Famine 246: Deep Space

Countless densely packed words crawled chaotically, winding their way up the players’ pant legs, into their clothes, slithering with a rustling sound along their skin.

“What the hell is this?!”

Wang Jianguo was still in his saber-toothed tiger form when the words climbed up his fur, covering his entire body. Goosebumps erupted all over him. He shook himself fiercely, but the words kept climbing. They gnawed at him, saturated the ground, spreading everywhere, unavoidable. The words clung to every crevice between his hairs…

Reproduction procreation sexual fertility reproduction reproductive propagation…

Wang Jianguo couldn’t shake them off no matter how he tried. In the end, he was forced to return to human form. That didn’t help—his body shrank, and in the blink of an eye, he was swallowed by the wriggling, transforming mass of words.

A certain sense of yearning, uncontrollable and as if dictated by universal law, embedded itself in his mind—

—He needed to give birth to a new generation.

The urge was overwhelming, unthinkable.

A chill coursed through Wang Jianguo.

“Are you alright, Old Wang? Old Wang…”

A teammate cried out, catching him, but her voice seemed to come from far away, muffled and distant.

Wang Jianguo knew he was being contaminated, but there was nothing he could do. He could only watch helplessly as the spreading words gnawed away at his psyche.

He was supposed to give birth to a new generation. No, no, how could such an absurd need exist? But it was supposed to happen, it must, he could only do this. He needed to propagate, to reproduce, to propagate, to reproduce… reproductive propagation sexual fertility reproduction reproductive propagation fertility reproduction reproductive propagation…

Unable to stop himself, Wang Jianguo slowly extended his hand. His trembling fingertips pressed into his abdomen, drawing blood as he began to tear it open bit by bit.

Around him, some other players were also submerged in the squirming mass of tiny words. Some stood, some knelt, all of them driving their limbs into their own abdominal cavities…

Tap.

Until a hand rested on his shoulder.

Wang Jianguo immediately shuddered from head to toe. Cool, slender fingers touched him, and from that point, a refreshing clarity, gentle as cool water, poured over his muddled mind, bringing him abruptly back to his senses.

“What am I doing?! Didn’t I drink that anti-psychosis milk?”

Cold sweat broke out all over Wang Jianguo as he hurriedly withdrew his hand.

“Because this isn’t an anomaly,” the person beside him explained calmly and gently.

Before Wang Jianguo could turn his head, an elegant, slim figure had already walked past him, the hem of a trench coat stirring up a chilly breeze as he brushed by.

It was the farmer, Si Zhiyan.

Si Zhiyan walked past Wang Jianguo and strode forward. Around them, everything had become a hellish scene. Shattered golden radiance had transformed into a sea of words, drowning everyone.

Some people were lost, some struggled desperately, some had begun to harm themselves.

The stronger a person was, the more of a Chosen, the deeper the impact upon them.

Moving through the torrent of words, Si Zhiyan touched those most deeply affected, and wherever he passed, it was as though a clear spring flowed through hell, spreading irresistibly.

Someone trembled and asked, “Sir, if this isn’t an anomaly… what is it?”

“…”

“It’s simply what It is doing.”
“No more, no less.”

Si Zhiyan spoke.

The players soon came back to themselves, shuddering, desperately slapping the words climbing up their bodies. Bian Xu swiftly issued the order to retreat. Instantly, people surged in organized waves away from the scene, eager to escape.

Only Si Zhiyan moved against the tide, stepping, step by step, toward the center of the battlefield.

Countless players brushed past him, casting worried glances. The channel was filled with hurried inquiries. Si Zhiyan responded with a serene, silent smile.

He did not look back; his pace was unhurried. His red eyes fixed on the true form of the [Overgod], his voice soft and almost more a thought than a whisper.

“There was a time when I was confused: why did [Overgod] and I create the system? Wouldn’t it be easier to simply leave behind a legacy and orders?”

