Chapter 126

“Why didn’t you go back with them?”

On the night of June 23rd, at 10 p.m., aboard a cargo ship in the Arctic Circle, Xiang Qingchuan asked with a headache. That afternoon, Weir had called the research team. He had intended for Qin Yun to return with the Will Government delegation, but Qin Yun refused. With multiple international researchers present at the time, it wasn’t convenient to explain, and the two only now had a chance to talk.

“Take a look,” Xiang Qingchuan said. Qin Yun immediately opened his System Interface.

Host Name: Qin Yun

Unlocked Scenario: [The Beginning of a Disaster]

…

“It changed color?” Xiang Qingchuan was stunned. The [The Beginning of a Disaster] icon had previously been blue—now it had turned light yellow.

“It changed this afternoon,” Qin Yun replied. He’d been monitoring the System Interface closely. Until now, the system had only shown two missions: [Off-site Seeds] and [Dual-Machine Series]. Just when he thought the Arctic trip might be a waste, [The Beginning of a Disaster] suddenly changed color this afternoon.

He wasn’t sure what triggered the change, but that was precisely why he decided to stay in the Arctic.

“No prompts?” Xiang Qingchuan asked.

Qin Yun shook his head. “None.”

Xiang Qingchuan thought for a moment, then looked at Qin Yun with firm resolve. “You have to return home tomorrow.” From the Xiangjiao Farm to now, Qin Yun had been working with the team for three years. Whether or not the system was involved, Longxia had a duty to ensure the safety of its contributing citizens.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow…” Qin Yun sighed helplessly. Xiang Qingchuan’s eyes were far too resolute.

At 10:20 p.m., Qin Yun stepped out of the cabin. A middle-aged man was on the deck, coiling ropes.

“Qin,” the man greeted him upon seeing him.

“Mr. Ron.” Qin Yun walked up onto the deck. Ron was a staff member from Weir; they’d met a few times during prior coordination work.

After a few casual exchanges, Qin Yun curiously watched Ron’s movements. Ron was organizing climbing ropes, with a compass and a kit of gear like anti-slip shoes beside him.

“What’s all this?” Qin Yun asked, intrigued.

“There’s a polar bear in distress to the south,” Ron explained.

Polar bears are the largest land carnivores in the world. In 3020, the Shuilan Alliance reported a global population of 21,000. By 3029, that number had plummeted to 8,000. Beyond natural attrition, the main causes were global warming and increasing difficulty in hunting prey.

An hour ago, satellite monitoring detected a live polar bear drifting on the southern side of the Hurla Mountains. The ice around it had shattered, and the situation was critical. The Will Government decided to dispatch a rescue team from the ship.

“Ron!” someone from the rescue team waved from below just as Ron finished speaking.

Ron exchanged a few words with the team member, then turned to Qin Yun. “Want to come?”

The polar bear’s location was three kilometers from the cargo ship. Since a professional team would be accompanying them, the operation was considered very safe.

“One moment.” Qin Yun turned and headed back into the cabin.

Inside, Xiang Qingchuan was studying biological sample data. After hearing Qin Yun out, he asked, “Where to?”

“Here.” Qin Yun opened the map. Xiang Qingchuan was about to refuse, but after seeing the coordinates, he simply reminded Qin Yun to be careful and gave his consent.

Qin Yun grabbed his communication device and stepped back out. By then, Ron and the others were already geared up, all wearing Constant Temperature Jackets, looking highly professional in the biting wind.

“This is the polar bear’s location. We’re taking a boat over…” After a quick round of greetings, Ron pointed to the bear’s coordinates. The area had previously been covered in two-meter-thick ice, but it had now broken into chunks just large enough to allow small yachts to pass through.

“Here’s the latest drone footage of the bear,” Ron said, pulling up a video.

It was now 10:30 p.m. The dark sea was scattered with fragmented ice. On the largest piece lay a polar bear, belly down. Its body rose and fell slightly with its breathing, but overall, it didn’t look good.

At 11:10 p.m., the team set off. Twenty people boarded five yachts. Though the waters near Hurla were littered with floating ice, the boats were piloted by seasoned crew and moved steadily.

“When we get there, stay on the yacht. Don’t leave the perimeter,” Ron instructed Qin Yun patiently as the boat moved slowly forward. Truth be told, he’d already started regretting inviting Qin Yun. Though the mission wasn’t dangerous, he still needed to be extra cautious.

“I will,” Qin Yun promised, determined not to be a burden.

The June waters around Hurla were calm. Qin Yun spotted some seabird corpses drifting on the surface, surrounded by a few belly-up dead fish. All victims of ocean acidification and global warming. Over the past week, such scenes had become all too common.

The yacht cruised ahead slowly. Ten minutes later, a rescue team member called out, “Is that it?”

Qin Yun stood up. Though still some distance away, he could see a large chunk of ice drifting in the distance, and a white figure atop it.

“Wait here,” Ron instructed, then joined the others with their specialized equipment.

Four yachts approached the ice floe. Qin Yun obediently stayed behind, following the rules.

From his vantage point, Qin Yun saw the rescue team bring a lifeboat and approach the polar bear. The bear lay motionless on the ice. The team carefully rolled it over—beneath it was a small seal pup.

The seal didn’t look much better. The rescuers gently placed it into a pre-prepared rescue box.

Qin Yun’s heart skipped a beat.

Ten minutes later, the rescue team returned.

Ron climbed back aboard. “It’s dead.”

