“Wuwuwuwu…”
Chong Ying cautiously nudged his head into He Fang’s embrace, wrapping his arms around He Fang’s waist as he cried softly. His cheeks were flushed from all the tears. He was furious—so incredibly furious. What kind of bastards were those people to treat their Creator in such an outrageous way? It was too much. Chong Ying was so angry that he cried uncontrollably, furious at himself for not having killed a few of them on the spot.
If not for holding onto the Creator, Chong Ying felt like he would have passed out from sheer rage. Only by hugging the Creator tightly could he ease his overwhelming anger, even if just a little.
“Bastards, those damn bastards—wuwuwuwu…” Chong Ying pressed his cheek firmly against He Fang’s abdomen, burying himself in the soft, unarmored stomach of the young man, seeking comfort to calm his burning fury.
“I’m sorry.”
In the corner of the airplane cabin, Guo Miaofeng was currently standing in self-imposed punishment, facing the wall with an aggrieved expression. His intelligence couldn’t comprehend the situation—why had he been so strongly rejected just for saying one thing?
After returning, he had been given a brutal beating by the enraged Chong Ying. His face was now covered in bruises, a mix of blue and purple, making him look utterly miserable. Guo Miaofeng vaguely realized that he must have made a serious mistake—so serious that even their Creator was affected and ended up being disliked. Now, he was drowning in guilt. But unlike Chong Ying, he couldn’t just cry it out. Instead, he curled up into a giant ball, overwhelmed with remorse.
Zhu Yan’s usual cold and indifferent expression was now even paler than normal. His brows furrowed tightly—he simply couldn’t tolerate anyone speaking so disrespectfully about their Creator.
But frustration alone wouldn’t solve anything. More importantly, their Creator seemed to be deep in thought. Zhu Yan forced himself to calm down. He prepared some soothing drinks using the provisions in the airplane cabin, hoping to temporarily ease the unrest among them. The last thing he wanted was for their Creator to notice anything out of the ordinary.
Min Zhizhou had experienced everything. To him, these matters were nothing more than a gentle breeze and light drizzle, minor squabbles that neither hurt nor itched. Even though he didn’t think this was something worth getting angry over, he could still feel the suffocating pressure filling the entire aircraft cabin.
Min Zhizhou felt like he was being crushed, unable to breathe. He was already weaker than everyone else around him. Now, it seemed as if the overwhelming aura was pressing down on him so hard that he was on the verge of losing consciousness.
Especially…
Min Zhizhou didn’t even dare to turn around and look at the man in the corner—dressed entirely in black. In Chong Xiao’s hand rested a sleek, black, razor-sharp sword. He appeared to be holding it casually, but Min Zhizhou knew that Chong Xiao was extremely angry. That simple sword, as if responding to its master’s emotions, gleamed with an icy chill, while the darkness around Chong Xiao seemed almost tangible.
In such an oppressive atmosphere, Min Zhizhou gradually felt an unbearable pressure. A nauseating feeling of wanting to vomit began to rise in his chest.
“Have some drink.” Zhu Yan handed out a prepared calming beverage to everyone. Some people were obviously reluctant to accept it, but upon seeing He Fang take the drink without hesitation, they had no choice but to follow suit.
When He Fang received the drink, he noticed the words displayed on it: “A bottle of calming drink—helps focus the mind and promotes restful sleep.” He Fang was momentarily stunned, only then realizing that he had forgotten to turn off the global attribute panel.
However, when he lifted his head, he suddenly noticed that a red label had appeared on Zhu Yan’s attribute panel— “Extreme Fury.”
Not only that, but both Chong Ying and Chong Xiao’s attribute panels also bore the same label— “Extreme Fury.”
He Fang froze for a moment, sensing that something was off about the atmosphere, but he had no idea why. His intuition, however, told him it had something to do with him. What should he do? Should he say something to lighten the mood?
Lowering his head, he took a sip of the calming drink. It was cool and refreshing, with a strawberry flavor. The taste was incredibly pleasant—icy, sweet, and slightly tart, instantly stimulating his senses and soothing his emotions. Once again, He Fang marveled at how wonderful it was to enjoy such indulgences in the game. When he had more money in the future, he’d definitely scan in some premium lobsters or something—just one scan, and he could feast on them every day.
“This is really good,” He Fang nodded approvingly, making a casual remark in an attempt to break the awkward tension.
“It’s a calming drink. City Lord, you just returned—it’ll help you feel more comfortable,” Zhu Yan said with a smile. No matter how bad his mood was, he would always put on a gentle expression when facing He Fang.
