Chapter 951: The Chief and the Administrator

Chapter 951: The Chief and the Administrator

On the granite steps.

The old man in the robe gazed at the young man below the steps, a trace of nostalgia flickering in his murky pupils.

So alike...

Too alike, indeed.

But not the same after all...

Those who have lived too long carry a stench of decay that cannot be smelled by the nose but can be seen with the eyes. If he were another old monster who had lived for over two hundred years like himself, he would surely perceive it.

But clearly, the young man before him bore no such odor.

If that was the case, only one possibility remained...

Thinking of that sole possibility, an involuntary melancholy crept into the old man’s eyes.

And while the old man was observing Chu Guang, Chu Guang was also sizing him up.

Judging solely by the wrinkles on his face, he could no longer tell how old this fellow was.

Perhaps, for this Chief, lifespan had become a meaningless concept.

Yet there was not a trace of envy in his heart.

Where there is death, there is life.

What is immortal and indestructible is stone, and also a curse upon the living.

The Great Rift Valley was such a place. Those who lived there, whether young or old, were shrouded in a lifeless gloom, like rubble tumbling down a mountain peak.

And it was precisely this stale, decaying aura that had sparked the Free State’s rebellion and its extreme yearning for freedom.

No one wished to be born in a coffin, only to become a burial offering in the foreseeable future.

Compared to Origin City, which had witnessed the entire Wasteland Era, Brucka—composed of wastelanders—was undoubtedly the infant.

A whimsical thought suddenly surfaced in Chu Guang’s mind.

This fellow was like an undead from a fantasy novel...

“I have come to the Great Rift Valley at your invitation,” Chu Guang said, nodding in greeting to the old man. Then, with a glance, he signaled the overly eager filial son who had rushed over to claim kinship to go play elsewhere, before continuing, “Like you, I have long wished to visit you.”

Zhou Xianlin scratched his head, perceptive enough to read the atmosphere—this was not an occasion for him to interject.

Watching the leader of that survivor faction take his leave with understanding, the old man smiled warmly and turned his gaze back to Chu Guang, speaking in a gentle tone.

“A spirited young man.”

“...You mean me?”

“No,” the old man shook his head, still smiling. “I mean your apprentice.”

Chu Guang was taken aback for a moment before realizing who the old man was referring to, and hastily denied it.

“You can eat your words carelessly, but you can’t speak them carelessly! I have never taken an apprentice, nor have I ever taught anyone!”

Seeing Chu Guang’s flustered denial, the old man chuckled and said in a teasing tone,

“The master leads you through the door; cultivation is up to the individual. If you haven’t mastered it, that’s your own fate. How can you blame the teacher for poor learning? Don’t worry, no one will fault you.”

Realizing the old man was not listening to reason, Chu Guang gave up trying to explain.

Thank goodness there were no reporters here.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to clear his name even if he jumped into the Tianshui River.

The old man did not continue to tease him; the banter seemed merely to ease the awkwardness of their first meeting.

After waiting a moment on the steps until Chu Guang had ascended, the old man walked beside him and continued in a conversational tone.

“...Actually, you don’t need to blame yourself. A king loses a fine steed, loses a war, and an empire falls. It seems regrettable, but when you step back and look at the whole story, there’s nothing to lament. Even if the steed hadn’t stumbled, the war might not have been won, and the decline of an empire is often just the beginning of another cycle of rise and fall.”

Seeing that the old man couldn’t let go of the Water Dam City story, Chu Guang couldn’t help but jab back.

“So the fall of the Human Federation means nothing to you either? After all, it’s just another beginning of a cycle of rise and fall.”

Chu Guang expected the old man to be at a loss for words, but instead found him thick-skinned enough to nod bluntly.

“That is indeed what I think, and I grow more certain of it... The Wasteland Era is becoming history. Aren’t you the continuation of the past? Different from us, yet derived from us, more advanced, more open, full of dreams for the future. Soon you will have your own children, and then you will understand how I feel.”

