There are countless stories in the little town.

"...After a week of physical enhancement, the experimental subjects essentially became petri dishes for the pathogen, accelerating the mutation process?"

"Yes. Stimulating intense metabolism in the body through pharmaceuticals also speeds up the proliferation and mutation rate of the pathogen."

"Is this mutation inevitable? Could it just be a special case?"

"Two out of the four experimental subjects exhibited the same mutation. The test results confirmed this, so proportionally speaking…"

"Can the timing of the mutation be determined?"

"That... not at the moment. The drugs forcibly advanced the biological clock of the subjects, so we can't deduce how many generations the virus went through before mutating."

"So, you are certain that at some point in the future, the spread of the pathogen will inevitably grow at a geometric rate."

"I'm afraid... yes."

Silence.

Deathly silence.

After a long pause, a deep voice sounded through the video conference, "For the next part of the meeting, only standing committee members remain. Others are to exit and reconvene later."

Chen Hanxin exited the video conference as instructed, slumped back in his reclining chair, and let out a long breath. His already sharp, monkey-like features seemed to sink further, growing dull and lifeless.

"Pull yourself together! Don't lie there playing dead! Things haven't reached the worst yet!"

"Senior brother! Easy for you to say! It's not you facing those big shots! If this were a century ago, it would be like an audience with the emperor! Do you know how much pressure I was under just now? Especially when we're the ones bringing bad news!" Chen Hanxin waved a feeble hand, his face written with misfortune. "Don't try to cheer me up with talk about how pathogen mutation gives us more comparative samples. I know, if we get more samples at different mutation stages, we can use molecular microscopes to compare them, find the common structures, and develop vaccine antibodies targeting those, thus solving the zombie pathogen problem once and for all. But such words might fool laymen, Senior Brother, don't use them on me."

"The common cold virus has always been an unconquerable super-virus for humanity. Since the zombie pathogen mutated to spread via droplets, some traits are just like the cold. But if you don't make the effort, there won't even be a chance to solve it. Come on! We still have time!"

As he was speaking, a prompt appeared on the display screen that the meeting was restarting. Tu Hongye shot him a "I'm rooting for you, junior" look and slipped out of the multimedia room, leaving Chen Hanxin to face the "emperor's ministers" and summon his strength.

Meanwhile, far to the north, the Special Operations Battalion received the latest orders from their superiors.

"From now on, everyone must wear gas masks when going out? Not just regular masks? That's going to cause panic among the returning civilians! The epidemic may have changed? Logistics can't keep up? Improvise on the spot? Yes! Understood! The mission will be completed!" Battalion Commander Sun hung up the phone. Without needing to relay the message, Political Instructor Dong, who had removed his headset, was already frowning. "Gas masks are standard for soldiers, but there are not just our troops in town—there are also civil affairs and medical staff, at least a thousand people. Add in the returning civilians—two or three thousand more. Where are we supposed to find that many gas masks? Those civil affairs idiots! Rushing civilians back like wildfire! Don't they fear losing their heads if things go wrong!"

"Don't complain about the return migration. Didn’t Zhang Fu say the reasons are complicated? Just housing and feeding tens of millions has already stretched the authorities to the limit. Besides..." Political Instructor Dong, ever the professional, was quite the talker.

"Alright, can't I even grumble a bit, old friend?" Commander Sun's face was so dark it could drip ink. When it came to military campaigns, he never batted an eye, but now, even his old administrative partner was troubled. What could a career soldier like him, more familiar with guns than women, possibly come up with?

"Actually, we can ask Zhang Fu for help!" While Political Instructor Dong wasn't as good at drills and combat as Commander Sun, he was much more resourceful in officialdom. With a quick, "I'll handle it!" he rushed out of the command center.

The lumber mill had long since recovered from the homemade bomb attack a week ago. Since Zhang Fu was in charge of intelligence work, the Special Ops Battalion hadn't taken any blame. Still, Commander Sun had harbored a grudge. His battalion was among the most elite special operations units in the military district—surely it wasn't too much to ask for a couple of engineering companies to help out? So, within just seven days, the entire lumber mill had been transformed.

