As night fell, everyone seemed to fall silent all at once—along with their movements and even their breathing.

The entire Infinite Train had gone dark. Outside, the convoy vehicles were all locked up tight, engines shut down. Survivors huddled quietly inside the steel carriages' cramped safe rooms, listening to the sound of wind and sand sweeping through the region.

Whooo...

Wail...

The wind over the Gobi seemed never to rest. Sand and gravel pattered against the armor plating of the vehicles with a soft shh-shh-shh, and empty gas cans and tin barrels clattered noisily as they were rolled along the streets or wilderness of Akesai by the wind. In the distance, only the faint outlines of low hills could be seen. Even though they were in a wide-open area, no one could be sure what might appear out in that darkness. It was as if time itself had stopped in that moment.

Chen Sixuan sat down next to Lin Xian, leaning gently against him. Lin Xian was still working, assembling the automatic bullet stamping machine while using the Mechanical Heart to observe the world beyond the train.

They had just finished reconfiguring the train today. The sand ants passing through weren’t Lin Xian’s biggest concern. What truly worried him was that insectoid limb dangling upside down from the sky—its presence carried a hellish aura of dread that even steel armor might not withstand.

He didn’t know what kind of monster that thing was, but the oppressive power it radiated was no less terrifying than the S-Class Black Thorn Urchin in Xilan City.

The survivors were long used to staying silent after nightfall—these were the most dangerous hours. If nothing happened in the first half of the night, the second half usually passed uneventfully. That’s why survivors were willing to move out one or two hours before dawn: it gave them a bit of time to travel safely, and if anything happened, daylight wasn’t far off.

Lin Xian had thought tonight would be the same as last night—with sand ants sweeping through. But after waiting for twenty or thirty minutes, the outside remained eerily quiet. He exchanged a look with Chen Sixuan in the dark. Both of them were a bit surprised.

“It’s... really quiet tonight.”

“Let’s wait a bit more,” Lin Xian whispered. “If nothing happens in an hour, we’re probably in the clear.”

The silent effect from the Dark Mark was proving extremely effective for the survivors. Since they left Xilan City, they hadn’t been attacked by any Eerie Entities, aside from the occasional zombie. Their most dangerous moment had actually been back near Yijin City, where they’d nearly run into a Corpse Shepherd.

“All convoys, report your status,” Lin Xian said, pressing the United Convoy Channel button.

“No anomalies,” came Shi Diyuan’s response.

“All clear,” Qian Dele chimed in immediately.

“Nothing to report.” Monica’s calm voice followed.

“Captain Lin, all good over here!” That cheeky voice belonged to Hu Lushou, sounding unusually enthusiastic.

Soon, all the convoys—including the Dawn team, the Akesai Brotherhood, and the Windwalkers they’d rescued from Brother J—reported in. No issues.

It had been over an hour since night fell. Lin Xian relaxed a little at last and announced, “Turn the lights on!”

Tonight seemed like it would be another safe night.

Click-click. Almost immediately, the captains of all convoys let out a collective sigh of relief and gave the order to turn on the lights. Hundreds of carriages lit up one after another. The light shone through the blackout curtains and spilled onto the Gobi outside, breathing life into the darkened train.

People began moving again. Some started fires to cook and count supplies, celebrating the day’s haul. Others used the cover of night to prep weapons or trade combat tips for tomorrow’s uncertainties.

Over at the Infinite Train, things got busier. Weapons and ammo were being distributed. Luo Yang and Liang Lei led a team to install Arc Pulse Resonators and Sentinel Monitoring Systems—equipment made by Yu Dan earlier that day. These weren’t meant to cover the entire train—just key zones.

Shu Qin and Lü Chang were discussing power armor tactics with the gene degenerates in various carriages. Though they had a formidable battalion of tactical-level power armor, many people were still new to the tech. Even Shu Qin and Lü Chang had to consult the twin experts, A Min and Lolo, whose power armor skills were well known across the train.

Now that Luo Yang and Liang Lei weren’t around to assist with mechanical and data work, KIKI finally had more time to herself. Her main task now was helping Grace with the system analysis. While walking to Carriage 13, she saw Chu Yan working on the automatic bullet stamping machine.

