VHBF -Chapter 135 The Bigshot Researcher Daddy (Extra 3)

The Destruction Base opened its city gates wide today, allowing the crusaders to enter.

The plaza inside the city was deafening with noise, a dense sea of heads stretching as far as the eye could see. People of every skin color were there—blond and brown-haired, fair-skinned ability users from Europe and America; black-haired, yellow-skinned people from Asia and the local country; and plenty of dark-skinned African brothers as well.

Everyone had come here today for one single purpose: to crusade against the damned demon, Mo Linqing.

This demon’s crimes were heinous. He had destroyed the world, destroyed humanity, and he deserved punishment!

The ideal outcome was to kill him and dry his corpse, hanging it on the main gate of the Destruction Base as a warning to others!

The survivors discussed in low voices. Though they came from different states and countries and didn’t even share a common language, they had gathered together for the same enemy and the same wish.

At present, the most famous bases in the world were the three major bases of the Euro-American Alliance—Blue, Liulan, and Marco; Asia’s Hope, Huaxia, and Jinya; and the African Alliance’s Extreme Base.

Across the world there were countless large and small bases. Now, the leadership of these representative major bases, along with smaller bases and survivor teams, had all arrived.

The icy, snowbound North City was surrounded layer upon layer. When it came to Mo Linqing, people had always been cautious—even fearful—and could only bolster their courage with overwhelming numbers.

The so-called “Provocation Assembly” of the Destruction Base—known in the eyes of survivors from other bases as the “Crusade Assembly”—officially began at around nine o’clock.

Before dawn had even broken, people were already waiting at the city gates. At eight-thirty, the gates opened and the crowd surged in.

By the time it was close to nine, the plaza was packed shoulder to shoulder. Survivors sat or stood in small groups, quietly discussing what was about to happen.

They all reached the same conclusion: today, no matter the cost, they had to take down Mo Linqing, this great demon.

Soon, the great clock in the plaza struck the hour—dong, dong, dong—three heavy chimes.

Everyone snapped back to attention, their expressions solemn.

Minute by minute passed. As they waited, the survivors went from being on high alert to growing visibly impatient and irritable.

Someone finally couldn’t stand it anymore and shouted, “Why isn’t Mo Linqing out yet? Didn’t they say nine o’clock?”

“What, he scared to come out or what?”

Several lackeys of the Destruction Base had long been waiting on site. They even doggedly laid out a red carpet all the way up the steps of the central high platform. No one knew where they’d managed to get so many clean red carpets in the apocalypse, making it look as grand as a state reception.

A lackey roared, “What’s the rush? So what if our commander’s a little late? Got a problem with that?”

“Quiet down, or you won’t be leaving here today!”

Mo Linqing was arrogant and supremely self-centered, and his lackeys, emboldened by his power, shared the same domineering insolence. Every word they spat out begged for a beating.

Those few sentences were like sparks thrown onto dry tinder, instantly igniting the survivors’ rage. The atmosphere grew taut, on the verge of exploding into a fight even before the main character appeared.

Just then, a soft, childish voice rang out.

A chubby little dumpling, wrapped in a bizarre, mismatched “padded jacket” that looked like it had been hastily altered from oversized clothes, waddled out from behind the platform. Bundled up so tightly she looked like a plump tangyuan, she could barely walk, toddling along on her short little legs, somehow having climbed up without anyone noticing.

In her milky little voice, she complained, “Daddy, why aren’t you carrying me?”

Climbing had been hard work for Yinyin. Though she was wrapped up snugly, it was precisely because she was wearing so much that her stubby little body was severely restricted. Her small face was flushed red.

Yinyin seemed completely unaware of how solemn and volatile this scene was—one wrong word and a fight would break out. She just kept babbling her complaints.

And because loudspeakers were set up at all four corners of the platform, Yinyin’s voice sounded especially loud, clearly reaching everyone present.

“……”

The atmosphere suddenly fell into an eerie silence. All eyes shifted toward the back of the platform.

The carefully laid red carpet went unused. Just as everyone was wondering where this child had come from, a tall, handsome man in a black trench coat stepped out from behind Yinyin.

His steps were slow. Seizing the chance, Yinyin hugged his leg, refused to move, and started acting spoiled.