The plant, now covered under camouflage netting, looked from a distance like a black turtle shell, bristling with sixteen dual-control, high-angle machine guns atop temporary walls. At the center stood a land-based CIWS, capable of repelling everything from short-range missiles to slow-moving artillery.

This fortress-level security made the place a miniature Green Zone. Anyone with sense who needed to work in town scrambled for a spot—even if they couldn’t work there, just sleeping securely at night was worth it. Zhang Fu was no exception. Commander Sun, not a heartless man, had arranged the best room for him as soon as the rebuilt camp was ready.

That’s why Political Instructor Dong was sure Zhang Fu would help.

Not far from the lumber mill stood the rescue center, where Zhang Fu now served as deputy director. His responsibilities? Well, you know.

When Dong entered, Zhang Fu put on his official face, greeting him, "Ah, what brings you here, Instructor Dong? Welcome, welcome. Are you here to supervise our work?"

The corners of Dong's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Director Zhang, you’re too courteous. I have something I’d like to discuss—Is the director here?"

According to bureaucratic custom, even if the director was in, Zhang Fu, as deputy, would say otherwise. Otherwise, what was the point of his position if he couldn’t cover for his superior? So, naturally, Zhang Fu replied, "The director is out. If you have anything, just tell me."

"Alright then, let’s step aside to talk." Dong frowned, feigning slight offense at being received by the deputy, but inwardly he was thinking how tiresome it was to have to play-act with this guy.

The two moved to a corner, each pulling out a cigarette. Though the epidemic had moved north and the town was now outside the buffer zone, the place was still under martial law due to the unfinished civilian resettlement. With so many people, so many trivial matters, and both men—one in the open, one in the shadows—under immense pressure, it was only natural to keep smoking.

"Headquarters has assigned a new task. Any ideas?" Dong got straight to the point.

"Simple—requisition. Forget that old mantra about the Red Army not taking a needle or thread from the people. We’ll issue IOUs and let the state pay for it."

"Even to requisition, we need to know where to look. These aren’t things you can just buy on Taobao, and we need too many."

"Gas masks are either stored in factories or distributors’ warehouses. That’s not a trade secret. The local industry and tax offices must know, and maybe the police station too… but with everyone evacuated..." Zhang Fu pondered, then decided, "When it comes to civilian affairs intelligence, besides the statistics bureau, we're actually the most comprehensive. I’ll make a call, and have the relocation reception staff ask around too. Shouldn’t be a problem."

"Thanks for your trouble," Dong said, knowing full well that whatever this not-really-named Zhang Fu promised, he would deliver.

As Zhang Fu stepped away to make his call, Dong smoked and surveyed the rescue center. Soon, a paramilitary officer handed Zhang Fu a slip of paper. After a quick glance, Zhang Fu nodded, hung up, and returned.

"All set, I should have the answer for you in about ten minutes," Zhang Fu said quietly.

"Great."

"Since we’re waiting, want to watch a good show?" Zhang Fu smiled.

A good show? Dong found the phrase suspect. When someone in intelligence said "good show," there was never really anything good about it.

"Don’t worry, it’s not a breach of confidentiality," Zhang Fu said, patting Dong’s arm.

Just then, a commotion erupted at the civilian relocation desk. Zhang Fu straightened his jacket, strode to the desk, and asked in a deep voice, "What’s going on?"

Dong followed, watching as Zhang Fu slipped into bureaucratic mode, his entire demeanor changing. Dong instructed the special ops and paramilitary officers behind him to maintain order.

"Report! They don’t meet the relocation criteria. I’ve explained, but they refuse to leave." The responder was a female soldier with a round nose, thick lips, willow-leaf eyebrows, and phoenix eyes. Her raspy voice contrasted oddly with her looks. If Wang Chen were here, he’d surely find the voice familiar—she was the operator, No. 3148, who once helped him and his now-deceased companions escape Harbin.

