CHAPTER 8

Zhao Xinyan's corpse had been in the cold storage room for three months. I went in and out, and he never moved. But today, he suddenly started chasing after me. Human pollution is related to collective behavior and the environment. Primitive people living alone in the vast wilderness are unlikely to experience pollution.

Therefore, pollution is more commonly found in a specific area, such as a room, a building, a specific time period, or a particular trigger.

Multiple types of pollution can occur in one place.

However, one pollution cannot appear in multiple places.

It's like a student who harbors resentment towards a teacher, but when they go to an amusement park, they won't be more polluting than an employee who is humiliated by their boss while working seventy-two hours straight.

Zhao Xinyan cannot pollute both his room and the cold storage.

Unless his room and the cold storage are just different locations in the same place—the outpost.

Ah, I remember now. The outpost has long been polluted.

Zhao Xinyan on the third floor had calmed down, but the one in the cold room starts to stir. The core pollution of the outpost is not him. He can't be killed or destroyed, always coming after me due to his lingering attachments—but it's not harmful.

Thinking this way, I feel much relieved. I walk towards the cold storage room, facing Zhao Xinyan who remains motionless.

"You are too selfish, running away on your own without considering your companions' thoughts?"

I lift Zhao Xinyan's corpse by the waist and stuff it back into the large bin.

There are two people in the large bin, and both of them raise their heads to look at me. I close the lid and twist it a few times. "I don't want the polluted area of the outpost to expand, you know? I'm just doing what's normal. Normal means doing whatever needs to be done like before, otherwise, there won't be any supplies, and I won't even be able to support my child... I understand if you hate me, but—"

Talking to a corpse is not normal, so I hold back the rest of my words and swallow them. I repeatedly tell myself in my mind, "This is normal, this is normal. I'm expressing my concern for my colleague."

Maintaining mental stability in the post-war world is difficult. I tremble as I hold the large bin, gaslighting myself to some extent. Finally, I close the door of the cold storage.

In reality, I have already been polluted, but if you constantly remember the principles of pollution, this process is not entirely irreversible.

Pollution means "abnormal," so I need to persist in doing some "normal" things to deceive my brain and keep it in order, so I can maintain my sanity.

That's why when I saw Zhao Xinyan and didn't immediately tear off his head but tried to find a solution in an ordinary person's way, and thinking this way, the level of pollution within me has decreased significantly. At least my immediate response is that I'm a normal person, not a pollutant of this outpost.

My hands have stopped trembling, and I let out a breath.

Now, I should go upstairs to wind up Li Haohao.

But the fact that Li Haohao's existence means abnormality, as a new body part grows out every week, I need some mental strengthening every time I see her. Cheeks drown with beard, I force myself to always think that it's because of too many additives in her food, hormone excess, long fingers, I gaslight myself that it's a kind of cute hairpin.

But what she grows out is becoming more functional. For example, her ears can hear Zhao Xinyan's movements. When I try to think of what that sound is, I automatically assume her ears are real. My normalcy is gradually being eroded, collapsing, and triggering Zhao Xinyan's activity.

The wind-up key makes the mind exceptionally abnormal. I need to constantly interact with it. It repeatedly emphasizes its functionality in front of me, making me believe that it's reasonable for a person to have a wind-up key. Next, I have to wind up the little girl!

In essence, it's not Li Haohao's fault. It's me who is abnormal. I gaslight myself...

But, it is Zhao Xinyan's fault.

While my mind is still somewhat normal, I rush upstairs, stopping the recollections and blame towards Zhao Xinyan.

Li Haohao happily pounces towards the basement, with a frozen expression that reads "joyful." However, her eyes dart around anxiously.

I twist her wind-up key a few times, and my hands start trembling again. I close my eyes slightly.

Instead of going straight down, Li Haohao tilts her head and looks at me. "You called me just now. Can I go down now?"

"No."

"Okay."

Li Haohao's curiosity knows no bounds, and I can't guarantee that she won't go down on her own.

But all the rooms are locked, and she can't open them. If she insists on seeing, then let her see.

Before going upstairs, I start discussing Li Haohao's wind-up key with her.

"If you move, it turns. If you stay still, it doesn't turn, right?"

If I go upstairs and Li Haohao comes to disturb me later, I suggest she lie down and not move.

"I won't move." Li Haohao turns her back and sits down, starting to gesture.

The wind-up key is like the hands of a clock, rotating very slowly.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

It's a decoration, not the source of Li Haohao's movement. It's a mechanical structure. As long as I twist it here, it is destined to rotate there. Li Haohao is just playing a game with me, just like Zhao Xinyan. What pollution? No, there is no pollution. It's just a wooden doll. Li Haohao is just playing a whimsical game of "I won't move without the wind-up key."

"If the weather is good tomorrow, let's collect some biological samples on the road we saw last time."

First, I promise Li Haohao a beautiful tomorrow, and then I make a request, asking her to sit obediently on the first floor, even if the wind-up key is about to run out, she shouldn't come upstairs to interrupt my work.

Li Haohao happily agrees. She falls for it.

But Li Haohao also has her own little thoughts. Her eyes light up, but the corners of her mouth droop. "But staying still is boring. Can I read a book?"

I open the storage cabinet and take out a comic book that everyone has read and worn out.

Looking, flipping the pages requires movement anyway, so she won't be able to read too many pages.

Li Haohao knows how to read, but her knowledge is limited. Giving her a book is no different than giving her a work log. Before people at the outpost died, someone brought a few tattered teenage comics. Others were surprised that someone risked their life to protect comics during the war. Later, when the work at the outpost became too boring, people borrowed the books. This person never wanted to lend them, but eventually, they discovered that the teenage comics contained plots and scenes that could only be appreciated at a certain age—and the comics became even more popular.

