Atop the granite steps.
The robed elder gazed down at the young man below, a flicker of nostalgia stirring in his cloudy eyes.
Alike...
They were simply far too alike.
Yet, ultimately, he was not the one...
Those who lived too long carried a stench of decay—invisible to the nose, yet palpable to the discerning eye. If this man were an ancient monster who had lived over two hundred years like himself, the elder would undoubtedly have seen it.
Clearly, however, the young man before him harbored no such scent.
Which meant there was only one remaining possibility...
Reflecting on that sole possibility, a wave of melancholy involuntarily washed over the elder's eyes.
While the old man was observing Chu Guang, Chu Guang was likewise sizing him up.
Judging solely by the wrinkles etched into his face, it was impossible to tell how old the fellow truly was.
Perhaps to this Chief, lifespan had long since become a meaningless concept.
Yet Chu Guang felt not the slightest bit of envy in his heart.
Only in death was there life.
Stone was immortal and imperishable, but such existence was also a curse upon the living.
The Great Rift Valley was precisely such a manifestation. Its inhabitants, young and old alike, were steeped in lifeless despondence, akin to gravel tumbling down a mountainside.
It was precisely this stifling stagnation that had ignited the Free State's rebellion and its extreme yearning for liberty.
No one wished to be born into a coffin and slated as a burial sacrifice in the foreseeable future.
Compared to Origin City, which had borne witness to the entire Wasteland Era, Bugra—composed of wasteland wanderers—was undeniably newborn by contrast.
A fanciful thought suddenly popped into Chu Guang's mind.
*This fellow looks like an undead straight out of a fantasy novel...*
"I have arrived at the Great Rift Valley at your invitation," Chu Guang greeted the elder with a nod, then shot a pointed look at a certain dutiful filial son who had brazenly rushed forward to curry favor, gesturing for him to back off. He continued, "Like you, I have long wished to pay you a visit."
Zhou Xianlin scratched his head, possessing just enough tact to read the room. This was hardly an occasion where he could chime in.
Glancing at the tactful departure of that survivor faction leader, the old man turned his smiling gaze back to Chu Guang, his tone mild.
"A spirited young lad."
"...Do you mean me?"
"No," the elder shook his head, smiling. "I was referring to your disciple."
Chu Guang was momentarily taken aback, only realizing a beat later who the old man meant, and hastily denied it.
"You can eat whatever you want, but you can't just say whatever you want! I have never taken a disciple, nor have I ever taught anyone!"
Watching Chu Guang's frantic denial, the old man chuckled heartily, his tone teasing.
"The master introduces the craft, but attainment rests with the individual. If his practice falls short, that is his own destiny. Who ever heard of blaming the teacher when a student fails to learn? Rest assured, no one will fault you."
Seeing that the old man was deaf to reason, Chu Guang gave up trying to explain.
Thank goodness there were no reporters around.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to clear his name even if he jumped into the Tianshui.
The old man did not press the joke further; teasing Chu Guang had merely served to break the ice.
Pausing on the steps for a moment, the elder waited for Chu Guang to ascend before walking alongside him, continuing in a casual, conversational tone.
"...In truth, you need not blame yourself. A king lost an imperial war and his realm collapsed all because a steed stumbled—a seemingly lamentable tale, yet stepping outside the narrative reveals little reason for regret. Even had the horse not fallen, the war might not have been won, and the decline of one empire is nothing more than the prologue to another's rise and fall."
Seeing that the old man still couldn't let go of the Dam City incident, Chu Guang could not resist retorting sarcastically.
"So the fall of the Human Alliance meant nothing to you either, then? Just the prelude to another cycle of rise and fall."
Chu Guang expected the old man to be struck speechless, yet had not anticipated his skin would be so thick as to nod without hesitation.
"Indeed, that is what I think, and I have grown ever more certain of it... The Wasteland Era is passing into history, and are you not the continuation of that past? Different from us, born of us, yet more advanced, more open, and brimming with dreams for the future. Soon you will have children of your own, and only then will you understand how I feel."
Chu Guang glanced at the elder in mild surprise, not expecting such high praise.
Could this be considered a compliment?
After a moment of contemplation, he said,
"I have no desire to interpret it that way. Doing so reduces the study of history to mere divination, justifying suffering."
The elder shook his head.
