Chapter 10 Blizzard Arrives
On August 17th, from late night to the early morning of the 18th, the world seemed to maintain a last shred of dignified calm. But Wen Yu knew that this calm was as fragile as a thin layer of ice.
He stayed up all night, not out of anxiety, but out of a near-ritualistic state of alertness. On the control panel's screen wall, in addition to the fortress's own surveillance footage, several filtered news websites, trending topics on social media, and weather data streams from several key cities were displayed in split-screen format.
Abnormalities are nothing new.
In an island nation in the Southern Hemisphere, a three-week-long torrential rain finally triggered a massive flash flood, submerging half the country and hindering international rescue efforts. The footage shows only murky water and floating debris.
Somewhere in the Siberian permafrost, a monitoring station is sending back disturbing data—methane concentrations are soaring abnormally in a localized area, like a dangerous burp from the Earth's sleeping giant.
Near the equator, a region that should have favorable monsoon weather has experienced two consecutive months without a drop of rain, rivers have dried up, and cracked land has spread to the edge of the city.
On the west coast of North America, a small but powerful earthquake struck a major power grid hub, causing regional power outages for more than 48 hours, and fueling the spread of freebies and violent clashes in the darkness.
These news items were carefully placed on the periphery of mainstream media, accompanied by reassuring comments from experts stating that the incidents were "occasional anomalies," "still under control," and that "technological progress will inevitably overcome the challenges." However, in some fringe forums, niche warning websites, and even encrypted private chat groups, an undercurrent of unease was already surging. Prices, especially for basic necessities like food, bottled water, batteries, and medicine, have risen at a visible rate over the past week. Supermarket shelves have begun to see purchase limits or empty shelves for certain items. Online searches for "hoarding," "survivalism," and "doomsday bunkers" have increased exponentially.
Wen Yu calmly browsed through this information, as if he were looking at an exam paper whose answers he already knew. He turned off most of the external news sources, leaving only a few encrypted channels—one was a one-way communication channel with Zhou Lin (who had disappeared after paying the last intelligence fee, as if he had never existed), another was a backend that accessed data from an independent meteorological satellite, and the last was a radio receiver that monitored specific civilian emergency channels.
He walked to the sealed-off "window" on the third-floor terrace—now a huge screen displaying live footage stitched together from several high-definition cameras outside. The silhouette of Cuiping Mountain was deep and somber in the night, and the city lights below were sparser than usual, yet still shimmered with a hazy glow. He activated a preset program, and the screen began to simulate a desolate, dilapidated filter effect: weathered and peeling marks appeared on the walls, the window glass simulated cracks and stains, the weeds in the courtyard "grew" more luxuriantly, and even a few inconspicuous "damages" were simulated. Under the cover of night, a drone quietly took off, scattering withered leaves and dust around the villa, and using its robotic arm to create subtle cracks in several non-critical locations, suggesting years of neglect.
From tomorrow onward, viewed from the air or from a distance, this house will resemble more of a luxurious ruin abandoned by its owner and slowly decaying over time, than a meticulously maintained fortress. The true entrance and key facilities have been cleverly disguised or hidden in the shadows of the mountain and among the vegetation.
Having done all this, he returned to the center of the command hall. The main lights weren't on; only the eerie blue glow emanating from the control consoles and screens illuminated his expressionless face. Behind him was a heavy, airtight door leading to the storage area, beyond which lay mountains of supplies, enough to sustain them for years, or even longer. Before him, the screens on the wall displayed every corner of the fortress: constant temperature and humidity readings, stable energy output curves, tranquil corridors, green seedlings quietly breathing under the supplemental lights in the eco-zone, and the world outside, about to be swept away by the storm.
In the first phase of revenge, six names were crossed out; they were already struggling in their own quagmires. Preparations for survival, from blueprints to reinforced concrete, from lists to warehouses full of goods, now lay silently dormant within the mountain.
He felt a cold solidity, like a foundation deeply embedded in rock beneath his feet. There was no excitement, no fear, no expectation, only a near-absolute sense of "readiness." Memories of his past life and plans for this life overlapped at this moment, filtering out all impurities, leaving only a pure purpose: to survive, according to his own will, in this crumbling world.
He raised his wrist and looked at his watch.
3:17 a.m.
There are less than four hours left until that turning point in the weather records.