Of course, I won't let Li Haohao read them.

The only comic book I let Li Haohao read is a pure love story set in a school, where the tsundere student council president and the seemingly cheerful protagonist, who is actually insecure, meet and fall in love at first sight. There's not much plot development, not even a kiss, and the final ending is just the two of them accidentally touching hands while watching fireworks, leading to a warm ending.

Before I reviewed the plot of this comic, Li Haohao had already taken a sneak peek while I wasn't paying attention. I urgently stopped her and locked the book. After I finished reviewing the plot, the comic book became safe, and she behaved after receiving the book. I went upstairs.

Think about that animation. I seem to remember a bit of the plot. It's about a cute robot with a winding key on its back because of the doctor's eccentricity—

But Li Haohao definitely hasn't watched that animation. She wouldn't randomly conjure up something she hasn't seen. If I use her words, it's an alarm clock? Then who does she want to wake up?

Never mind, I shouldn't delve into it. She said she can't control it herself.

Perhaps it's like a colorful dream, various images mixed together, completely illogical. Li Haohao had a dream, and when she woke up, she became strange.

I gather my thoughts, place my hands on the table, and examine them. No trembling, no rapid breathing, a calm mood. Everything outside the window is normal, and the sweater warmly wraps around me.

Good.

There isn't much time in the afternoon, so I start organizing the files.

With the not-so-obvious rotation of the seasons, the supply vehicle comes four times. I receive supplies from the supply officer and hand over the work logs and samples from the previous quarter.

The work log is a paper document that I record every day. Each person has two volumes. The first volume is a life record, more like a diary. It can be written briefly, express emotions, or elaborate on thoughts about work. It doesn't matter, but it must be submitted to demonstrate the normal state of the staff's life and as a supplement to the second volume. The second volume is the most specific work sheet, rarely brought back to the room. It records the research results in different sections.

For example, on a certain day of a certain month, where I collected a certain numbered sample, parameters, assumptions, or conclusions; on a certain day of a certain month, when I received a request for help from a certain place, the frequency range, what the other party said, and how we responded; which area needs repair, which supplies need special application reports... It's all written here.

The crucial supplies are impossible to obtain without the commander's personal signature, but the commander is already dead. I use every supply sparingly to avoid sudden situations where a particular supply is urgently needed.

Now I begin organizing some previous samples, sealing them in custom-made 2cm square boxes coated with lead on the inside and an unknown material on the outside, with labels on the outer layer. Nine cubes are lined up on a shelf, resembling eggs, with a layer of palm-thick material wrapped around the outermost layer and sealed with adhesive tape.

Previously, I didn't collect too many valuable samples... Let me count.

4421: Excrement of an ant-eating creature, mutated, D-level mutation.

4422: Some miscellaneous bacteria.

4423: Normal-sized cannibal ants, mutated, E-level mutation.

4424...

I hesitated for a moment as I took out the box labeled 4424.

I was supposed to hand over this sample when the supply officer came earlier, but after working for a long time, people tend to become a bit slippery. Last season, I handed over a tray of nine samples, which was already a decent performance. So I didn't submit the remaining four at that time, keeping them for later use. I can afford to be a little lazy this season.

And truthfully, there is a reason why I didn't hand over 4424.

But since it has already been assigned a number, it would be very troublesome to write another report for missing labels or judgment errors... I still have at least two and a half months.

4424: Stray girl's hair, mutated, degree of mutation unknown.

The analyzer's red light flashed, all values maxed out, and then it stopped running.

Sitting there in the blinding red glow, I felt a sudden, intense dizziness come over me.

Later on, I started collecting Li Haohao's hair every time, even though I only needed one sample. I nervously collected more, unsure of what I was collecting them for. Was it to deceive myself and cover up any pollution, or to stick to my idea of "normalcy"?

At times like this, I don't allow myself to think anymore. I put the box back and take out three new sample collection boxes to prepare for tomorrow.

Write reports, turn off the radio, the scenery outside the window is roughly the same as before the war, with sunrises and sunsets, and the night falls as usual. But the air is filled with danger. The media once reported that in such an environment, beasts are more likely to mutate, and humans are more prone to mental disorders.

However, scientists haven't figured out what it is exactly, whether it's dispersed spores or a continuous radiation source. Scientists were the first to go crazy, and too many intelligent people have died. This makes it difficult for us to truly understand what is affecting us. Everyone is escaping from the monsters in chaos, establishing outposts, using long-range weapons to bombard, and setting up observation posts to gather and analyze sporadic traces of the monsters. The data is handed over to analysts to determine patterns in the global monster sightings and decide where humanity should expand or, in other words, escape to.

But most of us, including me, are not brave enough to delve into the root cause of humanity's pollution.

People with mental disorders emit abnormal energy. Just studying this abnormality can drive a person insane—it spreads like an infection.

Before I was polluted, I was just an ordinary soldier in the vanguard against the monsters. After being injured by an explosion and sent back to the rear, the mental state of wounded soldiers was not great. Before they bombarded the field hospital into oblivion, I underwent an assessment. They found that my mental energy was relatively high and still functional. In the blink of an eye, without even receiving proper higher education, I became a researcher. Every day, I write reports about monster excrement and piles of dirt.

I used to find it all laughable. Humanity has collective procrastination syndrome, avoiding confronting our true problems and instead turning to observe the behavioral patterns of other animals. It's like escaping from work and indulging in watching videos—a relief from true helplessness.

But now I realize they're not stupid. In this chaos, they, like me, do their best to engage in "normal" activities because we cannot directly confront this "abnormality."

Reflecting on the past is also a normal human behavior during work. I put down the box and press both hands against my thighs.

Don't hide in the room. Stay calm.

Next, I should prepare a meal for Li Haohao.

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