Morning Routine and Recruitment Tactics

At 6:50, seven people had gathered at the RV where Leng Yu had previously argued with his second uncle.

While they didn’t stand in rigid formation like a disciplined guard platoon, and some even lounged casually on chairs, everyone slowly rose to their feet as Leng Yu and his companion approached.

“Time to work.”

Leng Yu’s brief instruction sent the group scattering, each person switching on their flashlight.

Jing Lan did not press for details, simply following in Leng Yu’s wake.

Leng Yu himself was also engaged in the task he had assigned—moving through the survivors’ resting places, calling everyone to wake.

Some had made makeshift beds in the idle cabins scattered across the scenic area, while others slept in tents and sleeping bags.

“It’s seven in the morning; time to wake up!”

Such was the simple call.

Yet, the call to rise was made only once; those unwilling to stir were not compelled.

“What is the purpose of this work?” Jing Lan inquired.

“The camp provides two meals a day, one in the morning and one in the evening.

Breakfast, however, is served only for thirty minutes after 7 AM.

Anyone who sleeps in will miss that day’s breakfast.

Of course, the portion for breakfast is not as substantial as dinner, so the cost of oversleeping isn’t too severe; this provides necessary flexibility.

Nonetheless, I still believe rising early is a good habit.”

Having finished speaking, Leng Yu turned to him.

“Naturally, a disciplined and capable person like you would never go hungry.”

“I never agreed to join your team,” Jing Lan retorted.

“Nor am I forcing you.

You are free to leave whenever you wish, and I won’t send anyone to stop you.

However, finding another reliable team out there won’t be nearly as simple.”

In less than ten minutes, every person in the camp had been roused at least once.

The allure of breakfast, it seemed, was considerable, as at least thirty people had gathered.

Two young men were arranging various packaged foods—bread, biscuits, spicy strips, and potato chips—on a table.

Each person received one item at random, with no complaints permitted.

However, it appeared that the distributors subtly considered the recipient’s circumstances, for instance, avoiding giving spicy strips to elderly women.

Among these survivors, many seemed to be scenic area staff, judging by their attire, while others, dressed more fashionably, were likely tourists.

Jing Lan noticed Ye Yin Fengqizi among the ranks.

“She’s a friend of mine,” Leng Yu offered, observing Jing Lan’s gaze fixed on the Japanese teacher.

“Last night, it seemed she held you in high regard.

Do you know about that… person she’s looking for?”

Jing Lan hesitated to answer, his eyes scanning the three patrolmen near the supply line, each with a pistol holstered at their waist.

Among them was Li Shuwu, looking hale and hearty.

“How did you assemble these followers?” Jing Lan asked.

Leng Yu let out a snort of laughter.

“Old Li is my family’s bodyguard and my master.

Many of the others are tough individuals from society’s lower strata.

It’s nothing extraordinary; if your family had more money, you would also have many followers.”

“But money is useless now.

Yet, they still follow you.”

Jing Lan had actually amassed tens of thousands in personal savings from his Four-Color Conjecture band’s performances and merchandise sales.

Otherwise, he couldn’t have afforded recreational activities like live-fire shooting, where each shot cost dozens to hundreds of yuan.

However, he had never resorted to buying people’s loyalty with money.

Leng Yu merely maintained his smile, offering no reply.

The distribution of items was swiftly concluded—or rather, it wasn’t entirely finished, but with time up, there was no waiting for any latecomers to breakfast.

The remaining supplies were promptly packed away.

A capable young man jogged over to Leng Yu, performing a sharp, palm-to-chest salute.

“Boss, we have enough supplies for two more days.”

“A small team will be dispatched today.

Go and arrange the weapons and ammunition.”

The young man acknowledged the order and turned to leave.

“The scenic area’s supermarkets are almost picked clean.

What should we do, Xiao Lan?”

“As long as we have enough firepower, food won’t be a major issue.

There are two options: first, large supermarkets in the city, many of which served as supply reserves.

A single large supermarket could potentially hold over ten tons of rice, not to mention other goods.

Second, the grain silos of the National Grain Group’s branch offices.

There’s one in the suburbs of Mingshui City, where zombies are fewer, making it relatively easy to approach.”

“How much grain could they possibly hold?”

“Anywhere from several hundred to tens of thousands of tons.

As long as the zombies don’t try to steal it or block the path to the silos, rest assured, our national grain reserves are enough to feed us for ten years, especially now that the living population has significantly dwindled.”

Leng Yu burst into laughter.

“You certainly know your stuff!

Is this what you studied?”

Jing Lan, with a hint of exasperation, informed him that his mother’s family lineage was in rubber cultivation.

“When you’re in business, you have to be intimately familiar with all the crucial departments across the region.

For example, knowing where a new collection forest might open, how to hire people, how to solve food supply issues, and having a thorough understanding of the nearby markets—these are all things that allow problems to be swiftly resolved.

A domineering CEO like you should be very familiar with such matters.”

“Of course I’m familiar,” Leng Yu countered.

“I was merely testing you.”

“Hmph.”

A stout man named Wen Hao stumbled over, visibly annoyed upon realizing he had missed breakfast.

