Chapter 23: Beast Tide Incursion
Early the next morning, before Zhao Man could even climb out of bed, an incoming ping from Tang Heng lit up his terminal. Left with no choice, he dragged himself up and slowly padded over to unlock the door.
Tang Heng set a massive rucksack down in the courtyard and handed over a bulging satchel to Zhao Man, who took it and peered inside. It was everything he had requested.
“Thanks a lot.” Having flatly turned the man down just yesterday, Zhao Man felt more than a little awkward facing him today.
“I’d like to ask you right now: are you willing to marry me?” Tang Heng had yet to pull off his snow hood, keeping his expression entirely obscured beneath the visor.
Wait, what? Didn’t I shoot him down yesterday? Zhao Man stared back at him in sheer disbelief.
Tang Heng didn’t look at Zhao Man; his gaze rested squarely on the window outside.
“I’m a base patrol officer. Every single deployment out into the wild carries the risk that I won’t come back alive. People die across this base every day for all sorts of reasons. The last thing I want is to let you become a regret in my life just because of a momentary hesitation or some pointless concern over saving face. So, Zhao Man, even if you turn me down, I’m still going to do everything I can to win you over. That is, unless you show a clear, genuine disgust or revulsion toward me, or partner up with someone else—in which case, I will step aside quietly.”
Zhao Man stared blankly at him, completely at a loss for words.
“Besides, the most important part is that the tax payment portal goes live tomorrow. That means the bachelor tax kicks in. Marrying me will save you a serious pile of points.” Tang Heng finally shifted his gaze back onto Zhao Man.
At the mere thought of parting with twenty points, Zhao Man hesitated. “Let me think it over a bit more.”
Seeing that the kid was genuinely wavering, Tang Heng eased off the pressure. He carried his supplies into the recreation room, walked over to the terminal’s defense control panel, and synced his own wrist unit directly into the property’s perimeter grid. Next, he set an attractant beacon out amid the branches piled atop the sulfur rocks. After rigging a makeshift shooting rest by the window frame, he finally took off his snow hood.
Zhao Man watched him pace the courtyard, adjusting gear here, setting traps there, moving without a second of downtime. Before Zhao Man could even open his mouth to ask what he was doing, a sharp bang cracked through the air.
“Tang Heng! Did someone just get shot?!”
“It’s fine. Don’t panic. Just a mutated beast.”
“Mutated beasts are here already?!” Zhao Man’s pitch spiked abruptly. The moment this guy walked through the door, the beasts arrived—did Tang Heng come with some bizarre calamity magnet attached to him?
“They aren’t a natural herd. The attractant drew it in. Luring and picking them off in piecemeal prevents a full-blown beast tide from forming later.” Catching Zhao Man’s increasingly suspicious stare, Tang Heng quickly explained.
“Oh.”
Slipping into his newly bought padded winter shoes, Zhao Man stowed his fresh gloves and the portable stove inside the bedroom. Over the past couple of days, rattled by the freezing weather and those parasites, he had indulged in a bit of panic-buying; only now that he had regained his senses did he realize he had practically nothing on hand suitable for a tabletop hotpot.
Adding a bowl of water to the pot, he peeled the last two segments of steamed sand yam from a few days ago and dropped them in. Thinking twice, he poked his head out from behind the door curtain to call toward Tang Heng, “Have you eaten? If not, I can toss in extra.”
Catching the distinct look of a jilted lover in Tang Heng’s eyes, Zhao Man couldn’t help but ask, “What? What’s that look for?”
“Use your words.”
“I’ll eat,” Tang Heng replied in a low, sullen voice, his gaze trailing darkly over him.
Zhao Man ducked right back into the kitchen. This guy is out of his mind!
He added another bowl of water, took half a potato, peeled it, and dropped it into the pot. As it boiled down, he mashed it into a puree, emptied the remaining four spoonfuls of minced cracklings into the mix, and seasoned it with salt and umami powder. After stirring it thoroughly, he ladled out two generous, steaming bowls.
“Food’s ready.”
Tang Heng stepped into the kitchen. Spotting Zhao Man adding a dash of chili flavoring to his own portion, he walked over and tapped a bit into his bowl as well.
