"City was not destroyed in an instant," Nate's voice carried clearly to every corner of the memorial hall, his face bearing an air of complete patience, as if he did not mind that the students seated before him had heard this history countless times. He said, "Over the course of several decades, we were forced to retreat, rebuild, and then abandon. The surviving records indicate that it was a period of continuous societal collapse—all resources were cut off by bodies of water, communications were severed, and the industrial system ceased to function."
What was called civilization proved utterly fragile in this endless rainy season.
"When traditional land-based transportation could no longer be maintained, humanity began to rely once again on the sea. Warships that had originally served military purposes were converted into platforms for refuge, transport, and energy storage, becoming the earliest 'mobile city foundations.'"
"For the people of that time, to be alive meant to be adrift. They searched the seas for new land and for fellow wanderers, and on the water they preserved the last traces of civilization."
Later generations would call this period the Cold-Stack Flood Event, or in more common terms, the Rain Era.
After the rainy season ended, humanity was no longer the same.
"The prolonged precipitation gradually ceased over several decades, and the atmospheric system returned to predictable cycles. When humanity returned to land from their mobile sea bases, they discovered that the world's geography had been completely rewritten."
The original continental outlines had become blurred. Many old landmasses had been swallowed by new seas. Only the central plate of the Eurasian continent still contained land that had not been destroyed beyond habitability—high in elevation and with limited marine transgression, it became the final gathering point for survivors.
A vast number of people from different languages, different cultures, and different political systems were forced together onto the same land. The old national systems collapsed entirely during the long migrations. No polity could continue to rule the people who had once belonged to it, and the borders drawn on maps became meaningless.
Although the initial mingling brought trade and technological exchange, it soon devolved into competition for resources and territory. Gradually, the concept of the old nation-states was redefined into "blocks." Each block organized and governed itself according to language, ethnicity, resource type, or shared interests—nominally autonomous, yet still economically and existentially interdependent.
From that point, cities began to be rebuilt among the ruins. All infrastructure started from zero. The twenty-six letters and the ancient Chinese language survived by virtue of their prior widespread dissemination and unique expressiveness, becoming the initial bridge of communication between regions.
Once land once again occupied the center of human society, the most critical task was to re-establish contact with the orbital space station. Before the disaster, the station had long been conducting scientific research projects, storing a complete seed bank and animal gene samples. Originally just a research facility, it became the key to the continuation of civilization after the rainy season.
After decades of being out of contact with Earth, the space station had maintained minimal energy operations. When communications were reconnected, it became the most precious resource repository of the new world. Although those gene samples could not immediately restore the ecosystem, they gave humanity an illusion—perhaps everything could return to the way it had been.
But civilization never returns the way it came.
"Even after this great catastrophe, humanity still failed to recognize the importance of resonance in our shared destiny. The forcibly divided districts lacked structure and institutions, so the fragile balance they maintained was naturally shattered before long. Conflicts erupted repeatedly over fresh water, arable land, electricity, genetic samples, and even the right to narrate history—a ceaseless war that resembled an endless cycle of probing and retaliation, rapidly consuming the hard-won capital of survival."
In the end, after nearly a century of confrontation and negotiation, humanity finally realized they could no longer cling to the borders of the old world. It was against this backdrop that the Old Federation government was reluctantly born—though it operated with countless flaws, and though its emergence was not even for the sake of unity, it still brought humanity a brief period of peace and hope.
"After the Old Federation was established, warfare temporarily ceased, but civilization still did not return to its former heights as everyone had hoped. Vast amounts of knowledge were lost during migrations, floods, and district conflicts. Certain disciplines nearly became extinct, especially history, the humanities, and the foundational sciences. People could maintain industry, basic energy, and communication systems, but the cultural heritage of the old world seemed as if it had truly been washed away by water—only fragmented shards remained."
An entire generation could not comprehend the thought, art, and philosophy of the old era. They could restore machines, yet they could not explain how far civilization had once reached.
It was then that they had no choice but to turn their gaze back to the depths of the sea.
Beneath that vast, profound surface lay humanity's long pre-Deluge civilization, buried in silence.