“What’s wrong with you all? You look really upset.” He Fang noticed that after he spoke, the atmosphere seemed to ease slightly, so he finally dared to ask. That was when he also noticed Guo Miaofeng standing in the corner, facing the wall as if he were reflecting on his mistakes. “Guo Miaofeng?”
“It’s nothing.” Zhu Yan’s usual cold tone remained unchanged, but today, there was an obvious trace of patience and gentleness as he addressed He Fang. “Please don’t worry, City Lord. Those despicable humans can never comprehend the greatness and beauty of our City Lord.”
“…Huh?” He Fang was momentarily stunned. Greatness? Beauty?
“Wuuu… City Lord, those people were so mean! So mean!” As soon as the memory resurfaced, Chong Ying became so frustrated that he was on the verge of bursting into tears. He felt like he was about to die from sheer indignation—even throwing a tantrum wouldn’t be enough to quell his fury.
“Was it really that bad?” At that moment, He Fang suddenly realized what exactly had made them so angry.
He hadn’t expected Chong Ying’s pride to be this strong—just a few insults and he was already this heartbroken. He Fang reached out to wipe Chong Ying’s tear-streaked face, only to realize that his own shirt was already soaked from the boy’s crying. Wow, this guy can really cry.
“Alright, alright, stop crying. How about I make you a pillow later so you can punch it and vent your anger?” He Fang tried to comfort him.
“I’m so mad! I’m really, really mad—wuuu! But as long as City Lord isn’t angry, I’ll just beat them up for you next time,” Chong Ying said between sobs. As he spoke, his tear-filled eyes—hidden from He Fang’s view—glared fiercely at Min Zhizhou, as if blaming him for stopping them earlier.
Min Zhizhou’s scalp instantly went numb. A chill ran down his spine. He genuinely felt like his days were numbered.
“…I’m sorry,” Guo Miaofeng muttered in an extremely, extremely small voice from the side.
“What’s there to be mad about?” He Fang clearly couldn’t empathize with his NPCs.
Chong Ying, still teary-eyed, lifted his head in confusion. “Huh? City Lord, you’re… not angry?”
“Why would I be angry?” He Fang locked eyes with Chong Ying, both of them equally bewildered.
“Uh…” Chong Ying seemed completely thrown off by this response.
He Fang scratched his head. Was this really something worth getting mad over? It was just a few meaningless insults—nothing serious. He had played so many games, including plenty where the entire protagonist’s clan got wiped out at the start. This? Just some random NPCs throwing a few insults? At best, it was a minor side quest. And if a side quest couldn’t even stir a player’s emotions, then it was just a trash quest.
“There’s nothing to be mad about. You’re overreacting—making a big deal out of nothing. Guo Miaofeng, what are you doing? Why are you hiding?” He Fang stepped forward and pulled at Guo Miaofeng’s shoulder. When Guo Miaofeng turned around, his face was a mess—bruised and swollen like a colorful abstract painting.
“?”
“Wuuu, it’s all Guo Miaofeng’s fault! He said something bad, and that’s why those disgusting little bugs insulted our City Lord!” Chong Ying showed no remorse for beating up Guo Miaofeng, though he did look a little guilty when he saw He Fang’s surprised expression.
“Don’t do that again. He’s already kind of dumb—if you keep hitting him, he’ll get even dumber. Then what?” He Fang couldn’t help but point it out.
Guo Miaofeng: “……”
Chong Ying, looking pitiful, murmured, “But I was really mad…”
“It’s fine. There are always things in this world that don’t make sense,” He Fang reassured him, while silently ridiculing the fact that there’s no such thing as a perfectly logical game without brain-dead moments. “Ruins Without Restart” was definitely one of the worst offenders.
The reason He Fang had been lost in thought for so long, paying little attention to everything else, was because he suspected that taking on the rebuild Hope City quest might require certain conditions. But if his conditions weren’t met, that would explain why the NPCs were so hostile toward him.
Normally, when accepting a new quest, there were always prerequisites to trigger it. Right now, the collective will of all the Hope City NPCs might be one such requirement.
The fact that he merely expressed interest in taking over Hope City and was met with such extreme opposition—despite believing his proposal would benefit the NPCs—meant there had to be a reason for their rejection.
Was it because his favorability wasn’t high enough?
Did we fail to complete a prerequisite quest?
If they couldn’t fully understand why they were rejected, there was no way to proceed with the mission.
“Let’s discuss this,” He Fang said, pulling Guo Miaofeng back to his seat in the plane cabin. “Everyone, try to think—why were we driven out this time?”
The moment he said “driven out”, Chong Ying got so angry that he was about to start crying again, and Chong Xiao’s aura grew even colder.
