Summer said, "See you tonight," and got into the car.
The vehicle slipped into the midday traffic almost immediately—taillights blinking twice, then gone.
Ethan stayed on the steps outside the Civil Affairs Bureau, the brand-new red booklet still warm in his hand. He stood there in silence for a few seconds.
The wind was hot, brushing his cheek, but it didn't feel like it got inside him.
Yesterday he had been a "human shield"—a temporary boyfriend, a role.
Today he was a legal husband.
He lowered his eyes to the certificate and couldn't help a faint curve of the mouth.
"Day twelve after rebirth, and I'm married again."
"Fate really loves contrast."
He didn't celebrate loudly. He didn't perform emotion. But the warmth Summer had given him in his last life had crossed the gap into this one, and that part of him was honest:
He loved her.
He slid the marriage certificate into his pocket, as if storing it away also stored away any "relaxed mood" that might have tried to rise with it.
He couldn't soften.
Not now.
He had people he wanted to protect.
And in the short term, one word mattered most:
Food.
Fifty-five thousand tons of staple grain was the ten-year plan.
But beneath that, in his mind, there was an even quieter, harder baseline—less flashy, more absolute:
Before anything else… put ten years' worth of food and water for ten thousand people into the Storage Space.
That thought tightened his focus.
He turned and walked toward a café nearby.
He ordered an iced Americano, sat by the window, and let his consciousness slide into the Storage Space.
A holographic interface unfolded in front of him, as if the air itself had become a screen. He tapped lightly, pulling up the storage progress table he'd built.
Staple Storage Progress — V1
— Rice: First batch 5,000 tons shipped; ETA within three days.
— Flour: Two suppliers negotiated; contract value pending signature.
— Corn + Millet: Three grain traders splitting supply; first batches already en route.
— Sweet potato (dehydrated): Samples delivered; random QC underway.
"Flour…"
His eyes lingered on the "pending" line, and his brow creased slightly.
In his staple structure, rice was the foundation, flour was the muscle. Corn, millet, and sweet potato were heavy calories—simple, stable energy.
But something crucial for actual daily eating was still missing.
Dried noodles.
Instant noodles were convenient, but he couldn't rely on them. Too much oil, too many additives, too much "short-term comfort."
Good dried noodles—compressed properly—took less volume, stored better, and turned into real food with only hot water.
In his plan, Taoyuan would always have hot water.
Meat, eggs, vegetables—he'd stock those too.
So dried noodles were the perfect daily core.
In the apocalypse, one bowl of hot noodles could beat a banquet.
He pulled his mind back out of the Storage Space.
Finished the coffee.
Set the cup down.
And opened the work channel with Mason.
Mason should be at the warehouse park, running the loading schedule.
Ethan hit voice call.
"Ethan."
Mason's background was loud—forklift reverse alarms, metal clanks, people shouting short instructions.
"For staple grains—rice, corn, millet, sweet potato—keep the ratio we set," Ethan said.
"But upstream is adding one more item."
"Tell me."
"Dried noodles."
There was a pause on the other end.
"…Dried noodles?"
"Yes." Ethan's voice was steady. "Find manufacturers, not small plants. No perfume additives, no weird seasoning. I want stable production lines, clean reputations, simple ingredient lists."
"Our requirements: standard wheat noodles, low oil, low additives, durable when boiled, high density, packaging that survives long-haul transport and stacking."
"Pull their capacity," Ethan continued, "and prioritize 15,000 tons."
Silence again—short, but heavy.
"Ethan… fifteen thousand tons of noodles?"
Ethan let out a small, dry laugh.
"Yes. Upstream wants it. You don't need to know why."
Mason exhaled through his nose. He knew the rule now.
"…Understood."
"Don't squeeze them on price," Ethan added. "Give them confidence we're long-term. They'll remember that."
"Got it. I'll adjust the staple plan."
"And one more change," Ethan said, tone unchanged. "Starting today, Warehouse No. 3 becomes a full cold-storage conversion."
Mason went still.
"Cold storage?" he repeated. "The whole warehouse?"
"The whole warehouse."
"We're turning it into a meat vault."
Cold storage tech was mature now; it wasn't like ten years ago when it was expensive and fragile.
"Find the top two large-scale cold-storage engineering firms," Ethan said. "Nationwide reputation. Have them draft proposals."