“Man, having enough people on hand feels amazing. Our train really is turning into a fortress,” she said.

“It’s not that complicated,” Chu Yan replied with a smile.

Qian Dele, who understood Chu Yan’s meaning, looked over at KIKI helplessly. “Remember when you guys first left Beiwang Town? Tang Hai had just given you a small stash of supplies. Back then it was just eight of you—well, now even with Xiao Lou and Shasha, you’ve got five people. That stash was enough for six months. Now you’ve wiped out a thousand-strong Sand Raider alliance and only have enough water for a day and a half.”

KIKI’s smile froze, and she frowned slightly. “Now that you put it like that, yeah... not so great.”

Lin Xian added, “Food’s not the real issue. It’s the water. The desert’s dry enough as it is. But if it gets to a point where the water we do have can’t be consumed, we’ll be in serious trouble. We can only hope Phoenix Society figures out a way to resist and filter out the Dark Invasion in water, or we’re not even making it through this year.”

“Don’t stress out,” KIKI said, trying to lift their spirits. “We’ll figure something out. What’s with you two? No faith in us at all? Don’t forget, humanity is evolving too. If we can adapt to the forces behind the Dark Invasion, it might even accelerate our evolution!”

Lin Xian paused for a moment, then chuckled. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“Hehe~”

Just then, Ning Jing’s voice came through the comms channel. “Captain Lin, we’ve finished scanning those people we rescued. They’re all from smaller convoys that ran into Sand Raiders in the uninhabited zone recently. The longest any of them had been held was six days. Based on that, we think the raiders round up captives every week or so before selling them off. They don’t care if it’s men, women, or children.”

Lin Xian nodded. “They're probably priced based on their peak Soul Wave Value, most likely for Ability User research. Or maybe there’s something else going on...”

—

Lin Xian then shared what he knew about Old Mo and his suspicions with the other convoy leaders. When they learned that Old Mo’s group had entered from the Wei River side and ended up in the Western Gobi, everyone was shocked. These convoy leaders were all familiar with the terrain and road conditions. They knew that with that kind of distance, there was no way anyone could have made it there by vehicle in a single night—especially not while passing through the Polar Night Fog.

“This is just too strange. Could they have been dragged into the Abyss by some kind of monster, or is there some kind of space-time anomaly going on in there?” Shi Diyuan muttered, puzzled.

“They got into the Western Gobi overnight? Unless their vehicles were fitted with plasma pulse thrusters…” Qian Dele commented coolly.

Monica sipped her wine and said sharply, “If it’s not something they did themselves, then it must be something freaky inside the Abyss. We’ve already seen plenty of weird situations, and if Old Mo’s group survived, it means they didn’t encounter an Eerie Entity—they ran into something... even stranger.”

Her words were met with a lot of silent agreement. In the Abyss, if they’d faced an Eerie Entity head-on, there’s no way Old Mo’s convoy—given their loadout—would have survived. The fact that they’d made it out of the darkness and weren’t marked by the Dark Mark was evidence that what they encountered couldn’t be explained by a mere monster.

“Old Hu, tell us what you saw,” Lin Xian said, turning his attention to Hu Lushou.

Hu Lushou was lounging on the sofa in his fancy RV, listening to the conversation. As soon as Lin Xian called him, he sat upright and responded seriously, “Captain Lin, you mentioned the Iron Force Convoy—is that the one with two all-terrain heavy-duty RVs?”

“Yes.”

Hu Lushou’s expression sharpened. “Then I think I remember now. Before nightfall, I did see those two vehicles among the convoys. I remember thinking they were ridiculously well modified.”

Knowing how seriously Lin Xian took this, Hu Lushou didn’t dare leave out a single detail and quickly recounted everything he remembered.

“At the time, we were coming up from the Wei River, heading toward the route to Silent City. Along the way, there were already dozens, maybe hundreds, of convoys gathering. Everyone had the same idea—stick with the big group for safety.”

And that idea wasn’t just Hu Lushou’s. All the convoys back then had one goal: to follow Silent City toward Jinhai.

