Famine 250: The Throne

A long time ago, when everything was still running as usual—

On a lonely night during one of his solitary excursions, Bian Xu leaned on the rooftop of the capital, holding the [Grade B Facility—Sorry, Wrong Number Telephone], and dialed a number.

Peter Pan Toy Company.

Peter Pan Company had long been an old friend of the farm. Many of the farm’s facilities originated from its handiwork: [Yogurt Moat], [Follow-Your-Desire Mini-Mart], [Honest and Reliable Electronic Calculator], even [The Castle’s Outpost]…

At the end of every powerful and twisted facility, there was always a telephone number.

[XXXX-XXXXXX]

This number was not a string of digits, but a tangled knot of symbols twisted endlessly among themselves.

But the [Sorry, Wrong Number Telephone] could dial it.

Beyond the strife between Overgod and humanity, there lay a boundless universe. Countless unaffected civilizations continued their work, quietly observing the unfolding conflict.

Once, Si Zhiyan had judged, “We should not contact these people”—and in retrospect, this was indeed a sound decision.

When the call went through, the other end sounded genuinely surprised. The civilization behind Peter Pan was far more developed than humanity’s, to the extent that it could trade directly with the Overgod and systems. At the moment the call connected, their chaotic, complex thoughts flooded into Bian Xu’s mind through his ear, scrambling his brain until his skull felt ready to split.

Any ordinary person would have gone mad instantly.

But it didn’t matter. Bian Xu held firm. As a former core of the farm, hardened by the corrosion of countless ghost tales and grievances, tormented by inhuman pain and hungers through sleepless nights as he fought for sanity—he was well-practiced in this endurance.

Once the initial madness faded, Bian Xu could make out their words among the chaos: curious, tangled motives merging into a single question—

[Why should we help you?]

“Because,” Bian Xu said, wind ruffling his hair as he gazed down at the neon-lit city, phone in hand, one hand in his pocket, “you ought to stand with the side that produces.”

[…]

“As long as we survive, we’ll place far more orders than the Overgod ever will. We intend to let everyone live well; the current Overgod only turns your customers scarcer and scarcer.”

The night breeze set Bian Xu’s golden hair flying. He wiped away the blood trickling from his ear and smiled:

“Besides… human civilization has no bottleneck. Sooner or later, we’ll reach your level. We’ll remember today’s favor and debts—we’ll be your natural customers and future allies.”

“So isn’t it worth taking a chance?”

[…]

[…]

A longer silence came from the other end.

When it finally ended, they sent two concise messages.

The first: [We will only step in once it’s certain you are capable of victory. You must, at minimum, defeat the Overgod’s first form by your own hands.]

The second: [Tell us, what do you need?]

“Alright, no problem.” Bian Xu grinned. “Let’s see if you can make me a little something like this…”

……

After Bian Xu finished explaining his plan, a deathly stillness fell over the scene.

Nie Du’s pupils trembled. Yan Cheng was speechless. Even Nidhogg had folded his dragon wings, his gaze heavy with gravity.

Bian Xu stood among the crowd, at the very center of all, back straight, meeting every eye unflinchingly.

“Is it harsh? I suppose it is.”

“But it’s the only way to kill the Overgod and let the master survive.”

“From the moment the Overgod descended, all humanity has been swept along by the tide. Destroyed by higher beings, struggling for survival under the game’s rules, saved by Mr. Si and the remains of other civilizations…”

Bian Xu spoke each word slowly, distinctly:

“Until this very moment.”

“In the chronicles of centuries to come, it will be said: this was the first and only time humanity could choose its own fate.”

“We are not livestock or egg casings reared by anyone.”

“Humanity must forge its own history!”

Bian Xu spread his arms. His voice rang clearly, every word full of weight:

“Choose, everyone! I won’t force those who won’t follow. But if you’re willing, raise your hand and come with me!”

Most had lost even the courage to argue. They simply stood, dazed, watching Bian Xu’s golden hair tossing in the wind.

Dazzling, sharp—his power was so like, yet so different from, Si Zhiyan’s.

…Until, in the silent crowd, a hand was raised.

“…their own history!”

A hoarse, forceful voice echoed Bian Xu’s call.

Everyone turned—Rong Bei. Dressed in a black suit, leaning on a cane, he limped forward, a group of scarred townsfolk and warriors behind him.

