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Chapter 1386 Gloom

North...

It's the direction of our motherland!!

The fact that these Vietnamese people are so tense, even fearful... does it mean that a frightening force has appeared to the north?

Is it... the army of our motherland...?

This idea, like a weed, is difficult to suppress once it sprouts.

Chen He swallowed hard, lowering his voice to almost a whisper: "Brother... do you think... it could be... someone from our side has come?"

Chen Shan was startled and looked at his younger brother with a bright light flashing in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper worry.

He looked around warily, making sure no Yue people were approaching, before speaking in an almost inaudible voice:

"Don't think nonsense! And don't say a word! ...If those monkeys hear us, we'll both be dead instantly!"

He used the word "monkey," a word filled with contempt and hatred, and only in absolute safety and in private did the two brothers dare to vent their inner humiliation and anger in this way.

Chen He shrank back, but the expectation in his eyes was not completely extinguished.

Chen Shan took a few breaths to calm his racing heart, then pulled his younger brother closer to the shack, covering them both with a tattered blanket, as if that would give them a little more sense of security.

"No matter what comes from the north," Chen Shan whispered in his brother's ear.

"It may not be a bad thing for us, nor may it be a good thing. The more afraid the Yue people are, the more careful we need to be. They can't do anything about the north, so they might take their anger out on us 'outsiders'."

"Remember, no matter what happens, keep your head down, get to work, and don't make a sound. Survival is more important than anything else. As long as you're alive... maybe... maybe there really will be a day when you can go back."

Chen He nodded vigorously and gripped his brother's thin, bony wrist tightly.

Outside the shack, the hustle and bustle of the Heguang settlement continued. The sounds of soldiers running, officers shouting, and vehicles roaring, mixed with the distant howls of what could be zombies or mutated beasts, created a typical chaotic scene of a post-apocalyptic border base.

In that darkest, dampest corner, two foreign youths huddled together, desperately guarding the faint, almost impossible spark of hope for "going home" deep within their hearts amidst boundless fear and despair.

They didn't know exactly what was happening in the north, but the changes coming from their homeland that terrified the oppressors ultimately brought a glimmer of hope to this heavy darkness.

Even though the light was so distant and so dangerous, it was the only thing they could grasp.

...

Night province, night market

Following the rapid reconstruction of the night market after its reopening, the Night Market Management Committee, for political reasons, moved from the original Qinghe gathering place to the former provincial party committee office building located in the Nanming District of the night market.

In the entire office building, the Chairman's office occupies the best view, with a space of nearly fifty square meters, and the furnishings are simple yet solemn.

The walls are painted with light beige environmentally friendly paint, and a magnificent painting of "Cloudy Peaks and Clouds over Guizhou" and a bright red Zhou Bang flag hang on the wall.

A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf occupying one wall reaches the ceiling, crammed with policy documents, historical books, and a small number of local chronicles.

The large mahogany desk was polished to a shine, and neatly arranged on it were documents awaiting review, an internal telephone, a pen holder, and a white porcelain teacup that had been with Gu Jianguo for many years.

The floor is made of dark brown solid wood, which makes a solid, resonant sound when you step on it.

The most striking feature of the room is the curved floor-to-ceiling window that occupies half of the wall, framing the city outside, which is struggling to rebuild itself, into a dynamic picture full of noise and dust, yet also brimming with faint hope.

At this moment, Gu Jianguo, chairman of the Night Province Management Committee, was sitting behind his desk.

He was wearing a well-fitting dark blue executive jacket over a neatly pressed white shirt, the collar buttoned up perfectly.

Her hair was combed into a slightly shiny 3/7 part, with quite a few noticeable silver strands mixed in, but it was still thick and neatly combed back.

His face was thin and refined, with deep lines between his brows and eyes left by long hours spent at his desk and shouldering heavy responsibilities, but his overall demeanor was elegant and composed, possessing a unique air that blended the intellectualism of the old era with the pragmatism of the new era.

At this moment, however, this refined composure was shrouded in a layer of obvious anxiety.

His pen hovered over a report on the progress of the urban water supply network repair. Almost ten minutes had passed, but he hadn't even managed to sign the first "read." The ink on the pen tip was almost dripping, but he was completely unaware.

His gaze fell on the paper, but the familiar words and phrases seemed distorted and disjointed, unable to enter his mind. A strange sense of unease, like tiny insects gnawing at his heart, made him restless and his breathing more rapid than usual.

Finally, he put down his pen somewhat dejectedly, the metal pen striking the table with a crisp yet lonely "tap".

He raised his hand and rubbed his temples vigorously. Then, he picked up the white porcelain teacup in front of him, stood up, and slowly walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

It was dusk outside the window.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a weary golden hue over this scarred city.

What lies before us is no longer the desolate ruins of the apocalypse, but it is also far from the prosperity of the past.

Large areas remain rubble and dilapidated buildings, but several main roads have been cleared, like barely stitched lines on a wound.

Further away, at several key industrial zones and resettlement sites undergoing restoration, the steel arms of tower cranes slowly rotate, like the fingers of a giant, attempting to pick up the fragments of civilization.

Construction vehicles and workers, no bigger than ants, moved between the ruins and the newly built framework. The clanging and banging of the hammers and the roar of the machinery could be faintly felt, even through the thick soundproof glass, as a dull, unyielding vibration could be sensed.

This scene has been Gu Jianguo's greatest comfort and source of motivation over the past few months.

No matter how tired I am, as long as I stand here and watch this land gradually regain its heartbeat and grow muscles and bones under my leadership, that enormous energy from responsibility will fill my whole body again.

He once told his wife with a gentle smile that this window was his "charging station".

But today, the "charging station" is no longer working.

The vibrant scene before him, a world waiting to be rebuilt, with its lights, shadows, sounds, and forms symbolizing the return of order and the rekindling of hope, not only failed to dispel the gloom in his heart, but instead formed a sharp and suffocating contrast with the ever-growing, cold anxiety within him.

The roaring mechanical sounds to him were somewhat like the faint echoes of artillery fire from a distant battlefield; the figures moving about occasionally distorted into the blurry outlines of his two sons running and playing in his memory.

His fingers unconsciously caressed the warm teacup, his gaze fixed on the southeast—the direction where Jinling was located.

The skyline was obscured by the city's silhouette and the faint twilight, and nothing could be seen. But he knew that something was happening or had happened in that direction.

And the root of his unease lies precisely in that direction.

All this torment began two days ago on that heartbreaking night.