Chu Guang looked at the old man with some surprise, not expecting such an evaluation.

Was this a compliment?

After a moment of thought, he spoke.

“But I don’t want to see it that way. That would turn the study of history into fortune-telling and justify suffering.”

The old man shook his head.

“I never said the Wasteland Era was right. I’m just telling you that it was the ‘fruit’ sown by the Prosperity Era. A long time ago, I discussed this with a man called the Professor. That was part of his view as well.”

Chu Guang frowned.

“The Professor?”

He suddenly recalled a recording.

It was from long ago, obtained from a guard’s room in Sector B2, containing stories beyond those in the “Blood Hand Diary.”

That Professor seemed to have a deep friendship with the first Administrator of Vault 404, and might even have been the same person—a conjecture he had made back then.

Seeing Chu Guang lost in thought, the old man continued in a very soft voice, as if harboring some expectation.

“Many have forgotten his name, or perhaps never knew it, but people on the wasteland have all, more or less, received his help or been indirectly influenced by him. The Institute people should still remember him. If you’re interested, you can talk to them... Though it’s a pity that the one with the most authority to speak, ‘Conclusion,’ did not come; only his appointed Chief Technology Officer arrived.”

Chu Guang rubbed his temples in mild frustration.

“...All your names are too distinctive. Was that how it was in the Human Federation era?”

The old man laughed heartily.

“That era was far too avant-garde. A person might have two names in their lifetime: one was the high hopes their parents placed on them, and the other was their own expectation for themselves and the future... Of course, only a minority were like that. Most people were more traditional, and you could even trace their cultural origins through the structure of their names.”

At this point, the old man fell silent for a moment, then continued in a very soft voice.

“Actually, it’s not just names. Many things are the same. The Post-War Reconstruction Committee tried to use the experience of the Human Federation to save a dying world, but we soon discovered that we were still us, and you were no longer us. Some tried methods outside the plan; some tried to stubbornly finish what was left undone. But most of their efforts failed, while the seeds we never expected to bloom bore flowers.”

“Take Julius, for example. Every officer in the War Construction Committee who opposed him denounced his compassion and weakness as things that would destroy human civilization. But in truth, human civilization was not as fragile as they claimed. The only ones who went to hell were themselves—the criminals who believed in ‘necessary evil’ and the War Construction Committee that indulged them.”

“As for Julius, whom they despised, he became the revered Iron Marshal... Even the Vault dwellers, many supported him. How else could the Steel Heart have flown? It couldn’t have been accomplished with just the Valyrian’s own knowledge, including the recovery of their own genetic code. Though later, on the matter of Avint City, that child did become confused—but that’s another story.”

Chu Guang listened patiently to his tale, then asked thoughtfully,

“What are you trying to tell me?”

The old man glanced back at the distant landing pad, looking at the flustered Xiao Zhou standing among the crowd, and smiled faintly before continuing.

“I’m just telling you that the Human Federation is too far away for you. You have your own history to refer to.”

“Also, don’t be afraid to act for fear of failure, and don’t blame yourself for mistakes already made. History repeats itself precisely because mistakes are inevitable. If they don’t happen today, they will happen tomorrow or the day after. The memory of falling will become fuel to keep you moving forward. Even if you fall and can’t get up, you can serve as fuel for your children, helping them go further.”

“You are still young. It’s time to show your edge without reservation. Don’t end up like me, an old man who can’t get up after a fall.”

Those murky pupils seemed to see right through him.

Meeting the old man's gaze, Chu Guang suddenly saw his own reflection in that murky "mirror."

That restrained, timid version of himself.

But he didn't think the old man's words necessarily represented the truth, nor that his own choices were somehow wrong.

The only unbound entity in the Alliance was himself, and his self-restraint was itself an indispensable part of the plan.

And this old man, dissatisfied with his pace, might not be standing on his side at all, but rather hoping he and the Alliance would become fuel for future children, just like the Human Federation.

Just as Julius had done before—the dissolution of the Legion brought about the glory of the Valyrians. Chu Guang's refusal to swell like Julius clearly made the old man anxious.

