In Ruan Mobei’s eyes, He Songming was facing a classic “trolley problem.” However, the boy wasn’t the one deciding whether to pull the lever—he was the one tied to the tracks. Others had the option to pull the lever and change the train’s course, sacrificing He Songming to save many others.

If He Songming was sacrificed, everyone else could survive. If not, many would die.

Most of the settlement’s residents had made the “logical” choice—to save the majority at the cost of one person. After all, He Songming wouldn’t die from it.

No one had ever asked He Songming if he was willing.

Because it wasn’t their sacrifice to make.

To them, as long as He Songming complied, it was a win-win situation for all. This was their idea of morality.

Ruan Mobei couldn’t comment on such morality. As the saying goes, “where you stand depends on where you sit.” His perspective had been fixed from the start—he stood firmly with He Songming and would never accept his sacrifice.

“Saints don’t exist. Morality, as people proclaim it, is only meant to constrain oneself,” Ruan Mobei said softly. “You don’t have to be bound by their expectations. The only judge of your actions should be your own heart.”

He Songming sniffled and replied in a hoarse voice, “…I understand.”

From that day on, in the eyes of others, He Songming seemed to have changed.

The once defiant boy, who always ignored others or deliberately antagonized them, had grown more amiable. He would return greetings instead of glaring at everyone with hateful eyes.

He had agreed to learn medicine from the doctor. Every day, he went to the East Zone to read books, study diagrams, and sit quietly while the doctor diagnosed patients.

Everyone thought this was a good development.

Only He Songming knew the truth. Every time he walked the corridors or sat in a room, Ruan Mobei would phase through walls, investigating the settlement’s structure within the limits of his range.

Every night, back in the small room in the West Zone, Ruan Mobei would sit at the desk, sketching out the structure of the East Zone from memory. Everyone knew that access below level -9 was restricted to outsiders, housing weapons, technological devices, emergency supplies, the central power system, unoccupied hibernation pods, and the settlement’s central control room.

But only the administrative personnel knew the exact layout below.

Ruan Mobei’s goal was to exploit He Songming’s presence in the East Zone and his spectral form’s advantages to locate the central control room. He needed to obtain information on the migration team and ensure He Songming’s escape.

He Songming sat at the edge of his bed, a medical textbook spread across his lap. Being a fragment of the real He Songming’s soul, he was also intelligent. Even though he hadn’t chosen to study medicine, he learned quickly.

Tilting his head, he watched as Ruan Mobei’s pencil drew precise lines on the map, trying to match the diagrams to the rooms he remembered. “How are you so good at drawing these?” He Songming asked. He still remembered Ruan Mobei claiming he had no memories. How could someone with no memories draw such detailed and accurate schematics?

Ruan Mobei paused, using a makeshift ruler to measure distances. “Maybe it’s…talent.”

In truth, he had studied at an institute of mechanical engineering and worked in a related field after graduation. Drafting schematics had been second nature for years.

He Songming frowned, suspicious. His instincts told him Ruan Mobei wasn’t being entirely honest about having no memories. But even if Ruan Mobei was lying, what could he do about it?

The two of them were in this together. Without Ruan Mobei’s help, escape would be nearly impossible.

And…he didn’t really want to doubt Ruan Mobei.

Who else could he trust?

Noticing He Songming fidgeting with the corners of his book, Ruan Mobei sensed the boy’s unease. Having grown up with He Songming, he understood him as well as He Songming understood him.

Without saying anything, Ruan Mobei continued drawing. He didn’t know how to explain himself, so he simply didn’t try.

Time and actions would prove his intentions.

During this time, Ruan Mobei kept a close watch on He Songming’s health. The boy’s diet had improved significantly since he started eating in the East Zone, either with the doctor’s family or at the cafeteria. Now willing to eat meat, He Songming had put on noticeable weight. His once-stick-thin arms were now visibly sturdier, and his stomach had a soft, plush look to it.

Every night, after reviewing his studies, He Songming would also do sets of push-ups and squats. If not for the fear of attracting attention, long-distance running would have been his ideal exercise.

Every preparation was for leaving this place.

