Chapter 22 — I Built an Empire in the Wasteland

For more than a month after the battle, Yên Nhi and Diễm Thư hardly left the small laboratory they set up in a private area of the Lôi Long bunker, where all the necessary biochemical analysis equipment remained to realize the formula that Chúc Vĩnh Khương left behind. The task was not simple — many of the terms and procedures in the original document required in-depth knowledge that even Yên Nhi's implicit memory would take weeks to completely piece together.

"We're almost there," Diễm Thư spoke late one evening, her eyes were red from lack of sleep but she couldn't hide her excitement. "The twelfth batch of tests showed the most consistent results to date. If what the formula says is right, we could start producing enough to vaccinate the entire population within the next few weeks."

Yên Nhi looked at the bottle of light blue liquid in her hand, the liquid that had flowed through her veins during her seven years of imprisonment, and could now be synthesized without taking a single drop of anyone's blood. She felt an indescribable sense of relief, as if the burden of being the "only test sample" had finally been lifted from her shoulders.

"Your father would be very proud to know that his recipe is finally reaching those who need it," she spoke softly, her voice filled with emotion.

After completing the final testing steps to ensure safety, Bạt Phong convened a public meeting of all residents in the newly built central square — a large courtyard paved with recycled concrete panels, enough space for nearly two hundred people living in the community to gather.

Yên Nhi stood on the speaking podium, holding a bottle of serum sample, her eyes scanning the crowd listening attentively. This was the first time she had stood in front of so many people since the day she was rescued, and even though she was still a little shaky, her voice still sounded clear and full of determination.

"Many of you have probably heard rumors about me — about how I was imprisoned for many years by an organization called the Black Eagle, because I had a serum in my blood that made me completely immune to radiation," she said, her voice echoing throughout the silent square. "That organization believes that this serum should only be given to a small group of those they deem worthy, and that the rest of the world, including those here, do not deserve to survive long term in this radioactive land." The crowd whispered, many eyes showed anger at that cruel ideal.

"But my father, who developed the formula, didn't believe in it," Yên Nhi continued, her voice now filled with pride. "He spent the last years of his life perfecting the formula, turning it from a therapy that could only be obtained from a single living individual, into a process that could be synthesized for everyone. He paid with his life for that belief."

She held the sample serum vial high in front of the crowd. "Today, I want to fulfill your wish. This recipe, from today, will no longer be anyone's secret or privilege. We will make the entire production process public and share it with any community in Phế Thổ that has the ability and desire to produce it themselves, without requiring any exchange conditions."

A moment of silence covered the entire square, then applause exploded, resounding throughout the space, many people could not hold back their emotional tears. For people accustomed to living in constant fear of radiation, the news of a completely immune serum, freely shared, was nothing short of a miracle.

Kình Bá Đông stepped up and stood next to Yên Nhi, his voice rang out with emotion. "In the name of all the settlements that fought together and built this community, I thank you, Yên Nhi, and thank the spirit of your father, who, though no longer here, left behind a legacy that could change the future of this land."

After the announcement ceremony, Diễm Thư and a few quickly trained volunteers began the process of producing the serum in larger quantities, using equipment left over in the bunker combined with a few simple improvements to increase production. Each small round of vaccinations is organized, with first priority given to children and the elderly - those most vulnerable to radiation.

Among the first to be vaccinated were eight victims who had been detained with Doanh Chính Nam's convoy, who have now gradually recovered their health after weeks of care at Camp Dawn. The young girl that Yên Nhi once knelt down to comfort right after the battle, named Tuyet, was now more fleshed out, standing in line waiting for her turn with eyes that were still a little scared but had more hope.

"Miss Yên Nhi," the girl said when it was her turn, her voice still shaking, "I'm afraid that when the needle touches my skin, I'll remember what happened in their laboratory."

Yên Nhi held the syringe herself, knelt down to the girl's eye level, her voice gentle. "This time will be different. This isn't about them taking anything away from you, it's about us giving you a gift, so you can live without fear of this land anymore. You have the right to refuse, but if you agree, I'll be right here with you." Tuyet nodded, holding Yên Nhi's hand tightly when the needle gently touched her skin, and this time, instead of fear, she only felt a warm hand holding hers. When it was all over, she burst into tears, but they were tears of relief, not pain.

Ứng Thị Lụa, who volunteered to stay and help the new community after providing all the intelligence about the remaining remnants of the Black Eagle, stood watching the scene from afar, her heart filled with a complex emotion that was hard to name. She spent the entire announcement ceremony standing in the corner of the square, not daring to come close, the guilt of her years serving a cruel organization still weighing heavily on her heart.

"You don't have to stand so far away," Yên Nhi said, walking forward after realizing her presence. "She helped us save eight lives. That was an action that not everyone had the courage to do, especially when she had to betray the organization she had trusted for many years."

"I'm not sure I deserve forgiveness," Ứng Thị Lụa replied, her voice low and full of self-questioning.

"No one asked her to be forgiven immediately," Yên Nhi said, her eyes were sincere. “But you can start by helping what lies ahead, like you did today.”

Ứng Thị Lụa was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly. Her eyes followed Tuyet being helped towards the resting area. For the first time in many years, her heart felt a small glimmer of hope about the possibility of redeeming the mistakes of the past.

News of the free serum quickly spread further than Bạt Phong and Yên Nhi could have imagined. Groups of people from more remote settlements, even from lands that had never had contact with Camp Dawn, began arriving, some to be vaccinated, others to learn the production process to bring back to their own communities.

The evening after the announcement, Bạt Phong and Yên Nhi sat together on a high cliff overlooking the entire settlement spreading below, solar lights sparkling like stars falling on the gray ground of Phế Thổ.

"You are no longer Prototype 07," Yên Nhi spoke softly, her voice was relieved as if a burden had been lifted for seven years. "I am no longer just Chúc Vĩnh Khương's daughter. I am myself, and what I just did today was my own choice, not because I was forced or because of predetermined fate."

Bạt Phong put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. "You've always been yourself, from the first moment I opened that cylinder. You just needed time to realize that."

The two sat quietly together under the familiar gray sky of the Waste Earth, but for the first time, they both felt a ray of real hope for the future, not only for themselves, but for all the people who are rebuilding their lives together from the ashes of a collapsed world.

Far below, the laughter of children echoed from the new building, mixed with the rhythmic hammering of the Tư Rỗ team of workers still working hard under the night lights, and the sound of someone softly singing an old folk tune whose origin perhaps no one remembers clearly. Those simple sounds, which had completely disappeared from this land for seven years after the Great War, are now gradually being revived, little by little, just like the way hope returned to Yên Nhi and Bạt Phong.