Forecasting Natural Disasters for Novel Natives - Chapter 19

Tan Feng thought for a moment, then shook his head.

If awakening supernatural abilities required such conditions, then his chances in this life were much lower than in his previous one, weren’t they?

After all, he had already given his company employees leave, and he planned to be alone tomorrow morning, ensuring no one else was around.

So, the likelihood of zombies appearing nearby during those three minutes was very low.

Tan Feng found it hard to accept the idea of being an ordinary person from now on.

Although two Sky Screens had descended consecutively, the country would certainly take action. This time, the apocalypse wouldn’t be as chaotic as before.

But he couldn’t be too optimistic; small-scale local chaos was inevitable.

And even if domestic affairs were handled properly, what about abroad?

The future remained dangerous. Without supernatural abilities, it would be like losing his most crucial weapon.

This time, he wouldn’t trust anyone, nor would he form his own team again. Thus, personal combat prowess became even more important.

Tan Feng frowned, looking at the modified G-Class he was working on, and suddenly lost interest in continuing.

After dropping her bombshell, Weizi continued slowly: [It’s said that when the first-generation zombies form, they release a unique magnetic field. People affected by this field undergo certain physical changes, effectively planting a “seed” of supernatural ability within them.]

[Of course, even those farther away from zombies are influenced during their coma, and they also develop this seed within them, though it tends to be weaker. So, everyone has the potential to awaken supernatural abilities.]

[For this seed to sprout, break through the soil, and grow into a tree, subsequent stimulation is essential.]

[Research shows that extreme physical training, life-and-death stimuli, reaching physical limits and then completely relaxing, strong willpower, a balanced and nutritious diet, high-quality sleep and rest, and appropriate meditation with a clear mind all help this seed germinate.]

Although people were disappointed by the earlier condition, they now listened intently, recording the information with their phones, hoping this knowledge would be useful later.

Someone sighed, “Even if doing all this doesn’t make me a supernatural ability user, it’ll still make me healthier and stronger.”

“True enough.”

“Strong willpower? Ha, I think I’m out just on that one.”

“Who isn’t? Not everyone is cut out to be a strong person.”

A research institute leader nodded frequently. “These methods share similarities with unlocking human potential.”

A military leader’s eyes lit up. “Haha, isn’t this similar to soldier training? Looks like our troops will produce many ability users.” He turned to his subordinates. “Increase the training intensity for those rascals later!”

“And get those isolation rooms ready ASAP. Place them close together so everyone can influence each other more.”

Although it was heartbreaking that one in ten soldiers might turn into zombies—something beyond human control—they had to accept reality and maximize the benefits.

After all, those who survived had to keep living and defending the country.

The leader suddenly understood. “No wonder it’s called the ‘the Parting Gift of the Forerunners.’ So that’s what it means.”

If his death could help several people become ability users, it might not be such a loss.

Enlightened, he added, “Don’t forget to save a spot for me tomorrow morning.”

[Besides what I’ve mentioned, there are smaller techniques. For example, midnight and noon are crucial times. It’s best to be in deep sleep during these periods. If that’s not possible, try to rest briefly—it greatly helps recover vitality.]

[Sunrise and sunset are the best times for meditation.]

[Also, on nights with a full moon, when moonlight is abundant and gravitational pull is strong, both training and meditation are highly effective.]

[Especially after becoming an ability user, these timings become even more important—something ability users themselves will likely realize.]

People thought: Makes sense. Better take notes.

[Normally, abilities start awakening about a month after the apocalypse begins. But those with weaker seeds might take years.]

[Finally, a bonus tip: Ability users generally have longer lifespans, and their descendants often inherit stronger physical constitutions, giving them a head start from birth. So, I wish you all success in becoming ability users.]

[That’s all for today’s video. If you found it helpful, please like and send flowers for support. Until we meet again in the next episode.]

The Sky Screen vanished, the sky returned to normal and a small screen appeared before the people of Yongcheng.

Most sincerely clicked “like” and sent flowers.

Although the video’s beginning was harsh and despairing, the latter half filled people with fervent hope.

The road ahead was rugged, but the future was bright.

Whether watching live in Yongcheng or via streams elsewhere, people felt more convinced and proactive about preparing for tomorrow, yet without strong resistance.

Though a 10% mortality hurdle remained, everyone was willing to face tomorrow with hope.

Governments nationwide sprang into action, notifying citizens to prepare for the next morning’s isolation.

Shortly after, orders came from the capital, directing all local authorities to work together guiding and assisting people through the next morning’s challenge.

Governments and military units received a red-header document stating clearly: Upon confirming a zombie, execute on the spot. Those harboring zombies would be detained and punished accordingly.

