"Bro, it broke a million views!"
In the real world, inside an apartment along the riverbank in Jiangcheng.
Wearing a breezy little T-shirt, Ye Jiu had her legs propped up high, lounging crookedly on the plush living room sofa in an upside-down Ge You slouch.
Cradling the latest ultra-long battery life tablet, her face was flush with excitement, and she let out cheerful squeals from time to time.
From her lively, bouncing demeanor, no one would ever guess that just a dozen hours ago, this girl had died once.
About five hours ago, her brother had edited the combat recordings into a five-minute video clip and uploaded it to the forum.
It wasn't just his perspective; it also included footage contributed by other players in their group chat.
The smoke screens descending from the heavens, the rain of fire sweeping the sky—it was as if the clouds across the entire firmament were blazing. Especially the first-person perspective braving the storm of bullets, where thick, brilliant tracer rounds darted about recklessly—just watching it got the blood pumping and the heart pounding.
And especially after the drop: the surprise raid that blew up the forward suspended gun pod, and the close-quarters "street fighting" that erupted inside the airship—it fired her up to no end.
Wasn't this way more hype than Boruto?!
This five-minute video had essentially turned into a recruitment ad for the Burning Corps. The reply section under the video was blowing up, flooded with comments like "Carry me, bosses!" and "Begging on my knees for a closed-beta slot!"
If she hadn't joined the game so recently, if leveling weren't so dreadfully slow, and if the Burning Corps' entry requirements weren't so high, she would have signed up to join the corps herself!
"Bro! If this were on Bilibili, you'd be a massive hit!"
Ye Wei, having just returned with takeout, changed into slippers at the entryway. Hearing Jiu Jiu's shout, he casually replied:
"Posting anywhere else carries censorship risks. Keeping it on the forum is good enough."
Sharing the joys of the game with the goofy netizens on the forum was a daily routine for the closed-beta players. As for fame outside the game, Ye Shi wasn't particularly interested.
Besides, as Brother Fang Chang put it, it was better to keep a low profile; breaking into mainstream awareness inevitably brought all kinds of trouble.
What's more, the video wasn't suitable for broad circulation anyway. Even with filters applied, it was still R-rated footage that would never pass review on other platforms.
On top of that, domestic media coverage of Wasteland OL seemed to be restricted by traffic throttles. Although discussions within groups were largely unaffected, one could hardly find any mentions on Weibo, short-video platforms, or streaming services, and official news reports were entirely nonexistent.
Ye Jiu's face showed a hint of disappointment.
"Aw, what a shame..."
"What's there to be sorry about? Do views boost my attack power?" Ye Wei chuckled, setting the takeout on the table. "It's almost six. I'm heading online. I left the keys and loose change by the shoe cabinet near the door. If you want to go out for a stroll, remember to lock up when you get back. If you buy snacks, get my share too."
"Too hot, not going!"
With that, Ye Jiu's eyes suddenly darted around. Scrambling up from the sofa, she rested both hands on the backrest, flashing a mischievous grin.
"Say, Bro."
Ye Wei looked at her with an air of helpless resignation.
"What now?"
Ye Jiu blinked.
"Say, when you put the helmet on, do you completely fail to sense anything happening outside?"
"Not necessarily. Any noise loud enough to wake you from a dream can pretty much pull you out of the game. Though reconnecting is fast too." Ye Wei glanced at her, catching that sneaky smile, and said warily, "Let me tell you right now: I lock my door every time I play."
"Curse you! Where's the trust between human beings?!" Ye Jiu protested loudly.
"Heh heh!"
What a joke.
Born from the same mother, did she really think he couldn't guess her little schemes?
Ye Wei chuckled, though he naturally wouldn't mention that he had once entertained the thought of drawing a turtle on her forehead too.
Turning back to his room, he shut the door, deliberately making the sound of turning the lock extra loud.
Looking at the firmly closed door, Ye Jiu rolled her eyes, slumped listlessly back onto the sofa, and hugged her tablet to keep browsing the gossip.
Time ticked by minute by minute, and outside the window, the sky grew darker and darker.
Watching the number of closed-beta players shooting the breeze on the forum gradually drop by half, Ye Jiu suddenly felt a surge of restlessness. No matter how she sat, she couldn't get comfortable.
Unable to resist any longer, she reached for her helmet and put it on. Yet what met her eyes was not a verdant new world, but pitch-black darkness devoid of light.
In the dead center of the darkness, a pale blue countdown hovered:
[Remaining Respawn Time: 57 hours, 23 minutes, 11 seconds.]
Ye Jiu's fists clenched tight.
Dammit!
She had been dead for so long already, and there were still fifty-seven hours left! Why was time moving so slowly?!