Taking a mouthful—savory, spicy, and coated in rich rendered fat—he had to admit: Delicious!
“If you like me, why did you turn me down?”
Zhao Man nearly choked on his mashed potatoes. Downing a gulp of water, he spun around to face Tang Heng, only to find the man looking back with unfeigned confusion. “Where on earth did you get the idea that I like you?”
“Right here.” Tang Heng pointed his spoon at the bowl in his hand. “A massive bowl of food like this, packed with real meat—who shares that kind of meal with someone unless they’re practically family?”
“That’s because you’ve helped me out plenty of times!”
“Since when does lending a hand get you treated to home-cooked meals? With real meat, no less? Is that really how things work in the Central District these days?”
“Uh…” What went on in the Central District was beyond Zhao Man, but even in the Third Ring, that certainly wasn’t the norm.
Zhao Man had forgotten: in his past life, whenever someone came over to lend a hand, the host would naturally lay out good wine and quality meats. He had momentarily lost sight of the fact that times had radically changed.
Seeing Zhao Man struck dumb, the corner of Tang Heng’s mouth curled slightly. He let the matter drop and quietly resumed polishing off his bowl of mashed potatoes.
Right in the middle of eating, Tang Heng suddenly looked up. In two swift bites, he shoveled the rest of the meal into his mouth, clattered his empty bowl onto the counter, and sprinted toward the doorway without a word. He mounted his rifle on the rest, and an instant later, three sharp cracks—bang, bang, bang—shattered the quiet.
The moment the shooting stopped, Zhao Man felt a familiar ripple of psychic energy hum through the air. By the time he finished washing the two bowls and the pot, the psychic pulse was still lingering. Ten minutes later, another rapid barrage of gunfire broke out, accompanied by echoing shots from neighboring sectors, followed once more by rolling psychic waves.
The pattern alternated like clockwork—gunfire followed by psychic pulses—stretching all the way into the late afternoon. When the firing finally ceased, Tang Heng stowed his rifle, pulled a canteen from his pack, and took a long swig.
“Is it over?”
“Not by a long shot. The second big cold front hits tonight. Any mutated beasts caught in the mountains without a winter den will come stampeding toward the base perimeter. That’s when the real rush starts.” Seeing Tang Heng’s practiced, unbothered demeanor, Zhao Man gradually felt his anxiety ease.
Stepping over to the window, he peered out to find a carpet of mutated beasts sprawled across the branches atop the sulfur rocks, ranging from massive brutes to smaller critters. Zhao Man even spotted several mutated chickens, each easily three times the size of a rooster from his previous life.
“Aren’t you going to collect them?”
“Going right now.”
“Hold on, I’ll give you a hand.”
Zhao Man quickly threw on his windproof overcoat, pulled on his hat and gloves, and followed in Tang Heng’s footsteps as they scrambled onto the sulfur rocks, making a beeline straight for the giant roosters.
Grabbing one by a talon as thick as a child’s wrist, Zhao Man dragged it toward the house with all his might, his mouth watering internally the entire way.
A chicken! An actual giant rooster! Is it edible? Can I scan it? What if it’s safe to eat?!
Perhaps Zhao Man’s internal monologue was written all too clearly across his face, because Tang Heng told him to stay in the buffer zone and test the carcasses there.
Zhao Man immediately pressed the sensor against the giant rooster.
Beep-beep. High-radiation mutated poultry. Ingestion not recommended.
A soft chuckle drifted over. Zhao Man looked up to see Tang Heng walking over with a deadpan expression, carrying four more mutated chickens and dumping them right at his boots.
“If you test any edible specimens, base protocol entitles you to a thirty percent cut.”
“Seriously?!”
Zhao Man’s spirits soared in an instant, his hands moving in a blur. Tang Heng hauled over every carcass sprawled across the sulfur rocks, but by the time Zhao Man finished scanning the entire heap, not a single one had registered as edible.