"I never said the Wasteland Era was righteous; I only wished to tell you it was the fruit reaped from the seeds sown in the Era of Prosperity. Long ago, I discussed this very question with a man named the Professor. In truth, these were partly his views as well."
Chu Guang frowned.
"The Professor?"
He was suddenly reminded of an audio recording.
Long ago, he had obtained it from a guard's quarters in Area B2. It had chronicled a story beyond the margins never mentioned in the *Bloodhand Diary*.
That Professor seemed to share profound ties with the first manager of Shelter 404, or perhaps they were one and the same... That had been his deduction back then.
Watching the contemplative Chu Guang, the elder spoke in a soft voice, as though harboring a faint expectation.
"Many have forgotten his name, or perhaps never knew it at all, yet the people of the wasteland have all received his aid to varying degrees, or were indirectly shaped by his influence. Those from the Academy ought to still remember him; if you are interested, you might speak with them... Though regretfully, 'Conclusion,' who possesses the greatest authority to speak, has not come here. The one who arrived was merely the Chief Technology Officer he appointed."
Chu Guang rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.
"...Your names are all far too eccentric. Was everyone in the Human Alliance era like this?"
The old man let out a hearty laugh.
"That era was excessively avant-garde. A person might carry two names throughout their life: one representing the high hopes their parents placed upon them, and the other reflecting their own aspirations for themselves and their future... Naturally, that applied only to a minority. Most people remained relatively traditional, and one could even trace their cultural heritage through the structure of their names."
At that point, the old man fell silent for a brief spell before continuing in a hushed voice.
"In truth, it wasn't just names; it was so for many things. The Post-War Reconstruction Committee attempted to use the experience of the Human Alliance to salvage a dying world, yet we soon realized that while we remained who we were, you were no longer us. Some sought unconventional methods outside the blueprint, while others stubbornly pushed forward with unfinished work, yet most of their endeavors failed. Instead, seeds we never anticipated blossomed into flowers."
"Take Julius, for example. Every PWRC officer who opposed him roared that his compassion and weakness would destroy human civilization. Yet in truth, human civilization was nowhere near as fragile as they claimed. The only ones who plunged into hell were themselves—the criminals who clung to the 'necessary evil' and the PWRC that indulged them."
"As for Julius, whom they looked down upon, he became the revered Iron-Blooded Marshal... Even among the shelter residents, many supported him. Otherwise, how could the *Heart of Steel* have ever taken flight? Relying solely on the Wilante's own knowledge base would never have sufficed, including retrieving their genetic source code. Although that child truly went astray later in Avent City, that is a tale for another time."
Chu Guang listened to the tale patiently, then asked thoughtfully,
"What are you trying to tell me?"
The elder glanced back toward the distant tarmac, his eyes resting upon Little Zhou, who stood awkwardly amid the crowd. Smiling faintly, he continued,
"I merely wish to tell you that the Human Alliance is too far removed from you; you have your own history to draw upon."
"Furthermore, there is no need to tie your hands in fear of failure, nor should you torment yourself over mistakes already committed. History repeats in cycles precisely because errors are inevitable. If they do not occur today, they will occur tomorrow or the day after. The memory of stumbling becomes the fuel propelling you forward. Even if you fall and cannot rise again, you can serve as the fuel for your children, helping them journey further."
"You are still young. Now is the time to display your edge without reservation. Do not end up like an old wreck like me, unable to get back up after a single fall."
Those cloudy pupils seemed to see right through him.
Meeting the elder's gaze, Chu Guang suddenly saw his own reflection mirrored in those murky depths.
A restrained, hesitant self.
Yet he did not believe the old man's words were inherently correct, nor that his own choices were flawed.
The only unchecked existence within the Alliance was himself, and his self-restraint was an indispensable component of his grand design.
Moreover, the old man's complaints that he was moving too slowly might not stem from goodwill at all; rather, he likely wanted Chu Guang and the Alliance to serve as fuel for future generations, just like the Human Alliance had.
Just as Julius had done—the dissolution of the Legion had laid the groundwork for the Wilante's glory. Chu Guang's refusal to succumb to hubris as Julius had was evidently what made the old man anxious.
Catching the faint glint of instigation in the elder's eyes, Chu Guang, gradually piecing it all together, felt glad he hadn't fallen into the trap. He chuckled breezily, calling out the old man's gambit.
