The ice of despair was pried open with a tiny crack by the primitive and tenacious vitality coming from the bottom of the ruins.

The girl who provided the herbs had no expression on her face as she quietly gathered up the remaining items, as if doing something perfectly ordinary. The little boy holding the lamp breathed a sigh of relief and looked in Leah's direction, his large eyes gleaming with pure joy.

"Thank you..." The nurse's voice was choked with sobs, and she looked at the girl with sincere gratitude.

The girl simply hummed a faint "hmm" in response. Her gaze swept over our group of wounded, well-equipped (though mostly damaged), yet beleaguered "outsiders" before finally landing on me, a look of scrutiny and a subtle... assessment. She seemed to be the only one in our group who hadn't been swept away by the despair and subsequent ecstasy.

"You... are not 'scavengers'." She used a declarative sentence with a firm tone, "and you are not an ordinary scavenging team. You are in big trouble." She pointed outside the culvert, in the direction of the huge ruins that were flattened by the scarlet orbital beam and then ravaged a second time.

"Yes." I didn't deny it. My voice remained cold, but less defensive. In this girl, I sensed a sharpness and pragmatism that belied her age, tempered by desperate circumstances. "It's a big problem."

The girl nodded, as if she'd expected my frankness. She was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing something. Then she spoke again, her voice lowered, with the caution of someone sharing a secret: "It's... not safe here anymore. The 'scavenger' dogs have sharp noses. Explosions, fire, and blood... they'll swarm like hyenas. You... and she (pointing at Leah)... need a deeper 'nest.'"

She paused, her gaze sharpening. "If you want to live, come with us. I know a place, deep and winding, where neither dogs nor 'scavengers' can find it. There... are some people there."

"You?" Hook asked sharply, "How many of you are there?"

"Not many." The girl answered simply, "About a dozen. Old people, children, and a few... like Uncle Scar (she pointed to the man with a scar and a broken arm) who can still fight." Her words were simple, without exaggeration or concealment, revealing a clear understanding of reality and a faint hope of mutual support that is unique to survivors of the ruins.

Wrench immediately looked at me, his eyes filled with anxiety. He was willing to go anywhere to save Leah! Hook and Peregrine also cast inquiring glances. The nurse hugged Leah tightly, as if grasping at her only lifeline.

Cold logic raced through her mind: If she stayed, the risk of exposure would be extremely high, and with a lack of medical care, Leah would undoubtedly die. Following these survivors from the lower city, deeper into their "nest," while venturing into the unknown and potentially dangerous, at least provided shelter and preliminary medical support, giving Leah a glimmer of hope. It would also allow her to gain a deeper understanding of the true living conditions beneath the ruins, gathering intelligence for the subsequent search for the "oasis" and the fight against the Ravens.

The best solution, presented clearly.

"Lead the way." I stood up, my voice low but full of unquestionable determination. The sound of raindrops dripping down the culvert seemed to be beating the drums of confirmation for this decision.

Without further ado, the girl immediately called out to her companions. The scarred man (Scar Uncle) silently walked to the front, the metal tube in his hand serving as both a cane and a weapon. The old woman held two smaller children. The little boy holding the lantern (later known as "Bean") raised it again, its orange glow radiating warmth in the darkness. The girl (whom we called "Thorn Vine") shouldered her herbal bag, walked over to Scar Uncle, and whispered a few words.

We supported each other, picked up Leah, who was still unconscious but whose vital signs were temporarily stable, and followed the faint orange light. We left this temporary shelter that brought a brief respite but was full of the shadow of death, and plunged into the dark pipe network under the ruins of the city, which was as intricate and bottomless as a maze.

Damp, slippery, and cold. The air was stagnant, a mixture of rust, silt, and an indescribable, stale, decaying organic matter. The ground beneath our feet was sometimes cold cement, sometimes soft mud, and sometimes scratchy gravel and discarded metal parts. Vast pipes crisscrossed the landscape, ranging in diameter from a few meters to over ten meters, some requiring stooping or even crawling. In the darkness, only the faint glow of Douzi's lantern and the dim, residual lights on our tactical helmets barely broke through the dense gloom. From the surrounding darkness, the occasional hollow echo of falling water or the rustling of a scurrying rodent added to the eerie atmosphere.

Thorny Vine and Scar Uncle were incredibly familiar with the terrain. Like fish swimming in the darkness, they chose their path without hesitation at countless crossroads, avoiding dangerous sections that were obviously soft and collapsed. They could even sense subtle changes in airflow deep within certain pipes. This was an instinct etched into their bones after countless struggles on the brink of death.

I don't know how long I've been walking in the darkness; the concept of time has become blurred. Just when exhaustion and cold are about to overwhelm me again, Thorny Vine, the one leading the way, stops. She signals Douzi to turn down the lantern to its lowest setting.

Ahead, the pipeline seemed to have reached an end, blocked by a massive metal gate covered in rust and moss. The gate looked incredibly heavy, and the seam where it met the pipe wall was sealed with thick silt and unidentified debris, as if it had been abandoned for decades.

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