Chapter 587: This Is Too Extreme

Chapter 587: This Is Too Extreme

The dead city slumbered beneath the yellow-gray twilight, drifting radioactive dust blurring the setting sun.

Row upon row of towering buildings stood like tombstones, their hollow windows revealing not a glimmer of life, nor the traffic and flashing neon of days past.

The white mist of his breath condensed into frost on the visor of his protective suit.

At this moment, Yur finally understood why his senior had repeatedly urged him to wear protective gear before heading to the surface, and why the thousand cubic meters of nuclear fuel had been prepared.

His Adam’s apple moved, and he forced out a few words.

“…Nuclear winter?”

Zhao Feiyu glanced at the sky.

“It’s not just radioactive dust covering us, but also the debris in orbit… Half a year ago, our space elevator disintegrated, and I only found out yesterday.”

The radioactive dust spread across the edge of the atmosphere, along with the debris scattered in low Earth orbit, blocked much of the visible light reaching the surface.

Not only that, but everything—industrial scale, energy use, production methods—had regressed to the era of prosperity or even earlier.

This wasn’t a simple matter of caloric addition or subtraction; the planet’s ecosystem had already adapted to the production activities of the prosperous era, and now everything had been brutally reverted.

No one knew when the planet would readjust, especially at a time when it was nearly buried in dust.

Perhaps humanity should actively adapt to these drastic changes.

Interestingly, the life activities of the mutant slime mold were not affected by radiation; instead, they contracted due to global cooling.

Thanks to that, the People’s Union could allocate more military forces to the front lines, and this war finally saw the dawn of victory.

Zhao Feiyu briefly recounted what he knew, as well as what was happening in Jinhe City.

“The People’s Union is planning to establish a more efficient reconstruction agency, hoping to restore production in the shortest time possible, while also addressing the humanitarian crisis caused by climate issues.”

“The refugee settlement in Jinhe City will be converted into a permanent community. Some researchers and engineers will assist residents who stayed behind and couldn’t enter the shelters in rebuilding… Our jurisdiction has also been transferred from the Central Wartime Research Institute to the local management agency. Next, we’ll likely work on disease prevention and improving pharmaceutical production methods.”

“Though I personally think this is a good thing, it probably means reconstruction will be a long-term project spanning decades… Tough times.”

Zhao Feiyu smiled, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, but seeing no trace of amusement behind the protective mask, he quickly suppressed his grin.

“…Though it’s difficult, I still believe everything will get better.”

Seeing Yur still silent, he paused and looked into the distance.

“I have a few tickets to the future—okay, no more teasing—they’re hibernation pods with a fifty-year validity. The People’s Union appreciates our work; the anti-radiation formula saved many lives, and so did the radiation cleanser… Our job is done; we can go enjoy the future.”

Yur let out a bitter laugh.

“And what’s the point of going?”

Zhao Feiyu’s expression froze for a moment, then he smiled again.

“Going… won’t change much, but in fifty years, everything will return to normal. Just sleep through it, and all the unpleasantness will be over. Doesn’t that sound great? Of course, it’s not all good—right now, three years is a generation. Talking to kids from a dozen generations later, the generation gap might be bigger than between humans and dogs—”

“Do you believe that?” Yur looked at him, cutting off his fantasy.

Zhao Feiyu fell silent.

The question needed no answer.

No one had counted the direct or indirect deaths from the war, but just looking at the abandoned high-rises, it wasn’t hard to guess the number was astronomical.

Returning to the era of prosperity.

If it were that easy, why would the shelter plan include hibernation facilities measured in centuries?

Seeing his senior silent, Yur continued.

“What are you planning to do?”

Zhao Feiyu sighed.

“I plan to stay…”

Yur said nothing, quietly waiting for him to continue.

“Though the situation is dire, many people need my research, and this era has my family and friends. I can’t drag everyone to the future. A person’s life is only so long; I want to spend the rest of it with them.”

He paused and looked at Yur.

“It might sound selfish, but I hope you’ll go.”

Yur said bluntly.

“Because I’m too withdrawn?”

“No, not that reason,” Zhao Feiyu said with a wry smile. “Alright, I’ll be honest. The People’s Union wants us to send a few researchers to the future. As you can see, this crisis won’t end immediately. If everything is fine in fifty years, great. If not… at least someone needs to carry our work forward.”

Yur was silent for a long time, then sighed.

“Then I’ll go to that beautiful new world for you.”

…

In the end, Yur chose to go to the future.

He himself wasn’t sure why he made that decision.

Perhaps it was a lingering hope for the world fifty years later, or maybe pure despair at the present.