"It seems when people grow old, they inevitably turn into nihilists. I shall take that as a cautionary tale."
The elder's brow twitched faintly as he shook his head in refutation.
"This is not a matter of aging, but of the information one absorbs. Some cling to their obsessions even on the brink of the grave, while others attain complete certainty about life the moment their journey begins. I do not consider that a virtue. You are exceptional, even more exceptional than the other you. I think very highly of you."
"...The other me?"
Chu Guang's brow furrowed, but the old man's expression shifted abruptly, shutting his mouth as though he had let a slip of the tongue escape.
"Ahem... It is too early to speak of such things. I have other matters to attend to, so I shall see you off here. We shall speak again later."
With that, the old man turned on his heel to depart.
Watching the fellow cut off his own words halfway, Chu Guang wore an expression caught between tears and laughter.
After speaking for so long, this fellow had not even given his name.
"At least tell me your name."
The old man paused in his tracks, pondered for a moment, and slightly tilted his head.
"A name... You may call me Qian Wu, though I have not used that name in many years. You could call it, and I might not even realize you mean me."
Chu Guang nodded.
"It doesn't matter. Merely a matter of courtesy."
The Chief: "..."
Watching the two-hundred-year-old man depart, Chu Guang turned to the attendant assigned to him by the Great Rift Valley, nodding for the massive figure in power armor to continue leading the way.
The two walked further ahead, entering the silver-gray structure perched at the very summit of the Great Rift Valley.
The entire building resembled a spaceship lying flat across the gorge, its streamlined hull merging seamlessly with the transparent dome above.
This appeared to be the heart of the Aegis System, reportedly the safest place on the entire wasteland—safer even than a shelter.
After all, shelters still needed to consider their fuel supply, whereas beneath this facility lay an ocean of vast, limitless energy.
Long ago, players had ventured here and posted their photographs back to the official forum.
Chu Guang had reviewed those pictures back then—and unfiltered versions at that—so he was not excessively overwhelmed by the grandiose architecture.
Yet the moment he stepped through the sliding silver doors into the grand hall, he was stunned by the sight before him.
Standing right in the center of the hall was a clumsy, bloated 'golden tin can,' atop which sat a very familiar face.
That person was none other than his ace double-agent Pangolin—
Battlefield Atmosphere Group!
Standing beside him at this moment was Myriarch Bannote, former Legion ambassador to the Alliance and currently a senior minister among Triumph City's civil faction.
Although Bannote had quarreled with Chu Guang fiercely during Slime Mold Consortium conferences in the past, that had been purely a matter of political alignment. Even when tempers flared, there was never any personal enmity.
Ever since the West Sail Port incident, the Alliance had extended a helping hand to the civil faction.
From that point onward, Triumph City had drawn close to Dawn City, whereas the Southern Legion, despite its trade with the Alliance, grew increasingly estranged due to geopolitical conflicts.
Now, with the founding of the Wilante Alliance and Dawn City's unsparing aid to Triumph City against the 'Death Agent,' Triumph City and Dawn City were enjoying an affectionate honeymoon period. Bannote's attitude toward the Alliance had naturally undergone a complete reversal.
The instant he caught sight of the blue iron can entering the hall, the old man's eyes lit up, his face flushing with delight as he hurried forward.
"Haha! My dear Manager, it has been far too long! You look as dashing as ever!"
"You also seem as hale and hearty as ever..." Chu Guang's expression was slightly peculiar. It wasn't because of Myriarch Bannote's dramatic change in demeanor, but because he hadn't anticipated running into his own little player here.
Evidently, he wasn't the only one feeling awkward; the figure crouching inside the golden tin can was already smiling sheepishly at him.
Bannote, however, felt no awkwardness whatsoever. Entirely oblivious to his superior curling his toes inside the armor, he continued chattering effusively.
"Allow me to introduce him to you... Beside me is the Consul of Triumph City, the heir to the Golden Armor, the hero of the survivors of Wilante Province and Batoya Province! Mr. Pangolin!"
Delivering this introduction with rhythmic cadence, he puffed out his chest, continuing with evident pride.
"He is an extraordinary man! The tales of his deeds could be told for three days and three nights without end—"
Noticing that Chu Guang was struggling to suppress a burst of laughter, Battlefield Atmosphere Group coughed vigorously, cutting Bannote short, and rushed out,
"All right, let's not dwell on my petty exploits... Manager of the Alliance, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you. Might you be available now?"