A month passed in the blink of an eye. Ruan Mobei had grown accustomed to his existence as a ghost accompanying He Songming. By day, he explored the settlement and gathered intelligence. By night, he drew maps, supervised He Songming’s workouts, and slept beside him to recharge his spiritual energy.

The “moon-like” system had not contacted him again. To this day, Ruan Mobei had no idea where the fragmented memories of this world were, how they would be triggered, or when he would leave.

He was increasingly anxious. The real He Songming was still in a coma, waiting for him.

But for now, he had another mission of equal importance—to help this world’s He Songming escape. Even if the boy was just a fragment of a soul, Ruan Mobei was determined to ensure he could live a happy life here.

One day, after investigating the tenth floor below ground, Ruan Mobei floated up through the ceiling to find He Songming waiting in the hallway. The boy was covered in dirt, looking like he had just rolled through a pile of dust.

“What happened to you?” Ruan Mobei asked with a chuckle, reaching out to flatten a tuft of hair on He Songming’s head and dust off his shoulders.

“Went to find something,” He Songming said, sneezing repeatedly from the dust. Pinching his nose, he muffled, “Let’s go back.”

“What did you find?”

“You’ll see.”

What a kid—keeping secrets now.

Night had fallen, and the snow reflected the harsh lights outside the settlement gates. The paths, still uncleared from the day’s snowfall, made for a treacherous journey as He Songming trudged back to the West Zone, his steps sinking unevenly into the snow.

He hadn’t used the hidden entrance in some time. Worried that too much snow might block it, he took a moment to clear the area.

Granny had already gone to bed—she slept early due to her age. Quietly closing the door behind him, He Songming didn’t head straight to his room. Instead, he crouched in front of the TV and inserted a storage device into the interface.

The screen lit up as He Songming stepped back and plopped onto the old, tattered sofa. He patted the seat beside him, inviting Ruan Mobei to join.

Ruan Mobei obliged, sitting down as the faint light of the TV illuminated their faces. After a half-minute of blue screen, the image flickered and transitioned to something else.

The vast expanse of space appeared on the screen. An international space station orbited a circular path, its solar panels extended to absorb sunlight. Below it, the serene blue planet seemed peaceful.

Everything appeared normal, like any other space documentary or sci-fi film.

Until the camera panned downward, plunging into the planet below.

Volcanoes erupted, lava scorching the earth as ash clouds darkened the sky and buried towns. Nuclear wastewater spilled into the oceans, spreading across currents to every sea. Tsunamis toppled buildings, unleashing catastrophic floods littered with dead fish and marine debris. Blizzards in Siberia persisted at minus fifty degrees for three months, while East Africa’s parched land cracked into deep crevices, littered with corpses.

Men in suits sat solemnly in the United Nations conference room, each representing their countries as they voted. On a massive holographic map, 19,330 settlement sites were marked across the globe.

The voting devices lit up one after another. No objections, no abstentions. On December 25, 2271, for the first time in history, all 197 nations and 36 territories unanimously agreed—

The end of humanity had arrived.

The camera zoomed out, spanning the Pacific Ocean from the United Nations headquarters in New York to Dingjie County in Tibet, China. A deep voice announced the final comprehensive test for the “Zhuoming-class” Ark fleet had begun. The test would last thirty-one days.

Afterward, the fleet would carry 790,000 passengers into deep space in search of a new home.

Accompanied by the rumble of engines, the title card appeared beneath the gloomy sky: two simple yet weighty words—

Hope.

“This is the Chinese version,” He Songming murmured. “I looked everywhere for it.”

Hearing Ruan Mobei’s interest, he had scoured the storage rooms to find it.

For a moment, Ruan Mobei was speechless, his nose tingling with emotion.

He knew this wasn’t fiction—it had all happened. And because it was real, the weight of it was suffocating.

“Thank you,” Ruan Mobei said softly, his gaze fixed on the faces of the people in the footage. They were long gone. History was no longer just a cold sentence: In 2271, the Great Cataclysm marked the beginning of the Space Age.

And this ocean-covered planet was no longer just the sterile term Old Earth.

Suddenly, Ruan Mobei felt a wave of dizziness. Holding his forehead, he frowned, his thoughts swirling as if struck by a heavy blow.

Old Earth? What Old Earth?

What had he just been thinking?