With such a massive fleet of vehicles moving together, there was a decent level of safety. Not to mention, they were following a literal mobile mechanical city. But when night fell, all navigation systems and even compasses stopped working. On top of that, a swarm of Eerie Entities attacked, and everything descended into chaos. Even Silent City roared to life and started moving urgently through the mountains.

All the convoys panicked and began fleeing in all directions, using the mobile city as their only reference point.

Silent City’s electromagnetic cannons boomed throughout the night. Over a hundred convoys kept driving nonstop through the darkness. But dawn never came. Most of them were already dead or scattered. Despair loomed in every shadow.

Hu Lushou didn’t even know where his own convoy ended up—some deep mountain forest, directionless and without markers. Everyone was trapped in a thickening fog.

The night poured down like pitch, thick and clinging. The mist slithered from cracks in the earth like something alive. Huddled inside his vehicle, Hu Lushou’s face was pale with dread. He thought he heard a distant, broken horn—but it wasn’t a ship’s whistle. It sounded more like the internal groan of some titanic, bloated sea creature squeezing its organs through layers of slime. The moonlight outside had warped into a sickly greenish-gray, like it had filtered through the corpse of a jellyfish that had been rotting for a hundred million years.

Even now, remembering it gave Hu Lushou chills. That night felt like they’d wandered into the depths of the Black Abyss itself, into a hellish realm. Whenever he looked out the window, his retinas burned like needles were stabbing into his brain—rusted steel pins, threading through his optic nerves into his cortex. Outside, mountain-sized shadows oozed and reformed in the mist. Now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of a coral-spiked limb or half a face made from rotting petals and interlocked gears.

Reality and illusion blurred into one.

So Hu Lushou did the only thing he could—he pushed the convoy to keep driving, as fast as possible. And somehow, through all the madness, the Fu Lu Shou Convoy miraculously broke through the fog. When the sun finally rose, he and Sun Chang found themselves in the Western Gobi, though half the convoy was gone.

Luckily, they still had most of their supply trucks and manpower. But just as Hu Lushou thought he might be able to rebuild, they ran into Sand Raiders...

“All those convoys getting lost in the Polar Night like that... it’s just too bizarre.” Qian Dele couldn’t help but comment after hearing Hu Lushou’s story. “North of Longjiang is the Luling Forest and Haiqu City. Even if they entered the forest, there’s no way they could’ve popped out in the Western Gobi.”

“Exactly. You’d have to cross hundreds of miles of hills and canyons to get there. No way they just drove through.” Shi Diyuan added.

“What, you guys fall into a time-space wormhole or something?” Monica joked, but no one laughed.

Lin Xian glanced at Chen Sixuan and KIKI. If it were just Hu Lushou talking, he might’ve thought the guy was exaggerating. But the accounts from Old Mo and Sun Yuzhen matched Hu Lushou’s, and the fact that their convoys actually did show up in the Western Gobi proved his story wasn’t fiction.

“This might be a warning,” Lin Xian said gravely. “Abyss Zone No. 5 is becoming extremely unstable. The Phoenix Society may be losing control over their Abyss monitoring system...”

Silence fell across the comms channel.

Phoenix Society’s “one year and ninety-six days” timeline had already been considered a conservative estimate. If Lin Xian was right, they might not even have that much time left.

After a moment of thought, Lin Xian spoke again. “No point guessing anymore. Everyone, rest up tonight. We move out two hours before dawn.”

“Got it!” the others agreed. Water was running low, and Abyss Zone No. 5 was acting up. The best thing to do now was get through the uninhabited zone and reach Quancheng as soon as possible. Everything else could wait.

—

After wrapping up the reports and coordination with all convoys, Lin Xian did a quick briefing with the core members of the Infinite Train through the comms. Around that time, the fully automated bullet stamping machine was finally complete—an imposing industrial-grade machine now sitting in Carriage 13, gleaming under the lights.

All that remained was to build a few material feed belts. Then, using PX-05 Robots for handling and supervision, he could input raw materials like primer compounds, metal sheets, bullet cores, and propellant. If one machine wasn’t fast enough, he’d add a second. Once configured, the robots could run the bullet production around the clock—he only needed to set the caliber and quantity.