"A closed-door meeting before the Humanity Conference?" Chu Guang asked teasingly.
Battlefield Atmosphere Group replied creditably,
"Precisely..."
Pulling off this performance had relied entirely on improvisation; he truly had no idea how to keep acting from here on.
Chu Guang nodded, then turned to the attendant beside him.
"I require a private conference room. Could you arrange one for me?"
The attendant clad in power armor nodded respectfully.
"Certainly."
***
Meanwhile, the tarmac was in an uproar.
The arrival of the aircraft from Enterprise caused a massive stir, so much so that the Alliance Leader of the Red River Alliance accidentally stepped on the leather shoe of the Dam Alliance Leader, nearly escalating into a diplomatic incident between the two.
Fortunately, soldiers from the Great Rift Valley intervened in time, politely escorting both men back to their respective quarters.
Unlike the Alliance, that 'thorned rose,' Ideal City was pure, unadulterated wealth!
Particularly to those who cared only for sudden fortune rather than societal progress, they were an infinitely sweeter prize than the Alliance.
Take Mayor Audo, for instance.
Watching the representatives from the Supreme Council of Ideal City step onto the tarmac, his eyes shone as though gleaming with golden light.
Standing in the distance watching the scene unfold, the Chief of the Great Rift Valley wore a gratified smile upon his deeply wrinkled face.
Although the Humanity Conference had not officially commenced, existing merely in its pre-conference warm-up, the curtain had effectively been drawn the moment the very first aircraft touched down.
Those gathered here were the individuals who would shape the wasteland's destiny, whether deciding the fate of hundreds of millions or tens of thousands.
Rather than saying his invitation letters had brought them here, it was truer to say that the survivors across the wasteland had propelled them onto the stage.
As a night watchman of the old era, he would fulfill his final duty here: to erect a stage belonging to these trendsetters of the new era.
That was his true purpose.
As for the conference itself, there was little to anticipate. What truly warranted discussion was invariably settled before the opening gavel ever struck...
While the old man admired his handiwork, footsteps approached from behind.
"Venerable sir, are you the Chief of the Great Rift Valley?"
Absaik looked upon the elder's back with a deferential expression.
He had been watching this old man ever since Chu Guang had struck up a conversation with him earlier.
While everyone else was crowded around the tarmac, seeing no chance to squeeze in, Absaik had had a sudden stroke of inspiration and come over here.
Intuition told him that this man was another heavyweight capable of influencing the entire wasteland.
If he couldn't cling to the mighty bough of Enterprise, grasping a branch of the Great Rift Valley was just as fine.
The people of Brahma were intelligent to the extreme, even if their cleverness manifested in vastly different ways.
The elder turned around, looked Absaik up and down, then smiled warmly.
"I am. Is something the matter?"
That easygoing tone felt like a gentle spring breeze, existing in an entirely different world from the churning undercurrents beneath the steps.
Absaik's respect deepened.
"I have long heard of your renowned name. I am Absaik, Grand Marshal of the State of Brahma. Please permit me to extend the warmest greetings on behalf of the hundreds of millions of people of Brahma."
*The State of Brahma...*
The elder's gaze turned reminiscent.
Which meant this man had to be a descendant of General Rowell.
While he could refer to Julius as a 'child,' that man had been his contemporary...
With that thought, the old man smiled amicably, his tone gentle.
"Greetings, Grand Marshal of the State of Brahma. Please convey my regards to the hundreds of millions of survivors in Brahma as well."
Absaik had not expected such a prominent figure to be so approachable, and admiration surged within his heart.
The world beyond the State of Brahma was far vaster than he had imagined; it seemed he still had a long way to go...
"I shall certainly convey your warm wishes to them!" Absaik cupped his hands with a smile, smoothly moving to establish a rapport. "Speaking of which, the survivors of Brahma share deep roots with those of the Great Rift Valley! I only learned later that General Rowell, who led us through our darkest hours, was an active officer of the Human Alliance! We are like two sprouts growing from the same tree—one fell to the south, the other to the north, but our roots remain the same."
Amused by this analogy, the old man laughed heartily, pausing a moment before continuing.
