"The textile mill is here, the textile mill is here, get off quick!" The ticket seller roared at the top of his lungs from inside the train carriage.,A month later, a meteorite fell from the sky. The meteorite carried a virus that could turn people into zombies. Du Ruo's space could only store the dead, the living couldn't enter. Even in the apocalypse, it was still dangerous.,Du Ru stood at the front gate of Beijing's First Cotton Textile Factory. An old man sat at the entrance, staring intently at the stranger as if he were a thief.。