Helper Released from the Asylum

“Commander! Please immediately halt the purge operation at the sanatorium!” The sharp-featured academician from the Academy of Sciences dispensed with all formalities, his first words over the video link as blunt and unyielding as granite.

“These are extraordinary times. I have no intention of indulging in bureaucratic pleasantries, nor do I care how you learned about the targeted strike on the sanatorium. Let me remind you, Comrade Chen Hanxin! Your rank does not authorize you to meddle in military secrets! Your position does not entitle you to question military operations!” At the level of a military district commander, one’s emotions rarely surface, but that did not mean he was without temper. Scientific materials were precious, but were the lives of millions in the Northeastern Military District not more so? Especially when this oil-stained, red-eyed academician from the Academy of Sciences was merely closing the barn door after the horse had bolted—two minutes ago, the missile had already struck its target. Now he was asking to halt the attack—where was he earlier?

“Live carriers of the infection are fundamentally different from those who have completely zombified. The virus differs physiologically and structurally; we need continuous comparison…” Chen Hanxin didn’t finish his sentence. The commander, unwilling to waste another word, cut the connection directly.

Scratching his disheveled hair, Chen Hanxin blinked his beady eyes, almost tearing out his own locks in frustration. He knew all too well that he was one of those academic prodigies who had lived in an ivory tower since childhood, utterly inept at social dealings. Handling people and situations was not his forte. He really ought to have brought a more diplomatic colleague to plead their case. Now, not only had he offended a superior for no reason, but the mutated pathogen samples were gone as well!

From the very beginning, the pathogens extracted from the zombies in Harbin and the coastal cities were already contaminated with unknown DNA fragments—and they were collected from corpses. It didn’t take a genius to realize that any vaccine developed from these might not be effective for the living. That was why those latent live virus samples in the sanatorium were vital—they could be used directly for live experiments! Even if one conceded that the outbreak at the sanatorium was due to a new mutation, the presence of more variant samples would greatly increase the chances of isolating the original, uncontaminated pathogen. But now…

Why couldn’t those blockheaded soldiers understand this? All they knew was to burn, kill, and blow things up!

Misfortunes never come singly. Watching the molecular chain simulation of the reverse transcription pathogen fail again on his computer screen, Chen Hanxin’s patience finally snapped.

He seized his phone, trembling for two seconds as if to hurl it across the room, but restrained himself. He opened his contacts and found a number he had long avoided dialing, then pressed call.

After a brief ring, an elderly voice answered, “Hello?”

“Professor, it’s me.”

“Hanxin? It’s so late. What brings you to call this old man now?”

“Um… I’m sorry…”

“You’ve always been tongue-tied since you were a child. If you have something to say, just say it.”

“I want to bring Senior Brother out.”

“….”

Hearing the silence on the other end, Chen Hanxin, unable to suppress his shame, spoke softly, “I am incompetent. You know the situation as well as I do. I truly can’t solve this alone. We need Senior Brother.”

“Sigh… In this country, the top research circle on reverse transcription virus structure and targeting is only so large… In the whole world, how many people can there be? Hanxin, you’ve done your best. Don’t take all the blame upon yourself. Your Senior Brother’s condition really isn’t suitable for research anymore. How about waiting for the Americans or the military? Especially the military’s work; much of it is beyond our institute’s reach. I have some contacts at Harvard, Vector, and Atlanta…”

“Professor…”

Both sides fell silent. The professor was right: the elite research circle was small, and academics rarely got involved in politics. In the face of a global pathogen crisis, no government could stand by and watch others drown. Besides, leaving aside those mysterious military researchers whose aim was seemingly human extinction, whether for humanitarian or scientific reasons, information sharing was essential. Progress was stalling here, but it was no better in the West.

“…Very well. Go bring him out. Don’t mention me—I don’t want to see him.”

Hanging up, Chen Hanxin wasn’t sure if he had made the right choice. He exhaled deeply, pulled out a battered notebook from his drawer, stared at the address inside, clenched his jaw, and, as if afraid he might change his mind, hit the intercom button. “Xiao Wu, get the car ready. I’m going out. Also, prepare some loose-fitting clothes—height one eighty-three, weight… anyway, make them large.”

