Famine 131: The Nest

131
The Nest

Ye Xianqing paused slightly.

It wasn’t just him; the entire pool gradually fell silent. Only the sound of bodies drifting in water rippled faintly in the vast space. Many team members lowered their heads, expressions complicated.

Ye Xianqing said, “So, about everyone’s condition in the Nest…”

“At least we should try.” Yan Cheng spoke. He was leaning against the far edge of the infinity pool, gazing distantly at the hotel. After a long pause, he said, “They were once our brothers. As long as there’s the slightest chance of survival, I don’t want to give up on them.”

Ye Xianqing didn’t look particularly convinced; after a thoughtful silence, he gave a faint, gentle smile. Out of habit, he pushed at his glasses—only then realizing he wasn’t wearing them. His fingertips pressed lightly to his temple as he sighed.

“It’s not rational. I don’t think the people in the Nest are actually savable, nor do I think we can solve their problems here…”

“But it was precisely because of your character that I agreed to join your team in the first place.”

The doctor leaned back beside Yan Cheng, shoulder to shoulder, looking toward the hotel. “Very well.”

“Let’s rest for a week. After a week, I’ll go with you, and together we’ll return.”

The abyss was bottomless, clusters of castles standing stubbornly in the thick darkness, lighting a patch of stubborn fire.

…………
……

In an unknown corner, a wisp of smoke drifted slowly, winding around Yan Cheng’s hunter’s axe.

This wisp of smoke was extremely inconspicuous, held no threat, and was incapable of doing anything at all—thus, it could not trigger any danger instinct in the players.

Its only function was that it was part of an illusory avatar—no matter when the permanent residents planned to set out, Si Zhiyan would always know in advance.

Si Zhiyan kept track of the time.

[Side Mission—Yearning Dream’s Fantasy]
[Mission Objective: Gather 500 surviving humans in the Abyss. Current Progress: 57/500.]
[Mission Time Limit: 25 days.]
[Mission Reward: A large amount of Spirit from the gem veins, upgrade space in the Lava Land, weapon fabrication subsystem, coordinates for Hephaestus Castle]

From various indications, it was clear that Bian Xu’s personal will had only limited influence over the Farm.

Even if he wanted to do everything possible to help Si Zhiyan, he could not break free from the [System]’s cold framework. Any rewards he tried to offer would come with corresponding restrictions.
In this mission without a failure penalty, [time limit] was the restriction.

What Bian Xu wanted to offer was the weapon fabrication system and the coordinates to Hephaestus Castle.

Si Zhiyan had heard of that castle. The lavish dress Liang Qingshuang had once presented him came from Hephaestus Castle.

Nidhogg had once commented on it like this—rumored to be a settlement on par with the gods of craft, the castle seemed to be a moody young lady: elusive, with no one quite knowing its location. Stories went that they could even craft S-class enchanted items.

Hephaestus was the Greek god of forging, masonry, sculpture, and fire. To name a settlement after him showed a degree of brazen confidence.

It seemed well earned.
For a group to rely solely on players and, without the System’s aid, fuse more than seven hundred magic gems from different origins into one amplification array—plainly, this was a feat only craftspeople of the highest caliber could achieve.

In Si Zhiyan’s backyard sat a metal forge called the [Armor Fabrication System], always sitting idle.

Si Zhiyan had long wanted to put it into use, but lacked both raw materials and craftspeople skilled in magical forging.

Should the opportunity arise to acquire the resources of the Gem Dominion, and to establish a forging agreement with that castle, the equipment and fortification of the Farm would surely see a qualitative leap.

At the very least, from Bian Xu’s attitude, that settlement was of great importance.

And Si Zhiyan always had a hunch—something that felt like intuition.

The [System] had always been neutral, never especially friendly toward his Farm; in the early days, while collecting hunger points, even the smallest misstep would have spelled doom for him.
Bian Xu’s relationship with the system remained unclear. Now, as he so obviously reached out to help, would Bian Xu… pay some price himself?

No matter victory or defeat, life or death, you are always with me… but what about you?

