Chen Ci and Fu Tianhe each took a room key. Their rooms were both on the third floor, right next to each other.

But Fu Tianhe didn’t even glance at his own door—he followed Chen Ci straight into his room.

The Alpha activated the infrared detection function on his terminal, scanning every corner meticulously to check for hidden cameras, audio bugs, or anything suspicious.

The bathroom mirror, toilet tank lid, curtain hooks, TV switch, window frame seams, and even under the lampshade—nothing escaped his scrutiny.

Meanwhile, Chen Ci casually set down his backpack and released his mental power. In the blink of an eye, he had already swept the entire room. No matter how tiny or hidden an electronic device might be, there was no way it could escape his perception.

Fu Tianhe even checked the central air conditioning vent at the top of the room. Ten minutes later, he finally confirmed everything was safe and said to Chen Ci, “This place is pretty clean.”

Chen Ci nodded. Fu Tianhe hopped off the chair he had climbed onto, pushed it back into place, and turned to leave. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Alright.”

The door shut with a click. Chen Ci heard Fu Tianhe open the room next door, then close it, followed by footsteps and the heavy thud of someone collapsing onto a bed.

The hotel’s soundproofing wasn’t great—and also, Fu Tianhe hadn’t checked his own room.

Chen Ci washed his hands, then crouched by the door to sort his bags.

He emptied one pack and repacked it with what they’d need for the outing: a water bottle, food, some small tools, and a few camping items—just enough.

His terminal vibrated. Chen Ci glanced at it—Shavri had transferred him more money again.

He probably heard about Chen Ci’s travel plans from Chen Nian.

But what Shavri didn’t know was that his money was going to be used… to support another Alpha.

Well, since he had money, Chen Ci was happy to take it.

Just as he was about to continue packing, he remembered something and opened his messaging app to send a message to Jiang Dai:

[I’ve arrived at the CPU east wing.]

Jiang Dai must’ve been waiting the whole time—he replied almost instantly:

[Good, stay safe.]

Chen Ci stared at the concise message and vaguely understood something.

Jiang Dai had probably been glued to his terminal all this time, too anxious to do anything else properly. Now that he was reassured, he could finally relax and get back to work.

Maybe this was what Fu Tianhe meant when he asked him to stay in touch often?

This wasn’t like the White Tower’s mandated movement reports—it was… concern.

Chen Ci quickly finished packing the light bag. He tested its weight—perfect.

He took a couple sips of water, grabbed his room key, and stepped out, turning left to knock on Fu Tianhe’s door.

He could hear some scrambling inside, followed by heavy footsteps as Fu Tianhe rushed to open the door.

“I’m ready,” Chen Ci said from the doorway. “Want to head out now?”

“I’m on it.” Fu Tianhe immediately squatted down to pack. Chen Ci peeked inside—the bed was already a mess from the Alpha flopping around.

Fu Tianhe worked fast. Within a few minutes, he slung the backpack onto his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

They grabbed their keycards and left the hotel, heading for their first destination: The Abandoned Suburbs.

First, they took a tram to the nearest station to the ruins. The car was nearly empty, practically becoming their private ride.

As the name suggested, the Suburbs were an area long since abandoned—completely devoid of use or value. Naturally, no one would go there on purpose, except for the occasional adventurer who rode this line.

The tram pulled into the platform and dropped them off in a desolate zone. The signal beacon structure here was tower-shaped, broader at the base. The edge zones were exposed to open sky—true wilderness.

The wind howled, carrying an indistinct salty tang. Sunlight poured into every corner, gilding the grey, dead world with a layer of gold.

Fu Tianhe raised a hand to shade his eyes, gazing at the blazing sun hanging high in the sky.

How long had it been since he saw sunlight? Months, probably.

Jiu Yue must’ve rarely seen the sky or real sunlight either, right?

He looked over at Chen Ci. The boy beside him was also staring into the distance, but his eyes followed the horizon line, more focused on the ruins that sprawled endlessly outward, showing no particular awe for the sunlight.

The brim of his cap cast a deep shadow across his face, giving his tea-colored eyes an even darker hue. His expression was as calm as always.

But for some reason, Fu Tianhe felt a quiet longing in that calm gaze.

The boy had gotten used to hiding his emotions.

“Nice weather,” Fu Tianhe said, pulling out a hat and putting it on as well.

If you took the sea level before the flooding disaster as the zero mark, Chensha’s lowest layer, sitting on the Pamir Plateau, was still 2,750 meters above sea level. Unlike the top level, there was no protective gel layer here. The UV rays were dangerously strong.

If you spent a whole day out here without any protection, your face would be burning.

Chen Ci gave a soft “mm” and started walking.

Two travelers from the 13th Information Processing Zone stepped off the side of the road and onto the ground of the abandoned outskirts.

Well, “ground” might be a bit generous. Years ago, it might’ve had artificial topsoil, but after years of wind and sun, that had all but eroded. What remained were crumbling ruins and gravel left behind by decaying structures.

As they moved deeper in, remnants of buildings began to appear. Long ago, this place had been attacked by primordial creatures. The fierce battles destroyed the buildings and roads, leaving only a wasteland of broken walls and collapsed streets.

The Suburbs sat too close to the coastline, always at risk of being attacked again. For safety reasons, reconstruction had been abandoned, allowing the place to decay naturally into what it was now.

They walked between ruined buildings. Vegetation had begun growing from the craters left by old blasts, vines crawling over concrete, painting the grey with vivid green.

