July, the height of summer, with the sun blazing fiercely.

The asphalt road curled into scaly patches under the intense heat, each crack embedded with thick, menacing vines.

A man, gripping a short knife, laboriously hacked through the obstructing vines, following the roadside signs.

"Happiness City, Your Premier Wasteland Refuge!"

"Happiness City, The Hope of the Next Human Era!"

"Happiness City, We Have Endless Food and Energy!"

"Happiness City, Where Everyone Earns Respect!"

"Happi"

The closer he got, the denser the slogans on the roadside signs became, nailed to crooked utility poles, sprayed on the collapsed walls of a bank, even carved into the weathered surfaces of shop signs.

Like some bewitching mantra, though the man was already exhausted, he suddenly felt a surge of strength welling up within him, his trembling legs seemingly lighter with each step.

Following the signs through several turns, the city's shadows receded like a tide, and blinding sunlight poured down, the boundary line of light and shadow isolating the ruins of buildings behind him.

Despite the radio's exaggerated descriptions of Happiness City, when the man saw it with his own eyes, he couldn't help but gasp in awe, his mouth agape.

The first thing that caught his eye was the legendary "Happiness Wall"! According to the radio, this massive wall stood about thirty meters high, stretching over ten kilometers, forming a colossal living area of ten square kilometers.

But in reality, it was far more than that, for the wall's shape was an irregular ellipse.

Based on the population density of wasteland survivor settlements, it could house at least a million people!

In front of the wall lay the isolation buffer zone, a feature every sanctuary city established.

What set Happiness City apart was that its isolation zone, like the great wall itself, stretched for over ten kilometers in length and five kilometers in width, equally orderly and immense.

Though most of the zone consisted of old buildings preserved from the old era, with a few dilapidated pedestrian streets faintly visible weaving through them, the checkpoint at the forefront of the isolation zone exuded an intimidating sense of authority.

Divided by orderly iron netting, the checkpoint was split into three areas: preliminary screening, isolation observation, and resident registration.

In the screening area, after passing through the large double metal gates, survivors entered isolation cages placed on conveyor belts, which transported them to various inspection officers for disease checks.

Those cleared of disease could proceed directly to the rear area for resident registration.

Survivors under suspicion were sent to the central observation area, where they spent three days in canvas tents.

[You Have Entered the Happiness City Alert Zone]

[Please Follow the Yellow Marker Line for Quarantine Inspection]

[Unauthorized Intruders Will Be Shot on Sight]

As he approached the isolation zone, the style of the roadside signs changed noticeably.

The man, slightly nervous, swallowed hard, hoisted his backpack, and continued forward, soon blending into the queue of people.

"Please line up orderly, do not crowd, and enter the isolation cages by family unit for inspection!"

A hoarse, electronic voice echoed over the screening area, where eight bunker-like guard towers loomed like giant beasts, their wall-mounted speakers repeating the instructions.

The survivors, heads bowed, moved forward silently under the gaze of heavy machine guns.

However, when boarding the isolation cages, survivors had one chance to choose their inspection officer.

From 1 to 8, eight rusty conveyor belts extended side by side, each corresponding to one of eight officers of varying ages and genders.

The man's eyes flickered as he casually scanned the windows, quickly locking onto Officer No. 8, the corners of his mouth curling into a barely noticeable smirk.

Though all officers wore masks, the skin on their necks made it easy to tell that Officer No. 8 was the youngest, meaning passing his inspection would likely be the easiest.

"Name?"

"Edmond Rack."

"Where are you from?"

"Sark Federal City."

In front of the man, Officer No. 8 spread out a map, searching for a long time before exclaiming in surprise, "Oh? That's nearly three thousand kilometers from Happiness City. How did you get here?"

"I took a freight train, a car, a short boat ride, and walked three hundred kilometers to reach Happiness City."

"Alright, that's quite a journey. Do you see the first thermometer on the table in front of you? Pick it up, aim it at your forehead, press the button, and tell me the reading."

"Understood."

Each isolation cage had a fixed small table with three testing devices.

Following the officer's instructions, Edmond picked up the thermometer, and soon the LCD screen displayed two numbers.

47.02.

"Sir, this thermometer seems broken. How could my temperature be 47 degrees?"

"Is that so?"

Officer No. 8 leaned forward, puzzled, and after confirming the number, gestured, "It does seem the device is faulty, but no matter. We'll move straight to the questioning phase. Pass this, and you can proceed to register as a resident."

"That's great, sir. Please go ahead."

"Between Sark Federal City and Happiness City, where did you travel by water?"

"It should be the Linjiang tributary," Edmond recalled carefully. "Yun City had a massive outbreak of infected, so I had to take the waterway to bypass it."

"Specific date?"

"June 15."

"You remember it so clearly?"

"Of course. That was the founding day of Happiness City. I listened to the three-hour celebration broadcast on the radio." Recalling the solemn chimes and the cheers of the crowd through the static, Edmond's face lit up with deep satisfaction.

Clearly, during this long journey, Happiness City's broadcasts had provided him with a lot of "happiness."

"Hmm, alright. Do you remember the natural disaster report aired after the founding day broadcast?"

"There was such a segment?"

Edmond's smile froze, his pupils contracting sharply in the shadows. "I don't recall. Maybe it aired too late?"

"Of course you wouldn't remember."

The metal table screeched as Officer No. 8 pulled open a drawer and took out several photos.

The river in the photos resembled a murky giant python, bursting from its banks, flooding vast stretches of wilderness.

"On June 14, the Linjiang tributary experienced a flash flood at midnight, with water levels rising seven meters. All drifters' bodies were caught under a broken bridge thirty kilometers from Yun City."

"And your water journey happened exactly twenty-four hours after death itself."

"What?"

As if a special button had been pressed, Edmond shot to his feet, his face draining of color, his features twisting into a mass of ashen wrinkles, like wood ear mushrooms soaked for days.

"Flood... broken bridge... I..."

Edmond's pupils suddenly dilated, his jaw dropping as if dislocated, and three grayish-purple tentacles burst from his throat, their suction-cup-covered surfaces grotesque.

But before the foremost tentacle could slip through the cage's bars, a small red dot appeared on his forehead.

Boom!

The 7.62mm full-power "Exorcist" bullet worked wonders, tearing through the tentacles and blasting away half his head in an instant.

Edmond's upper body flew backward, his neck revealing writhing tumor-like tissue, yet bizarrely, the remaining half of his face still bore a twisted grin, his shattered throat hissing, "Fake... Happiness is fake..."

"Codename: Deathwhisper Tentacle, Infection Stage: Two. Eliminated by Trainee Inspector 'Cheng Ye' in coordination with tower sentries."

Looking up at the "OK" gesture from the tower window, Cheng Ye sighed, pressed the communicator, and reported.

Soon, a response came through, "Received. Cleanup team will arrive in three minutes. Inspector, please maintain site stability!"

Site stability?

Hanging up the communicator, Cheng Ye suppressed the nausea rising in his throat and glanced around.

The survivors on the other seven conveyor belts seemed accustomed to such scenes, only glancing over instinctively at the gunshot, none showing surprise at Edmond's gruesome death or the tentacles.

As for the other seven inspectors, they were terrifyingly calm, not one turning their head at the sound of the shot.

If anything at the scene could be called stable, perhaps it was only him, the inspector who had transmigrated just two months ago, who needed it.