Was this the withdrawal symptom Boss Yaya talked about?!
Trash game!
Making the respawn timer this long was pure torture!
Restless by nature, Jiu Jiu felt deeply sullen, staring blankly into the pitch blackness.
Suddenly, a strange thought crossed her mind:
Could this be what happened after a person died in real life?
Sitting in a pitch-black little room, waiting for a respawn countdown...
Taking off the helmet, feeling the cool breeze humming from the air conditioner, she stared at the helmet in her hands in deep thought for a long while before finally shaking her head in defeat.
The question was too profound.
And for someone who had just graduated, it seemed a bit too early to ponder...
***
The wasteland world.
The morning sun rose from the horizon where sea met sky. Ideal City, situated on the East Coast, finally welcomed the first light of dawn over this wasteland.
At the same time, footage strikingly similar to the video circulating on the Wasteland OL forum also surfaced across the streets and alleys of Ideal City.
In a café styled in cyberpunk decor.
Several men in crisp formal suits sat before a holographic projector, watching the images projected inside a pale blue cube and gasping in astonishment from time to time.
"Hiss..."
"...Nearly three thousand people died in a single battle. That's just brutal."
"Are those people in black robes the Legion?"
"Are they even human? They're practically beasts..."
"The Heart of Iron... wasn't it refitted from a People's Federation-era corvette?"
"That's right, and a crude refit at that..."
"To think the Heart of Iron actually appeared east of the Great Desert. What on earth are those big-noses from the West Coast up to?"
"What's even more unbelievable is that those wastelanders actually brought that thing down!"
Compared to the video Ye Shi produced, the cut made by Xiao Qi placed greater emphasis on the battlefield's overall picture, tracing the campaign from start to finish.
Because it was crafted as a documentary rather than a game promotional cinematic, while showcasing the valiant combat of the Alliance's various corps, it highlighted the Legion's savagery and the Alliance's heavy casualties in particular.
And just how hard-won the victory had been!
A battlefield of ten thousand men.
There were over a thousand action recorders alone, and Hummingbird drones were on standby the entire time, leaving an embarrassment of riches in footage to edit.
Furthermore, considering that wasteland residents had a high tolerance for gory imagery, the video had only light filters applied and was completely unpixellated.
Because of this, the shock felt by Ideal City's residents, along with the visceral gore and brutality, not only far exceeded what forum lurkers felt, but even surpassed that of many closed-beta players who had lived through the battle...
As the survivor settlement closest to the pre-war era on the wasteland, Ideal City's residents enjoyed a level of informatization closer to pre-war standards than anywhere else.
The clothing, glasses, wristbands, and other smart wearables worn by local residents, and even bionic chips implanted into cerebral cortexes, served as media to receive information, all connecting to a local network known as the "Endpoint Cloud."
It was a miniature intranet primarily serving the residents of Ideal City.
On the interconnected Endpoint Cloud, any news item with viral potential could, boosted by algorithms, spread like wildfire to every corner of the city.
In the span of a single morning rush hour, the battle between the Alliance and the Legion in Ruigu City became the hottest topic across Ideal City.
The video had supposedly been provided by a friendly partner of Enterprise, uploaded privately by a liaison officer.
Yet other rumors circulated through the streets, claiming that a high-ranking executive in Enterprise had deliberately leaked it to pave the way for intervention in the central continent's affairs.
Regardless of which rumor held true, it no longer mattered.
The Endpoint Cloud was now seething with public outrage.
Though the residents of Ideal City despised war, none objected to spending a bit of money to teach those greedy jackals a lesson.
In a place like Enterprise, whether employees supported a move or not might not dictate the major shareholders' decisions, but propaganda and mobilization remained essential.
If an individual was likened to a gear in a colossal machine, then propaganda and mobilization were its lubricant.
While the machine could turn without it, the wear and tear and energy consumption would multiply operating costs manifold.
People needed to know where the bullets they produced would be sent, and whose bodies would wear the clothes and bandages they wove.
In a just war, even workers on the assembly line would drive their screws a little faster.
In the Kangmao Group Building, inside an office of minimalist understated luxury.
Seated behind the desk, Kang Le toyed with a wine goblet obtained from his old friend Luo Yong while listening to his secretary's report.
"...Endpoint Group will vote in favor of our Proposal 771. In exchange, however, they demand that we assume a greater share of the aid obligations."
"Specifically how much?"
"At least thirty percent."
Hearing the secretary's answer, Kang Le smiled faintly.
"Heh, quite an appetite."
The secretary standing before his desk was not human, but a bionic manufactured by Kang Le Group. Its name was Yinhe, model C-100, designated for office assistance and health consulting.
