Min Shu was certain he hadn’t misheard, but Wei Changchuan’s tone was so harsh that he had no choice but to shut up. Wei Changchuan turned him around, then let go of him and walked two steps ahead of Min Shu.

They continued down the hillside. The snow on the path had been swept clean by the wind stirred up by their wings moments ago, making it easier to walk. Before long, the two of them reached the spot where the blond man had been standing.

“Huh?”

Upon approaching, Min Shu noticed two plastic bags lying on the circular patch of cleared snow. He asked curiously, “What are these?”

The two bags were placed exactly where the man had been standing. They were about two or three times the size of ordinary grocery bags, both vacuum-sealed, with sealed with red tape bearing a few English letters, making them look somewhat like the packaging used for hazardous materials in movies.

Wei Changchuan said, “Supplies.”

Min Shu walked closer and could now clearly see the colorful food packaging inside the transparent plastic bags: several packets of sugar, a few boxes of salt, and a few vacuum-sealed packages of meat beside them.

“Wow.” Min Shu was a little excited, but then something suddenly occurred to him, and he looked up at Wei Changchuan: “Bro, you mentioned earlier that someone would bring supplies. Is that him?”

At the time, he had assumed Wei Changchuan was leaving. Min Shu remembered that Wei Changchuan had specifically told him to stay inside and not go out, and to wait until the person had left before retrieving the supplies.

Was that the guy from just now?

Min Shu glanced at Wei Changchuan, wondering if he’d kept him inside because he’d found that “birdman” from earlier to be strange. He grumbled to himself without saying a word, but Wei Changchuan seemed to have read his mind and said:

“Don’t approach strangers,” he said. “The virus can survive for a long time outside the body, so don’t touch things carelessly.”

Min Shu was startled by this and looked nervously at the plastic bag in Wei Changchuan’s hand:

“Could there be any on this?”

Wei Changchuan replied, “This is material developed by the base; the virus can’t survive on it.”

With maximum infectivity and virulence, capable of surviving outside the host and impossible to prevent, this virus is the ultimate evolutionary form in the viral world—a near-perfect “king of viruses.”

Humans were virtually helpless against this virus; the successful development of a material capable of preventing adhesion to the virus’s outer protein capsid was already a major breakthrough. Unfortunately, human manufacturing capacity had plummeted under the ravages of the plague, and production of this material was extremely low. It was primarily allocated to the Immune, who were constantly deployed on missions—for instance, Wei Changchuan’s base uniform was made from this very material.

“Oh, I see.” Min Shu listened and breathed a slight sigh of relief.

But viruses are invisible to the naked eye and impossible to touch. Min Shu felt as though he were surrounded by some unseen threat; he felt uneasy all over and rubbed his arms. He thought to himself that it was fortunate that within a ten-kilometer radius, there were only he and Wei Changchuan. The small town was remote; after the residents had left, it had become a veritable ghost town—a fact that now seemed like an advantage.

Wei Changchuan picked up the two plastic bags, and the two began walking toward the Chinese restaurant.

Once the polar night set in, the sun no longer rose; the sky only grew faintly bright at noon. After standing in the snow for just a moment, the faint glow on the horizon had already vanished. The sky gradually returned to pitch black, the temperature began to drop, and a breeze picked up, blowing straight down people’s collars.

Min Shu shivered and looked up at Wei Changchuan:

“Bro, it’s cold.”

Wei Changchuan, who was walking ahead, paused. He shifted both bags to his left hand, turned around, and reached out with his right hand to take Min Shu’s. The two continued on, leaving the cleared area behind and once again trudging through the snow, their footsteps sinking in and out of the deep drifts.

“Whoa.” Min Shu wasn’t paying attention and nearly slipped.

Wei Changchuan stopped, glanced back at him, and then let go of his hand. Min Shu was taken aback; before he could say anything, the man bent down and said, “Get in.”

Min Shu hurriedly replied, “Bro, it’s okay. I can walk on my own.”

Wei Changchuan ignored him and simply repeated, “Get in.”

Min Shu whispered, “Really, it’s not necessary—”

Wei Changchuan: “Stop talking.”

Min Shu paused, then finally gave in and obediently climbed onto his back.

Wei Changchuan hoisted him onto his back, still holding two bags full of supplies, yet he looked as though it required no effort at all. This made Min Shu feel as though, in Wei Changchuan’s eyes, his weight was probably no more than that of a backpack.

