Chapter 342: Achieve a Three-to-One Ratio

Inside the FJ Land Cruiser, silence fell for a moment before Zhang Su turned off the radio and said, "No wonder the signal's so weak—we're near Tangcheng. What do you all think about this?"

Wu Lue let out a dumb laugh and spoke first: "Haha, this girl's voice is kinda nice…"

His opinion drew unanimous side-eyes from the others—damn, what a love-struck perspective!

"Forget whether it's nice or not—her pronunciation is definitely that of a professional broadcaster: standard Mandarin, clear, crisp, and powerful. It's hard to find a real pro like this these days."

Chen Hanzhou nodded in agreement.

"Talk's pretty bold—hundreds of kilometers around? Are you including Jingcheng and Jintian? I don't believe there aren't bigger survivor camps over there!"

Lu Yu's geography knowledge wasn't great, but he knew Jingcheng sat right next to Tangcheng.

"Yeah… I'm not sure about Jintian, but Jingcheng had over twenty million permanent residents. Even if only one percent survived, that's still two hundred thousand. And it's the heart of the country—there might be emergency protocols. If any official safe zone exists, it's most likely Jingcheng…"

Wu Lue launched into a lengthy explanation to make up for his earlier foolishness.

Zhang Su shook his head slightly. "Lue, more permanent residents means denser population. You forgot what it was like when the disaster hit? Escaping from a residential compound in Jingcheng is way harder than what we've been through!"

Qincheng's urban population was only one-twentieth of Jingcheng's. The group quickly imagined the possible scene over there—and shuddered.

"Hey, wait—you guys notice this? They've created their own calendar too—called something like… the Catastrophe Era! I thought only we thought of that!"

Wang Xin shrugged.

"Looks like everyone's got ideas."

Zhang Su nodded inwardly. He'd previously thought Yu Wen's suggestion to change the calendar was unnecessary, but now he increasingly saw its necessity—especially as the population grew, they needed unique culture to unite people!

Looking further ahead, if one day they built a massive city, in this era, it would be its own nation…

"Damn!" Wu Lue's face twisted. "If every big camp starts using its own calendar, won't that make unification impossible?"

"Impossible? Whoever's stronger sets the rules."

Lu Yu answered naturally.

"Exactly. Winner takes all. History's always been like that—only the victors get to write it, however they want, shaping how future generations see them."

Wang Xin also agreed with Lu Yu.

"Forget all that. How much of the broadcast's info do you think is real?"

Zhang Su pulled out a pack of cigarettes and passed them around.

"It's all bullshit. Remember the Qinglong Army? That scout who came to our camp claimed they had a thousand people—turned out to be just three hundred. By that ratio, the Zhengdao Society probably has a thousand at most. Oh…"

Wu Lue paused, embarrassed. "Wait—if they really have a thousand, that's still a lot."

"Did you notice one detail?" Chen Hanzhou gently touched his mechanical prosthetic, thinking. "When they reported numbers before, they gave exact figures down to the unit. It felt credible—but maybe they're faking it on purpose, playing psychological games to win trust."

"Tangcheng's much bigger than Qincheng. Before the disaster, it was a second-tier city in China, with a permanent population of… based on our survival rate estimates, Tangcheng should have around a hundred thousand survivors. Even after months of attrition, it'd still have thirty to forty thousand. So three thousand isn't exaggerated at all."

Zhang Su analyzed rationally—he couldn't let his own low-population environment blind him to the scale of major cities.

Everyone nodded. The broadcaster claimed to be the most complete community within hundreds of kilometers—they wouldn't broadcast like this without confidence. In today's world, it's a dark forest: many survivor camps have become resource-hunting predators. Anyone exposing their location is either insanely stupid or incredibly powerful.

They're not just unafraid of raiders—they're hoping someone comes. Why not ambush them first?

"Map… we forgot the map. Anyone have an offline map on their phone?"

Zhang Su asked.

"I do. Here, Boss."

Wu Lue, the electronics whiz, pulled out his phone and handed it to Zhang Su.

"Kai Ping District… here, east of Tangcheng, facing us—Kai Yue Road… got it. Let me check the distance."

Zhang Su used the distance tool to estimate—it was only about 130 kilometers straight-line, and no more than 160 by highway!

"That distance… isn't far!"

"Yeah, Qingxian to Changli is over a hundred kilometers. Damn, they won't expand toward us, right?"

"Unlikely." Zhang Su shook his head, dismissing Wu Lue's guess. "It's not like before. There's too much land to guard—it's useless. Fine. This trip wasn't wasted—we now know there's a massive force right next to us."

"But having so many people isn't necessarily good. Look at the Qinglong Army—just three hundred people drew a hundred-thousand-strong horde. If the Zhengdao Society really has three thousand, won't they attract a million zombies? Holy shit, that's terrifying."

Wang Xin grimaced, shaking his head—the thought scared even him.

"Before, three thousand seemed nothing—I lived in a residential compound with more people than that. Now it just sounds terrifying…"

Wu Lue felt the same.

Zhang Su didn't argue this time. He nodded slightly. "As numbers grow, defensive strength must scale proportionally. Ideally, everyone becomes a soldier—but you've all seen it: as the population grows, some survivors with weak combat ability inevitably enter the camp, and some with special skills need protection too."

"Based on the old military-to-civilian ratio, I think the absolute minimum should be 3: —three combat-capable members for every one non-combatant."

As the camp grew, Zhang Su began to consider more complex issues.

"Damn, a 3: military-to-civilian ratio… that's tough."

Wu Lue squinted, calculated, then grinned. "Boss, the highest military-to-civilian ratio in history was 1: . Isn't your 3: plan way too extreme?"

"1: ?" Zhang Su was startled. He frowned. "Which country had such a high ratio?"

In his memory, A Jin had the most extreme ratio—26 million people, just over a million soldiers, a 1: 5 ratio, the highest globally. Where did this 1: come from?

Wu Lue grinned smugly. "You didn't know? Hehe—that's Vatican City. Population… one…"

"One your fucking ass, get lost!"

Zhang Su didn't even wait for Wu Lue to finish—he smacked him on the back of the head. A religious state with less than half a square kilometer of territory? That's your example?

The others all gave Wu Lue the middle finger.

Even Su Xiaoya, who'd only studied junior high geography, rolled her eyes—this guy was too full of nonsense!

"Stop the bullshit. Bottom line: if the population is under a thousand, the military-to-civilian ratio must be 3: . We haven't reached that yet—but once the reserve force is fully operational, we will."

Zhang Su spoke slowly, feeling urgency but not panic. Not everyone who picks up a weapon is "military." And these "military" members? They can lay down arms and become civilians. It's a gradual process—can't rush it.

(End of Chapter)