Many years later, the YouTuber stood among the crowd that had crossed over to the surface in pursuit of stardom, inevitably recalling that distant afternoon when he live-streamed as Number 81. At that time, he was still creating ghostly parodies, and the ladies on Wenbo were still producing content; there wasn’t yet an idol group called “ll.” And those men, they were still…
Sorry, I got sidetracked.
After the live stream ended, Number 81 quickly cut off communications, leaving a mess of honey pots for the network experts who came in response. Many residents of the greenhouse stared at the pitch-black screen before them, and after a brief moment of shock, they began to express their thoughts.
“Number 81 made me laugh; is he doing Idol 101? What a fool.”
“Speaking of which, how are they still alive? Isn’t the greenhouse capital supposed to manage them?”
“Huh? What is Number 81 up to again? Is there any surprise I don’t know about.jpg?”
“Boycott 101; if you don’t support it, you’re not a greenhouse person.”
“Waaah, I was personally dismantled by the main character; I’m so miserable!”
…Ignoring the last comment that clashed with the tone of the discussion, Number 81’s return indeed stirred a great wave in the hearts of all greenhouse residents, like a cockroach at the bottom of a half-drunk cup of milk tea.
As everyone questioned and speculated about what the so-called Wasteland 101 was, Wasteland 101 officially opened!
Countless live streaming rooms invaded the greenhouse’s network like a virus. Sometimes they appeared abruptly in Wenbo notifications, sometimes they popped up unexpectedly on the Literature City website, and others arrived with elaborate greetings, suddenly appearing in inboxes during the holidays. These small advertisements for live streams proliferated like the hair lost by college students from staying up late, ultimately forming a wildfire.
After countless live streams were closed, the residents of the greenhouse gradually became captivated by the content of the videos. The live stream showcased a naturally beautiful picture of life. One hundred men, women, and children each had their own lives.
The physically strong worked in the fields, watching golden wheat ears flutter at their fingertips. The graceful ones stretched their arms, dancing like swans under the sun. Some were skilled in painting, using brushes to depict picturesque landscapes. Others loved machinery, crafting hammer handles on lathes…
There were no giveaways, no bloodsucking, no shipping of couples or posing for the camera, and no one claimed to be a beauty streamer. Just ordinary people with a touch of warmth, each with their own strengths and worries.
And the platform broadcasting these live streams had only one name—
‘Home.’
In the capital of the greenhouse, East District.
Moonlight poured through the window, spilling onto the wooden table. A woman looked at the examination report on the table and closed her eyes.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“…The report says we need to take Xiaoling to the recycling center in three days…”
The little girl, who had been dreaming, was awakened by the voices in the living room.
She rubbed her eyes and crawled out from under the covers. Slipping on her fluffy bunny slippers, she cautiously opened the door and tiptoed into the living room.
Three days ago, she had undergone the genetic testing that every resident of the greenhouse experienced. Today, her family received the report. Just as the envelope containing the report was opened, her mother had coaxed her back to bed.
“Let’s discuss this when your father comes back.”
That’s what her mother said.
“…Do you think I want this? Isn’t Xiaoling our child?” Her mother’s scream echoed from the living room. “I’ve watched her grow up; I know what kind of child she is better than any machine! How can we let a test dictate our fate…”
“An’an, keep your voice down.” The man held the nearly collapsing woman, “Don’t let Xiaoling hear you.”
The mother’s sobs still echoed in the living room. Xiaoling stood in the hallway, the silvery moonlight streaming through the glass window, casting a glow on her small figure.
For the first time, she felt the weight of the moonlight and the “sadness.”
“…Actually, there are other ways.” The man’s suppressed voice came from the living room.
“What ways?” The woman asked urgently.
“Go up, to ‘Home.’”
“Are you crazy? That’s treason!”
“…But so what? You don’t want Xiaoling to go to that kind of place, do you…”
…
“…There’s a way we can take, and the authorities haven’t set too many obstacles. Once we get there, we’ll be safe. The journey is quite safe; there won’t be too much danger…”
The parents’ discussion grew increasingly hushed and urgent. Xiaoling couldn’t understand the content of their discussion, but she knew it seemed very important.
Very important, so concerning that her parents were willing to give up everything they currently had for it…
‘Did I do something wrong?’ she thought, feeling a bit lost, ‘Did I do something wrong that made Mom and Dad worry so much?’
‘Is it because I didn’t listen and wasn’t a good child that they’re arguing in the middle of the night?’
As she thought this, the floor-to-ceiling glass window was blown open by the wind.
A gust of summer wind blew in through the window, lifting the sheer curtains. On the other side of the window glass was another family’s home.
The little girl remembered her mother saying that the other family had a pair of red-haired twin daughters, but later, they were both taken away and sent to a sanatorium by their parents.
She knew this because a little over a month ago, one of the girls was sent back here—in the form of an urn. Her parents, who avoided the topic, buried the box outside the gate with great disdain, not even erecting a tombstone for her.
She took a step forward, and faintly, she saw a figure standing by a deep pit in the night, picking something up with his hands.
He was tall, dressed in a loose red suit, and wore a tall top hat that obscured half of his face, making it impossible to see his features.
A gust of wind blew, and the long hair that fell down her back lifted along with the petals that drifted down.
“You…”
Outside the half-open window appeared another young man. He wore a loose black suit, with his collar open and the hem not tucked into his trousers. On his head was a white mask with long rabbit ears.
Under the moonlight, he stood there quietly, locking eyes with the little girl in bunny slippers.
“Shh.” The man extended a long finger, “Keep your voice down; don’t let anyone else know we’re here.”
The little girl nodded.
“You’re a good child.”
A beautifully wrapped candy fell into the little girl’s palm. She looked up at the young man in the tall hat and asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m the rabbit that goes mad in March,” the young man replied.