Although all of Ideal City was buzzing with discussion about the western front, Kang Le cared little about how badly the wastelanders and the Legion were battering each other, and cared even less about the fate of the Pioneer's crew.
That was Silverwing Group's problem to fret over. They had made the mess, so they should be the ones sweating over it.
In comparison, what commanded his attention was Proposal 771, which Kangmao Group was pushing: "Permit Bionics to Participate in Public Affairs."
Currently, Ideal City's public utilities and construction-and-development operations fell under the purview of Ideal Group. Municipal digital services, meanwhile, were provided by Endpoint Group, which specialized in smart equipment manufacturing and cloud services.
If bionics were permitted to participate in public affairs, it meant Kangmao Group, which specialized in medical equipment and bionics engineering, could carve out a slice of the pie that had originally belonged to Ideal Group and Endpoint Group.
Naturally, the shareholders of Endpoint Group and Ideal Group would never agree to such a thing, with the latter vehemently opposed.
Their shareholders had even shouted during the council meeting such specious nonsense as: "If we allow bionics into public affairs today, will we have to give bionics civil rights tomorrow?"
The advancement of Proposal 771 had met with persistent friction. Aside from Kangmao Group's backing, most of the other four had expressed reservations or outright opposition.
Recently, however, matters had taken a turn.
Silverwing Group's expedition had hit a wall, dragging Enterprise into direct conflict with the Legion. As a result, Silverwing had been forced to concede on non-core interests in exchange for Kangmao Group's support on the reinforcement proposal.
Coupled with a favor owed by the arms dealers of Changge Group, Kangmao Group had secured at least three votes. Proposal 771, once practically impossible to pass, was now a foregone conclusion.
Seeing that opposition was pointless, Endpoint Group was likely stepping forward now regarding Proposal 771 to both offer a favor and negotiate down their share of the expenses.
Standing before the desk, Yinhe spoke in a gentle, simulated human voice.
"...In fact, there is no need for us to entertain them. We already hold a majority of the votes; the passage of Proposal 771 is no longer in doubt."
Kang Le smiled faintly.
"That may be true, but compared to a narrow 3–2 win, wouldn't an overwhelming 4–1 victory be far more gratifying?"
Its pupils flickering slightly, Yinhe ran calculations for a few seconds before speaking.
"If we secure four votes, I project that Ideal Group will likely abstain. The final result would not be 4–1, but 4–0."
Hearing this, Kang Le burst into hearty laughter.
Leaning back in his chair, he said in high spirits:
"Fascinating. Now that you put it that way, I'm looking forward even more to the humiliated looks on those old fogies' faces."
Yinhe looked at its boss with slight confusion.
"However, is there any practical significance in doing so?"
"The significance lies in demonstrating our unity."
The corners of his lips curling upward, Kang Le sat up in his chair and continued with buoyant vigor:
"Besides, regarding Endpoint Group's demand, I don't see it as a bad thing. On the contrary, it will be an opportunity for us... an opportunity to showcase our technological prowess."
Studying the expression on his face, a flicker of surprise appeared in Yinhe's eyes.
"You intend to deploy bionics into combat?"
"Why not?"
Picking up the bottle from his desk, the man poured red wine into the empty goblet.
Gently swirling the plasma-red liquid and gazing at his reflection in the glass, a faint, subtle smile touched his lips.
"Having living people fight in wars is far too barbaric; it is not the way of civilized folk... We should have done this long ago."
Yinhe pondered briefly and gave a slight nod.
"A sound judgment. According to computational projections, this will reduce casualties by over seventy-four percent, and it also represents the option with the highest probability of victory... How many units do you plan to commit? I will calculate the estimated costs based on algorithmic projections."
"The specific aid package is still under discussion, but we have already pledged to my ally that we will dispatch the first advance detachment within five days, including the initial wave of reinforcements and relief supplies. Subsequent aid will arrive in batches over the course of a month."
Pausing for a moment, Kang Le narrowed his eyes languidly, continuing in an unhurried tone:
"To the west lies Vault 0; to the north lies the Great Rift Valley... The chairman of Changge Group is correct: we ought to expand our influence in the southern River Valley Province. But their attempt to monopolize this pie for themselves is a bit too greedy."
Yinhe nodded in understanding and softly suggested:
"Based on your requirements, in addition to mass-produced bionics, I suggest dispatching 'Frost.' The A-130 model is our newly developed bionic for combat applications; its onboard information-processing chip is compatible with a wide array of weaponry."
Swiveling his chair to face away, Kang Le replied casually:
"Approved."
***
Compared to the fabulously wealthy Ideal City, the standard of living for Boulder City's residents was undeniably far more impoverished. Naturally, high-end smart wearables were out of the question, and there were no network service providers.
