85: Chapter 85 Zero Day! 1.4 Billion People Remain Silent, While Across the Ocean, People Revel in Waiting for Death!

6:00 AM.

There was only one number on every screen.

[Remaining: 1,003,217.]

The comment feed went silent.

It wasn't that no one was talking; it was that everyone was watching, counting, and reciting it silently in their hearts.

Hurry.

Hurry faster.

The number one topic on Weibo was #GiveWayToHangzhou#.

A netizen from Suzhou posted: "I was supposed to go on a business trip to Shanghai today, but I canceled my ticket. I'm leaving the way open for our brothers and sisters in Hangzhou."

No one mocked them.

The comment section was filled with likes, not a single reply. Because there was no need to say anything.

The number ticked down by one.

1,002,998.

The tone on foreign websites was completely opposite.

The UK's BBC scrolling ticker read: "China's 'earthquake prophecy' enters its final 24 hours; the scientific community remains generally skeptical."

A trending post on a Zurich financial forum was titled: "Live Broadcast of China's Economy Regressing Five Years," accompanied by an aerial photo of Hangzhou's empty commercial streets. The comment section was jubilant.

The number one trending topic on Twitter in Lighthouse Country was #ChinaLastDay#.

A blogger named Jason with a million followers started a livestream while sitting on a lounge chair on Santa Monica Beach.

Behind him was the azure sea, golden sand, and surfboards stuck in the sand.

He held up a cocktail and swirled it.

"Friends! The final day of China's prophecy! They say we'll have an 'earthquake' on our West Coast too!"

470,000 people flooded into the livestream. The comment feed was filled with nothing but mockery.

He was sitting with seven or eight friends, beach towels spread all over the ground, and a Bluetooth speaker playing electronic music. A young man wearing a baseball cap named Mark hesitated for a long time before lowering his voice.

"Jason, what if... what if it's real? China said we'd have one here too—"

A blonde girl next to him laughed and interrupted, "Mark! You don't actually believe in Eastern superstition, do you? Our officials haven't said anything!"

Mark shut his mouth. He pulled his hat brim down, covering his eyes.

His phone lock screen wallpaper was a photo taken with an international student from China.

That student had asked for leave to return to their country the day before yesterday. Before leaving, they had only sent one message: "Mark, get out of there, believe me!" Mark hadn't replied.

3:00 PM.

[Remaining: 203,411.]

The last collection points in Hangzhou were being cleared out.

A long-distance bus was packed with over forty people.

Some were already discussing "which restaurant to eat at after the earthquake," while others used their phones to film the empty elevated highways outside the window.

In a window seat, a young couple in their early twenties held each other tightly.

Zhou Yu hugged Shen Nian; their expressions were completely out of place with the atmosphere in the bus.

The people around them were relieved. They, however, were pale as sheets.

Shen Nian's eyes were red and swollen, and her fingernails had dug crescent-shaped bloody marks into her palms, hidden within her sleeves.

Zhou Yu gritted his back teeth, his jaw muscles tight, never relaxing since he got on the bus. The others didn't know, but they did.

It wasn't an earthquake.

That night in the East China Sea, eight tentacles burst out of the water, the sky turned blood-red, and they were a second away from being smashed into pulp. A person wearing a half-face mask descended from the sky, scooping them from the fishing boat onto the deck of a destroyer in four seconds. Upon returning, they signed a national-level confidentiality agreement and couldn't say a single word.

For these fourteen days, Zhou Yu had nightmares every day. In his dreams, that dark red vertical pupil rose from the sea, staring fixedly at him. Shen Nian was stronger than him; at least she never cried during the day.

A little girl holding a teddy bear next to them tilted her head to look at them.

"Big brother, big sister, why are you crying again? Cowards! The earthquake hasn't even come yet!"

Zhou Yu forced a smile, which looked worse than crying.

"Yes... cowards."

Shen Nian buried her face in his shoulder, her shoulders shaking.

6:17 PM.

