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

The whole valley was in an uproar the night the generator was brought back to camp.

He Yuanchao and Greg spent most of the afternoon installing the high-powered diesel generator—in a semi-enclosed shed on the east side of the camp, which provided both rain protection and ventilation. The diesel fuel consisted of two barrels they had brought back from the town's gas station, plus their previous stock, totaling fifty or sixty liters.

That's enough to keep this generator running for quite a long time.

Six o'clock in the evening.

He Yuanchao squatted down next to the generator and checked the wiring one last time.

All the wiring was from the clinics and hotels in that small town—various thicknesses and colors, strung together like a patterned python. But the parts that needed insulation were all wrapped with insulating tape he'd secretly taken from the system space, so there were no safety issues.

The power line, originating from the generator, splits into three main lines—one leading to the large wooden hut in the center of the camp, one to He Yuanchao's "medical room," and one to the newly built warehouse.

Two or three light bulbs were hung on each main line.

The light bulbs were also brought back from the town—a whole box of 60-watt incandescent light bulbs, twenty-four in total, found in the hotel's storage room.

He Yuanchao screwed the light bulbs one by one into the makeshift lamp holders—which Greg had made from scrap wire and wood.

Everything is ready.

He pulled the generator's starter rope.

"Tap tap tap—"

The diesel engine started.

The deep, rhythmic rumble echoed through the valley at dusk, like the sound of some ancient ritual drums.

The line is powered on.

The first light bulb lit up.

Then comes the second lamp.

The third one.

Warm yellow light seeped out from the cracks in the wooden cabin's doors and windows, spreading little by little in the twilight.

Everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing.

Some people were moving logs—the logs slipped from their hands without them even noticing.

Some people were drinking water—the kettle stopped halfway up.

Some people are trying to soothe a child—but in the process, they suddenly freeze up.

All eyes were focused on the few lit light bulbs.

That's an electric light.

A real, electrically powered, warm electric light.

After Raccoon City fell.

After the nuclear bomb wiped the entire city off the map.

After they thought civilization was completely dead.

The light shone.

Old Reverend Phillips wept again.

This time he didn't kneel.

He just stood there, looking up at the light bulb hanging above the wooden door.

Tears streamed silently down that wrinkled face.

His mouth was moving, but no sound came out.

Emily, who was standing next to her, was holding the baby and was also crying.

The baby, not understanding anything, was attracted by the light and reached out its little hand towards the shiny thing—while making cooing noises.

Angela stood next to Jill, looking up at the lights.

The light bulb reflected in her big eyes as two small suns.

"Uncle..." Angela tugged at He Yuanchao's sleeve.

"Um?"

"Will this light... stay on forever?"

He Yuanchao looked down at her.

If we were to answer this question seriously, the answer would be—not necessarily. The diesel fuel will run out, the light bulbs will burn out, and the generator will break down.

But he didn't say any of that.

"Yes."

Two words.

Angela smiled.

That was the first truly carefree smile this little girl had shown since the apocalypse.

He Yuanchao stood up and walked to the center of the camp.

All eyes turned to him.

"Alright, stop standing there like idiots. While the lights are on—get your work done."

His voice was as calm as ever, without any impassioned speeches or sentimental lines like "the spark of civilization."

But everyone started moving.

It's more exciting than usual.

Because the light was on.

It's like—as long as the lights are on, everything will be alright.

After nightfall.

He Yuanchao returned to his "medical room".

With electricity, he could start doing things that he couldn't do before.

For example—scanning radio frequency bands.

He also found a military shortwave radio in the basement of the town government building. Although the radio's power was not high, its coverage was sufficient—it could transmit and receive signals within a range of about two to three hundred kilometers in mountainous conditions.

He Yuanchao plugged the radio into a power source.

The tuning knob slowly turned under his fingers.

"Shh—buzz—buzz—"

Most of the frequency bands are filled with noise and static electricity.

Occasionally, you can catch some intermittent, indistinct sound fragments—it could be a distant radio station automatically looping a recording, or it could just be electromagnetic interference in the atmosphere.

He Yuanchao wrote down every frequency band that had artificial signal characteristics.

Frequency, azimuth, and signal strength.

This information will be very useful in the future.

In this world where death is everywhere, every radio station that is still transmitting a signal means that there are still living people somewhere.

Living people are resources.

Alice peeked out from the doorway.

"Aren't you going to sleep yet?"

He Yuanchao didn't even look up.

"You go to sleep first. I'll listen a little longer."

Alice came in and sat down on the stool next to him.

She showed no sign of leaving.

The two sat side by side in front of the buzzing radio, listening to the noise and silence of the world.

The light bulb in the shack emitted a warm yellow glow.

The night breeze outside, carrying the coolness of the river, seeped in through the cracks in the door.

Several unidentified birds were calling on the distant mountain ridge, their calls intermittent, as if they were saying goodbye to someone.

He Yuanchao switched to a new frequency band.

"rustle--"

Then his hand stopped.

A voice came from the radio.

Intermittently.

But it's clearer than any other signal.

"This is...the convoy...the team leader's name is...Claire...Redfield..."

He Yuanchao's pupils contracted slightly.

Alice sat up straight as well.

The two people looked at each other.

Then they both looked at the radio station.