Famine 195: Sanctuary

Aunt Zhou looked at Bian Xu for a while, her expression gentle, and after a long silence, she said, “I don’t quite know.”

“I don’t really know what’s maintaining this place, but most of my memories are muddled most of the time. If you want to know something, just ask, and I’ll tell you if I remember. I’ll answer as I remember—don’t mind if it’s all over the place.”

For someone who was technically a boss-level entity in a dungeon, Aunt Zhou spoke so kindly that Bian Xu was almost embarrassed by her friendliness. “Thank you…”

Aunt Zhou raised her head, looked at Bian Xu’s face, and smiled. “You remind me of my son.”

“His father died early. I had to care for my own parents, too, and work all at once. I have a chronic illness, have been on medicine all these years. More than five thousand yuan of my monthly salary goes home; I keep only a few hundred for myself.”

Aunt Zhou had started out as a rank-and-file worker in her hometown, constantly needing to coordinate all kinds of issues.

Many people’s thinking never kept pace with societal change—they always looked down on women. In that environment, Aunt Zhou had to be tougher and fiercer than others to have her voice heard. Over time, it became her habit.

Her speech was always blunt and loud; when she started barking commands, her voice would overpower the whole building.

It was like this outside as well as at home.

…And by the time Aunt Zhou realized that, she and her child had already become strangers.

“He graduated high school and said he didn’t want to study anymore, always hanging around with questionable friends, even bleaching his hair blond.”

Aunt Zhou sighed.

“I was frantic at the time, fought with him all the time, always hoping he’d straighten out… I’d count out every cent I’d spent on him, all I did and sacrificed, only to raise a son who turned out so rough, such a misfit.”

“If he’d just softened up, dyed his hair black again, cut ties with those friends, I would have found him a spot at a private college—no matter the cost, I’d support him to keep studying.”

“But he slammed the door and never came back.”

“…And the next I heard of him, the police called to tell me he’d died in his Beijing rental.”

“A seven-square-meter room, rent five thousand yuan. He’d borrowed money for a tiny shop, lost it, ran up debts, then learned renovations from a master. No work, no pay. During lockdown, a single day you couldn’t leave your community was a day you didn’t earn. Rent never dropped a cent. He borrowed everywhere and, unable to come up with the money, on the day before he was evicted, he killed himself.”

Aunt Zhou paused, lowered her head, and smiled bitterly:

“That seven-square-meter room… just like that, it took away the son I’d raised for over twenty years.”

But she couldn’t blame anyone else. Aunt Zhou knew.

She could only blame herself.

Because she never said the right thing.

As a child, survival was her sole priority. Everyone lived together, and when things were hard, there were no kind words at home.

That’s how her parents treated her, and how she treated her son.

Ring ring ring!

The phone rang endlessly, pushing her to shout, to yell, to keep moving, to make thunderous decisions—and so there was no room to think about “love” and “life.” She lived by instinct, shouldering burdens, raising those she cared for, yet drifting ever further from them.

Her son never knew that if he’d only said the word, his mother would have given him anything.

“After he was gone, I realized… golden hair actually looks pretty good.”
“Like yours, lively.”

“I never understood his friends. They really were good-for-nothings, always hanging out in pool halls, always saying studying was useless… But when he was bullied at school, it was his friends who stood up for him.”

“Even if you can’t study, learn a skill and live well—that’s good, too.”

“What kind of life is right, and what kind is wrong—there’s really no conclusion to that.”

Aunt Zhou tilted her head, watching the spinning black hole crystals.

Back then, in order to preserve her son’s meager inheritance, she’d inherited his debts as well. She paid off his rent arrears, moved into his seven-square-meter apartment, found a job at a real estate agency in the city—paying off debts, living day by day.

When she’d lost everything from home, she walked the path he had walked.

At her loneliest, she sought spiritual comfort.

A church in a residential community reached out to her.

It was a strange church. It had no real name, no doctrine.

And what they worshiped—

Was a set of suspended countdown timers, floating in the air.

——!

Si Zhiyan could almost hear his own blood rushing.
Bian Xu’s pupils narrowed.

Aunt Zhou, smiling and looking down, explained slowly:

“The brothers and sisters in the church believed it was the herald of a new world, and prayed for the new world they dreamed of…”

Tiny churches like that were rare in the capital, where every inch of land was precious.

The air was thick with rust, the countdown hovered in the dust, the lighting was dim, oppressive.

She stood in the corner of the crowd, holding a candle, and chanting low.

“In this big city, neither my son nor I had a name, nor any of us.”

“Atomized cities don’t belong to the people in them…”

“I hoped to create a sanctuary. A cheaper apartment, with more heart.”
“A home where drifters could lean on, and finally breathe.”

Whumm!

Did anyone, up in the heavens, hear her prayer?

Aunt Zhou didn’t know.

