Chapter 952: The Past and the Present

Chapter 952: Past and Present

Over two hundred years distant, the biting wind tore at the earth, and even the Lowell camp near the equator fared little better.

Two figures limped through the gale.

One wore power armor, the other a full protective suit emblazoned with the institute’s insignia, and from the fog condensed inside their helmet visors, it was clear both were badly wounded.

And indeed they were—fierce resistance never came free.

The thermal insulation system was damaged.

At minus thirty degrees, even the slime mold was helpless, let alone them, about to lose their last means of keeping warm.

When that mist turned to ice, their time would be up.

Yet even so, their condition was better than that of the corpse they carried—

The blood seeping from its wounds had frozen into red ice, sealing the bullet holes, freezing the twisted face, and freezing the almost maddened wish.

And that mouth, sealed by frozen blood, seemed to cry out in silence—

‘Why won’t you listen to me.’

Why…

The soldier curled his lips, exhaling the stale air from his chest onto the translucent visor.

That was their general.

As for why they executed him, that was a long story.

In any case, he no longer wished to recall the fungal-infected who died in the lab, or those executed for opposing that esteemed lord… for his own hands were stained with blood too.

Yes.

He was an accomplice.

But who wasn’t?

Let the past be past.

Their children need not carry this heavy memory forward.

All men have compassion, and he, an ordinary soldier, was no exception.

They had wasted vast resources, killed countless innocents, missed the best window for salvation, and saved no one in the end… all because of Lowell’s slogan: they would rescue the survivors flooding from the world’s center to the Brahmaputra province, and they needed a “cultivable fungus that could work at minus thirty or even minus fifty degrees.”

The so-called red earth…

He didn’t know how to judge what he had done, but at least it took courage to become a joke in others’ mouths.

The two dumped the corpse in the frozen wilderness.

They pulled out entrenching tools, and as planned, used all their strength to hack through the permafrost, dug a deep pit, and threw in their general’s body along with the research data.

The Wasteland Era would end someday.

When everything was over, when their children’s children dug these things up, perhaps they would view what happened here from a higher vantage, giving a more objective judgment—not simply labeling Lowell as bad or good, or his supporters and opponents as righteous or evil.

Only when this entire memory became history would they no longer be jokes in people’s mouths, and everything could reach a fitting end.

They were but duckweed in the tide, dandelions blown to a corner of the world by the blast’s aftermath.

That was all.

At least, that was how the soldier saw himself.

Just as they were about to fill the pit, the researcher beside him raised a hand, stopping the soldier who was about to shovel the frozen earth back.

“This is the last sample.”

He lifted his aching arm, input a code with a trembling index finger, and drew a scarlet test tube from the negative-pressure sample case at his waist.

The scarlet was like blood.

No different from the blood on Lowell—the moment it touched the air, the howling wind frosted the tube, freezing it into an icy sculpture.

As if mocking that mad plan…

“Open your eyes and watch…”

Looking down at the twisted face in the pit, the researcher pulled his stiff lips apart and hurled the test tube down, smashing it against Lowell’s already rigid corpse.

“Minus thirty degrees—water freezes in an instant! What kind of damn spore could germinate at minus thirty? Do you want me to use your crappy lab to cook up silicon-based life?”

“Why not just invite God into the lab!”

This fool…

Wouldn’t admit his mistake even at death’s door.

The researcher finally cursed enough, yanked the entrenching tool stuck to the ground, and vented by shoving the overturned frozen earth and dirty snow back into the pit.

Digging and filling took them an entire day.

But for them, that day meant more than any other.

Because from then on, they were no longer enemies—they had become comrades again.

Though not many days remained for them either…

Glancing at the dwindling power, the soldier grabbed the researcher who was about to head back to camp, and shook his head at him.

The latter paused, quickly understood, and nodded with a bitter smile.

Indeed.

There was no need for them to return.

Each time the lab’s airlock opened less might let those inside live two more days.

Let them leave that energy and nutrition for the others…

Besides, when the supplies ran out, what kind of hell that place would become was anyone’s guess.

Death?

They had long since made peace with it.

Since it was coming sooner or later, sooner was fine.

And this history should not leave only Lowell’s body.

They were the last brick of the tombstone.

Someone had to go down with him.

Only then would those who came here later know what had happened…

Having settled everything, the two did not turn back. Instead, they pressed on through the frozen wilderness until they found a “frozen tree” that looked sturdy enough.

They exchanged glances, understanding each other.

This was the place…

They walked up in unison, smoothed the snow a bit, then sat down, leaning against the tree’s iron-hard trunk.