Wei Changchuan carried him through the snow, moving much faster than when he’d been leading him by the hand, which made Min Shu realize that Wei Changchuan’s previous pace had been entirely out of consideration for him.

Min Shu：……

Now he was completely speechless. He lay on Wei Changchuan’s back, pretending to be a backpack.

But he didn’t stay quiet for long. Unable to resist his chatty nature, he spoke up to Wei Changchuan: “Bro, what did that guy mean when he said the virus sample was half his half of the virus sample?”

The blond man’s words had hinted at some tension with Wei Changchuan, and he’d even mentioned the North American base, which caught Min Shu’s attention.

Wei Changchuan didn’t hide anything from him: “He’s an Immune from the North American base, and his mutation-derived ability is flight. Having him retrieve the samples is the fastest option, so they chose to collaborate with the North American base—at the cost of sharing half the samples with them.”

Hearing this, Min Shu instinctively furrowed his brow, sensing a hint of taking advantage of the situation. However, he then thought that from the perspective of human survival, it didn’t matter who developed the vaccine first, so he let it go.

“Which country was he from before? His accent sounded British to me.” Min Shu asked curiously, “What are ‘Birdman’ and ‘Soldier’? Are those your codenames?”

Wei Changchuan, with his back to Min Shu, stepped into the snow. His voice was flat as he answered the first question: “I don’t know.”

Then he answered the second: “Yes.”

Min Shu nodded, thinking to himself that those codenames were certainly straightforward. He began to analyze which country the blond man might be from:

“His accent sounds British, but he seems too enthusiastic—it doesn’t quite fit.” He continued, “We’re too far away to make out his features clearly, but I can see his hair is blond.”

As he spoke, he sighed, “His hair is so beautiful—you can see it even though it’s so dark. It’s so shiny, just like gold. It’s really gorgeous.” The young man’s voice was chatty and chirpy, like a chattering little bird.

Wei Changchuan didn’t say a word, but Min Shu didn’t pay any attention to his silence. He looked down and continued asking:

“By the way, bro, what did he mean by ‘Outer City’ just now?”

Although the blond man had spoken from a distance, Min Shu had caught most of his final words as he left. He asked, “Why did he say not to go to the base, but to go to the Outer City? Is the Outer City better than the base?”

This time, Wei Changchuan stopped in his tracks.

Confused, Min Shu pressed on, “Bro, why have you stopped?”

Wei Changchuan turned his head slightly. In the darkness, Min Shu couldn’t make out his expression; he could only vaguely see the sharp contours of his jawline:

“He’s out of his mind.” His tone was sharp: “I told you not to listen to him.”

Although he couldn’t see clearly, Min Shu had a strange feeling that Wei Changchuan was glaring at him with a threatening look. He immediately backed down and hurriedly said, “All right, I won’t say another word.”

Wei Changchuan stood there for a moment before continuing on his way.

Intimidated by his fierce demeanor, Min Shu dared not speak. After a moment of silence, his body grew stiff, and he unconsciously loosened his grip on Wei Changchuan.

“Hold me tighter,” Wei Changchuan ordered.

Min Shu flinched again and immediately tightened his grip.

After that, the two said nothing more. Wei Changchuan carried him back to the Chinese restaurant. Several dogs eagerly surrounded them, sniffing at the two plastic bags with their noses. Wei Changchuan raised his hand to hold the bags higher, pushing through the furry pack of sled dogs to reach the entrance of the restaurant.

As soon as the door opened, warm, humid air enveloped them. Wei Changchuan bent down and set him down.

Min Shu’s feet touched the ground, and he instinctively tried to step back, but Wei Changchuan grabbed him as if he had eyes in the back of his head. The man held onto his arm, set the two bags down first, changed his shoes, then turned his face to scan Min Shu from head to toe. Min Shu pursed his lips and instinctively averted his gaze: “Bro—”

Wei Changchuan lowered his gaze and raised his hand to brush the snow off Min Shu from head to toe. “Are you mad?”

Min Shu felt a bit embarrassed by his childlike care and whispered, “No.”

Wei Changchuan brushed him clean, removed the felt hat from the young man’s head, and looked at him again, remarking, “You’re so chubby your chin could hold a bottle.”

As soon as Min Shu heard this, the corners of her mouth relaxed instinctively. Then, looking a little aggrieved, he glanced up at Wei Changchuan before lowering his head and saying, “…Brother is always so mean to me.”