He Fang patted Chong Ying’s head. “Could it be that suddenly offering to help them was, in their eyes, like selling the city to survive, which insulted their honor? And that’s why they kicked me out?”
Zhu Yan shook his head. “Impossible. In the end, that kid still tried to protect the locator. As long as they had the locator, it meant there was a chance for another city to come. He was definitely trying to escape by any means necessary.”
Chong Ying: “Because they’re the most disgusting monsters in the world! Monsters that will be devoured by Nightmare Beast seeds!”
Guo Miaofeng: “I think that’s possible.”
Chong Xiao: “……”
Round one of discussion: failed.
Zhu Yan continued, “It’s possible they’re still hiding a secret—something they absolutely can’t reveal to outsiders. And this secret is more important than their lives.”
He Fang: “I think it’s very difficult. You’ve seen it yourself—Hope City is now open on all sides, nothing can be hidden anymore. And if such a secret really existed, how could they possibly allow themselves to just wait here for death?”
Chong Ying: “Because they are ugly! Ugly people cannot be compared to beautiful people!”
Guo Miaofeng: “I think it’s possible.”
Chong Xiao: “…”
Second round of discussion: failed.
After four rounds of discussion, He Fang suddenly realized that there was still one person among them—someone very reliable, someone who had been guiding them all along—who had not voiced any opinion from start to finish. Puzzled, He Fang looked up. “Min Zhizhou, why haven’t you said anything?”
Min Zhizhou had yet to recover from the lingering fear of having nearly died just moments ago.
“…What?” Finally, his long-restrained senses returned to him. He Fang’s voice reached his ears, and Min Zhizhou felt the immense pressure weighing down on him dissipate. It was clear that, as someone who had once lived outside the city, he had become the target of the others’ displaced anger. He let out a breath of relief, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and only then managed to steady himself.
“Why do you think we were driven out?” He Fang repeated the question, curious about what Min Zhizhou was thinking. He was usually someone who took things very seriously.
Min Zhizhou looked at the people before him. None of them seemed to understand.
Perhaps he did—but that only made him more aware of the harsh reality.
Those who have lived in comfort, those who have never truly faced death, the so-called strong—could they ever truly understand the suffering of the weak?
“Because they don’t want to see an impossible hope.” Min Zhizhou’s tone was filled with emotion. He lowered his eyes as if recalling something.
“?” He Fang looked confused.
Min Zhizhou slowly spoke. “Because they have already accepted the fact that they are going to die. Every day, they are savoring their final moments. But then, suddenly, someone tells them that they can survive after all.”
Guo Miaofeng scratched his head and asked in confusion, “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“But for them, survival has already become an impossible thing.” Min Zhizhou tried to make these privileged children, who had always lived in comfort, understand. “We are just mercenaries—selling our lives for money, then using that money to buy our lives back. In this apocalypse, where there is no known way to prevent the invasion of Nightmare Beast seeds, we are now supposed to bring them hope. But despair within hope is even more painful.”
He Fang blinked, and in his mind, something clicked—ding—as if he finally understood something.
Back when he was working on his graduation thesis, his advisor had once told him that if he couldn’t handle speaking in front of people properly, he might as well record a video of himself instead. That could count as a defense too.
So he had acted it out over and over, recording dozens of takes. He had thought that this would be enough to succeed. Excited and full of hope, he had even secretly told his parents.
But in the end, he failed. The school didn’t accept it. The defense committee believed that a university student must overcome the challenge of defending their thesis in person. Recording a video couldn’t demonstrate real-time adaptability. They told him not to run away but to face it properly.
But He Fang couldn’t do it.
The possibility he had once believed in was shattered to pieces, smashed ruthlessly against the ground. After four years of study, he couldn’t graduate. The blame from his family, the school’s unwavering stance, the indifferent gazes of those around him—each was like a brick, piling onto him, crushing him completely into despair.
Back then…
Even breathing felt like a mistake.
“But that’s still not a reason for them to hurt the City Lord!” Chong Ying couldn’t empathize at all. The young man fiercely retorted, “As long as there’s hope, even if it’s just a tiny bit, even if it’s false hope, it’s still hope!”
“That’s exactly why—you haven’t truly experienced it, so you can’t understand their thoughts.” Min Zhizhou, rarely assertive, spoke firmly this time.
“Who says—” Chong Ying started, but before he could finish, Chong Xiao smacked the back of his younger brother’s head. Chong Ying bit his tongue hard, let out a yelp, and bent over, clutching his mouth.
Min Zhizhou frowned. What was he about to say?
Guo Miaofeng lowered his eyes, then suddenly chuckled. “If I had a choice, I’d choose to have hope. I’d rather die within hope than die in despair.”