Countless cities, archives, research institutions—these ruins might preserve the most complete evidence and records of civilization. Deep-diving projects gradually became long-term national endeavors. Wave after wave of people shuttled between land and seabed, like walking into a home where the lights had been switched off, stubbornly searching for something they once possessed but had long since lost.
At the same time, there were those who refused to look back at the old world.
They believed that the collapse of civilization was itself a failure of human inheritance—that if humanity continued to cling to history, it would only repeat its mistakes. So they turned their gaze beyond orbit, attempting to use space stations as a starting point and extraterrestrial orbits as their future. They believed that only off-world resources, space, and new living environments could bring humanity true rebirth.
"Some might see this as a dichotomy, but I don't. After all, their destinations were the same—everyone believed they were the ones truly advancing atop the ruins of human civilization."
"To be precise, I would consider this a divergence along the same path. The Deep-Dive Doctrine held that the past must be understood, while the Extraterrestrial Doctrine held that the past must be let go," Nate said slowly as he stepped down from the podium, standing among the students, all of them gazing together at the massive holographic text above the stage. "Looking at where we are today, we know history has made its choice—but equally, the price we paid was heavy."
After the deep-diving projects were halted, the Old Federation's technology entered a phase of rapid development, and its administrative system began shifting toward standardization and rigor. The New Federation was thus established, and alongside it, the Langria Federal Academy was founded, with the aim of supplying the Federation government with the most cutting-edge talent.
"Everyone here today, including myself as a graduate of Langria Federal Academy, never imagined at this age what we would have to face—I know that what I'm saying now might put a damper on the mood," she blinked, revealing a playful smile, and said, "You've all already planned how to spend tonight's graduation party, what you'll buy with your first paycheck after starting your jobs, yet here I am discussing death with you—it's utterly unreasonable."
"But I still want to say this: the history of The Federation has repeatedly proven one thing—the interruption and continuation of civilization will inevitably bring death. Especially at this moment of transition, as you move from the academy into the Federation government, what you'll face will no longer be exams, drills, or holographic screens, but reality in its truest form."
"You will be asked to assess risks, to sign documents, to make decisions under conditions of insufficient time, incomplete information, and even irreversible consequences… As I have experienced, this is still an era that demands bloodshed and sacrifice. I believe it will remain so for at least the next twenty years. War and death have never been far away, nor are they distant from us."
"Learn to look them straight in the eye."
She repositioned herself on the podium, and the massive holographic text vanished with a wave of her hand.
"You are the future of The Federation, and these are the most valuable things I can teach you."
"My lecture is over," she said with a faint smile at the corner of her lips, giving a slight bow toward the audience below. "Thank you, everyone."
Even though today's lecture was so heavy, profound, and even somewhat inexplicable, it still failed to dampen the students' enthusiasm for Professor Natt herself. Watching the classmates ahead swarming forward to ask for autographs or photos, Pei Qiansu propped her chin on her hand in thought and asked with genuine confusion, "Why is it that I understand every single word Professor Natt says, but when they're all put together, I can't understand a thing?"
Shang Xuefan nodded in agreement beside her and finally reached a conclusion, saying, "Maybe she's saying that we're also part of history."
Students from the School of Security and Risk were fundamentally different from those in other schools—they received something closer to militarized management, especially those in the Tactics and Operations Department. They had participated in many rescue operations during their time at the academy, and death education was an essential part of their training. Perhaps it was precisely because of this that Professor Natt's words didn't stir much emotion in them.
Pei Qiansu rubbed her chin and thought for a while longer, then her gaze drifted to Wei Ting, who had been waiting in line for quite some time yet was still squeezed out at the edge of the crowd. She clicked her tongue and stood up, muttering casually under her breath, "Are you stupid?"
Over on that side, Wei Ting was hugging his notebook and peering eagerly through the gaps in the crowd when he suddenly felt his collar yanked hard. Turning around, he found it was Pei Qiansu, and asked, "Why are you here?"
Wasn't she completely uninterested in Professor Natt?