“And… him?”
“Who?” The young man in the rabbit mask looked at the other person who was pulling a black box from the deep pit, and his gaze softened beneath the mask, “He’s the writing desk.”
“…Why?”
“Because he’s the most unique madman in this world.”
“Goodbye.” The young man in the rabbit mask ruffled the little girl’s hair, “Next time you’re home alone, don’t casually talk to passing strange uncles, except for handsome ones like me.”
After saying this, he snapped his fingers, and a gust of wind blew through. When the little girl opened her eyes again, the courtyard was empty.
Only the candy lying in her palm proved that it was not a dream.
On the way back to the surface, Lin Huai raised an eyebrow at Chu Tianshu.
“What were you doing over there after digging the pit?” Lin Huai leaned back in the invisible spaceship’s seat, staring at the profile of the person piloting the ship.
“I saw a little girl who seemed lost on the path of life,” Chu Tianshu said, “So I went over to educate her…”
“Tsk, I saw you gave her candy.” Lin Huai glanced at Chu Tianshu’s pocket, “I didn’t expect you to be so caring… Or are you a lolicon?”
“Late at night, when a child doesn’t go to sleep but instead chats with suspicious-looking uncles, it’s easy to get lured into strange pyramid schemes,” Chu Tianshu said, “So I gave her a super sour and spicy candy drawn from the system’s roulette, hoping that when she’s crying and rolling on the ground from the sourness, she’ll learn a good lesson not to talk to strange uncles who break into homes at night—even if they’re handsome and wearing a cute rabbit mask… For that, I went so far as to package it beautifully with a fairy tale…”
“You…” After a brief shock, Lin Huai showed a rather disdainful expression, “You’re just going to leave people with childhood trauma! Tsk, as expected of you with your god logic…”
“…Regarding the second question,” Chu Tianshu raised the throttle, “I prefer small animals that are thoughtful and proactive, rather than loli…”
…Lin Huai quickly ignored this remark and told himself not to argue with a cat person. He thought for a moment and then asked curiously, “Why a writing desk?”
“What?”
“Why did you say I’m a writing desk?” Lin Huai looked at his hands in confusion, “Is it because I look like Lu Xun? No, I don’t look like him at all…”
The blue flames burned quietly as Chu Tianshu cranked the power to the maximum. The sleek spaceship followed a beautiful streamline, piercing through the crust and into the sky.
At that moment, he reached out, flicking Lin Huai’s hat off.
The pitch-black top hat fell to the ground, and Lin Huai’s eyes widened; for the first time, he felt a sense of confusion he couldn’t control.
“Because, whether before or after reincarnation, you’ve never had a childhood,” Chu Tianshu said.
Lin Huai: …
The spaceship quietly docked inside Home. The two of them disembarked one after the other.
Walking ahead was Lin Huai, still rubbing his fists. Following behind was Chu Tianshu, who was rubbing his head.
“Brother Lin, Boss Chu,” Lu Xiaotian waved at the two as they arrived, “Today, several dozen volunteers came from underground. According to the previous practice, they’ve already been registered.”
Zhao Jingtian also approached with a long knife on his back, his face cold: “The last sanatorium has been liberated; they’ve been brought into Home and will start organizing production and learning tomorrow.”
Aileen also ran over: “Today’s trending topics are all about our cheap entertainment, although many have been taken down… but…”
Chu Tianshu punched Lin Huai, and went to handle the matters. Lin Huai then walked towards the area he cared about most. He sat on a pile of grain, while Aileen sat beside him.
“How did today’s general election go?” Lin Huai asked, staying true to his original intention.
“As you can see, the final 11 members have been decided,” Aileen said, “Here’s the final vote count.”
Lin Huai hummed in acknowledgment, took the booklet, and began flipping through it. He casually flipped from the first page to the last.
Then he stopped.
“Why are there 102 people?” he asked.
“Because,” Aileen said quietly, “Number 81… is you.”
Lin Huai quietly flipped to the second-to-last page, where he saw that Number 81 had received—
101 votes.
Not one more, not one less.
“…Although I can’t join the public vote, we opened internal voting. Each contestant has one vote; they can vote for themselves or for others,” Aileen said, “The final votes went to—”
All to you.
“…Tsk.” He heard Lin Huai’s low laughter, “This feeling of getting votes through backdoor channels is really not dignified.”
After saying this, he tossed the voting book aside: “It doesn’t matter; it won’t lead to anything anyway. By the way, here you go.”
A small black box, along with a plush toy, was stuffed into Aileen’s arms.
“This is your sister. Rather than let her sleep in the cold courtyard, it’s better to have her by your side,” Lin Huai said, “As for this, it’s a toy that you and she used to have, one for each of you.”
After saying this, he stood up, brushed off the dust from his pants, and ruffled Aileen’s hair: “You’re not allowed to cry before I leave; that’s the manager’s business order. You have to face investors with that kind of smile at the wine table. Speaking of which, writing desk… huh? Writing desk?”
The wine-red hair was tousled, but Aileen suddenly remembered the first day of the Eden exhibition.
That day, she curled up in a cage, and the person who could decide her life or death looked at her coldly and said, “Get rid of her.”
…Perhaps dying like this wouldn’t be so bad. She thought. Like sinking into the deep sea, sinking into the deep earth…
Just like her sister.
Then, just as she was sinking into despair, she heard a thunderous “bang!” in the gradually drowning deep sea.
“Shut your mouth!” she heard that person laughing, “Who wants to be your obedient child? What I want to be is…”
“The number one idol in the greenhouse!”
“Why?” She sat on the pile of grain, ultimately only hearing her own voice, “Why do you want to take us to… Home?”
The person about to leave stopped.
“Because I go mad all year round,” he said.