"Requirements," he continued, counting cleanly:
"First: don't waste money on excessive exterior structure. Focus inside. Strip useless finishes. Redo floor insulation and waterproofing. Walls and ceilings—use that latest eco thermal spray. The one that sets like rigid foam: thin, stable, high insulation value."
"Second: it must be operational in one month. Refrigeration, insulation—running."
"One month is… tight," Mason said carefully.
"Tell them this," Ethan replied. "If quality doesn't drop, but they deliver within a month—every day early is a 1% bonus on total project cost."
"The extra money doesn't hurt me."
"What hurts me is time."
Mason's voice changed. Less hesitation, more steel.
"Understood."
Ethan went on, as if reading off a checklist that had been sitting in his mind for years:
"Pre-order: 10,000 tons pork. 10,000 tons lamb. 10,000 tons beef. 10,000 tons fish."
"Find bulk frozen meat suppliers. Start with the top domestic ones, and the importers who've been in the game forever."
"Quality requirement: top two tiers in all compliant channels."
"Price requirement: within the top two tiers, pick the best value."
"We're building long-term cooperation. Make it clear: we want stable volume and stable price. Not a one-time hit."
He slowed slightly, doing the math aloud so Mason could feel the scale.
"Forty thousand tons of meat is about forty million kilos."
"Average 25 per kilo… that's around 10 billion."
"Add cold storage conversion, energy, loss, everything—this single move becomes a ten-plus-billion project."
"Mason, keep that number in your head."
On the other end, Mason sucked in a long breath.
"Ethan… that's insane resolve."
Ethan didn't deny it.
"Don't worry. I feel my heart jump too."
"But I know upstream pays."
Mason's voice tightened with adrenaline, like he'd just been handed a mission he'd never dreamed of executing.
"Understood. I'll adjust procurement and engineering immediately."
"One more thing," Ethan added. "Loop Blaze in early."
"You handle ordering and delivery. Once shipments arrive, unloading, entry control, cold-room access—security belongs to Blaze. No mistakes."
"Yes."
The call ended.
His coffee was half warm now.
Ethan pushed the cup aside and opened the approval group with Chen and Zoe.
A red unread banner sat at the top:
Chen @all: Payments above 10M require Ethan's approval.
Attached: a payment request screenshot.
Procurement — Staple Corn
Supplier: (provincial grain trading company)
Quantity: 12,000 tons
Total: 1.1× billion
Chen's note followed:
Reputable long-standing supplier. Price negotiated to a reasonable floor. First batch will feed Warehouse 1 & 2; trucks scheduled from tomorrow.
Zoe added:
Contract terms, payment milestones, and QC clauses reviewed. Matches our standards. Risk controllable.
Ethan read once.
Then typed two words:
Approved.
Fingerprint confirmation.
System prompt:
You have approved a 1.1× billion staple procurement.
He tapped the table lightly.
"Corn locked in."
Staples—rice, flour, corn, millet, sweet potato… and now noodles.
The first wave's rhythm was finally clean.
From here, it was no longer "numbers on a screen." It would become sacks, pallets, racks—real mass entering real buildings.
He exhaled, pulled his consciousness away from the interface, and brushed his fingertips over the marriage certificate in his pocket.
He smiled slightly.
—
Elsewhere.
Summer didn't go back to Qingyuan Group.
She texted her assistant to cancel the afternoon meeting.
After leaving the Civil Affairs Bureau, she went straight back to Majestic Residence.
Majestic Residence—one of the true "top-of-the-pyramid" neighborhoods in L City.
Top floor: two units only.
A true sky-level flat:
Two master bedrooms, two guest bedrooms.
Every room with its own bathroom.
High ceiling living room. A full wall of floor-to-ceiling glass.
The elevator chimed open.
Summer stepped out in heels, already pulling out her phone.
"Auntie…"
The call connected quickly.
"Auntie Liu, can you come to my place now?"
On the other end, a warm voice with a slight local accent hesitated.
"Ms. Summer? Didn't you say tomorrow—"
"Change of plan," Summer cut in.
"Tonight my… husband is moving in."
A beat.
Then the voice exploded into polite panic.
"Ah? Husband? Okay okay—yes. I'll take a taxi right now."
"Thank you, Auntie Liu."
"Ms. Summer, you're too polite—this is my job."
