Kuang Feng had actually overthought one matter.
A trash dev was far too busy to keep tabs on every individual player's in-game actions.
Ever since the game launched, Chu Guang's decisions had fundamentally been high-level macro deployments.
This included steering public opinion in the "other world," releasing controlled trickles of information to lead mainstream society into believing that the indecipherable *Wasteland OL* was the work of an extraterrestrial civilization.
Furthermore, an advanced civilization holding at least a neutral stance, constantly projecting goodwill.
Based on this underlying premise, think tanks from various nations and major internet media outlets layered on their own interpretations.
Some claimed it was a warning from a "Big Brother," presaging that Earth would soon enter an Era of Prosperity, only to rapidly plummet into depression immediately following it.
Others believed it was guidance from an advanced civilization—that the aliens were searching neighboring universes for friends sharing identical values, and that freight vessels bearing reciprocal trade might soon park themselves in geostationary orbit.
Naturally, some also argued that this was meant to fatten up humanity to make them taste better... though such a theory could hardly hold water.
After all, traveling countless light-years just to get a full meal was far too pointless; opening a livestock farm nearby would be much simpler.
There were even those with novel perspectives who set their sights five light-years away, convinced the alien civilization was right there, identical to the "Gaia" that had appeared in the game.
Chu Guang had no idea whether Gaia existed in that world, nor did he care about the analyses put forth by various think tanks, the tangled web of factional interests, or what any specific individual thought.
To someone already living in this world, those matters were utterly meaningless.
They were free to believe whatever they wished to believe, or whatever their horizons allowed them to see.
To both sides, only one thing truly mattered: through sustained, tacit cooperation, they had established a relatively equitable set of trading rules.
Under these rules, players worked for him to earn silver coins, national economic systems bought back silver coins from the players based on market pricing, and governments redeemed high technology capable of stimulating economic growth from him using those silver coins.
It was a closed-loop chain.
Whenever he rolled out an impressive piece of technology, the price of silver coins soared. If he wanted the price to drop, halting auctions for a few weeks or watering down the tech was all it took.
As long as this chain cycled steadily, whether or not he was an extraterrestrial civilization did not matter in the slightest.
Chu Guang was confident that as long as he produced controlled nuclear fusion technology, even if he claimed to be God, plenty of people would still believe him.
It was just that fabricating such a story was too absurd; he could not get past his own conscience, unable even to convince himself.
Blending truth with fiction was far better.
As for the measured value of the Planck constant in the game world being smaller than in the real world, such a topic was far too specialized for Chu Guang. At most, he understood the concept that electromagnetic radiation was not emitted and absorbed continuously, but rather in discrete packets, almost like a "frame rate."
As for the exact numbers, he would probably have to summon a junior high-energy physics researcher to find out.
Of course, whether there was any necessity in doing so was another matter entirely.
The survivors of the Alliance would not lead better lives simply because the Planck constant was slightly smaller.
Replacing the ignition system on their reactor, however, was another story.
In his office at the Alliance building, Chu Guang received Wang Zhengyi, a nuclear engineer from the Daybreak City Nuclear Power Plant.
The seasoned master in his late forties or fifties had excitement written all over his face. He spoke vividly and colorfully, trying to convey to the esteemed manager the sheer awe he had felt on-site at the nuclear plant.
Even though the old master went on and on without ever quite getting to the point, Chu Guang patiently listened all the way through, even instructing the staff to pour him a cup of tea so he could take his time.
And as it turned out, that approach was wise.
His throat parched from talking, the master technician took a sip from his teacup. Seeming to forget where he had left off, he immediately cut straight to the point he cared about most.
"...If we can apply cold start technology to our reactor to replace the outdated laser ignition system, our energy utilization efficiency will increase by at least another twenty-three percent!"
Hearing that number, Chu Guang looked surprised.
"Twenty-three percent? Does ignition consume that much energy?"
Wang Zhengyi nodded earnestly.
"Ignition isn't something done just once and forgotten. Every time we load fuel into the reactor, we have to reignite it... not to mention shutdowns for maintenance and overhauls."
"I see."