Wei Changchuan sighed softly. He turned, took off his hat, and set it aside, then looked back at Min Shu with a slightly exasperated expression:

“I’m not being mean to you.”

Min Shu said nothing, merely glancing at him—the meaning was clear without words.

Wei Changchuan seemed both amused and exasperated. He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose: “Many Immunes suffer from aftereffects during the mutation process. The Birdman’s mental state is unstable; you shouldn’t take what he says seriously.”

Min Shu was taken aback. So Wei Changchuan hadn’t been lashing out at him for no reason—it was actually true. No wonder he’d sensed a strange, manic excitement in the blond man’s tone, as if he couldn’t control what he was saying. It was a side effect. He paused for a moment, then asked:

“So did he make up that ‘Outer City’ to deceive us?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Wei Changchuan snapped his eyes up. Fearing he’d be scolded, Min Shu flinched and ducked his head.

Seeing how timid he looked, Wei Changchuan found himself at a loss for words. He paused, sighed, and finally said, “The ‘Outer City’ is the settlement for the immune outside the base.”

To protect the ordinary people inside the base and prevent a repeat of the tragedy that once befell the Babel Tower, the base mandated that anyone returning from outside must undergo a quarantine of at least three months in a designated area and pass comprehensive screenings before being allowed entry. Many Immunes who frequently had to go on missions found this process cumbersome, so they simply built houses not far from the base. As these houses multiplied, they gradually formed a settlement for the Immunes, known as the Outer City.

Unlike the base, which lies deep underground and never sees daylight, the Outer City more closely resembles the human towns of the era before the apocalypse. Consequently, from time to time, some of the ordinary people who are involved in collective management within the base sneak out to live in the “Outer City.”

“So that’s how it is,” Min Shu understood, but he still had some doubts. “So ordinary people go to the Outer City just because it’s a bit bigger? A bit freer?”

He found it a bit strange. The Outer City was exposed to unpurified air, and its residents lived alongside the Immunes who roamed the streets daily. The risk of infection for ordinary people living in such a place was obviously very high. Could it really be that simply having more space and no one to watch over them was enough to make these people risk their lives and move to the Outer City?

Hearing his question, Wei Changchuan paused for a moment, then looked away. “Freedom can drive people to do many things.”

Min Shu thought about it and agreed. The human pursuit of freedom was a constant; if he were asked to leave the Chinese restaurant now and move to the underground base, he wouldn’t want to either.

Yet he still sensed something was off. Min Shu stole a glance at Wei Changchuan, afraid that asking again would make him lose his temper, so he held his tongue.

“You must be hungry, bro. I’ll go cook.”

He smiled, two dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth:

“What do you feel like eating? With all these supplies today, we’ve got to make something delicious.”

Seeing him smile, Wei Changchuan’s expression softened slightly. “Anything’s fine.”

“You always say ‘whatever’.” Min Shu muttered a quiet complaint, though every time, no matter what he made, Wei Changchuan always ate it with great relish.

He carried two large bags of supplies into the kitchen, cut them open with scissors, and took everything out one by one to put it away. In addition to essentials like salt, sugar, oil, flour, and rice, the supplies included long-lasting vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and onions, as well as snacks like coffee, chocolate, and soda crackers, and quite a few vacuum-sealed packages of meat.

Min Shu took out all the supplies and went through them, confirming that they were indeed food supplies from the North American base. The vast majority were common Western foods—even the fat provided was butter. However, it was clear that whoever had prepared the supplies had taken Wei Changchuan’s background into account and had made an effort to include some Asian foods. For instance, Min Shu found a box of Japanese curry blocks, so he happily decided to have curry rice for dinner that night.

Min Shu studied the vacuum-sealed package for quite a while but couldn’t figure out what kind of meat it was. Fortunately, it was red meat, so it should be fine. He opened a random packet, soaked it in ice water to drain the blood, then cut the beautifully marbled meat into small pieces. He sautéed them in butter with onions until both sides were golden brown. He then added water and simmered the meat until tender. Next, he added potatoes, carrots, a small spoonful of tomato paste, a small piece of dark chocolate, and the Japanese curry blocks. He let it simmer until the sauce thickened, resulting in a pot of rich, aromatic beef curry.

In addition to the main course, Min Shu used the leftover white sesame seeds to make a sweet-and-sour carrot salad, and she also cooked a pot of cabbage soup, serving everything together on the table.