"Dinner at home tonight?"
Summer checked the time.
"Yes. But first, the room."
"Of course. Honestly, the house is always clean."
Auntie Liu didn't ask more. She knew her place.
But she'd been working for Summer for two years. She'd never once seen a man here.
A "husband" arriving overnight—
Even she couldn't hide her shock.
Summer hung up.
Kicked off her heels.
Changed into slippers.
And for the first time, she felt herself step down from the daytime "CEO shell" she wore.
The living room was bright, clean. The green plant on the island counter looked alive.
She stood by the glass and watched the afternoon sun slide across the city skyline.
Her fingers slipped into her pocket and touched the marriage certificate again.
Her heartbeat missed a beat—quietly.
"I'm married," she told herself.
Rationally, it was a chess move: a marriage document that would sever Victor's family's arranged-marriage line at the root.
Emotionally…
She knew she didn't hate this step.
She didn't even dislike it.
At the Civil Affairs Bureau, when Ethan had said: From now on, you're my wife… something inside her had gone strangely quiet. A weight loosening.
She turned and began thinking through practical things for tonight:
Which room would he sleep in?
Was the guest master too close to hers—or conveniently placed?
Should she tidy the closet and work area so private things weren't scattered?
She pushed open the guest master bedroom.
Large bed. Pale grey walls. Simple lamp, desk. Outside the window: a clean night skyline line.
"This one," she decided.
She drew the curtains open, let sunlight in, then walked in and moved a few temporary delivery boxes and spare linens into another guest room.
Not long after, Auntie Liu arrived.
"Oh my, such a big house…" Auntie Liu sighed while carrying cleaning tools inside. "I always said it's too empty for you alone."
"And I never expected our Ms. Summer would get married!"
Summer: "…"
"Auntie, don't tease me…" Summer's face reddened. She didn't know what to say.
"Okay okay, I won't talk." Auntie Liu waved her hand. "Old ladies talk too much."
Summer took a breath and changed the subject quickly.
"Auntie, please change the bedding in that guest master. Use the new set I washed—the one I prepared for my dad."
"Not sharing a room with your husband?" Auntie Liu blurted, then immediately realized she'd stepped over the line.
Summer's face went even redder. She couldn't explain it.
Auntie Liu laughed and waved again.
"I'm old. Mouth too fast. I won't ask. I won't ask. You young people…"
She got to work.
The living room, hallway, bedrooms—under Auntie Liu's practiced hands, everything became "clean but lived-in."
Fresh sheets, fresh duvet, fresh pillowcases. Light blue and white—soft, not cold.
Summer stood at the door and nodded.
"Auntie, keep it like this. And tidy my room a bit too."
"Of course."
Auntie Liu finished cleaning, then cooked a full dinner.
By the time she checked the clock, it was 5:50.
"Ms. Summer, I'll go now. I won't disturb you."
"Thank you, Auntie Liu."
The door closed.
The apartment became quiet again—only Summer.
She went to the island, poured water, leaned against the counter, and drank in big gulps.
Her phone lit.
Ethan: I'm done here. Are you home? I'm coming now.
Summer replied:
Summer: Majestic Residence, Building A, Level 28, 2801.
I'll open temporary access. Tell security your name and go straight up.
After sending, she stared at "2801" for two seconds.
From tonight on, behind that door… it wouldn't be just her.
She showered.
Changed out of the daytime "site" outfit into something simple:
Loose white T-shirt, light cropped pants. Hair tied in a casual ponytail.
In the mirror, she looked at herself and suddenly felt… nervous.
"Summer," she laughed at herself quietly, "you're a grown woman. What are you nervous about?"
But her fingers still reached up to tuck one stray hair behind her ear.
—
Ethan returned to the hotel once.
He barely had luggage. His real "life" was in the Storage Space.
He opened the hotel room door—same clean room, bed barely creased.
He pulled a suitcase out of the Storage Space, then clothes, shoes, laptop, necessary documents.
The marriage certificate went into the outer hidden pocket. He touched it once, pressed it flat like a habit.
Without realizing, he was treating it like a charm.
Check-out took minutes.
The receptionist smiled politely.
"Sir, switching hotels?"
"No," Ethan said with a small smile. "Going to my wife's place."
The receptionist froze for a second.