Sometimes, the world is just that small.

Of course, No. 3148 ended up as a temp at the rescue center not by chance. Her open defiance of orders and near-leak of military secrets would have landed her in military court, but the rescue center’s head didn’t want trouble. With such a temporary organization, made up of people from communications, security, police, and civil affairs, things were complicated. He simply found an excuse to send No. 3148 to the frontline relocation center to help resettle civilians, out of sight, out of mind.

Zhang Fu—well, Director Zhang now—glanced at the female soldier, then turned to the two men and one woman at the desk and gave a formulaic smile. "What’s the issue? Don’t worry, come with me to the office area. The supervisor will be right over. Please keep things quiet here. You, come with me as well."

His tone clearly favored the two men and the woman, but No. 3148, now known as Yang Xiaohua, could only puff out her cheeks and sit back down, having been called out by name.

Once in the office area, the oldest of the three quickly explained, "Comrade leader, we just want to go home early. Before we left, we planted some mushrooms. Didn’t expect to come back so soon. If we make it in the next day or two, we can harvest the first crop and cut our losses." His argument was plain and reasonable.

"The comrade here says our ID addresses don’t match the application address, so we can’t return. But that’s not our fault. We're living with relatives to care for our parents and didn’t bother to change the house registration."

"So, you’re living out of district but didn’t transfer your household registration?"

"That’s right."

Zhang Fu’s eyes gleamed as he smiled. "No big deal. Don’t worry. Let me message our leader for approval. Show me your relocation address."

Just then, Yang Xiaohua abruptly stood up, but before she could speak, Zhang Fu cut her off, "Comrade Yang Xiaohua! Mind your discipline!"

Chastened, Yang Xiaohua could only sit down, cheeks puffed in protest.

While pretending to text, Zhang Fu chatted, "Our region’s mushrooms are well-known, aren’t they?"

"Absolutely, they’re delicious. You’re so understanding."

"You flatter me. The comrade here is just being a bit rigid. Don’t be upset."

"Oh, I wouldn’t dare! Call me Old Liang. When the mushrooms are ready, I’ll bring you some."

"Deal, Old Liang. By the way, is it autumn mushrooms?"

"The very best autumn variety!"

"After the autumn harvest, what will you plant?"

"Uh… haven’t decided yet. We’ll see after harvesting."

"Fair enough. Ah, here’s the leader’s reply."

"What did they say?"

"…You’re under arrest!"

"Cao!"

Before they could react, Dong and the officers had the three cuffed and on the ground. To avoid panic, Dong took the stun gun Zhang Fu tossed him and silenced the one who started shouting, "The army can’t just—"

"One more thing—this is just after midsummer, so you’d be harvesting summer mushrooms, not autumn ones. Next time, try checking your facts." As the three were taken away, Zhang Fu joked, "Not bad, Old Dong. Quick reflexes."

"Please. While you were talking, the paramilitary officers had already slipped off the handcuffs. If I missed that, I should retire," Dong said, wiping his brow. "You knew they were suspicious before you checked the details, didn’t you? How did you know?"

"Just a hunch." Zhang Fu shrugged, narrowly dodging Dong’s playful punch. "See that decontamination room at the entrance? Every civilian has to go through it. It’s not just for sterilization—it’s got a molecular sampling probe. If a returnee’s got residues of gunpowder or explosives, it’ll pick it up. Unlike survivors from Harbin, these civilians only get weapons after resettlement, so…"

"I get it," Dong replied, glancing at the unremarkable white aluminum room every returnee went through. This place truly was a den of dragons and tigers, fraught with hidden dangers.

Zhang Fu glanced at his phone and said, "Here’s the info. I’ll forward it to you."

"Great, thanks for all your help."

"No need for thanks. Let’s have dinner tonight if you’re free."

"Definitely. I’ll be off, then."

As Dong left, Zhang Fu remembered the person who’d just helped him with the ruse—Yang Xiaohua. Turning, he said kindly, "Good work. By the way, you’ve done well in these arrests. Interested in joining the security division?"