The only real bottlenecks now were power supply and Devour materials.

Fortunately, power wasn’t a problem at the moment, and Lin Xian still had a massive reserve of Devour material left from Yijin City. He’d originally stockpiled it for track laying, so he wasn’t exactly running short.

Once everything was done, Lin Xian stood up, looked at the large industrial machine, and let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Finally took care of one major job. No more crafting ammo by hand."

Handcrafting bullets wasn't exactly exhausting for Lin Xian, but it was a huge time sink—and with the way ammo got used up, he was never keeping pace. It had started to feel like he was turning into some kind of mechanical broodmother.

The bullet stamping machine had taken him about four hours to build. Now that there were people assigned to night watch across the carriages and at the weapons stations, Lin Xian hurried to grab a quick bite, took a sip of water, and headed back to Car No. 1 to finally get some sleep.

The last time he’d truly slept was after collapsing in Xilan City. Since then—through Yijin City and into the Western Gobi—he hadn’t closed his eyes once. He’d fought a major battle during the day and worked nonstop into the night.

He was running on empty.

His body felt light, like he might float away. The moment he lay down, he fell asleep instantly.

Click… click…

In the dark, Lin Xian thought he could hear the ticking of a second hand. But that didn’t make sense—he wore a digital watch, not a mechanical one. There shouldn’t have been any sound.

When he opened his eyes, he was blinded by light. In front of him stretched a brightly lit corridor.

It was pristine. Spotless. Like it belonged in some high-level research facility. He couldn’t tell whether it was underground or on the surface, but something about it stirred a strange sense of déjà vu.

Lin Xian looked down at his own hands. Everything around him felt incredibly real—but somewhere deep in his subconscious, he knew…

This place couldn’t possibly be real.

The corridor was eerily silent. Lin Xian looked around—there wasn’t a soul in sight. Just then, he noticed a sign ahead. Maybe it could tell him where he was.

But before he could take more than a few steps forward, hurried footsteps suddenly echoed from around the corner. They were getting closer—fast. It sounded like more than one person. Instinct told him he shouldn’t just stand there. He was just about to move when a nearby door abruptly opened, and a hand reached out, yanking him inside. The door slammed shut behind him.

Clack. Clack.

A second later, a group of people rounded the corner and rushed past the very spot Lin Xian had just been standing.

Inside the room, the lighting was dim. Lin Xian had his mouth covered and was pinned against the back of the door. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a very familiar face.

Chu Yan.

She was dressed like a researcher—black-rimmed glasses, tidy short hair, sharp eyes, white teeth. If it weren’t for the icy look in her eyes, Lin Xian might have actually believed she was one.

“What are you doing here?”

Lin Xian shrugged. “You ask that every time. I’d like to know myself.”

“No, this time is different.”

Chu Yan gave him a scrutinizing look, then said coldly, “Help me.”

“What?”

“Follow me. Don’t wander.”

With that, she opened the door and strode out quickly. Lin Xian frowned and followed close behind.

As he trailed her brisk steps, doubts swirled in Lin Xian’s mind. This was the first time he had ever physically touched this woman. But that made no sense—he wasn’t really here, so touch shouldn’t even be possible.

And yet it all felt so real. On instinct, Lin Xian tried to activate his Mechanical Heart.

It worked. But strangely, the light screen of the Mechanical Heart didn’t appear before his eyes.

Weird...

“Where are we going?”

Lin Xian watched as Chu Yan led him to the end of the corridor. She silently opened an office door. The office was lavish—clearly owned by someone important.

Chu Yan didn’t say a word. She went straight to the computer and began typing rapidly.

“You’re stealing something?”

“Yes,” Chu Yan answered bluntly.

Lin Xian looked stunned. Just what kind of person was she? She was acting like a special agent. He slowly walked over and glanced at a nameplate on the desk. His brows instantly furrowed.

“Julius Litt...”

“That name... it sounds really familiar.”

I... don’t know much. My husband brought me here. This organization is really secretive. The highest-ranking person I’ve met is someone named Julius Litt, in his forties. He explained the traits of the Mycelial Network to us and even let us experience the Hallucinogenic Spores. Other than that...

