Chapter 55: Secrets of Death, Calm Before the Storm!

The call ended, and Cheng Ye sat stunned, reeling from the flood of information.A military armored vehicle?

How could Cheng Long, after his “accidental” death, leave behind such a thing?

No.

Fragmented clues swirled in Cheng Ye’s mind, coalescing into a realization.

Cheng Long’s death likely wasn’t the simple “accident” Liu Bi had described.

Otherwise, why wait until after his first field mission to reveal part of the truth?

Field missions…

Going on one meant he’d secured a foothold at the checkpoint.

Yet Ding Yishan had tried to send him to the rapid checkpoint to die that mission, only to suddenly change his mind, asking Liu Bi to protect him.

Recalling Liu Bi’s reaction, Cheng Ye had a hunch.

Cheng Long’s death was likely tied to the checkpoint, but Ding Yishan wasn’t the mastermind.

If he were, with Liu Bi’s fiery temper, he’d have revolted long ago, not followed orders.

“Big B wants me to solidify my inspector position, but Ding Yishan keeps pushing the opposite.”

“When Big B told me to beg him to stay instead of defying orders outright, it means… Big B likely knows why Ding Yishan sent me to the rapid checkpoint, and it’s not just about my shaky position or the Easterners’ younger generation being too weak.”

“Damn, how did I miss this before?”

“Did Big B and I have a miscommunication? Does he think I already know the real reason for being sent to the North-South Station?”

In terms of value, Cheng Ye believed his displayed skills, while not dominant, matched the average of the Easterners’ younger generation. Otherwise, Harlin wouldn’t have approached him early.

Yet even now, Ding Yishan made no major moves.

Cheng Ye looked toward the inner city, suddenly grasping the issue.

His predecessor went outside the city and died of fright that same day.

Was it really because he couldn’t handle the outside world’s reality?

“When Big B returns, I’ll get to the bottom of this. No more fumbling in the dark, not even knowing who my real enemy is!”

Cheng Ye took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to confront Ding Yishan directly.

Since Ding Yishan had Liu Bi return to protect him and even had him call to inform, it meant Cheng Ye was on the right path.

“The me who just transmigrated couldn’t have seen this.”

“After three months in the wasteland, witnessing its darkness and navigating the shelter city’s inner workings, I’m finally starting to see clearly, no longer living in a daze.”

Three months in the wasteland had changed him profoundly, walking a path others took a lifetime to tread.

Now, with some ability to protect himself, even if an infection tide loomed in the shelter city, he had the confidence and strength to survive.

“But the priority now is… making money and buying gear!”

A trainee inspector’s borrowing limit was 100 contribution points. Even telling Liu Bi wouldn’t help.

He’d have to buy through others, but that meant no checkpoint reimbursement.

Already 107 points in debt, adding 150 more gave Cheng Ye a headache.

Fortunately, he had ways to earn.

“The past two days of rain meant no fuel-worthy cars in Area A. Now that it’s stopped, there should be more vehicles. The 30% entry tax could bring in about 30 points.”

“The Corrupt Vine infection source I gave Qin Feng, compared to this Stand-In Starfish, should be worth around 60 points, maybe more!”

“Roughly 90 points should cover it. If not, I’ll ask the store about credit. It’s just a 60-point gap. Worst case, I’ll try my luck in the isolation chamber, might scrape it together easily.”

With a plan in mind, Cheng Ye set his goal.

He couldn’t neglect Search either. Ideally, he’d find a shooting skill.

Miao Yang’s Blood Dragon Legion standard combat technique sounded like a solid choice.

Moon set, sun rose.

6:30 AM.

Cheng Ye woke in pain.

Before the alarm, rolling over onto his injured leg nearly made him pass out.

“Good thing Iron Body can block pain, or I wouldn’t make it to the checkpoint today.”

Strictly speaking, this was only his second day at the rapid checkpoint.

After two nights, his energy charge was back to 39%.

Knowing eight hours on duty would fully recharge it, Cheng Ye felt energized.

“Equip, Iron Body!”

The skill slot flashed, and the bone-deep pain vanished instantly.

He’d never felt such relief.

Moving his body, Cheng Ye thought even the strongest anesthetic couldn’t match this instant pain relief.

“Pain is the body’s protective mechanism. Relying on this too much isn’t good.”

“But if I can pair it with a recovery-type talent skill, Iron Body could be used freely.”

Musing, Cheng Ye headed to the fifth-floor washroom.

No water came from the faucet—it had been cut off, clearly to prevent humidity exceeding 99%, ensuring no latent stage-one infected triggered early and caused chaos before the rain.

