Without exception, he was told to follow the weather bureau’s forecast and not to worry.

Around noon, his "weather prediction" video was actually throttled. The relevant authorities called to warn him: "Are you the young man who called the weather bureau and the disaster relief office this morning? What is wrong with you? We already told you to follow the weather bureau’s forecast. Why won’t you listen? Delete that video immediately.

Let me give you a solemn reminder: the internet is not a lawless land. Do not believe or spread rumors. If you persist, we will take severe punitive measures, including but not limited to banning your account, fines, and criminal detention. We urge you to think twice before you act!"

Li Xiang was speechless.

He shook his head and gave a bitter smile. In truth, he’d expected this, so he wasn’t angry. His words carried no weight; it would have been a miracle if anyone had believed him.

Often, whether people listen has less to do with what is said or whether it’s correct, and more to do with the speaker’s status.

Never mind the world at large; just look at the company where he used to work. In that tiny office, if a manager farted, a crowd of people would chime in to say how fragrant it smelled. And the general manager? He was constantly surrounded by a pack of sycophants.

’Then again, nowadays people just call that having high emotional intelligence.’

’Why is the story of "calling a deer a horse" such a classic? Because that phenomenon has never gone away. You see it everywhere in daily life.’

Li Xiang obediently deleted the video.

The fans continued to discuss their reactions to the ’Cleaver "Horse Race,"’ while also debating and commenting on the snowstorm news. Some were skeptical, others believed him.

A fan left a comment under Li Xiang’s video: "With hands as nimble and deft as Brother Xiang’s, he’d be amazing on the war drums. It would be a totally different kind of powerful."

"Brother Xiang, you should do the cleaver version of ’Horse Race’ on your next stream!"

"Is that snowstorm thing for real? I don’t think it’s possible. This place hasn’t seen a single snowflake in years, and now there’s going to be a massive blizzard?"

"Brother Xiang is a decent guy. I doubt he’d post a special video just to warn us if he wasn’t sure. Maybe it’s one of those unique abilities mountain folk have for predicting the weather. You know, what’s it called? Reading the sky? Watching the animals?"

"If that stuff actually worked, we wouldn’t need a weather bureau. Everyone should just stick to the official forecast."

"The forecast is wrong all the time, anyway. It’s constantly being updated."

"Huh? Why did Brother Xiang suddenly delete the video?" someone noticed, and, highly suspicious, asked about it in the fan group.

Sure enough, everyone checked and saw that it was gone.

Those who had been skeptical before were instantly smug. One of them slapped his thigh and said, "See? Told you I was right! If Brother Xiang hadn’t lost confidence himself, he never would’ve deleted it."

Li Xiang wasn’t looking at the group chat at all; he was busy with other things.

In truth, he was quite fond of the piece "Horse Race," otherwise he never would have played it with a cleaver so spontaneously.

But when he tried to "perform" it again, it was good, but he just couldn’t recapture the same Mental Realm as before.

Perhaps he was afraid of ruining the cutting board. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been drinking and wasn’t in that perfect, slightly tipsy state. It could also be that his good mood from yesterday had been soured just a little. Or maybe... In any case, that god-tier performance was a one-time thing. For him, it was a true "final performance."

It was like when Wang Xizhi wrote the *Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection*. Even though the Calligraphy Saint himself tried to rewrite it several times later—after burning incense, bathing, and sitting in solemn posture—he was never satisfied with the results. None of them had the same free-spirited, unrestrained air as the first draft, even though the original was full of corrections and smudges.

The original was born when his friends gathered for the Spring Purification Ceremony. They went on an outing, drank wine, and composed poetry. Wang Xizhi, having had a little to drink and caught up in the fun, took up his brush and let the ink fly, creating the timeless classic that is the *Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection*.

Li Xiang loaded a hundred jin of the new rice harvest onto his tricycle and hauled it to the rice mill. Last year’s surplus grain would be used as feed for his chickens and ducks.

Last year’s rice was now considered old grain, and its texture and flavor were naturally inferior to the fresh harvest. For his own family’s consumption, they would, of course, prioritize the new rice.

As for hoarding grain, the Apocalypse was still a long way off. There was no need for that yet.

After being dried, unhusked rice can typically be stored for two to three years. With good storage conditions and high-quality grain, it could last even longer.

Li Xiang had a one-cubic-meter system warehouse that could be upgraded and expanded later. It seemed that items stored inside never spoiled. Such an important piece of "strategic" equipment would naturally be prioritized for storing medicine and some Extraordinary supplies. He would only use it for grain if he had space to spare.

During the Apocalypse, all sorts of Demon Beasts and Mutated Creatures ran rampant. For the powerful, food wasn’t scarce.

Back then, the Sun had turned into a red giant, and a black fog had shrouded it, plunging Earth into darkness. But to everyone’s surprise, many Demon Fiends were themselves powerful sources of heat and light. They had crimson, faintly glowing Crystal Cores within their bodies. Their habitats became "Oases" in the endless, cold darkness, much like hydrothermal vents in the deep sea.

However, these Demon Fiends were also humanity’s mortal enemies—invaders.

Some speculated that the "extinguishing" of the Sun was connected to the peerless powerhouses among these Demon Fiends. To be able to "devour" even the Sun... how powerful must they be? Humanity at the time was driven to the brink of despair.

Nuclear weapons couldn’t eliminate them either. Instead, the bombs gave rise to another type of bizarre, mutated creature that fed on nuclear radiation and energy.

Li Xiang’s status back then hadn’t been high, so he wasn’t privy to many secrets. Even humanity’s strongest, in the year he died, still didn’t fully understand the secrets of the "Eternal Night." Therefore, even though Li Xiang was a Reincarnator with many memories of his past life, he still had no confidence in the future.

’Just because I’m a Reincarnator, I can save the world? I’m getting ahead of myself.’ He didn’t think he had that kind of power. The only thing to do was take it one step at a time. He hoped that after ensuring the safety of himself and his family, he could lead a few more people forward, forging a path through the darkness. If he could survive the "Eternal Night," nothing would be better.

’Of course, he harbored an even more extravagant hope. What if there is no Apocalypse in this world?’

’What if this isn’t reincarnation, but I’ve crossed over to a parallel world where the future is different?’

Everything depended on whether that great snowstorm would arrive in a few days as he remembered.

’If it doesn’t, then maybe... my past life was just a dream?’

’If that’s the case, he wouldn’t mind being laughed at for ’spouting nonsense.’ In fact, he’d much rather be the one who was wrong.’

He soon arrived at the rice mill. Li Xiang immediately pushed aside these distracting thoughts and greeted the owner with a smile.

He offered the owner a cigarette, just as before. ’Damn!’ The owner’s eyes lit up. He remembered this young man. Last time, he’d given him a good cigarette, the kind that cost thirty or forty yuan a pack. This time was even better—the one he was handed came from a hundred-yuan pack.

"Young man, do you always smoke cigarettes this good?" the rice mill owner asked in surprise, sizing up both Li Xiang and his ride.

Li Xiang smiled. "I can’t afford these. They were a gift."

"That’s generous of you, sharing such expensive smokes." The rice mill owner was clearly pleased. "I’ll give you a discount this time!"

Although the listed price for processing a hundred jin was ten yuan, the owner usually gave his regular customers a discount. This time, he gave Li Xiang a forty percent discount.

It wasn’t much of a saving, really. The single cigarette Li Xiang had given him was worth five yuan alone.