Chapter 84 - 77: Radio Station

Chapter 84: Chapter 77: Radio Station

The bloodstain on the water’s surface gradually faded, as if the brutal hunt that had just occurred right before his eyes was merely a brief illusion. But Xu Mo knew it wasn’t an illusion. The enormous, pale maw that had burst from the water, the teeth-grinding crunch of shattering bone, and the horrific sight of the red carp being instantly torn to pieces were all indelibly seared into his mind.

Xu Mo quickly began analyzing and speculating about the owner of that terrifying maw.

’Based on the shape and size of that mouth, as well as the ferocity and power it unleashed in that instant of predation, it’s likely the product of a mutated reptile, something like a crocodile.’ Xu Mo mused to himself.

Crocodiles already possess a powerful bite and a habit of ambushing their prey. If one were further enhanced by the corrosion of Dark Energy—growing larger, with sharper teeth and a more savage temperament—it would be entirely possible for it to execute a one-hit kill like the one he just witnessed.

Of course, this was just speculation. Lurking beneath the surface could be other monsters—large fish native to the area that had mutated, or creatures swept in from elsewhere by the flood. It could even be some kind of mutated existence he couldn’t possibly imagine, a fusion of multiple different traits.

In this apocalypse, all common sense about biology could be overturned.

’What it is specifically doesn’t matter anymore.’ Xu Mo quickly reined in his thoughts. The important thing was confirming one fact: a large, aquatic mutant was lurking in these floodwaters.

This realization completely changed Xu Mo’s plan of action.

Originally, Xu Mo had entertained the idea of using the assault boat to risk a move if the water level rose to an unbearable height. But now, that option’s priority had been dropped to the very bottom.

Driving a small assault boat through the murky, unknown floodwaters would undoubtedly turn him into a conspicuous, moving target, actively serving himself up on a platter for the underwater hunters.

’Hunkering down and waiting for the situation to change is the safest strategy right now.’ Xu Mo made his decision.

The three-story building he was in had its bottom two floors submerged, but the main structure still seemed stable, providing a relatively solid platform above the water. As long as the building didn’t collapse and no colossal sea monster capable of directly threatening the third floor or even the roof appeared, this was his safe zone.

Xu Mo once again carefully inspected the entire building’s structure, focusing on the stability of the load-bearing walls, floor slabs, and foundation.

At the same time, Xu Mo placed even greater importance on protecting the assault boat. It was his final escape route and could not be lost.

Xu Mo wasn’t worried about food and water. Most of his supplies were in his exclusive space, ready to be retrieved at any time. The emergency backpack he kept out also had enough to last several days. Xu Mo was no longer in a state where he had to scavenge for supplies every time a 48-hour countdown ended.

Xu Mo focused all his activities on the third floor and the roof. The third-floor hallway served as his living quarters and main watch post, while the roof was used for cultivation, observation, and "Qi Collection." He minimized any unnecessary movement to avoid attracting the attention of any underwater creatures that might be sensitive to sound or vibrations.

The days passed to the sound of dripping rain and the slow, steady rise of the water level. Xu Mo became unusually silent, spending most of his time practicing the Thirteen Grand Protectors’ Cross Training or quietly observing the treacherous waters outside his window. He saw more signs of churning water—sometimes small fish leaping out in a panic, other times a blurry dark shadow zipping past beneath the surface—but he never again witnessed a hunting scene as shocking as the first one.

On the radio, Jiang City’s broadcast continued. In addition to weather and disaster warnings, it also began to broadcast some slightly comforting news, such as the floodwaters beginning to recede in certain areas and words of encouragement for survivors to maintain their hope.

Xu Mo could occasionally hear the faint distress calls or communications of other scattered survivors. Many mentioned being attacked by "sea monsters," confirming that what Xu Mo had observed was not an isolated incident. The threat of aquatic mutants was spreading across this flood-ravaged land.

’So there are this many survivor outposts that have managed to keep their radio equipment.’ Xu Mo thought, his expression pensive.

This discovery wasn’t surprising; radios were a relatively reliable and important tool for long-distance communication in the apocalypse. But what gave Xu Mo pause was that during the previously "stable" periods—both during the Eternal Night and the initial phase of the flood—most of these radios had remained silent, as if they didn’t exist. Only when disaster truly struck and they were pushed to the brink did these radios come to life, becoming "lifelines" to cry for help.

This actually revealed a common mentality among ordinary survivors in the apocalypse: "risk aversion" and "resource preservation."

For most independent or semi-independent survivor outposts, simply revealing their existence was a risk. It could attract the covetous eyes of those with ill intentions. They might be forcibly absorbed by a stronger faction or have their supplies requisitioned. Or perhaps they simply didn’t want to take on additional responsibilities or pleas for help from the outside.

Therefore, as long as their own situation was manageable, everyone chose to "hide themselves" and passively receive outside information. This was the strategy most in line with their collective interests.

Besides, the power for the radios was also a precious resource, not to be used unless absolutely necessary.

Secondly, this highlighted the escalating lack of trust and the difficulty of collective action within the post-apocalyptic social structure. The old, widespread system of social trust had long since collapsed. Between the various survivor outposts, there were no effective channels of communication or foundation of mutual trust. Without a commonly recognized authority for coordination or a power to enforce agreements, initiating contact might not get a response and could instead expose one’s weaknesses. Thus, unless they had no other choice, everyone tended to "sweep the snow from their own doorstep," forming isolated islands of information.

On a deeper level, this reflected a complex aspect of human nature in the face of disaster—a contradictory combination of "passive dependence" and "last-resort pleas for help."

Many outposts avoided risk and hid themselves during normal times, perhaps subconsciously retaining a sliver of dependence on "outside rescue." They might have listened carefully to Jiang City’s warnings but never actually translated them into decisive self-rescue actions, just like Luoxing Valley before.

Only when disaster struck and they could no longer overcome the crisis on their own did these survivors finally break their silence and send out distress signals. This was both an instinct born of desperation and a subtle expectation that those with the ability to help shouldn’t just stand by and watch them die.

This behavioral pattern was quite similar to certain social phenomena from the old world. In normal times, they were indifferent to public affairs and deaf to warning signs, single-mindedly pursuing maximum self-interest or enjoying the convenience of "free-riding." The moment their own interests were harmed or they fell into a predicament, however, they would immediately demand the intervention and aid of public forces, possibly even blaming external factors for their plight.

’In the end, it’s a lack of foresight and the difficulty of making truly rational, sometimes even painful, priority-based decisions when facing an uncertain future.’ Xu Mo sighed inwardly.

Fortifying an outpost seemed to preserve existing resources, but it might mean missing the optimal window to evade an even greater risk. Hiding oneself seemed safe, but it also cut off the possibility of establishing connections and sharing resources during peaceful times, which would have strengthened their overall resilience.

Of course, Xu Mo could also understand the hardships these survivor outposts faced. In an environment of scarce resources and constant danger, every decision was a matter of life and death. Caution, and even conservatism, was often the first choice for most people.

’If I didn’t have my Golden Finger, I probably would have made the same choices as these survivors.’

These call signs, which suddenly appeared on the airwaves only to fall silent again just as quickly, were like night-blooming cereus flowers. They reflected miniature portraits of microscopic societies struggling to survive in the apocalypse. Their existence and their behavioral logic gave Xu Mo a more three-dimensional and complex understanding of the state of human survival in this world.