Seated in the back, Chen Hanxin remained silent after giving Xiao Wu the address. His eyes were vacant, his beady gaze lifeless, his mind clearly adrift. As his secretary and driver, Xiao Wu could tell his mood was dire and wisely kept quiet.

As they neared their destination late at night, Chen Hanxin seemed to return from the dead and asked, “How many years have you been with me now, Xiao Wu?”

“A little over two years.”

“You’ll rotate after three, right? The bureau will promote you half a rank as usual?”

“…Yes.” At the mention of “the bureau,” Xiao Wu hesitated for a moment before replying.

It was an open secret—“the bureau” had stationed someone by Chen Hanxin’s side, whether for his protection or surveillance. Both sides understood, but it was not something to be spoken of openly.

“If things don’t go smoothly when we pick him up, I might need your credentials. Thank you in advance.”

“…Who exactly are we picking up?”

“You’ll know when we get there. Don’t worry. He was admitted voluntarily. They shouldn’t stop him from leaving.”

Xiao Wu wondered to himself. His “Panda Bureau” credentials certainly carried weight, but they couldn’t be used lightly—it would violate protocol. This wasn’t some over-the-top “Dragon Group” from a web novel. In reality, such agents rarely had fixed code names; identities were assigned at random for each mission.

Chen Hanxin’s social skills were practically zero—he bluntly revealed Xiao Wu’s identity and planned to use it, without so much as a word of reassurance. Only his high rank and unmatched expertise kept his title; otherwise, he’d never have made it this far.

The two fell into another uneasy silence. Not until Chen Hanxin got out of the car did he awkwardly pat Xiao Wu’s shoulder and force a smile. “Thanks for your trouble.”

Xiao Wu glanced at the sign for the Capital’s First Special Disease Hospital in the distance and said nothing.

Entering a psychiatric hospital in the dead of night would unsettle anyone, even someone as well-trained as Xiao Wu. Here, Chen Hanxin’s lack of emotional intelligence was almost an advantage—he walked in unconcerned, ignoring the distant howls, and told the night nurse coldly, “I’m here to discharge Tu Hongye.”

Disturbing people in the middle of the night without so much as a smile or a kind word, the nurse naturally showed no courtesy. She glanced at the duty roster without looking up. “Come back when the attending doctor gets in tomorrow.”

“He was admitted voluntarily. I have the right to discharge him at any time.”

“Rights or not, this is the hospital’s rule: patients must wait for the attending doctor’s signature before discharge. You think this is a hotel? Come and go as you like?”

Unused to such brusqueness, Chen Hanxin’s face darkened and he was about to retort, but Xiao Wu quickly stepped in, nudging him aside and offering a polite smile. “Could you make an exception? For voluntary admissions, as long as all bills are settled, patients can leave at any time. You see, his elderly parent is critically ill and wants to see him one last time—otherwise, who would come here so late? Please, help us out.”

The nurse’s expression softened a little. She cast a deadpan glance at Chen Hanxin, then picked up the intercom. “Security, send someone to the A Wing—patient’s family here to pick someone up.”

Perhaps working in a psychiatric hospital affected her own nerves? Xiao Wu thought the nurse seemed a little unhinged herself.

Soon after, a wiry security guard arrived at the nurse’s station. “Who’s the family? Who are you picking up?”

“We are. We’re here for Tu Hongye,” Xiao Wu answered, cutting off any chance for Chen Hanxin to speak.

“Ah, Tu Hongye, I know who you mean.” The security guard grinned, turning to the nurse with a chuckle. “You know who Tu Hongye is?”

The nurse, more amiable to a colleague, glanced at Chen Hanxin and smirked, “Who cares? Not my business.”

“If you let him go, all those little fangirls will be heartbroken tomorrow.” Apparently, working here made even the guards gossipy.

“Wait, seriously? You mean ‘Curly’—the one with the natural charisma, our most charming uncle, the one everyone wants to have babies with?”

“Yes! That’s him! Enough, let’s talk later. One of you stays to fill out forms, the other comes with me.”

Xiao Wu, unfamiliar with “Curly’s” looks, stayed to fill out the paperwork, while Chen Hanxin followed the guard to A Wing. The guard chatted incessantly, oblivious to Chen Hanxin’s lack of response—he just wanted someone to talk to. Even if Chen Hanxin had been a mannequin, the guard could have filled an hour.