Chu Guang gave a thoughtful nod, his gaze growing considerably more serious.
Twenty-three percent was the theoretical figure.
The actual number might be slightly lower, but it remained remarkably substantial.
Although the Alliance currently operated only one large-scale reactor on the surface, they were bound to build more as electricity demand surged.
For instance, Li Minghui from the Southern Sea Alliance had approached him more than once about power supplies, hoping the Alliance could construct another fusion power plant down south to slash electricity costs for the Southern Sea and surrounding regions.
The Southern Sea Alliance relied primarily on Port French Fries for power and fresh water imports. While tidal and wind energy were also useful, the maintenance costs for those facilities were undeniable.
Moreover, the scale of generation was a significant issue.
The deployment rate of ocean current power stations had already fallen behind the economic growth of the Southern Sea and adjacent areas.
For a steadily expanding emerging economy, renewable energy was destined to serve only as a supplement to non-renewables, hardly able to act as the pillar.
Especially considering that the space elevator would be situated in the Southern Sea in the future, local economic and production activities would undoubtedly explode exponentially by then.
"What about the costs? Have you calculated them?"
Wang Zhengyi nodded cautiously.
"We have. Completing the technological overhaul will require a budget of about twenty million silver coins... but considering we'll be building new reactors in the future, we believe the expenditure is well worth it."
Chu Guang nodded.
"Since you've already considered that, I have no objections. Naturally, the proper procedures must still be followed. Prepare a budget report and submit it to the Ministry of Finance. They will form a budget review committee to liaise with your team."
Seeing the manager's endorsement, joy instantly broke across Wang Zhengyi's face, and he hurriedly bowed his thanks.
Before coming here, he had been anxious for ages, constantly worrying he wouldn't be able to convince the manager. He had never expected the esteemed manager to be so much easier to talk to than he had imagined.
Watching the veteran technician repeatedly express his gratitude, Chu Guang smiled faintly.
"Why thank me? If anyone should be thanking anyone, it's me thanking you on behalf of the Alliance."
Pausing, he added another reminder.
"Of course, don't assume my nod means the matter is set in stone. You still need to prepare the required documents conscientiously. The budget review committee has its own job to do; they must answer to the Alliance citizens whose hard-earned money pays their wages."
"Understood! Mission guaranteed to be completed!" the old technician said, his face flushed with enthusiasm, looking as if he could barely hold himself back from snapping a military salute.
Chu Guang smiled and watched him leave the office, then woke the holographic computer on his desk and flipped through his schedule.
Twenty-one units were involved in the first wave of coordination. Among them were key public utilities like the Daybreak City Nuclear Power Plant, private enterprises manufacturing engines and reactors, and pure academic institutions.
The Academy was truly being undeniably generous this time. With these technologies as a foundation, building another Ideal City—or even several—across the wasteland would hardly be difficult.
Given enough time, the survivors of the Alliance could even rebuild a new world far more prosperous than the old era.
Yet despite that, a premonition starkly contrary to his intuition had always lingered in Chu Guang's heart.
At times, like other vault dwellers, he instinctively treated Ideal City as the benchmark of the Era of Prosperity, taking the splendor of that utopian city as the sole criterion for measuring prosperity, forgetting that criteria evolved with the times.
Perhaps the densely concentrated prosperity of the Human Alliance era had already become history, unlikely to reappear for a very long time.
After all, the Earth today was no longer the Earth of two centuries ago.
Ending the wasteland era was not difficult, but terraforming an entire planet was another matter altogether.
The Alliance could vanquish the Legion, but declaring war on mutant cockroaches or mutant rats would be nothing more than a joke.
Nor was it just the planet's ecology.
The people living on this world were no longer the people of the past.
History had imparted more than just lessons to the wastelanders; it had radically reshaped their values and life philosophies.
These shifts would not only grant the reborn populace a higher tolerance for alien environments, but also proactively propel them to venture into ever more distant worlds, passively diffusing the infinite risks that accumulated alongside boundless prosperity.
The children of the Alliance would spread like seeds, branching out from the solar system to scatter prosperity across several, or even dozens of light-years, rather than condensing the prosperity of dozens of light-years into a single city.