From the washroom window, he saw water barriers now dividing the main city into sections.

Fully armed patrol officers roamed the streets, their waist-mounted speakers blaring since dawn, “Central Checkpoint Duty Chief He Fei has sacrificed himself. Happiness City’s epidemic prevention level is temporarily raised to A. Please cooperate with routine inspections. Thank you!”

“Central…”

You can’t hide the truth. News of He Fei’s death had spread in small circles by yesterday afternoon.

Instead of concealing it, they used the opportunity to deploy full prevention measures.

But measures couldn’t be too extreme. Locking everyone in their homes would backfire.

Wastelanders weren’t as mentally stable as modern people, and nearly everyone carried firearms.

If they realized a contact-based infection was among them, the buffer zone would face two extreme outcomes, either mass panic, with people assuming they’re infected and acting out in ways they’d never dare otherwise.

Or the checkpoint opening, dispersing Happiness City’s residents to flee, only to return as a Stand-In Starfish infection tide.

“Too bad the inner city’s stretched thin. The Happiness Legion’s forces are all tied up in the sweep, with no capacity to cover the buffer zone.”

“This contact-based infection’s threat lives up to its plague-level rating. In a way, the larger a shelter city, the more dangerous. A city like Happiness City might already be at disaster-level destruction.”

Standing by the window for a long time, Cheng Ye sighed, clearing his tangled thoughts.

He suddenly understood why humanity couldn’t rebuild civilization, only surviving in shelter cities across the wasteland.

As long as such bizarre infection threats existed, the denser the population, the greater the hidden danger.

These shelter cities, rising from the wasteland, seemed like islands of civilization but were more like powder kegs behind high walls.

When an infection like the Stand-In Starfish, with contact transmission, hit a city with tens of thousands packed inside, any prevention lapse could trigger a chain collapse, far deadlier than threats in the wild or urban ruins.

This also answered another of Cheng Ye’s lingering questions.

Why, with so many unrestricted, welfare-rich shelter cities, were there still countless small settlements outside?

Perhaps those were survivors who’d escaped fallen shelter cities.

In the wild, low population movement meant facing only direct infected attacks.

In a shelter city, dazzling as it seemed, you sometimes didn’t even know how you died.

“No water yet?”

At work time, other fifth-floor residents came to fetch water for washing, grumbling when they found the supply cut.

“Stopped since yesterday afternoon, what’s the public works department doing?”

“Exactly. Gotta complain, or they won’t take public welfare seriously.”

“Good thing I stored some water. Anyone need to wash up? Come share.”

“Enough for washing hair? Never mind, I’ll just wash my face.”

Someone carried over a bucket. Cheng Ye stood by the window, pretending to message on his communicator, quietly observing.

His heart sank. Of the seven people at the washroom, four showed faint, starfish-shaped marks on their foreheads after washing.

The marks, pale gray and fleeting like an illusion, vanished so quickly that without Cheng Ye’s close scrutiny, they’d have gone unnoticed.

“Hey, buddy, wanna wash up? There’s some left in the bucket.”

A middle-aged man with a just-flashed starfish mark approached, smiling, startling Cheng Ye into stepping back, his back hitting the window with a thud.

“No thanks, uncle. I’ve already washed.”

“What, scared we’re not clean?”

Misinterpreting Cheng Ye’s retreat as disdain for shared water, the man smacked his lips, shook his head, and left with the bucket, muttering, “Kids these days can’t handle hardship. Back in my day, we washed with filtered sewer water.”

“Damn, this infection shows no outward signs, indistinguishable from normal people. Only Happiness City’s tracing ability caught it. Anywhere else, how do you prevent this?”

Once the man left, Cheng Ye hurried back to his room, splashing water from a kettle onto his forehead.

No mark appeared in the window’s reflection.

Beyond this crude method, he had a more reliable way to check.

With a thought, the panel flashed.

Switching to the Collector page, no “parasite” prompt appeared, and the skill list was unchanged.

It was like a real-time detector, letting him monitor his infection status anytime.

“This could be a game-changer for solo wasteland travel.”

Thinking this, Cheng Ye opened his wardrobe, cutting up ill-fitting clothes and wrapping potential contact points with fabric scraps.

He donned inspection rubber gloves, the checkpoint-issued black mask, and a brown hood.

Glancing at the window, he felt a strange déjà vu, like he’d returned to a particular time.

“This is the calm before the storm. I hope they develop a cure soon.”

“And I… need to race against time!”