Reader-voted best science fiction novel, I'm a Demonic Cultivator, Not a Conscienceless Capitalist, ranked among the top contenders!
By the time the sun had set behind the western hills and moon shadows swayed, a modified heavy truck slowly emerged from below the slope.
The modified heavy truck was astonishingly huge. Its twelve tires resembled a puppet's treads; a single one laid on its side was even taller than Miao Qingyu was now.
Even more astonishing was the cargo compartment behind it. Who knew how much cargo that enormous compartment could hold? And considering its owner's identity, the capacity made Miao Qingyu's face turn pale.
The heavy truck carved two black tracks across the parking lot. Then the driver's-side door was pushed open, and the burly Corpse Collector leaped from the cab, crunching across the snow toward Miao Qingyu and the battery on her back.
As he approached, Miao Qingyu nervously swallowed. Just as she was about to explain why she had come down, he picked her up together with the battery and headed for the fourth floor.
Carrying a battery by hand was nothing remarkable. Miao Qingyu could have done it even in the real world.
But the casual display of strength was still rather terrifying. Combined with his silence, which made it impossible to tell what he was thinking, it was even more unsettling.
Climbing the creaking stairs, the Corpse Collector returned to the bedroom and set Miao Qingyu down amid the paper scraps.
Then he silently went back downstairs and stood behind the cargo compartment.
While he was gone, Miao Qingyu had already moved to the window and watched the Corpse Collector work outside.
He picked up a crowbar as thick as a bowl, but instead of starting work immediately, he sat on a stone bollard in the