Chu Guang harbored a powerful premonition.
In the distant future, the Alliance's population would inevitably surpass that of the former Human Alliance, yet they would not crowd onto a single home world like the people of the Human Alliance had. Instead, they would disperse across tens of thousands of planets and space stations.
If that was the future, then the old experience of "building a massive laser array on the moon to generate power and beaming the energy straight to Earth" was truly obsolete.
Decentralized power plants were far better suited to flexible resource allocation and outward expansion—or rather, far more fitting for the wastelanders' "settlement-style" development.
The disasters that had once befallen the Human Alliance might recur, but they would no longer deliver an irreversible blow.
Who knew? In the far future, the Workers' Union might venture to Andromeda to replicate Boulder City, while the Southern Sea Alliance might seek an ocean planet beyond the solar system to establish their hundredth artificial island.
The end of the world?
When the entire universe was humanity's home, why would anyone fear such a thing?
Worst-case scenario, they could always defect to the Academy, which was quietly making a fortune in whatever forgotten corner of the cosmos it was hiding.
Unless confronted by a universal catastrophe, no disaster could wipe them all out in a single stroke.
Pondering those matters centuries down the line, a faint smile crept onto Chu Guang's lips.
"It would be nice to live to see that day."
...
[Tragic News! Conflict Escalates! Zayed condemns the Mammoth State for occupying portions of Bird Province and Sheep Province and fabricating border clashes. He has appointed Grove as Commander-in-Chief and Yokale as Deputy Commander, marching north!
Rumors claim that Gray Wolf Army Commander-in-Chief Gopal clashed with Zayed in an informal setting over whether the timing was ripe for a northern expedition. Intense power struggles among Tiandu's upper echelon may impact front-line operations.
Mayor Yodu urged all conflicting parties to exercise restraint and sit down for negotiations for the sake of their fellow countrymen.
The Alliance has yet to express an official stance on the matter. An editorial in the *Goblin Observer*, reflecting public opinion in Dawn City, remarked that at least the unfortunate "Red Soil" had been spared for now.
However, the New West Sail Port edition of *Survivor Daily* held the contrary view.
According to unverified sources, Tiandu has previously exchanged views with the Eastern Empire regarding the Red Soil issue.
—*Survivor Daily*, Port Goldgall Edition]
[Trials Concluded! Former Southern Legion General Affairs Department Head Jeffrey and a host of other war criminals have been sentenced to death. "Iron Crossbow" Rapid Reaction Unit Commander Hines and others were sentenced to life imprisonment, while secondary war criminals including former Evernight Port Governor Yahui received twenty-year prison terms.
Order in Avent City is currently returning, and reconstruction across various districts is commencing in succession. Port crane equipment from the Southern Sea Alliance has already arrived at Avent City's western port.
Following the Alliance, the Wilante Alliance, and Enterprise, supplies from the Eastern Empire and the New United States are gradually entering Batoa Province. Avent City may have already become a wrestling ring for various survivor factions.
(Accompanying photo: Long queues outside the labor exchange, prominent signs reading "Seeking Marine Engineers, 30 Silver Coins/Hour," etc.)
—*Survivor Daily*, Avent City Edition]
Outside the labor exchange in Avent City, an endless stream of people mirrored the photo in the newspaper.
Looking at the bustling recruitment booths, a man bearing burn scars on his face stood in line, his expression somewhat apprehensive.
The paper said work could be found here to earn money, but other than shooting guns and driving tanks, he knew how to do nothing else.
The line finally brought him to the front. Hesitating, he stepped forward, intending to introduce himself, but before he could speak, the clerk at the desk took the initiative.
"Name?"
The man swallowed, rubbing his hands nervously.
"B... Bart."
The recruitment clerk pushed a form and a pen across the desk toward him.
"There are at least half a dozen Barts around here... All right, write down your surname too, and while you're at it, list what kind of work you can do so we can place you properly."
Bart nodded hurriedly, picking up the pen to write his surname on the form.
When he reached the column for skills and prior experience, he hesitated for a moment, but ultimately filled in his background.
