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

Fourth day.

Payton is in trouble.

To be precise, it wasn't an "accident," but rather the countdown of the time bomb inside him had come to an end.

It was past 3 a.m.

Most people in the camp were asleep, except for two people on night duty at their posts who were still awake.

Peyton climbed out of the cabin where he slept.

His movements were not loud, but in the quiet night, even a heavy breath could be heard several meters away.

Jill was awakened by his groans.

When she sat up, she saw that Payton's bunk was empty. The blanket had been kicked to the side, and there was a large sweat stain on the pillow.

Her heart skipped a beat.

He grabbed his gun and chased after them.

Peyton crouched in a corner outside the cabin.

In the moonlight, his face looked very strange.

That sallow base color is back.

And this time it was more serious than the last time—several obvious gray patches appeared on the left side of his cheek, irregularly shaped, as if someone had splashed a few drops of gray paint on his face.

His hands—

Jill glanced down at Payton's hand.

I almost screamed.

Payton's right fingernail has changed color.

It wasn't the normal dark color caused by blood pooling.

It is a grayish-white color with a dark purple sheen.

Those were exactly the same fingernails she had seen on the zombies in the hive.

"Payton!"

Jill knelt down beside him.

Payton's forehead was covered in cold sweat, which rolled down his forehead drop by drop. His eyes were half open and half closed, his breathing was extremely rapid, and his chest felt like it was being emptied by a broken bellows.

"Jill..." His voice was so weak it sounded like it was coming from a coffin, "I... I don't feel well... my legs... my hands... they're changing..."

He raised his right hand, the one with discolored fingernails, and examined it in the moonlight for two seconds.

Then his tears fell.

A burly man over six feet tall, a tough guy who had been a policeman for twenty years, sat on the ground silently weeping like a child awakened from a nightmare.

That's not because of pain.

That was fear.

The fear of "becoming that kind of thing".

Jill's hands were trembling, but she still reached out and grasped Payton's hand tightly.

"Don't be afraid. I'll go get He—"

"No need to call."

A voice came from behind her.

He Yuanchao was already standing there.

I don't know when he woke up, or when he came over. His footsteps were so light they made almost no sound on the cobblestones.

He was wearing that crumpled blue overalls—the exact same ones he'd worn in the Hive that day. He was carrying a first-aid kit.

He Yuanchao squatted down and used two fingers to pry open Payton's eyelids.

"Um."

He glanced at Payton's iris.

The layer of gray fog that had been cleared up by the inhibitors last time has returned, and it's much thicker than before.

Next, observe the degree of color change in the fingernails.

Next, look at the area of ​​the gray spots spreading on the face.

He Yuanchao silently assessed the situation in his mind.

The mutation process has recovered to about 60%.

The previous primary inhibitor could only suppress the condition for 72 hours, and it has long since expired.

The T-virus in Payton's body is rebounding at an accelerated pace.

If no action is taken in the next few hours—

He will change.

He completely turned into a zombie.

Jill was clearly aware of this as well.

Her gun was tucked into her waistband, and her hand unconsciously reached towards it.

That was the choice she feared most—to end her partner's life with her own hands.

He Yuanchao stopped her hand.

"Don't rush."

He took a syringe from the first aid kit.

The pale blue liquid shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Jill's eyes lit up instantly.

"That is—"

"A secondary inhibitor." He Yuanchao located the vein in Payton's cubital fossa. "It's much more effective than the last one. It's effective for thirty days and can reverse about half of the mutation process."

"Thirty days?!" Jill's voice changed.

Last time it was only seventy-two hours.

The difference between thirty days and seventy-two hours is not a numerical difference—it's the difference between "barely surviving" and "staying alive."

The needle went in.

Payton groaned and his body twitched violently.

The pale blue liquid was slowly pushed into his veins.

He Yuanchao observed his reaction.

The system synchronously displays changes in Payton's biological data on his retina.

T-virus activity – has begun to decline.

The proportion of mutated cells has slowly decreased from 60%.

Fifty-five percent.

Forty-eight percent.

Forty-two percent.

The grayish-white color of the nails faded visibly.

The gray spots on my cheeks are gradually fading.

Payton's breathing began to steady.

The rapid, labored breathing, like a broken bellows, has transformed into even breathing, which, while still somewhat labored, has returned to a normal rhythm.

His eyes were fully open.

The layer of gray mist in those brown pupils was receding like the tide.

"Wh...how is it?" Peyton's voice was still hoarse, but at least it no longer sounded like it was coming from a grave.

"You've gained another thirty days of life." He Yuanchao pulled out the needle and put the syringe away.

"Is this enough for you to pay back what you owe me?"

Payton's lips twitched.

He reached out his hand, which had returned to its normal skin color, and gripped He Yuanchao's forearm tightly.

The grip was incredibly strong—so strong that He Yuanchao could feel the bones in his knuckles cracking.

But that wasn't an attack.

That was the most primal and clumsy gratitude of a man who was pulled back from the brink of death to his savior.

"I owe you two lives," Payton said, his voice trembling.

"Raise the interest rate." He Yuanchao stood up.

He fastened the safety cap on the syringe and put it into the first aid kit.

When I turned around.

I saw Jill.

She stood at the door.

The moonlight shone on her face.

Her lips were pressed tightly together, and her chin was slightly raised—a signature gesture as she tried to maintain her composure before her emotions spiraled out of control.

But her eyes were already red.

It wasn't the kind of red that involves wailing and crying.

It's that kind of vulnerability that can't be contained when a string that's been stretched for three days and three nights suddenly loosens.

She walked up.

I hesitated for a moment.

Then he stretched out his arms and hugged He Yuanchao tightly.

That hug was very strong.

Even through her bulletproof vest, you could feel her shoulders trembling slightly.

"You did something that even the entire STARS couldn't do." Jill's voice was muffled in He Yuanchao's shoulder, a little indistinct.

He Yuanchao raised his arm slightly.

He patted her on the back.

Two times.

Neither too heavy nor too light.

"STARS can't do many things. From now on, leave them all to me."

Gil loosened his grip.

She took a step back and wiped away the tears on her face.

The movements were so fast, it was as if she had never cried before.

Then she nodded to He Yuanchao.

It wasn't the kind of polite, perfunctory nod.

It was the kind of nod that said, "From now on, I'm sticking with you."

He Yuanchao saw it.

He didn't say anything.

He simply turned around and walked back to his shack.

The moonlight lengthened his shadow.

The river water was gurgling in the distance.

Thirty days.

Payton had thirty days.

Thirty days is enough to get a lot done.

That will make the campsite more sturdy.

That's enough to plant those seeds and harvest the first batch of grain.

We can find more supplies and more people.

This would allow him to research alternatives to the last few materials needed for the "perfect antidote".

Thirty days.

He has to make the most of these thirty days.