Looking at the old man with that hint of instigation in his eyes, gradually understanding everything, Chu Guang felt lucky he hadn't been led astray. He let out a hearty laugh and called out the old man's trap.

"It seems people turn into nihilists when they get old. I must take this as a warning."

The old man's brow twitched slightly as he shook his head in rebuttal.

"It's not a matter of aging but of the information one receives. Some people are on their deathbed yet still cling to their obsessions, while others have barely begun life and already reached the age of no doubt. I don't think that's a good thing. You are outstanding—even more so than the other you. I have high hopes for you."

"...The other me?"

Chu Guang frowned, but the old man's expression changed, as if he had let something slip, and he clamped his mouth shut.

"Cough... It's too early to talk about this now. I still have some matters to attend to, so I'll see you off here. Let's talk another time."

With that, the old man turned and prepared to leave.

Watching the man who had stopped mid-sentence, Chu Guang wore a helpless, amused expression.

They had talked for so long, and the man hadn't even told him his name.

"At least tell me your name."

The old man paused, stood still for a moment in thought, then tilted his head slightly.

"Name... Call me Qian Wu. But I haven't used that name for many years. Even if you call me, I might not respond in time."

Chu Guang nodded.

"It doesn't matter. Just a matter of courtesy."

Chief: "..."

Watching the two-hundred-year-old man leave, Chu Guang turned to the attendant arranged by the Great Rift Valley and nodded, signaling the bulky figure in power armor to continue leading the way.

They walked forward for a while and entered the silver-gray building at the very top of the Great Rift Valley.

The entire building lay like a spaceship resting on the valley, its streamlined shell merging with the transparent dome.

This seemed to be the core of the Aegis system, and also the safest place in the entire wasteland—even safer than a Vault.

After all, the latter still needed to consider fuel supply, while beneath the former lay a vast ocean of energy.

Long ago, players had come here and brought back photos to the official website.

Chu Guang had seen those photos back then, and without any filters, so he wasn't too surprised by the grandiose scene.

However, as he passed through the silver sliding door and entered the hall, he was stunned by what he saw.

A bulky, bloated "golden can" stood in the center of the hall, and a familiar face was embedded above it.

That person was none other than his "ace double pangolin"—

Battlefield Atmosphere Group!

And standing beside him was the former Legion ambassador to the Alliance, now a high-ranking official of the Triumph City civilian faction, Chieftain Benoit.

Although this man had often quarreled with him at the Unity Congress, it was purely a matter of stance. Even if they had exchanged heated words, it was never personal.

After the Westport Incident, the Alliance had helped the civilian faction.

Since then, Triumph City had grown close to Dawn City, while the Southern Legion, despite trade ties with the Alliance, had drifted apart due to geopolitical conflicts.

Now, with the establishment of the Valyrian Alliance and the Alliance's unstinting aid to Triumph City against the "Death Agent," the two were in a honeymoon period. Benoit's attitude toward the Alliance had undergone a complete one-eighty.

As soon as he saw the blue tin can entering the hall, the old man's eyes lit up, and he approached with a beaming, ruddy face.

"Haha! Dear Administrator, it's been a long time! You're as handsome as ever!"

"You too, still as hale and hearty as before..." Chu Guang's expression was subtle, not because of Benoit's reversal, but because he hadn't expected to see his own little player here.

It wasn't just him who was awkward. Someone squatting inside the golden can had already given him an embarrassed smile.

But Benoit showed no embarrassment at all, and didn't even notice the person behind him curling his toes. He continued enthusiastically, rattling on.

"Allow me to introduce you... This is the Consul of Triumph City, the inheritor of the Golden Armor, the hero of the survivors of the Valyrian Province and the Bartoya Province! Mr. Pangolin!"

Having delivered this speech with a cadenced tone, he looked at Chu Guang with a hint of pride and continued.