“Now, I understand. Be it the system or that golden light… these were never your disguises. Quite the opposite—they are your shackles and restraints. You might even say they are a kind of… consideration.”

“As a higher-dimensional being, your very existence surpasses human understanding. When you appear before us, your thoughts and actions wreak devastation on the human psyche.”

“The higher-ranked the [Chosen], the closer they are to you, the more deeply they are affected.”

Yet, as part of the [Overgod], Si Zhiyan was immune to any harm.

Just as, in the ancient forest during the Heavenly Pulse Priestess’s Grand Rite, when Zhong Yanqing gazed through the Son-Eye at the multitude of aggrieved souls haunting the blessed land, nose and ears bleeding, Si Zhiyan felt nothing. When he covered Zhong Yanqing’s eyes, she instantly calmed.

Standing at the center of the crowd, Si Zhiyan lifted his head, almost—

Reproduction procreation sexual fertility reproduction…

And high in the center of the sky, countless words, dense as a swarm of insects, flew and clustered together, forming a planet that blocked out the sun, looking down upon the earth.

“So that’s it.”

“This is the thing that has troubled you for so long?”

Si Zhiyan spoke.

Face to face with the Overgod, he saw far more than anyone else ever could.

Earlier, Si—

[Overgod] clearly did not want to be replaced or allow the players to win, so why start this famine game, this competition for inheritance?

And to do so again and again, repeating it endlessly. Like Sisyphus’s eternal torment, without end.

Now, he had the answer.

Because It needed to reproduce.

In the vast universe, Its immense life was nearing its conclusion; Its species needed to propagate.

That was the essence of biology.

Some organisms depend on male and female copulation to reproduce; some divide themselves. For a being like the [Overgod], reproduction was achieved by descending a [Selection] onto intelligent, existing civilizations.

Like wasps that lay eggs inside longhorn beetle larvae, forcing the beetle to struggle on while the larvae slowly devour its fat, fluids, and organs from within, until only a thin skin is left, before finally breaking free.

Or the miracidia of the fluke that infest a snail’s body, making its eye stalks bulge and shine with color, altering its behavior so it flaunts itself by day and is eaten by predatory birds, thus spreading and growing…

The [Overgod] parasitized a civilization, driving it into deformity and ruin, waiting for the larva to break through one day.

Was this mercy, or was it something far more terrifying?

Normally, It did not lay eggs of Its own, but rather chose to mutate the parasitized species.

Just as It transformed Its beloved child, a perfectly ordinary girl, swelling her into a grotesque [Eye]; this change was irreversible.

The winner of the Selection became the next [Overgod].
The snail became a fluke.

This was the propagation of a higher-dimensional being. Countless civilizations were Its egg cases.

And yet—

“Strange.”
Si Zhiyan murmured.

“If this is your reproduction and does you no harm, why do you resist it?”

[Overgod] never fully repressed Its instinct for inheritance, yet at the same time seemed to resist it with all Its might.

It acted as if mad, repeatedly opening new Selections, but every time, rather than complete the process, It would destroy the Selection, even if it meant severing off a part of Itself.

All that was left behind were broken and scattered egg cases.

Civilizations became the sacrificial remnants of Its failed reproduction—sacrificing blood, faith, legacy, and life.

The players stood at a distance, wounded.

Si Zhiyan looked up stubbornly, demanding an answer: “Why?”

…

[Overgod] replied only with silence.

A massive torrent of shifting information, a surging mass, slowly leaned down. It stared at Si Zhiyan, at the piece of Itself embedded in this civilization—a traitor to Its cause.

A single glance brought a crushing pressure from all directions. Si Zhiyan, well-prepared, nevertheless felt his knees buckle and nearly fell.

Gasps rang out behind him.

All the more at a time like this, Si Zhiyan realized: for humanity to become Overgod, was, without doubt, a sublime evolution.