Qin Yun looked toward the yacht carrying the bear. The polar bear’s body now lay still on the deck—completely lifeless.

“But… it was still breathing, wasn’t it?” Qin Yun asked, his voice tight. He’d grown used to scenes like this, but the bear had still been breathing just three hours ago. It was hard to accept that it was now gone.

“There really is breathing,” Ron said, confused. In the earlier drone footage, the polar bear’s body had shown slight movement.

Ron replayed the footage. Upon closer inspection, the bear had already been dead when the drone discovered it. The subtle movement of its back had actually come from a seal shifting beneath the corpse.

For the next half hour, silence hung over the research vessel.

At 1:00 a.m., the team returned to the ship. Since it was unclear whether the polar bear or the seal carried any infectious diseases, they temporarily left the bear’s corpse on board, while the medical staff took care of the seal.

At 1:20 a.m., Qin Yun changed into a fresh isolation suit and returned to the cabin.

Xiang Qingchuan was still poring over data. Without looking up, he asked, “Did you save it?”

Qin Yun didn’t answer.

“What happened?” Xiang Qingchuan turned around.

“We couldn’t save it…” Qin Yun recounted everything that had happened.

Xiang Qingchuan was silent for a long moment before he finally said, “It’s okay.”

He wasn’t being cold. As a researcher, Xiang Qingchuan understood all too well the chain reactions triggered by this disaster.

After reporting the situation, Qin Yun returned to his room.

At 2:10 a.m., Qin Yun found himself replaying the image of the polar bear’s death. He had always thought of himself as rational, but as he imagined what it must have felt like to drift helplessly across the sea, he couldn’t help but place himself in the bear’s position—the crushing despair of being lost at sea.

The next morning, the biological expedition team began investigating the cause of the polar bear’s death. Based on the drone footage and the bear’s physical condition, they concluded that the bear had somehow ended up on a drifting ice floe, which had floated downstream from the Hurla Mountains. Throughout the journey, the bear had been unable to find a landing point back to solid ground. It had survived by feeding on seabirds and fish in the water.

However, those seabirds and fish contained dangerously high levels of heavy metals. Combined with prolonged starvation, the bear hadn’t survived.

The polar bear had been dead for twelve days. The seal had drifted over from another ice floe after the bear had already died. Virus tests showed that the bear’s body contained a large amount of undigested, decaying matter, but neither the bear nor the seal carried the Hugua Virus.

“Sigh.” The polar bear was gone, but the seal was recovering.

After discussions between the biological team and the Will Government, they decided that once the seal had fully recovered, it would be transferred to Weir’s special marine sanctuary. Humanity could no longer save every animal—only do what they could, within their means.

On the afternoon of June 24, just as Xiang Qingchuan was preparing to arrange Qin Yun’s return home, the Weir Research Institute released an official report on the animal corpse: According to their leading biological experts, the Arctic animal in question was actually a reindeer carcass dating back 2,300 years. The body carried a large number of anthrax spores, but these spores were non-infectious and could be effectively treated with modern medicine.

“Natal Institute of Biological Research: The anthrax bacillus found in the reindeer is a non-motile strain… not infectious.”

“Canpesheng Biotech…”

…

Following Weir’s announcement, research institutes from fourteen other countries also released their own statements. All shared a single message: the Hugua Virus is not highly infectious and is treatable.

“A 2,300-year-old reindeer… that’s ancient.”

“I saw the photos released by the Shuilan Alliance—some of the corpses still had intact fur.”

“So the Hugua Virus is like the flu? Just take some medicine and you’re fine?”

…

Since Weir’s release of the initial 23 case reports on June 16, many residents had been closely following the virus’s developments. The situation had drawn global attention, and the Shuilan Alliance had been regularly updating the public with research progress from various countries. Now, with the fourteen-nation joint statement, people finally breathed a small sigh of relief.

On the afternoon of June 24, Longxia released its own statement: According to the Longxia Institute of Biology, the Hugua Virus is a preventable and treatable pathogen. The Hurla reindeer are among the earliest known permafrost-preserved reindeer ever discovered. With global temperatures rising, there is concern that even older viruses may be buried deeper within the ice. The Longxia Institute urged the global community to strengthen virus monitoring and epidemic prevention efforts to guard against a potential second mutation of the Hugua Virus.

“Could there be dinosaur remains under the permafrost reindeer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Any deeper and you’re hitting seawater.”

“Doesn’t seem like an infectious virus…”

“These past two years have been hell—famine, locusts, snowstorms… now viruses?”

…

Longxia’s announcement was more cautious than those of other countries. No one wanted to admit it, but their logic was hard to refute. If the Hugua Virus really did mutate again… the thought alone made people’s scalps tingle.

“Please, don’t mutate.”

“Everyone, maybe cut back on seafood for a while—especially from the polar regions.”

“We just planted apples and grapes… this virus doesn’t infect plants, right?”

“There are sixty thousand known viruses in the world. We’ve got natural antibodies. We’ll be fine.”

…

People across the world did their best to reassure themselves.

“Hope to see you again someday.”

“Goodbye.”

…

On the morning of June 25, at Weir’s Bassa Airport, Qin Yun said farewell to the new friends he had made. After undergoing thorough medical examinations, it was confirmed that none of them carried any Arctic viruses. Meanwhile, polar biological monitoring stations had been established in multiple countries to professionally track changes in the polar regions.

At 3:00 p.m. on June 25, Qin Yun and the expedition team landed at Jinghe Airport. The first thing they did upon returning home: self-isolate.