Seeing it, the clerk's eyes lit up.
"You know how to drive a tank?"
"Yes..." Bart looked at the clerk warily, slowly nodding.
Yet instead of summoning guards as he had anticipated, the clerk cheerfully clapped him on the shoulder.
"Fantastic! We desperately need excavator drivers!"
Bart was stunned.
"Ex... excavators?"
"They both run on tracks, don't they? And they're both built in the Ravanka Industrial Zone. I'm sure you'll handle it fine!"
The clerk winked at him, thrusting a card far thicker than a dog tag into his hands without giving him room to refuse.
"Here's your work pass. Report to the address on the pass at eight tomorrow morning. If you don't show, it's voided."
"I'll definitely be on time!" Bart hurried to swear an oath, but seeing that the man wasn't even watching him, he quickly asked, "Is that all? No other procedures?"
The clerk waved a hand with a laugh.
"That's it. We're starved for manpower right now. As long as you have hands, feet, and can follow human speech, you're good. Oh, by the way, if you're strapped for cash, you can take your work pass to the bank outside the exchange to apply for a relief loan. Your wage is twelve silver coins an hour, so based on that, they'll advance you a week's pay—completely interest-free if repaid within a month."
Another staff member nearby chimed in teasingly.
"He didn't finish the whole story. Even if you're missing a hand, it doesn't matter; we can fit you with a prosthetic first."
"N-no need for that..." Never having received such warmth before, Bart felt thoroughly overwhelmed, gazing at the two with deep gratitude. "Thank you..."
"Don't mention it, brother," the clerk said, clapping him hard on the arm and flashing a grin. "A man's got to look forward. Best of luck starting your new life."
After thanking them repeatedly, Bart did not linger, hurriedly stepping away from the recruitment booth.
His steps felt weightless, as though he were walking on air.
Twelve silver coins an hour!
Put in some effort, and he might bring in two thousand silver coins a month!
Converted into dinars, that was an extraordinarily high wage!
Actually, there was no need to convert it into dinars at all; silver coins could buy vastly more than dinars ever could.
He couldn't wait to fly back home and share the great news with his dear wife and children!
Just as he reached the entrance of the labor exchange, however, a Wilante man wearing a heavy coat stepped out to block his way.
"Hey, brother."
Looking at the unfamiliar face, Bart frowned slightly.
"...Do I know you?"
Sensing his guardedness, the man paid it no mind, merely smiling as he spoke.
"I've got work that pays much better. Care to consider it?"
The suspicion on Bart's face deepened, and he said immediately, "I don't do illegal work."
"It's not illegal, just risky—you have to put your life on the line, but I know that's nothing new to folks like you," the man said with a low chuckle, dropping his voice. "War's breaking out in Brahma Province. They need instructors over there. You know how it is. I can secure this much for you."
As he spoke, he raised two index fingers.
"Twenty thousand silver coins a month."
Twenty thousand!
Bart stared at him in disbelief, tempted for a fleeting second.
Yet it was only for a single second.
He thought of his family, and he thought of the days gone by. After a brief hesitation, he ultimately shook his head.
"No."
To some extent, he recognized that what he had done in the past was neither honorable nor glorious.
He had no desire to return to that kind of life.
A look of disappointment crossed the man's face, but he didn't press the matter, merely shrugging.
"Fair enough. I'll ask around... If you change your mind and I haven't found someone else yet, you can come back and look for me."
Bart nodded, but did not accept the business card held out to him. Pocketing his work pass, he hurried away...
Not far from the labor exchange's entrance, in a tavern that served coffee by day and beer by night, Fang Chang sat by the window. Comparing two different editions of *Survivor Daily* in his hands, he suddenly let out a heartfelt sigh.
"I remember our shelter's manager saying he wanted to set up numerous editions of *Survivor Daily* so it would remain a paper belonging to the survivors, preventing some brat from stealing the brand for himself after he left."
Sitting across the table, Dolly smiled faintly and took a gentle sip of her coffee.
"And his capable assistant never imagined that before he even left, someone would already snatch the brand away?"
The newspaper office in the Ravanka Industrial Zone had already been established and was running smoothly.
Ever since Avent City was liberated, she had dragged Fang Chang along at the first opportunity, proceeding to establish the Avent City and Batoa Province branch of *Survivor Daily*.
All the reporters and editors were Avent City locals, including both Wilante and survivors of other ethnicities.
Listening to her pleasant voice, Fang Chang shook his head and replied in an easy conversational tone.
"Whether it counts as stealing is open to debate, but we can certainly see the world's vast disparities across these pages."
The branches in Mammoth City, West Sail Port, and Tiandu had essentially been delisted by other newspaper offices. Even when their articles were reprinted, they were no longer treated as news, but merely cited as source material.
The hijacked paper in New West Sail Port hovered on the brink of the blacklist... The reason it hadn't been blacklisted yet was partly due to an unspoken 'novice protection period,' and partly because that office still managed to leak useful information from time to time; it couldn't be called Salen's personal megaphone entirely.
As for whether the *Survivor Daily* brand had been stolen, Fang Chang leaned toward believing it hadn't.
From the very start, that publication had never belonged to the Alliance; it was a paper for survivors, so how could it be stolen?
It had always belonged to them in the first place. If it was full of lies, it was simply because they were liars, whether consciously or unconsciously.
As for whether the Brahma people had been deceived, he leaned toward believing they hadn't been.
If asked why, perhaps it was because he had watched them walk step by step to this point with his own eyes.
Just as the manager had said, it was a collective crime of complicity.
And predictably, fate's retribution had already arrived.
Dolly gazed at him intently, then turned her eyes toward the window and sighed softly.
"I just feel that even though they are the victors, they have to endure suffering worse than the defeated. It's so pitiful... Maybe there could have been a better way. And now that the war is over, can't we find a way to help them?"
"...Our aid has already been more than enough. Aside from a profound lesson, I can't think of anything else we can give them."
Fang Chang turned a page of the newspaper, paused, and added, "Besides, the war isn't over... The culprit behind that murder still hasn't been caught."
"You mean the Enlightenment Society?" Dolly's brow furrowed slightly, worry surfacing on her face.
She had heard about what happened earlier at the World Tower, including that twisted, tentacled monstrosity.
Fang Chang shook his head.
"Not just the Enlightenment Society, but also the Celestials suspected of backing them... Of course, for now, only the former has surfaced."
That little rat from the Enlightenment Society...
The fellow was scurrying all over the place carrying a Gauss rifle, likely cloaked in optical camouflage.
They didn't even know if he was still inside the city or had slipped away long ago.
Apart from that, agents from the Eastern Empire and the New United States were also active around Avent City. Under the banner of humanitarian relief, they were recruiting Southern Legion engineers and unemployed officers, carving up the remaining cards Tyr had left unplayed.
It was worth noting that the Southern Legion was not devoid of high technology; they possessed legitimate achievements in jet aircraft and missiles, even if those were less prominent than their metallurgy.
Furthermore, the Enlightenment Society had utilized vault dwellers to help Tyr train a cadre of high-tech specialists.
When the final battle broke out, not all of them had been inside the World Tower, and quite a few lucky individuals had survived.
Compared to the threat looming from the Lagrange points, however, Fang Chang felt those talent-poaching spies hardly posed a real danger.
In fact, it was almost child's play.
In any case, the truly valuable talent had already been divided between Dawn City and Triumph City. If others wanted the scraps left behind, they were welcome to take them.
The Alliance was no longer short on those few bites.
So long as they stayed fed and didn't cause trouble at critical moments, that was enough.
Noticing the faint undercurrent of worry between his brows, Dolly felt a sudden twinge of sympathy, instinctively wanting to stroke his hair.
This man worried constantly for the Alliance, even when he was by her side.
"If there's anything I can help with... you must tell me."
Meeting her caring gaze, a gentle smile appeared on Fang Chang's face.
He didn't offer any dampening home truths like "just take care of yourself" or "it's enough if you don't cause trouble." Instead, he reached out and gently patted her lovely head.
"Yeah. I will."
Chapter 975