one of the younger men murmured, finally stepping forward with a grunt. "She’s serious. Come on, move the damn shelves."

He shoved aside a stack of crates. It scraped loudly against the floor.

Qingran didn’t blink.

"Good," she said, her tone still icy. "Stack everything to the west wall. Leave two exits clear. I want open lines of sight and no choke points."

"And why the hell should we take orders from you?" one of the others muttered bitterly.

She turned her gaze on him.

"You want sixty people here working with you, watching your walls, scouting for threats, providing food? Then you follow the person who brought all that. I don’t ask for obedience. I require basic coordination so none of you die unnecessarily."

The man looked away. Said nothing more.

Slowly, like thawing ice, the others began to move. Pallets were lifted, crates were shoved aside, the barriers that once formed the perimeter of their safe zone were dismantled bit by bit. The clatter of metal and plastic filled the air.

Qingran sat where she was, watching every movement with the cold patience of someone who had commanded the line between life and death far too many times. She didn’t need to micromanage. Fear was a sharper whip than she could ever wield by hand.

Rong hadn’t moved. He stood by the rear watch station, jaw clenched, shotgun still slung across his chest. He was watching her just as closely as she watched his men.

"Where the hell did you come from?" he asked finally.

"Zone One," Qingran said simply. "The part that’s still standing because of me."

"You were military?"

"No."

"Government?"

"No."

"Then what?"

She leaned back slightly, as if amused. "Dead. Once."

That earned a visible reaction — a slow blink, a subtle shift of his stance.

"You’re one of those system-marked," Rong muttered, as if confirming it to himself. "Rumors said some came back different. Stronger. Crazier."

Qingran shrugged. "I don’t care what the rumors say. I care about results. You want to survive this apocalypse or not?"

Rong didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her, hard and unreadable.

But eventually, he gave a grunt and turned toward his people. "Finish clearing out the center! Leave the front half open. Make space."

The men moved faster now, perhaps out of sheer relief. Qingran didn’t smile, but the frost in her expression melted, just slightly. The message had been received. Her group would come in. And no one would dare touch a hair on their heads.

---

It took just under an hour for the space to be cleared and the barricades restructured to form internal zones — Qingran directed the flow like a general on a battlefield. She had the west side set for sleeping arrangements, the north for food storage, and the center cleared as a communal space. Her attention to detail was not lost on the supermarket residents, who began to notice how methodical everything was.

When the front doors creaked again and Yu Song and Xu Tianming returned with the rest of the group, the entrance had been widened. Qingran stood to greet them, her expression calm and composed once again.

Yu Song looked around, impressed despite himself. "You did all this?"

"No," she said. "I made them do it."

Xu Tianming gave a low whistle. "Damn."

Behind them, the survivors followed in small clusters — thirty adults, a few teens, three children, and a baby strapped to his mother’s chest. They were quiet, eyes cautious as they entered the new space, clearly aware that their safety wasn’t yet guaranteed.

But they looked to Qingran. Always her.

"Everyone, inside. Keep tight," she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the air. "We’ll settle along the west wall. Guards, rotate every four hours. No wandering. Stick to our group. Let no one separate you."

Qingran’s words fell like steady rainfall—measured, calm, and impossible to ignore. The atmosphere, which had been taut with tension, eased slightly. The newcomers began to shuffle toward the west wall, where the makeshift sleeping area was being finalized.

The supermarket’s residents parted to allow the group through. No one dared object this time. Even Rong kept his silence, arms crossed as he watched the survivors file in. Some of his men looked uneasy. Others, resigned. A few, grudgingly impressed.

Yu Song helped guide the children toward the softer bedding Qingran had designated for families. Xu Tianming moved alongside the teens, giving them low instructions on where to place their belongings. The space wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, organized, and—most importantly—safe.

As the last of the group settled down, Qingran opened a heavy black duffel. She pulled out bundles of neatly folded futons, followed by thermal blankets. She handed them out with quiet efficiency, noting who took what, adjusting as needed.

"Stack extras near the food crates," she said to Yu Song. "We’ll need them for rotations or emergencies."

"Got it," he replied, taking an armful and moving toward the north zone.

The people from her group moved with silent efficiency, already accustomed to Qingran’s firm but fair command. They broke into smaller clusters, guiding children, supporting the elderly, and helping lay out futons without needing to be told twice. There were no confused looks or uncertain murmurs—these were survivors she had trained, fed, and protected. They trusted her, and it showed.

She distributed the bedding quickly. Yu Song and Xu Tianming moved beside her, passing along blankets, adjusting sleeping spaces so no one was cramped. When one of the toddlers started fussing, someone passed over a soft piece of preserved fruit—calming him instantly.

The west wall filled quickly. Men took positions toward the outer edge, instinctively placing themselves between their people and any potential threat. Women and children rested closer to the center, where it was warmest. Even the baby, securely wrapped against his mother’s chest, had quieted into sleep.

From the far side of the supermarket, Rong and his men watched.

They weren’t used to this kind of order. Their barricades had been crude, their space barely organized. People had argued over scraps, slept where they fell, trusted only those they knew—and barely even then.

One of Rong’s own stepped forward hesitantly. He was thin and long-limbed, with a nervous tick in one eye. His hands were shoved in his pockets as if trying to disappear into his coat. He kept glancing between Qingran and the people now settling down quietly on the west side.

He cleared his throat.

"Hey... uh..." His voice cracked. "Are we... allowed to eat too?"

The question drew some stares, mostly from his side.

Qingran didn’t blink. "Did you bring food?"

His ears reddened. "No, but..."

She looked past him toward Rong, who was leaning against a support beam nearby, arms crossed and jaw set.

"Since we’re partners, when it’s time to eat, you’ll also be given food. Do you have any other questions?"

The man nodded "Can I have a blanket? It’s usually quite cold at night and we sleep on the bare floor so..."

"I don’t have any blanket for you, but I have a jacket and gloves. I think you’ll be bullied out of your blanket if I give it to you."

The man bowed "Thank you so much."

Qingran handed him an insulated jacket from her system stock tough on the outside, fleece-lined within along with a pair of thermal gloves.

The man accepted them like precious gifts, clutching them to his chest with shaking fingers. He didn’t speak again, only bowed deeply once more before retreating to the cluster of Rong’s men.

The others watched him return, some with surprise, some with unreadable expressions.

One or two looked envious. But none dared speak out loud. The hierarchy had shiftedbnot with bloodshed, not with gunfire but with precision, force of will, and that quiet, lethal authority Qingran wore like a second skin.

Yu Song came back just then, brushing dust off his hands. He gave Qingran a look of approval. "All accounted for. No one’s wandering. They’ve settled fast."

"Good," she said.

Xu Tianming appeared beside them with a faint grin. "You think they’ll behave tonight?"

"They’ll behave," Qingran replied flatly. "Fear’s a better sedative than warm milk."

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