It merely shed its disguise. It was still mighty. The battle thus far had only been a beginning.

To have stripped away one layer of [Overgod]’s form, humanity had already achieved much.

Si Zhiyan’s slight figure wavered once, then steadied itself.

Bian Xu’s voice came through the mental link: “Alright now, come back, sir!”

“Sir, I’ve got a new batch of fortified psychic anchor goods. I tested them out—they work.”

“I’ll send them around. Let’s catch our breath, and then charge again!”

Even from a distance, Bian Xu’s voice was bright and reassuring, shadowed by worry he couldn’t quite hide, each word reliable and full of vitality.

Whether standing in an abyss of endless darkness or the heart of the battlefield, he remained… so likable.

Si Zhiyan pressed his temples, lowered his head, and allowed himself a wistful smile.

“How could I bear to,” he said gently.

How could I bear to let you face such things?

Brilliant, beautiful, human civilization. The dazzling soul of humanity.

Even if you treat them as dust and eggshells, lowly forms to be scorned at, these low-dimensional beings have hearts too.

He cared deeply for Bian Xu, but wasn’t that true of others? Every blood-soaked body on this field had someone, somewhere, longing for the game to end so they could begin a happy life together.

There was no bridal chamber here.
Every unburied bone by the riverside was once the beloved of another warrior’s dreams.

Bian Xu said softly, “Sir…”

Please, bless me. Silently, Si Zhiyan prayed.

Then, with a deep breath, he raised his hand and drew out a cube fashioned of entangled thorns.

It was the result of many days spent locked away, alone, in the farm’s basement.

He had used numerous famine seeds that had never been planted in the farm, along with some of his own (Overgod’s) flesh and blood.

Si Zhiyan said, “Alice.”

“Yes!” came a clear call from the figure in the crowd—the dollmaker Alice, in her voluminous dress.

Forewarned beforehand, she flicked her puppet strings, and a cascade of tiny black hole jewels tumbled from her skirts, spreading out in all directions.

Click.

Encircled by the black holes, Si Zhiyan twisted the cube.

The moment the tangled blocks began to turn, the sky, the earth, all streams of text—everything—was sliced away by a third. The surface of the land tilted, slowly slanting.

The power of the space gems roared forth. With the Rubik’s Cube in his hand spinning alongside the farm space, layer upon layer amassed, birthing an entirely new dimension.

At the center of the battlefield, Si Zhiyan and the [Overgod] were instantly sealed inside, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

All that remained was scorched earth.

Everyone stood stunned.

Liang Qingshuang sped across the battlefield, ice blade trailing shadows. Breathless, she asked urgently, “What happened?! Where did Mr. Si go?!”

Softly, Alice replied, “A coliseum just for them.”

“This is an independent space Si Zhiyan prepared for himself and It… You could call it a private cage for the two.”

“It will only open when one of them dies.”

Liang Qingshuang froze. “Why… why?”

“Because…”

Alice drew a shaky breath, her eyes red, and whispered,

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“Even now, he’s just that kind.”

“Even at this stage, he can’t bear it, can’t bear to let us all shoulder the Overgod’s demise…”

“He wants to do a little more for us.”

Liang Qingshuang was silent.

Humanity had achieved much, truly great things.

But to kill the Overgod would require more—so much more, so many more lives and bodies clogging the trenches, inch by inch moving forward.

—How could I bear to see you all bleeding rivers?

Once the situation became clear, every leader or friend of Si Zhiyan lost their composure, rushing to gather here, frenzied.

Nie Du’s cloak trailed behind him, Wang Jianguo growled in confusion, Shi He snapped his claws into place… Together, they encircled Alice.

Nidhogg was chief among the enraged, striding over in three great steps, face still smeared with blood, unleashing furious curses: “How the hell could you just agree to this?! You—”

“How could I refuse Si Zhiyan’s resolve? I felt the same myself, once,”

Alice bowed her head, covering her eyes, her voice choked.

