Blackhead had learned to apply Activity.

Shen Cong had assumed she was watching the patterns on the skylight. She’d actually been tracking the movement of ambient Activity through the glass — sensing its flow, mapping it — until the understanding clicked into place.

With Activity application unlocked, her mandibles could now achieve a sharpening response. Cutting metal was no longer a matter of sustained pressure and grinding effort. One light stroke was enough.

He was genuinely pleased. He was also thinking ahead.

Blackhead was an insect with limited intelligence, not even close to the top of the evolved hierarchy. If she could figure this out independently, watching hail hit glass in the dark — then more and more evolved beasts would inevitably follow. The Furious Sparrows had already been doing it when he first encountered them. The Swiftclaw Leopard was doing it with its tail. The timeline on “evolved beasts that can actively wield Activity” was compressing.

The hail didn’t last long. About half an hour, then it stopped.

What replaced it was snow. Heavy, thick-flaked snow — the kind that returned a little light to a sky that had been completely black, painting the world in grey-white. The time was 4:30 in the afternoon. Still light, barely.

Shen Cong pushed open the roof hatch and climbed up to look.

The world had been buried. White where surfaces rose above the water line, grey-dark where the low-lying areas held ice and water mixed. The camp’s elevated platforms were ringed with that grey slurry; the structures on top were wrapped in white. Small groups of figures moved between platforms, doing rescue work. Someone had climbed the 300-meter watchtower again and was scanning outward.

“Minus 9 degrees, coming up slightly.” He watched the snow fall for a moment. First snow since the apocalypse began. The ruined world looked more desolate for it.

By evening the temperature had recovered to zero. The snow had lightened. The ice-water mixture was retreating — water depth down to roughly half a meter.

The damage report came in: a dozen ordinary survivors dead, a dozen militia squads still unaccounted for after going out before the storm and not making it back. Some bodies found; others probably lost for good. The broader infrastructure damage was manageable. The critical loss was the sweet potato fields.

The twenty-seven Activity Peach seedlings had been saved — the Sweet Potato Lab team had moved them into stone structures before the worst of it hit.

The twenty mu of immature sweet potatoes had been submerged in ice water. Not dead, but badly stressed. The hail had been worse in some ways — wherever the ground rose enough that standing water hadn’t provided cushioning, the ice had snapped the root stems directly.

“Lucky it came and went fast,” Commander Zhu Li said, watching the recovery crews work. “A full day and night of this would have been catastrophic.”

The camp didn’t sleep that night.

Shen Cong didn’t involve himself. Once he had the situation summary, he went back to Great Vajra and continued his own work.

He organized his three bone-gold weapon series — Ape King, Condor, Spike King. He refined the rough sections of Great Vajra’s armor plating, working toward uniform high-standard surface quality throughout. He read — physics, specifically, because the behavior of Activity kept reminding him of physical principles he half-remembered and wanted to understand properly. The intersection felt like it meant something.

Eventually he checked the time. Past midnight. He turned out the lights.

Two meters long, one and a half meters wide — the bed was genuinely comfortable. He turned on the climate control, adjusted the temperature, and slept well.

Since the overhaul, his quality of life had improved by a significant margin in a short time.

This was, in his private assessment, the appropriate way to live in an apocalypse. No rules belonged to anyone else. The world was dangerous, yes — but also freer than it had ever been. He could move toward becoming something beyond ordinary human limits without anyone’s permission.

The preparation before the end of the world paid for the opportunity I have now.

I can feel my hand on the door handle of my own fate. The world doesn’t get to mock me anymore. I can live — actually live — the way I choose.

The extreme weather cleared within a day.

Temperature back to ten degrees — cooler and more comfortable than the stubborn autumn heat that had preceded the storm. Construction resumed across all active sites. The search teams recovered several of the missing militia squads; three remained unaccounted for, and body fragments suggested they wouldn’t be coming back.

The storm had hit everything, not just the camp. Evolved plant growth had been snapped and stripped in the hail. Some evolved beast carcasses emerged as the snow melted — creatures that hadn’t survived the temperature drop. Life everywhere showed damage.

And life everywhere was recovering. The Mingfa Camp found its footing and kept building. The evolved trees were already putting out new growth. Evolved beasts that had sheltered through the worst were emerging to feed.

Full leadership meeting. Command post.

Zhao Weiliang ran the agenda. “Based on reports — the Activity sweet potatoes were damaged but have been stabilized and saved. Furthermore, the rain and snowmelt have introduced significant additional ambient Activity into the soil. Current growth rate of the twenty mu under cultivation is exceptional. Projected yield is sufficient to feed the camp for two months. With a one-month growth cycle confirmed, the food crisis is resolved.”

He paused.

“Which means we can move forward with the survivor rescue option. Full-scale search and rescue across Anhui Province’s urban centers. To manage the threat level of the journey, I want Colonel Hu Ge, Edge of Evolution, leading the operation.”

Shen Cong sat in his corner and said nothing. Which was consent.

Zhao Weiliang had talked to him before the meeting — privately, specifically because everyone understood that springing assignments on Shen Cong without prior discussion was how you got silence, paranoia, and a cold refusal. The arrangement had already been negotiated: Shen Cong would accompany the convoy in a protective capacity. The primary rescue work would be done by the Motor Battalion team. Shen Cong would maintain distance, cover threats, intervene when necessary.

Which was to say: this was still a transaction. The camp paid in points; Shen Cong provided security.

He had agreed.

His thinking had evolved over time. His connection to the camp was still surface-level, but the logic of mutual benefit had become clearer. A larger, stronger camp meant more human intellectual resources concentrated in one place — more scientific capacity, more engineering expertise, more of the accumulated knowledge that had built human civilization. Science was the primary productive force, apocalypse or not. Great Vajra’s future development would require capabilities he couldn’t produce alone: energy systems, advanced weapons, communications, materials science, electronics.

Most of Great Vajra’s overhaul had depended on camp expertise. He’d provided the labor and the Activity. The camp had provided the knowledge.

Concentrate humanity’s survivors. Build the new city. Let science recover.

I pursue physical enhancement. Great Vajra pursues technological enhancement. That’s the actual evolutionary path for an iron person going forward.

He also had personal reasons. The Activity sweet potato’s enhancement effect was approaching saturation. He needed new Activity fruit sources — something that would continue pushing his physical development in sync with Great Vajra’s Activity Value growth. The cities along the route might provide that. Staying anchored at Mingfa Camp indefinitely was narrowing his perspective.

He lay on his back in the dark, talking to the ceiling.

Sooner or later I’ll leave this place behind.

October 29th.

The sky still carried residual grey. Standing water filled the road’s potholes; the ground was heavy with moisture.

On Sili River Road, Great Vajra took the lead position. A hundred meters behind it, the Motor Battalion’s convoy stretched out in a long line.

Cargo trucks, off-road vehicles, armored personnel carriers, vans, dump trucks, and one double-decker bus — twelve passenger-capable vehicles in total, every mobile asset the camp could field, each one trailing a wooden cargo trailer for people and supplies.

The new Motor Battalion commander, Liu Qihang, addressed his crews.

“This mission’s designation is Survivor Summons. Starting today, we will do everything within our power to bring every surviving compatriot home. The journey is dangerous. We will go into the ruins of cities. We will encounter powerful evolved beasts. As a Party member, I have wanted this mission for a long time.”

He looked down the line of vehicles.

“This is not an ordinary mission. This is a mission that will determine whether humanity survives. History will remember what we choose at this moment.”

“Move out.”

(End of Chapter 176)