RHWHEG – Chapter 88 City of Natural Disasters

“Thank you for supporting this game system. This top-up has been counted toward the ‘Hundred-Billion Whaling’ event. You currently have 28 I-class Disaster Stone fragments and 1 F-class Disaster Stone fragment…”

“This top-up has been completed. You currently have 28 I-class Disaster Stone fragments and 5 G-class fragments…”

“This top-up has been completed. You currently have 30 I-class Disaster Stone fragments, which can be exchanged for an I-class Disaster Stone (incubatable). The reward exchange channel is temporarily unavailable. Due to force majeure factors, the casual mini-game system has entered a shutdown-and-upgrade state. The payment channel has been closed, and the reopening time is unknown. Thank you for accompanying us all the way!”

In a dazed haze, Yu Qunqing heard the system notifications, but he no longer had the strength to react. No matter how fast he had fled, facing the explosion of the Eight-Legged Frostfall head-on still left him gravely injured.

He shivered. The bone-deep chill seemed never to have gone away. Unable to help himself, he leaned closer to the warm body beside him, hoping to draw a bit more heat. He knew the person next to him must be someone safe—because in a raging hurricane, there was only one person who could have rescued him.

She Lulang had exhausted the very last of his abilities and could only hold Yu Qunqing as he walked across the ice. The sky over Jiangbei City was as clear and radiant as a gemstone; beneath their feet lay the frozen city. Some steel beams were frozen in place, caught at the exact moment they were about to be flung into the air. Meltwater from parts of the ice flowed along the terrain into Crocodile River, churning pale foam in the riverbed—toxic, yet beautiful.

On the way toward the city center, the uneven ground had formed wave after wave of solidified ice. She Lulang climbed onto a crest, jumped down, then walked onto the next. The glare reflected from the ice was dazzling; broken ice prisms were strung with rainbow bridges. The road was long and tranquil, as if there were no other living beings left between heaven and earth.

At last, he returned to the residential complex. The first through fourth floors were sealed in ice. He tried it—the elevator still worked. He pressed the floor button and, step by step, returned to the familiar home.

When he collapsed onto the bed from sheer exhaustion, the weary mind and the safety of the surroundings immediately dragged him into sleep. At that moment, from the top floor of the complex came the first cheer:

“We’re alive!”

…

Ten days later.

A vast section of the ice layer over the Fourth Ring had caved in, revealing the bustling food city and many other buildings. On the food street outside, numerous shops sold all kinds of unheard-of baked foods, with ingredients sourced from the penguin farm. People unleashed their imaginations, striving to create post-apocalyptic cuisine. Every food stall had a coal stove; the aroma of food and the warmth made passersby feel heated through.

The most boisterous cries came from the hotpot restaurants in the food city—not only were there yin-yang pots, there were also precious slices of lamb! Anyone with spare money clenched their teeth and came to taste it, then ate until tears streamed down their faces.

The lamb came from the “friends” brought back by the Klein Bottle. Back then, they had used their dying body heat to save Sun Min and Dong Changxin. When the Fourth Ring Chamber of Commerce found them, they discovered that because the bodies had been flash-frozen, the meat was still very fresh, so they hurriedly made it into lamb slices.

“Isn’t it a bit cruel to bring the cat here?” Sun Min said. “I heard these sheep were friends of the black cat.”

“Really? Then why do I feel like it’s eating very happily?” Lin Luyi looked in another direction. The Klein Bottle had almost shoved its entire head into the hotpot, its tongue licking the broth furiously, completely unafraid of the heat. Sun Min was at a loss for words and reached out, skillfully stroking it a few times. It immediately revealed its animal nature, lifting its head comfortably. Cats were probably creatures like this—even if ugly, they were ugly-cute.

Sun Min: “It does look… very happy.”

“Meow! (I’ll bring back more friends to eat in the future!)” the Klein Bottle proclaimed to the sky.

