Chapter 1

The meteor shower brought about a cataclysmic disaster, with unknown elements causing mutations in animals and invisible microorganisms bringing countless epidemics.

Humanity, besides battling their own diseases, had to fight against the mutated animals. The omnipresent threats and the countless, hard-to-resist mutated microorganisms, diseases, and disasters halted and even reversed the progress of civilization.

Prosperous cities became ruins, and vast fertile lands turned into hell.

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Fang Zhao couldn't remember how long he had survived in that near-apocalyptic world, or how long he had fought.

Ninety years? Or a hundred?

He couldn't recall.

Before the apocalypse, he was a somewhat famous composer, his career on the rise. Just as he was about to unveil his most得意的作品, the world-ending battle began. To survive, he fled and fought, leading a team.

As the lost territories were gradually reclaimed, just when everyone thought the world-ending battle was about to end and prosperity would return, he fell in the darkness before dawn.

...

"Without the determination to die, this war is bound to fail."

"So, the world's 8 billion people have now become 80 million."

"Lao Zhao, do you think we will win?"

"We will."

"I'm not afraid of death; I'm afraid that so many lives won't be enough to secure victory."

"We will win."

"That's good. After the victory, I'll find a place to start over with herding. Sigh, the pastures of my childhood, the blue sky, and the green grass... Forget it, I can't remember. Lao Zhao, what about you? Will you become a composer again?"

"'Again'? I never let it go."

...

Fang Zhao suddenly remembered a conversation he had with his comrade, Su Mu.

The shouts of his subordinates before his death, the roars of the mutated creatures, seemed to fade away. The pain from decades of injuries and fatal wounds disappeared completely, and his body began to regain sensation.

The vitality, like a withered tree coming back to life, puzzled Fang Zhao. After all, he was over a hundred years old, an elderly man with numerous injuries and missing fingers. Even though his body had undergone partial mutations and his constitution had improved due to self-defense in the apocalypse, the constant injuries and his advanced age made him feel like a machine running beyond its capacity. It was impossible for him to be in such a relaxed state.

Just as Fang Zhao was about to carefully feel his body, his head began to ache as if pierced by needles. Countless unfamiliar images flooded his mind, crowding it to the point of almost exploding.

As he gradually regained control of his body, Fang Zhao suddenly opened his eyes, sat up, and took deep breaths. The fatigue from overusing his brain made his vision momentarily dark, but as the headache eased, his vision cleared, and he keenly noticed the abnormality around him.

His instincts and perception, honed through countless battles, told him he was in an unfamiliar place...

No!

Not an unfamiliar place!

An image appeared in his mind, one that seemed very familiar.

This was his home.

He was Fang Zhao, yet not Fang Zhao.

He had died in that world-ending battle, but now he was alive again, in the body of another person named Fang Zhao.

Alive again!!

Fang Zhao raised his hands, looking at his ten intact, young fingers, and moved his legs, which felt weak but had no pain.

This was a young, healthy body!

His mind contained not only his own memories, but also the vivid scenes of the battlefield before his death, the nearly hundred years of fleeing and fighting, and the memories of this body.

This young man named Fang Zhao was only twenty-three, about to finish his higher education.

He was a young composer.

Unfortunately...

He was dumped right after graduation, fired right after starting work, and betrayed by a friend he thought would stand by him. The friend stole all his three months of work, and under the series of blows, he chose a way to solve his troubles—suicide.

Fang Zhao couldn't understand why someone would give up their life in such a good world, after the apocalypse had ended.

Just because he was dumped?

Just because his music was stolen?

Just because he was betrayed by a good friend?

So what?!

Did the sky fall?

People in the apocalypse would do everything to survive, and they couldn't understand why someone would commit suicide over such trivial matters.

However, this was the peaceful era after the apocalypse, and people's thoughts were different. Fang Zhao himself had experienced the peaceful era, but the memories had been blurred by countless bloody battles.

What were people's thoughts in the peaceful era?

It didn't matter. Whatever the case, it had already happened.

Fang Zhao searched through the other part of the body's memories, sighing and feeling angry at the lack of resolve. Choosing such a way to deal with the situation was too cowardly, an escape. The original owner was dead, and the person who stole his work was living a carefree life, having become successful. Was his death worth it?

Fang Zhao himself thought it was not worth it at all. Revenge in this life, who knows if there would be a next life.

However, the original owner couldn't face the situation, but Fang Zhao was different.

People who had experienced the apocalypse had a different mindset from those in the peaceful era.

