The night sky of Blue Star was as quiet as stagnant water, but the internet was already in an uproar.
At 3:00 AM, the traffic curve for the official forums of *Stars Online* traced a heart-stopping “ICU electrocardiogram.” Under the pinned Version 1.1 update announcement, the comment count was exploding at a rate of several hundred per second.
If the previous “fully realistic physics engine” had merely amazed hardcore gamers, the newly released “cloud backup of gene sequences” and “xenotech tree” were like a shot of high-purity stimulant straight into the veins of every gaming addict.
What did this mean?
It meant this was no longer a twisted, one-life-only challenge.
It had checkpoints!
Even if these checkpoints burned expensive energy, it at least gave players an “insert coin to retry” chance.
“This isn’t an update announcement—it’s my indenture contract! Dev, are you asleep? Because I can’t sleep!”
“Please, I beg you, release just one more slot! My roommate is on his deathbed and just wants to see this game’s login screen before he goes. The kid is crying his eyes out.”
“Forget about it, person above. Those fifty beta-two slots went grey in less than 0.1 seconds after release. I suspect some hackers used scripts. I highly recommend a thorough investigation!”
Countless “backseat gamers” beat their chests in front of their screens, treating this as their new favorite form of digital entertainment.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the fifty lucky souls who had snatched up the slots put on their helmets, their hearts fluttering with anticipation and ecstasy.
***
On the alien planet, at the Buzhou Outpost.
Dual suns had just crawled over the horizon, painting the Gobi desert in a desolate, bloody red, looking very much like a long shot from an apocalyptic wasteland film.
Inside the newly constructed Gene Recombination Hall, the air was warm, humid, and sticky.
It smelled of a faint, metallic tang akin to amniotic fluid, mixed with the sharp ozone scent of electrolyzed metal.
*Hum—!*
The indicator lights of fifty incubation pods, arranged in a ring, lit up in a ghostly blue.
The low hum of their electric motors sounded like the heartbeat of an awakening behemoth.
The pod doors slid open.
The experience was far from pleasant.
In fact, it was downright awful.
Like drowning victims suddenly hauled out of the water, instinctive survival reflexes kicked in.
The first thing these fifty new players did was not cheer, but bend over in perfect unison, coughing violently.
“Cough, cough, cough… Holy shit! The feeling of this fluid rushing up my nose is too real! My throat is burning!”
“Blegh… I want to throw up. Who the hell designed this login method? I’m filing a complaint!”
A player with the ID “Kindergarten Boss” crawled on the floor, coughing up the simulated amniotic fluid from his lungs while looking up in confusion.
There was no UI, no health bar, no map.
And definitely no sweet-voiced tutorial guide.
They didn’t even have a rag to cover themselves.
He was surrounded by grown men who were just as stark naked as he was, their skin dripping with viscous fluid.
In this sterile, white hall of cold technology, they looked absurdly comical, like a herd of pigs waiting for slaughter.
Cold air swept over their skin, sending goosebumps rippling across their bodies.
The absolute realism of the sensation made everyone’s brains short-circuit for half a second.
“T-this… this is 100% realism?” someone chattered, teeth clicking from either the cold or pure terror.
“Did we get kidnapped to Northern Myanmar? Are they going to harvest our kidneys next?”
Just as the newbies were thrown into utter chaos—some trying to cover their private parts, others frantically calling for the system menu to log out—
*Hiss—*
The heavy airtight door at the far end of the hall made a dull depressurization hiss.
The door panels slowly slid open to both sides.
Blinding sunlight hit them like a solid wall.
This crowd looked like bandits straight out of a nightmare.
They wore dripping, blood-stained monster carapaces, brandished pale bone spears, and even carried heavy mining picks still caked with dirt.
A pungent mix of sweat, blood, and machine oil blew in with the breeze, slapping the young lambs square in the face.
The new players’ screams caught in their throats, choked back by sheer dread.
“M-Monster raid?!”
A cowardly player instinctively shrank back, slipped on the wet floor, and landed flat on his butt.
The “monsters” at the door moved.
A burly man leading them took a step forward, making a loud, heavy *clank*.
He slammed his two-meter-long bone spear onto the ground.
*Clang!*
The sound rang like a death knell in everyone’s hearts.
“This batch of newbies is pathetic.”
The brute grinned, exposing a row of gleaming white teeth.
Though he was smiling, it looked as if he was ready to devour them alive.
“Their psychological fortitude is garbage, but they sure can scream.”
Only then did the new players on the floor notice the faint, glowing green text hovering above their heads—the AR HUD displayed directly on the players’ retinas.
No levels, no classes.
Yet it carried an inexplicable aura of dominance:
[Construction Site Palu]
Right after, the fierce-looking “monsters” behind him revealed their tags as well.
[Breaking Bad], [Bear Grylls’ Cousin]…
“Holy… shit?”
A new player squeezed the words out of his throat, his eyes nearly popping out of his sockets.
“They… they’re players?”
The contrast was staggering.
If the new players were fresh, naked, pluck-ready chickens, the veterans before them were battle-hardened steel veterans who had already been through the meat grinder three times.
The murderous aura and sheer sense of superiority radiating from their very bones required no words.
This was the class divide forged by gear.
“Alright, don’t make them piss themselves. We’ll have to clean the floor later.”
The crowd parted, and Li Lei stepped forward.
He didn’t wear a full set of chitin armor like Construction Site Palu.
Instead, he wore only a pair of grease-stained cargo pants, his upper body bare, revealing lean, rock-solid muscles.
Tucked into his waistband was his signature “Defender” pistol.
Yet the moment he stood there, the rowdy, untamed veterans naturally went silent.
Li Lei wasted no words.
He raised his hand and pointed outside the door.
Piled there were fifty brand-new pneumatic industrial picks, glinting with a cold, metallic sheen under the sun.
“I know you have a lot of questions.”
Li Lei’s voice was raspy but powerful, a product of shouting through sandstorms for so long.
It carried the distinct authority of a foreman.
“But here, questions don’t matter. What matters is how you survive.”
“Do you see that panel?” He pointed at the holographic resource exchange table projected on the wall.
[Synthetic Nutrition Paste: 0.5 Contribution Points]
[Basic Cargo Pants: 1 Contribution Point] Visit g.com for the full chapter.
[Xeno-Chitin Breastplate: 5 Contribution Points + 5 kg Biomass]
“This game has no top-up portal, no newbie gift packs, and no free dragon-slaying sabers.”
Li Lei walked over to a trembling new player and looked down at him.
“Want to wear clothes? Want to eat? Want to be as badass as Palu?”
“Then get to work.”
He bent down, picked up a mining pick, and shoved it roughly into the new player’s hands.
“We don’t feed freeloaders or useless trash here. If you don’t want to starve to death, start swinging this.”
The new player held the heavy pick, feeling the rough, anti-slip texture of the grip.
His fear was fading.
In its place, a wave of fanaticism surged from the soles of his feet straight to his crown.
He looked at the badass chitin breastplate worn by Construction Site Palu, then looked down at his own naked body, which could only be censored with a mosaic.
Isn’t it just hauling bricks?
Working for a boss on Earth meant sucking up to them, but mining bricks here got you actual gear and dignity!
Talk about a paradigm shift!
“Let’s do this!”
The player roared, gripping the pick tightly, his eyes bright with a pure, stupid enthusiasm.
“For the gear! Where’s the ore? I feel like I could mine straight to the center of the earth right now!”
Li Lei nodded in satisfaction.
These chives…
no, these recruits, had excellent awareness.
It pleased him greatly.
“Same old rules: veterans lead the newbies.”
Li Lei turned around and waved his hand.
“Five harvesting squads. Every veteran takes a newbie. Teach them how to swing the picks efficiently, how to avoid the sandstorms, and most importantly—how not to get themselves killed.”
“Move it! If you want new gear, fill up the warehouse for me!”
*Clatter—*
The entire hall sprang into motion.
The once-cowering new players, now led by the veterans, surged forward like a horde of zombies on steroids.
“Carry me, big shot! I majored in civil engineering in real life, spent twenty years carrying my bucket and running from sites—this job is a perfect match!”
“Brother Palu! I’m a huge fan! From now on, I’m your personal sidekick. I’ll dig wherever you point!”
“Don’t push! That pick is mine! Anyone who steals it is dead to me!”
Within five minutes, this hundred-strong Beggar Gang marched out of Buzhou Outpost in a grand, chaotic procession.
The ear-grating screech of wheelbarrow bearings, the clatter of mining picks striking stone, and the shouting of players echoed one after another, shattering the timeless silence of the Gobi desert.
Dust billowed.
The atmosphere was bustling and full of life.
***
Twenty thousand kilometers above, on the Ember Space Station.
Yao Qian looked down at the bustling players, completely devoid of any guilt typical of a trash game dev.
“It’s not that your bro doesn’t want to unlock high-tier tech for you. I’m just flat broke. We’ll just have to make our players suffer a little.”
This new crop of chives was growing even better than expected.
“Tsk, now this is what I call a demographic dividend.”
Yao Qian watched the industrious figures on the ground, scurrying about like worker ants.
His eyes were filled with the warm, gentle affection unique to capitalists.
“Look at these lovely cyber slaves… Oh, sorry, I mean heroic warriors. They don’t need wages, they bring their own rations, and they even praise me for making a great game just because the quests I hand out are backbreaking.”