Yet even though the medium of information shifted from holographic screens to paper, it did not diminish the people's ability to feel that fearless bravery through the written word.
Nor did it lessen the shock and awe they felt.
Thanks to Hal's penmanship, and thanks to the Alliance's support for journalism.
As Survivor Daily published follow-up reports, the feats of the Alliance's various corps spread through every street and alley, and those heroic names became household words.
Especially that leap into the abyss from an altitude of nearly a thousand meters.
Stories of the Burning Corps could be heard in taverns almost every day.
"Truly brutal..."
"If it were me, I'd never take such a dangerous job, no matter how much they paid!"
"It couldn't be helped. Someone had to make the sacrifice. The Heart of Iron's firepower was just too ferocious! I heard people say more than half of the Burning Corps were killed or wounded before they even touched down. If an airplane hadn't swooped in out of nowhere and wrecked the airship's engines, they probably would have been wiped out before they ever landed."
"That pilot's name... did you hear it?"
"I know, I saw the paper! Supposedly his name is... Xiaochuan?"
"The paper had his picture. Looked like a refined, amiable gentleman."
"Sigh..."
Though the fighting had ended two days ago, the fervency of the discussions hadn't cooled in the slightest.
In a roadside tavern, several bare-chested men sat around a table, drinking and lamenting the brutality of the front-line battle.
Thanks to those heroes, they could sit here after a day's labor and leisurely sip watered-down beer, without having to gaze up at that iron fortress floating in the sky and fret about tomorrow.
And yet—
Not everyone was enjoying the clear skies after the storm clouds had dispersed.
From that buzzing atmosphere, Dolly felt only suffocation.
Every word spilling from the patrons' mouths, whether in offhand tones or raspy murmurs, felt like salt rubbed into her wounds.
Like a searing brand.
Sitting in the corner of the tavern, she drew a deep breath, left her chips and an untouched cup on the table, and hurried away under the barkeep's bewildered gaze.
The next day.
At the Survivor Daily newspaper office, it was as busy as ever.
Editors busy writing copy and laying out pages practically buried their heads in towering stacks of paper.
Possessing firsthand accounts from the front line, all of the newspaper's subsidiary publications, like the main paper, were selling out almost instantly.
Even with extra print runs ordered every day, they still couldn't satisfy the public's appetite.
Now, it wasn't just the outer city residents.
Even the noble lords of the inner city had their eyes fixed on the newspaper, sending servants to wait right outside the newspaper's doors just to learn what had happened at the front a second before anyone else.
And to find out what had become of that Heart of Iron.
Hal also wanted to know how the Alliance planned to handle the Heart of Iron captured from the Legion, but the reports sent to him from the Alliance's Boulder City Liaison Office didn't mention a word about the airship's condition.
He didn't even know if the vessel was still operational.
Assuming it was an internal Alliance secret, Hal felt awkward pressing for details.
In addition, over the past two days, he had been inquiring about Fang Chang, going so far as to ask Shuyu, the head of the Alliance's Boulder City office.
Unfortunately, Shuyu had no news either, promising only that he would let Hal know the moment he heard anything.
Just as Hal was brooding, an envelope fluttered onto his desk.
Glancing at the lines written across the envelope, he froze slightly, looking up at Dolly standing before his desk.
This was likely the first letter of resignation he had received since taking office.
And it came from the newspaper's "star reporter."
"You're resigning?"
Dolly nodded slowly, speaking in a raspy voice.
"I plan to go to... Dawn City."
Hal knew why, but he still tried to persuade her to stay.
"I'm already inquiring for you... Can't you wait patiently just a little longer?"
Dolly said nothing, but everything she wanted to say was written plainly across her face.
Seeing she had no intention of changing her mind, Hal sighed, tucked the resignation letter into a drawer, and said softly:
"I'll keep this letter for you... We can make the final decision once you return. If you need traveling expenses, I can advance next month's salary to you—"
"No need."
Dolly shook her head softly. Beneath her swaying, emerald-green hair, a trace of tears lingered at the corner of her right eye.
Though faint, it was heartbreaking to behold.
The newspaper office fell dead silent; not even the rustle of turning pages could be heard.
The editors here all knew that young man from the vault. He was sharp-witted, his optimism and positivity had touched many, and he was always willing to lend a helping hand.
They had never imagined that one day he would become part of the material for their newspaper.
Only one survivor out of five hundred...
The odds were simply too bleak.
Watching that petite figure vanish through the doorway, Hal's face clouded with sorrow. With a heavy sigh, he took a bottle of hard liquor from his drawer.
Though daytime was hardly the hour for drinking, he unscrewed the cap anyway.
Hal mumbled softly under his breath:
"War... this damned war."
Once again, he felt the urge to write poetry.
Chapter 407