All combat and law enforcement personnel must wear recorders and operate in pairs. If a zombie was killed without recording or while alone, a detailed report was required.

To prevent criminals from exploiting the situation—e.g., intentionally turning people into zombies to justify killing them—a series of emergency regulations were issued for supervision and prevention.

Thus, amid urgent preparations, propaganda vehicles blared the new rules, almost spelling it out: Cause trouble, and face the consequences!

The saying “Severe punishments in turbulent times” was no joke.

Driven by the second Sky Screen, the entire nation mobilized.

The country didn’t conceal the matter, disclosing it internationally.

After all, if only one country was safe, it would still be at risk. Global peace required collective effort.

Friendly nations received more detailed briefings.

How many of those countries would believe and act remained uncertain.

Chinese nationals abroad were immediately notified and urged to return home, with arranged flights and ships waiting at specified locations—time-limited, no delays.

Given the tight schedule, mandatory compliance upon return, and the “zombie scare,” how many would brave the journey was unclear.

Official personnel abroad were evacuated overnight by special flights—none left behind.

The world was bewildered: some demanded evidence, others accused or mocked, some threatened demands for compensation if nothing happened.

Conspiracy theories ran rampant.

China ignored them, focusing on its own affairs.

Hmph, what was there to say to those without sky screen warnings who remained stubbornly ignorant?

Anyway, all advanced weapons were aimed abroad—they dared not use them against zombies for fear of attracting that mysterious retaliation, but they had to guard against anyone taking advantage of the chaos to launch missiles here.

Borders were reinforced overnight with increased troops, guarding against both zombies and humans.

Both external and internal affairs kept everyone swamped.

Thankfully, they had over ten hours to prepare—otherwise, it would’ve been chaos.

And they were grateful for the second Sky Screen. Without it, implementing these measures would’ve faced massive opposition, unlike the current general compliance and support.

Online, netizens eagerly discussed how to isolate safely while receiving the magnetic field’s “baptism” to plant a robust ability seed.

One suggested, “Tie everyone up securely, gag them, and keep them together. Even if someone turns, they can’t bite.”

Another objected: “What if zombies are super strong and break free? Then everyone’s tied up and can’t escape.”

“Use the strongest ropes then.”

“Maybe secure everyone to fixed objects to limit movement.”

“Like railings or handrails?”

“Helmets could work—zombies can’t bite through them.”

“Or leather gloves—can’t scratch then.”

“My family has many dog crates. We’ll all hide in them.”

“Dog crates sound good, but get sturdy ones that won’t deform easily.”

“Gaps should be small—no reaching out.”

“Lock the crates. Everyone gets a key. Those who don’t turn can unlock themselves; zombies won’t know how.”

“Still think individual rooms are safer. If something goes wrong, you’re secure with supplies, can last days. Other methods are too risky.”

“But it’s all for the abilities, right?”

Online discussions generated practical ideas, and proactive people prepared accordingly.

Helmets, gloves, pet crates, large airline kennels, and muzzles sold out quickly, some bought up by the government.

Factories worked overnight producing these items.

*

After weighing options, Tan Feng joined the volunteer team.

Those lacking isolation conditions could apply for public arrangements, but he learned those were crowded and basic.

For instance, schools turned into shelters, with people tied up in classrooms or large venues, fixed to seats or bound together.

Tan Feng trusted himself but not others. If someone panicked, broke free, and turned, everyone would be doomed.

So, he chose the volunteer team, who had better conditions—like individual rooms.

After joining, he worked through the night.

*

After a sleepless, busy night, sunrise arrived.

Tan Feng had an hour break to go home, shower, eat breakfast, rest briefly, and pack.

Buzz… buzz… His phone vibrated repeatedly—calls from his father. He didn’t answer.

After persistent attempts, his mother’s number appeared.

Remembering how she’d told him to leave in his previous life, he hesitated, then answered.

But his father’s voice came through: “Why aren’t you answering? What are you thinking, Tan Feng? Why won’t you come back? Our house has extra rooms, so they’re making us host strangers for isolation! If you were here, would they bully your old parents?”

His mother’s soft voice added, “Ah Feng, your dad and I are scared without you. There’s still over three hours—come back, it’s not too late.”

Tan Feng smirked. It was 7 a.m.; the coma would occur around 10 a.m. A three-hour flight? But what about airport transit and delays?

Had they even thought it through?

Didn’t they care if he died en route?

If they’d paid attention, they’d know Yongcheng Airport was already closed.

So, his parents hadn’t changed suddenly; they’d always been this way.

Tan Feng felt unmanly dwelling on parental love, but the hurt was real.