"He is a remarkable man! His story could go on for three days and three nights—"

Seeing Chu Guang struggling to hold back his laughter, Battlefield Bro coughed loudly, interrupting Benoit, and then spoke hastily.

"Alright, spare me my trivial stories... Administrator of the Alliance, there's something I'd like to discuss with you. Are you free now?"

"A closed-door meeting before the Human Conference?" Chu Guang asked in a teasing tone.

Battlefield Atmosphere Group said with a mix of laughter and exasperation.

"Exactly..."

This whole act had been pure improvisation. He had no idea how to continue.

Chu Guang nodded, then turned to the attendant beside him.

"I need a private meeting room. Can you arrange one?"

The attendant in power armor nodded respectfully.

"No problem."

...

Meanwhile, there was a commotion on the tarmac.

The landing of the plane from the Enterprise caused quite a stir, to the point where the leader of the Red River Alliance accidentally stepped on the shoe of the Dam Alliance leader, nearly sparking a diplomatic incident.

Fortunately, soldiers from the Great Rift Valley separated them in time and politely escorted them back to their respective rooms.

Unlike the Alliance, which was a "thorny rose," Ideal City was pure wealth!

Especially for those who wanted to get rich quick without progress, they were an even more tempting prize than the Alliance.

For instance, Mayor Odo.

When he saw the representative of the Ideal City Council descending from the tarmac, his eyes practically gleamed with gold.

Watching them from a distance, the Chief of the Great Rift Valley, his face lined with wrinkles, wore a gratified smile.

Although the "Human Conference" had not yet officially begun, and this was still the pre-meeting warm-up, the curtain had actually been raised from the moment the first plane landed.

Everyone standing here had the power to decide the fate of the wasteland—whether it was the fate of hundreds of millions or hundreds of thousands.

It wasn't so much that his invitation had brought them here, but rather that the survivors of the wasteland had pushed them to the forefront.

As the night watchman of the old era, he would fulfill his final duty here—to build a stage for these trendsetters of the new age.

That was what he truly needed to do.

As for the final meeting, there was little to look forward to; the truly worth-discussing matters were often decided long before the meeting convened...

Just as the old man was admiring his own masterpiece, footsteps sounded behind him.

“Elder sir, may I ask if you are the Chief of the Great Rift?”

Abusek gazed at the old man’s back with a reverent expression.

Earlier, when Chu Guang had been conversing with this man, Abusek had already been keeping an eye on the elder.

When everyone was gathered around the landing pad, he saw no chance to squeeze in, so with a flash of inspiration, he came here.

Instinct told him that this was also a heavyweight who could influence the wasteland’s situation.

If he couldn’t latch onto the great tree of the Enterprise, even grasping a branch of the Great Rift would be excellent.

The Bolo people were exceedingly clever, though their cleverness took different forms.

The old man turned around, looked Abusek up and down, then gave a gentle smile.

“It is I. Is there something you need?”

His casual tone was like a spring breeze blowing in one’s face, a world apart from the undercurrents surging beneath the steps.

Abusek was filled with awe.

“I have long admired your name. I am Abusek, Grand Commander of the Bolo Nation. Please allow me, on behalf of the hundreds of millions of Bolo people, to extend our most sincere greetings.”

The Bolo Nation...

The old man’s eyes grew distant with recollection.

So this must be a descendant of General Rowell.

He could still call Julius “child,” but this man would be his contemporary...

Thinking this, the old man smiled kindly and spoke in a gentle tone.

“Greetings to you, Grand Commander of the Bolo Nation. Please also convey my regards to the hundreds of millions of survivors in Bolo.”

Abusek was deeply impressed that such a great figure could be so approachable. The world beyond Bolo was far larger than he had imagined; it seemed he still had a long way to go...

“I will surely bring them your regards!” Abusek clasped his hands with a smile, skillfully building rapport. “Speaking of which, the survivors of Bolo and those of the Great Rift share some ties! I only learned later that General Rowell, who led us through our hardships, was actually a registered officer of the Human Federation! We are like two shoots from the same tree—one fell in the south, the other in the north, but our roots are the same.”