A massive billboard had fallen at an angle, creating a natural shelter. Birds had built nests there, right on the image of a face wearing a neural interface, making it look like the person had a nest growing from their neck.

Next to it, big, flashy letters boomed: “Welcome to the Metaverse Era!”

Chen Ci paused beside the billboard. Fu Tianhe also found the scene oddly poetic and raised his terminal to take a photo.

The advent of neural adapters had indeed kicked off a new era. For most people, the virtual world was far better than reality. They worked hard in the real world, scrimped and saved, then spent it on simulated homes and décor in the digital space to live a better life.

People like Chen Ci and Fu Tianhe, who barely used the interface, were definite outliers.

A black-and-white bird flapped its wings and returned to its nest, feeding the chirping chicks. Chen Ci watched for a moment, then started walking again.

The further they went, the closer they came to the sea. The ruins grew thicker, more overgrown. Craters and dense vegetation slowed their pace.

“Let’s take a break,” Fu Tianhe said, glancing at the time—it was already noon. “It’s going to be really hot soon. It won’t ease up until around 3. Let’s find a spot to rest until then.”

“Okay,” Chen Ci replied.

Right beside them was a building, bombed into barely two floors. One side of it was missing, providing enough shade to block the sun.

Chen Ci led the way, stepping through the overgrown gap in the wall. Inside were old office furnishings. The table legs were buried in weeds, now blooming with tiny white flowers.

A withered potted plant sat on the windowsill, its ceramic chipped from years of wind and rain.

The stair railing to the second floor was rusted but still intact. Chen Ci climbed a few steps and peered up.

There was a break at the landing, but it looked like he could make it to the second floor.

“Jiu Yue,” Fu Tianhe called. Chen Ci turned his head—Alpha was standing by a desk.

He walked over. The desk’s lock was long since rusted away, and Fu Tianhe casually pulled open a drawer.

Inside was a gun.

Fu Tianhe looked to Chen Ci, silently asking for his opinion—only to see the Omega’s calm expression as he reached out and picked up the weapon.

Now it was Fu Tianhe’s turn to be surprised.

Chen Ci smoothly disassembled the gun, checked the components, then put it back together.

He raised it toward the window where the glass had long since shattered and pulled the trigger.

Click.

An empty dry-fire echoed through the open space.

Chen Ci handed the gun to Fu Tianhe, muzzle pointed away at a safe angle. “Have fun.”

Fu Tianhe was too stunned to speak.

He’d just wanted to show Jiu Yue something cool. After all, Omegas didn’t normally get to handle guns.

But how did it turn into Jiu Yue checking it over and handing it to him to play with?

Fu Tianhe accepted the gun with mixed feelings, head down and focused—so he didn’t see Chen Ci discreetly slip his left hand into his pocket.

Two bullets silently fell into his palm.

Chen Ci returned to the stairs, grabbed the rusted railing, and started climbing again.

Fu Tianhe noticed what he was doing, set the gun on the desk, and rushed after him. “Careful! It could collapse!”

Chen Ci didn’t respond. His amber eyes reflected the wide space above. Sunlight slanted in through the second-floor windows, illuminating the dust floating in the air.

The stairs had broken completely a few steps ahead. It wasn’t far, but the twisted steel bars looked dangerously sharp.

“Jiu Yue?” Fu Tianhe called again.

At the edge of the break, Chen Ci glanced back down at him.

Then he raised his arms and jumped—grabbing the floor of the second level with perfect precision.

“Jiu Yue?!” Fu Tianhe’s voice shot up an octave. He lunged toward the stairs, but by then, Chen Ci had already used his arms to haul himself up.

Fu Tianhe could only watch as the teen disappeared over the ledge.

Chen Ci didn’t rush. He lay flat to spread his weight, reducing pressure on the unstable floor.

The edges were brittle. Creaks echoed as cracks spread, bits of debris falling away.

Fu Tianhe’s heart nearly leapt into his throat. He didn’t even care anymore about the way the boy’s pants were stretched taut, clearly outlining his hips and legs.

He didn’t dare breathe too hard, afraid the sound would cause a collapse.

After thirty seconds, everything settled.

Chen Ci crawled forward a bit, then slowly stood.

“I’m fine,” he called down calmly.

Fu Tianhe was drenched in sweat, still standing below, ready to catch him at any moment.

But just because Chen Ci made it up didn’t mean Fu Tianhe could. Judging by the cracks, the floor wouldn’t hold two people.

“Be careful,” Fu Tianhe reminded.

Chen Ci answered with a hum and slowly moved across the second floor.

He hadn’t risked climbing up just out of curiosity. His mental power had already scanned the building before they entered.

He passed a toppled divider, gently pushed aside a broken wheeled chair. A large dark stain marked the floor—blood, dried and caked after many years, likely mixed with other substances.

The main support wall had collapsed. Chen Ci followed along its remains and found what looked like a door, just slightly ajar.

He crouched and slipped through.

Then he looked up—and finally saw what he’d been searching for.

A massive, long-dead jellyfish.

Or rather, its mechanical shell.

The jellyfish, easily twenty meters long, lay across the room. Its domed bell pressed up against the inner wall, and its long tendrils sprawled out across the floor.

As a creature with 97% water content, its flesh had long since vanished. But the mechanical structures on its surface, made of countless bits of metal, had withstood the passage of time—like an ancient suit of armor outlining the shape of this colossal primordial being.