The howling wind seemed somewhat blocked by the desiccated trunk—or perhaps their senses were simply numbed.

The researcher hurled his entrenching tool away with all his might, for they no longer had any use for it.

The soldier, meanwhile, fumbled out a pack of cigarettes he had been saving for a special occasion, wanting to have one last smoke, only to find that through the helmet of his power armor, he could not—and so he gave up with a bitter smile.

Following the researcher's example, he flung the pack, with only a few cigarettes left, far away.

Consider it quitting.

From now on, his name would be "Quit Smoking."

The frost on his helmet had frozen solid, and the warning light that had been blinking had stopped.

The soldier sat with his eyes closed for a while, then suddenly spoke.

"Lowell sent a message to the War Construction Committee before he died... Damn it, I wonder what he said about us in that email. Do you think he'll pin the 'Red Earth' idea on us?"

"Whatever. They'd better send a squad to check it out," the researcher said with a shrug.

About to die, and still caring about that?

"I doubt it..."

The soldier shook his head, then suddenly remembered something and called out to the researcher, who was nearly asleep.

"Hey."

"...What is it?"

"You're a scientist... Give it to me straight: will this planet ever get better?"

The researcher, almost asleep, shook his head.

"I don't know. No one knows. But we've done everything we could... If even one person survives to the end, then we've won this war."

Some had gone to the Sunset Province—the granary of the Prosperity Era.

If the survivors there could keep the "River Dike" running, maybe they could save part of the oasis.

Besides, it wasn't far from the Great Rift. The War Construction Committee should be able to help them.

The soldier was silent for a moment, then sighed.

"I really regret it..."

"...What's wrong with you now?"

"I was such a fool. Why did I believe it? Damn it, if only I hadn't listened to his nonsense. And it's your fault too—why didn't you tell the truth?"

"Heh... Did no one ever tell you?"

Hearing that slightly self-mocking reply, the soldier fell silent. After a moment, he sighed again.

"Yeah, I guess so..."

Man cannot conquer nature.

He can only conquer himself.

Only at the last moment of his life did he understand that their greatest enemy was not Gaia, nor the winter, nor even Lowell and his stubborn accomplices who refused to change until the end...

But themselves.

And it always had been.

The dead become fuel for the living, buried in the dust of history.

The era of the Human Union had ended.

If you compared Lowell's camp to a local battle, they had both won and lost...

Because everything was over.

"Do you think... how will future generations judge us?"

No answer.

The soldier turned his head and looked at his friend sitting beside him, only to see that he had already merged with the ice sculpture behind him, just like General Lowell, whom they had buried.

At minus thirty degrees, even Red Earth couldn't survive, let alone humans...

But facing the coming death, the soldier felt no fear.

Consider it paying a debt...

He hoped they wouldn't become the dinosaurs of the Cretaceous—then this memory would only be burned as fossil fuel.

He sighed inwardly, looking up at the gray sky that let no light through.

"...Sorry, kids. We took a bit of a detour."

But no matter what, winter would always pass...

Holding onto that belief, the soldier breathed his last, merging completely with the frozen wasteland.

Time passed like a white horse flashing past a crack.

The howling wind raged for half a century, but in the end, it could not withstand the scorching sun.

Winter finally ended.

Blades of green grass pushed through the soil, and all the creatures that had been huddled in caves, barely surviving, poked their heads out curiously, as if seeing the blue sky for the first time in ages.

This was the equator.

Recovery began here first.

The survivors emerged from their burrows and broken shelters, building settlements of all sizes along the Eternal River, hunting wild animals, erecting totem poles for each victory, and slowly reclaiming the fragments of the Prosperity Era...

The savagery and bloodshed here were no less than in any corner of the wasteland, but far less cruel.

At least there were no sandstorms or giant beasts from the Great Desert, no deathclaws from the River Valley Province, or poisonous insects from the Sunset Province.

It was like a natural sanctuary.

Civilization was slowly reviving.

Until this moment, Red Earth had never formally taken the stage in the Bolo Province, and the history of Lowell's camp seemed to have been completely forgotten.

But that was fine.

This natural sanctuary had everything. The animals left over from the Prosperity Era gave the locals a feast of mountain delicacies, and after that, they could farm and experiment with cooking techniques.

It was a period of pain and joy, and the seeds of civilization slowly advanced through it.

Time marched on.

The survivors of Boulder City raised their stakes high in the council hall, sending off the last old man who had seen the Prosperity Era. And as the population swelled, the tribal wars of the Bolo Province soon evolved into kingdom wars.

The Human Union language was the greatest legacy the Prosperity Era left for the Wasteland Era.