Any era would do, as long as it wasn’t now.

Since future people might need him, and present people needed someone to go help their children in the future.

Then go to the future it was.

After all, he had no descendants.

His bond with his parents was also weak.

That was how his generation of young people was—caring more about self-fulfillment and kindred spirits than blood ties or tradition.

Having prepared himself mentally, he lay calmly into the hibernation pod, just like countless other expeditioners heading to the future, embarking on this one-way journey through time.

Yet even with all that preparation, the outcome still surprised him.

And it also surprised Chu Guang, who stood quietly watching from the side.

When Yur woke again, he faced not the wasteland of fifty years later, but nearly two centuries after.

“2320…” Xiao Qi, sitting on Chu Guang’s shoulder, widened her eyes and whispered in shock, “That means… he slept for a full 191 years?! Astonishing!”

“191 years of the Wasteland Era… around the time the Torch just came out of Shelter 117,” Chu Guang said, glancing at Xiao Qi. “Didn’t you already watch the entire memory? Why are you still surprised?”

Xiao Qi’s expression stiffened, and she subtly looked away.

“Hehe… it adds to the atmosphere.”

Chu Guang: “…”

What atmosphere is there in this?

“Alright, alright, don’t sweat the details. It’s almost over… Boohoo, I wish I could stay with you a little longer.”

“Aren’t you always by my side?”

“How could that be the same!”

"Is there a difference?"

"Of course there is! One is outside, the other is inside... hmm, how to describe it?" After a moment of thought, Xiao Qi's eyes suddenly lit up, and she said with a shy smile, "It's like when Master enters Xiao Qi's body... hehe."

Chu Guang: "......?"

The frozen scene began to flow again.

Xiao Qi had taken the liberty of pressing the play button, and Yur, sitting up from the hibernation pod, looked around in confusion.

After a brief conversation with the staff member standing by, he learned that he had been asleep for nearly two hundred years. The expression on his face was as complex as a spilled mix of five flavors.

A person cannot fulfill promises that exceed their lifespan.

A group of people is even less capable.

He should have expected this, but the current situation still caught him off guard.

Fifty years of cryogenic freezing, the promised pension and honors... all of it vanished like smoke with the disappearance of the Human Union.

They had entered a new era,

one that people born in this age called the Wasteland Era.

In fact, after the Human Union, an organization called the Post-War Reconstruction Committee had emerged, and his predecessor had worked for it for a time.

The staff at this research facility brought him his predecessor's notes, and on them, he discovered a letter left for him.

"...Mr. Yur, I'm sorry to have kept you asleep for so long. I've been hesitating whether to thaw you on your eightieth birthday, but then I remembered what you said—you wanted to go to a beautiful new world, so maybe you'll have to wait a bit longer..."

"It's now 2174, the forty-fifth year of the Wasteland Era. As for when you'll see this letter, I'm not sure... maybe 2229? But I hope it's never—no one has ever slept that long."

"My health is getting worse. Even with bionic organs, the remaining parts still age, and things have been a mess lately. Those fools fifty years ago hadn't had enough fighting, and now they're at it again... As expected, the Reconstruction Committee disbanded. Now it's the Corporation, the Academy, and the Legion—no one knows what the future will hold."

"Ah, you might be confused seeing all this. Where do I even start explaining... Anyway, the Reconstruction Committee is the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, the organization I told you about, set up for more efficient rebuilding. You can think of it as a continuation of the Human Union, because it successfully inherited all of the Union's bad habits. Of course, it had its good points too, but none of that matters now. The best era is over—over again."

"I never thought I'd live to see two apocalypses. Now we stand with the survivors of Singularity City, that refugee settlement next to the research facility. It's already developed quite nicely. A few days ago, researchers who fled from the East Coast joined us. I looked at their work... honestly, their ideas are nothing short of extraordinary."

"I agree with them: as long as humans are humans, they will endlessly repeat the mistakes they are bound to make. To solve all problems once and for all, we have to turn humans into a new species—strong, long-lived, intelligent, and docile. They call it the Gestalt Lifeform! A rare opportunity—how about adding cat ears to the new humans? Haha, just kidding, don't take it seriously."

"Those guys were brave enough to use unstable experimental reagents on themselves. But the results were surprisingly remarkable. Now we have 'robust physiques,' and next we need to think about how to encode more excellent traits into the DNA."

"You might think I'm crazy. I think so too, but... this is the only thing I, as a researcher, can do for my fellow compatriots."

