Courtyard House: I fish in the heavens, a professional bird abuser.

The second search was conducted that afternoon.

He Yuanchao did not go.

He sent Jack, along with old Tom and two other able-bodied survivors, to move the remaining guns, ammunition, and hardware.

The route has already been traversed once, and the three zombies have been cleared out, so the risk of the second trip is much lower than the first.

He Yuanchao stayed at the camp.

It's not about being lazy.

It's because he has more important things to do.

He spent the entire afternoon working in that detached shack at the very edge of the camp.

This shack was specially built by Greg's men; it was in a secluded location, near a thicket of bushes by the river. An aluminum sheet salvaged from the helicopter wreckage hung at the entrance as a curtain.

He told everyone that this was a "medical room".

No one was allowed to enter—his reason being "the risk of infection inside."

But in reality, this shack was his secret laboratory.

After He Yuanchao pulled up the aluminum alloy curtain, he took out a small bioanalyst from the system space.

This instrument was something he had packed up and taken with him when he was in Hive Block B—it was an Umbrella Corporation product, military-grade, capable of basic gene sequence analysis and drug synthesis. Its casing was covered in green culture medium residue and dust, making it look like an old piece of equipment salvaged from ruins.

He put Angela's genetic sample into the analyzer.

Then, a tiny drop of the original virus stock solution was taken from another refrigerated container, precisely pipetted, and placed into a petri dish.

Finally, he added his own blood—a few drops squeezed from his fingertips.

Three types of samples.

Angela's natural antibody genes.

The parent sequence of the progenitor virus.

He Yuanchao's own G-virus enhanced gene.

The analyzer started running, and the data stream on the screen poured down like a waterfall.

The system was simultaneously performing a deeper analysis in his mind.

"Cross-comparison in progress..."

"The T-virus repressor fragment in Angela's gene is highly complementary to the host's G-virus enhancer factor..."

"The progenitor virus sequence can be used as a bridging vector..."

"The synthetic pathway has been preliminarily established..."

"With current materials and equipment, it is possible to synthesize a 'secondary T-virus inhibitor.' It is effective for about 30 days and can reverse about 50% of the mutation process."

"Synthesizing a 'perfect full-spectrum antibody serum' requires more rare materials: high-purity platinum group element catalysts, Class-A gene-editing enzymes, and—"

"A fully functional PCR amplification instrument."

He Yuanchao looked at the list of requirements and sighed softly.

There is still a long way to go before a "perfect cure" is found.

But at least—"secondary inhibitors" can be manufactured now.

He spent about three hours synthesizing the first batch of secondary inhibitors with the help of the system.

There are three in total.

The pale blue liquid was contained in a small syringe, looking no different from the medication in a regular IV bag.

He Yuanchao carefully wrapped the three syringes in a cloth strip and put them into the inner pocket of his bulletproof vest.

They left the shack.

It was already dark outside.

The setting sun dipped behind the mountain ridge, turning the valley a vibrant orange-red.

Several campfires were lit in the camp. Some people were boiling water, some were repairing barbed wire, and some were using newly brought-back tools to trim wooden stakes.

The search team has returned from their second trip.

Jack neatly stacked the guns and ammunition in a newly built shack—that was the "armory."

Old Tom set up more than a dozen traps around the camp. He made a simple tripwire alarm using wooden stakes and wire; if anything touched the wire, the empty cans tied to it would rattle.

It's primitive, but it works.

After inspecting the camp and confirming the progress of various construction projects, He Yuanchao walked to the riverbank.

Alice sat on a large rock on the riverbank.

Her patrol was over—she had circled the area within a two-kilometer radius twice this afternoon and found nothing unusual.

She held the Nepalese military knife that He Yuanchao had given her, and slowly sharpened it on a stone.

"Snap—Snap—"

The sound of metal rubbing against rock is very rhythmic.

He Yuanchao walked over and sat down next to her.

The two remained silent for a while.

He Yuanchao was thinking about something.

Alice is sharpening her knife.

The river water flowed past my feet, making a splashing sound.

"What did you do in that shed today?"

Alice's voice suddenly rang out.

She didn't look up.

His eyes were still fixed on the knife in his hand.

"I got some medical supplies," He Yuanchao replied casually.

"The equipment salvaged from the ruins can be used to synthesize some basic medicines."

When did you learn drug synthesis?

I learned it from reading miscellaneous books.

Alice stopped sharpening the knife.

She looked up at He Yuanchao.

The light reflected from the river danced in her blue eyes.

"Is there not a single thing you're telling the truth about?"

He Yuanchao turned to look at her.

Alice's expression wasn't angry.

It's not a question.

It's more like a weary inquiry born from being tormented by curiosity for too long.

"Your marksmanship is better than any special forces soldier. You're stronger than anyone else. You know the Hive's structure inside and out, you know how to deal with the Red Queen, you can synthesize inhibitors, you even know when the nuclear missiles will arrive—"

"Your body is far superior to that of a normal person. You never panic in any situation. You seem completely oblivious to the rules of this world—zombies, viruses, mutants—these things are as commonplace to you as roadside stones."

"Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you in the hive?"

He Yuanchao looked into her eyes.

Those blue eyes appeared exceptionally deep in the twilight.

He remained silent for about five seconds.

Then he said something that was half true and half false.

"You lost your memory before, right?"

Alice was slightly taken aback.

"Me too." He Yuanchao's voice was very soft. "I don't remember my past. But my body seems to remember everything—how to shoot, how to kill, how to survive in hell. These skills weren't learned; they're etched into my bones."

Sometimes I think—maybe we're the same kind of people. 'Tools' created by some laboratory. Except…

He looked at the river, his gaze drifting into the distance.

"This tool has now decided to live for itself."

Alice remained silent for a long time.

She couldn't tell how much of what she said was true and how much was fabricated.

But that notion of "people of the same kind"—

I don't know why.

She believed it.

Or rather, she was willing to believe it.

In this world filled with death and lies, He Yuanchao accomplished at least one thing—he consistently protected everyone.

The man who cleaved the Licker in the hive with a knife.

The man who blew up the goddess of vengeance with a grenade in the church.

The man who broadcast the message to the entire city, urging all survivors to rush to City Hall.

The man who held a knife to Kane's neck and took the helicopter.

The man who used a rope to pull seven people out of a crashed helicopter on a cliff.

The man who gave away his last bag of rations to others and ate compressed biscuits himself.

Does his background matter?

In the apocalypse, this question takes a very, very long way off from "survival".

"Okay." Alice sheathed her saber.

I won't ask any further questions.

She stood up and dusted off her pants.

Then she said something.

It's neither too heavy nor too light.

It's like making a promise that doesn't require a response from the other party.

"No matter who you are—you are the only person I can trust in this world."

He Yuanchao watched her walk back to the camp.

The afterglow of the setting sun outlined her silhouette with a golden edge.

His lips twitched slightly.

Trustworthy.

These three words are more valuable than gold in the apocalypse.

He stood up and walked toward the camp.

There's still a lot to do tomorrow.