Apocalyptic Hoarding Diary

As the policewoman walked over, Xu Xiaoyan was looking up at the red light.

The policewoman's voice was very soft, as if she didn't want to startle the young woman. "Would you like to come back to the station with me?"

Xu Xiaoyan did not refuse.

She followed the policewoman back to the police station, sat in a small office, and drank another glass of water, this time a warm glass, with fine water droplets condensing on the glass.

The policewoman sat opposite her and talked to her. She talked a lot, and Xu Xiaoyan listened, sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking her head, and sometimes not reacting at all.

The policewoman said, "You're still young, you have a long road ahead of you."

The policewoman said, "Your adoptive parents certainly wouldn't want you to be like this."

The policewoman said, "If you have any difficulties, you can tell me, and I will help you if I can."

Xu Xiaoyan felt nothing as she listened to those words.

Those words were all true, all good, all well-intentioned—but they couldn't get in. There was a wall in her heart, high and thick, that kept everything out.

The policewoman already knew about her situation—she had just come of age, had just lost her adoptive parents, had no other relatives, and lived alone in the apartment left by her adoptive parents.

She looked into Xu Xiaoyan's empty eyes, remained silent for a long time, and then said, "Come home with me and stay for a few days."

Xu Xiaoyan has left.

The policewoman's home is in an old neighborhood. The house is small, with two bedrooms and a living room, and five people live there: her husband, parents, and son.

The living room was cluttered with things, people were sitting on the sofa, the TV was on, and the aroma of food wafted from the kitchen.

The policewoman cooked her a meal, stir-fried three dishes, and stewed a pot of soup.

The family gathered around the table, serving her food and asking if she liked it. They told her not to be shy. The little boy was lying on the other side of the table, secretly watching her. When she noticed, he quickly lowered his head and started eating.

Xu Xiaoyan sat at the lively dining table, looking at the family in front of her, and suddenly came to her senses.

This is someone else's home; she is an outsider. These acts of kindness are genuine, but they don't belong to her.

Seeing that she was determined to leave, the policewoman saw her to the door with a worried expression.

"Call me if anything happens," the policewoman said, her eyes still showing concern.

Xu Xiaoyan nodded.

She knew she wouldn't.

When I walked out of that old residential area, it was already dark, and the streetlights were on, casting long shadows.

Xu Xiaoyan walked to the bus stop, waited for the bus, boarded, swiped her card, and sat down.

The lights outside the car window receded one by one.

She opened her eyes, looked at her reflection in the car window, and suddenly tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Now nobody cares whether she eats pickled foods or not, or what time she goes to bed, what time she gets up, whether she eats breakfast, or whether she has a stomachache.

Xu Xiaoyan shook her head, trying not to dwell on the past. The person was gone, and she had to make sure she lived a better life so that her adoptive parents could rest in peace.

She picked up a half-full glass of water, drank it all in one gulp, then put the glass back on the coffee table, picked up her phone, and opened that website again.

Actually, she had wanted to contact the private instructor who taught self-defense yesterday. Her finger hovered over the post for two seconds before she finally swiped over it.

It's not that I don't want to order, it's that I'm afraid to order.

She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to learn something real. She had plenty of strength, which she had developed while working illegally at the orphanage. She was never inferior to anyone when it came to moving or carrying things.

But she lacked skills and techniques, and didn't know how to act, defend herself, or break free from others when faced with a real situation.

She may have strength, but if a fight really broke out, she would only get beaten up.

Therefore, having more skills means having more ways to make a living.

But she didn't dare to order it.

This black market website is so strange. It's not one of those obviously fake scam websites that looks ridiculous at first glance. On the contrary, it's too normal, so normal that it's unsettling.

The interface is simple, the functions are clear, the posts are reasonably categorized, the posting time is real, and there is even a complete user credit system. Each ID is followed by a credit score, with positive reviews adding points and negative reviews deducting points, just like Taobao.

Who built this website? Where is the server located? Who maintains it? Who reviews it? Do those selling weapons actually have the weapons, or are they just gathering information? Are those buying medicine genuinely in need, or is it something else entirely?

Most importantly—has this website address caught the attention of the higher-ups at the base?

What if this is a bait post?

What if this is a trap set by higher-ups specifically to arrest dangerous individuals?

At this time, although the government encourages the development of small businesses, it has never relaxed its control over dangerous goods.

If she clicks into the weapons section and those posts, will she be targeted? Will someone check her IP address, her identity, or everything about her?

So she held back.

After thinking about it all night, she realized it wasn't a big deal; it was just a self-defense technique, nothing serious.

A single woman learns some skills to protect herself, and she can speak confidently wherever she goes.

Even if she gets caught, even if someone comes to investigate her, she can explain. After all, she doesn't have any ulterior motives or secret plans. She just wants to learn how to protect herself.

What's wrong with that?

What's wrong with saying this?

Even if that website really is a phishing post, a trap set by higher-ups, so what? She's just contacting a private instructor who teaches self-defense; she's not going to buy a crossbow or exchange for guns and ammunition.

After figuring this out, she went straight to the category tabs and found the weapons category.

Then she opened her private messages and started typing.

Hello, I would like to learn self-defense.

After typing that line, she paused, thought for a moment, and then added: "I'm a girl with zero experience. I want to learn some practical skills that can protect me. Can you give me a price?"

She read the two lines of text again and pressed the send button.

Sent successfully.

She waited for a while.

My phone vibrated.

There was an unread message. She clicked on it, and then she froze.

The sender is not Iron Fist.

The ID displayed is: Lao Zhou.

She stared at those two words for several seconds. She hadn't contacted anyone named Lao Zhou. She had clearly contacted Iron Fist, the private instructor who taught self-defense. How could it be Lao Zhou replying to her?

She scrolled up to make sure she hadn't sent it to the wrong person.

Yes, the message she sent is still there, and the recipient is clearly listed as "Iron Fist," but the person who replied to her was this guy named Lao Zhou.

What happened?

She resisted her curiosity and clicked on it.

Old Zhou: Hello, Ye Hui.

When Xu Xiaoyan saw the words "Ye Hui," she realized that this was her username on the website.

She continued reading.

Old Zhou: I am your black market intermediary. This website uses a middleman model for communication and transactions. To ensure the privacy and security of our clients, I am the one who relays and communicates everything.

If you enjoy stories about surviving the apocalypse by stockpiling supplies, please bookmark: Apocalypse Stockpiling Survival Story