He stomped his foot.

“Boss, someone stole and ate my leftover pineapple bun from yesterday!

I’m starving to death right now!

Please, give me something to eat!”

“Manage your own belongings well,” Leng Yu admonished.

“If everyone came to pester me like this, how could anything get done?”

Jing Lan recalled having eaten a pineapple bun upon waking that morning, and thus admitted to consuming the stout man’s food.

“Here, take mine.”

With that, he tossed the compressed biscuit from his pocket to the stout man.

The stout man walked away, shouting, “Thanks, Brother Lan!”

Leng Yu then pulled a bread roll from a bag next to the RV and tossed it to Jing Lan.

“I saw you eat his bread this morning.

If you hadn’t admitted it just now, I might have been tempted to send you away.”

“Are you truly such a good person?”

Leng Yu shrugged a single shoulder.

“Aren’t I?”

Jing Lan tossed the bread back onto the table.

“I am inherently wary of anyone who monopolizes the right to distribute supplies.”

****

At 8:30 AM, a ten-person squad assembled in front of Leng Yu’s RV—which, for convenience and image, would henceforth be referred to as ‘the camp’.

Three of them were likely among Leng Yu’s trusted subordinates, responsible for waking people that morning.

The others appeared more apprehensive, their expressions suggesting they were merely ordinary survivors.

“As per established custom, those who undertake missions will have priority in receiving supplies.”

Leng Yu, hands clasped behind his back, paced before the squad.

“This time, I will personally lead the team.

This is Jing Lan, who joined us last night.

His skills are exceptional, and he’s familiar with the local map.

He will serve as my assistant and, when necessary, has the authority to act as commander.

Please give him a warm welcome.”

The group applauded.

‘Damn it, this is awkward.’

Jing Lan tugged at Leng Yu’s plaid shirt.

“When did I ever agree to this!?”

“I only formulated this plan after taking your strategies into account, you see.

Look, we’ve even deployed heavy weaponry.”

Leng Yu gestured towards the first two squad members, who had micro-submachine guns holstered at their waists.

Well, well, automatic weapons.

General Patton once said: If a zombie believes a rifle is less terrifying than a fire axe, it’s only because it has never encountered automatic firearms.

Of course, General Patton never actually said such a thing, but Jing Lan acutely understood just how crucial rapid-fire weapons would be as killing tools in the apocalypse.

To speak of it was to do it; was this the style of this northeastern young master?

“I am in a hurry to rescue my sister.

You have so many people; you could split them into two teams: one to help me find the plane, and another to search for the grain silos.”

“That’s precisely what I intend to do,” Leng Yu replied.

Leng Yu gently nudged Jing Lan to the side of the camp.

“The task of finding the drone can be entrusted to the patrol team—they are all ordinary people.

After the disaster struck, I merely had Old Li teach them basic martial arts.

For searching within the scenic area, sending them is sufficient.

However, the grain silos are too distant; we must dispatch our elite for that.”

“I just joined your group—”

“Ah, wait!

You said you’ve joined!”

“No… damn it.

I’m unfamiliar with you all, and immediately assigning me such a task is hardly a reasonable way to utilize personnel.”

“You are familiar with the map and the routes.

That alone is enough.”

As Leng Yu spoke, he opened a small safe he retrieved from beneath a table beside the RV.

“But there’s a second point.”

He opened the safe and took out its contents.

It was an MP9 submachine gun, a weapon Jing Lan, a fan of CS2, particularly favored.

“Didn’t you just ask me how I gathered these people?

Besides money, what’s more important is this—”

Leng Yu said, patting Jing Lan’s chest.

“Trust.

When you identify someone as capable and reliable, you immediately give them a chance to prove themselves.

Consider this: a student from a poor village in Gaoligong Mountain, who diligently studied to get into a provincial second-tier university.

While others spent their days playing games in their dorms, he conscientiously devoured textbooks, earning provincial scholarships.

Rumors even spread in his hometown village that he was destined to become a big boss.

But what was the outcome?

Once he entered the job market, companies only wanted graduates from 985 or 211 universities.

Dozens of resumes were tossed out, like stones into a river, without even a ripple.

Can you imagine his feelings after just finishing a phone call with his family, boasting about his boundless future, only to then receive not a single job offer?

And then, at that very moment, I found him—never mind how I found him.

I befriended him, tested his character, and finally extended an olive branch, asking him to work for me.

The compensation was beyond reproach, but more importantly, I immediately gave him significant responsibilities, making him feel as though he was managing several people, truly a boss.

His self-esteem, previously bruised by arrogant corporate executives in the job market, was instantly restored.

How could he not ultimately be content and obey me?”

“He’s the young man who just came to report.

Of course, this approach can be a bit less efficient, and large numbers of ordinary employees are still recruited through conventional processes.

However, the most crucial, utterly reliable elite team must be refined through this method.”

Jing Lan turned his head away, displeased.

“You’re merely training a gang…”

“What kind of society I run is none of your concern.

You can call the police if you want.

The reality is, you didn’t meet me when you could call the police, and after meeting me, there are no police left to call.

Heh heh.”