Li Yingxue thought that if he woke up one day to find the apocalypse had arrived—and he had already been weak and frail, only to lose his sight on top of it—then there truly seemed to be no choice left except to quietly wait for death.
What was worse, during his hibernation he had vaguely heard an unknown voice telling him that he was nothing more than a trivial stumbling block, a “Cannon Fodder,” on some Dragon-Ao-Tian protagonist’s path of growth.
As for who Dragon-Ao-Tian was, or how he had become Cannon Fodder, he had no idea.
In the end, no matter how it was said, death was inevitable—it was only a matter of sooner or later.
Li Yingxue let out a soft sigh. He had been born into the Li Family, the wealthiest family in Rongcheng City, and from childhood his father had cherished and protected him as if he were something precious held in the palm of a hand.
The Li Family estate was located halfway up a mountain, covering thousands of square meters. The courtyard was filled with rare flowers brought from all over the world, and even the bottom of the fountain pool was paved with beautiful crushed blue sapphires.
Golden threads formed his cage, jade served as his utensils—he was like a snowbird raised in a glass world.
Perhaps even heaven could not bear to see him possess so much without cost. Since he had memory, he had always been ill.
Most of his childhood had been spent in sterile hospital rooms, looking through thick transparent glass as his father and older brother stood outside in protective suits, smiling at him gently.
He remembered that his brother always brought different toys every time he visited, but they could only be passed in through a disinfection channel.
His favorite was an exquisite starry-sky projector that could cast an entire galaxy onto the ceiling.
His father, meanwhile, always stood outside the glass, his palm pressed against the cold surface, as if he could touch his son’s cheek that way.
He grew up within that confined sterile world, listening to the slightly distorted, filtered affection coming through speakers, his palm pressed against the glass wall, leaving only cold memories behind.
Li Yingxue had originally disdained paying attention to talk of “Cannon Fodder,” but after waking from the Hibernation Pod, what greeted him was not his family’s gentle voices and careful care, but instead cold air, endless darkness, and a silence like death. This forced him to re-examine those words.
The long sleep had left him blank and disoriented upon waking, his mind completely empty.
A familiar sense of weakness and powerlessness wrapped around his entire body, and it took him more than ten minutes before he gradually broke free from that limp, drained state.
Memories slowly returned. Habitually, Li Yingxue called out for his brother and father, but received no response.
He repeatedly forced his eyes open wide, yet could not catch even a trace of light. Rising panic made him raise his voice and call out a few more times.
This time, there was finally a response—but it was only the mechanical alarm of the Hibernation Pod.
“Hibernation time ended, pod door has automatically opened… energy insufficient…”
Li Yingxue froze for a moment, then reached out to grope around him, realizing he was still lying inside the Hibernation Pod.
His memory drifted back to half a year ago, when his father had brought him to an unfamiliar laboratory.
The man in a white coat was unusually tall and handsome. His father had ruffled his hair and said softly, “Xuexue, your immune system is weak. Dad isn’t at ease. When we get there, I’ll come pick you up, alright?”
At that time, they were preparing to leave Rongcheng City because his father had received an official reassignment, but Li Yingxue did not know where they were going.
He had thought his father was simply overly worried, and that the Hibernation Pod was only used to spare him suffering during a long journey.
The Hibernation Pod had been set to open automatically after six months, but that was only a casual setting by his father. In reality, as long as one had the password, it could be opened from the outside at any time.
So… he had already slept for half a year?
Li Yingxue slowly sat up, the thick smell of rust and dust filling the air, causing him to sneeze softly.
He frowned slightly with delicate brows. A faint, hard-to-distinguish sound reached his ears—like something far away was writhing or scraping. His senses of smell and hearing seemed to have become unusually sharp.
Li Yingxue fell into a daze, thinking about what had happened half a year ago that made his once-loving father and brother abandon him; wondering where he was now; and wondering whether he was truly going to die.
No food, no water, and he could not see. Li Yingxue estimated he could last at most three more days. If the temperature changed drastically, he might not even survive tonight.
To think that someone like him could still be a stumbling block to a Dragon-Ao-Tian protagonist—then that protagonist must be far too easily tripped.
Exhausted from overthinking, a familiar wave of fatigue washed over him again, and Li Yingxue had no choice but to slowly lie back down. It seemed the only path ahead of him was death.
If he was destined to die, he hoped it would be a quiet passing in a dream, at least in a comfortable position.
Just as Li Yingxue was drifting into sleep and his consciousness began to blur, he heard an extremely faint sound of footsteps.
He snapped awake instantly, but did not move.
Although the world felt like an apocalypse, since the moment he had awakened, he had sensed no movement nearby at all. This place was as silent as a forgotten corner of the world.
But now—someone had stopped in front of his Hibernation Pod.