Bai Zhen hammered a nail into his living room wall with several “bang bang bang” sounds, then hung up a countdown sign—1,849 Days Until the End of the World.
According to BG4MSR, she was three years old when the world was destroyed, and she was 19 in 2040, so the disaster should arrive in 2024. Today was December 7, 2019, exactly five years and half a month until the end of the world. Bai Zhen counted on his fingers: three hundred and sixty-five times five, plus twenty-four days, arriving at one thousand eight hundred and forty-nine—these were humanity’s final peaceful days on Earth.
Never mind whether this number was accurate or not, at least it set the mood.
Wang Ning stood by the sofa with his arms crossed, examining it for a while before offering his seasoned section-chief perspective: “It would look better moved up a centimeter or two.”
Leaders were all like this—in situations where opinions weren’t needed, they always had to offer some harmless guidance to demonstrate their superior foresight above others.
Wang Ning was just a section chief, so he could only offer opinions about centimeters.
If he were a department-level official, he’d suggest moving it up at least a meter.
Zhao Bowen was still on the phone. Old Zhao was truly busy—four phones laid on the tea table in front of him, ringing in rotation about every hour, one after another, too many to answer, like playing whack-a-mole.
“Swollen or not?” Old Zhao said loudly. “Swollen or not?”
On the other end was an elderly expert from Henan with poor hearing.
A few seconds later, Zhao Bowen’s face lit up with joy.
“Ah—good! Swollen! Swollen!”
Hanging up that phone, Zhao Bowen immediately picked up another that had been ringing for ages. Checking the caller ID—it was from Harbin Institute of Technology.
“Hello?”
“What? What’s not working?”
“Oh my goodness just poke it, yes, give it a poke! Can you find which corner? The whole city of Ha’erbin can’t find anyone as fierce as you…”
Old Zhao was fluent in multiple dialects, switching seamlessly between Henan and Northeast accents.
A massive operational framework was being built through cellular networks and the internet. This huge network centered on the living room of Unit 2, Building 11, Zhongjin Court, Meihua Villa on Musuyuan Street, Qinhuai District, Nanjing, with the country’s top universities, research institutes, and administrative departments as anchors, secretly radiating to every corner of the nation. Zhao Bowen was busy, but he wasn’t the busiest—Changchun Institute of Optics was busier, and so were the Eighth and Fifth Aerospace Academies. This was an unprecedented strategic support operation, with enormous human and material resources being mobilized just to aid that child standing alone twenty years in the future.
She was still waiting, waiting for this already-destroyed world to bring her a turning point.
Bai Yang had told her to have faith, young miss! The Party and country won’t abandon anyone.
Even if we’re all dead twenty years from now, we’ll still save you.
Bai Yang had talked big, but now he was trembling.
He was being followed.
Or rather, stalked.
Good grief, who would have thought his delicate appearance would attract ill-intentioned people? Were they after his money or his virtue? Was he about to meet with misfortune? Would tomorrow morning’s Nanjing news report find a young male corpse in the moat, wearing a Nanjing Aviation High School uniform? Bai Yang couldn’t figure it out, but he had no time to think it through—that tall shadow was still trailing far behind. When he turned left, the shadow turned left; when he turned right, the shadow turned right. He couldn’t shake them off no matter what.
Bai Yang knew who it was—the tall sister they’d met on Zijin Bridge and at the restaurant today. Three encounters in two days, and that height stood out like a crane among chickens—impossible not to recognize. But why was she following him?
Bai Yang walked through Meihua Villa’s main gate, and that sister followed. Bai Yang stepped into Building 11’s entrance, and that sister came too.
At this rate, she’d follow him right into his home.
Finally, Bai Yang was pushed to his limit. Steeling his heart and gritting his teeth—even if the pretty big sister was after his virtue, he’d accept it! After all, they were at his building now. He didn’t believe she’d dare do anything too outrageous.
He stopped, turned around, and asked loudly: “Sister, why do you keep following me?”
The young woman was startled, stepped closer, and pointed at herself. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, why do you keep following me?”
“Following you? Who’s following you?” The girl shook her head, her gaze showing the disdain reserved for looking at lunatics. She looked Bai Yang up and down, her expression clearly saying: Who are you?
She pointed up above her head.
“I live here.”
“You… live here?” This answer surprised Bai Yang. He’d lived in this building for over ten years and had never seen anyone like her.
How had he never known he had such a neighbor?
“Just moved in, I live in 703,” the young woman said. “You live here too?”
“Eighth floor.”
Bai Yang maintained his suspicious attitude. Do you live in 703? When did you move in? Why have I never seen you? This couldn’t be an excuse made up on the spot after being caught, could it?
The girl stopped paying attention to him and turned to go upstairs first. Bai Yang followed. They climbed step by step to the seventh floor, where Bai Yang watched her take out keys from her pocket and open apartment 703’s door.
With a “creek,” the door opened. The tall sister pulled the handle, stepped halfway in, and then turned back to give Bai Yang a face, clearly saying: See? See? I do live here. Who are you anyway? Following me? Why don’t you look in a mirror?
The door slammed shut with a “bang!” Bai Yang stood there alone, his face slowly turning bright red.
He slowly raised his hands to cover his face.
Oh god—this was too mortifying.
He couldn’t stay on Earth anymore.
“Oh right, one more thing.” Zhao Bowen finished his calls, pulled out a tablet from his bag, opened it, and handed it to Bai Zhen. “Sent by the higher-ups.”
Bai Zhen put down his pen and took the tablet. Wang Ning also leaned in to look.
The tablet showed detailed personal information about someone. The ID photo showed a young woman with short black hair, about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, her eyes gazing directly at the camera with intensity.
“Name: Lian Qiao.”
“Ethnicity: Han.”
“Height: 175cm, Weight: 58kg.”
“Date of Birth: July 24, 1995…”
The two read the contents of the form quietly while scrolling down.
“Chinese People’s Armed Police Force…”
“First Machine Group.”
“Police Captain rank?”
“What is this?” Bai Zhen looked up and asked, completely confused.
“A counselor.” Old Zhao heaved another huge stack of documents from under the tea table, panting heavily. “An advisor assigned by the higher-ups to look after Yang Yang. Before joining the military, she was a top psychology graduate from Beijing Normal University… oh, and she’s quite skilled in combat too—champion of the detachment’s martial arts competition.”