Chen Hanxin responded in monosyllables, mentally rehearsing what he’d say to his senior. But when he finally entered the private room and saw his senior sitting up in bed, his words caught in his throat and his eyes reddened.

Four years had passed, but his senior’s voice and bearing were unchanged, only a little leaner.

Seeing Chen Hanxin enter, Tu Hongye’s heterochromatic eyes first flickered with surprise, then calmed. “You’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go. We can discuss things on the way.”

With clever people, a few words suffice. The guard was left bewildered, but the brothers had exchanged much in those brief sentences.

Tu Hongye had few belongings—just a laptop and a few thick notebooks. They packed up and left in silence, left the hospital in silence, and got in the car in silence. The only interruption was Tu Hongye’s signature smile and a “goodbye” to the nurse, which set her heart racing.

Once the car started, Xiao Wu couldn’t help but sneak glances in the rearview mirror at the new passenger scrolling through his tablet. Before being assigned as Chen Hanxin’s secretary and driver, Xiao Wu had studied his background thoroughly, and no one featured more prominently in his network than Professor Tu Hongye.

In appearance, Professor Tu seemed a blend of an old-school Eurasian pop star and a certain British actor—handsome, with a striking pair of silver-and-black heterochromatic eyes that lent him an exotic allure.

It was no wonder—Tu’s father had come to China as a student during the Soviet aid period and married a young Soviet professor, the youngest in her field. For love, she changed her nationality, endured hardship, and even followed him to the countryside during hard times, bearing Tu Hongye late in life. Tu lived up to this legacy of genius—while other prodigies made news for being admitted to university programs as teenagers, Tu was already lecturing undergraduates before he was twenty. Though Chen Hanxin called him “senior,” Tu was actually younger by a few years.

If not for the dangerous experiments resulting from his secondary personality disorder, the title of academician might have gone to Tu instead of Chen Hanxin.

Aside from his towering intellect and the mental health issues that trailed it, he was the epitome of a golden child.

Xiao Wu’s mind wandered, but suddenly Tu glanced at him through the mirror—a slight shift in those heterochromatic eyes was enough to communicate, “Focus on driving, don’t let your imagination run wild.” Those eyes—what a waste they weren’t on the silver screen.

Xiao Wu quickly looked away, but his ears strained to catch the conversation in the back seat.

“The data’s incomplete, isn’t it?”

“Yes, by regulation, top-secret material can’t leave the institute.”

“I understand, I understand. Your driver’s with the Panda Bureau?”

“He is.”

“The old man didn’t object?”

“I asked him. He’s hard-mouthed but soft-hearted.”

“Of course—he only has one son.”

“Senior, you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

“I do, I do. It was because I wasn’t that I suffered so much. These four years in the psychiatric hospital weren’t wasted.”

“…Shall we go visit the old man first?”

“No need, no need. Save it for the memorial service.”

…Was he better or worse? Xiao Wu decided it was best to play dumb.

By the time they returned to the institute, it was nearly dawn, but the buildings were still ablaze with light. The pathogen crisis was too grave; tens of millions of deaths hung over everyone like a boulder. Thanks to his secondary personality disorder, Tu Hongye seemed immune to the oppressive atmosphere, striding ahead on his long legs while Chen Hanxin and Xiao Wu half-jogged to keep up. New staff gawked at the sight, while veterans who recognized Tu Hongye reacted as if seeing a ghost, scattering in all directions.

Xiao Wu noted all this and grew increasingly uneasy. Who exactly had they brought back from the psychiatric hospital? Was he truly in control of his illness? Secondary personality disorder was no trivial matter—the higher the IQ, the greater the potential for havoc if it spiraled out of control.

At the end of the corridor, Tu Hongye paused at the office nameplate on the left. “What about my office…?”

“Untouched. As long as I’m in charge here, it’s yours,” Chen Hanxin smiled, unlocking the door with both fingerprint and retinal scan. “But let’s use mine for now. Bringing you back was a sudden decision, so your office needs some tidying.”

Tu didn’t protest, and seeing his older, sharp-featured, not-exactly-kind-looking but somehow gentle junior, he felt a sudden warmth. Only now did he notice that, in just four years, Chen Hanxin’s temples had turned flecked with gray.