He walked to the ecological area and added some nutrient solution to the lettuce seedlings on the hydroponic rack. The tender green leaves felt cool and soft to the touch. He then checked the safe house's supplies and the status of its independent systems, and manually tested the hydraulic door's operation. Everything went smoothly, silently and powerfully.
Then, he brewed himself one last cup of coffee, boiled with electricity from the mains, using expensive beans he had bought before the apocalypse. The aroma diffused in the clean, temperature- and humidity-controlled air, carrying a strange sense of ritual, a sense of ending and beginning.
He sat at the control panel, pulling up the global atmospheric circulation model and real-time satellite cloud images. A massive vortex was gathering at the poles, and the arrowhead of the cold front was hurtling southward, southward, and southward again, defying seasonal patterns, heading straight for the continent. The model's predicted cooling curve was alarmingly steep.
Time slipped away amidst the fluctuating numbers on the screen and the silent, gliding cloud map.
At five in the morning, before dawn, an ominous bluish-gray tinge had already settled on the eastern horizon. Scattered, urgent communications began to appear on the radio receiver: "...wind speeds are increasing rapidly...requesting support...roads are icy..." "Mom, how are things over there? The heating suddenly stopped working..." "All non-essential personnel, return home immediately...repeatedly, return home immediately..."
Wen Yu turned off the radio's speaker, leaving only visual signal reception enabled. Noise was useless.
Six o'clock sharp.
The first snowflake, with an almost gentle touch, landed on the north-facing camera lens. Soon, the second, the third… instead of falling, they were swept across the lens by the increasingly strong wind, leaving a wet trail. The temperature sensor readings began to plummet: -5°C, -10°C, -15°C…
The blizzard is here.
This was no ordinary snowfall. It was real, extreme weather that meteorologists later called a "snowstorm" or "dead snow." Wind speeds quickly exceeded Force 8, and the snowflakes were so dense that they blotted out the sun. The simulated scene on the screen outside the window was instantly swallowed up by a violent white expanse. The actual footage from the cameras showed the same thing; visibility plummeted to less than ten meters.
The city lights below the mountain went out one after another within a few minutes. First, it started in scattered areas, then spread rapidly like dominoes, engulfing the entire cityscape. The power system collapsed under the sudden drop in temperature and the weight of the accumulated snow.
Communication signals began to fluctuate violently, then disappeared in large sections. Cell phone networks were the first to become overwhelmed, followed by civilian radio frequencies filled with static and desperate cries, and finally even satellite phone signal strength bars began to flicker erratically.
The sounds of the world seemed to be sucked away by the thick layer of snow.
Inside the fortress, everything was as usual. LED light strips emitted a steady, soft glow, the ventilation system hummed softly, and the green numbers representing internal environmental parameters on the screen wall remained perfectly still. Slight stress changes in the exterior walls caused by temperature variations were detected by sensors, and the data showed they were within safe limits. The solar panels were covered in snow, reducing power generation to zero, but the battery packs only saw a negligible 0.3% decrease in charge. The wind turbines revved faster in the strong winds, emitting a low whistle and contributing a considerable amount of electricity.
Wenyu activated more external lighting—not to illuminate himself, but to observe more clearly. Several high-powered searchlights tore through the snow curtain, snowflakes dancing wildly in their beams like moths to apocalypse. Thermal imaging and motion sensors on the walls were fully activated, outlining any thermal anomalies in the frigid world.
For the first few hours, there was only the deathly silence of the snow and the howling wind. Occasionally, there would be a dull thud as something heavy snapped, perhaps a distant tree or a city facility that was overburdened.
Around noon, Wenyu saw the beginnings of chaos through footage transmitted from a drone (modified for frost resistance and wind resistance) down the mountain. The city, deprived of heating, quickly turned into an ice cave. Roads were blocked by snow and fallen debris, with stranded vehicles dotting the landscape like cold tombstones. Figures began to stumble through the snow, trying to find shelter or resources. Scattered lights flickered in some building windows, presumably from burning furniture for warmth, but were quickly extinguished by the snowstorm or triggered even greater chaos. Screams, cries, and occasional gunshots, muffled by the snow, became intermittent, indistinct noises, transmitted to the fortress via directional radio equipment.