At that moment, memories surged back. He suddenly remembered the sign he saw earlier in the corridor while following Chu Yan—[5F, Core Experimental Zone]—and his expression changed drastically.

Chu Yan, who was still typing, glanced up at him. A subtle smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Pretty sharp.”

Lin Xian looked incredulous. “No... this underground Level 5 of Crimson Pharma was already covered by mycelium. Didn’t everyone evacuate?”

Chu Yan’s fingers froze over the keyboard.

“You’ve been here before?”

“You didn’t know? Weren’t you the one who told me that a Corpse Shepherd was spotted in Abyss Zone No. 5 during the last Tide Cycle, and suggested we lay low underground until the next Mycelial Activation Phase before leaving?”

Chu Yan blinked, her face momentarily puzzled. She looked at Lin Xian and said, “What are you talking about? Wasn’t the last time we met in Yubei City?”

“Wait!”

A jolt ran through Lin Xian. “How many times have we met?”

“Including this time?”

“Yeah.”

“Four times.”

Lin Xian looked confused. “Twice at the Jiang City Shelter, once in Yubei, and now. You’re sure we didn’t meet anywhere else?”

“No,” Chu Yan glanced at him and said flatly.

“Then this place is...”

Bang bang bang!

Before he could finish, a sudden burst of gunfire rang out from outside. Chu Yan’s fingers flew over the keyboard, then she stood up. “Let’s go.”

Lin Xian turned back and saw the office door riddled with bullet holes. A group was getting ready to break in.

“Who’s in there?!”

“Security! Get them!”

A man roared.

Chu Yan hurried to a corner of the office and triggered a hidden mechanism. A section of the bookshelf swung open to reveal a secret door. She went straight in. Lin Xian followed without hesitation.

One after the other, they slipped through a hidden passage and emerged into a wide, brightly lit corridor. At the far end stood a large elevator.

Lin Xian recognized this corridor. Back when he’d led KIKI and the others through Crimson Pharma’s central hall, they had encountered a massive hallucinogenic fungus. They’d used this elevator to descend. When the doors opened back then, this whole corridor had been overrun by Mycelial Vines. They’d circled around to the underground platform and used the rail line to reach the Zero Element Center.

Now, as he ran behind Chu Yan, Lin Xian’s thoughts churned.

Had he time-traveled... to a moment before Yijin City was overtaken by the fungus?

Why did Grace at the Zero Element Center have Chu Yan’s face as a holographic avatar... and give him intel about the Corpse Shepherd?

Why could he physically interact with Chu Yan? Wasn’t he still on the Infinite Train?

His questions twisted in his mind like sticky tar.

Bang bang bang!

Gunfire roared behind them. Lin Xian reflexively tried to activate his AT Field Shield—but nothing happened. He crouched and bolted, dodging bullets as he raced for the elevator.

Ding!

The elevator doors opened. Chu Yan and Lin Xian dove inside and hid against the walls as bullets peppered the interior. The hallway was in chaos. Armed men were firing nonstop. Among them stood a tall, cold-eyed white man—middle-aged, lean, and grim.

If Lin Xian wasn’t mistaken, that had to be Julius Litt, a top-level executive of the Zero Element Center.

Whirrrrr—

At the last second, the elevator doors shut. The gunfire outside abruptly ceased.

Lin Xian exhaled in relief. Beside him, Chu Yan remained calm. She swiftly stripped off her lab coat and glasses, revealing a sleek black combat suit. To his shock, both her arms and legs were mechanical prosthetics. She removed her wig too—revealing a long, silver-gray ponytail.

In that instant, Lin Xian felt like she had become an entirely different person—totally unlike the woman he’d met in Jiang City and Yubei.

“I know who you are now, Lin Xian. Member of the Infinite Train Convoy, collaborator on the Phoenix Society’s Crimson Phoenix Directive, involved in the major evacuations at Yubei City and Xilan City.”

Chu Yan ignored his stunned face and continued, “Don’t worry. Technically, I’m part of the Phoenix Society’s camp too.”

“Camp? So you're not officially part of the Phoenix Society?” Lin Xian asked.