Amused by this analogy, the old man laughed heartily, paused for a moment, then continued.

“Rowell... I remember that name. I’ll take the liberty of calling him an old comrade-in-arms! To be honest, the War Construction Committee let him down. We failed to extend a hand when he needed it most.”

“That couldn’t be helped. We understand—you had your own difficulties,” Abusek sighed lightly, putting on a magnanimous air to let the past go. “Let bygones be bygones. The Bolo people are ready to enter a new era. We now care more about our own future and that of our children.”

This was a fine platitude—neither the speaker nor the listener needed to take it too seriously.

Yet after hearing it, the old man looked at him with a meaningful smile.

“Are you truly ready?”

Seeing the warm smile suddenly shift, Abusek was taken aback, unable to fathom the Chief’s intent.

“Of course... If I weren’t ready, why would I be standing here?”

Hearing this, the old man nodded with a smile, then suddenly looked past him into the distance.

“Rowell... I know that comrade’s story. He was perhaps the earliest savior of this wasteland—a true savior. Unlike us disaster relief agencies, who only tried to minimize losses and preserve the last embers of a dying human civilization, he was different. Whether his ideas were wise or not, we must admit his courage—trying to save a group of people who were doomed... That kind of courage we lacked.”

“To ensure as many people as possible survived, we abandoned the illusion of never giving up on anyone long ago—both I and that ‘Professor.’”

Abusek stared blankly at the old man, not understanding what he meant.

But being a clever man, he naturally wouldn’t contradict this “colossus” before him.

Studying Rowell was something for “Mr. Rat” Niyang and Councilor Kabaha to do. The rights and wrongs of two hundred years ago meant nothing to the Grand Commander of Bolo.

“...We think so too. He was a true savior.”

Abusek expected the old man to nod approvingly, but instead, he laughed out loud.

What baffled him even more was the Chief’s next words.

“The Administrator of the Alliance calls me a nihilist, says my view of history is like fortune-telling, and warns others to learn from my mistakes... That young man looks down on me, haha. Very well, then let me, a relative of that nihilist—a pragmatist—do a little fortune-telling.”

Abusek stared at him, bewildered, not knowing what he intended, nor even who he meant by “pragmatist.”

The two-hundred-year-old man closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then suddenly opened them with a mysterious air.

“How many people are there in your Bolo Nation?”

Abusek swallowed, reluctant to tell him, but figured the old man could easily find out anyway, so he confessed.

“Less than two hundred million.”

“That’s bad,” the old man shook his head. “At least another twenty million will have to die.”

Abusek held his breath for a moment, then quickly retorted.

“How is that possible?! Twenty million?! The Valyans couldn’t kill that many! The entire northern three provinces don’t have that many people! Do you mean Rasi is going on a killing spree? No, wait...”

He suddenly calmed down.

He was, after all, a leader of a nation. There was no need to lose his composure over an old man’s ramblings.

Perhaps this was exactly the Great Rift’s strategy...

They had seen through his reluctance to fight this civil war, so they deliberately provoked him with words.

But why?!

Abusek’s eyes were full of confusion, as if he had fallen from the peak of life into a dry well—thick walls on both sides, unreachable clouds above.

Unless Rasi suddenly went mad, he couldn’t imagine where twenty million heads would come from.

Famine?

They no longer lacked food.

Floods?

Again, the Tasang River basin didn’t have that many people!

Plague?

That was possible, but also impossible. After all, the Bolo Province didn’t have the developed road network of the Batoya Province. The Valyans had proven their virus could at most wipe out a village or a town, but then it wouldn’t spread far...

Besides, the Alliance had the best medical technology in the world!

And the Enterprise! If such a thing happened, the Enterprise would help too!

A trace of anger rose on Abusek’s face, as if he had been mocked.

If not for the fact that this old man was the leader of the Great Rift, whom he truly couldn’t afford to offend, he would have turned and left!

In truth, he didn’t understand what the Great Rift really was, and instinctively applied the thinking of his homeland.