Yang Xiaohua, though she’d guessed Zhang Fu’s unusual identity, was caught off guard by the invitation. After a moment’s thought, she replied earnestly, "Director Zhang, could I think about it?"

Zhang Fu didn’t mind. Security work sounded prestigious but was plenty dangerous. He habitually raised his hand to pat her shoulder, but, realizing it wasn’t appropriate, placed it behind his back instead. "No rush. The offer stands. Take a half-day off—you’ve earned it."

Watching Zhang Fu walk away, Yang Xiaohua glanced at her busy colleagues, unsure how to spend her time off.

Truth be told, Yang Xiaohua had volunteered for frontline work. She felt responsible for the deaths of Wang Chen and the others. Though there was no way to make it right, she at least wanted to recover their remains for their families. She couldn’t possibly know the clinic’s exact location, but as a trained communications soldier, map and terrain analysis were her bread and butter. With the information at hand and her own deductions, she could narrow it down.

All that remained was to wait for the epidemic to pass or the northern lockdown to lift, then to search for possible remains. If she found nothing, she’d take a handful of scorched earth, place it in an urn, and set up a marker—at least honoring their memory.

That was all Yang Xiaohua wanted.

She was gentle and good-natured, always willing to help others, but like all "good people," she had her quirks. With Wang Chen, it meant being open-hearted to friends; for Yang Xiaohua, it was a kind of stubbornness—seeing things through, no matter how hopeless, to find a sliver of peace.

In the end, they were both fools for their convictions.

While she was lost in thought, a slick voice sounded behind her, "Hey, beauty, spotted some suspects just now? Did the boss reward you? Give you time off? Want to go for a stroll with me?"

She didn’t need to turn around—she knew trouble was here. His surname was Ma, as in "trouble," and his given name was Tian—Ma Tian, deputy captain of the rescue center’s security team. Yang Xiaohua figured he was just here to pad his resume; he never stood guard or patrolled, just wandered around with a shotgun, calling it "mobile sentry duty."

To her, he was just persistent trouble. Since she’d arrived, he’d stuck to her like glue, publicly declaring himself her "knight" and saying they could marry on the spot if she just agreed.

It had only been four days, but Yang Xiaohua suspected his enthusiasm would burn out soon. She had to admit, he had a certain sunshine-bad-boy aura. If only he weren’t so greasy, he might actually attract admirers.

As for her own feelings? None.

Well, maybe a tiny bit of vanity tickled by his attention, but nothing more.

Still, she couldn’t let him keep pestering her in public. Restraining her irritation, she took a deep breath, turned, and said formally to his square-jawed face, "Ma Tian, I promise you: as long as you stop acting like this all the time, can we just be regular friends first? If things ever go beyond that, I promise not to hide it from you. Deal?"

"Alright, Xiaohua! You said it!" Ma Tian beamed as if he’d won the lottery. "Come on! What do you want for lunch? My treat!"

"Food, food, that’s all you think about. You’ll get fat."

"Even better—no one will compete for you then!"

"Hey, we just agreed to be regular friends!"

"Regular friends can joke, right?"

"No, they can’t!"

"Fine, whatever you say."

Through lunch, they bantered back and forth. In the afternoon, they watched a Korean drama Ma Tian had downloaded, but Yang Xiaohua soon grew bored and wanted to go out. Ma Tian went to ask Zhang Fu for leave; Zhang Fu, knowing Ma Tian’s background (his father was a division commander in the paramilitary), let him go.

The weather was stiflingly hot and humid, but their spirits were good. Wearing their wire masks, they left the rescue center, dodged a bus heading for the relocation site, and went to the town’s only grocery store that was still operating, selling snacks and drinks at normal prices. The owner was no fool—he hadn’t raised prices, but he also hadn’t fled, despite the risks of staying on the epidemic frontier.

In this little town, everyone who managed to stay was, without exception, an oddball.