“You could put it that way. But the Phoenix Society isn’t just a single official organization. All members of the Rescue Faction fall under its banner.”

“Can you be more direct? Where are we right now? Who are you really? And why do I keep connecting with you in my dreams?”

Lin Xian fired off his questions, but at that moment, his instincts picked up something strange.

The elevator... had been going up for way too long.

Crimson Pharma only had five underground levels. So what the h*ll was taking this long? He looked up—and saw that the elevator wasn’t rising.

It was descending.

And fast.

-85, -86, -87...

“What’s going on? We’re going down?”

Chu Yan didn’t seem fazed. She looked at Lin Xian and asked, “You said you saw me here before, and that I warned you about the Corpse Shepherds in this zone. But was that really me?”

Lin Xian frowned. “Not exactly. But it looked a lot like you.”

“A robot?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Chu Yan’s brows tightened, but her face gave nothing away. She stepped forward and pressed a button.

At last, the elevator stopped at B99.

Ding—

The doors slid open.

A blinding light spilled in. Lin Xian shielded his eyes and stepped out—only to find they were on the rooftop of a skyscraper.

He looked around, stunned. A bustling, vibrant mechanical city stretched before him. From the towering Twin Star Towers to the massive city arc, there was no mistaking it—

This was Dawn City.

The city hadn’t yet fallen into night. Heavy clouds loomed above, but below, everything still operated as it did before Apocalypse Day.

Chu Yan stepped out into the wind and looked back at Lin Xian.

“Now do you get why I was so surprised to see you here?”

“I think I’ve got a guess,” Lin Xian replied, exhaling.

“Oh?” Chu Yan raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

Lin Xian’s face turned serious. He stared at the graceful, cybernetic Chu Yan and said—

“If I’m not mistaken, I’m currently inside Julius Litt’s dream. You’re here to extract something from his subconscious, aren’t you?”

This definitely wasn’t some kind of space-time travel. Judging by the bizarre shifts in terrain earlier and the fact that he could physically touch Chu Yan, Lin Xian was convinced she must have some kind of consciousness-based or psychic ability. But he still didn’t understand why his own consciousness had somehow become entangled with hers.

Upon hearing Lin Xian’s words, a flicker of surprise passed over Chu Yan’s cold and stunning face. She then looked at him with clear appreciation.

“Not bad. No wonder Phoenix Society recognizes you. But, just so you know, this is my mental realm.”

“Seriously?”

Even though he’d guessed it right, Lin Xian was still utterly shocked. A mental realm? What kind of joke was this?

RUMBLE! At that moment, the entire Dawn City started shaking violently. Twin Star Towers swayed, and high-rises all around began to collapse.

“Looks like our little chat is about to be cut short again,” Lin Xian muttered in frustration as he watched the chaos unfold.

“No.”

Chu Yan’s face turned grave as she looked at him. “If you don’t exit my dream right now, you might never wake up again.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Lin Xian exclaimed, startled.

Chu Yan replied calmly, “Your appearance here confuses me too. I’m used to appearing in other people’s consciousness. You’re the first who’s ever entered mine. From what I’ve read in the Phoenix Society archives, you don’t seem to possess this type of ability. So based on my own reasoning, if you don’t force your way out of my dream and back to reality now, it might cause... problems.”

“How do I get out?”

The tremors intensified. The entire skyscraper was shaking so hard that Lin Xian could barely stay on his feet.

Chu Yan stepped onto the edge of the building and pointed to a puddle on the street far below.

“See that puddle down there? Aim for it. Jump.”

“You serious? Don’t mess with me. I’ve seen dream-jump scenes in movies. Never heard you need to aim for a puddle.”

Chu Yan turned and gave him a flat look. “Did you forget we’re on Negative Level 99?”

“So?”

“So we’re the ones inside that puddle’s reflection.”

She suddenly grabbed Lin Xian’s hand—and shoved him off the building.

“Holy sh*t!”

From the reflection... downward?

The world flipped.

WHOOSH!