Si Zhiyan sighed softly, gently brushing a vine.

The vine, as always, curled against him without reservation, fond and possessive.

Since it was what Bian Xu intended to give him, Si Zhiyan was determined to obtain it.

Twenty-odd days remained. Si Zhiyan had a premonition—this time, whether he could gather five hundred people within the time limit would depend on this so-called “Nest.”
The name itself was eerie. Judging by the way they spoke of it, it was not a good place, and its residents seemed to pose unique problems; everyone on the team bore an air of resistance or avoidance when it was mentioned.

But then, Yan Cheng—

Si Zhiyan would personally follow them into the “Nest” and see for himself.

………
……

Over the course of that week, as the Farm continued to develop, Si Zhiyan also accomplished many things.

First and foremost, Fantasia Town was expanded yet again.

With pen in hand, operating in the air, he was watched by countless players craning their necks on the lawn, hope and expectation on their faces.

After several waves of population booms, the Farm’s permanent residents had now reached nearly two hundred thousand, the size of a small European city. It was no longer the pleasant, easygoing town where everyone harmoniously negotiated for rooms. With so many wanting prime locations, rules were needed to settle disputes.

Now, those wishing to settle in Fantasia Town had to register, pay moving-in points according to different tiers, and receive a numbered card. Every three days, according to their tier and number, they could draw for a dwelling.

As for storefronts and shops, professionals appraised the value and managed rentals uniformly.

With Si Zhiyan overseeing things, Fantasia Town would always have enough housing to guarantee shelter for every prospective resident of the Farm. He was responsible for construction; the allocation was managed by Li Cui’e, who organized the evaluation of convenience and comfort for each house, dividing them into five tiers corresponding to different moving-in points.

At the same time, anyone dissatisfied with their assigned residence could swap—for a tax—so long as the change was registered with the administration. Anyone hiding the change to evade taxes would face consequences.

The overview sounded simple, but when Li Cui’e briefed Si Zhiyan, it was with a thick volume of detailed regulations.

Si Zhiyan read them closely. After several rounds of discussion with the council, a trial-run model was born.

Complex as the rules were, in the end, the core principle was simple—all housing and land still belonged to the Farm; players could change residents through trade and allocation. And those wanting better housing could donate more points to the Farm.

Of course, Si Zhiyan did not treat this as absolute. If someone’s points were insufficient but they had special abilities, allowances could be made.

For example, during this expansion of Fantasia Town, there stood beside Si Zhiyan a middle-aged man with neatly tied hair, refined in appearance, and gentle in manner.

Dressed in a plaid shirt from the Farm’s factory, holding blueprints respectfully in hand, he directed Si Zhiyan—

“Yes, sir. The main avenue should continue forward from here…”

His name was Li Tingkai; before the apocalypse, he worked at the National Institute for Urban Planning, specializing in urban planning research and related projects, many of which had been implemented.

Li Tingkai had studied urban planning for most of his life, dedicating his career and research to the field. Few are lucky enough to find such dedicated passion and achievement in their specialty. Before he turned forty, Li Tingkai had always considered himself fortunate.

Until his fortieth year, when the Hunger Game began.

The Institute building collapsed. All his hard-earned knowledge of urban construction proved entirely useless in the face of supernatural horror. No longer young—far from his best years—and with a body weakened by years of deskwork, his battle skills were mediocre at best; only his halfway-decent knife-throwing could help against the monsters. Relying on a good nature, helpfulness, and endless striving to please, he barely convinced his current team to keep him.

After narrowly surviving one ordeal after another, he managed to survive to this day.

His lifelong devotion, profession, and scholarly research all vanished with the famine, never to be spoken of again.

Until the day he tilted his head back on the lava plains and saw the Farm’s posted notice—

The Farm’s headquarters was recruiting city planners. Those with experience in architectural design or structural mechanics were also welcome to apply.

Li Tingkai was a barely qualified, perpetually scorned player. He smoked through the night before hardening his heart, handing in his resignation to his team leader, and setting out alone. He gave everything he had, journeyed dusty and exhausted for many days, crossing deserts, steppes, icy fields, and forests, and finally reached the Farm.