She tried to climb up for a hug.

The crowd gasped. “Mo Linqing!”

From the moment they saw Mo Linqing, the emotions in everyone’s hearts were shock and fear. But seeing the pink little dumpling hanging off his leg created an inexplicable sense of dissonance with the demon king image he always projected—a bizarre, contrasting cuteness.

For a moment, everyone was stunned, at a loss for words.

Mo Linqing let Yinyin cling to him. He was always casual and didn’t go to the “throne” his lackeys had prepared in the middle of the platform.

Instead, he stood right there. When Yinyin had climbed up enough, he scooped her up in one motion, holding her in his hand.

Only then did he leisurely step forward.

The lackeys worshipped Mo Linqing with fanatic devotion. They believed he was the king of the world—after all, he possessed the power to destroy it. That was just too cool!

With their blind loyalty, the excessively chuunibyou throne on the platform actually looked quite convincing.

Its entire body was gilded in red-gold, carved with dragon patterns, with a wide seat and tall backrest. Mo Linqing lounged diagonally on it. Yinyin looked left and right, then plopped down beside Daddy.

If not for that chubby, pink, jade-carved little dumpling sitting beside the demon king, eyes wide and innocent—

This scene would have been deeply shocking to the survivors: the high-and-mighty demon seated on his throne, looking down on the world, utterly unafraid of their numerical advantage. After all, the entire Destruction Base had only three to five hundred people—how could they compare to the tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, continually arriving?

Just among those standing below, there were at least seventy or eighty thousand survivors, a black mass of humanity—enough that even one spit per person could drown him.

And yet he sat above them all, calm and indifferent.

Now, however, with a short-armed, short-legged little chubby dumpling sitting beside the demon king, the scene became inexplicably amusing.

Some female survivors couldn’t help staring at that adorable, delicate little dumpling. They completely lost the resolve they’d had moments ago to face death without fear, nearly forgetting why they had come here today at all.

Yinyin let out a small “Eh?”

“Daddy, why is Yinyin’s voice so loud?”

The female survivors all wore indulgent, auntie-like smiles.

The male survivors twitched at the corners of their mouths. Was this the child everyone had been whispering about yesterday—the one Mo Linqing had brought back from who-knows-where?

Someone couldn’t help muttering, “She didn’t get eaten?”

Not only had she not been eaten, that demon Mo Linqing even looked rather indulgent toward this little milk-scented baby.

Yinyin’s courage was sky-high. As long as Daddy was there, she feared nothing—even with so many uncles and aunties watching her.

Mo Linqing hooked his lips, reached out and tugged at Yinyin’s chubby cheeks on both sides to satisfy himself, then finally turned to look at the crowd.

“Today, I originally planned to release a virus—one that spreads through the air. In less than ten days, everyone in the world would die.”

The crowd erupted in uproar, terror flashing in their eyes.

They absolutely believed Mo Linqing had the capability to do this—and the madness to go that far.

Mo Linqing paused, then smiled faintly. “But just yesterday, I changed my mind.”

“I need you to stay alive.”

The survivors were utterly confused. Mo Linqing… wanted them alive? He would be that kind-hearted???

Impossible!

That’s right—how could a devil have good intentions?

Mo Linqing asked, “Isn’t being alive a good thing?”

Everyone hurriedly shook their heads. Of course it was good—they wanted to live! But—would you really be that kind?

Had the sun risen in the north today?

Obviously not.

But Mo Linqing had no intention of answering their doubts. He continued, “Only useful people are worth keeping alive. What do you think?”

In the apocalypse, ordinary people were the lowest tier. They had no power to even restrain a chicken, couldn’t beat a mutated wild hen, and lived lives of extreme hardship.

Three years in, the law of survival—survival of the fittest—had become universally accepted.

What Mo Linqing said resonated with the crowd. Trash rarely survived; only those with ability deserved to live.

At past alliance meetings between major bases, extremists had even proposed slaughtering ordinary people, arguing that they only wasted food. With resources dwindling, such people didn’t deserve to live.

Although that proposal had been rejected, it clearly showed just how hard life was for those without ability.

Mo Linqing said, “Those who think they’re useful, stand on the right. Those who think they’re useless, go stand on the left.”