These days, Rong Bei had emptied his fortune and tirelessly mobilized at the front, gaining immense respect and influence. All looked up to him as a guiding mentor. At his back stood Zhong Manwen, Tang Qinghuai, and others.

He brought almost—

Li Cui’e, expression complicated, watched from the side, but eventually joined the group.

“Pah! Too right!” someone in the armed ranks yelled, raising his hand. “We’ve got hands and feet, haven’t we? Why shouldn’t we try?”

One, then two… In response to the call, more and more hands went up from the ranks.

Gradually, the whole crowd began to boil with excitement.

“I’m in too!”
“Count me in!”
“Humanity will create its own history!”
“Fuck it, let’s go!”
“What else can we do! It’s not like this is certain death!”

“Spare me the grand declarations—I’m allergic to all that, but if it’s about saving Mr. Si, I’ll be the first!”

Not everyone agreed. Some, made anxious by the rising fervor, shouted angrily, “You’re all insane! I’m not doing this! How is this not suicide? …Mmph!”

A long, elegant, scarred hand clamped down on his mouth and hauled him away.

It was Qiu Hong. She wore a sharp, forceful look as she dragged the protesting player off, tossing him to the medics in the rear.

Many more like her worked quietly, wending through the surging crowd, handling dissent without a word.

At the center, surrounded, Bian Xu grasped Rong Bei’s hand. His eyes met Qiu Hong’s over the crowd—he gave her a silent nod.

Qiu Hong bowed her head in a simple salute before hurrying off to quell the next trouble spot.

I’m sorry, master. I’m not a god, as you are.

Bian Xu smiled to himself, without a trace of guilt.

When Bian Xu proposed this plan, he’d never expected refusal.

Rong Bei was one of his. Qiu Hong was, too. With Si Zhiyan’s tacit indulgence, the touch of the [Commander] had already spread unseen throughout the farm’s every corner.

Success was never won in an instant, but in the countless nights and days that followed a decision. Making friends, gathering strength, negotiating, persuading, reconciling, uniting every ally, overcoming endless obstacles, just to stand before you.

That’s humanity.

……

[Black Hole]

This was the endless starry sky—a realm built from countless, densely-packed black hole gems.

Si Zhiyan clutched the autumn leaf, giving one last glance beyond the fractures of space.

It was a perfectly sealed space—he could see nothing, only faintly sense the energy currents outside. No noise from the main world reached him, but Si Zhiyan could imagine the faces there—anxious, uneasy, on the verge of collapse…

Alive. Vivid.

…How long would they grieve for me, Si Zhiyan wondered. At least two or three years, perhaps.

He could not wait any longer. The Overgod’s true tentacles had already broken through the barrier. Those indescribable things were reaching for him.

Si Zhiyan did not hesitate. He turned back and seized the nearest tendril.

The Overgod seemed to realize something, struggling in a frenzy.

Too late.

[The Collapse of Buzhou Mountain] began to activate!

Buzz—

Dazzling silver light exploded.

Space itself became fuel, and the rays surged into a tidal wave. The massive thunder was nearly silent; in Si Zhiyan’s ears, only a pure static hum remained. Everything else in the universe seemed to vanish—nothing left but raw colliding energy.

Si Zhiyan triggered two [Collapse of Buzhou Mountain] bombs at once.

Here, at ground zero, Si Zhiyan saw things from a completely different perspective.

He used nearly fifty thousand [Black Hole Crystals] and, still unsatisfied, moved four world fragments out, merging the life within them to other fragments for safety.

—In ancient times, Gong Gong fought Zhuanxu for the throne and, in his rage, struck Mount Buzhou.
The celestial pillar broke, the earth’s bonds were severed, capable of toppling heaven and earth, moving the sun, moon, and rivers.

Do you like my Buzhou Mountain?

In the incandescent light, Si Zhiyan smiled in silence.

[Collapse of Buzhou Mountain] required a moment to fully detonate.

During that time, Si Zhiyan clung to the Overgod, while it writhed madly, words erupting from broken flesh, rising in chaotic clouds, torrents of data crashing upon him—

[Don’t]
[Refuse]
[No]
[Withdrawing all the nutrient paste I’m reclaiming it]
[Reproduction forbidden]
[You are part of me]
[Don’t eat me]
[I don’t want to be eaten]

[I don’t want to be consumed]

[I refuse, I refuse, I refuse, I don’t want to be eaten, don’t want to be digested, esophagus, stomach, intestines—I refuse…]

At first, the thoughts were ordered; later they disintegrated into a tangled, mad stream. It was as if the Overgod was dying, lashing out in wild terror, battering Si Zhiyan’s mind.

