82: Chapter 82: Four Million People Evacuated in Four Days, Foreigners Were Terrified to Tears

The fourth day of the Hangzhou evacuation.

The screens of all television channels were split into three grids.

Left screen: Hangzhou East Railway Station ticket gates, traffic lights flashing alternately, a person passing through every three seconds.

The electronic screen above the ticket gates scrolled with white numbers, changing rapidly.

Right screen: Aerial footage of the expressway, the flow of traffic stretching to the horizon, all six lanes opened for one-way traffic, looking like a slowly flowing white river from the air.

No one was driving against traffic, no cutting in line, and not a single car was parked on the emergency lane.

Bottom subtitles, blood-red, refreshing every ten seconds— [ Evacuated Population: 4,017,263 / Remaining: 8,982,737 / Countdown: 10 days 14 hours ]

Four million.

Four days.

An average of one million people per day.

Bullet comments poured out from the bottom of the screen, so dense that the text was unreadable.

"At this rate, eleven days will be enough!"

"It's steady, it's steady, it's steady!!!"

"Has anyone calculated what this concept means? An average of eleven people transferred every second."

"Eleven per second... I can't even type that fast."

The Seventh Division.

Section Chief Han Zheng stood before the wall of screens.

The real-time heat map of Hangzhou occupied the entire wall.

The light points that were densely purple four days ago were now visibly receding like a tide.

The edge areas of the east and north of the city had turned light blue—they were empty.

He gripped the empty cigarette box that had been crushed out of shape, his fingers relaxing slightly.

Four days.

No stampedes, no looting, not a single malicious incident.

Just like that, four million people left.

Wang Hao sat on a folding chair nearby, his phone playing a live stream.

The bullet comments were all "Hangzhou, stay strong," scrolling so fast the screen was lagging.

He had video-called Chen Xiaohui this morning; Huzi was at his grandmother's house, his mouth covered in grease from eating, holding up a chicken leg and shouting at the camera, "Daddy, I want to see the earthquake."

Chen Xiaohui patted the back of his head from the side.

Wang Hao touched the bronze piece on his chest.

It was cold and quiet.

That was good.

The foreign internet, however, was in a state of noisy revelry.

That million-follower blogger from Lighthouse Country started a live stream as promised, with the title bolded and highlighted in red: "Day Four! Let's see how much longer the farce in Dragon Country can go on!!!"

120,000 people flooded into the live stream.

"They are actually moving? Thirteen million people driven away like ants—is this their 'institutional advantage'?"

"Citizens of the free world will never accept this kind of forced migration!"

"Wait until two weeks later when nothing happens, and the credibility of Dragon Country will completely collapse!"

"Hilarious, and they even said there's an earthquake on our side too—not even a dog would believe that!"

The comment section was filled with mockery. The top-liked comment received 47,000 thumbs up— "Has anyone calculated it? The economic loss caused by this farce in Dragon Country is enough to set their GDP back by three years."

Someone replied underneath: "Not just three years, five years at least."

"They deserve it. Who told them to believe it."

Then, a video appeared.

The filmer was a reporter from Gaul Country stationed in Hangzhou, with a verified blue checkmark account and 470,000 followers.

The camera shook twice before stabilizing, with the background being an old alley in the west of Hangzhou.

In the footage: Three military-green troop transport trucks were parked at the mouth of the alley, their rear doors wide open.

Two young soldiers in camouflage were lifting an old lady in a wheelchair onto the truck, their movements as gentle as if they were handling a piece of porcelain.

The old lady was holding an orange cat, which was tucked inside her cotton-padded jacket, only half its head visible.

The camera panned to the right.

In the high-speed railway station hall, mineral water and bread were piled into small hills.

Volunteers in fluorescent vests were running back and forth, and someone was shouting with a megaphone, "Elderly and children, this way," their voice hoarse.

The camera panned again.

A little girl around six years old was riding on her father's shoulders, holding a small red flag in her hand, grinning at the camera.

She was missing a front tooth.

At the end of the video, the reporter's voice came from behind the camera.

In accented English, there was only one sentence— "I am here. I am witnessing something I cannot explain."

This video received 30,000 retweets on the foreign internet.

The tone of the comment section changed.

Among the top thirty comments, twenty-one were ellipses.

"..."

"...Fine."

"...Four million people in four days?"

"I don't understand, I'm even starting to get scared."

"If one day this country goes to war with us, what we will face is—these same thirteen million people who obey orders, don't ask why, and just leave carrying their suitcases."

This comment received 12,000 likes and climbed to the third most popular comment.

Someone replied underneath, "It's not obedience. Look at those holding signs to pick people up for free, look at those private cars taking people to the station. No one forced them."

Someone else replied, "It's not that they aren't forced, it's that they don't need to be."

Then a new post was pushed to the top.

The poster was located in Hangzhou, and the account bio read "Eagle Country native, working in Dragon Country for six years."

"I am in Hangzhou. You wouldn't believe what I have seen."

"Dragon Country has temporarily added hundreds of high-speed train services, long-distance buses are free, and even military transport planes are transferring critically ill patients."

"Not only that, I saw with my own eyes their soldiers using armored vehicles converted into transport vehicles, with the cabins full of elderly and children."

"Soldiers shared their own rations with the passengers and chewed on compressed biscuits themselves."

"Four days, four million people! No looting, no stampedes, no one fired a shot."

"I don't know if there will be an earthquake in two weeks. But I know that if disaster really comes—the people of this country are already prepared."

Beneath this post, there was a long silence.

The mockery in the comment section stopped.

It didn't disappear, it just couldn't be squeezed out from between their teeth anymore.

Someone was still stubbornly holding on, "Fake, it must all be fake. This is Dragon Country's propaganda machine at work."

No one liked his comment.

On the expressway.

Long-distance bus driver Old Sun brought his thermos to his lips for a sip.

Red Bull mixed with instant coffee, bitter enough to make the root of his tongue numb.

This was his fourth trip.

Four hours one way, plus loading, unloading, and rest, two round trips a day was the limit.

He had done four trips.

His phone rang.

His wife.

"This is the last trip, the last trip."

He hung up.

The radio at the dispatch station rang again.

A fifth trip.

Old Sun glanced at the rearview mirror.

There were forty-seven people in the carriage, some holding children, some leaning on crutches, some asleep with their heads against the window glass.

He tightened the lid of his thermos and shifted gears.

High-speed train attendant Xiao Zhou squatted in the carriage vestibule, pulling her swollen, shiny feet out of her shoes.

There were two bloodstains on her socks, on the big toe of her left foot and the little toe of her right foot.

A colleague squatted over and handed her two adhesive bandages.

She applied them and put her shoes back on.

She stood up.

At the airport security checkpoint, Sister Liu's voice was completely hoarse.

Standing in front of her was a handwritten board the size of an A4 sheet of paper.

"Please show your ID card."

She flipped it over.

"Wishing you a safe journey."

A passenger who had just passed security paused, looking at those four words, their eyes turning red without warning.