Apocalypse: My Sweetie Is Tough but Cute

It took her three whole days, and besides cooking and taking care of Xiao'ai, Su Shu spent an average of 15 hours a day writing. Finally, she completed the conclusion of the novel.

While writing the postscript, she pondered for a long time. She didn't know whether to hint to her readers in the book that the Apocalypse was coming and to suggest they collect some supplies in advance just in case.

However, during such peaceful and prosperous times, who would believe one person's ramblings?

She feared that even if she left a hint, it would be like a stone cast into the sea, silent and without impact, not really helping anyone.

Su Shu was no saintess; even with the Apocalypse approaching, she did not possess the grand sentiment of saving all sentient beings, but having written for many years, she had a group of readers who always supported her. They had sincerely encouraged her during her lows and congratulated her during her successes. Over the years, they had become another kind of "family" to her.

Separated by the screen, she couldn't see what each of them looked like, but she knew that each heart supporting her was fervently warm. Disaster was looming, and while the book could end, the companionship and support they had for each other over the years were not so easy to say goodbye to.

What should she do?

She was lost in thought, completely unaware that the door had been pushed open by a cute child.

Dressed in a pink bunny pajama Su Shu had bought for her, Xiao'ai stood at the doorway holding her new friend, Little Dinosaur, gazing at her contemplative Aunt Su Shu.

Her eyes were as clear as a mountain spring, bright as the stars. She looked at Su Shu for a while, then quietly closed the door and left the room.

Her aunt was working; she knew it.

She glanced up at the living room clock, thought for a moment, then went back to her room, put on her coat, shouldered her little yellow-duck backpack, took her companion Little Dinosaur with her, quietly unlocked the door using a stool, and left the house alone.

And all this went unnoticed by Su Shu, who was working inside the room, thinking Xiao'ai was still asleep.

After much thought, Su Shu felt that a mere mention might not be effective. What if she wrote a survival novel about the Apocalypse? She wondered if that would work.

A story is always easier to remember than a mere mention, right?

She thought that even if many people took the coming of the Apocalypse lightly, if they could finish the novel and understand even a little about how to cope with the impending disaster, it would still be good. It would be like a subtle reminder to her little angels to take good care of themselves.

After much deliberation, Su Shu felt that this method would help more people and wouldn't expose her. Even if someone questioned it later on, she could argue that literary creativity is boundlessly imaginative, and with so many Apocalypse narratives out there, anything could happen; there shouldn't be a problem.

Retracting ten thousand steps, even if there were problems, she, Su Shu, could handle it!

That settled it, Su Shu made up her mind.

Just a few days ago, she had planned to retire after finishing this book, but for her little angels, she decided to start another one.

Only...

She, who specialized in writing ultra-sweet, dramatic romance was suddenly transitioning to writing a brutal survival Apocalypse novel, uh... how would she explain this to her dear editor?

She looked at the schedule; there were 56 days left until the Apocalypse.

There was something more critical to do, which was to gather supplies as much as possible. Even if she wanted to write, this book couldn't possibly be written in millions of words like her previous serials. Usually, in her best condition, she could write 1,500 to 2,000 words per hour. If she wrote about the Apocalypse, something she was familiar with, assuming 2,000 words, writing one hour a day, in fifty days, she should finish 100,000 words.

One hundred thousand words for a survival Apocalypse novel would be both a test of her writing skills and her little angels. She wondered if they, who were used to lavish million-word novels, could accept this bare-bones 100,000-word novel.

Five minutes later, she knocked on her editor's chat window: