*Clang!*
The last piece of sharp, high-grade iron ore crashed into the reclamation chute, producing a satisfying, metallic ring.
The figure of “Construction Site Palu,” who had been moving tirelessly like a relentless steam engine, finally came to a halt.
Panting heavily, sweat washed over his dust-caked muscles, making him look as though he had just been dragged out of a swamp.
Yet, his eyes shone with a terrifying brightness as he stared intently at the green button that had finally lit up on his retina.
The system notification sound was exceptionally sharp amidst the noisy construction site:
[Contribution Points: 5.0 | Biomass: 5.0 kg]
It was enough.
For eight whole hours, he had moved more bricks than he would have in an entire lifetime.
“Did you make it?” someone nearby asked.
The words were like a pause button.
The other players—whether they were grunting as they pushed carts, swinging pickaxes, exhausted like dogs, or newly logged-in and utterly bewildered—all dropped their tools and swarmed over like sharks smelling blood.
Everyone wanted to see the quality of the very first piece of gear on the entire server.
“Tch, I don’t believe this crappy game can actually pull off anything good.” Standing at the very edge of the crowd with his arms crossed, the recently resurrected Keyboard Warrior No. 1 had his signature sour look on his face.
“Going through all that trouble just to exchange it for a few bug shells. Watch it be a reskin with zero stats. Game devs these days are all black-hearted. The trailers are always clickbait, but the actual product is garbage. I’ve fallen for that trick before.”
Construction Site Palu didn’t pay this fly any mind.
With trembling fingers, he heavily pressed the virtual confirmation key on the sci-fi-looking manufacturing console.
*Hummm—!*
The Biomass Recombination and Reclamation Plant let out a low, beast-like roar.
A sudden surge of deep blue plasma arcs engulfed the pile of severed limbs and organs that everyone had previously found disgusting, pulling them into the core.
There were no bloody hacking scenes—only a scalp-tingling display of industrial aesthetics.
They watched with wide eyes as the Zergling legs decomposed into their most basic molecular structures within the arcs of light.
Silver nanofluids rapidly wove and restructured in the air like living blood vessels.
This visual effect was practically dancing on their retinas.
Keyboard Warrior No. 1, who had been making sarcastic remarks just moments ago, stood with his mouth agape, unable to close it for a long time.
The light faded.
The very first Xenogeneic Armament hovered quietly on the transfer platform.
There were no flashy, colorful glowing effects; it was a tool of pure slaughter.
The grayish-brown chestplate perfectly preserved the coarse chitinous texture of a Zergling, but the joints had undergone precise industrial modifications, making it look both wild and ergonomically fitting.
The accompanying bone-spike spear was two meters long, its tip no longer the original bone color but polished to a pale, deadly, cold sheen.
This violent fusion of primal wildness and industrial technology took away the breath of every male present.
“This modeling… is insane,” someone muttered to themselves.
Construction Site Palu swallowed hard and reached out to grab the chestplate.
[Equipping gear… Neural link synchronization rate: 100%]
Following a faint mechanical clicking sound, the chestplate snapped seamlessly onto his chest.
He gripped the spear.
It was a bizarre sensation; the weapon didn’t feel like a dead object, but rather an extension of his own arm.
“What about the stats? Quick, tell us the stats!” someone shouted, hopping in anticipation.
Construction Site Palu didn’t speak.
He didn’t even look at his stat panel.
In this game that claimed one hundred percent realism, numbers were hollow; only physical feedback was real.
He turned and walked toward a corner of the base.
There lay an abandoned high-hardness alloy plate used to weigh down tents—a fragment blown off from the crash of the landing pod.
Its hardness was absurdly high.
Gripping the spear with both hands, Construction Site Palu channeled strength from his waist and gave the alloy plate a casual swipe.
*Clank.* A severed corner of the metal clattered onto the ground.
Everyone’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Immediately after, a collective gasp swept through the crowd.
This stat inflation made absolutely no sense, but it was incredibly satisfying!
“Holy shit! That penetration!”
“Is that a spear? That’s practically a lightsaber!”
Li Lei squeezed through the crowd.
He looked at the chestplate on Construction Site Palu.
Without a word, he raised his Defender pistol, flipped it around, and smashed the butt of the gun hard against Palu’s chest.
*Thud!*
A dull, heavy thud rang out.
Construction Site Palu didn’t budge an inch.
Instead, Li Lei’s wrist went numb from the impact, forcing him back two steps.
Looking at the chestplate again, not even a faint white mark had been left behind.
“Brother!”
A player who had been quietly moving bricks on the side suddenly squeezed out of the crowd.
The look in his eyes was so passionate it was as if he had just reunited with his long-lost father.
He grabbed Construction Site Palu’s arm and broadcasted on the open channel: “Brother, I’ll give you twenty thousand! Immediate transfer! Alipay or WeChat, whichever you prefer! Take off this gear and give it to me. If you’re not happy with the price, we can negotiate!”
Twenty thousand yuan for a bunch of virtual data?
It wouldn’t be unusual in other MMOs, but this game had been live for less than twenty-four hours!
Construction Site Palu froze.
In reality, he was just an ordinary working-class guy; twenty thousand yuan was equivalent to three months of his salary.
Seeing him silent, the wealthy player assumed the offer was too low and immediately raised it: “Thirty thousand! I can’t go higher, after all, this is only starter gear. Brother, wouldn’t it be great to take the cash and treat yourself to some amazing food? As long as you’re willing to grind in this game, you can make a second or third set later anyway.”
Quite a few players around them were tempted.
This was real, cold hard cash.
Construction Site Palu looked down at the wealthy player’s outstretched hand, then back at the carapace on his chest, which still retained a lingering warmth.
He suddenly laughed.
The laugh held an indescribable sense of pride.
He brushed away the hand reaching for his chestplate—not forcefully, but firmly.
He lovingly stroked the rough textures of the chestplate, as if caressing a lover’s skin.
“Thirty thousand? This fucking thing is what I risked my life to get by moving bricks for eight hours straight in the sandstorms of an alien planet! This is a man’s romance, what the hell do you know?”
“Don’t insult my grind with your filthy money!”
With that, he planted his spear on the ground with a sharp thud.
Standing there, he actually exuded the chilling, sharp aura of an interstellar warrior.
The entire field fell silent for a second.
And then, it completely erupted.
“Nice! Well said!”
“Palu is awesome! *This* is how you play a game!”
This pure emotion spread like a virus.
The players who had found moving bricks exhausting just moments ago now felt a fire burning in their chests.
What was satisfying?
This was satisfying!
Building an empire on this cruel alien planet with their own two hands was infinitely more rewarding than spending money!
“Nobody stop me! I want that gear too!”
“For the Horde… wait, no, for the gear! Charge!”
The players who had just been spectating howled like they were on stimulants, spinning around to rush back to the mine.
This time, no one complained about being tired or grumbled.
The fanatical frenzy of investing in their passion threatened to tear this desert gravel plain apart.
…
Twenty thousand kilometers above, in the Ember Space Station.
*Beep—!
Beep—!*
The piercing red alarm blared once again.
On the main control screen, the red light had already crossed the final safety perimeter.
Through the high-definition imaging, they could see the hideous bio-battleship, its fleshy hull covered with parasitic turrets squirming like maggots.
“System, get ready.”
“Issue a server-wide announcement.”
…
On the ground, at the Buzhou Outpost.
The players were working in full swing.
Construction Site Palu was surrounded by a group of fanboys begging to touch his spear.
Suddenly, a red exclamation mark popped up in the center of everyone’s vision.
[Server-wide Announcement: Emergency Version Update Notice]
[Dear Players:]
[As the “Buzhou” Outpost has begun to take shape, in order to bring you a higher quality gaming experience and a grander battlefield environment, the server will undergo a version 1.1 offline maintenance update in 10 seconds.]
[Please enter the base interior and log off immediately. For those who do not log off within the designated time, data may be subject to abnormal loss.]
[Countdown: 00:10:00]
“Holy shit?! Offline maintenance?!”
“No, please! I’m only halfway through moving my ore!”
“Devs, are you even human?! You’re throwing cold water on me right when I got hyped up?!”
“Let me play just a bit longer! Let me finish pushing this cart!”
A chorus of wails and howls echoed across the desert plain.
The withdrawal symptoms of having their internet cables forcefully unplugged just as they tasted sweetness drove the players crazy.
But Yao Qian clearly had no intention of bargaining with these gaming-addicted youths.
As the countdown hit zero, the eyes of all the remaining standing players rolled back.
Their bodies went limp like puppets with their strings cut, and their once-lively eyes instantly lost focus.
“Goodnight, my warriors.”
Yao Qian watched the green light points on the screen go out one by one.
“Now, it’s time for the grown-ups.”