"Set the research aside for now. Let's talk about something cheerful. The unity shown by the residents of Singularity City gives me hope. They gave up their illusions in no time and decided to be their own saviors. Winter is showing signs of improvement too. Maybe soon we can plant more food outside... If things go well, perhaps in another fifty years, everything will be fine."

"I'm sorry I took the liberty of extending your hibernation, but please believe it was out of goodwill. I've always felt guilty—I brought you, fresh out of society, to Jinshi City, and you ended up in the lab until the very last day before the apocalypse. Unfortunately, the past can't be revisited, but at least I hope you'll live in a beautiful new world in the future... If possible, I'd like to apologize in person, but after thinking it over, I decided to tell you all this in a letter."

"I'm too old for time travel. This letter might be the last message I leave in this world."

"Wishing you a happy life in the new world."

"To my dear friend."

"—A friend who chose to stay in the past."

Having read the letter from beginning to end, Yur was silent for a long time. He took a deep breath and tucked away both the notebook and the letter.

Now, he was truly alone in this world.

The only umbilical cord left connecting him to this world was probably the letter in his hand and the unfinished research of his predecessor.

Standing behind him, an old man spoke softly.

"Your friend was a researcher worthy of respect."

Yur turned to look at him.

"Who are you..."

The old man said quietly.

"Luo Qian, from Vault 117."

Hearing that name, Chu Guang's face showed surprise, but Yur's expression remained unchanged, nor did the word "vault" evoke any warmth in him.

Across a gap of over two hundred years...

Even if the language hadn't changed, even if they were both human, could they really still be considered the same species?

"Did you know my predecessor?"

The old man shook his head, but then nodded.

"I was born in the vault and only escaped that cage recently. Naturally, I couldn't have known someone from over a century ago."

He paused, then continued.

"But if I had the chance to meet him, I think we would have become very good friends."

Yur gave him a strange look.

"Why do you think that?"

Luo Qian smiled faintly.

"Thinking itself is a subjective act, and even more so in scientific research. I came to understand his research, and through that, I came to understand the man himself."

"Is that so..."

Watching Yur, who seemed lost in thought, Luo Qian slowly went on.

"As long as humans are humans, they will repeat the same mistakes... We wholeheartedly agree with his view. On our journey, we've seen too much irredeemable stupidity—either devouring people raw or finding new ways to consume them."

Yur showed no surprise, only said flatly.

"So that's how it is out there."

He wasn't surprised at all.

In fact, the moment he learned it was two hundred years later, he already had a good idea of the situation outside.

Luo Qian nodded gently and continued.

"We don't want to pessimistically believe this is a curse etched into our genes, but most of my traveling companions and I are tired."

"Since leaving the vault, we've been searching for seeds that could hatch miracles. Our first stop was Boulder City, then other settlements... But we've traveled over eight hundred kilometers without seeing even a glimmer of hope, and we've lost many good people along the way."

"Singularity City was our last stop. We agreed that if this place didn't work out, we'd give up."

Yur asked.

"So did you give up?"

Luo Qian smiled.

"Almost... We'd already given up when we saw those green-skinned monsters. Even if those old priests still had a shred of human conscience and respect for knowledge, letting us go alone didn't change the fact that they had fallen."

"Outside the research facility are cannibals..." Yur looked at the letter in his hand and stroked his chin. "So... did my predecessor's research fail?"

For some reason,

he felt no regret in his heart—instead, a hint of relief.

That way, the choice he had staked his life on wasn't meaningless. This wasn't a beautiful new world, but at least there was still something he could do.

Right now,

that "meaning" was in his hands.

"I don't think it can be called a failure, just unfinished," Luo Qian continued. "He forged a strong physique for the new humans, but also planted the seeds of violence in their genes. He intended to solve this problem in the future, but unfortunately, those seeds sprouted before he could resolve it... If only we had woken up earlier and met him sooner."

"That coward holding the key always urged us to wait, to trust a Union that couldn't even save itself, as if following orders step by step and leaving everything to our children would solve all problems."

"Then we watched the flame slowly die out, until the boundless long night devoured this land. Even going to the farthest places, no miracle would appear... whether light-years away or decades later."

As he spoke, Luo Qian looked at Yuer.

"We plan to end this meaningless journey and continue his research. If possible, we hope you can help us."

"Complete that unfinished complete life form?" Yuer pondered for a moment, then said bluntly, "Understood. I'll help."

Luo Qian looked at him in surprise, then a smile crept across his wrinkled face.

Putting away the smile, he solemnly extended his right hand.

"Thank you for joining us. Another excellent crew member has boarded the ship to the new world."

"You're welcome."

Yuer grasped his right hand and shook it.

