Famine 196: The World’s Sapling

After much bustle back and forth, it took a considerable effort to finally soothe Aunt Zhou.

Si Linyan led Bian Xu through the unit doors, stepping out of the apartment building. At last, he turned back to glance at this place one last time.

When he first arrived, the entrance was piled high with all sorts of miscellaneous items—from shoe cabinets to planting boxes, to all kinds of broken electric fans and whatnot—all gathering dust, crammed together until the whole corridor was choked full. Si Linyan had to squeeze through sideways, making a rather awkward passage.

But now, the first floor had already been transformed into part of a commercial complex.

The number of residents packed into these dense apartment buildings was far greater than it appeared on the surface, and the potential for consumption was considerable as well. Aunt Zhou’s place was situated at the far end, in front of which was a row of miscellaneous shops: a humble convenience store, a tool shop, and a nondescript yet delicious dumpling stall… Inside each shop was a spacious and attractive farm apartment.

People came and went, sunlight flooding the wide corridor.

Everything here had changed completely.
It had left that cramped, stifling corner, and embraced a new, spacious life.

Si Linyan smiled, hands clasped behind his back, and departed.

In his pocket, the seed of famine glowed with vibrant green, waiting to take root and sprout in suitable soil.

Let’s go. Time to go home. It’s been so long—the folks at the farm must be missing us, too.

He’d been away for quite a while now. Who knew if there had been any changes at the farm over this period? But since there hadn’t been any urgent or major updates, there shouldn’t be much difference…

……

…

“Yow!”

No sooner had the two of them stepped through the farm’s teleportation gate than they heard a cry of pain.

Bian Xu looked down to find he had, in fact, stepped on another player’s foot. Flustered, he hurriedly stepped back. “Sorry, sorry!”

The player glanced down at his foot and rubbed it, but didn’t lose his temper. Instead, he gestured behind him. “New here? Go queue at the end—the line’s over there.”

Si Linyan lifted his head and his pupils dilated in an instant.

On the farm’s wide main avenue, a sea of people had gathered. As far as the eye could see, it was nothing but a dense crowd of heads (and animal heads), all forming an immense, looping queue.

People jostled and pushed, their voices rising in a constant clamor:

“What should I eat for my first meal in there… I’m craving pizza… Fried chicken would do too…”
“I want fish-flavored shredded pork over rice! Haven’t had rice in ages, my Chinese stomach is starving for it.”
“Try pushing in again and see what happens! Just because fighting is forbidden doesn’t mean I’m afraid of you.”
“How many tier-two residences are left?”

“Come on, be a pal! How much longer will I have to wait from here?”

At the gate, a row of young women staff members stood guard. One, head bent over a register, snapped impatiently, “Stop rushing me! So many ahead of you—what’s the point of pressing me?”

But in the next second, her face changed drastically. “Hey! Don’t send me points! Don’t bribe me—we don’t take bribes! If you want to challenge the farm’s rule anomalies, be my guest, but I’d like to live a little longer, thank you!”

…And so forth. The scene was even more feverish than the lines outside Disney at the peak of summer vacation in July…

No—even more so.

Si Linyan and Bian Xu were caught off guard, stunned by the sheer vitality of the place—the din was deafening.

Bian Xu muttered, voicing everyone’s sentiments, “Seven years… after all this… and there are still so many survivors…”

The player he had stepped on slapped his thigh. “Right? Nearly everyone who’s still alive has gathered here by now!”

Bian Xu scratched his head. “Ah… But this is just too many people…”

That player was clearly a chatterbox—his neighbors had ignored him, and after two days in line he was bursting to talk. Now, with Bian Xu answering, he perked right up and launched into a torrent of speech.

“Heh, you guys must’ve just arrived to join the farm, right?”

“This world is connected everywhere now, with no geographical barriers. A few days ago, top-tier squads started popping up in every high-difficulty instance… They came equipped with mind-blowing, era-transcending enchanted gear, wearing crests of vines on their clothes, decked out with powerful buffs, and understanding how to rack up points better than anyone. They’re practically a new species, one that breaks the game.”

“They call themselves the ‘Residents of the Farm,’ and they sweep through like a force of nature—as effortless as playing a game—clearing out batches of anomalous scenarios. You ever heard of ‘Endless College Entrance Exam Hell’? That’s an A+-level instance! Several mercenary groups charged in and just swept it aside!”

“But the most important thing is, these people have almost unlimited supplies—they can eat whatever they want!” The player grew emotional, nearly to tears. “I once teamed up wild with one of them. While I was nibbling on potatoes, carefully measuring out the grams, guess what he pulled out? A cheese and beef panini! The beef patty was so thick, buttered bread toasted to perfection, and the cheese oozing inside! He just grabbed it out like it was nothing! A quick blast from his fire ability—and the aroma! My goodness!”

“How could anyone resist that? Who could!?”

“So now, everyone’s flooding here.”

Bian Xu marveled, “Amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” The player nodded vigorously. “Rumor is, housing inside is running out already—they’re scrambling to build more, but land is tight. That’s why entry has slowed to a trickle.”