There was boundless fear—a fear of annihilation, a fear of being consumed.

A ringing filled Si Zhiyan’s head; blood spilled from all seven orifices, flecks of brain matter following.

“What does it mean?!” Si Zhiyan braced his elbow against his brow, voice lost to the burst, unable to hear himself.

But it made no difference. He understood now.

“So that’s it…”

Choking, Si Zhiyan wiped blood and flesh from his face.

“So this is why you resist [reproduction]…”

Sexual cannibalism.

Certain animals, while starving, mate—and after mating, devour their partner to ensure their offspring receive enough nutrition.

It is common for some creatures to gain vital strength by consuming their own kind—not only at mating, but in other relations.

Some types of caecilians, even from the start of gestation, are devoured by their own young. Countless soft, wriggling larvae gather, gnawing at their mother’s uterus and skin, scraping up all possible nutrients. That’s their very first step into the world.

The [Overgod] too, was such a being.

At the end of its life, it follows its instinct for [reproduction], parasitizing an intelligent civilization, selecting the next Overgod as successor.

The last trial of the newborn [Overgod] is to defeat the previous one.

And then… devour it.

For its own source of power.

—So that was it. That’s the Overgod’s nature.

Only someone like Si Zhiyan, inheriting some of its abilities, could create the [Ghost Story Farm] system. Its very essence was the acquisition of strength by [consuming the remains].

“…In the endgame, you have to be eaten…” Si Zhiyan muttered. “No, not just that…”

[I want to reclaim the nutrient paste…]

A flash of insight struck Si Zhiyan—“The nutrient paste is part of your body?”

“So, even a minimal amount is enough to sustain life, can cause human evolution, can vanish at your whim…”

“This must be a tiny, highly diluted fraction of your power. Not critical to your core. But now it all makes sense: you use how much of yourself is consumed to sense the Famine Game’s progression.”

The [Overgod] sent even more frenzied data.

And Si Zhiyan knew his guesses were correct.

Fine then… fine. Si Zhiyan chuckled, covering his face.

At the very end, though it couldn’t change a thing, getting closer to the truth still brought relief.

As one of the Overgod’s avatars—and with Bian Xu as his chosen partner…

Si Zhiyan spat blood, bowed his head, and smiled, covering his face.

So that’s how it is. That’s why Bian Xu wanted to eat him.

They were both twisted amalgamations. The human instinct and the Overgod instinct merged in Bian Xu, leading to his struggle… and his addiction to Si Zhiyan’s flesh.

The Overgod’s reproductive instinct was [consuming].

And humanity’s instinct to reproduce was…

Si Zhiyan coughed and smiled.

Ah. Really. He’d been eaten quite a bit already.

In that moment, he desperately wanted to see Bian Xu—just one more time. That gorgeous golden hair, that face so intent on him. The burning ache clawed at his heart.

But it was already too late.

As the light swelled, Si Zhiyan’s consciousness blurred:

…If only I could be eaten by Bian Xu.

That was his final thought as he faded away.

——

In a soundless detonation, the explosion of [Collapse of Buzhou Mountain] reached its peak, seething silver light swallowing up the joined forms of Si Zhiyan and the Overgod.

All scorching, world- and god-destroying power was compressed to the utmost.

As the one who triggered it, Si Zhiyan deliberately confined the range, channeling all force into himself and the Overgod. He truly had done everything possible, minimizing the fallout so completely that, in the end, those protected by the High Priestess—the Tianmai Sisters and many friends—were entirely unharmed, not even realizing just how close the explosion had come.

So, when Bian Xu led the people in rending space and arrived at that stellar void, this was the scene they saw.

A vast, silent globe of silver light floated in boundless cosmos.

The Overgod’s body, undetectable to ordinary sight, was crumpled against the edge of the globe, struggling helplessly, slowly dissolving away.

And Si Zhiyan hovered at the sphere’s very center.

Every scrap of his clothing had been vaporized, his form shrouded in silver light, emitting a gentle, soft radiance.

By now, Si Zhiyan was no longer a living being, but a part of Bian Xu (the farm)—a root.