Min Shu took a bite of the meat and found it rich in flavor and tender in texture, somewhat similar to beef but seemingly leaner. “What kind of meat is this?” he asked Wei Changchuan.

Wei Changchuan took a bite and said, “It seems to be venison.”

“So it’s venison. That explains why I’ve never seen it before,” Min Shu realized.

After the apocalypse, humanity’s industrial and agricultural production capabilities had suffered significant setbacks. To ensure a steady supply of meat, wild animals in the forests near the base—including deer, roe deer, wild rabbits, and other species—had been incorporated into the food supply. Min Shu really didn’t know how to prepare venison.

Fortunately, it turned out to be a pretty good curry.

After finishing their meal, the two of them, as usual, washed up early and got into bed.

In the midst of the polar night, the darkness stretched endlessly; outside, it was a frozen wasteland, and there was nothing much to do. The two of them got into bed, though they weren’t actually going to sleep right away. Wei Changchuan changed out of his military uniform and put on one of Min Shu’s loose-fitting sweaters (though it was tight on him), leaning against the headboard and reading a book.

Min Shu lay in bed and glanced at it, recognizing the classic *War and Peace*.

He lay there, unable to sleep and feeling a bit bored, so he struck up a conversation with Wei Changchuan: “Bro, is it any good?” 

Wei Changchuan replied, “It’s okay.” Then he glanced at him: “Do you want me to read it to you?”

Min Shu paused for a moment, then said, his face flushing slightly, “…No, thanks.”

Wei Changchuan nodded, then looked away.

Min Shu looked at Wei Changchuan, feeling a bit confused.

Wei Changchuan was very kind to him; at times, it was almost as if he treated him like a person with special needs who couldn’t take care of himself, or a child in need of help. But he wasn’t that sick, and he was only six years younger than Wei Changchuan.

He couldn’t tell whether Wei Changchuan’s care for him stemmed purely from pity or if there was truly something else behind it.

By the warm yellow glow of the bedside lamp, he studied Wei Changchuan’s profile. His thick eyebrows were slightly furrowed, with a faint crease between them; his eye sockets were deep-set, leading to a straight, high bridge of the nose—a face of flawless beauty. His features were hard to pin down as either youthful or mature; in fact, his age was almost impossible to guess. He was the very definition of textbook good looks.

Min Shu stared at him for a moment, then shifted slightly, moving closer to the man, and called out softly, “Bro…” 

“Hmm?” Wei Changchuan’s gaze remained fixed, one hand resting on his back. “What’s wrong?”

Min Shu looked up and said, “Today, that bird-man guy seemed to think we were dating.”

Wei Changchuan paused and turned his gaze toward him.

Min Shu met his gaze in the lamplight: “Didn’t you say the base doesn’t allow Immunes and ordinary people to date? If that’s the case, why would he think that?”

Wei Changchuan looked down at him, the crease between his brows deepening.

His eyes were naturally close together, and when he furrowed his brow, his thick, dark eyebrows cast a shadow over his deep-set eyes, giving him an imposing presence.

Min Shu instinctively felt a little uneasy, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it go without getting to the bottom of it. He swallowed hard, gathered his courage, and said, “If he’s making that kind of guess, it means there are still people dating, doesn’t it?”

Wei Changchuan paused, lowering his gaze to look at Min Shu’s face in the dim light.

The young man was wrapped tightly in his blanket, looking somewhat frightened, but his almond-shaped eyes shone brightly as they met Wei’s, revealing a steely resolve.

He had actually noticed it: Min Shu wasn’t unintelligent; he was simply too gentle by nature. Perhaps because of health issues from childhood and growing up in an orphanage, he was accustomed to reading people’s expressions and avoiding conflict, so he often didn’t bring up things he had noticed.

He also knew that Min Shu was a little afraid of him. Sometimes, if he raised his voice even slightly, the young man would look at him with timid eyes. That look made Wei Changchuan instinctively soften his tone and manner, again and again.

But at other times, the young man showed great courage. Like when he stepped out of the cave on that blizzard-swept night, calling out his name, or like now, with those eyes fixed intently on him.

Meeting that direct gaze, Wei Changchuan couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He lowered his head and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose:

“…Where there are rules, there are those who break them.”

Min Shu keenly sensed the hint of concession in his words. His eyelashes fluttered slightly as he lifted his gaze to meet Wei Changchuan’s: “So, are you a rule-follower, or a rule-breaker?”

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

T/N: AHHHHHH