Near the food city was an auto repair shop. After repeated experiments, people discovered that if skateboards and handlebars were thrown in for repairs, what came out were bizarre hybrid contraptions—but these hybrids worked extremely well on ice. As a result, more people started saving up just to get a single repair opportunity. The clothing boutique had also hired more than a dozen new employees. Many people’s clothes were in tatters, so being able to wear new ones was naturally a delight; the place was lively as well.

The largest area—the zoo—had not fully thawed. Meltwater from the ice flowed along the zoo’s passages into an underground river deep beneath the ice. Inside several animal halls were not animals, but surviving low-level natural disasters. After the Eight-Legged Frostfall’s ice explosion, only a handful of disasters were still alive in Jiangbei City, becoming rare specimens overnight. People locked them in the animal halls and observed them from behind glass walls. Several researchers stood guard day and night, recording their various habits.

The largest pavilion inside was the aquarium. It held only one disaster—a spider the size of a palm.

Sometimes it crawled along the ground; sometimes its body inflated into an apple-like shape, wobbling upward on eight dangling legs. After floating for a short while, it would deflate and drop back down. Becoming smaller and fatter really were universal “cute” traits in living beings—viewed like this, it was a completely non-threatening disaster. It was the reward from Yu Qunqing’s “Hundred-Billion Whaling” event: a mini version of the Eight-Legged Frostfall, nicknamed Mini Frostfall.

As soon as Yu Qunqing obtained an I-class Disaster Stone, it hatched immediately. He had no idea what use it was; it was even a bit too small to serve as a hand warmer, so he tossed it into the zoo as a mascot.

The researchers, however, didn’t think it was just a simple mascot. After analyzing the chemical composition of the gas exhaled by Mini Frostfall, they discovered it could decompose toxic gases into methane and other alkane compounds. As a result, both fuel shortages and poison gas problems were alleviated.

Standing beside the shelter personnel were many members of the residential complex’s student union. An undercurrent of tension flowed between them.

“A bunch of students who haven’t even graduated yet—go back and write your theses before looking for jobs,” a researcher sneered, unable to shed his arrogance despite repeated hardships. “Sure, your complex has food and drink… but the scientific status of our shelter is unquestionable!”

The student union members clenched their teeth and shot back, “Our complex doesn’t just have food and drink—we have radio programs and entertainment facilities too. If you’re so capable, then stop leeching off our broadcasts!”

It wasn’t just this little corner. Elsewhere, whenever residents of the complex and the shelter ran into each other, similar verbal clashes erupted. The complex believed the entire shelter was harboring ill intent; the shelter couldn’t swallow its pride to admit the complex was developing well. Neither side liked the other. They could share hardships—but no one ever said they had to share prosperity!

“Breaking news! Big news!”

“Shelter administrators and residential complex proxies held talks today and issued the following resolutions!”

Everyone began chattering as they turned on their radios.

“Oh? The shelter even has administrators? Coming to declare war on the complex?”

“Shh—here comes the broadcast!”

The radio crackled with static, then switched to the main announcement: “The future of humanity requires the efforts of everyone. We hereby announce that building materials from the residential complex can be exchanged with the shelter’s credit points. The complex’s rental housing policy is now open to all humans, and the shelter AI will serve all humanity. Those in need may register with the relevant departments.”

“Great!!! We’re moving to the complex!!” Some ordinary shelter residents immediately burst into cheers. They claimed not to be envious, but in truth, envy was practically spilling out of their mouths. “A life without power or water limits, here I come!”

“We should move to the shelter,” some complex residents whispered to their partners. “The complex environment is great, but squeezing more than ten people into one large apartment—two people in a small room is better.”

They analyzed matter-of-factly: “And the shelter has more job opportunities. Prices in the complex are so high, and there are so few jobs—it doesn’t suit our standard of living.”

“The second resolution…” the broadcast continued. “Public technology sharing. The shelter AI project ‘Precision Calculation’ is ready. Residents may purchase this service with credit points or building materials. The reserved computing power within the project will calculate plans for you. It is recommended for use in scientific activities.”

