Apocalyptic Flood: Sexy Beauty Neighbor's Midnight Plea for Food Chapter 4 Daily Training

Liang Yuan's eyes fixed on her for a moment longer, before locking onto her gaze with a grin. 'Sister Mei, what time is it right now? Heavy rains have pounded for half a year, the floods have swallowed ten stories high—who's got any food left?'

'Neither you nor I have any.'

Yang Mei's complexion drained of color in an instant, as she begged, 'Little brother, Sister knows your family has supplies stocked away. I can even catch the aroma of meat cooking. Sister's at her wits' end here—please, just hand over a small bowl of rice. I won't touch any of the sides...'

Liang Yuan shook his head firmly. 'Sister Mei, you'd better head back soon. At least you've got a roof over your head. Take a look at those folks out in the hallway—they're without even a shelter, much less something to eat. Dressed in that outfit, don't let the ones from upstairs spot you, or else...'

He trailed off, yet Yang Mei's features grew ashen and drawn.

After six months cut off from the world, all semblance of order had crumbled away.

The wicked had seized control, and certain residents from above had devolved beyond humanity.

Through her door's peephole, she'd seen a woman from the seventh floor held down in the passage by three brutes, forced into unspeakable acts.

Those anguished cries from her neighbor haunted Yang Mei's nights even now.

At the thought, shivers wracked Yang Mei's frame, and she scurried back to her own entrance. A flurry of urgent raps later, her husband swung the door open.

'Well? Did you score anything?'

The husband demanded with urgent impatience.

Yang Mei quivered as she replied, 'He... he wouldn't share.'

Fury flared in the man at once. 'How could you fail like that? If he wouldn't give, why not plead harder?'

'I... I...'

Bam! Bam! Bam!

A sudden barrage of thuds erupted from above, startling them both.

Yang Mei darted inside in a panic, and her husband slammed the door shut behind her.

Just then, a hulking figure barreled up the hallway. Catching the sound of the lock, he unleashed a torrent of profanities. 'Cowardly bastard Li Zhiqiang, hide all you want—I’ll see how much longer you last!'

The brute charged onward and delivered savage kicks to Yang Mei's door.

Li Zhiqiang, the husband of Yang Mei, clearly knew this aggressor well.

Liang Yuan had sealed his inner door tight, never once unlocking the outer security barrier throughout.

The barrage of insults raged on from beyond, until finally, the intruder seemed to prowl near his own threshold.

In the end, though, he departed.

Liang Yuan quietly set aside his Nail Gun, pivoted, and resumed his meal at the table.

Yet he understood—these desperate souls were running out of endurance.

Famished desperation would push anyone to madness.

Once his plate was cleared and the dishes cleaned, Liang Yuan launched into his routine exercises.

He kicked off with power building—five hundred push-ups daily.

Followed by endurance work; lacking a treadmill, he opted for rope skipping to boost his heart and lungs.

Then came marksmanship drills. Without bows or projectiles at hand, he made do with the slingshot he'd picked up as a Children's Day present for his young nephew.

Post-slingshot session, he drilled with spear forms.

As for spear work, it boiled down to a metal tube fitted with a kitchen knife blade at one end—a makeshift polearm he'd crafted.

His routines stuck to the fundamentals.

Pierce, lunge, slice, swing, parry, seize, wrench, hoist, push down, cleave, surge, and flourish display.

He'd picked these up from online tutorials.

In an era of dire shortages, such strenuous activity wasn't ideal in theory.

But cooped up indoors with boredom gnawing, he shunned wasting power and filled hours with these drills.

Moreover, as conditions worsened, brutal outsiders could breach his sanctuary anytime.

To safeguard himself, he needed peak fitness for defense.

Slingshot honed his distant striking prowess, while the spear served for up-close fights.

Push-ups built raw power, jumping rope fortified stamina.

The former amplified muscle bursts, the latter expanded breathing capacity.

With waters engulfing everything beyond, should swimming become unavoidable, robust cardio was vital.

Besides these regimens, he emphasized chin-ups.

Floods blanketed the land, leaving no solid footing outdoors.

Survival hinged on scaling lofty structures.

Thus, arm and torso power demanded rigorous honing.

Through half a year's dedication, his abilities had taken solid shape.

With the slingshot, he nailed over 90% hits inside ten meters, 60% up to twenty, and roughly 50% past thirty.

Spear mastery flowed seamless now, especially the core strikes—pierce, lunge, slice, swing—which he'd repeated endlessly. A single lunge could now skewer a two-centimeter plank door, a potent skill indeed.

In torso workouts, he discovered a natural talent for conditioning. Half a year on, fifty to sixty pull-ups came without strain, and with grit, he pushed past a hundred.

One-arm pulls? Conquered long ago, hitting thirty to forty effortlessly.

His stamina gains shone too; each morning pre-wash, he'd test breath holds.

Peak so far: three minutes, thirty seconds underwater.

Don't dismiss that—average folks without prep barely last a minute.

Trained breathers with strong lungs hit over two.

But surpassing three entered elite territory.

Liang Yuan had browsed that pro freedivers managed ten minutes, though veracity was iffy.

For him, three-thirty marked his ceiling.

Training wrapped near midday; he rinsed off swiftly.

Bathwater came from collected outdoor rain, warmed and purified—safe enough for use.

He'd spotted neighbors scrubbing in the halls with unheated chill, no ill effects.

Post-shower, clock neared one or two PM. He downed a pack of ramen and pondered the afternoon's pursuits.

Per schedule, afternoons meant radio tuning for outside news.

Plus skimming intro wiring manuals.

Electricity grids were offline now, yet gensets still hummed. If escape beckoned, he'd grab one along.

No power meant civilization's sharp decline.

Grasping basics of electrics would aid fixing gadgets later on.

Sure, that was down the road.

Today, though, books held no appeal.

Eyes on the fresh Lottery System interface, Liang Yuan's gaze sparked with intent.

'This system will be my lifeline ahead—I’ve got to rack up points somehow.'

'System points come from slaying mutated beasts. Perhaps it's time to venture out and scout.'