The local survivors didn't need to waste much time on trial and error.

Even if they had forgotten the lessons of history, they could recall fragments from distant memories, quickly matching a way of life suited to their productivity.

After the chieftain came the king.

The four-million-square-kilometer province soon gave birth to thirteen kings, corresponding to thirteen protected zones, or thirteen "states."

It was at this moment that the ambitious "Moon King" summoned a wealthy landowner.

The latter, with a modest plantation, had fed tens of thousands of servants!

And at that moment, the planter held a handful of crimson soil in his hands...

It was only now that the cycle had come full circle.

Today, the thirteen prefectures of the Brahmin Province have no Moon Prefecture, but long ago, it did exist.

Only, after the moon rose high and then set with the sun, Moon Prefecture was renamed Lowell Prefecture by the rising Silan Empire.

And that was another era of tumultuous years...

...

Time returned to the present.

No one knows what happened in the past two hundred years. Even the Alliance, which had set up a research station at the ruins of the Lowell camp in Jingarun Port, could only recover limited historical records from beneath the rubble.

Among the many research topics of the Alliance's Institute of Social Sciences, the study of the Brahmin Province was merely a relatively major thread, running parallel to shelters without numbers, like 70, 79, 100, 101, 117, 401, and others with numbers.

The Chief of the Great Rift could not possibly know that history either.

Due to the stray signals drifting between radioactive dust and orbital debris, the last message from Lowell never even reached the headquarters of the War Construction Committee...

The obstacle of "long-distance radio communication" on the wasteland persists to this day. The Alliance relies on wired cables to achieve real-time signal exchange within and beyond its borders.

Abusek, leaving the Chief of the Great Rift, wore a look of loss, as if he understood, yet not.

Seeing the worried expression of his internal affairs commissioner, Wadiya, following beside him, he suddenly laughed and rubbed his chin.

"That old man wants to save my life..."

Wadiya was stunned, not understanding what his boss meant, but remembering they were on someone else's turf, he quickly smiled bitterly and reminded him.

"Mr. Grand Commander... we are in the Great Rift now. Calling their head of state that—"

"I know, it's fine. That old... person doesn't mind," Abusek waved his hand, cutting off Wadiya who wanted to say more. "Don't worry about me for now. I want to think things through quietly. I'll inform you of any arrangements."

He had originally planned to visit Chu Guang, but on second thought, it seemed unnecessary.

What would meeting him accomplish?

The Brahmin people's problems must ultimately be solved by themselves. They truly cannot keep looking for fathers everywhere.

Besides, with such a massive population, no one can help them, and those who could have already done so.

Technology, funds, machinery, production methods, ideological enlightenment, local talent, even some "sociological materials that were originally theirs but lost by their own doing"...

He couldn't think of anything else to shamelessly ask for on behalf of the survivors of the Brahmin Province.

If that's still not enough, they might as well ask for the Administrator himself.

Moreover, during this pre-conference period, the Alliance's Administrator should have his own arrangements.

For instance, discussions on post-war issues—the three former legion commanders and the governor of Triumph City ought to meet, right?

Tyre probably doesn't have the guts to come, and even if he did, it seems pointless. Even Abusek, the Grand Commander of the Brahmin State, can see the Southern Legion is about to lose.

Or, regarding discussions on ending the Wasteland Era—the Chief Technology Officer of the Institute and the councilor of Utopia ought to meet, right?

The schedule is almost packed. Better not trouble that gentleman.

After the conference ends, if there's time, we'll meet then...

...

In a spacious, bright room, Zhou Xianlin, with a bruised and swollen face, was having his wounds dressed by the old butler.

As the leader of the Dam Alliance, he had never suffered such indignity—being grabbed by the collar and having his lip split.

That soldier in power armor shouldn't have pulled him away.

He was just a hair's breadth away from biting that guy's ear off!

Too bad, in the end, he couldn't show the River Valley people the bravery of the Yue Ma people.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Zhou Xianlin glared at the old butler with a murderous look and snarled.

"Where is the Red River Alliance? Find them on the map for me! Damn it, those sons of bitches, daring to get cocky with me—I'll chop them up and feed them to the dogs!"

The old butler shuddered, nearly spilling the iodine in his hand, and broke into a sweat.

"Young master... the Red River Alliance... they might have actually fought the raiders, and the ones they locked in the mine might really be raiders."

Zhou Xianlin paused, then stared darkly at the old butler.

"...What do you mean? We haven't fought raiders?"