“How would you know if you don’t try?” Zhu Yan also agreed. “Falling into even deeper despair within despair—that’s the most painful thing of all.”
Min Zhizhou instinctively wanted to say that these people were speaking from a place of privilege, that it was easy to talk big when they weren’t the ones suffering. But when his gaze met theirs, his voice suddenly failed him.
He couldn’t say it.
He looked at them—all of them seemingly unaffected, without any shadows clouding their expressions. Yet, as they spoke, though their words seemed like an answer to him, their eyes were fixed on He Fang.
It was as if they were telling He Fang—He Fang is our hope.
The feeling was so faint, so elusive, that Min Zhizhou even wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him.
Was it just an illusion?
“Let’s head back first,” He Fang suddenly said. “Some things need careful planning. Hope City is a rare opportunity. Finding another destroyed but still intact mobile city like this would be incredibly difficult. I don’t want to give up.”
“I’ve already estimated its size and position based on rough measurements. We can start designing a barrier against the Nightmare Beast seeds. Once we confirm the details, we can immediately begin securing it,” Zhu Yan said. From the moment He Fang expressed interest in Hope City, he had already started planning how to claim it. “We can’t send signals from here, so we’ll have to head back before we can begin the process.”
“Yeah, let’s start the preparations. Safety is the priority—we have to preserve Hope City properly.” He Fang couldn’t bear the thought of such a beautiful city being reduced to ruins. Even its name was beautiful—Hope City. How could hope itself be allowed to fall in the apocalypse?
“I’ll drive us back, then.” Guo Miaofeng slumped back into the driver’s seat, looking somewhat defeated, and started up the vehicle.
He Fang leaned over. “We’ve already memorized the map coordinates completely. If we take a direct route back, we should be able to increase our speed and arrive much faster, right?”
Guo Miaofeng did a quick calculation and replied, “At most, it’ll take a day and a half to get back to the city.”
“Are you sure? There won’t be any issues?” He Fang asked.
But the moment he questioned it, Guo Miaofeng immediately hesitated. “Uh… maybe we should just follow the original route back?”
“…” He Fang was completely exasperated with this NPC who never seemed to have any confidence in himself. “Let me see your straight-line route.”
Once Guo Miaofeng set the coordinates, He Fang cross-checked them with his system map. After confirming they were correct, he nodded. “Just follow this route.”
“O-Okay, City Lord.” Guo Miaofeng suddenly felt nervous. He had just made a mistake. Although he wasn’t expecting to redeem himself, he at least wanted to prove that he was reliable. He had to get them back to their city as quickly as possible, using the shortest route!
“Don’t worry.” He Fang suddenly patted Guo Miaofeng on the shoulder. “This really wasn’t your fault.”
Guo Miaofeng felt comforted, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to feel happy. Aren’t we the ones who are supposed to solve problems for the Creator? Why is it the other way around, with him comforting us instead?
Although Guo Miaofeng had unintentionally caused trouble, to He Fang, it was still an important clue—after all, probing for information was crucial.
When they first traveled to the outside world, it had taken four to five days because they had no clear route and had to follow the river, moving cautiously. But now that they had an accurate map, the return trip only took about a day. With a straight-line route and high-speed travel, they easily made it back to the city.
Then, He Fang logged out.
He was starving.
The moment he stepped out, he realized he was so hungry he felt lightheaded. He tore open a newly arrived box of instant noodles, pulled out a couple of packs, and followed a viral online recipe to make a special summer edition of spicy and sour cold noodles. He devoured it all—only to remember afterward that he still had untouched takeout sitting in the fridge.
“What even happened this morning? I was so ridiculously drowsy… Could it be that calming chicken soup really worked that well?” He Fang was still brooding over yesterday’s soup. He even considered conducting an experiment tonight—reheating the other portion of takeout to see if it would knock him out just as thoroughly.
Even though several days had passed in the game, in reality, only a morning had gone by. Popping open a bottle of cola, He Fang leaned back in his gaming chair and began thinking about Hope City.
He had to admit—experiencing a completely fictional mobile city through a sensory simulation pod was nothing short of spectacular. He even wished that all his games could be transferred into the pod, allowing him to fully immerse himself in them. The sharp, icy framework of Hope City perfectly fulfilled all his fantasies about a world of steel.
Rebuilding Hope City wasn’t a particularly difficult task. He Fang already had extensive experience in establishing new city districts, and he was well accustomed to the heavy early-stage investments required. With the current tax revenue, new investments were entirely feasible without much financial pressure—especially considering how much of Hope City’s infrastructure was still intact.
The main issue, however, lay with the remaining ten thousand or so NPCs. Their attributes were nowhere near comparable to his own NPCs—most of them didn’t even have any growth potential.