Meeting the curious gazes of others, he spent three days walking every street and alley, carefully observing every inch of Fantasia Town. Drawing on his old skills, he laid a huge sheet of paper in a shared dormitory, meticulously sketching for several days before submitting an urban planning survey to the town government.

This report was thorough and well-illustrated, highly professional yet easy to understand, and concluded with a series of proposed improvements.

It was this report that won him a meeting with Si Zhiyan.

Li Tingkai said with a smile, “The city structure of Fantasia Town is reminiscent of pre-apocalypse Paris. Centered on the plaza—or the Arc de Triomphe—buildings radiate outwards in concentric circles, divided roughly into several districts. Main districts connect via boulevards, creating the main transit system; within each zone, branch roads form secondary routes… In practice, it is an intelligent plan.”

“We can draw inspiration from Paris, but should also leverage our own strengths. For example, we have extensive waterfront space; to use it for ordinary buildings would be a waste…”

“With high-density construction, public spaces are essential for breathing room, for marking locations or providing good sightlines… Commercial buildings are a special case, set along the main roads and interspersed, ensuring every district has easy access to nearby shops…”

As he spoke, he drew from his storage a stack of well-organized, detailed blueprints.

“These are the detailed plans we discussed previously. Would you like to review them again?”

“No need,” Si Zhiyan smiled. “Begin.”

Li Tingkai steadied his pounding heart and said, “Very well. I’ll suggest the locations for this set of buildings. Please place three A-class residences here…”

This frail, middle-aged player, whose presence had been barely tolerated for seven years, raised his hand, reeling off directions for Si Zhiyan from memory.

Where the most welcoming streets were, which roads saw the highest footfall, the best locations for storefronts—he pointed it all out, making life more convenient for everyone.

Under his guidance, Fantasia Town took on a new look.

The once-congested streets were clear again. The areas by the Fantasia Lake now boasted green spaces and waterfront promenades, with scattered streetlights that attracted morning joggers and evening walkers alike; the buildings nearby, though set back further than before, enjoyed broader vistas; local shopkeepers found business booming, and residents marveled that, though their housing tier hadn’t changed, life had become far more convenient.

Everyone’s living experience had risen a notch.

Li Tingkai also left space in his plans for future growth: once more people arrived at the Farm, how Fantasia Town should expand, how residences should be laid out for each phase—he had it all in mind.

For modern people, these things might seem ordinary, unremarkable—until their absence is felt for so long. On their return, everyone was amazed, full of admiration.

Si Zhiyan was more than satisfied.

Li Tingkai thereby earned himself a stable job in the government administration, a respectable two-story townhouse, and the respect of all.

But Li Tingkai was only one example.

Si Zhiyan opened up the Farm’s recruitment board, posting at the Skeleton Ferry, the Icefield, the Lava Plains, and other regions. Beyond regular Farm positions, entrepreneurs with recruitment needs were invited to pay for listings, too.

With industry and commerce gradually reviving, many players—such as Boss Wang, who ran something like a post station—wanted to develop their own ventures. Recruitment notices poured in, one after another, soon filling the board.

Before the apocalypse, people had spent years studying for their professions, pouring experience and passion into specialized fields—education, design, civil engineering, accounting, agriculture. After the fall, these vanished amid blood and dust, leaving only beleaguered, Darwinian [players].

Some of them had a talent for battle and thrived in the apocalypse, striding through with a laugh; others, no matter the struggles, found when they saw a single familiar line, they couldn’t look away.

Within the Farm’s sphere of influence, countless people raised their heads, gazing at announcements that glimmered with the light of the morning sun.

Among them were one-armed survivors who had once been bridge engineers; the meekest druid in a party, who had once been a master teacher with wit and wisdom; and those who had transformed so completely into beasts that they could no longer be called human, but who had once been brilliant food scientists…

Countless individuals were setting out, embarking on the journey toward the Farm.