He wondered: Was he not good enough, not filial, not loyal, or simply unworthy of love?

Why did his parents treat him so? Why did his friend betray him? Why did his fiancée watch him die?

If Wei Yuexin knew his thoughts, she’d say it was because he was the male lead, destined to be betrayed and abandoned in his previous life!

But now, Tan Feng didn’t understand or accept this fate. He hung up without a word.

Another call came—Chen Kai, his “brother.” He hung up calmly and turned off his phone.

Knock, knock, knock. Someone was at the door.

He opened it to find the young boy from next door. “Brother, we’re having a reunion meal. Want to join?”

The boy’s father stood behind him, smiling. “We saw you’re alone. Come eat with us. Last time, when my mom had a heart attack and no one was home, you took her to the hospital. We never properly thanked you.”

Tan Feng recalled the distant memory. “No need, you’ve thanked me already. I’m heading out soon.”

The father noticed the red vest inside. “You volunteered?”

Tan Feng nodded.

“Then we won’t disturb you. The safety of our city depends largely on people like you. You’re all heroes.”

Closing the door, Tan Feng felt complex emotions. A hero? He’d just joined for the group isolation.

He packed, placed his knife in a violin case, and left.

Downstairs, he saw many families gathering for meals, children playing—like a festival.

At the volunteer point, several tables were set up, festive as New Year’s.

“Tan Feng, you’re here! Quick, there’s still time—join us!”

“Breakfast this lavish?”

“Haha, you haven’t been online? The whole country’s celebrating today!”

Tan Feng: ?

Xiao Min, a carefree volunteer, laughed and explained: “It started with a photo posted online last night.”

The photo showed someone’s parents preparing ingredients late at night.

The Caption read: 「Mom said this might be our last family meal. Suddenly so sad.」

The post went viral, inspiring nationwide imitation.

People used their best ingredients or bought expensive treats, spending hours preparing feasts akin to New Year’s Eve dinners.

Xiao Min smiled and said: “Then I suggested, aren’t most of us volunteers here people without family nearby? We can’t have family reunion dinners, but we can have a reunion dinner among comrades!”

Another added, “After this meal, we’ll be united. Hope we all make it through safely.”

They raised glasses—filled with drinks, milk, or soy milk—no alcohol, as work remained.

“To staying united, with no one lost!”

Tan Feng raised a glass of soy milk, clinked with others, and drank silently.

They enjoyed the extravagant breakfast.

After eating, they worked for over two more hours. By 9:30 a.m., the streets emptied as everyone retreated indoors. Volunteers returned to their base.

The base’s gates were shut, blocked by vehicles as a precaution.

Then, in the sunlight streaming through windows, they wrote farewell letters.

If the worst happened, the organization promised to deliver them to loved ones.

In this digital age, a call could reach anyone, but most chose letters.

Some words were hard to say face-to-face.

Too light, and regret might follow; too heavy, and embarrassment if all was well.

Putting thoughts on paper, sealing them in envelopes, seemed safest—holding their anxiety, hopes, and dreams for the future.

Xiao Min wiped tears; others sobbed softly. Noticing Tan Feng wasn’t writing, she asked, “Aren’t you writing?”

This handsome newcomer was odd—well-dressed, dignified, yet hardworking and serious, if aloof.

The team leader said if he survived, he’d be their combat backbone. Finally, a strong young man to boost safety.

So, everyone welcomed him.

Xiao Min found his presence reassuring.

Tan Feng shook his head. “No need.”

He had no last words.

Besides, he’d likely survive—he had in his previous life.

Xiao Min said, “Right, you look like a protagonist—blessed with luck. You’ll make it.”

Others glanced over: So they needed letters because they lacked luck?

Xiao Min realized her slip and laughed awkwardly.

“9:50. Everyone to your isolation rooms.”

Panic stirred. They held hands, hugged, offering comfort and strength, then moved to the rooms—former employee dorms with small rooms on either side of a corridor, doors and windows facing each other.

Tan Feng entered his room with his violin case and day’s supplies.

He locked the door.

Curtains were forbidden, so outsiders could see in.

Across the hall, a man paced anxiously, praying.

His phone vibrated—a group message from the team leader: 「From now, check in every five minutes with name, room number, and a voice message confirming consciousness.」

After checking in, Tan Feng set his phone aside, sat on the bed, and closed his eyes.

That morning, possibly their last, many families gathered in their best clothes, ate reunion meals, took family photos, said goodbyes, called loved ones, watched favorite shows, and exchanged blessings online—preparing to bid the world farewell.

Then they entered their rooms, locked the doors, and awaited judgment—calm, fearful, tense, or restless.