"Rowell... I remember that name. I suppose I can shamelessly call him an old comrade-in-arms! Truth be told, the PWRC owes him an apology. When he needed aid the most, we failed to extend a helping hand."
"It could not be helped, and we understand completely. You had your own difficulties," Absaik sighed softly, adopting a magnanimous air to brush aside the past. "Let bygones be bygones. The people of Brahma are prepared to step into the new era; what concerns us now is the future of ourselves and our children."
This was merely polite posturing, words neither the speaker nor the listener was expected to take too seriously.
Yet upon hearing them, the elder looked at him with a meaningful smile.
"Are you truly prepared?"
Seeing that warm, spring-like smile suddenly shift, Absaik blinked, looking at the Chief with growing perplexity.
"Naturally... Had I not been prepared, how could I be standing here?"
Hearing this, the old man nodded with a smile, his gaze sweeping past Absaik toward the distant horizon.
"Rowell... I know that comrade's story. He was probably the earliest savior on this wasteland, and a true savior in the literal sense. Unlike relief agencies like us—whose sole duty was to minimize losses and preserve the final spark of human civilization when it was down to its last breath—he was different. Regardless of whether his ideas were wise, we must acknowledge his bravery in trying to save a multitude doomed to perish... A courage none of us possessed."
"To ensure as many people survived as possible, we cast aside the illusion of 'leaving no one behind' long, long ago. Both I and that 'Professor' did."
Absaik stared blankly at the elder, unable to fathom the meaning behind those words.
Yet being a clever man, he would never contradict the colossus standing before him.
Studying Rowell was the task of people like 'Mr. Rat' Niyang and Commissioner Kabaha; the rights and wrongs of two centuries ago meant nothing to the Grand Marshal of the State of Brahma.
"...We think so as well. He was a true savior."
Absaik expected the elder to nod approvingly, but instead, the old man burst into laughter.
What baffled him even more were the Chief's subsequent remarks.
"The Manager of the Alliance called me a nihilist, claiming my understanding of history is akin to fortune-telling, and said he would take it as a cautionary tale... That lad looks down on me, haha. In that case, let me tell a fortune for the pragmatist—a close cousin to the nihilist."
Absaik stared blankly, not knowing what the elder intended, nor even who this 'pragmatist' referred to.
The two-hundred-year-old man closed his eyes in contemplation for a few moments, then opened them again with an enigmatic air.
"How many people live in your State of Brahma?"
Absaik swallowed hard. He didn't want to answer, but realizing that it would be child's play for this old codger to find out anyway, he confessed honestly.
"A little under two hundred million."
"Then you are in dire straits," the old man shook his head. "At least twenty million more will have to die."
Absaik's breath caught in his throat, and he immediately pushed back.
"How is that possible?! Twenty million?! Even the Wilante couldn't slaughter that many! All three northern states combined don't even have that many people! Are you implying Laxi will go on a killing spree? No, wait..."
He abruptly regained his composure.
He was, after all, the ruler of an entire realm. There was no need to lose his head over an old man's wild ravings.
Perhaps this was a ploy by the Great Rift Valley...
They had seen through his reluctance to fight this civil war, so they were deliberately provoking him with extreme words.
*But why?!*
Absaik's eyes were filled with bewilderment, as though he had plunged from the pinnacle of his life straight into a dry well, hemmed in by thick stone walls on both sides, with the sky an unreachable ribbon of clouds above.
Short of Laxi suddenly losing his mind, he genuinely could not imagine where twenty million corpses could possibly come from.
Famine?
They no longer lacked food.
Floods?
Again, the entire basin along the Tasang River didn't hold that many people!
A plague?
That was possible, yet simultaneously impossible. After all, Brahma Province lacked the developed highway network of Batoya Province. The Wilante had already demonstrated that their viruses could wipe out a village or a town at most before dying out without spreading further...
Moreover, the Alliance's medical technology was the best in the world!
And there was Enterprise! If such a disaster truly struck, Enterprise would assist as well!
A flicker of irritation surfaced on Absaik's face, feeling as though he were being made a fool of.
Had this old man not been the leader of the Great Rift Valley, someone he could not afford to offend, he would have spun around and left on the spot!
In truth, he failed to comprehend the true nature of the Great Rift Valley, instinctively applying the mindset of his homeland.