"We have, we have," the old butler nodded frantically, looking like he was about to cry. "I just meant... the Gnaw-Bone Tribe is special, different from other raiders. Also, the Red River Alliance has an Alliance garrison. Though I've heard it's only a hundred or two people, it's better not to provoke them."

The harder part was how to send people there.

They couldn't exactly take the Alliance's train to go fight them, could they?

Luckily, this time, the young master finally understood reason and swallowed his anger.

Zhou Xianlin sneered.

"So that's who it is... just a dog on a leash! Forget it, even beating a dog means looking at its owner. I'll leave this leashed dog for my big brother to deal with!"

The old butler: "..."

...

On the other side, in a conference room carved from granite, the guards of Triumph City and the guards of the Alliance inspected the room, then withdrew outside and closed the door.

Only the governor of Triumph City and the Administrator of the Alliance remained in the entire conference room.

Finally, no third person. The battlefield veteran, sitting in his golden armor, wore an expression of "I'm so exhausted," leaning back in his chair. But with a "crack," the backrest snapped in half, nearly sending him tumbling backward onto the floor.

Meeting Chu Guang's suppressed smile, he awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

"Sorry... you must think that's funny."

Chu Guang smiled faintly.

"It's fine. I've seen it plenty. When I first put on power armor, I broke quite a few chairs too."

There were always players treating him like an NPC, saying silly things and putting on performances.

And those who, seeing he spoke little and kept his mouth shut, used him as a confidant, telling him all sorts of nonsense, even asking how to have children with NPCs.

Back in the alpha version, he had already mastered the art of "keeping a straight face."

After changing to another chair, this time the battlefield veteran didn't lean back. Instead, like Chu Guang, he rested his arms on the table.

As expected of a professional iron can, this posture was much steadier.

The battlefield veteran sighed, wanting to say something but finding no opening, so he just uttered a cliché.

"Honestly, I'm not a good person. The Valyrians of Triumph City might have misunderstood something. Thanks to the forum—uh, I mean, thanks to my staff—I've managed as governor well enough, but I haven't figured out the future at all. To be honest, I've thought about resigning more than once. Or maybe you could show me a way out."

Seeing the battlefield veteran genuinely troubled, not treating everything as a game, Chu Guang smiled and spoke in a casual tone.

"There are no absolutely good people in this world—only bad people and those who begin to examine their own hearts."

The battlefield veteran was taken aback.

"...What do you mean?"

Chu Guang did not answer. Instead, he met his gaze and asked in return.

“Are you a bad person?”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team’s eyes wandered in confusion for a moment. He wanted to say no but couldn’t make up his mind.

After all, he had indeed told some lies about his identity, and he still hadn’t figured out how to face Reze’s trial or confess to the Valiants of Triumph City.

He shook his head and said frankly.

“I don’t know.”

A glint of approval shone in Chu Guang’s eyes as he extended his right hand, palm open.

“When you tell me you don’t know, at least you’re no longer a bad person—or rather, a ‘bad governor.’ You should be able to realize that you’ve begun to examine your own heart.”

A look of astonishment crept across the Battlefield Atmosphere Team’s face. He furrowed his brow, pondered for a moment, and found that it really seemed to be true.

In that brief half-minute just now, he had reviewed his entire life—at least, this life in the game world.

When truth is false, falsehood is truth... Whether his original intentions were good or not, this pangolin of his had, after all, been true to his conscience, and had earnestly pondered what conscience truly was.

He was not the savior of the Valiants, nor had he ever thought of being their savior. He had only done what he believed was right and necessary.

For someone like him, a mixed reputation—half praise, half blame—was probably deserved, even if he were to shed his disguise before all Valiants.

Seeing the dawning comprehension in the Battlefield Atmosphere Team’s eyes, Chu Guang continued in a gentle voice.

“Soon you will find your own flaws, mend them, and then climb out of the dry well that traps you. This is also an inevitable step on the path of growth.”

“You wanted to tell me you’re not fit to be a governor, but I think you’ve done quite well already. Most people spend their entire lives discovering their own well, and even fewer try to climb out. But you are already on the climb.”

He rarely spoke such chicken-soup words, but the little player before him was like his own child. He had truly watched this guy grow, bit by bit.

That old, muddled fellow had spouted a lot of nonsense, but one sentence had struck a chord in his heart.

He had indeed felt that sense of being a father, and had felt it long ago.

But unlike that old man, who muttered “Good is the counterpart of evil, fortune lies in misfortune” and left the child to be tempered by the wasteland, Chu Guang preferred to be a strict yet enlightened father.

That old man might have been “accurate”—having lived through countless cycles, it was only natural for him to see the patterns of cycles.

But the children of the Alliance could not carry such nihilistic thoughts into the future.