Just as he was speaking, someone beside him tried to forcibly squeeze past, and Wei Ting instinctively stepped back half a pace before being pressed still by Pei Qiansu's hand on his shoulder.
The Alpha kept one hand in her pocket, shooting the other person a warning look, and said, "Try cutting in line again, and see what happens."
The other person quickly glanced at the name tag on her chest, clearly recognizing who she was. After hesitating for half a second, they silently shuffled two steps to the right.
With Pei Qiansu's help, Wei Ting managed to get a group photo with Professor Nate before he left. Back in her seat, she kept staring at her Terminal, looking at it again and again. Pei Qiansu teased her, saying, "Is it really that big a deal?"
Wei Ting curved her lips slightly, not the least bit annoyed, and said, "Thank you, Qiansu."
Pei Qiansu didn't really care, giving a perfunctory "it was nothing" before turning her head back to continue chatting casually with Liang Qiao.
…
After Professor Nate left, order in the hall was finally restored, and the rest of the proceedings visibly sped up. The alumni invited to present the insignias filed in one by one—most wearing formal uniforms that indicated their status or rank, with a few heavyweight figures recognizable at a glance even without looking at their epaulettes.
The hall gradually fell quiet.
Dean Wang Yuwu took the stage for a brief speech, announcing the official start of the conferral ceremony. Soon, several robots stood at the side of the podium holding the graduates' custom-made insignias. The alumni and students invited to present stood up as well and, guided by the faculty, made their way toward the podium.
The order of conferral followed the ranking of the graduation assessment, with two groups going up at a time. When Pei Qiansu stood up, she shot a pained glance at Sheng Fuzhou and the others rising at the same time not far away, her distress practically spilling over.
"The thought that one of the most important moments of my life involves that imbecile makes me physically ill," Pei Qiansu said, her entire body radiating resistance. She reminded Liang Qiao and Wei Ting, who were closest to her, "You two stand on their side later. I'd rather throw myself off the Academy Tower than stand next to him."
"Okay," Wei Ting agreed quietly.
Unfortunately, the more you hope something won't happen, the more it does. The moment they got on stage, the teacher in charge of guidance locked onto the two group leaders and gestured for them to stand in the very center of the ten people. The two exchanged a look of mutual disgust, barely restraining their emotions as they stood together—with enough space between them to fit Liang Qiao with room to spare.
Pei Qiansu said in utter despair, "I'm really going to jump off the Academy Tower."
Liang Qiao paused for a moment, then comforted her, "Don't worry, I'll catch you."
That's not the point!
The person conferring their insignias was Jiang Changqing, the current Director of the Federal Citizen Security Agency. He walked up from the right side, carefully pinning the deep-blue metal insignia onto each person's chest. Behind him, the holographic screens lit up one by one, displaying each person's basic information and their affiliated academy, the blue-and-gold school emblem crowning each of them like a laurel wreath.
After the pinning was complete, Jiang Changqing looked at them with a gratified, almost sentimental gaze. During the group photo session, he stood right between Pei and Sheng, even taking their hands and pressing them together.
Every teacher and student in attendance who knew about the relationship between the two groups fell silent, toes curling as they watched the scene, terrified that the two might come to blows right in front of the Director.
Fortunately, both of them had the sense to prioritize the bigger picture. Even after the photo session ended, the anticipated explosion never came. The stage was a complete picture of peace.
Mm, what peace—
Pei Qiansu clenched her teeth into a smile, her fingernails digging deep into someone's hand. Only Jiang Changqing, completely oblivious, remained all smiles, even patting both of them encouragingly on the arm as he stepped off the stage.
Taking advantage of his turned head, Sheng Fuzhou raised his bleeding hand behind his back and viciously made an obscene gesture at Pei Qiansu, who raised an eyebrow in response and shot back a highly provocative look.
Over the short distance of a dozen or so meters, the two of them clashed for hundreds of rounds in an atmosphere of undercurrents, while at the tail end of the line, unnoticed by anyone, Chu Hui had somehow drifted over to Liang Qiao's side, gently lifting the fingers hanging at her side and tracing ambiguous patterns across the back of her hand.