Zhao Weiliang found Shen Cong in the morning and talked with him for three hours. He returned to the garrison at noon for a command meeting, came back to Feidong County in the afternoon, and after two more hours of negotiation they reached an agreement.

Shen Cong and Vajra would not be exempt from the wartime regulations entirely — but they would operate under a united front arrangement, with preferential terms and a cooperative rather than subordinate relationship with the camp. A new militia squad would be established under his name, nominally subject to the People’s Defense Department’s task management and carrying a concurrent affiliate status within the Independent Motor Battalion, while reporting directly to Zhao Weiliang.

In practice: Shen Cong was formally under provincial garrison management and would do as he saw fit.

The arrangement had conditions. He couldn’t act against the camp’s interests, and he had to cooperate with garrison-assigned tasks. That was the price of access to the resources he needed.

Both parties accepted this and moved on.

Evening. The newly established Vajra Militia Squad returned to the Mingfa Camp alongside Zhao Weiliang.

The previous night’s assault had left the atmosphere heavy. Shen Cong didn’t enter the camp proper. He chose a position at the outermost edge — a corner with clear withdrawal routes in at least two directions — and parked there. That would be his station.

The agreement was signed. His guard didn’t drop a millimeter.

No welcome ceremony. He remained outside the perimeter, living the same way he always had, which mostly meant children from the camp drifting over to stare at the matte black war machine from a distance, chattering to each other about the teeth on the roof and the strange equipment mounted on the sides.

The adults were grieving. The children were still having a childhood.

“The camp will send people to build you a platform and a stone room here,” Li Aiping said, appearing at the cab door. She’d been reassigned by Zhao Weiliang from the now-dissolved White Cat Squad into the Vajra Militia Squad, effective immediately.

Shen Cong had already told her how that would work: same squad, separate operations. She would handle communication between him and the camp. He would handle everything else himself.

He opened the rear cargo door and jumped down, pulling out the organized supplies he’d been sorting while they talked. “Tell the camp I don’t need a room. Build the platform if they want, clear the rubble from around the perimeter, that’s sufficient.”

“You’re just going to keep living in the truck?”

He didn’t bother answering that. “Also — notify the logistics department. I have supplies ready for exchange.”

“Alright.”

The logistics truck arrived within the hour — a military-grade vehicle that had clearly been rebuilt from components, just an engine block and a cargo frame bolted together into something that moved. In the abundant zone, corrosion and rust progressed at rates that had no business being physically possible. Intact metal equipment had become genuinely rare. It was, again, the explanation for why iron people were treated the way they were.

“Squad Leader Hu, a pleasure — I’m Li Sansheng, Logistics Department head.” The man extended his hand with the practiced warmth of someone who did a lot of transactions.

Shen Cong was still in the Half-Activated Armor. He didn’t extend his hand. “Are we ready to calculate points?”

Li Sansheng’s smile adjusted smoothly. “Of course. Let’s begin.”

The accounting took a while. Tobacco, alcohol, and tea traded at low value in the garrison’s system — food and medicine were what the camp actually needed. When the final tally came in from the physical supplies, Shen Cong had 224 points.

The Apocalypse Journal data added 16 more.

Then the USB drives and hard drives. Li Sansheng’s people copied the contents directly and the garrison assessed the entire archive at once: 260 points.

Total: exactly 500. Silver tier, effective immediately.

Silver tier was rare in the camp — most evolved people were still at Bronze. The Gold tier threshold of 5,000 points had no holders at all. The current high score belonged to an iron person named Niu Daming at 544 points.

“Points can be redeemed against the allocation system,” Li Sansheng explained. “The tier structure is a single track — if you spend points, your tier drops and you lose the corresponding benefits.”

Shen Cong had no interest in the tier benefits. The only thing the garrison could offer him that he actually wanted was resources for Vajra’s overhaul. Every point was going toward that.

The logistics truck left. Vajra’s interior had opened up considerably, though a significant amount of equipment remained untouched — items that had already been amalgamated into Vajra’s structure, which couldn’t be surrendered without dropping his level. He hadn’t mentioned those.

“One more thing,” Li Aiping said. “Research Institute personnel want to come by tomorrow and talk to you about the evolution phenomenon. They’ll probably want to run some tests.”

“We’ll see when they arrive.”

Night fell over the Mingfa Camp, a handful of small fires scattered across the elevated platforms.

Shen Cong got out the welding torch and started on the Hummer’s primary metal.

A little at a time. Melt a section, guide Vajra to amalgamate it while still liquid, move to the next section. The welding torch wasn’t powerful enough to do it quickly, but he didn’t want speed — he wanted to avoid a repeat of the fire truck incident, when he’d forced the entire mass through at once and woken up five and a half hours later with blood drying on his face and every alarm on his phone going off.

Incremental was better. Incremental was manageable.

He kept the Half-Activated Armor on throughout. He kept the chassis escape hatch open. If the garrison decided at some point tonight that a missile was the appropriate response to the Hu Ge problem, the hatch gave him an exit in under a second and the choice of running or fighting on the way out.

Zhao Weiliang’s offer had been generous in tone and specific in its asks. Generous tone and specific asks were exactly the opening move of someone who wanted something complicated from you.

Alarms from everyone. Caution from everyone. Trust from no one.

“Blackhead — eat more. Produce more Super-2 Ant Acid. That’s the most dangerous weapon I have available right now.” He’d already started sharing Bee Treasure with Blackhead specifically to accelerate this. It was an investment he was willing to make.

Blackhead had immediately established that Bee Treasure was the best thing that had ever happened to it and was working through the allocation with focused dedication.

A fully matured ant converted excess nutrition directly into Super-2 Ant Acid. The vials were accumulating. More was better.

The Antgod stayed locked in the food compartment. He wasn’t ready to reveal it. Flight was his most important emergency extraction option, and you kept your best options hidden until you needed them.

The welding torch hissed. Primary metal dripped. Vajra pulled it in.

Ten minutes into the process, the effect began to register.

He could feel Vajra’s Talent starting to climb — not a sudden jump like the fire truck event, but a gradual, continuous expansion, the primary metal component of Vajra’s structure growing increment by increment as each new drop amalgamated. The primary metal sections had been concentrated in the engine block and front axle assembly, running back along the drive shaft. Under his guidance they were beginning to spread — threading outward along the chassis frame, moving through the undercarriage.

Somewhere in his thinking, without entirely deciding to, he’d directed the expansion toward the chassis. The chassis was the structural foundation. The safest part of the vehicle. The part that, if anything failed, was last to fail.

The primary metal followed that logic, spreading along the frame rails.

And then, gradually — incrementally, the way everything tonight was incremental — Shen Cong felt something beginning to change in his body.

(End of Chapter 144)