Given the current situation, it was already difficult to cultivate crops on land that hadn’t been properly developed. Assigning these physically weak and unskilled NPCs to farm would be inefficient; it would be far better to have the research institute develop more advanced farming equipment.
From a typical gaming perspective, low-quality resources were usually discarded—whether it was low-tier cards in a gacha game or subpar pets in an open-world game. Players with limited inventory space wouldn’t waste slots on items with no real value.
In that sense, these ten thousand NPCs were essentially dead weight in the city’s development. The most efficient approach, from a pure player’s standpoint, would be to abandon them entirely.
But…
But…
He Fang’s mind flashed back to that frail child—a ten-year-old boy who barely looked five. So thin it was terrifying, yet still trying his best to shoulder the responsibilities of an older brother.
He Fang didn’t know whether this was just part of the in-game story or if it was the result of the intelligent NPCs’ personality development, but…
It was too real.
It truly felt like that child was someone struggling to survive in the apocalypse—resilient and strong-willed.
Ten thousand people, each with their own unique circumstances—there were probably countless stories among them that he would never know. He wasn’t some kind of savior, but wasn’t the fun of city-building games precisely about creating something from nothing?
If these seemingly useless ten thousand people had even the slightest potential for meaningful development, then wouldn’t it be worth exploring? Many games included mechanics for progression and evolution—perhaps these NPCs weren’t entirely without future prospects.
Besides, rebuilding Hope City would be a hassle if he had to mobilize his current N-PCs. His existing ones were already fulfilling essential roles within the city. Pulling a large number of them away would disrupt internal operations. If he failed to replenish those numbers in time, it would create a dangerous gap, weakening his city’s stability.
These ten thousand people might not seem promising, but they also had low maintenance needs. He could use them as an initial workforce—even if construction took longer, it would allow for a certain level of trial and error. Moreover, if future expansion involved merging with other cities, this situation could serve as a preliminary experiment in population management, helping him prepare for larger-scale integration later.
Most importantly, abandoning these ten thousand NPCs to die… He Fang simply couldn’t do it.
It was risky, but he made his decision—he would take them in.
Now that he had resolved to claim Hope City entirely and absorb its remaining NPC population, he had to act fast. Just as the Hope City NPCs had feared, the Nightmare Beasts had already begun appearing nearby. His team had even encountered them before. It was only a matter of time before the creatures fully locked onto their target.
If he couldn’t protect Hope City as soon as possible, once it was eroded by the Nightmare Beasts, all his efforts and considerations would be completely ruined. Taking Hope City back from the Nightmare Beast Forest would require an enormous amount of resources—an absolute loss.
Everything else could wait for later. Right now, he needed to find a way to quickly safeguard Hope City’s NPCs and the city itself.
The more He Fang thought about it, the more anxious he became. Time could not be wasted. He logged in immediately.
“If you want to take in these ten thousand people, it’s not entirely impossible,” Lu Hu said, sitting before He Fang. She lifted a slender finger and played with her flame-like long hair. Half-leaning against the chair, she exuded an irresistible charm, her long legs crossed in an aesthetically pleasing posture. “But they cannot become residents of our city. They don’t qualify. They would lower the city’s average standard, and their wages cannot be the same as those of official residents. For them, the shelter we provide is already the greatest form of compensation.”
He Fang had sought out Lu Hu from the finance department. This money-loving woman didn’t outright reject his request after hearing it. If the Creator wanted this, she could find a way to make it work.
“They must become the lowest class, willingly working hard to earn their keep. But even so, we’re still at a loss. The food they consume would probably cost more than their wages. Keeping them is simply not worth it.” Lu Hu clearly had no sympathy for those abandoned by other mobile cities—these hopeless people left behind. She saw no value in them.
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” No matter how He Fang thought about it, he couldn’t figure out how to balance this issue. “Our residents have the capability to contribute and generate value, but these NPCs have nothing. If we treat them too well, it wouldn’t be fair to our residents. I just don’t know how to set the right standards. The best solution is to use money as the measurement.”
“I can set their wage levels according to the situation and control market prices. You can leave this matter to me with complete peace of mind. I will absolutely make sure that these people don’t take advantage of our adorable City Lord. You can rest assured.”
He Fang shivered inexplicably as he looked at Lu Hu. The moment this money-obsessed woman started talking about finances, an unprecedented sharpness appeared in her gaze—like a miser who wouldn’t part with a single coin.
“No need to be that harsh. They’ve had it rough, too.” He Fang tentatively suggested, hoping Lu Hu would show some mercy.
