The other researchers were not doing much better.
The entire base was immersed in a chaotic negative state.
That midday, Tong Sui walked into the dining area of the research institute and overheard some complaints. “What kind of dishes are these? This isn’t what we were promised when they recruited us!”
“If I hadn’t thought the base was large, I wouldn’t have come here even if you paid me!”
“I’m already grateful,” another researcher said. “I heard they’ve reduced the distribution of free supplies to just one steamed bun a day. What kind of situation is that?”
Upon seeing Tong Sui, a few of them waved and greeted him.
Tong Sui took out his lunch box.
Several of them envied him, saying, “Team Leader Hua is so considerate. Look, you don’t even have to eat this garbage with us.”
Tong Sui frowned, a sense of unease creeping in.
If everyone here was facing such conditions, then what about the people he saw in Area B and beyond? How were they going to survive?
The turmoil in the base began five days later.
A large number of ordinary people flooded into the central area, smashing things everywhere.
Tong Sui stood on the second floor of the research institute, along with many others, and watched the marching crowd outside.
Long-term malnutrition made them look emaciated, their eyes protruding; they resembled zombies.
They vandalized everything along the route but stopped in front of the research institute, seemingly seeing it as the only hope in the apocalypse.
Only then was the research institute spared.
However, their resistance was quickly suppressed by the ability users, and as punishment, they cut off even the meager supplies that had previously been available.
Life seemed to be shrouded under a swampy stillness.
Tong Sui couldn’t understand why the food crisis at the Hua North Base was so much worse than what was portrayed in the original plot.
There was so little he could do; he set up a makeshift bed in the lab and brought back two changes of clothes.
After that, he stopped returning to his apartment and dealt with everything right in the lab.
Meanwhile, the system painfully accompanied Tong Sui as he engaged in these tedious experiments, feeling more tortured than during any punishment; it was driving him crazy.
At this point, he realized that the seemingly fragile host had changed from the time he first met him.
He looked leaner than before; his hair had grown long from neglect, with the strands obscuring his eyes.
Coupled with the glasses perched on his nose, it was hard to see his eyes clearly.
Tong Sui often sat in the lab all day long, maintaining a silence that felt palpable, akin to a tireless machine, except for the occasional conversation with Jiang Hua.
The system slightly sensed something was amiss with his mood and tried to interrupt his increasingly unhealthy work hours.
It said, “You don’t need to rush; it’s not yet time for Jiang Hua to mutate into a zombie.”
Tong Sui glanced at the small animal made of straw on the table, which had dried out from being left in the air too long.
“But the others can’t wait.”
During this time, the population outside Area B had sharply declined — some from illness, some from mysterious disappearances, primarily involving the elderly, women, and children.
No one knew where they had gone.
But since the first disappearance, the number of those starving to death decreased.
The system was hesitant to advise further and could only watch as Tong Sui wearily pulled through one night after another.
Then one day, Tong Sui abruptly set down his pen, staring blankly at the recorded data on his paper, mumbling, “It feels like the experiment is about to succeed…”
Tong Sui stood up and walked to the microscope room behind him, placing the cultured slides under the lens.
On the adjacent screen, the once proliferating zombie virus showed effective suppression, with the viral cell count steadily decreasing.
Tong Sui felt a significant weight lift off his shoulders, almost dizzy, unsure of whom to share this uncertain good news with.
Next, he needed to conduct experiments biologically; only with successful live tests could the effectiveness of this antidote be fully validated.
He destroyed all the failed samples, and his mood gradually stabilized.
For safety’s sake, he carefully extracted the only successful sample into a syringe, preserved it in a constant-temperature box, and placed it in storage.
After completing all this, Tong Sui removed his lab coat and took it to the tiny laboratory restroom.
This place was never meant for bathing.
In the cramped space, he managed to wash himself simply with pre-prepared hot water.
Having done all this, Tong Sui didn’t lie back down on his makeshift folding bed; instead, he put on a clean lab coat, turned on a small lamp, and sat back at his workstation.
The workbench was covered in stacks of experimental records, densely packed with data from each trial.
Tong Sui fought against his drowsiness and recorded the day’s experimental details.
He felt utterly exhausted.
Halfway through the report, his pen slipped from his fingers, and he slumped over the table, drifting into a fitful sleep.
He dreamed of the success of the zombie antidote, of the world returning to a familiar state filled with the scents of grass and fruit.
Everything felt so beautiful.
At the gates of the base, ever since the red rain, the number of refugees outside had surged. Every day, a large number of people arrived at the base seeking shelter, filled with hope.
Long periods of hunger and travel had turned their skin a waxy yellow, a thin layer of flesh clinging to their bones, resembling dehydrated mummies.
Yet the Hua North Base no longer accepted ordinary people; even ability users had to pay sufficient crystal cores and supplies to gain entry.
These people couldn’t meet the criteria yet refused to leave, hoping for a so-called turning point to arise.
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