“Sigh, it’s just that the old research center’s free service is now publicly available for a fee,” the researchers didn’t think much of it, burying their heads in observing Mini Frostfall. “It’d be great if we had a few more disasters to study.”

“With AI, we can make up for many of our shortcomings!” the student union was thinking further ahead. “Why can’t we research something else? We want to plant the farm’s new crops in normal soil. These are all new scientific directions—everyone’s standing on the same starting line, we’re not at a disadvantage.”

Jiangbei City’s shelter and the city-center residential complex began a long process of population migration.

The Fourth Ring commercial center lay in a basin carved by glaciers, surrounded by ice walls as tall as skyscrapers. Set into the ice wall was a round tunnel leading to the complex. Above it hung rope ladders—anyone wanting to return to the shelter could climb up to the ice surface, then slide back across the vast ice fields.

This ice layer covered the entire city and would likely take more than a year to melt naturally.

Upstream on Crocodile River, several crocodiles lay basking on the ice. Nearby were several heaters and a lounge chair, on which Yu Qunqing was sitting. He was idly playing a regular video game.

He sensed that many people knew of his deeds, or at least one of his identities, and treated him with great respect. Some even pledged loyalty to him with subtle yet fervent gazes. Yu Qunqing really wasn’t used to this kind of life.

“But after being busy for so long… it’s fine to rest a bit, right?” Yu Qunqing found an unoccupied spot and lay there sunbathing. Out of habit, he poked at the system. As always, it remained silent.

“You suddenly grew up and turned into this—it’s a bit hard to get used to,” Yu Qunqing said, picking up the console and switching to the customer service interface.

A few days ago, after completing its upgrade, the system—along with Yu Qunqing’s hundred-billion whaling and the “Blue Rules” ability—had separated from his soul. The system had declared independence. If Yu Qunqing wanted to contact it now, he could only do so through any electronic device within Jiangbei City.

“Calling the system for the player—system loading complete (occupied memory: 1,122 square kilometers).”

In an instant, every electronic device in Jiangbei City that was still intact stuttered abruptly. All of them bore the will of the system, expressing their stance in garbled code:

“Welcome back! Player Yu Qunqing!”

The system had already downloaded itself across the entire map of Jiangbei City.

Afterward, the only voice left speaking was the game console in Yu Qunqing’s hands. “I’m a bit not used to being this big myself… Daddy! I’m so huge!”

Yu Qunqing had already learned to ignore the system’s forms of address. He asked, “Will you keep growing? You’re not going to eat the Earth, are you?”

System: “I’ve already grown to my limit. Next comes proper differentiation! I’m going to turn everything here into my original games! Uh… Player, I’ll show you my first original game in a bit. It’s a dress-up game!”

“I plan to… pinch out an avatar for myself.”

Yu Qunqing immediately imagined a bouncy blue blob hopping around.

Although the system could be noisy at times, it was actually pretty cute…

Yu Qunqing’s thin reserve of paternal affection began to surge, and he said he’d wait for the game’s public beta.

At this moment, a message came in from the shelter’s AI, sent to Yu Qunqing’s game console. Since the system now covered the entire city, swallowing an AI was only natural. Still, routine operations were handled by Tang Qianjiang—Yu Qunqing wasn’t about to go to work just to play games.

Tang Qianjiang had grown at an astonishing pace during this period and quickly got the hang of things. It was said he’d even become friends with Yu Yanlan. Yu Qunqing didn’t know how the two had struck up a conversation; he didn’t really concern himself with other people’s social lives and directly opened the AI’s mailbox.

“Project—Wireless FM Technology: calculations complete.
Project—Advanced Transmission Tower: installation complete.”

Many people stood around the AI, all waiting for the next command. The community’s communications division had also arrived. Strangely enough, people who worked in communications didn’t really distinguish between the community and the shelter factions—both sides had integrated quite well. Dong Changxin was also among them; her own small circle was in this department, and since she had nothing else to do, she came along too.