When flesh and blood evaporate, only the purest energy remains.

Within the light, one could just make out the contours of Si Zhiyan’s features. He looked intensely serene; pure silver hair floated weightlessly about him, suffused with his familiar, peaceful warmth.

For an instant, it felt as if Bian Xu’s heart had been gripped and wrung hard, so sore and weak he could hardly breathe. He had to lower his head, gulping deep breaths just to steady himself.

Bian Xu entered the silver light without the slightest resistance.

Alice tentatively stretched out her hand. “This light… is [Collapse of Buzhou Mountain]’s power…”
“But… it doesn’t harm us? Why?”

“It’s the master’s strength,” Bian Xu said softly. His head was bowed, voice shaking.

“He must have worked so hard on this in the basement. He changed [Collapse of Buzhou Mountain]’s explosion, directing all the energy onto himself and the target.”

“We might not have obediently waited behind; we might have come after him… Master even thought of that.”

“Even if our chance was one in ten thousand, he didn’t want to harm us.”

Si Zhiyan would never allow any harm to touch his children.
Not even a tiny chance.

Everyone was still weightless amid the stars; Si Zhiyan drifted a little farther away.

While Bian Xu spoke, he raised his head and gently reached out, his fingertips brushing Si Zhiyan’s thin ankle.

A dry palm enclosed the slender bone, gentle and unyielding.

Wreathed around Bian Xu’s wrist was a deep green bracelet—a ring of interlocking thorns coiling all the way up his arm under the sleeve, to the shoulder.

Snap!

At the instant his fingertips touched Si Zhiyan, the thorns suddenly tightened, spikes piercing Bian Xu’s skin so that blood gushed out.

“Hngh.” Bian Xu grunted, staggering at the pain, but didn’t fall.

——

The tangled bramble ring sucked greedily at his blood.

[Thorned Ring of the Faithful]
[Quantity: Infinite]
[Special: The instant you put on the Thorned Ring, it automatically designates one individual—the being you believe in most devoutly, most passionately, most ardently—as your [God]. You, in turn, become their [Believer].]

Its only function:

If the user, sincerely and voluntarily, approaches and touches the [God they truly believe in]…

You become part of [God].

Every injury suffered by [God] is divided evenly among all [Believers].

Then, for a brief time, the god will be pushed out of this world, slipping into a rift in time and space.

This was the only artifact Peter Pan Toy Company could create, something that might resist [Collapse of Buzhou Mountain].

Its power had been pushed to the utmost, but so had its limitations. Coercion was useless, and the uncommitted would be rejected. Lies and threats meant nothing; only genuine, heartfelt believers could unlock the ring’s effect.

Bian Xu had distributed these. In essence, it meant all humanity would share in this one, final, deadly explosion—and save Si Zhiyan’s life at the very end with the voices of mankind.

……

God loves the world, but does the world love God in return?

……

There was nothing more to say.

Red-eyed, Alice followed Bian Xu into the globe of light.

Her pink shoe had barely touched down when a gust of wind swept past—Nidhogg, with his dragon wings, was already striding forward, overtaking Alice without a backward glance.
Shi He, sniper rifle on his back, stood beside him, giving Alice a silent nod.

At Alice’s side, Nie Du nodded at Shi He, his scarred face stern and resolved, black robes swirling—a leader to the last.
Behind him marched nearly the entire Skeleton Ferry, followed by Sha Tong, Zhong Manwen, Tang Qinghuai, Li Shize, Liu Zhengchu… all of them.

The support players formed ranks behind them, following in a vast procession.
Master Wu Jing and the craftsmen came too. Merged into the crowd, they were mostly unnoticed—except for Wu Jing’s shining bald head, still catching the light. Head cocked, he recounted to all who listened the story he’d told a thousand times—

In the seventh year of Famine Game, Si Zhiyan arrived at Skeleton Ferry, set up a stall with fried chicken and porridge, and gave him a pack of lucky jerky…

From that day, the fate of countless people had begun to change.

Behind came the armed forces, more players—the crowd dense and unending, stretching to infinity.

They pressed forward, wave after wave, until the vanguard had gathered in a ring beneath Si Zhiyan, until the throng nearly filled the starry sea—yet none faltered.

[Thorned Rings] clasped every wrist, echoing the farm’s own banners of entwined vines.

A gentle silver light bathed all in its embrace—like the silent hug of Si Zhiyan, bringing no harm, only a cool and subtle peace.