"My thoughts are the same as yours. If sleeping for over two hundred years couldn't bring the new world, waiting another two hundred years would be the same."

"If I must be the oar of this ship, I will do it."

After this handshake, Luo Qian bid farewell to Yuer and headed south with the others from Torch. Torch had reached an agreement with the local mutants: "Champion" Biopharmaceuticals would help them research stronger cybernetics for the mutants, while the mutants were obliged to assist in their experiments.

The old priests of the Qi tribe were survivors of Singularity City. The Ancestral Faction they led held an extraordinary respect for knowledge and scholars, a tradition inherited from Singularity City—long ago, a group of technicians had helped them.

The secular new-generation mutants, though superstitious that the brains of clever people tasted better, after witnessing the power of modified cybernetics, rarely reached a consensus with the old Ancestral Faction—at least they wouldn't eat those researchers.

The experiments proceeded methodically.

When Luo Qian returned again, it was nineteen years later—that is, 2339, the 210th year of the Wasteland Era, one year before Chu Guang woke up.

Sighing at the vicissitudes of time, Chu Guang suddenly let out a breath.

Xiao Qi, sitting on his shoulder with elbows propped on her knees, turned to look at him.

"What's wrong, Master?"

Chu Guang said succinctly.

"Nothing. Just a bit emotional, seeing the sea change of this land in the memories of a minor figure."

The images continued to flow.

This time, Luo Qian had uploaded his consciousness to a circuit board, and the meeting place shifted from reality to the "Sanctuary" in the virtual world.

At the same time, Luo Qian brought new news.

They had established a theocratic state ruled by the Torch Church in the south.

Under the rule of the "Sanctuary," people no longer argued over meaningless matters, and everyone wholeheartedly became oarsmen on the ship to the new world.

Not only that, he also brought major research results from the southern lab—a fungal organism called Naguo.

"With the mental interference device and Naguo, we successfully achieved a utopia without conflict within the scope of a province."

Yuer asked casually.

"And the complete life form project? Is it still necessary to continue?"

Luo Qian stared at him with bright eyes.

"Of course it must continue. The old human utopia is just a phased achievement, ensuring our experiments aren't obstructed."

"The ultimate shore we aim to reach is harmony and co-prosperity without relying on Naguo or mental interference. This means we must shed the shell that constrains our souls and become a higher life form than humans."

Yuer nodded.

"I understand. So what should I do next?"

Luo Qian continued.

"Solve the problem of Naguo's difficulty surviving in cold, dry environments. We need to spread it farther, not just within the borders of Haiya Province."

"I'll provide you with some samples... The situation is different now. Surrounding survivor settlements will gradually join us. By the way, from now on, you are an Apostle of the Church, and I, having entered the Sanctuary, am a Forerunner."

"I'm not interested in chanting scriptures; it would take up my precious research time," Yuer said impatiently.

What he hated most was politics.

He didn't need political power; he just wanted to purely do what he deemed worthwhile.

Yet ironically, he seemed unable to escape this constraint throughout his life, drifting with the small boat beneath him from the very beginning.

Fortunately, his new boss understood him well.

Luo Qian laughed heartily and said kindly.

"Don't worry, it's just in name. It won't take up much of your time."

"With this identity, our plans will go much smoother. All settlements in the diocese will cooperate with your experiments."

"No matter what kind of experiment."

This time, Yuer's face finally showed an interested expression.

"Sounds a bit interesting..."

At that moment, he suddenly understood why they had failed time and again.

Not because they lacked the opportunity to do everything right, but because they chose the wrong method—trying to rebuild their civilization from a material level using human means.

Perhaps this approach was wrong from the start.

The Prosperity Era was an unprecedented anomaly in human history, and precisely because it was rare, it was called a miracle.

Rebuilding heaven with human methods would likely repeat human mistakes.

But gods were different.

Replacing human nature with divine nature would avoid human errors.

Of course, he knew this path would be strewn with thorns, and people would die. But would not doing so save fewer lives?

Perhaps more would die.

Better to let those ignorant ones die meaningfully than for meaningless causes.

A cheerful smile suddenly appeared on Yuer's face.

"I understand. Leave it to me... By the way, in a few years, I'll follow you to that Sanctuary."

Luo Qian smiled kindly and nodded.

"Welcome."

Yuer nodded slightly and withdrew from the Sanctuary.

Looking down at his inner monologue, Chu Guang, standing nearby, sighed softly.

"That's too extreme..."

...

Pinecone Farm, Zhao Manor's Guest House.

Jieyan, cradling his machine gun, yawned.

“How long do we have to hold this position?”

Fangchang, who had just logged off to lurk on the official forum, said casually.

