Looking at that stiff white hair, Wen Yan couldn’t help but channel a bit of Yang Energy, blessing his right hand.
The White-haired Zombie, not sure what the little zombie just told it, had all the white hair on its face lying flat, not daring to bristle, standing perfectly still, and got a big slap across the face from Wen Yan.
This slap from Wen Yan wasn’t strong enough to hurt the White-haired Zombie, but the huge surge of blessed Yang Energy instantly made the White-haired Zombie scream in agony, half the hair on its face seemingly singed off in a second.
It just stood there, motionless, not daring to fight back at all.
The White-haired Zombie hung its head in grievance, stealing nervous glances at Wen Yan’s group.
Uncle kept his eyes closed the whole time, not even sparing it a look. He wore a posture of utter disdain so naturally he didn’t have to act at all—full marks.
The little zombie whined ferociously, while the White-haired Zombie kept its head down so low its skull was about to poke into its chest, looking absolutely terrified.
Seeing this was working, Wen Yan grew bolder, and spoke up directly.
"When we were attacked, all the safety helmets got swept into the water. So what, you want to let Miss tour around without a helmet? Have you forgotten the rules?"
The White-haired Zombie’s taut body seemed to relax just a bit; finally finding an excuse, it quickly darted towards a nearby workshop.
Less than half a minute later, the White-haired Zombie came out holding three white safety helmets, handing them over with both hands.
Wen Yan took the white helmets, put one on the little zombie, and just like that, half the little zombie’s head got swallowed up by the helmet.
He put another one on Uncle, and wore the last on his own head.
Once he put on the white helmet, Wen Yan instantly felt those few Hopping Corpses in yellow helmets, who’d seemed a bit agitated before, went dead quiet in a flash.
Just as he’d thought, in a ghost place , if even zombies are wearing safety helmets in such order, there had to be a reason.
The helmet felt like an ordinary one to the touch, but once it was on his head, Wen Yan immediately sensed something different.
A sense of information naturally surfaced in his mind.
Looking again at the White-haired Zombie—red helmet, probably a mid-level manager here; Hopping Corpses in yellow helmets, likely just the grunt labor being bossed around.
No wonder the Scorching Sun Department dragged out so many people to attack, but never made quick progress.
These guys actually have organization and discipline, clear hierarchy—definitely way scarier than a disorganized rabble at wrecking things.
But judging by these zombies and wraiths he’d seen so far, they surely couldn’t stop the Scorching Sun Department from steamrolling over them; the real delay was mostly because of that Fake Mo Zhicheng mess.
If they could avoid a fight, all the better—once it started, the situation would spiral out of control fast.
Just wearing a white safety helmet—that’s about the best outcome Wen Yan could imagine.
Looking at how the White-haired Zombie was acting, Wen Yan figured it must be used to seeing the living by now.
And people coming in alive probably all wore white safety helmets.
"Just wear it and have a look—if Miss is pleased, she won’t go home and complain about anything bad."
The White-haired Zombie waved its hand, shooing away the Hopping Corpses in yellow, then personally led the way, just like a manager showing the higher-ups around the factory floor.
Wen Yan followed the White-haired Zombie, passing by a neighboring workshop, arriving at another side where there was a rust-covered hoisting cage. The White-haired Zombie ushered them into the cage, and off to the side, seven or eight Walking Dead clattered the gears into motion.
Accompanied by creaking noises, the cage rose to an entrance above.
Wen Yan racked his memory—if he remembered right, in the chemical plant layout, this should be an elevator, and above was the visitor’s passageway.
They entered—and sure enough, that’s exactly what it was.
A high-up catwalk hugged the wall, with a massive bustling space down below.
On one side of the workshop was a giant black water pool, over a dozen meters wide. A White-haired Zombie dragged a cart resembling a mining flatbed, emerging from the pool.
The flatbed was piled high with corpses, packed in tight.
Wen Yan’s heart skipped a beat—he was worried they were all murder victims, but a closer look showed some were in modern short-haired clothes, some wore traditional robes with long hair, and two wore bell-bottoms with perms—looked straight out of decades ago.
The White-haired Zombie below pushed the cart out, then with one hand flipped it over, dumping the bodies to one side, then dragged the cart right back into the black water, vanishing without a trace.
Immediately after, Hopping Corpses in yellow helmets began hefting the bodies, one at a time, tossing them onto a battered, filthy conveyor belt.
The conveyor shuttled the bodies straight into the heart of a furnace-shaped device at least seven or eight meters tall.
Soon enough, several rusty machines nearby began to shudder and rumble.
Within a few minutes, one device spat out a faint, half-transparent Wraith, while from another tumbled out a Walking Dead, body ragged and missing a leg.
Wen Yan continued strolling, taking in the sights and doing some rough calculations: in ten minutes, they’d tossed in at least two dozen corpses, but only got two Wraiths and six Walking Dead out of it.
The two Wraiths both looked like they’d dissipate any second, and of the six Walking Dead, three were crippled.
But still, three Walking Dead managed to get up and walk off by themselves.
Wen Yan’s eyelids twitched. This whole workshop was basically a fully operational Walking Dead production line.
No matter how rough, how primitive, how slow or inefficient, it was still mass production.
No wonder there were so many Walking Dead here, and he’d even seen two Haired Zombies already.
No, counting that Green-Haired Zombie from earlier, that made three.
And that black water pool below—didn’t look that big, but it probably connected to somewhere else, for sure.
This kind of place—not especially deadly, maybe, but just in terms of influence and potential harm, it was off the charts.
Rated as a Third-level Domain, that might actually be too conservative.