However, Lu Hu merely glanced at him with a knowing smirk, as if she had already seen through his soft-heartedness.
Since Lu Hu had given a definite answer regarding the stability of the ten thousand newcomers, the next issue was figuring out how to make them willingly work for the city—to help them find a new purpose in life amidst their despair. Otherwise, if they remained lifeless and hopeless, these NPCs would only drag down the city’s overall happiness.
Despair was contagious.
“But there’s one more thing…” Lu Hu’s voice interrupted He Fang’s train of thought. She twirled a strand of her long hair around her fingers, her eyes filled with a teasing charm. “My dear City Lord, the most important question is—how will you make these people wholeheartedly align themselves with us? The human heart is unpredictable. We need something that will firmly bind them to us, something that ensures their absolute loyalty.”
“How do we do that?” He Fang had considered this before, and it was indeed a troublesome problem.
“Give them what they desire. Need is the foundation of loyalty.”
He Fang pondered for a moment. Something they want?
“But if we simply give them things outright, wouldn’t that go against the principle of rewarding labor? They haven’t done anything to earn it. That wouldn’t be fair to our residents.” He Fang frowned. He was starting to understand just how difficult it was for many leaders to make the decision to accept refugees.
“No, it’s not about giving them something tangible,” Lu Hu corrected him. “It’s about giving them something they desperately want, desperately need—something they could never obtain on their own. And it doesn’t have to be a physical item.”
He Fang looked at Lu Hu. She seemed to be guiding him toward an answer, but she didn’t appear to have a specific idea in mind either.
Right now, Hope City lacks too many things—food, a stable ruling system, hope… Hope?
He Fang furrowed his brows as the thought struck him. Those ten thousand people had already lost all hope. Perhaps he could give them a new one—something tangible to hold on to, a clear spiritual anchor. Something like the promise of survival, the guarantee of shelter.
Memories of Hope City’s strict class system surfaced in his mind. The people here had long adapted to this structure, and changing it would be difficult. Rather than forcing change, why not use the system they were already familiar with to help them regain a sense of belonging?
How do I give them hope?
“My dear City Lord, what have you thought of?” At some point, Lu Hu had silently moved to his side, her voice soft as she inquired.
“I’ve been thinking about how to give them hope.” No matter how He Fang thought about it, he felt that this was the thing the NPCs in Hope City needed the most right now. “But hope is such a broad concept. Everyone’s hope is different. I can’t be sure that every single person in Hope City even hopes to stay alive.”
“That’s true. Everyone’s hope is different.” Lu Hu chuckled lightly, clearly without much sincerity, making it obvious that he wouldn’t be offering He Fang any more insight.
“Lu Hu, what is your hope?” He Fang asked.
“My hope is to have lots and lots of money and to always stay by the side of our adorable Creator,” Lu Hu answered with a smile as he leaned closer to He Fang—only to see He Fang suddenly stand up. Stunned, Lu Hu blinked. “City Lord?”
“I want to go ask others about their hopes too. Maybe I’ll get more perspectives.” He Fang couldn’t wait any longer and immediately headed out.
Left alone, Lu Hu sat in the chair He Fang had just vacated, feeling a little dejected. With a hint of loneliness, she thought—maybe I should act more spoiled? Otherwise, the Creator really pays too little attention to me!
When it came to hope, He Fang asked Zhu Yan, whose answer was: “I hope that everything I research can be of help to the City Lord.”
Chong Ying’s hope was: “To possess the world’s strongest long-range weapon, to protect the City Lord and my brother, and for the three of us to always be happy together!”
Chong Xiao: “……”
Yuan Zhiran’s hope was: “To successfully find my own place and become someone truly useful to the City Lord.”
Guo Miaofeng’s hope was: “To help the City Lord measure every inch of land that belongs to you. I hope this entire world becomes your domain.”
When Qi Jingwei heard He Fang’s question, he suddenly smiled. “World peace.”
He Fang was puzzled and asked again, surprised that Qi Jingwei’s hope was something as broad as world peace. But then, Qi Jingwei added, “World peace—under the leadership of the City Lord.”
Feeling a little frustrated, He Fang eventually sought out Min Zhizhou.
After hearing He Fang’s question, Min Zhizhou remained silent for a long time.
He Fang was a bit surprised. “Do you not have any hopes at all?”
Min Zhizhou rubbed his temples. “I’ve almost forgotten what hope is. Once, it was just to survive. Later, it was to have more money. Then, it became about finding more resources and providing a better life for my teammates. And now… I’ve obtained everything I once wished for. I suppose my current hope is just to continue living like this.”
“Sorting garbage?” He Fang asked.
Min Zhizhou was silent for two seconds before suddenly laughing. “Yes, sorting garbage.”
