83: Chapter 83 There are three thousand mud figures in the mud, and ten thousand lights in the sky.

The tenth day of the evacuation.

Everyone was watching that number.

The countdown on the screen ticked down by one, and the subtitles at the bottom refreshed—

Remaining: 3,173,553 / Countdown: 4 days, 02 hours.

The barrage of comments instantly erupted from celebration mode.

"We've got this! It's only three million! Four days is more than enough!"

"Brothers, we did it! Let the whole world see! This is the Dragon Country!"

"Hangzhou, stay strong! This is the final sprint!"

Section Chief Han Zheng stood in the temporary command center of Hangzhou, watching the cluster of light points on the heat map that had faded until they were almost transparent.

Ten days.

He allowed himself to let out a sigh of relief.

His right hand reached into his pocket, found the empty cigarette pack that had been crushed out of shape, and his fingers habitually twirled it once.

Then the alarm went off.

"Report! A massive landslide has occurred on the Fuyang Section of the main high-speed railway line west of Hangzhou! Over eight hundred meters of the track section are buried! All high-speed rail operations are suspended immediately!"

The cigarette pack fell from his hand.

Section Chief Han Zheng did not pick it up.

He stared at the red warning box that popped up on the screen.

Eight hundred meters.

The live broadcast switched to an aerial view.

Half the mountain looked as if it had been cleaved by a blade, with mud and rocks, wrapped in broken trees, pouring down and completely burying the high-speed railway tracks.

The rails were twisted into impossible angles.

The steel poles of the overhead contact line were stuck in the mud like broken matchsticks.

The landslide occurred during the gap between two high-speed trains.

There were no trains in that section; zero casualties.

But the tracks were gone.

Hangzhou's main high-speed rail evacuation route was severed.

The news spread across the entire internet within ten minutes.

The celebration in the barrage comments came to an abrupt halt.

"No way?! We were so close to the finish line?!"

"Three million people, how are they supposed to evacuate without the high-speed rail? Just relying on roads and planes?"

"Let's do the math... the high-speed rail accounted for at least 400,000 in daily transport capacity. After cutting it, that's at most 600,000 to 700,000 a day... we can only evacuate a little over two million in three days. That leaves one million people trapped in the city!"

"One million people..."

No one typed anything else.

The foreign internet exploded.

The mockery came back in full force.

"Even the heavens can't bear to watch!"

"We said it long ago, emptying a city in two weeks is impossible!"

The Seventh Division temporary conference room.

The staff officer's voice was squeezed from his throat.

"Based on current transport capacity, we can transfer at most 2.1 million people in three days."

He paused for a beat.

"The gap—960,000."

960,000.

The chair scraped against the floor, a jarring sound.

The superior stood up.

"If things are difficult, we race against time; if there isn't enough time, we make up for it with manpower. Add more flights, add more! If civil aviation isn't enough, use military transport planes!"

His palm slammed onto the tabletop.

"As for the high-speed rail—one day. Give me one day to get the road fixed."

"Chief, for an eight-hundred-meter buried section, according to the standard repair cycle, it will take at least—"

"I said one day."

He looked at everyone.

"Railway Bureau, Armed Police, civilian rescue teams, throw everyone in."

He paused for a beat.

"Tell everyone still in Hangzhou—we will not abandon a single person."

The screen was fragmented.

Broken into countless small windows.

On the expressway from Hangzhou toward Lanjing, the traffic was completely frozen.

But no one honked.

In a silver sedan, a middle-aged man rolled down the window and shouted to the driver of the van next to him,

"Brother! It's still blocked ahead, don't rush! Stay safe!"

The van driver poked his head out and grinned,

"Don't worry! We're not in a rush!"

A hand reached out from the window of a small truck behind, passing over two bottles of mineral water.

"It's hot! Drink some water!"

No one knew each other.

Stuck on the same road, they were all on the same side.