“I count myself lucky—I’ve been in line for two days, and I’ve only gotten this far.”

“You two should queue up over there now. If you start today, you’ll get inside in about three days.”

He pointed casually—the line’s tail stretched out beyond sight.

Bian Xu: “…”

Done talking, he smacked his lips, unable to resist a bit of gossip. “Who’s behind all this? Word is, the farm owner can fly and is always shrouded in mist… Whatever, they’re freaking incredible!”

“Well, such people are out of our league. As long as we can live here, that’s enough. If I really get to eat well again, I’ll set up a shrine at home and worship them—thank them for delivering us from suffering.”

Si Linyan: “…”

…But maybe spare me the shrine. I beg you.

The talkative player looked curiously at Si Linyan, then stared in shock as Si Linyan slowly lifted off the ground, coat billowing in the wind, a haze of mist swirling around him…

His expression twisted from amazement to horror, eyes widening until they finally froze in a look of utter disbelief.

Si Linyan cleared his throat and said, “Thank you. Please wait a little longer—I’ll resolve this as soon as possible.”

With that, he seized Bian Xu and shot forward in a streak.

As they flew, a cold sweat crept over him.

—He hadn’t expected the farm’s available plots to be used up so quickly!

With a few jars of tiramisu in reserve, there was no risk of major upheaval. Li Cuie was worried about delaying Si Linyan’s progress through the instances, so she didn’t trouble him about every detail—just made a brief report that the influx of players had surged, requesting to slow admissions. Si Linyan hadn’t paid it much heed, casually approving her to manage it herself.

He never imagined things had reached this magnitude!

Upon returning to his cabin, the first thing Si Linyan did was place the “Seed of Famine” (embryo version) into the farm’s Spatial Expansion System.

Buzz!

It instantly filled the expansion slot.

[Ding! Seed of Famine — Dense Apartment of the Forsaken is taking root…]

[LOADING…]

[1%… 25%… 78%… 100%!]

[Ding!]

[World’s Sapling — Major Metropolis has been unlocked!]

With a tremor, the boundaries of the farm—the delimiting walls—began to retreat, expanding outward…

At the edge of the farm, a massive, bluish-gray portal opened.

“What the hell?!”
“What’s that?!”

The crowd erupted, the noise surging to a new crescendo.

“Quiet! Please, quiet!”

The farm’s core management soon arrived. They stood neatly at the gate, keeping order, waiting for Si Linyan to arrive and lead everyone into the new portal.

Their vision shifted—

—before them sprawled an enormous, bustling city.

The sky was a clear, unblemished blue, the streets utterly empty, towers and skyscrapers shooting up like a forest, dense and unending, interspersed with lush greenways stretching endlessly into the skyline.

There were high-rise apartment buildings, glass-walled office towers, lower residential blocks, even a few small parks…

One look, and you could not see the city’s end.

On the greenswards, sprinklers glittered and hissed.

Apart from the absence of people, it was almost indistinguishable from a society in its prime.

Except now, there were no more of those squalid, cramped subdivided flats.

Si Linyan gazed for a while, when a familiar voice called from nearby:

“Mr. Si!”

Turning, Si Linyan saw Aunt Zhou waiting by the entrance.

She looked at him with shining eyes, tears brimming over, and bowed deeply.

The world of the dense apartments had indeed changed.

Aunt Zhou and the surviving residents of her apartment had been converted into a sprawling block of streets, stretching horizontally and occupying a corner of the great metropolis.

This was the world birthed after the germination of the anomalous seed.

Extending beyond her district was a patchwork of second-tier cities, counties, villages, and small towns…

Yellow-grey buildings, broad fields—plain, ordinary, yet vibrant and open, nurturing uncounted lives.

Everywhere, there floated innumerable glowing orbs.
They hovered in the dwellings and fields, drifting up and down, each pulsing with a spark of life.

Among them, a single golden orb, shy and hesitant—advancing one step, retreating three—drifted up to Aunt Zhou’s side.

Aunt Zhou’s eyes widened as she tentatively reached out, her voice trembling with incredulous tears: “…Child?”

The orb dodged her touch, retreating. After a moment, it inched back, gently nudging her hand.

Covering her mouth, Aunt Zhou burst into tears.

Behind her, somewhere in the ether, Gu Ying also looked up, tears in her eyes, embracing two dashing orbs that flew towards her, crying, “Daddy, Momma!…”

…

This world had once experienced destruction, yet here on the farm, a new sprout had taken root. For now, it was only a sapling. Those lives that had perished before now drifted in a haze of confusion, their thoughts still murky, acting only on instinct. They all needed time—to grow, to recover.

That time might stretch on and on—decades, even centuries—so long that not a single member of this generation of farm dwellers might live to see that day…

But it didn’t matter; time was the one thing they now had in abundance.

Someday, wanderers far from home would find their way back at last.

At the portal, everyone on the farm stood in awe.

Si Linyan looked back at them, then at this resplendent, empty metropolis—capable of housing millions—before calmly clapping his hands.

“All right.”

“The farm’s size problem has been solved.”