“Sigh.” Zhao Man’s face fell, his eyes lingering mournfully on the five roosters set aside in their own pile. Not a single one had pulled through.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, that’s just how it goes. In previous years, we’d string nets along the forward perimeter and slaughter beasts all night long—out of nearly a hundred carcasses, you’d be lucky to find a single edible bite,” Tang Heng consoled him gently. He reached out to pat Zhao Man on the shoulder, but catching the kid glancing his way, he awkwardly pulled his hand back to scratch the back of his neck instead.
“Do any of these beasts have energy stones inside?”
“Some do, but the value has to cover the ammo expenditure for this rifle.”
“Doesn’t the base supply weapons for the patrol units?” This was the second time Zhao Man had heard about deducting weapon maintenance and ammo costs. Whether venturing out on hunts or holding winter perimeter defense, wasn’t this official duty? Why wouldn’t official tasks come with official supplies?
“They issue the hardware. Take this rifle, for instance: as long as there’s no operator negligence, checking it out and returning it doesn’t cost a cent. But ammunition is a different story. Most weapons on the base use specialized rounds. If the base gave them away for free, it would run itself into the ground.”
Before Zhao Man could reply to the explanation, Tang Heng’s wrist terminal pinged. Hoisting a mutated wolf nearly three meters long onto his shoulder, he turned to Zhao Man. “Stay right here, don’t wander outside. Keep your eyes on the perimeter in case any stray beasts slip through.”
Zhao Man nodded. As Tang Heng dragged another carcass toward the front entrance, Zhao Man felt the man’s psychic energy shift toward the front courtyard along with him, leaving the window where he stood with only a faint, nearly imperceptible trace of residual energy.
Making four or five trips back and forth, Tang Heng hauled all the carcasses to the front gate for the collection transport to take away.
“Any beasts try to push through?” Tang Heng walked back over and handed a canvas sack to Zhao Man.
“These are my rations. We’ll likely be holding this post for three days straight. I’ll have to trouble you to handle the cooking during that time.”
Zhao Man took the bag. Inside was a stash of potatoes, a small pouch of flour, a palm-sized cut of meat, and a bundle of leafy greens he couldn’t recognize.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Whatever you make is fine. I’m not picky.”
Retrieving a potato from Tang Heng’s ration bag, Zhao Man washed it and placed it on the bamboo insert to steam. Half an hour later, once a chopstick could barely pierce the center, he laid the previously steamed potatoes on top to warm through.
He poured boiling water into a mug and stirred in a spoonful of jam. Pausing halfway, he turned to Tang Heng. “Want to try some of this jam?”
Tang Heng shot him a look, then handed over his heavy-duty canteen. It was a self-heating tactical flask; the contents inside didn’t need to be brought to a boil again.
Zhao Man poured out a bowl of hot water and stirred in a spoonful of jam. Right in the middle of stirring, a sudden realization hit him: wasn’t this water low-radiation? But the jam was medium-radiation. Once his mind wandered down that track, he couldn’t stop it, his eyes subtly drifting toward the potatoes bubbling away in the pot.
Dinner consisted of a potato each, a small dish of shredded pickled ferns, and a bowl of sweet-and-sour fruit water. Seeing Tang Heng reach for his drink, Zhao Man blurted out, “That jam is medium-radiation.”
Tang Heng took a sip. It was sweet with a tart edge—not really his cup of tea. Hearing Zhao Man’s warning, he looked back with genuine bemusement.
“Aren’t you guys only allowed to drink low-radiation water?”
“Who told you that?”
Zhao Man stared at him in silence.
Tang Heng thought back to the water source Zhao Man had uncovered before the harvest. “It’s not that we can’t drink medium-radiation water. It’s that we can’t drink the base’s municipal tap water. That supply is recycled down from high-radiation sources. As long as it’s naturally occurring medium-radiation food or water, we can process it just fine. Besides, where on earth would we find enough low-radiation water to live on? If push comes to shove and you’re dying of thirst, you drink high-radiation water all the same.”
Watching the man quietly finish his meal, Zhao Man suddenly spoke up: “Does that marriage proposal of yours still stand?”
This time, it was Tang Heng’s turn to choke. He coughed, looking up with wide eyes. “Have you made up your mind?”