An overwhelming sense of freefall hit him like a freight train. In Car No. 1 of the Infinite Train, Lin Xian’s eyes rolled wildly as the world around him shattered and crumbled. That black puddle of rainwater shimmered with a strange light—it looked like a gateway to the unknown.

Clenching his teeth, Lin Xian instinctively raised his hands to cover his face. The moment he hit the ground, his nerves jolted, and the world around him transformed in a flash.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a dimly lit room. Several corpses lay sprawled across the floor, all wearing exosuits. Six people stood in the room—four men, two women—each one radiating power. They were clad in fully enclosed high-tier armor suits: three Iron Hunter-class, three Ghost Wolf-class. In the center of the room, two chairs sat side by side.

One was occupied by Chu Yan—this time outfitted in a different type of exosuit—and the other by the middle-aged white man Lin Xian had just seen: Julius Litt.

Chu Yan stirred. She slowly opened her eyes and stood from her chair. The six others turned to her, one of them immediately asking,

“Captain Yan, how’d it go?”

“All done.” Chu Yan’s voice was icy. She glanced at Lin Xian, who stood quietly in the corner.

“Grab the package. Time to move out.”

“Yes, ma’am!” The six sprang into action and exited the room, leaving only Lin Xian and Chu Yan behind.

Lin Xian quickly realized none of them could perceive his presence—except Chu Yan.

He looked down at the corpses littering the floor and then at Julius Litt, who was still alive but clearly under some form of control, locked in deep unconsciousness.

Litt’s armor was top-tier. A blue, triangular power core glowed on his chest. His face appeared calm, almost scholarly.

Lin Xian took in the room—likely some underground shelter. Holographic screens displayed rolling lists of survivor identities, all tagged as experimental subjects.

“Lin Xian, mechanical ability user. August 11—repaired Yubei Climbing Elevator and proposed the ‘Traction Plan’ to rescue 30,000 survivors. August 30—participated in Xilan’s Fortification Plan, piloted special weaponry alongside Phoenix Society and tens of thousands of survivors to achieve humanity’s first S-Class Eerie Entity kill since Apocalypse Day: Black Thorn in the Clouds…”

Chu Yan’s helmet retracted as she walked past him, evaluating him with her eyes.

“What you did in Xilan City was heroic. It gave hope and courage to survivor groups all over the world. But it also triggered unstable expansion of the Abyss.”

Lin Xian frowned. “Because of the S-Class kill?”

Chu Yan tilted her head slightly. “No. The Abyss remains a mystery. But humanity’s first eradication of an S-Class entity made those hiding in the shadows panic.”

“You mean... the Descent Faction?” Lin Xian asked, confused. “Why would they panic?”

“To the Descent Faction, S-Class Eerie Entities are gods—beings that hold the key to new dimensions of life. To them, this was divine. You tell me why they’d panic.”

Without waiting for a response, Chu Yan turned and headed toward the exit. Lin Xian followed.

“These Descent Faction guys are the biggest headache Phoenix Society has right now—while we’re trying to save humanity, we also have to fend them off. And somehow, their dark science has surpassed global research levels in certain extreme fields. You’ve been to Clearwater Town—you get what I mean. It’s not just your team on alert. Phoenix Society is too.”

Lin Xian followed her down a corridor full of battle marks and bodies. All the corpses bore a triangular red emblem—markings of the Crimson World faction.

“Did someone really predict the apocalypse before it began?”

“Oh, theories have been around for a while. Just no proof. Phoenix Society is still investigating.”

Eventually, they reached a door. Chu Yan opened it, revealing a Gobi desert under nightfall. The facility was built beneath a massive rock. Around them stood rusted radio telescope dishes, long abandoned—except for one newer radar with a Crimson World emblem on top.

“This place... is that the White Deer Plains Stargazing Station?”

As soon as he stepped outside, Lin Xian spotted several rusted iron signs.

“You know this place too?” Chu Yan asked from a higher vantage point.

Lin Xian shook his head. “Rough guess. My convoy should be somewhere within a thousand kilometers of here.”

Chu Yan’s expression changed. “Akesai?”

Lin Xian didn’t answer.