The more memories he searched, the more amazed Fang Zhao became.

There really was a new world...

So many years of fighting, so many years of hellish life, were worth it! While searching through the body's original memories, Fang Zhao didn't neglect to investigate his surroundings. He never fully relaxed his guard, a habit from the apocalypse that had helped him survive for so long.

When the sounds of a small animal grew louder, Fang Zhao temporarily stopped searching through the body's memories and turned his head.

He had already sensed another life form in the small room, but it posed no threat and showed no intention of attacking. In the apocalypse, such things were usually not mutated beasts, so he hadn't paid much attention. Now, with the sounds growing louder, he focused on it.

It was a small dog, its fur matted and dirty, covered in unknown substances. The dog was very thin, almost just skin and bones.

The original owner had picked up this stray dog before committing suicide.

The original owner had given the dog a final, extra meal the night before, eating half himself and giving the other half to the dog—both portions contained the drugs bought from the pharmacy for the suicide.

On a nearby table was an empty bowl, the drugged food already eaten by the original owner, while the dog's plate still contained the same food from the night before, untouched.

In the memories, the dog had been in poor condition the night before, barely able to stand. After a night, it seemed a bit more energetic, but still had difficulty standing. It lay on its side, tilting its head and twisting its neck to look at Fang Zhao, wagging its tail and staring with black eyes.

Fang Zhao moved his legs, still feeling weak but able to walk.

As his feet touched the ground, the solid sensation made his heart beat faster.

To confirm the reality of what he was seeing, Fang Zhao walked carefully and seriously.

One step, two steps...

From the initial slow, cautious movements, he gradually sped up, every cell in his body excited by the emotions transmitted from his brain.

From death to life, how fortunate!

Walking to where the dog lay, Fang Zhao squatted down, picked up the plate with the drugged food, and threw it in the trash.

Seeing Fang Zhao's actions, the dog seemed to perk up a bit, its eyes gaining some life.

There was no food left in the house, so Fang Zhao, following the body's memories, took a bowl from the cabinet. He touched the bowl, confirming it was not a material he was familiar with. It looked like ceramic but felt more like a plastic composite, very light.

There were some vague memories about new materials in his mind, and Fang Zhao knew it was a material that could quickly degrade under specific conditions without releasing harmful substances.

Without further investigation, Fang Zhao filled the bowl with water from the sink and placed it in front of the dog.

The dog, which had been lying there, wobbled to its feet, looking like it might fall over but managed to stand. It lowered its head to drink the water, its tail wagging slightly.

Even a stray dog struggled to stay alive.

Fang Zhao looked at the dog and then focused on the small room.

The space was about twenty square meters, cramped and messy, with the corner in a state of disarray. However, the memories in his mind told him that before yesterday, that corner had been the neatest part of the room.

The small, four-square-meter space in the corner was where the original owner composed music, completing songs over the past two months.

Many of the tools and decorations in the room were unfamiliar, and the household appliances were ones Fang Zhao had never seen before. However, he could understand everything from the memories in his mind, so as long as he fully integrated the memories, he would have no problem surviving here.

Fang Zhao approached a spot and pressed a small button on the wall. A waist-high cabinet extended from the wall, with a mirror above it.

Without studying the materials of the mirror and cabinet, Fang Zhao carefully examined the person in the mirror.

The original owner looked somewhat similar to Fang Zhao, though Fang Zhao couldn't remember what he looked like when he was young. However, seeing the face in the mirror, Fang Zhao found a sense of familiarity, not based on the body's memories but on his own.

It was really... a fateful connection.

Although he didn't know why he had obtained this healthy body and disagreed with the original owner's actions, since he had inherited the body and the memories, Fang Zhao felt a sense of responsibility.

Staring into the eyes in the mirror, Fang Zhao said seriously:

The life you didn't want, I will take.

The grudges you have, I will avenge!

The debts you owe, I will repay!

Your dream is to become a world-renowned composer? Perfect, that's my dream too.

Fang Zhao had great ambitions, but this was a new, unfamiliar world. No matter how much ambition he had, it had to be based on reality and his own abilities. The unfulfilled wishes from before the apocalypse might be realized here.

Anyone can talk big, but before adapting to the environment and understanding his own capabilities, it was just empty talk.

Pushing the cabinet back into the wall, Fang Zhao walked to the window and opened it.

It was almost noon, and the weather outside was clear. The curtains had been pulled back, but the room was still dim because this was the Black Street, a place similar to a slum.

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