After the fourteenth Doomsday Rule was announced, countries one after another issued statements urging citizens to stay in enclosed environments as much as possible and reduce going outside.
If going out was absolutely necessary, they recommended wearing effective protective gear.
This situation wasn’t exactly the same as during the Blood Plague rule.
When the Blood Plague rule was in effect, because the virus had the characteristic of “blood transmission,” infected people could spread it to others. Back then the government didn’t merely suggest staying home, it mandated that people must not go out casually.
But now, since this rule did not mention that inhaling alien spores would make someone contagious to others, that implied there was no transmissibility.
Under such circumstances the government, while strongly advising against going outside, couldn’t legally arrest you just for stepping out.
Most rational people, of course, chose to stay indoors, but there would always be some who decided to go out.
At the academy in Beixing, students were all staying in their dorms. Not long ago they had received a notification from the academy requesting that, until the situation changed, everyone should avoid leaving their dormitories unless absolutely necessary.
Students reacted in various ways.
Some were delighted, thinking they could enjoy a month of carefree fun in the dorms like during the Blood Plague rule.
Others hated being stuck inside and preferred being outdoors, so being confined for a month made them unhappy.
More than those emotions, the “parasitized form” mentioned in the rule had become the focal point and was being discussed in every dorm.
In one dorm, three students were having a heated discussion on the topic.
“What do you think turning into a spore parasitized form would be like?”
“Probably like the monsters you see in sci-fi. Isn’t that always what shows and movies do? Humans get parasitized and become monsters.”
“If it really turns you into a monster, why would this thing be a hit across the galaxy?”
“Haha, if the note is true, aren’t humans about to make bank? If it’s a bestseller, that means other intelligent civilizations are paying some currency for it, and we’d be handing it out free.”
“Uh, you don’t know free stuff is the most expensive. It’s like free MMORPGs—you think you’re the user, but actually you’re the product providing traffic and emotional value to the big players…”
“Exactly. The Fire Thief isn’t that benevolent.”
“Lu Cheng, what do you think?”
The three looked at their roommate who hadn’t joined the discussion; he was sitting on his bed with his eyes closed, meditating.
Hearing his name called, Lu Cheng slowly opened his eyes, picked up the black-framed glasses beside him and put them on, saying, “I don’t have much to say.”
The three roommates fell silent. One of them teased, “Lu Cheng, you’re really intense. The new rule just came out and everyone’s talking about it. Yet here you are meditating.”
“I’m practicing Mind Power Flow. I feel like my progress is slow.” Lu Cheng said.
“Your progress is already the fastest in class, right? I remember Lecturer Shi Jingyi even praised you last week.”
“Exactly. If your progress doesn’t count as good, then ours aren’t even worth looking at. Besides, you’re so young—why rush?”
Lu Cheng shook his head. “That Xisiya student Yelanka who dropped out in October is supposedly only sixteen or seventeen, and her progress already far surpasses mine. Not to mention Teacher Guan Tong who taught us before—he was only nieen when he became a lecturer… the gap between us is still huge.”
The three roommates exchanged looks, surprised Lu Cheng had set his sights so high and was comparing himself to Guan Tong.
“Lu Cheng, you can’t really be comparing yourself to Teacher Guan, can you? He’s a genius.”
“Yeah, there aren’t many like Teacher Guan in the whole world.”
Lu Cheng pushed his glasses up and didn’t say more. He got off the bed, sat at the desk, put on his headphones, and started reviewing video lectures.
The three roommates were used to having a study-obsessed roommate and didn’t press further; they continued their discussion.
Lu Cheng, however, stared at his computer screen with a slight frown.
A genius, huh.
Though he felt somewhat resentful, he had to admit his roommates were not wrong.
If Guan Tong wasn’t a genius, why could he become a lecturer at such a young age and refine Mind Power Flow to that level? It was important to remember that Guan Tong’s background was completely different from Shi Jingyi’s.
Lecturers at the academy, because of their high profiles, had their pre-Doomsday identities exposed online.
Students all knew Shi Jingyi had been in a martial arts school for years; after the Rules began she combined Mind Power with her long training experience and developed Mind Power Flow, which made sense.
But after Guan Tong’s identity was revealed, many students found it hard to imagine.
He had been just a regular high school senior before the Rules.
So why, after a little over a year and with everyone starting around the same time, was he so far ahead? The students didn’t know the reason, so they concluded he must be a genius.
Lu Cheng thought about his recent practice, stuck at a bottleneck, and couldn’t help feeling upset.
Before entering the academy this year he had hoped to shine, believing that a year of focused study would make him the top student.
But Guan Tong’s arrival as a substitute lecturer made him feel particularly uncomfortable.
Even though Guan Tong was a teacher now and Lu Cheng was a student, their ages made it hard to accept psychologically. Lu Cheng was twenty this year, one year older than Guan Tong, and that gap made him bitter.