Wen Yu watched expressionlessly. He was all too familiar with it all. The familiar coldness, the familiar despair, the familiar initial collapse of humanity under the pressure of survival. His heart was unmoved, only a cold confirmation remained: the script was unfolding as planned, but he was no longer on the stage.
He recalled the drone and carefully cleaned and maintained it. Energy is precious and shouldn't be wasted on pointless observations.
In the afternoon, the fortress welcomed its first "visitor".
They were a few residents from the villa area down the mountain. Wen Yu remembered them; in the early stages of the blizzard in his previous life, this group was relatively united and managed to survive for a few days with some stockpiled supplies, but they later fell out with each other over resources. They were probably attracted by this seemingly abandoned but structurally intact "mansion" on the mountain and wanted to try their luck.
Five people in total—three men and two women—wrapped in all the thickest clothes they could find, trudging through knee-deep snow towards the villa. Their faces were a mixture of fear, hope, and a hint of greed.
When we were about fifty meters from the wall, a piercing electronic warning sound suddenly cut through the howling wind and snow:
"Warning! Private property, do not approach! Leave immediately! Warning!"
The sound came from a waterproof speaker hidden in the outer wall, using a synthesized, cold male voice devoid of any emotion.
The five people were startled and stopped abruptly, looking around in surprise and uncertainty. They could only see the slightly dilapidated walls and building outlines covered in snow, but no one in sight.
"Is anyone there? Please help us! We're freezing to death! Please let us inside to avoid the wind!" a man shouted boldly, his voice trailing off in the wind.
There was no response. Only a repeated electronic warning: "Leave immediately! Otherwise, defensive measures will be taken!"
"Damn it, what a charade!" another burly man spat. Perhaps he was too cold to bear it, or perhaps he didn't think an "abandoned" house was anything to be afraid of, he pulled out a fire axe from his pocket (he had gotten it from who-knows-where), and continued walking forward while cursing, calling out to his companion: "What are you afraid of! There must be a warm place inside! Maybe even some food!"
Just as his foot stepped onto the invisible sensor strip thirty meters from the wall—
"laugh--!"
A thick gas mixture of tear gas and a strong skunk agent odor erupted violently from several ground nozzles disguised as rocks, instantly engulfing the area. Although not a lethal gas, its irritant properties were enough to instantly incapacitate anyone without protection.
"Cough cough! My eyes! What the hell is that?!"
"Ugh—! Run!"
The five men immediately burst into tears and snot, coughing and gagging violently, scrambling and stumbling as they fled backward, even leaving their fire axes behind in the snow. The wind and snow quickly dispersed the fumes, but the nauseating smell and terrifying experience were enough to haunt them for the rest of their lives.
Wen Yu watched their disheveled retreat on the screen with a cold expression. He didn't activate more severe defensive measures, such as hidden high-voltage electric shock wires (non-lethal voltage, but enough to paralyze and knock someone to the ground). This was just a warning. He hoped these people, and those who might witness their ordeal later, would understand that this was not a place to be trifled with.
Construction team? Of course he remembered them. Liu Mingda, Engineer Zhao, Manager Sun… they knew how strange and sturdy this house was. But in this weather, trekking over ten kilometers from the city to the mountain? The chances were slim to none. Even if someone had the audacity to manage to get here, what could they do against this heavily armed, impenetrable fortress? Beg? Launch a assault? Their tools couldn't even scratch the paint on the exterior walls. Besides, they first needed to survive in the city that had become hell, to even make it to the foot of the mountain.
The fortress stood silently amidst the blizzard, like a slumbering steel behemoth. Inside, it was warm as spring, with steady lighting, ample food, and clean water.
Wen Yu cooked himself a bowl of steaming hot frozen dumplings and poured a small dish of vinegar. He ate slowly, his gaze occasionally sweeping over the segmented images on the screen wall: the outside was a raging, white hell, while the inside was an orderly, brightly lit ark.
The dumplings were delicious, and the vinegar tasted just right.
After he finished eating, he washed the dishes and chopsticks and put them back in the sterilizer.
Then, he sat back down at the console and pulled up a new document. The title was: "Draft of Psychological Adjustment and Schedule Planning for Long-Term Isolation Survival in Extreme Climates".
The first day of the apocalypse passed peacefully amidst the blizzard, the silence, and the taste of a bowl of hot dumplings.
He knew that this blizzard was just an appetizer.