—
Majestic Residence security booth showed a visitor authorization.
"Mr. Ethan?" the guard asked politely. "Ms. Summer opened temporary access. Please proceed."
Ethan declined help and rode his smart suitcase inward—modern suitcases could carry a person now, self-driving like a small cart.
The landscaping was perfect. Trees trimmed neatly. Low lamps already lit along the paths.
Building A. Level 28. Top floor.
Elevator direct.
Thick carpet in the hallway—footsteps nearly silent.
He pressed the doorbell for 2801.
A soft mechanical sound from the lock.
Beep.
The handle turned.
The door opened.
A faint laundry detergent smell rushed out, mixed with a trace of wood fragrance.
Summer stood there—no longer the daytime "site boss" look. Just home.
White T. Light pants. Slippers. Hair tied casually. Small silver earrings.
When she saw him, she froze for a beat—not because she hadn't seen him before, but because of the new meaning of seeing him here.
"…Come in," she said, stepping aside.
"Sorry to disturb," Ethan said.
He rolled the suitcase into the entryway and closed the door behind him.
The entry was wide. Shoe cabinet on one side. Full mirror on the other.
The mirror reflected them:
A man with his hand on a suitcase handle.
A woman with her hands tucked behind her back, slightly stiff.
"Slippers," she said, crouching to pull out a new pair of men's slippers. "I asked Auntie Liu to buy them."
"Thank you."
He changed, lined his shoes neatly, and glanced into the living room.
A typical sky-flat. High ceiling. Full glass wall. The sky was darkening; city lights below were waking up one by one.
Island counter split living and open kitchen. Dining table, sofa, bookshelves—simple, but expensive in texture.
"Want something to drink?" Summer asked. "Water, juice, or wine?"
"Water's fine."
She returned with two glasses.
"Just this luggage?" she asked, surprised, looking at the single small suitcase.
"Yeah." Ethan almost said the rest is in another warehouse, but only answered: "Don't need much right now."
"You can look around," she said, pointing down the hallway. "You'll stay in the guest master tonight. Private bathroom inside. Auntie Liu changed the bedding."
"Okay." Ethan nodded. "Show me the layout."
—
Four doors along the hall.
The deepest one—Summer's hand rested on the knob, hesitated, then she didn't open it.
"That one is mine."
She opened the room beside it.
"Auntie Liu kept it as backup. Now it's yours."
Inside: light blue and white new bedding, clean desk, no personal items.
"Hope you sleep well," she said.
"Looks great," Ethan said, scanning the room. "Way bigger than my hotel."
"It's quiet," she explained. "Window faces the other side. No traffic noise."
"The next one is a guest room. I sometimes store things."
"The outer one is the study. There's a small sofa."
"Got it."
He dragged his suitcase in, hung clothes, placed laptop on desk.
One or two minutes. Done.
When he stepped back out, Summer was still in the hallway.
Their eyes met, and—almost in sync—they both smiled.
A smile that held a little awkwardness, a little relief, and a little good… we didn't scare each other.
"Do your thing," Ethan said. "I'll settle in."
A phone ping sounded.
Summer glanced—work group message:
Assistant: Meeting notes sent to your email.
She replied: Thanks. And turned screen off.
"Do you want to shower first?" she asked. "Or eat? Auntie Liu cooked."
"I'll shower quick," Ethan said. "If you're hungry, eat first."
"I'm not hungry. I'll wait." Summer said, and the words sounded slightly more intimate than she intended.
"Okay."
Ethan grabbed fresh clothes and went into the bathroom.
Water ran.
And only then did Summer realize:
This apartment now had a man inside it.
She stood behind the island for a moment, opened the fridge.
Bottled water. A few beers. Some fruit. Two yogurts.
Her eyes lingered on the beers she'd bought for her dad when her parents visited.
After one second's hesitation, she took two cans and set them on the counter.
"Men like beer," she told herself. "Today is important. But not too much."
—
Ethan stepped out. Hair half dry. Simple T-shirt and pants. Softer than daytime.
"Your shower pressure is good," he said casually. "Better than the hotel."
"That's good." Summer paused, then said quietly: "But… this is your home too now."
Ethan blinked, then smiled.
"Oh. Right. Then let me say it again: our home's shower pressure is great."
Summer's face reddened. She shoved a beer toward him.