“What’s more… I’m just the one holding the gems for him. I only found out about this yesterday. Even if I objected, at this point, there’s no other way.”

“Too devious. He knew I couldn’t say no.”

As for those whose opposition was absolute—Nidhogg, Bian Xu…
They’d never even seen a shadow of the cube.

Chaos consumed the field. Nidhogg, incandescent with rage, was about to speak when Shi He grabbed him and shook his head.

Liang Qingshuang worried aloud, “Will Mr. Si be okay? He’s facing the Overgod alone?!”

Wang Jianguo answered at once: “Bah, the farmer is all-powerful; he’ll win for sure!”

Someone muttered, “Maybe everyone should calm down…”

“Mr. Si always considers everything. He may not lose. Shouldn’t we avoid becoming a distraction instead?”

Sha Tong argued anxiously, “So what, we just wait here for the result?!”

“But what else can we do now?”

“Anyway, Laozi won’t accept this!” Nidhogg snapped open his dragon wings, giving a middle finger. “Fuck this! It’s the Overgod—if you want to wait for Si Zhiyan’s corpse, so be it! I’m not sitting here!”

“Shi He, bring the others with me!”

Nie Du tried to interject, “Calm down, we need to discuss, watch a bit first—”

Nidhogg ignored him. “Who needs your sensible act?”

Noise erupted on every side.

With no clear leader, there was nothing to be done.

Yan Cheng pressed his lips together, knowing it wasn’t Alice’s fault. Adjusting his headset, he asked,

“Commander, what now?”

The channel fell silent.

High in the sky, Bian Xu stood where he was, a hand raised in his last attempt to call out to his teacher.

The cold wind whipped past, sending gold hair streaming, his face emotionless, golden-brown eyes fixed on the place where Si Zhiyan had vanished.

All that remained was scorched earth.

……

Buzz!

In the infinite, starless void, Si Zhiyan’s figure appeared.

Before him danced a chaos of shattered words. The [Overgod] flew here and there through the sky, but it was futile.

The space had no borders, and aside from the two of them, nothing existed.

No substance, much less any life. There was nothing for It to destroy.

Si Zhiyan had locked It away.

He had done it thoroughly—even severing his own path out. The price: for now, neither of them could break free.

After countless failed attempts, a wave of bewildered anger swept forth.
The [Overgod] slowly turned to gaze at Si Zhiyan.

Do you think you can challenge me?

—That was the message.

The words and limbs surged at him in an overwhelming tide.

“I challenge you? Perhaps I do.”

Si Zhiyan smiled, slipped the cube into his pocket, massaged his neck, rolled his shoulders, and stretched comfortably.

“Only…”

Then he snapped his fingers.

Buzz—

A blaze of brilliant silver light rose from Si Zhiyan.

A vast froststorm howled around him in an instant, shielding him from harm.
Amid the swirling snow, silver hair flew in the starlit dark. Stray locks brushed his cheeks, cool and gentle.

—Void Priestess, High Priestess.

An ethereal voice intoned: [Farmer… as promised, I am here.]

The phantom of the High Priestess, half-god and half-mortal, tall and imposing, hovered beside Si Zhiyan, intricate holy robes unfurling into the starry space, scarlet eyes locked upon the Overgod before her.

Then came another pair of scarlet eyes.

By his side, the Heavenly Pulse Priestess flickered into view, emerging from a coil of red threads; next, the suited, hair-bunned Aunt Zhou; a seething mass of flesh; the whole spectral structure of the [Amusement Park]…

One after another, densely packed, manifestations surrounded Si Zhiyan.

These were the cores of the farm’s famine seeds.
They were the countless failures—avatars who inherited a portion of the [Overgod], and the civilizations behind them, through thousands of years.

Si Zhiyan stood at their head, hands in his pockets, smiling serenely amid the swirling frost and the endless starfields.

“…I never said I was alone.”