Though Guan Tong had since left the academy, whenever Lu Cheng’s cultivation stalled, the thought that Guan Tong was younger yet much stronger filled him with both dejection and jealousy.
“If only I had genius talent too…”
Lu Cheng thought, and suddenly the world in front of him flickered; an inexplicable tremor rose from inside his body.
What was that?
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and when he put his hand down he was astonished to find he could clearly read the small print on the computer screen.
Lu Cheng froze for a moment. “What’s wrong with my nearsightedness…”
…
Ascendant Home website.
In the Casual Chat section, a large number of rule-related posts were being published.
Many people were tagging the Administrator account, asking if there was any hidden intelligence this time.
They were not disappointed. Soon a new post appeared in the Administrator’s Domain.
“For Sale: Secret Intelligence Related to the Fourteenth Doomsday Rule”
Details: Intelligence priced at 200,000 Ascension Coins, not delivered immediately, all buyers will be notified simultaneously after one hour.
No sooner had the post been published than replies began to refresh below it.
“I knew there’d be intelligence!”
“As expected of the Administrator, likes!”
“This time the disclosure time is shortened? One hour—looks like this hidden intelligence can’t be delayed.”
“Why did the price go up this time? Didn’t it used to be 100,000?”
“Probably fewer customers buying intelligence now…”
“Makes sense. The Beixing government always publishes everything after they buy it. If I were a faction leader I wouldn’t waste Ascension Coins buying it, I’d just wait and get it for free.”
“No wonder you can’t be a faction leader. What if Beixing’s officials buy it, change parts, and then publish the modified version?”
“If the Fire Thief has first-hand intelligence, then the Administrator’s is second-hand; buying from the Administrator would be third-hand. If we wait to get it for free from Beixing officials, we’d end up with fourth-hand intel… frankly, if I had the coins I’d just buy a separate copy too.”
“It’s not guaranteed the Administrator only has second-hand intel. Is it possible the Administrator is actually the Fire Thief? Otherwise how has this site not been cracked by various countries yet?”
“That could be the truth. Truths often shock people. Many think the Administrator and ‘Shadow’ are the same person. Anyway, I don’t believe it.”
Discussion in the comments quickly veered off-topic, covering everything.
Major organizations and officials who monitored the Administrator account 24/7 messaged him privately as soon as the post went live, expressing purchase intent.
Even at double price, they had to buy.
There was no choice—this was a pure seller’s market.
Because the disclosure time was shortened to one hour, each client judged the hidden intelligence to be urgent and stood ready.
One hour later, all clients who had purchased the intelligence received private messages.
When these organizations saw the data, they immediately understood why the Administrator had drastically shortened the disclosure time.
It wasn’t because the intelligence was especially awful, but because it was too tempting!
That’s right: the alien spores could deeply develop bodily functions and improve psychological states, enabling intelligent beings to grow stronger quickly… for humanity, that was incredibly alluring.
This temptation could very well lead some people with weaker self-control to become utterly addicted to the benefits of the spores. By the time warnings were issued, it might be too late.
Beixing’s government reacted fastest. Within ten minutes of receiving the hidden intelligence they updated their official account and revised the White Paper.
The government did not conceal the benefits the alien spores could bring, but they repeatedly emphasized their addictiveness. Those benefits, compared to the unknown danger of becoming a parasitized form after addiction, were not worth it!
Therefore the government strongly advised that no one actively try to inhale the spores or psychologically “let go,” thinking their willpower was strong enough to resist.
Yet another chorus of voices rose up, different and sharp, echoed by ordinary people across the globe.
These voices came from the general populace.
Ordinary people generally said their Personal Terminals had closed and they were already in a “nothing to lose” state; why not use this opportunity to strengthen themselves?
After all, this rule was not limited to Ascendants—the alien spores affected all humans!
If Ascendants were afraid to attempt development for fear of failing the rule, what had ordinary people to be afraid of?
A post representing the sentiments of a large number of ordinary people quickly rose to the top of the forum.
“In This Mad Age, Mediocrity Is Even More Terrifying Than Death”
The post read as follows:
“I’m an ordinary person whose terminal panel has closed. Ever since it shut, I’ve been drifting through each day, wasting time and waiting to die.
Even though the government keeps saying Ascendants and ordinary people will be treated equally, and recently even enacted laws limiting Ascendants… in reality, how many ordinary people truly believe they can stand on equal footing with Ascendants?
So this rule might be an opportunity. If developing these spores could allow me, an ordinary person, to become as strong as an Ascendant, I’m willing to risk failing and becoming a parasitized form to try!
Why do I want to do this? It’s simple. As my post title says: in this mad age, mediocrity is more terrifying than death! An ordinary person can’t survive all forty-nine rules. Allies will fall and people will betray you—you can only rely on yourself to strive for survival!”
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