If this had been at the beginning, the survivors would never have obeyed him. They had come to crusade against him, not to take orders from him.

But now, faced with Mo Linqing’s terrifying “ten-day kneel” virus—and with two people standing behind his throne holding several bottles of suspicious liquid—no one dared to gamble on the consequences.

After some deliberation, and with tacit approval from the leaders of the various bases, everyone moved into position.

In about ten minutes, tens of thousands of people in the square had formed their lines.

At a glance, the right side was filled almost entirely with ability users. Their clothes and overall condition were noticeably better.

On the left stood those with sallow faces and emaciated bodies, dressed in rags, despair and desolation written all over them. They didn’t dare squeeze into the ability-user group to make up the numbers. Even if Mo Linqing didn’t notice, the ability users on the right would drive them away—they didn’t want useless people standing with them.

Mo Linqing frowned slightly, clearly dissatisfied.

The crowd’s hearts tightened. They looked left, then right—hadn’t they sorted correctly?

Mo Linqing looked at the “strong” on the right and casually pointed at a few people. “Which of you can make cakes? Farm? Sew clothes? Make candy? Produce milk or yogurt?”

He frowned, listing several skills in one breath.

The ability users who were singled out froze. What kind of questions were these?

In the apocalypse, what use were these skills? This wasn’t a peaceful world where you could find a job with them.

Under the pressure of Mo Linqing’s gaze, they shook their heads blankly, then weakly added, “B-but we have abilities. We can kill zombies and fight mutated beasts.”

Mo Linqing scoffed in disdain. “Trash.”

Ability users: “……”

Mo Linqing swept his gaze over the group on the right and decided to give them another chance. “Anyone who has those skills, step forward.”

After a moment of hesitation, among the twenty thousand ability users, only a dozen or so stepped out. Their faces were full of confusion—these nearly forgotten skills…

Why were they suddenly being brought up?

Mo Linqing then looked to the left.

After three years of being crushed by the apocalypse, struggling to survive until now, ordinary people had experienced nearly every form of despair: no food, no abilities, no one willing to protect them unconditionally. Wherever they went, they were despised, freely bullied and enslaved by ability users—this had long become their norm.

Not a single one of them was fat. Even those who once were had been reduced to skin and bones over three years.

They stood there, hearts full of confusion, faces numb.

When the Demon King’s gaze fell on them, they instantly tensed, some becoming defensive. Was this demon going to use them today?

Test drugs on them?

A few ordinary people couldn’t withstand the pressure. Their legs gave out and they dropped to their knees, kowtowing desperately and begging for mercy. No matter how hard things were, the instinct to survive was human nature.

Yinyin’s voice rang out, exceptionally clear. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry, be good. Daddy is a good person—he won’t hit you.”

Her soft, childish voice fell on their ears, strangely easing the fear and despair in their hearts.

Several people looked up blankly. Yinyin smiled at them, her beautiful big eyes curving into crescent moons, delicate and pretty.

She shook Daddy’s hand. “Daddy, be good, okay? You’re not allowed to bully people.”

“Doing bad things means you’re not a good daddy—you’re a bad daddy.”

Bad daddy?

Mo Linqing’s dark eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. Those three words felt oddly familiar.

Suppressing that strange sense of familiarity and the inexplicable flicker of pleasure, Mo Linqing frowned impatiently. “You—stand properly.”

“Anyone who can do the skills I just mentioned—step forward. Including any I didn’t list. Whatever you can do, step out.”

He pointed at a lackey beside him. “You—go register them.”

The ordinary people were stunned. No abilities was fine? Just these ordinary pre-apocalypse job skills—abilities that were useless after the apocalypse?

Though utterly confused, they still followed Mo Linqing’s instructions, racking their brains to think about what they could do.

Among these ordinary people were workers from all walks of life before the apocalypse—garment workers, food producers, mechanics… countless professions, covering nearly every industry.

Before the apocalypse, they were ordinary people who lived by their skills. After it, they had become trash, living lives worse than even ability-users’ dogs.

From the ordinary people’s group on the left, more than half stepped forward—nearly two-thirds. The remaining third were those without technical skills.

Mo Linqing nodded in satisfaction. More people than he had expected—enough to work like oxen and horses, raising his kid for him to play with.