They should stand in the position of the “changer,” gazing at the unchanging mountains, rivers, sun, and moon, and with a braver, more vibrant posture, create a new future that no one in the old era had ever seen!

This was also Chu Guang’s hope for the descendants of the Alliance.

Thus, they would not have lived in vain...

“Maybe. I’m afraid of betraying their trust.” The Battlefield Atmosphere Team lifted his head, staring at the ceiling.

Chu Guang was quite experienced with this kind of worry and said with a smile.

“Do you know why you’re afraid of betraying their trust?”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team asked instinctively.

“Why?”

Chu Guang hit the nail on the head.

“Because... you became governor because of their trust. That fact itself has nothing to do with any conspiracy. Their trust was earned by your sincerity—not tricked or picked up for free.”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team’s eyes lit up, but then he coughed.

“Actually, I was hoping for some specific advice from you...”

“Unfortunately, all I can give you is encouragement,” Chu Guang paused and smiled. “Why not seek advice from other Valiants? Think about why you gained support, and why they support you instead of someone else.”

“Once you understand that, you can set up a podium where you gave your speeches—a place where anyone can step up and speak. Place more suggestion boxes where people support you. Stipulate that future governors must also openly declare their dreams and fulfill their promises, just like you did, and what happens if they don’t... These are things you need to figure out for yourself.”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team suddenly saw the light and sat up straight, serious.

“I understand.”

Chu Guang nodded.

“Good. Now that you understand, let’s talk about business.”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team was taken aback.

“Business... business?”

Wasn’t that just now the business?

But Chu Guang nodded matter-of-factly and continued.

“Of course. You are the governor of Triumph City, and I am the administrator of the Alliance. The people you represent are no fewer than mine... You didn’t think that warm-up chat was the real business, did you?”

“...No, of course not.” Meeting Chu Guang’s half-smiling gaze, the Battlefield Atmosphere Team said insincerely.

Wasn’t it, though?

And if there was really something important, wouldn’t it just be sent as a mission in the task bar?

But come to think of it, ever since he had replied with “Acknowledged” last time, no new messages had come for a long time.

Chu Guang wasn’t joking with him. After clearing his throat, he said.

“To reduce estrangement, I suggest establishing a long-term and effective dialogue mechanism between Triumph City and Dawn City. I plan to lay a cable to Triumph City... We can cover the cost. This is not just for now, but for the future.”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team nodded.

“No problem.”

This was indeed a good thing.

He couldn’t be governor forever. The next governor wouldn’t have a “task bar.”

Chu Guang continued.

“Furthermore, as communication between the east and west coasts of the Central Continent grows closer, we intend to open a new maritime route while also building a railway straight to Triumph City. This railway will start from Bister Town in the Sunset Province, cross the Great Wasteland, pass through the vast grasslands of the Eastern Empire, and perhaps spread the seeds of civilization along its path... For this, we are willing to bear 60% of the investment, and you only need to bear 40%. Of course, considering your economic constraints, the Alliance’s bank can lend you the money first.”

“No problem.” The Battlefield Atmosphere Team found he had no room to interject, only to nod.

Chu Guang looked at him intently.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team was about to say no, but meeting that sharp gaze, he swallowed the words back.

“The Valiant Province has a large number of refugees, and the Bartoya Province needs reconstruction... You know we have no money. Since we’re already investing in the railway, why not invest in something else? The roads in Triumph City are due for renovation anyway. How about you put up some money to set up a development bank? That way, you don’t lose, and we don’t lose... What’s that saying? Win-win?”

Chu Guang smiled and nodded.

“That’s a good idea. I think not only we, but the Enterprise will also be happy to help you.”

“Done.”

The Battlefield Atmosphere Team spread his hands and was about to lean back in his chair, but caught himself just in time.

“Ahem... Speaking of which, if we’ve already discussed everything that was supposed to be discussed at the conference, what will we talk about when the Human Conference actually starts?”

To be honest, the only proposal he had brought was “asking for money.” Including Bannott, the ministers of the civil government had been whispering in his ear before he left, urging him to find a way to get some money from the Alliance.

As for the administrator’s proposal, he understood it too. To sum it up, it was nothing but “communication.”

Eliminate differences through communication, eliminate estrangement through communication, dissolve hatred through communication... And this itself was what the Valiants must do to integrate into the world.

He truly had no reason to shake his head.

Watching the bewildered consul, Chu Guang let out a hearty laugh.

“Isn’t it simple? Just speak your mind.”

“The Great Rift Valley is rarely this lively, with so many people here—of course, we can talk about whatever we like.”