061 Each Has Their Own Scheme - Part 3

The debate over the relocation site primarily centered on the North versus the South.

It was already autumn, and snow had begun to fall beyond the Great Wall. As the ambient temperature dropped toward freezing, the activity levels of the zombies diminished significantly. The Northern faction argued that there was no need for complex projections; once the temperature in the unheated North fell consistently below zero, these summer-rotten corpses would inevitably freeze into humanoid popsicles, ripe for slaughter. They contended that the North offered a winter window of up to six months free from zombie activity, providing a golden opportunity to migrate, clear frozen corpses from buildings, and build a new North, before gathering strength to eliminate any remaining stragglers once the spring thaw arrived.

It sounded ideal, but it ignored the fact that the Northern climate also acted as a preservative for the zombies. While freezing could damage cellular tissue and hinder mobility upon thawing, that was only true in the extreme North. In most Northern regions, the heavy use of insulated, airtight doors and windows to ward off the cold would inadvertently provide the perfect environment for zombie "hibernation." This would drastically extend their survival period, creating a risk that, even three or five years later, scattered zombies might "reanimate" at full strength and continue to spread the plague—a risk no one could afford to take.

The Southern faction’s argument was equally clear: if the temperature remained above freezing, zombie activity would not decrease, but neither would their rate of decay. In open areas, high-decibel loudspeakers could effectively lure zombies together for easy clearance. As for zombies trapped indoors, there was little to worry about; left alone for two or three years, they would rot away completely. Even if they dried into mummies, they would remain easy to handle as long as they were kept dry. Therefore, while developing the South might be less efficient in the short term, it was objectively the superior long-term choice.

Naturally, the North-South debate masked a power struggle between high-ranking officials from different regions. Everyone understood that unlike the American system—where states looked after themselves and the National Guard remained loyal to state governors—the moment the debate concluded and the nation’s remaining resources were poured into building half, or even a fraction, of the country, that region would become the true political and economic center of Asia for decades or even centuries to come. Officials who had worked there, or were currently stationed there, would naturally have an inherent advantage for retention and promotion.

Compared to the months or even years of political turmoil typical of general elections, this power struggle was exceptionally brief. It had been only seven days from the global outbreak to Tu Hongye’s announcement of a phased success in epidemic prevention. The political infighting had concluded within twenty-four hours of the confirmation of Tu’s announcement, leaving the outside world completely oblivious.

The final site selected was unexpected: the Eight-Hundred-Li Qinchuan.

Indeed, neither the Northern nor the Southern faction had won. Instead, the "Eight-Hundred-Li Qinchuan" plan, championed by a minority, received the blessing of the highest authorities. Ultimately, this land—the cradle of China’s oldest empires, stretching from Tongguan in the east to Baoji in the west—offered a vast area, abundant water, and natural mountain barriers that were easy to defend and difficult to attack. Geographically, one only needed to secure a few highway and railway gateways to make it virtually impregnable by land. Surely, the zombies didn't have the capacity to scale the Qin Mountains and navigate the ancient trails? Compared to the South’s long coastline, where active zombies could wash ashore at any moment, or the North’s extreme cold and relatively lagging industrial base, the Guanzhong Plain—with its balanced climate, geographical advantages, and established industrial and energy resources—was the most logical choice.

Faced with a catastrophe that threatened to topple the nation, leaders had to shed all worldly attachments and make the most rational and ruthless decisions. It must be admitted that the current leadership had done exactly that.

With the policy set, the resulting tremors were inevitable. Clearly, Xiong Xiaoning was one of the losers of this political struggle, someone whose supporters could no longer exert influence. He certainly had factions and backers, even if the factionalism among mid-to-low-level officials had waned before the outbreak in favor of meritocracy. At the mid-to-high levels, however, such dynamics were destined to persist for years, if not decades, until a new generation of leaders fully matured. Otherwise, it would have been impossible for someone like Xiong—a retired military officer with no technical background—to occupy the position of Director of the Beijing-Tianjin Base, regardless of his "red-blooded" pedigree as a third-generation official.

Now, his lack of technical expertise had become Xiong Xiaoning’s fatal flaw. If he were to be stubborn and cling to power, his end would be grim. If he stepped aside voluntarily, he would likely be granted a graceful exit. Leaving a path for others to return is an unspoken rule in officialdom.

Faced with the rapidly deteriorating political situation over the past few days, Xiong Xiaoning had to maintain a facade of composure, but in front of someone from whom he truly needed help, he adopted the defeated look Tu Hongye had witnessed.

Playing the victim was not difficult for someone as well-versed in the arts of "thick-black" strategy as Xiong.

Once he understood the situation, Tu Hongye realized that Xiong’s personal inspection visit was actually an attempt to build goodwill. A smart man doesn't waste words; Xiong couldn't possibly push Tu into the director’s chair. No leader in their right mind would appoint a scholar who had spent four years in a mental institution to head the Beijing-Tianjin Base. Therefore, Xiong was likely paving the way for Chen Hanxin, hoping Tu would assist Chen in vying for the leadership—or at the very least, ensure he sat securely as deputy director. Xiong clearly knew that Chen, who couldn't even bring himself to ask for help, would be sidelined before his seat was even warm. Yet, Xiong was unwilling to simply hand the base over to an official parachuted in by a rival faction. If nothing else, what would become of his loyal subordinates? Even if they wanted to switch allegiances, the incoming official would have to agree to accept them. Xiong had ambition, but times had changed. Since the probability of the national structure collapsing had diminished, he didn't need to burn bridges. He just wanted to arrange his exit, appease his subordinates, and salvage his reputation.

Furthermore, Xiong was still in his prime; stepping down now was a necessity, not a choice. Maintaining good relations would make a potential comeback easier down the line.

Facing an official whose star was fading, Tu Hongye did not commit himself. As the pot of tea ran dry, he set it aside and answered nonchalantly, "I will consider this matter carefully."

Xiong Xiaoning knew Tu still held a grudge about being forced to take the position of Director at the Forward Base. He decided to add one more weight to the scales to persuade Tu to return to the capital. "Rushi is pregnant."

Tu Hongye’s hand froze in mid-air. He set the teapot down and stared coldly at Xiong, saying nothing.

Such intense killing intent. Xiong felt a surge of unease; it was the first time he had truly felt such a chilling presence. He kept his voice as calm as possible and explained, "She doesn’t even know yet. The base’s health data collection system detected it automatically."

The Beijing-Tianjin Base was the nation’s premier biochemical weapons facility. Where did its sophistication lie? Pressure-sealed doors? 3D laser projections? Those were just for show in movies. In reality, it was so advanced that even the toilets were equipped with biological data collection systems. If you used a toilet in the base, the computer would analyze what you had eaten and your body fat percentage within two minutes.

Realizing that his concern for his loved ones had clouded his judgment, Tu Hongye offered a self-deprecating smile. "I’ll fly back with you tomorrow. I’ll make more trips back during this time to ensure Academician Chen settles into his new role well."

"Good. Then, I leave everything to you."