But at the moment she looked up, the countdown lit up for her.

The rest of her memories were just a blur.

She only remembered that when the countdown ended, a rain of fire fell from the sky, signaling the beginning of a selection.

Everyone said she was the strongest, the chosen one—the undisputed number one, the hope of the world.

She couldn’t recall much of the selection’s process.

She only remembered that, at the end, she stood atop the highest apartment block and looked the heavens in the face.

—She failed.

Aunt Zhou burned in a sea of fire, drifting in and out of consciousness.

All around was rubble and devastation; skyscrapers, landmarks, dense residences—all collapsed into concrete.

Every building had once held dozens, hundreds of families;
every family had spent millions in down payment, paid off mortgages over fifty years, finally owning their property.

But in one “divine selection,” all of it vanished.

This world, in truth, never cared about “the value of every inch.”

With her last strength, Aunt Zhou found the “seed” for this ruined world and sheltered it.

Her body was buried beneath the ground, nourishing the earth; the seed, drawing on her flesh and blood, sprouted, and from the ruins grew a dense apartment block.

The wandering abominations on the surface raised their heads one by one, and staggered inside in a trance.

She stayed true to her beliefs.

—To create a sanctuary.

So that everyone who fought to live would have somewhere to call home.

“It’s a pity, really. I was too weak. Not enough power—over all these years, even my feelings have faded. Not only did I fail to ease anyone’s pain, but made the cycle repeat again and again… so many people suffered.”

Aunt Zhou sighed, squinting with a smile.

“It’s a good thing, you came.”

“This endless loop—finally, it’s time to end it.”

“No matter what you’re planning to do with that seed… go ahead.”

“We are all dead. To meet you, to meet the farm at the end—it’s our good fortune.”

She gestured lightly at Bian Xu’s height.

Young, golden-haired, tall and lanky, a whole head higher than her.

“Very good. Very good.” Aunt Zhou smiled, “If there’s ever anything, you must talk to your family, alright?”
“There is someone who loves you, more than their own life.”

Click.

With her words, the main door swung open.

Outside lay the field of [Endless Night: The Urban Legend Metropolis]. Beyond this place: a swath of pitch black.

The farm’s portal was just outside. Step beyond, and you could take the seed of this world back to the farm.

Aunt Zhou looked kindly at Bian Xu. “You’re very different from my child—but you’re a good person. I can sense a stubbornness in you, just like in him.”

“It’s a shame we met too late. If only we’d known each other longer.”

The mask of a smile faded from Bian Xu’s face.
He fell briefly silent, lowering his head to brush at his eyes, hiding his feelings as he said softly, “Aunt Zhou…”

“Stop.”

Si Zhiyan couldn’t take it anymore—he stepped between them, forcibly shattering the bittersweet, sentimental mood.

“Why so much final farewell? No need to act like this. We’ll be by often.”

Aunt Zhou blinked, surprised.

Bian Xu gave a muffled laugh.

Si Zhiyan, shaking his head in mock exasperation, ruffled Bian Xu’s hair. “She says she doesn’t know, you’re lost—and it’s true.”

“We’re taking the famine seed, yes, but we never said we’d do anything drastic to this world, did we?”
“The cycle is over. Everyone’s doing fine now, aren’t they? Just keep living your lives. We’ll visit when we can.”

Aunt Zhou was stunned. “Eh? But, but if you destroy the seed, this world will be destroyed… Aren’t you going to consume its energy—take it for yourselves?”

Si Zhiyan: “……”

All eyes dropped to the famine seed.

A mob of people, serene and smiling, clustered together—an indescribable translucence of pale green.

You’d almost think if you stuck a straw in, you could sip happiness, garnished with scallions.

Everyone stared at the famine seed, then looked up at each other, then down again.

After a while, Si Zhiyan said sincerely, “We have no such intention.”

What use is taking the seed with us?

Of course—it should be planted.

It took Si Zhiyan a long while to convince Aunt Zhou to accept this reality.

Agent Zhou, who had never once known good fortune in her life, half-living, half-dead, pressed her face in confusion, “So… you really went to all this effort… and we don’t need to pay any price at all??”

Si Zhiyan nodded.

“We just live in the house? Eat the good food?”

Si Zhiyan nodded.

Aunt Zhou’s voice cracked, as if in disbelief, “That’s… that’s really just fine?”

“There really are things this good in the world???”

Si Zhiyan thought for a moment and replied, “I can’t guarantee it, but after planting the seed at the farm, this world should gradually recover, expand, and grow a [World Sapling]. I can’t say what will happen here exactly, but I’m sure it will be much better than now.”

Even better?!!

Aunt Zhou’s thoughts practically exploded with black sand.

Bian Xu darted forward. “Wait, Aunt Zhou?! Aunt Zhou?!!”

“Hey!! She fainted!!”