Chapter Thirty: The Bottom Line

Michigan was the largest automotive hub of the Federation, serving as the primary site for the remanufacturing of cars and trucks, and it was also a significant agricultural region. Unlike New Newton, the Federation’s economic exchange center, Michigan was a city rooted in logistics, with a leisurely pace of life and a mild commercial atmosphere—a place of serenity. Under normal circumstances, driving through this city, one would see wide spaces, a relaxed lifestyle, and beautiful scenery. Outside the main city, vast farmland stretched in every direction, lush greenery pleasing to the eye.

But now, as the sun set, the city was deserted; blood stained the ground, and from time to time, corpses would burst from houses, rushing toward the convoy, turning what had once been a harmonious scene into a nightmarish tableau. Guo Lang drove on, lost in thought. Though he was not someone prone to sentimental pity, witnessing such devastation firsthand left him with a sense of melancholy. The plundering of civilization truly was merciless.

“Night’s coming. We need to find a place to stay. Martin suggested, over the radio, that we spend the night at his family’s farm.”

Guo Lang hesitated, then nodded, turning the steering wheel to double back. Martin, a soldier from the Special Forces unit, had just passed by his family farm with the group. Sadly, miracles do not happen every time. He had witnessed with his own eyes his parents and younger brother turned into living corpses and killed by his comrades. That iron-willed man wept for two hours straight. He was not alone—today, many wept. Most in this city were farm owners, and the soldiers’ families were much the same. Even if relatives mutated, they seldom wandered far from home, so their whereabouts were quickly confirmed.

The reality was harsh: among the ten brothers in the unit, none were spared; all their families met with disaster. This was, in fact, the statistical norm. Against these living corpses, ordinary people had virtually no chance—whether fleeing or fighting back, success was almost impossible. Guo Lang estimated that perhaps one in a thousand might survive by sheer luck. Given those odds, their current outcome was already remarkable.

Still, no matter how reasonable these facts were, they remained unbearable. Even with a one-in-a-million chance, each hoped to be the exception, but fate did not favor them. The team’s mood was so bleak that, by midday, two members had retreated to a corner and taken their own lives.

This frightened Thomas, who immediately pulled the survivors together for a stern talk. Still, morale remained low. Under such pressure, Martin’s unreasonable request was granted without objection—even Guo Lang did not oppose it. Now was not the time to make enemies; he wished to win these soldiers over, and their current vulnerability was to his advantage. All he needed was an opportunity.

That night, the unit camped at Martin’s farm outside the city. The farmhouse was spacious enough that nearly fifty people didn’t feel crowded. They gathered in a circle in the living room, where a charcoal stove and fresh vegetables from the farm allowed them a rare meal of hot food.

For those who’d eaten nothing but canned goods for a week, it was a feast. Unfortunately, the only meat left was smoked bacon and sausage; the livestock had been wiped out by the living corpses. Unlike the source virus zombies, who ate only humans, the worm-type living corpses retained normal animal instincts.

Still, Guo Lang was relieved to confirm that the worm-type virus did not infect creatures other than humans. This eased his mind considerably. Otherwise, considering the virus’s adaptability, infected animals would have been terrifying. It was fortunate, at least, that these undead spawn were not entirely without restraint.

As everyone ate freshly baked oat bread and sipped steaming vegetable soup, the grim atmosphere lightened somewhat. Instinctively, they avoided sorrowful topics, making idle conversation instead. Even families whose fates were still unknown went unmentioned—those still searching for their loved ones forced themselves not to dwell on it, fearing to confront the worst.

Guo Lang frowned. This was not the mood he wanted. If things continued this way, it would be hard for him to make progress. He would part ways with them when they reached the Southern Continent, and time was running short.

“Mr. Guo Lang…” Just as he was troubled, David suddenly spoke up. Guo Lang’s heart leapt, though he kept a calm, untroubled expression as he looked at the visibly nervous young man. “What is it?”

“The other day… what we saw—the immense eye, and the awe-inspiring presence within it—was that… was it a god?”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed, about to interrupt, but when he saw the once-lifeless faces of his brothers suddenly ablaze with hope, he swallowed his words and turned to look at Guo Lang as well.

“A god?” Guo Lang smiled faintly, his tone tinged with melancholy. “You could say that…”

“Then… could it bring people back to life?” David’s question made every eye turn to Guo Lang, hope rekindled in their gaze.

Guo Lang fell silent. He hadn’t expected such a direct question. How should he answer?

Could people be resurrected? The truth was, there was not no chance at all. Civilizations in the universe surpassed human imagination. In higher dimensions, not only could one live for epochs, but there also existed forbidden powers capable of returning the dead to life.

There were many methods. Alchemy, for instance, with its rule that all things could be exchanged if the price was paid—even the soul of Death itself could, in theory, be bartered for, though the risks were immense. Or technology, like the Night’s spacetime leap, altering history—though such acts would tangle the threads of causality, exacting a cost greater than alchemy. Even though the families of these soldiers were ordinary people with little impact on history, the price would still be enormous. Guo Lang could not do it now, and even in the future, when Night’s technology matured and they possessed massive space stations and time-jumping capabilities, he would not risk so much for a handful of common soldiers.

Yet, the situation was delicate. Seeing the group’s lost faith now flickering with hope, he realized that a single nod, even a vague promise, would grant him their allegiance—Thomas himself could not stop it.

Feeling the expectant gazes around him, Guo Lang’s heart pounded in his chest. This was his chance—one false promise would shatter the current stalemate and help him achieve his ends. All it would take was a lie…

“Sir, can gods really do such things?” David asked again, the others watching anxiously, including those whose families’ fates were still unknown. For them, this promise was equally vital—a safety net, a source of comfort.

“No,” Guo Lang answered at last, after a long silence. He closed his eyes and shook his head, dashing their hopes. “Gods are not omnipotent. Truly, they are not…”

The cold, merciless words extinguished every glimmer of hope. The room fell into dead silence again.

Guo Lang said nothing further. He knew what this answer meant: he had just forfeited his best chance. Yet he still chose thus. Means could be flexible, but his principles had a line he would not cross. This was the foundation of his conduct. He never considered himself a good man; in the coming age, perhaps he would, like those undead, have blood on his hands. But he still had his own convictions. When the world degenerated into a primitive jungle of the strong devouring the weak, when morality crumbled and all restraints vanished—what then made one worthy of being called human?

There are ten thousand answers for ten thousand people. Most will become beasts, but some will cling to their faith, drawing a circle to preserve their inner code. Perhaps it is a kind of self-hypnosis, but whether self-deception or not, as long as there is still awe in the heart, that is what makes you human.