Xiao Wu’s clearance didn’t permit entry, so he waited outside, only to be left standing for over two hours—until nearly four in the morning. Smoking was forbidden, but a sympathetic researcher brought him coffee to help him through.

Just as the caffeine was wearing off and sleepiness crept in, the office door swung open. Chen Hanxin, flushed and sweating, but alight with excitement, called out, “Quick! Notify them to prepare the conference room and connect me to the top brass!”

Already? Such a genius! Incredible!

Xiao Wu turned to leave, but Tu Hongye’s voice called out, “Just to clarify, it’s not progress on the vaccine but on intelligence. Get in touch with both the Panda Bureau and the Football Bureau.”

Football Bureau? Oh—MSS. Xiao Wu was so tired he almost missed the reference, but then nodded and hurried off.

In the matter of the zombie pathogen, the intelligence agencies were under just as much pressure as the health authorities. For both the domestic Panda Bureau and the external MSS, identifying when, where, how, and by whom the pathogen entered and was spread was now their top priority.

It had been ten days since the pathogen outbreak devastated Heilongjiang, half of Jilin, and several key southeastern coastal cities, and they still had no leads. In the days of imperial China, the heads of the secret police would have rolled by now. The current directors both felt like they were sitting on a bed of nails—if the Party Center decided to replace them, they’d have nothing to say.

A three-way video conference was set up. As usual, Xiao Wu was not permitted to attend. Chen Hanxin yielded the floor, introduced Tu Hongye, and waited for his senior to speak.

Tu Hongye brought up several molecular diagrams of the pathogen. “To the layman, these retrovirus structures look entirely different, but to professionals, each bears the unique signature of its creator—like an electronic signature, nearly impossible to forge without deep familiarity. Fortunately, there are few labs or individuals worldwide with this level of expertise, and I have worked with most of them. Examining the zombie pathogen under an electron microscope, I can say with near certainty who made it.”

Neither director interrupted, and Tu continued, “The two responsible are a married couple—Akshey Kabal and Samantha Johnson. We were colleagues at Harvard for a time.”

With state resources, investigating two foreign scientists was a trivial matter. Within two minutes, all known and semi-known data on the pair appeared onscreen, chronologically arranged, ending with November 27, 2014.

A car crash—both died simultaneously, with a funeral on December 1. With no descendants, their estate was inherited by relatives.

The directors knew Tu Hongye wouldn’t bring up two dead people for no reason. The MSS chief, responsible for foreign affairs, ordered his staff, “Investigate all suspicious details of the accident and their entire backgrounds at once. If necessary, use official diplomatic channels.” Then, turning back, “Professor Tu, thank you for your information. You’ve helped us tremendously.”

“If possible, may I be informed of the outcome? They were friends of mine.”

“Of course. You’ll be the first to know if there’s any progress.”

Tu Hongye knew such promises from the intelligence services meant little, but he thanked them anyway and continued, “Our analysis suggests the original pathogen was designed for producing gene-modified drugs. I’d like to know the status of any pharmaceutical investigations—do we have a list of drugs? If so, we can work backwards to deduce the original pathogen.”

Some secrets require not just clearance but the right questions to the right people. This time, it was the Panda Bureau, responsible for domestic affairs, who replied. “After the outbreak in Harbin, the military sent us the only suspect connected to the virus—a cult member. From his testimony, we believe the pathogen behind the Harbin zombie incident was introduced through a psychoactive drug purchased abroad by the cult. These drugs, originally used for brainwashing and controlling followers, were contaminated by the zombie pathogen. The cultists discovered this and used it to enact their so-called apocalypse, with tragic results. We’ll send you the original interrogation files—hopefully, they’ll help your research.”

“Thank you,” Tu Hongye nodded, evidently satisfied with the intelligence agency’s cooperation. The two directors assumed the meeting was over, but just as the video was about to end, Tu Hongye seemed to remember something trivial and added, “One more thing—could you coordinate with the military? My junior here is not very diplomatic and may have offended someone. He’ll apologize in due course, but… hoarding live infected carriers and obstructing the nation’s top research institute from developing a vaccine—that’s really too much, don’t you agree?”

…