Had he seen through the Great Rift Valley as clearly as Chu Guang had, he wouldn't have cared about face in the slightest, much less scrambled to flatter these people.
Regardless of whether he snubbed the Great Rift Valley, the oldest man on the wasteland would never have made things difficult for him.
That the old man was willing to speak so bluntly was already an act of benevolence.
It was entirely for Rowell's sake.
As a spectator observing the chessboard, he would never lift a finger toward the board unless absolutely necessary.
"Mr. Absaik, you clever man chosen by the State of Brahma, answer me this: if there were a hundred million sheep on the prairie, and a hundred million froze to death during the Wasteland Era, how many remain now?"
Absaik replied instinctively,
"None at all, of course—"
"Wrong calculation," the old man shook his head, smiling faintly. "Let me tell you: a hundred million remain."
"How is that possible?" Absaik's eyes widened in disbelief, before he forced himself to calm down. "Venerable sir, what sort of sophistry is this now?"
"It is not sophistry; it is the law of nature," the elder said slowly. "The Wasteland Era was not a sudden gust of wind, but the sand swept up by it; only when rubbing your eyes do you feel the sting. The war arrived swiftly. By the time we realized that winning and losing was a grave matter, everything we cherished had ended... For some, that process took a single day; for others, it took two hundred years. For those living on the prairie like you, it took roughly half a century."
"The harshest winter lasted about forty-three years, perhaps forty-six—I cannot recall precisely... If there are no marauders, no mutants, and water and food are sufficiently abundant, then even if the flock starves down to a mere ten thousand sheep, the survivors can rebound to a hundred million over the subsequent century and a half."
"You thank Rowell for saving at least a hundred million people, yet how do you explain the severance of your civilization? Was it merely because fathers failed to pass down their knowledge to their sons?"
"Is there a possibility that his self-righteous meddling killed people who never should have died? The flock on the prairie might have had ten thousand survivors, yet ended up with only five thousand, and his red clay did not yield any notable effect during the bitter winter. Yet Brahma Province was not the Great Desert after all; it was a natural sanctuary, free of mutants and slime molds, where outside marauders could not easily penetrate. In the end, the sheep did not dwindle, but doubled... yet that credit was attributed to Rowell."
"Perhaps only the red clay can offer you the true answer, but I can tell you with certainty: if that generation truly survived because of Rowell, it never would have been the destitute Wilante's turn to lecture you. It would have fallen upon you to shoulder the mission of ending the Wasteland Era, to save the River Valley Province, to save Triumph City, and for me to pin the medal of victory upon your chest... Of course, by then, you would likely sneer at an outdated relic like me, just like that young lad did."
Looking at the breathless Absaik, the elder chuckled.
"You ought to evaluate Rowell far more objectively; that is your only chance of survival. A few have realized this, but far from enough. Otherwise, I am not jesting—he truly will return for you, continuing his savior game with you, becoming a new Rowell, and dragging you off to the next examination hall."
Having said this, the elder felt a pang of regret.
In truth, he shouldn't have leaked the answers. If these people truly tracked down that Rowell, hastily buried him just as they had two centuries ago, and cast those unpleasant memories behind them, the next Rowell would be even more ruthless and claim far more lives.
Yet the Great Rift Valley was rarely this lively, and he had grown somewhat overexcited, finding himself genuinely fond of this young man.
Perhaps it might save a life?
Even though that life might have to be exchanged for countless others, he truly no longer cared.
"Do you mean... Janusz?" Absaik's voice trembled, a drop of cold sweat rolling down his forehead.
That man was undeniably dead, yet he remained an indelible nightmare haunting his mind.
He had suffered frequent nightmares a while ago, which had only eased slightly after finding faith in the Silver Moon Goddess.
Yet with a few words, this old man had brought back the image of that blood-soaked figure glaring at him with wide-open eyes.
That figure seemed to be telling him that he would return—return to that blood-stained throne to reclaim everything that had been stolen from him.
Not wishing to frighten the child too severely, the elder hesitated between offering salvation and withholding it, ultimately letting out a gentle sigh.
"I do not know the Janusz you speak of, nor does his identity or name matter."
"You think I said all this to tell you that Rowell brought misery upon you, but that is not the case."
"What I wish to remind you of is this: every resident of Shelter 404 is Chu Guang, and every person of Brahma is Rowell."
Chapter 950