If he had seen through the Great Rift’s essence like Chu Guang, he wouldn’t care about saving face, nor would he have come to curry favor with these people.

Whether he showed the Great Rift respect or not, the oldest man in the wasteland would not make things difficult for him.

And the fact that the old man spoke so bluntly was already a form of goodwill.

This is entirely for Lowell's sake.

As a "spectator," he would never so much as extend his pinky toward the chessboard unless absolutely necessary.

"Mr. Abusek, the wise man chosen by the Boro nation, answer me this: on the great prairie there were one hundred million sheep. The Wasteland Era froze one hundred million to death. How many are left now?"

Abusek answered instinctively.

"Then there are none left, of course—"

"Wrong," the old man shook his head, smiling. "I tell you, there are still one hundred million."

"How is that possible?" Abusek widened his eyes in astonishment, then calmed down. "Old sir, is this another sophistry?"

"Not sophistry, but a law of nature," the old man said slowly. "The Wasteland Era was not a gust of wind, but sand blown by the wind—you only feel the pain when you rub your eyes. War came quickly. When we realized that winning or losing was a serious matter, everything we cherished had already ended... For some, this process took a day; for others, two hundred years; for you who lived on the great prairie, about half a century."

"The harshest winter lasted about forty-three years, perhaps forty-six—I don't recall exactly... Without raiders, without mutants, and with ample water and food, even if the flock starved down to ten thousand, the remaining sheep could recover to one hundred million in the following century and a half."

"You thank Lowell for saving at least a hundred million people, but how do you explain the civilizational rupture that occurred? Was it merely that fathers failed to teach their sons their knowledge?"

"Is it not possible that his self-righteous meddling killed people who should not have died? The sheep on the prairie could have survived ten thousand, but only five thousand remained, and his Red Earth had no noticeable effect during the winter. Yet the Boro province is not a great desert—it is a natural refuge, free of mutants and slime molds, and outside raiders could not easily enter. In the end, the sheep not only did not decrease but doubled... and yet the credit was given to Lowell."

"Perhaps only the Red Earth can tell you the correct answer, but I can tell you responsibly: if that generation truly survived because of Lowell, it would never have fallen to the destitute Velantians to teach you a lesson. Instead, you would have shouldered the mission to end the Wasteland Era, to save the River Valley Province, to save Triumph City, and then I would have awarded you the victory medals... Of course, by then you would probably sneer at this old dross just like that young man."

Looking at Abusek, who had held his breath, the old man smiled and said.

"You should have a more objective assessment of Lowell. This is the only chance to survive. Some have realized it, but far from enough. Otherwise, I am not joking—he will truly come back for you, continue playing his savior game with you, become a new Lowell, and lead you to the next examination hall."

Having said this, the old man felt some regret.

He should not have "leaked the answers." If these people actually found that Lowell, buried him hastily as they did two hundred years ago, and cast aside the unpleasant memories, the next Lowell would be even harsher and kill more people.

But the Great Rift was rarely as lively as today; he had indeed gotten a bit too excited, and he did quite like this young man.

Perhaps it might save a life?

Though that life might cost countless others to exchange, he no longer cared much.

"Do you mean Yanush..." Abusek's voice trembled, a cold sweat streaking across his forehead.

That fellow was undoubtedly dead, yet he had become a nightmare lingering in his mind.

He had been having nightmares recently, and only after believing in the Silver Moon Goddess did he feel a little better.

But this old man's two sentences brought back the blood-soaked man staring at him with wide eyes.

That fellow seemed to tell him that he would return, to that blood-stained throne, and demand back everything that had been taken from him.

Not wanting to frighten the boy too much, the old man hesitated between saving and not saving, then finally sighed softly.

"I don't know this Yanush you speak of. Who he is and what his name is doesn't matter."

"You think I said all this to tell you that Lowell harmed you? But that's not it."

"What I want to remind you is this: every resident of Vault 404 is Chu Guang, and every Boro person is Lowell."