Min Shu froze for a full two seconds before saying, “The world… has ended?”

It was such an unfamiliar description. He looked at Wei Changchuan blankly: “What do you mean?”

Wei Changchuan glanced at him, as if assessing Min Shu’s state of mind. Seeing that he was merely bewildered and showed no overly extreme reaction, he continued: “The world’s destruction is just a broad term.”

“The area habitable to humans is less than 5% of the Earth’s surface,” he said calmly. “The global population is under 100,000. The Organization for the Continuation of Human Civilization issued a Level 3 Endangered Species Alert earlier this year—that’s the specific situation.”

As the man spoke, Min Shu’s eyes widened slowly. He was speechless for several seconds, barely able to react, and subconsciously repeated Wei Changchuan’s words: “…Species… endangered?”

Wei Changchuan nodded and said, “As a species on Earth, humanity has reached the brink of extinction.”

Min Shu was shaken to the core; his mind went blank. “Species in danger of extinction”—it was a phrase he’d heard frequently on TV, but it was usually used to describe other animals. He never would have dreamed that one day this phrase would be applied to humanity itself.

It took him several minutes to process what had happened, and he instinctively asked, “…So, what about us—”

Wei Changchuan looked at him, seeming to understand what he was about to say, and replied, “The world no longer has national boundaries.”

Min Shu froze.

Perhaps realizing his tone had been too cold and harsh, Wei Changchuan paused and softened his voice slightly. “What we have now are human survival bases. Survivors are not categorized by nationality or race. After undergoing health screenings, those who are approved are assigned to designated bases.”

Hearing this, Min Shu took a small breath. “Then what was that seal you put on my passport earlier?” He remembered the seal read “Global Travel.”

Wei Changchuan glanced at him, then lowered his gaze, his fingers tracing the tabletop. “It means exactly what it says—you can enter any base anywhere in the world.”

Min Shu gasped, finally grasping the significance of that seal. Recalling how he’d asked the man if he could wipe it off, the words “I didn’t know a good thing when I saw it” flashed through his mind.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. Min Shu asked somewhat urgently, “Why is this happening? What exactly went wrong?” Min Shu remembered that everything had been fine before he left to study abroad—nothing out of the ordinary. It had only been eight years; how had the apocalypse occurred? Hearing this, Wei Changchuan raised his eyes. His eyes were deep and dark, their pitch-black depths radiating a chill.

“A plague.”

He said calmly, tapping his fingers on the table:

“Many people were infected and died. Humanity’s current epidemic control measures are limited; vaccine development hasn’t succeeded yet, and there are no effective means of containment.”

Wei Changchuan’s explanation was simple—almost too concise. As if he knew Min Shu had a mind full of questions, he pulled a small booklet from his uniform and tossed it to Min Shu: “Read it yourself.”

Min Shu caught the booklet and noticed it had no cover, only the words “Human Survival Organization” printed in the corner. Flipping to the first page, he saw the words “For Internal Use Only” printed on the white paper. Min Shu paused; he didn’t consider himself part of the inner circle, so he looked up at Wei Changchuan.

The man was wearing a uniform, one hand resting on the back of his chair, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth—unlit, just clenched between his teeth.

This man must be “internal staff.” Min Shu sensed that Wei Changchuan held a high position—perhaps even a high-ranking official—so he lowered his head and continued reading the booklet in his hands.

On the first page were two prominent characters: “Virus Strain.”

The page contained three images that looked like they might appear in a middle school biology textbook, with a few lines of text beneath each one.

Min Shu scanned the text from left to right and noticed that it described three virus strains in order: “X,” “Y,” and “Z.”

Min Shu skimmed through it quickly and realized it was describing a new type of virus: the X virus strain was airborne and transmitted from person to person, while the Y virus strain could be transmitted through blood, bodily fluids, and animal feces. Up to this point, it looked like an ordinary virus prevention manual, but as Min Shu’s gaze moved further down, he saw three chilling lines of text.

Beneath both the X and Y virus strains were the exact same two lines: Contagiousness: Extremely high

Pathogenicity: Extremely high Mortality rate: 99%

Min Shu sucked in a sharp breath. Although he had majored in the humanities back in the day, even relying solely on common sense and his limited understanding of epidemics, Min Shu knew what catastrophic consequences extremely high transmissibility combined with an extremely high fatality rate would bring. If such a virus were to spread widely across the globe—Min Shu shuddered—was this why the global population had dwindled to less than 100,000?

“But—” Min Shu’s breathing grew slightly ragged as he looked up at Wei Changchuan. “Aren’t a virus’s transmissibility and fatality rate usually inversely correlated?”

As perhaps one of the oldest organisms on Earth, viruses have accompanied humanity throughout its entire history and evolution. Throughout human history, they have faced numerous pandemics—from the infamous smallpox, leprosy, and malaria, to the influenza viruses that have swept the globe on multiple occasions, and the hemorrhagic fevers that strike fear into people’s hearts in modern times—all cast in the shadow of viruses.

However, there is one nearly universal rule regarding diseases caused by viral transmission: the higher a virus’s fatality rate, the lower its transmissibility. Because the host dies quickly, the virus—which relies on host cells for replication and reproduction—loses its activity, breaks down into ordinary chemical substances, and ceases to spread. Consequently, highly lethal viruses often cease transmission after rapidly killing a wave of infected individuals due to a lack of hosts; many historical pandemics ended for this very reason.