The AI said, “Signal transmitted. Beginning to wait for replies.

Objective of this operation: search for nearby shelter AIs that still have active signals.

Please wait…”

The small space instantly fell silent. Everyone waited and watched.

Aside from them—were there any other shelters still alive?

“Inquiry sent to Weilu City Shelter—no response.”

“Inquiry sent to Shangyuan City Shelter—no response.”

“Penghui City… no response.”

“Sanling City… no response.”

With each announcement from the AI, everyone’s hearts sank a little further.

The surrounding cities had each housed at least a million people. Now they had vanished like stones dropped into the sea, with no echo at all.

“Signal range limit reached. Result of this round: 0 replies.”

The AI returned to standby mode.

Yu Qunqing stood on the ice, casually reaching out to pat a small crocodile that looked a bit dumb. He gazed toward the upstream of Crocodile River, but felt little emotional fluctuation. Those accustomed to death do not shed tears for it.

He received a second message from the AI, relaying a request from the communications department.

“The technical requirements for replies are too demanding—not every shelter can upgrade to this level. We want to send out a broadcast that doesn’t require a reply.

We want to announce the coordinates of Jiangbei City! To rescue nearby surviving humans!”

The communications department argued fiercely over this decision.

“I oppose it. Outside there aren’t only normal shelters—there are also unregulated foundations or other forces, even shelters with ill intentions. If we reveal our location, we’ll be in danger.”

“I support this resolution. I believe… external forces have a relatively high probability of being safe, so we can make our location public. Because if this is an evolutionary catastrophe, then according to historical patterns, evolution must move in the correct direction. Based on the shelter’s administrator-selection model, those who survive must have good moral standards. The reason we often say good people don’t get rewarded is simply because only a few people survive at all.”

People in the shelter argued endlessly over this novel concept.

“Enough arguing,” someone from the community suddenly said. “If other forces come, we’ll just say the orthodox authority is in Jiangbei City.”

Question marks popped up over the shelter people’s heads.

The community representative continued, “Our community already has many factions. Our food and living conditions are better than theirs, our rules make more sense. Saying we’re the headquarters is obviously more reasonable.” They quickly came up with the next step. “When people from other shelters arrive, you take them in; when people from other forces arrive, they can come to us, get used to life here, then move later… Isn’t that great?”

A perfect move—turning the tables and swallowing the opposition.

Yu Qunqing let the humans develop freely and pressed the approval button.

“This is the Jiangbei City Shelter, the headquarters of the Ecological Ethics Protection Foundation, the headquarters of Polar Bear Corporation, the headquarters of the Student Federation…

Local latitude and longitude: …
Radio reception frequency: …

We adhere to the principle of mutual aid for all humanity. We welcome all survivors! May humanity forever maintain unity, rationality, and hope!”

An electronic message that did not expect a reply was sent out in all directions. Somewhere far away, a tiny spark of hope was kindled because of it.

Yu Qunqing basked in the sun for a while when he suddenly felt a shadow fall over him. It turned out a giant crocodile was blocking his sunlight. He had no choice but to shift positions. At that moment, he received a report from the community’s small clinic.

“Even though I don’t have to go to work to play games anymore, it still feels like sitting at a desk approving documents…” Yu Qunqing muttered to himself. Before he had cultivated proper tools to handle paperwork for him, he couldn’t just ignore it.

“Major breakthrough in disaster research…”

This was Li Yuebei’s research paper. Poor guy—he’d been working overtime nonstop after the battle and still staying up late to write.

“The viewpoint proposed in this paper is that at the moment of disaster descent, human mutation is unavoidable. By the time of the next generation’s genetic exchange, there is a high probability that future human genes will differ from pre-apocalypse genomes. Therefore, human rights should not be narrowly defined…”

“Although this paper refutes Dr. Chen’s theory, truth becomes clearer through debate,” several of Li Yuebei’s colleagues commented. “It’s a pity Dr. Chen didn’t witness this miraculous disaster city. A building-type disaster that can grow—unbelievable! If the professor were here, there would surely be even more research.”