On a 3:00 AM red-eye flight, the cabin lights were dimmed.

Flight attendant Xiao Lin stood in the rear galley, her hands supporting herself on the counter.

She had been flying for twenty-two consecutive hours.

The calves under her uniform skirt were swollen, and she could barely take off her shoes.

A colleague tapped her on the shoulder from behind.

"Xiao Lin, take a break, I'll take the next shift."

Xiao Lin shook her head.

"It's the last one. I'll rest after sending off this batch."

She unscrewed a bottle of water and took a sip.

She straightened her collar and pushed the meal cart back into the cabin.

Fuyang Section.

4:00 AM.

Six large excavators worked simultaneously, their searchlights illuminating the entire muddy hillside in a ghastly white.

Over three thousand emergency repair personnel were divided into six echelons, taking turns to work.

Armed police officers, railway workers, and the blue vests of the civilian rescue teams were mixed together, with mud covering everyone's knees.

A twenty-something armed police soldier was carrying a steel beam that had been bent by the mudslide, dragging it out.

His whole body was bent into a bow shape, his military boots slipping in the mud; he slipped three times, but steadied himself each time.

His gloves were torn.

The sharp edges of the steel beam cut three gashes into his palm, blood and mud smeared together.

Old Zhang, a railway worker nearby, saw this and rushed over to lend a hand.

The two of them carried the steel beam together, inching their way out step by step.

Old Zhang was fifty-seven this year.

With thirty-eight years of railway seniority, he had laid enough tracks to travel back and forth twice.

He had suffered from a herniated lumbar disc for twelve years, and the doctor said he shouldn't do heavy labor.

Today, he had run here from home on his own.

Bringing the track spike hammer that had been with him for thirty-eight years.

"Young man! Put it here! Just put it here!"

"Thank you, master!"

"What are you thanking me for! Get back to work!"

The live broadcast camera overlooked from above.

Over three thousand people were wriggling in the mud.

The barrage comments filled the screen.

The words "Hangzhou, stay strong" were copied and pasted hundreds of thousands of times, surging up from the bottom of the screen like a golden torrent.

"I'm in Lanjing, brothers and sisters, just come and stay! The quilts are already aired out!"

"Location Suzhou! I have two empty rooms at home!"

"Don't be afraid! We are waiting for you! Come out quickly!"

A barrage comment floated by, the font large and slow—

"Our ancestors endured the great earthquake, endured the floods. We will definitely be able to endure this too, because we are people of the Dragon Country!"

The television station cut to a long shot.

At the Hangzhou expressway entrance, 5:00 AM, the sky was not yet bright.

Car after car with hazard lights on slowly merged onto the expressway.

The taillights formed a red river, winding to the end of the horizon.

The aerial camera rose higher.

The red flow of traffic, the white searchlights, the crowd wriggling in the mud—three images appeared on the screen simultaneously.

The number of online viewers in the live broadcast room exceeded 200 million.

No one spoke.

Everyone was watching.

Everyone was waiting.

The countdown was still ticking.

Remaining: 3,173,553 / Countdown: 3 days, 17 hours.

The numbers were cold.

But the gazes before the screen were scorching.

Fuyang Section repair site.

6:00 AM.

Of the eight hundred meters of the buried section, three hundred and twenty meters had been cleared.

Four hundred and eighty meters remained.

Old Zhang's track spike hammer slammed down, the hammerhead embedded in the mud, unable to be pulled out.

He bent over, gripping the hammer handle with both hands, and exerted force three times.

It was unclear whether it was mud or blood seeping from his gloves.

The fourth time.

It came out.

He straightened his back and took a breath.

Behind him, the sun revealed half its head from the ridgeline.

Golden light shone on the three thousand mud figures.

Old Zhang glanced at the sun that hadn't fully emerged yet and raised his sleeve to wipe the mud from his forehead.

"The day has broken."

He muttered to himself.

The hammer was raised again.

"Almost there."