“If a virus has a 99% fatality rate, why would it spread on a massive scale?” asked Min Shu.

Upon hearing this, Wei Changchuan raised his hand to remove the cigarette from his lips, placed it back in the pack, and said, “Because it isn’t a virus.” Wei Changchuan put the pack away, raised his eyes, and said calmly:

“People call it a virus simply because it’s the explanation that most closely fits human understanding.”

Min Shu’s eyes widened in surprise as he watched Wei Changchuan stand up, pull a chair over to sit beside his, and flip through a few pages of the booklet. Following his finger, Min Shu saw a passage written on the page: “Humans know very little about this new virus. Current research indicates that after the infected person dies, the virus continues to exist and retains the ability to replicate and reproduce independently of a host.”

The X virus strain spreads through the air via the infected person’s coughing, sneezing, and other actions, forming a fine, invisible colloid that remains suspended in the air. Consequently, anyone who comes near the infected area can be infected simply by breathing in the airborne virus.

The Y virus strain spreads through human bodily fluids and excretions such as saliva, blood, and urine. After the host’s death, it somehow manages to maintain cellular activity, transforming the corpse into a mindless mass of flesh that writhes across the ground in the infected area.

Far from the polar regions, in the south, a once-populous nation was the first to experience an outbreak of the Y virus strain. Countless desperate citizens flocked to the Mother River in the heart of the capital, begging the gods for hope. They became corpses floating on the river’s surface; as the death toll rose, the flesh and bodily tissues left behind by the infected sank to the riverbed, eventually filling the entire waterway.

Meanwhile, regions struck by the X virus strain became toxic gas containment zones. The mass deaths of residents and the flight of survivors transformed city after city into forests of miasma made of steel, with no one permitted to enter.

Min Shu had no idea what the outside world had become, but merely reading this information sent a chill down his spine.

Min Shu felt a chill run down his spine and couldn’t help but shiver. The fear of disease—especially infectious diseases—is hardwired into human DNA. Even someone as apathetic as Min Shu felt a twinge of fear and instinctively looked up at Wei Changchuan beside him:

“W-well, I—”

“Don’t be afraid.” Wei Changchuan seemed to have been prepared for this; he took Min Shu’s slightly trembling hand: “You haven’t been infected.”

Upon hearing this, Min Shu immediately let out a long sigh of relief. Then he suddenly recalled the night he first met Wei Changchuan, when the man had made a “beep” sound with some device in front of him—perhaps that was the instrument used to confirm whether he was infected.

Everything suddenly made sense. Min Shu suddenly recalled the closed ports and airports; he realized that it was Greenland’s isolation and remoteness that had saved him.

After all, Min Shu knew his immune system was like a drafty window; if he’d encountered a virus like this, he would have been doomed.

Min Shu fell silent, feeling a lump in his throat. He stared at the booklet, the words “global population under 100,000” swirling in his mind.

He had indeed suspected that something had happened in the outside world, but he never imagined the truth would be like this. He had been on the island for seven years, and the outside world had actually turned into an apocalypse!

Overwhelmed by shock, Min Shu felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. His body felt light and unsteady; the sudden onslaught of information left him almost unable to tell whether he was dreaming or awake.

Just then, Wei Changchuan suddenly tightened his grip on Min Shu’s hand, rubbing his fingers soothingly and saying once more, “Don’t be afraid.”

Min Shu snapped back to reality and looked at Wei Changchuan. He seemed startled and instinctively moved a little closer to Wei Changchuan:

“Bro—” Min Shu looked at Wei Changchuan and asked softly, “Is there really no way at all?”

Wei Changchuan answered him immediately: “There is.”

The man’s tone was resolute. There was a certain strength in his voice that instantly calmed Min Shu’s heart.

“There are currently two methods available.”

Wei Changchuan said, “The first is low temperatures.”

“The lower the temperature, the slower this virus spreads.” He explained, “To prevent the virus from spreading further in the infected zones, the base began artificially releasing refrigerants into the atmosphere five years ago. As a result, the global average temperature drops to varying degrees every year.”

Upon hearing this, Min Shu immediately realized, “No wonder it’s been getting colder and colder on the island these past few years!”

Wei Changchuan nodded and said, “Consequently, the two remaining human bases are both built in high-latitude regions: the Eastern Base in Siberia and the Western Base in the northern part of the former Canada.”

“Apart from that, Greenland is the only known area where humans can survive.”

Min Shu realized that both of these locations shared distinct characteristics—they were sufficiently remote and isolated, resulting in minimal contact with the outside world, which allowed for relatively effective containment of transmission routes.

Second, they were cold enough. Most of Greenland lies within the Arctic Circle; while the virus might freeze to death there, people would freeze to death just as quickly.

Min Shu felt this approach was somewhat impractical. A place like Greenland simply isn’t suitable for most people to survive. Or rather, not just most people—due to the continuous drop in temperatures, even the indigenous people who have lived on the island for generations are struggling to survive. So he asked, “What about the second option?”

Wei Changchuan glanced at him, paused for a moment, then parted his lips slightly and uttered two words:

“Immunity.”

Upon hearing this, Min Shu’s eyes lit up instantly, and he hurriedly asked, “So how does one become immune?”

Wei Changchuan replied, “Tough it out.”

Min Shu: “…Huh?”

Wei Changchuan’s expression remained impassive: “If you get infected and survive, you’ll become immune. If you die—” He paused briefly before continuing, “Then you die.”

Min Shu：………