18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 462

Her question hit him like a punch to the gut, but Bran answered honestly, "Construction. Hauling bricks."

Stella sized him up, noting the scars on his face and hands-evidence of a hard-fought survival. In the face of natural disasters, everyone was equal, even a tycoon's son.

She didn't pry about his life since they'd parted ways. Even if recounted with a smile, the tales were likely steeped in brutal truths.

"How about we treat you to a meal when you're off?" she offered.

At the mention of food, Bran's eyes lit up. "Barbecue?"

"You wish. After all these years of disasters, and you're still dreaming of a feast?" Despite her words, the joy of reunion was undeniable. "Rosie's been working at the plantation. I'll see if I can scrounge up some spices so you can indulge a bit." Bran perked up. "How are Rosie and your hubby doing?"

She gave him her address. "Doing alright. Swing by when you're free."

Bran lived in Area C and spoke his mind. "Sis, I'm free on the weekend."

Alright then. A weekend it is. They'd have themselves a proper bash.

through trash. He seemed to have found a solid reason to keep living. He no longer ran away from familiar faces out of shame. There he was, half a month in, already hauling bricks. It seemed the privileged second-generation man had fully grasped the

food factory, water purification, and plantations

meal together sounded pretty good. Jasper suggested, "How about we dine

it up

harvested potatoes twice and even sold some fast-growing herbs she'd propagated. After consulting with Stella a few times, she'd mastered some massage techniques, benefiting her son and husband's health with regular practice. Monkey, all smiles, appreciated his wife's increasing kindness. He

for hot pot seasonings. The submarine had

grin, produced a slab of smoked meat. "Sis, this is the good

smoked meat looked

Stella

wasn't

from the plantation where Rosie worked, ensuring they had what they needed. The smoked sausage and

ever, quipped, "Sis, following you means never going hungry." He was helpful and even pitched in with the prep. Miranda and her son

bringing a pound of fish cakes. He had long since shed any pretense of dignity, choosing to hustle for brick-hauling work. "Sis, got any barbecue?

That was his sister there. Bran raised an

even reduced to labor, his inherent pride persisted. Bran respected only those stronger than him, like Stella and Jasper, who had seen his countless humiliations. In front of them, he could forgo pride, but that didn't mean others could disregard him. Especially not someone like Monkey, a mere trader, even

than in his former high-class neighborhood. Monkey, seasoned in business, treated everyone like a client, always leaving room for

cold glance wouldn't cost him a thing; the real skill was in earning cash. Bran's mood instantly lifted. "If you're gonna flatter me, lay it on thick." It had been ages since anyone had praised him. Oh, how he missed his diamond-studded slippers, the slick hair gel, the flashy

junior chef, with bell peppers stir-fried with smoked meat, steamed salted fish with fermented black beans, and garlic chili sauce. The aroma made Bran's stomach growl