The entire Springgrass Mercenary Corps was here.

At the Onsen Ritual Hall, Si Zhiyan had once endured scalding water so Gao Zhai and others could break the trap and save the Springgrass Corps.
Si Zhiyan had known he was only a shadow, but Gao Zhai did not. Gao Zhai had sworn then: whatever the outcome today, Springgrass would never forget this moment and this man.

They kept their word.

Old Shen and Old Lin, too, brought their children here.

Qiu Youqing’s cheeks still bore the fresh marks of youth. Though not yet through puberty, she was now an outstanding scout. With her friends she had to crane up and rise on tiptoe just to blend in with the others.

Zhong Manwen and Tang Qinghuai grasped hands here.

Tang Qinghuai sheltered his mother, shielding her from the crush—just as she had shielded him on their first trip to the amusement park.

Now, he worried for his aging mother. Others, too, tried to dissuade Zhong Manwen: “Come on, Sister Zhong—one more or less won’t change anything!”

But Zhong Manwen pressed on, her determination as firm as back during the Skeleton Ferry civil war, when she insisted on staying aboard.

“Nonsense, I’m not that old yet!” Zhong Manwen snapped. “What if I’m the last straw we need?”

“Someone must always do the right thing in this world. One more can’t hurt!”

……

Buzz…

The explosion continued.

Waves of silent, incandescent light rolled outward.

Gradually, the whole starfield was devoured by that surging silver light, leaving only pure white radiance, a monochrome world.

Within the light, the space was destabilizing. The weightless sensation faded.

At some point, the Overgod’s last tendrils ceased moving.

Quietly, almost peacefully, it dissolved away—like nutrient paste, or spilled water—leaving behind only some churning, violent energy gradually reshaping itself.

To be safe, Bian Xu had warned everyone not to touch the Overgod, so all kept well away.

Thus, in the empty expanse far from the crowd, a god’s throne appeared.
Woven of indescribable shadows, twisted and contorted, its blood-red back stood tall and ominous, radiating an aura of terrible power.

It was the thing for which countless civilizations had yearned, yet none attained in life.

The purest [Overgod Inheritance].

Whosoever sat upon it would become the new [Overgod].

But people knew little of that. They exchanged uncertain glances and, following Bian Xu’s lead, chose to ignore it.

[The Overgod’s Throne] sat there alone, receiving only the crowd’s wariness and disgust.

Nearby, at the other end of that white space, the people gathered around Si Zhiyan.

As gravity fluctuated, he swayed gently, about to collapse.

Snap.

The first hand caught him.

Then the second, the third, the fourth… Standing in the light, arms reached up, countless wrists wrapped in [Thorned Rings], supporting Si Zhiyan’s fragile body.

Men and women, young and old… and even the clawed hands of beastkin.

All the flickering shadows had vanished. Only the stubborn persistence of the living endured, holding Si Zhiyan aloft.

In the chaos of shifting gravity, some were wounded, but Si Zhiyan, who had fallen from the very top, was unharmed.

Eagerly, hands caught him and passed him along above their heads, cherishing each touch, conveying him to the next in line.

The faint scent of blood filled the air; the [Thorned Rings of the Faithful] pierced wrist after wrist, sharing out the pain.

But none recoiled.

Those who touched him included Nidhogg’s scaled hand, Gao Zhai’s scarred one—drawn by personal charisma, eager to count him as their friend, devoting their lives to him.

Those who touched him included Nie Du’s newly restored, dark hand, Alice’s delicate, uncalloused one—they shared his ideals and longed to fight at his side for a dream they all believed in.

Even the farm could not fully unite all. Nidhogg and Nie Du were nothing alike, and many sections of the organization harbored bitter feuds and old grudges.

But before Si Zhiyan, all mingled shoulder-to-shoulder, the lines blurred, relying on each other, calling out—a future for everyone, indistinguishable as individuals.

A shared faith could bridge those fractures, giving birth to a future for all.

A future with you.

This was humanity’s choice.

Bian Xu stole a glance: on the farm system’s panel, the number of [Believers] was soaring.

A temple born of brambles—a god’s seat lifted by the people.

—This was the god-throne that belonged to Si Zhiyan, the farm owner.

……

How long had it been?

Perhaps no one could say anymore.

Si Zhiyan’s eyelids trembled.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes.