Chapter 77: Once Penniless

Though the Warspace was notoriously slow and ponderous, the act of transmission itself was instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, Lan Yi’s surroundings flickered and fractured like shards of a shattered mirror.

When the world steadied once more, he was no longer amidst the humid, vapor-laden expanse of the open sea, but had returned to the steel-and-concrete jungle of the city. The air was thick and muddled, tinged with an indistinct mixture of odors. The clamor of countless voices surged in his ears, and beneath a sky heavy with clouds, a sense of gloom and oppression hung palpably in the air.

Lan Yi swept his gaze around. The people nearby were sharply divided into two camps. One group stared in utter disbelief, pointing at the others and shouting all manner of chaotic words, their voices growing shrill with excitement. The other group, at whom the fingers were aimed, looked disheveled and haggard, like refugees fleeing disaster, exuding strange odors. Some glanced around in a daze, tears of joy streaming down their faces, while others simply sobbed uncontrollably.

It was obvious—the first group were the ones who had given up and become stranded during the first Artificial Divine Realm, while the second were the participants who had undergone the initial trial. As one of the trial-goers, Lan Yi’s clothes were immaculate, his bearing formidable, and his gaze so piercing that people instinctively avoided his razor-sharp eyes. He stood out like a crane among chickens, impossible to ignore.

Within five minutes of Lan Yi’s arrival, every surveillance camera in sight along the street began to shift, angling to capture his image. Lan Yi, of course, noticed this immediately. The lotus circuitry in his eyes flickered faintly. Instantly, seventeen cameras in the vicinity sputtered with blue smoke and burned out on the spot. Electromagnetic Daoist techniques were truly formidable in the modern world. Even using them crudely, simply to destroy electronics, was an effective display of power. Other Daoist arts each had their own marvels, but in the early stages, when such arts might not be easily deployed, martial prowess and especially spiritual force were far more practical—they could kill without a trace.

There was something wonderfully paradoxical in this: in most Artificial Divine Realms, Daoist arts had the advantage early on, as when Lan Yi’s Daoist technique had obliterated an armored warship—something impossible for martial arts alone at that stage. Yet, whether it was martial skill or Daoist art, it was all strength—real, tangible strength held firmly in one’s own hands, impossible to take or divide. And now, out of 8.4 billion people, at least half had not only survived the seven-day ordeal, but had also encountered martial and Daoist disciplines; among them, many had cultivated Innate Qi or awakened their Life Cluster.

What would happen when these people returned? It was almost unthinkable.

At this moment, it had been seven days since Warspace descended upon the main world. Regardless of when anyone had entered the Artificial Divine Realm, all returned at noon on the seventh day, while those who became stranded had forever lost the chance to take part in the first trial. The second trial would begin in a month. But from then on, participation was not guaranteed for everyone. Those left behind were clearly disqualified, and even those who completed the first trial would need to have cultivated Innate Qi or awakened their Life Cluster to qualify for the next. This requirement was not difficult: after the advent of Warspace, countless cultivation methods flooded the Internet, and, with spiritual energies more abundant than ever, anyone could achieve the prerequisites with effort.

The gates of Warspace would not remain closed forever to those without qualifications. In fact, as long as one possessed Innate Qi or an awakened Life Cluster, they could earn the right to enter the trials.

Lan Yi noticed that most of the stranded now wore expressions of relief, even smugness, at having escaped disaster. In his previous life, after his return, he had once been confused by such people—had his struggle in the Artificial Divine Realm truly been worth it? At that time, Lan Yi had just begun cultivating Qi; when confronted by the technological might of the main world, it was easy to feel lost.

But very soon, after only three trials, the swiftly changing world and the rise of overwhelming individual power would prove to him, beyond a doubt, that it was indeed worth it.

The stranded had no idea what they had missed. To stand still was to fall behind; and to fall behind was to be beaten. In the relentless march forward, falling behind didn’t just mean suffering blows—it meant vanishing in the chaos without a trace... extinction.

Lan Yi sighed deeply. In an age of upheaval, with the world wracked by pain, in places that no one cared about, if your voice went unheard and you were slaughtered to the last, would that not be complete extinction? Hiding from Warspace would do no good. The Starry Federation was fortunate, but soon the world outside would become a true hell on earth—soon, even nuclear missile attacks would barely warrant a headline.

He lingered for a moment where he stood, calmly observing the tumult of human life. After searching his memory for a moment, he set off purposefully in a certain direction.

Several minutes later, amidst the chaotic din and the wail of sirens, Lan Yi arrived at a shabby little eatery. The bald proprietor, sporting a thick gold chain, sat at the door, sulkily smoking a cigarette.

“Brother, a bowl of fried rice, please,” Lan Yi said with a smile.

The bald proprietor looked up in confusion, seemingly reluctant to do business, but, out of habit, trudged back to the kitchen. In this wretched world, what else was there to do if not business?

A short while later, the proprietor reemerged, cigarette dangling from his lips, carrying a bowl of fried rice. Lan Yi paid swiftly by scanning a code. Seeing the overpaid amount, the proprietor looked puzzled.

“Five days ago, I was penniless and starving. I stole a marinated chicken leg from your shop. Now that I have money, I’m here to pay you back,” Lan Yi said. He was flush with funds now—his account held astronomical sums, forced on him by those hoping to keep him placated.

The proprietor stared for a moment, scrutinizing Lan Yi before recognizing him as the much-maligned and beleaguered man who had been the target of a vicious online campaign.

He did not become angry. Instead, he turned, fished out a chicken leg with his tongs, and placed it atop the fried rice with a generous wave.

“Keep your money. Eat,” he said.

“Thank you, brother.”

“Next time, don’t sneak around. Just tell me. I know how hard it is out here. We all have to help each other. There’s nothing a real man can’t get through,” the proprietor said, his mood much improved.

“Alright!”

With no trace of a lofty immortal or a demonic overlord, Lan Yi smiled with genuine happiness, sat down with his meal, and ate heartily. These days, he ate purely to satisfy his palate—his energy needs were met by his spiritual energy furnace. What he savored here was not food, but a simple kindness.

This scene, by chance, fell under the gaze of Ji Ning and Zhang Shouzheng, who watched from a nearby car.

“He really didn’t have a single coin to his name? He was reduced to stealing a chicken leg for a meal?” Zhang Shouzheng was incredulous. The infamous Old Demon Lan, brought so low as to steal food to survive—it was beyond belief.

“Surprising, isn’t it? Now you see why I insisted on getting control of those vermin first,” Ji Ning replied with a chuckle.

“There’s nothing about this in the files,” Zhang Shouzheng protested.

“Selective reporting—passing the buck,” Ji Ning said, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke from his fingers. “If Old Demon Lan went berserk, it’d be understandable, wouldn’t it? Otherwise, wouldn’t that make all their subsequent idiotic decisions look like the work of brainless clowns?”

“They deserve to die!” Zhang Shouzheng’s killing intent flared in an instant.