She took a breath. “My organization is the North America Union Front (NAUF)—an allied group under Phoenix Society across Oceania and North America. My identity is classified, even to Phoenix’s internal allies. That’s why I can’t tell you much. I don’t know why we’re linked either. But as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll share two things. Whether you believe them is up to you.”

“First, the Crimson World has already targeted you. That doesn’t mean you’re some top-tier priority. Anyone powerful or unique is on their list—me included. I’m not one of them, despite them using my face as a holographic decoy. Maybe you’ll find out why someday…”

“Figures,” Lin Xian muttered, glancing at the hallway full of Crimson World corpses. He’d considered exploring this stargazing site—now, not so much.

Chu Yan’s expression turned icy. “Second, if you’re currently in Akesai, you probably don’t have enough time to escape the uninhabited zone.”

Lin Xian’s face darkened. “What do you mean?”

Chu Yan’s visor lit up, projecting a holographic map of Abyss Zone No. 5. In the southeast quadrant, a new irregular expansion had appeared—an elliptical Polar Night Zone. It wasn’t a radial spread. It was abnormal.

“This isn’t a natural expansion. The Nightwalkers Division Two and our team think it’s linked to a new Forbidden Item the Crimson World just unleashed inside the zone. And this time, it’s in the Akesai wilderness.”

“If the Abyss doesn’t shift today, it’ll likely shift tomorrow. If your team isn’t out of the zone before sunset tomorrow—18:45—you’re in real trouble. My advice? Turn back, or reroute through the Hailar Mountains.”

Lin Xian’s face grew grim. “Impossible. We’re a full train convoy. That’s the only viable route.”

Going back would mean returning to Yijin City or Xilan City. Rerouting would require passing Hengshan Pass—both options were unrealistic.

Chu Yan remained calm. “That’s your problem. I can’t help. But hey, if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll be fine. Good luck.”

Just as she turned to leave, she paused and looked back.

“Before all these mind-links happened—did anything similar occur?”

She was just as curious as he was.

Her ability was top secret. The fact that Lin Xian could access her mental space was already a red flag. She should’ve reported it. But her instinct held her back. Every time he appeared, she felt a creeping unreality even she couldn’t explain.

His background had eased some of her worry—but it also sparked curiosity. Mechanical abilities, from a certain perspective, encompassed nearly all known human technology. It defied conventional definitions of “ability.”

“Something similar…”

Lin Xian exhaled slowly. He already had a vague idea.

Beep. Beep.

His watch alarm went off. He snapped to attention and checked the time.

5:00 a.m. He’d only allowed himself six hours of sleep to depart early.

But now, panic gripped his heart. If what Chu Yan said was true, they had just 13 hours and 45 minutes to get out of the uninhabited zone before nightfall at 18:45.

The convoy had to maintain speeds over 280 km/h to escape in time.

Chu Yan, watching him, already understood what he was planning. As Lin Xian’s consciousness surged awake, she shouted—

“Listen! Forbidden Items aren’t treasures. They’re distortions—power from another world! Containment is just contact, not control! These things are two-edged swords. Think of them like drawing a line on paper—it seems ordinary to you, but for a two-dimensional world on that paper, your pen is a god-splitter!”

On the Infinite Train, Lin Xian’s eyes trembled violently. He fought to stay conscious, listening desperately to every word.

“Don’t try to understand Forbidden Items through a human lens! Don’t observe! Don’t describe! And never…”

“NEVER GAZE INTO THE SKY!!”

BOOM—

Chu Yan’s voice echoed like a deafening gong, rippling through the void.

“Lin Xian!”

His bedroom door burst open. Chen Sixuan rushed in. “A sandstorm’s coming!”

“Start the train.”

“What?!”

But Lin Xian was already up. He activated the Whale 03E Heavy Gas Turbine Locomotive with his Mechanical Heart.

ROAR!

The engine bellowed like a lion. Tremendous torque surged forward, shaking each car of the Longshan convoy one by one, the entire train jolting into motion.

At 5 a.m., while most were still asleep, the United Convoy exploded into life with a metal screech!

As he sprinted toward the rear cars, Lin Xian barked into his comms on full frequency—

“Everyone—MOVE OUT! IMMEDIATELY!”