The last batch of vehicles started.

The vibration of the bus engine traveled up through the seats, and the tires rolled over the exit ramp of Hangzhou East Station, merging onto the highway.

Through the window, Zhou Yu saw the last row of traffic police. Fluorescent vests, standing straight. As every bus passed, they saluted with a standard military salute.

Zhou Yu stared as those fluorescent-vested figures grew smaller and smaller, further and further away, until they disappeared at the edge of the rearview mirror. He squeezed Shen Nian's hand tight.

Then, the numbers on all the screens jumped.

[Remaining: 0.]

The comment feed disappeared for a full three seconds. It wasn't that no one was posting; it was that tens of millions of people pressed send at the same second, and the system crashed directly.

"We did it!!!"

"Fourteen days! Thirteen million people! Not a single one left behind!!!"

"I'm crying..."

"This is China."

No long-winded speeches. Just these few words, spammed hundreds of millions of times. The Weibo backend engineers were scrambling to expand capacity, wiping their own eyes as they did so.

In the bus, the little girl holding the teddy bear saw the "0" on the phone, held up the teddy bear, and shouted, "Mom! The number turned to zero! We won!"

Zhou Yu lowered his head. Tears fell onto his jeans, soaking into a dark patch.

Shen Nian didn't look up. Her shoulders stopped shaking. She curled up in his arms, like a drowning person who had finally touched a piece of driftwood.

Outside the window, the twilight was turning from orange to gray.

Hangzhou was empty.

A city of thirteen million people had turned into a ghost town within fourteen days. No riots. No stampedes. Not a single gunshot.

Lighthouse Country.

Santa Monica Beach.

The number of viewers in Jason's livestream soared to twenty-three million.

The sun began to sink.

Orange-red afterglow spread across the sea, the waves were gentle, and the sea breeze blew lazily across the beach.

"Look at this sky! This sea!"

Jason stood up, holding his phone and spinning 360 degrees.

"What kind of fool would believe there's an earthquake here!"

The comment feed went crazy.

"Keep the music playing, keep dancing!"

"Confirmed: China is a joke!"

Mark sat on the very edge. His hat brim was pulled down so low that only his chin was visible. He glanced at his phone again. No new messages. That international student from China still hadn't replied to him.

The sun continued to sink.

On the horizon, the orange-red changed. Mark was the first to notice.

It wasn't orange-red. It was blood-red. A viscous, scarlet color, as if someone had splashed a whole bucket of congealed livestock blood across the vault of the sky, was spreading from the horizon toward the zenith at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Mark stood up abruptly. The chair toppled over. The cocktail glass smashed onto the beach, ice cubes rolling out.

"Jason—"

Jason was still making faces at the camera.

"Friends! The final sunset! Let's count down together—"

The sea breeze stopped abruptly. The air felt thick, as if it were about to solidify. The speaker was still playing electronic music, but everyone heard another sound. Low-frequency. Coming from the seabed. It wasn't the waves; it was a pulse.

Jason looked down at his phone. Signal: No Service. His smile froze on his face.

The last frame of the livestream—blood-red vault. Scarlet sea surface. Jason's face. Pupils dilated, lips parted, maintaining the shape of speech, but no sound.

Screen went black.

[Loading failed.]

Twenty-three million viewers stared at the gray loading circle spinning for five seconds. The comments scrolled. All question marks.

"Did the signal cut out?"

"That last frame... what color was the sky?"

"Wait, did you guys see that? The sun—"

"Did anyone record it? I think I saw the sky turn red just now..."

No one answered. But everyone felt a chill down their backs.

Ten minutes later, a screenshot began to spread like wildfire across the global internet. A high-definition zoomed-in image of the last frame of Jason's livestream.

Under the blood-red vault, the sea was dyed a thick, scarlet red. Several blurry figures were on the beach in various poses; some standing, some turning their heads.

Beneath the screenshot, one comment was upvoted to the very top. It was only five words— "China was right."