“Looks like the Goblin Brigade has taken over all the work. The mutant reinforcements probably aren’t coming. Tonight should be quiet, but don’t let your guard down.”

Jieyan said with a pained expression.

“Damn! That bastard didn’t even leave a drop of soup for us?”

Sharenzhibi lifted his head.

“Huh? Who’s calling me brother?”

Haogou: “%￥#@!”

Xiaoyang, huddled by the fire for warmth, reached her small hand toward the flames, exploring the warm outline with her palm and fingertips, amusing herself by finding the edge that was neither too cold nor too hot.

The fire painted her face a rosy red.

Though much had happened, her emotions had settled.

Those big brothers in armor were very kind—they not only drove away the bad guys, healed Yinyin and the others, but also gave her a few pieces of fragrant, sweet chocolate.

The bodies in the villa had been cleared away; though the bloodstains on the walls and floor were a bit frightening, after seeing them enough, they were just that.

She was safe now.

Safer than ever.

Yinyin sat beside her, wrapped in a blanket, motionless since waking, unresponsive to anyone who spoke to her.

Xiaoyang had taken the chocolate for her, not eating it, saving it all for her.

She hoped she would get better soon.

Just then, the tall, slender sister walked over.

Glancing at Yinyin, curled up and vacant-eyed, Chen Yutong’s face showed a trace of concern and worry as she looked at Xiaoyang and asked.

“Is she feeling any better?”

Xiaoyang gently shook her head.

At that moment, Yinyin suddenly lifted her head.

“Dad…”

“Hmm?”

Though she hadn’t caught what the little girl said, seeing her finally react, Chen Yutong immediately crouched beside her.

“How are you feeling now? Is anything uncomfortable?”

Yinyin shook her head, then looked at Chen Yutong and whispered.

“My dad… is he okay?”

Chen Yutong fell silent.

Glimpsing something from the sister’s expression, tears welled in Yinyin’s eyes, and her voice trembled as she continued.

“Then… my brother? Sister… and the butler, them too.”

That silent expression said it all.

Tears as big as beans fell down her cheeks; she hugged her knees and sobbed uncontrollably.

“…Why.”

Xiaoyang patted her head and whispered.

“Don’t be sad…”

Yinyin, eyes brimming with tears, bit her lip, unable to utter a word, and even less knowing how to face her friend.

She had thought of helping her escape this cage, but out of sympathy, pity, or kindness—never in this way.

Her father was gone…

What would she do now?

Vaguely understanding the worry in Yinyin’s eyes, Xiaoyang whispered comfortingly.

“…Well, even though our house might not be as big as this one, it’s still pretty big. I’ll beg my dad to take care of you.”

Yinyin looked at her.

That icy gaze made Xiaoyang feel, for a moment, that her friend had become so strange, so alien that it even frightened her.

“You’re pretty pleased with yourself now, aren’t you… You’re finally free.”

Xiaoyang stared at her in shock, not understanding why she would say that.

Yinyin clearly didn’t understand why she had said such a thing either, nor why she was taking it out on Xiaoyang.

After all, she was her best friend.

But Yinyin didn’t want to apologize for it; she turned her neck away.

Watching this sulking child, Chen Yutong sighed.

To be honest.

For this settlement to end up like this, her father bore at least ninety percent of the blame, and it was no exaggeration to say he had brought it upon himself.

He had already held absolute power, but he wanted more, and just then someone dangled a tempting bait before him.

With an almost arrogant confidence in his own abilities, he bit without hesitation, even fantasizing about using his chips to play political games with the church far away.

He never imagined they didn’t even regard him as a person—on the experiment logs, he wasn’t worthy of a name, only a scrawled number.

But…

She still couldn’t help but sympathize with this child.

Patting the little girl’s head, Chen Yutong said softly.

“There are many things in this world we can’t do anything about… It has little to do with our efforts or choices. Even if you hadn’t stumbled into that basement today, even if you had done nothing, tonight’s events would still have happened.”

“I don’t know if saying this will make you feel any better, but… at least don’t make things hard for yourself or those around you. You’re all victims; it’s not you who should be held responsible. Your friend bravely saved you. If it were me, I’d say thank you to her.”

As she spoke, Chen Yutong looked at Xiaoyang and said gently.

“Can you come with me for a moment? I might need your help.”

Xiaoyang glanced worriedly at Yinyin, who had turned her face away and was silent. Though she didn’t want to leave her alone, she nodded obediently.

“Mm… I’ll help.”

Chen Yutong curved her lips, pushed herself up from her knees, and stood.

“Follow me.”