"Want a bit? To celebrate… today."
Ethan laughed. "Sure."
He popped the tab. Hiss. Foam rose.
They stood at the island and lightly tapped cans.
"For this piece of paper," Ethan said.
"And for you getting what you wanted—no marriage to Victor."
That line hit the core, and the air relaxed.
They ate.
Halfway through, Ethan asked:
"Victor will keep showing up?"
"Yes." Summer didn't hesitate. "He's been waiting downstairs. Security can't stop him."
"So that's why you wanted me to move in."
"Yes." She nodded. "My grandfather gave him my address. He knows I live alone here. He thinks coming to L City is a 'chance to build feelings.'"
"Then let him see it," Ethan said with a small smile. "Let him see your husband living here."
"Better—let him see us come out the same door."
"Then he'll feel fully 'green-hatted.'"
Summer: "…"
"Watch your mouth," she snapped, flustered. "I'm your wife."
"Okay, wife," Ethan fired back instantly, grinning.
Summer couldn't help but laugh a little.
"But you're still my 'roommate husband' right now."
"Fine." Ethan nodded seriously. "Roommates first."
"Legally we're married. Emotion isn't a video game—you can't skip levels."
"Slow is fine. I can wait."
Summer looked at him, and the turbulence inside her quieted a notch.
"Okay," she said, small. "Partner spouses + roommates."
"Not just partners," he teased. "Certified spouses."
Summer rolled her eyes, but she was noticeably more relaxed.
The beers emptied. Summer's tolerance was decent, but a faint blush still rose.
Ethan watched her and felt something unexpected:
A quiet peace.
They finished eating. Summer carried dishes to the sink.
"Go rest," she said. "I'll wash."
"I'll do it."
"You're a guest."
"No." Ethan corrected smoothly. "I'm a legal husband."
He leaned in, playful: "A good wife's hands are delicate. Washing dishes isn't right."
"Then you wash," Summer said, leaning against the island. "I'll supervise."
"You supervise me?"
"Yes."
"Supervise whether you wash properly."
Water ran.
In this huge apartment, the sound felt… real.
Summer watched him wash dishes and suddenly thought:
This is ordinary.
Ordinary in a way that felt like they'd been married for years.
"Ethan," she said.
"Hmm?"
"Are we a little crazy?"
"Registering. Living together. Like this."
"Realistically… from our first real meeting to now, it's been ten days."
"Two weeks at most."
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
He rinsed the last bowl, placed it on the rack, turned off the water, then looked at her.
"Actually," he said quietly, "I've known you for years."
Summer froze.
He didn't explain the "last life" part. Not yet.
But his eyes carried sincerity too sharp to be faked.
Summer blinked.
"You're… surprisingly good at flirting," she said, half joking, half shaken. "I feel like I misjudged you."
Ethan smiled.
"One day you'll know I'm not joking," he said. "I have a lot I want to tell you. Slowly. We have time."
Summer stared, then said softly, almost to herself:
"You keep saying 'future.' 'Later.' With others it would sound hollow, but your eyes… it feels like you really know what's coming."
Ethan's smile deepened.
"So you do believe me a little," he said. "Good."
"Wait until you fall in love with me. Then I'll tell you something else."
That line snapped Summer's curiosity shut. She stretched dramatically.
"Not playing this game," she said quickly. "I have to wake up early tomorrow. That's enough for today."
"Okay." Ethan nodded. "Go rest."
"Goodnight, roommate."
Ethan watched her flustered little movements, her unguarded softness.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Ethan."
"…Shut up."
She glared at him and walked into her room—though the glare was gentle. The door clicked softly closed.
The hallway fell quiet again.
—
Ethan returned to the room Summer had prepared for him.
He shut the door but didn't lie down.
He walked to the window.
Outside, L City's lights stretched like a carpet, glittering from the ground to the horizon.
This building had collapsed early in his last life.
Because of the "saving grace" she'd been then, and because of what they were now, Ethan no longer planned to hide everything from Summer forever.
He lowered his voice to himself:
"Once I'm sure you love me… I'll tell you everything."
He glanced at the marriage certificate again.
Turned off the main light.
Left only the bedside lamp.
Today was the first day in this life where he felt—truly—he'd stepped onto the road he wanted.
It came fast.
Too fast.
Yet it didn't feel wrong at all.