He Fang looked at Min Zhizhou’s side profile, smiling so genuinely. As someone who had once lived outside the city, Min Zhizhou was clearly still lost—unlike the city’s residents, who could always state their hopes with certainty.
“I’m actually feeling really lost right now. When I asked about hope, I got different answers from everyone… but in all of those answers, I was there.”
Sitting under the shade of a tree, He Fang looked up at the thriving city he had built. Every face was filled with happiness and anticipation for the future. It was as if hope naturally existed among his residents as if it had always belonged to them.
Min Zhizhou gazed at the perplexed young man and suddenly said, “Have you ever thought that maybe, to them, you are hope?”
He Fang: “?”
“As long as you are safe and secure, they can realize their hopes through you. Without you, hope wouldn’t even be a possibility. They would have no way to make their dreams come true.” Min Zhizhou felt that the people of the city had made this painfully obvious, yet He Fang still hadn’t realized it. “To them, you are the faith that makes hope possible.”
Faith?
Faith!
He Fang’s eyes widened as a sudden realization struck him.
What could carry and embody hope? Faith!
A person who truly believes in a god will pray to them in times of despair because that faith is their last hope. Even if that hope never materializes, the god itself still serves as the vessel for it!
“I need… to create a god!” He Fang suddenly declared. “I’m going to give the people outside the city a real god to believe in!”
“Huh?” Min Zhizhou was stunned by He Fang’s sudden idea.
“A god! Aren’t gods supposed to grant all kinds of wishes?” In reality, people burn incense and worship gods all the time—praying for safe travels, good exam results, and their family’s health. Gods seem omnipotent. When faced with uncertainty, people turn to gods first, believing that the divine will always have a way to resolve things.
Since this world was a game built upon reality, wouldn’t people’s perception of gods work the same way?
“Most people outside the city are atheists…” But the moment Min Zhizhou said this, his voice faltered as if something had just surfaced in his mind.
“That’s only because you’ve never seen a real god! But what if they actually witnessed one?!”
Before Min Zhizhou’s eyes, an image emerged—something terrifying, something beyond imagination. A sculpture, grand and imposing, like a true deity.
The one they called the Divine Lord—a monument powered by faith, omnipotent and all-knowing!
“A landmark would be perfect! Just by completing daily tasks, they could activate and interact with it. Let them see the landmark once, and boom—there’s their god!” He Fang felt incredibly clever. Gods were an unsolvable mystery, and humanity’s lack of understanding only made them seem omniscient and omnipotent. People placed their faith in gods because they needed to believe that the unsolvable could be solved.
“Just… suddenly making them see a god?” Min Zhizhou found the idea plausible, yet also perplexing.
But He Fang, instead of his earlier excitement, suddenly calmed down. He crossed his arms, deep in thought.
“Yes. No… No, it can’t be that simple.”
“Anything that appears too suddenly will make people wary. That’s why the god must manifest in a moment when they have no time to think. A crisis… I need a major crisis, one that makes them feel fear deep in their bones. The greater the fear, the more overwhelming the sense of salvation when the god descends. That’s when their inner defenses will truly collapse.”
“But how can I create a terrifying crisis without actually harming them?”
“Ah… I’ve got it!”
Suddenly, as if struck by inspiration, He Fang clapped his hands on his thighs, jumped up in excitement, and dashed off.
Min Zhizhou watched the boy’s retreating figure and, for some reason, felt a chill run down his spine.
The City Lord might look harmless, but deep down, he was full of tricks.
—
Wei Qixuan held a small cube tightly in his hands, staring at it carefully. The cube was bright and emitted a cold, white glow, even under the moonlight.
Beside him, his younger brother and sister lay sleeping—one on his left, the other on his right. The three of them, all too thin and frail, could only huddle together for a little warmth.
It was already nighttime. The upper levels of Hope City were high, and the wind was strong. Only by curling up against each other could they feel even a bit of warmth. Yet, even so, they refused to go back to the lower levels, where the wind was calmer. That place was somewhere they never wanted to return to. No one knew which would come first—tomorrow or death. But one thing was certain: they didn’t want their last moments to be spent dying in a place like that.
Wei Qixuan stared at the strange cube in his hand. He didn’t know what it was—only that he had received it from that big brother, the one whose face was always rosy, who never had to worry about food or shelter, and who seemed to bring a sense of peace just by looking at him.
That big brother was gone now, taking with him their last hope.
Hope City would no longer receive visitors from other cities. Even if someone did come, they wouldn’t take anyone away.
Without leadership, without resources, they had lost everything that once made Hope City a place to survive. Now, they were merely struggling to prolong their miserable existence.