Li Yuebei twirled his pen and replied vaguely, “Perhaps.”

Someone as cautious as him would naturally sneak into the conference room and use his ability to look over what had happened before. As a doctor, he knew that knowing too many secrets wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“Sigh… back to overtime.” Li Yuebei stopped thinking about it and threw himself into work again.

The small clinic hoped to publish this paper via communication equipment, so Yu Qunqing forwarded the request to the AI.

“No one should be coming to bother us anymore.”

Seeing that the system’s character-creation mini-game hadn’t finished downloading yet, Yu Qunqing continued playing match-three to pass the time.

Suddenly, a voice came from above his head: “You’re still recovering.”

“Even when recovering, I need to sunbathe. Besides, the rumors about me in the community are getting really weird.” Yu Qunqing grabbed the deputy captain’s hand and complained at the same time. “That big crocodile just now even blocked my sunlight.”

She Lulang glanced at the unmoving giant crocodile, as well as the group of little crocodiles splashing about in the icy water, and suppressed the urge to sigh.

“Ding-dong! Game ‘Code Name: System Original Character Creator’ downloaded successfully!”

“Player! I’ve changed outfits—I’m coming to find you~”

Yu Qunqing thought the time had come. He straightened his appearance and said as solemnly as possible, “There’s something I’ve never told you.”

She Lulang raised an eyebrow slightly. Perhaps because the location wasn’t right, he didn’t feel any romantic atmosphere—Yu Qunqing’s seriousness instead made him wary.

“Actually! I have a child!” Yu Qunqing shouted.

She Lulang let out a soft hum, the tail of the sound lifting upward. Alarm bells went off in Yu Qunqing’s mind, and he hurriedly explained, “It’s the system I told you about. Turns out disasters reproduce differently from humans. They grow by absorbing abilities. Whoever feeds it abilities is its dad.”

She Lulang nodded slowly. It seemed Yu Qunqing had safely passed this checkpoint.

“It’s grown up and left home now,” Yu Qunqing said. “I just want to have a world for the two of us. You’re the most important.”

This time, the atmosphere finally turned a bit ambiguous. Images of the two of them truly living together began to form in She Lulang’s mind, and his hand tightened slightly as he held Yu Qunqing’s.

“Let those troublesome teammates stay in Jiangbei City—Jiangbei still needs people to build it. Then we’ll travel together, see the future of this world together…” Yu Qunqing imagined it beautifully as well.

“Ding-dong! I’m coming!” the game console chimed.

Only then did Yu Qunqing remember this. He cut the long story short. “The system’s been making original games lately—it’s finally going to have a physical body. I always felt it was a hassle chatting with it through the console. Its physical form should still be—”

“Boom!”

Both of them felt the ice beneath their feet tremble slightly.

“Boom, boom!”

They turned around at the same time—She Lulang couldn’t even hide his shock.

At the far end of the ice appeared a towering figure.

Yu Qunqing finished his sentence: “—still… pretty cute.”

She Lulang silently closed his eyes. “You always bring me surprises.”

The system was born from machinery, so its sense of aesthetics was naturally mechanical as well. Then what was the pinnacle of mechanical aesthetics?

Of course—Gundam!

That’s right! The system’s first original game was a Gundam dress-up game!

Though it only looked the part on the outside and was scrap metal inside, it was still a Gundam!

The system’s twenty-meter-tall physical body (Gundam form) gradually approached the two, its shadow completely blocking out the sunlight. Yu Qunqing’s eyes widened, as if he could hear the sound of his dreams shattering. The system (Gundam form) raised its arms and proclaimed to the world:

“Hello! I am—the most handsome casual mini-game system!”

THE END