Chapter 253: Yeah... That’s Bad
"Yes. The first time they came by the house to collect survivors and supplies," Zhenlan said, answering Lingyun’s question. "By the time most people understood how bad things were becoming, the military bases and government safe zones had already become the obvious choice. They were overcrowded, strict, and miserable, but they had order. That was the selling point. People gave up privacy, supplies, weapons, and freedom because order felt like survival."
Chenghai gave a humorless sound. "For a while."
Yeah... for a while.
In the first life, the base had not been kind, but it had been controlled. Guards had manned the entrances. Vehicles had been searched. Food, medicine, fuel, and weapons had been recorded or confiscated depending on who asked and how important the person being asked appeared to be.
Refugees had lined up for hours or days outside the gates, angry and terrified, but still believing that getting inside meant something.
It had meant something then.
He was no longer sure it meant anything now.
They passed what had once been a checkpoint on the edge of a main road.
Concrete barriers had been dragged out of alignment, leaving a gap wide enough for a car to pass through. A folding table lay overturned nearby, papers scattered across the pavement and soaked from some earlier rain.
But there were no soldiers standing there right now. No volunteers. No one with a clipboard, a rifle, or even the tired arrogance of minor authority.
Lingyun leaned forward again, though this time he did not speak immediately. That was enough to make Zhenlan take the scene more seriously. Lingyun joked when he was bored, irritated, or amused. Silence meant he was thinking.
"Was that supposed to be manned?" he asked.
"Probably," Chenghai answered.
Zhenlan glanced ahead at Commander Li’s vehicle. The brake lights did not flash. The convoy kept moving, but the first vehicle had slowed slightly.
Commander Li had seen it too.
Of course he had.
The man might still be trying to fit Rouxi’s household into some shattered framework of military logic, but he was not stupid.
Another few streets brought them closer to the base, and the signs of collapse sharpened. More people appeared, moving in loose clusters rather than orderly lines. Some carried bags. Others carried nothing and watched the convoy with eyes that were too empty for comfort.
A man with a bandaged arm shouted something from the side of the road, but Commander Li’s vehicles did not stop. A woman stepped off the curb as if she might block the way, then froze when Lingyun rolled down the back window and smiled at her.
She stepped back and Zhenlan didn’t ask what kind of expression Lingyun had on his face.
He already knew.
The base came into view beyond the next bend, and for a moment, Zhenlan felt the old shape of memory settle over the present.
The outer fencing was there, reinforced with metal panels and concrete blocks. The watch platforms still stood above the main gate. The broad road leading into the compound still bore the dark tire marks of hundreds of vehicles that had passed through under orders, inspection, and desperation.
It should have felt ugly and familiar.
Instead, it felt wrong.
Chenghai slowed the car before Zhenlan said anything.
Ahead of them, Commander Li’s first vehicle came to a stop.
The gate stood open.... and not a single soldier stepped forward.
No one demanded identification.
No one demanded supplies, weapons, fuel, medicine, or the keys to the vehicle. No armed guard shouted for them to halt. No intake officer came forward with a clipboard. No exhausted soldier waved them into a search lane while another checked under the vehicle for bite victims, hidden weapons, or terrified family members curled up beneath blankets.
The entrance was simply open, as if the base had forgotten that a gate existed to separate inside from outside.
Or something bad enough happened that they needed to take people and resources from the front line to put them somewhere else.
That option was a lot worse.
For one long moment, none of them spoke. But then Lingyun opened his mouth and said something very much not Lingyun. "We are going in unarmed," he announced, his voice quiet.
"We are power users," replied Chenghai, his voice giving off the same feeling. "We are never unarmed. If we are walking into something... kill who you have to kill to get back to Rouxi. We’ll meet you at the house."
Lingyun grunted to prove that he had been listening before leaning back in his seat. "I really should have stayed with Rouxi."
Zhenlan shook his head and stared at the empty checkpoint and felt something cold settle low in his stomach.
In the first life, this gate had been a place of humiliation. People had begged here. They had bribed, threatened, lied, cried, and sometimes died waiting for permission to enter. But it had never been empty.
Even when the base began rotting from the inside, it had kept the performance of control until the very end.
Now there was no performance.
Lingyun leaned forward between the seats, his earlier irritation completely gone. "I have never been to one of these places before. Rouxi refused to go so we all just stayed with her."
Chenghai did not move and Zhenlan kept his gaze on the gate.
Lingyun’s voice lowered slightly as he whistled under his breath. "But based on what I am seeing? I am guessing that was not a bad thing."
A piece of paper skidded across the pavement in front of the open gate, caught briefly against a dark smear near the tire lane, then tore free and disappeared beneath the barrier.
Zhenlan’s eyes followed it until it was gone. Beside him, Chenghai shifted one hand off the wheel and rested it near the weapon at his side.
Ahead of them, Commander Li opened his vehicle door.
No one came out to greet him.
No one saluted.
No one asked where he had been.
Zhenlan looked at the empty checkpoint, the abandoned folding table, the unmanned watch platform, and the open gate leading into what was supposed to be one of the safest places left.
"Yes," he answered. "That’s bad."
