Chapter Seventy-Four: The Fallen Sanctuary

"Fortunately, it seems the explosion didn't reach this far; at least everything here appears intact. You check if the car is still usable, I'll investigate the house with Old Four." After calling out to Huo Bing, I led Old Four into the farm.

Three or four houses stood connected together, alongside a cowshed and a garage. The main residence was a three-story Western-style villa. This family, though living in a remote corner during the Old Era, must have enjoyed a comfortable life. Some wealthy folk, tired of the city's hustle, would retreat to the countryside or a small town, building their own private villas in search of a tranquil retirement.

Honestly, it was a fine way to live. Even if this family wasn't fabulously wealthy, they must have been well-off. In the countryside, few could afford such a home. It was essentially a small, private estate.

Knife in hand, I quietly pushed open the door, only to be greeted by chaos. Furniture lay scattered across the floor—clearly, there had been conflict here before. There was no hope of finding any survivors inside.

I glanced at Old Four, but he gave no warning, simply sniffing about with his canine nose. I had to admit, bringing him along was invaluable—he could charge ahead, give warnings, and help scavenge supplies, worth more than several companions.

“Tsk tsk, these drinks must be expired, and the bottled water reeks. The place has clearly been abandoned for months. Still, I found a pack of Huazi cigarettes—now that’s a good find.” After rummaging through the first floor, I finally came across something useful.

Suddenly, Old Four nudged against my leg, then pointed his head upstairs, baring his teeth in a warning. So, there was something up there—most likely a corpse-spawn, or Old Four wouldn’t react this way.

I made my footsteps as light as possible, moving up the stairs without a sound. The doors creaked as I opened several rooms, but found nothing. Everything was covered in thick dust, and nothing piqued my interest. This really was a big house—so many rooms, even two storage areas—but almost everything was useless now. There were opened cans and bottles scattered around.

At least it proved someone had survived here when the Wasteland Era began, only to be overrun later.

Finally, I pushed open the last door on the second floor, peering through a crack. I saw nothing dangerous, so I boldly entered—when suddenly, disaster struck!

A corpse-spawn lunged at me the instant the door was fully open. I swung my blade instinctively, only to cut through thin air.

Damn it! What an idiot—I’d swung at a mirror! The real threat was behind me. The younger generation has no sense of honor—ambushing like this! I relied on my swift reflexes, sidestepped, and narrowly dodged the attack.

There was a dull thud as the corpse-spawn hit the floor. It was an old man with white hair—though most of it had fallen out, leaving only a few sparse strands. Before it could rise, I ended its miserable existence with a swift slash.

After severing its head, I stared at it for a moment. Then, a prompt sounded in my mind, confirming the kill. It seemed the corpse-spawn outside the chemical plant were still “normal”—beheading them ended their vitality.

This only further proved how formidable the foreign substance mentioned by the man in the lab coat was. It seemed to grant a regenerative ability—corpse-spawn didn’t die immediately when decapitated; even their brain matter would writhe and try to reassemble.

My own hearing must have recovered from inhaling the dust in the reactor, let alone what happened to Huo Bing, who was already mutating.

If I ever got the chance, I had to research what this foreign substance truly was. Perhaps if I could find the runaway man in the lab coat, he would know something.

I wiped my blade with the corpse-spawn’s clothes. A high-grade polymer-titanium blade shouldn’t retain a single drop of blood—clean in and clean out, leaving not a trace. Unfortunately, the corpse-spawn’s blood was viscous and sticky, clotted with rotting skin that wouldn’t slide off the blade easily.

Wait—what’s this?

In its back pocket, I found an old, brittle newspaper. Carefully opening it, I discovered an envelope wrapped inside.

Could it be a gift of money? I opened it, and indeed, it contained a letter.

What could require such careful wrapping—newspaper, then an envelope?

My curiosity was piqued. Silently apologizing to the deceased—after all, he’d been dead a long time—I decided reading his private letter could hardly be called disrespectful.

I unfolded the letter. The words read:

“Teacher, please keep the incident with the dried meatball that fell from the sky beside your estate strictly confidential. Do not mention it to outsiders. This is an extremely important experimental specimen. As a gesture of good faith, our company has already transferred two million to your account. In the future, if you ever need anything from me, Bai Ye, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Bai Ye? A dried meatball from beyond the sky?

What the hell? Meat falling from the sky? Shouldn’t it have burned up in the atmosphere? How could it possibly land on the ground?

This letter was written by Bai Ye—the man in the lab coat?

Clearly, he was far more than just a bystander. He must have studied this substance in depth. As for the gene-altering dust—could it have been ground from that piece of meat? To fill a human-height canister with such dust, the meat must have been enormous.

The thought made my skin crawl. I had inhaled powder made from who-knows-what biological flesh. Was all this connected to the Wasteland Era?

After reading, I burned the letter. There was no point in keeping it, and I didn’t want anyone else to stumble upon these secrets.

The fewer people who knew, the better. I would have to solve this mystery myself.

After disposing of the evidence, I headed up to the third floor and finally found an item in the corner of a storage room.

It was an iron chest, secured with at least a dozen locks from various angles. My instincts told me there must be something valuable inside.

Unfortunately, this chest had met its match—or rather, my ultra-cutter had. I ran my fingers along the blade, activated the ultrasonic vibration, and the box split open with barely a touch.

To avoid damaging whatever was inside, I took care to cut slowly and gently.

What was this? Inside the large chest was a smaller box—again fastened with a dozen locks!

Really, old man, was this necessary? Was it some family heirloom?

I repeated my method, slicing the box open, only to feel my blood vessels surge with frustration—my veins bulged at my temples.

Damn it, not again! Inside the box was yet another box!