Everyone knew they would die. Everyone had already accepted their fate. But Wei Qixuan didn’t want to. He was still so young. He had seen so little of the world. He had once listened to mercenaries tell tales of grand adventures. His younger siblings had yet to experience the joys of adulthood. He couldn’t accept dying here with everyone else.
He wanted to leave. But he couldn’t.
His parents had died of starvation long ago. Before they passed, they had even begged him and his siblings to eat their corpses.
Wei Qixuan hadn’t done it. He felt that if he ate a corpse, he would no longer be human.
They had buried their parents with their own hands. But even so, his youngest sister still didn’t understand what death meant. Every now and then, she would suddenly call out for their mother.
Still, both his younger brother and sister were obedient. It was as if they had understood from an early age how cruel life was. They never cried or threw tantrums. Even the tiniest of complaints would vanish almost instantly as if they had never possessed the innocence of childhood to begin with.
At first, Wei Qixuan thought the mercenaries would be his hope—perhaps even his last hope.
But in the end, the mercenaries still left.
They departed from the city. The gatekeeper had said so himself, watching them leave until they disappeared beyond the horizon.
Wei Qixuan was devastated. He wanted nothing more than to use every ounce of his strength to chase after them, to beg them to take him along. But he couldn’t. His younger siblings were still behind him, still watching him.
The moment he saw the mercenaries’ retreating figures, he fell into utter despair.
“Brother, what is this?”
A child’s voice suddenly reached his ears. He turned his head and saw that his younger brother had just woken up. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the strange cube in Wei Qixuan’s hand, his small fingers reaching out to touch it.
But Wei Qixuan tightened his grip around the cube and said, “This isn’t a toy. Brother can’t give this to you.”
He didn’t know what it was or how to use it, but he was certain of one thing—this might be the last thing the mercenary had left him.
This cube might be their final chance at survival.
“Brother, I’m hungry.” Hearing the voices, his younger sister sat up as well, her soft, childlike voice calling out to him.
“Brother, I’m hungry too,” his younger brother echoed.
“Let’s go. We’ll dig up some grass to eat.”
Moving around would help warm their bodies a little. Wei Qixuan could already feel that his younger siblings’ body temperatures were lower than usual.
He led them to a patch of grass. With their experience, they knew exactly which grasses were edible, which ones tasted sweet, and which ones were unbearably bitter. Under the moonlight, finding the good ones was a bit more difficult, but there was always something to gather.
Because here, there was an overwhelming amount of grass.
More than they had ever seen before.
“Be careful not to dig up the crops planted in the fields,” Wei Qixuan reminded his siblings. “We can only eat them once they’ve fully grown.”
“Okay,” his brother and sister responded in unison.
Perhaps because the tasty wild grasses nearby had already been picked clean, they had to venture farther out.
As Wei Qixuan straightened up, he suddenly thought he heard something in the darkness. He lifted his head and gazed into the distance, where something seemed to be moving.
Then, a sudden, bloodcurdling scream tore through the silent night. Wei Qixuan’s eyes widened. He saw the gatekeeper, running toward them with all his might.
“Go back! Go back! Hurry back!” The gatekeeper ran while shouting hoarsely, “Everyone, return to Hope City! The Nightmare Beasts are here! The Nightmare Beasts are here! Nightmare Beasts!”
Wei Qixuan’s eyes slowly widened, his mind buzzing with a deafening roar.
The Nightmare Beasts had come.
The adults had once said that when the Nightmare Beasts arrived, everyone must return to Hope City. Then, they would ignite the piles of firewood stacked within the city, setting the massive Hope City ablaze.
They would all die together in Hope City. But they did not want their bodies to be controlled by the Nightmare Beast seeds, transforming into Nightmare Beasts and endangering the people in other cities. Perhaps, in those cities, their loved ones were still alive.
Had the time come?
Had the moment of inevitable death finally arrived?
The small block in his hand was pressed so hard into his palm that it left a bloody imprint, yet he felt no pain.
His younger siblings stared in confusion at the gatekeeper, who was running toward them in terror. Their bewildered eyes turned to Wei Qixuan for answers.
But Wei Qixuan’s entire body was frozen stiff.
In the distance, the gatekeeper and two other scouting teams were sprinting frantically. Their faces were twisted—filled with fear and resistance. Even though they had long accepted the inevitable reality, when truly faced with it, they still couldn’t help but run.
Under the bright moonlight, on this vast, endless grassland bathed in a silvery glow, Wei Qixuan lifted his head—and met a pair of eyes.
Those eyes were lifeless, cold, and devoid of emotion, as black as the entrance to a hell that devoured all light.
