This Game Is Too Real Chapter 950: The Chief and the Manager

On the granite stone steps.

The elderly man in a robe watched the young man at the bottom of the steps, and a hint of nostalgia rose in his cloudy eyes.

So much like...

Really, so much like.

But ultimately not...

Those who have lived too long carry a stench imperceptible to the nose but visible to the eyes; if soone has lived over two hundred years like him, they would certainly see it.

But evidently, the young man before him lacked such a sll.

That only leaves one possibility...

Thinking about the sole possibility, the elderly man’s eyes involuntarily filled with lancholy.

Just as the old man observed Chu Guang, Chu Guang was also sizing him up.

Just looking at the wrinkles on his face, he couldn’t tell how old this guy was.

Perhaps for this Chief, the concept of age had beco a void.

Yet in his heart, he felt no envy.

Without death, there is no life.

Immortality is a curse for the living, just like stones.

The Great Rift Valley exists in such a way, where people here, young or old, are all suffused with decay, like stones rolling from the mountaintop.

And it was precisely this air of decay that sparked the rebellion and intense yearning for freedom in the Free State.

No one wants to be born into a coffin and visibly beco a burial offering for the foreseeable future.

Compared to Origin City, which witnessed the entire Wasteland Era, Bugra composed of the Waste Land Wanderers is undoubtedly the infant.

Suddenly, a whimsical thought erged in Chu Guang’s mind.

This guy is like an undead from a fantasy novel...

"Attending the invitation to the Great Rift Valley," Chu Guang nodded to the elderly man, then used his eyes to signal a certain eager opportunist to go play elsewhere, continuing, "I’ve wanted to visit you for a long ti, just like you."

Zhou Xianlin scratched his head, understanding the air, knowing he couldn’t interject here.

The elderly man, looking at a tactfully departing leader of a Survivor Forces, smiled at Chu Guang warmly.

"Such a spirited young man."

"...Are you speaking of ?"

"No," the elderly man shook his head, smiling, "I’m speaking about your apprentice."

Chu Guang was slightly stunned, then realizing who the old man referenced, hurriedly denied.

"You can eat your words recklessly, but you mustn’t speak recklessly! I’ve never taken an apprentice, nor taught anyone!"

Watching Chu Guang’s hurried denial, the old man chuckled amusingly.

"A ntor leads you in, personal cultivation is up to oneself. If things don’t go well, it’s one’s own fate; there’s no logic in blaming the teacher. Rest assured, no one will fault you."

Seeing this old man disregarding his words, Chu Guang decided to forgo explaining.

Thank goodness there are no reporters here.

Otherwise he’d find it impossible to clear his na in Tianshui.

The elderly man stopped jesting after so light banter, seemingly to ease the unfamiliar atmosphere.

Standing on the steps, the elderly man waited a little while, and when Chu Guang climbed the steps, he walked beside him, continuing in a chatty manner.

"...Actually, you also don’t need to bla yourself, a King may lose a fine horse, a battle, an empire, seeming lantable. However, stepping back from the entire tale reveals nothing to regret. Even if the horse doesn’t fall, the war may not be won, and the empire’s decline could be another cycle’s new rise."

Seeing the old man unable to let go of the Dam City story, Chu Guang retorted.

"So the fall of the United Human ans nothing to you, since it could be the start of another rise and fall cycle."

Chu Guang expected the old man to fall speechless but didn’t anticipate his stubbornness, nodding decisively.

"Indeed, I think so, and grow increasingly sure of my thinking... The Wasteland Era is becoming history, and you are its continuation, distinct from us, stemming from us, more advanced, more open, filled with dreams of the future. Soon, you’ll have your own children, and by then you’ll understand my sentints."

Chu Guang gave the elderly man a surprised glance, unexpectedly receiving such an evaluation.

Should this be considered a complint?

After so pondering, he said.

"But I don’t wish to comprehend it this way; it turns historical study into fortune-telling, legitimizing suffering."

The elderly man shook his head.

"I never claid the Wasteland Era correct, just wanted to tell you it’s the ’fruit’ of the Prosperity Epoch. Long ago, I discussed this with a fellow called Professor, which was partly his point."

Chu Guang furrowed his brow.

"Professor?"

He suddenly recalled a recording.

It was sothing he found a long ti ago in a guard’s room in Area B2 that recorded stories beyond the "Blood Hand Diary."

That Professor seed to have deep ties with Shelter No. 404’s First Generation Manager; perhaps they were or could be the sa person... That was his speculative conclusion then.

Watching Chu Guang in thought, the elderly man, seemingly expectantly, continued softly.

"Many have forgotten his na, and perhaps never knew it, but those on the Wasteland have been helped by him or indirectly influenced. People at the Academy might still rember him; if interested, you could inquire... though regrettably, the most authoritative ’Consensus’ isn’t present here, just the appointed Chief Technical Officer."

Chu Guang rubbed his temples, slightly troubled.

"...Your nas are too distinct; were all nas from the Human Alliance Era like this?"

The elderly man chuckled heartily.

"That era was truly avant-garde. One might have two na anings in life: one carrying their parents’ aspirations, and another reflecting personal dreams and future expectations... Of course, only a few were like this. Most were quite traditional, even traceable by their cultural origin through their nas’ structure."

When he spoke to here, the elderly man paused for a while, resuming softly.

"Actually, it’s not just nas, many things are like this. The Post-War Reconstruction Committee attempted to use the Human Alliance’s experience to save the dying world, but we soon discovered that we still are ourselves; you are no longer us. So people tried ways beyond the plan, so tried to force unfinished tasks to completion, but most of their efforts failed. Instead, unexpected seeds blossod."

"Take Julius, for instance. Every officer of the War Construction Committee who opposed him accused his compassion and weakness of ruining human civilization. But in fact, human civilization wasn’t as fragile as they claid. It was only they themselves who descended into hell—those criminals who firmly believed in ’necessary evils’ and the War Construction Committee that indulged them."

"As for Julius, who they looked down upon, he beca a revered Ironblood Marshal... Even the residents of the shelter had many who supported him. Otherwise, how did the Iron Heart fly? It couldn’t have been completed with the knowledge reserve of the Weilante People alone, including retrieving their own Gene Source Code. Although later on, the kid did fumble in the affairs of Yavente City, but that’s another story."

Chu Guang patiently listened to his story, then thoughtfully asked.

"What are you trying to tell ?"

The old man looked back at the distant helipad behind him, glanced at Little Zhou standing helplessly among the crowd, smiled faintly, and continued.

"I just want to tell you that the Human Alliance is too remote for you; you have your own history to reference."

"Another thing, don’t be bound by fear of failure, nor self-reproach for mistakes already made. History repeats because errors themselves are inevitable; if not today, they’ll happen tomorrow or the day after. mories of falling will beco fuel for you to continue moving forward. Even if you fall and can’t get up, you can be the fuel for your children, helping them go further."

"You’re young, it’s ti to show your edge without reservation, don’t live like an old man who can’t get up after a fall like ."

Those cloudy eyes seed to see through him.

eting the old man’s gaze, Chu Guang suddenly saw his own reflection in those cloudy "mirrors."

The self that was tied down.

Yet he didn’t think what the old man said necessarily represented correctness, nor that his own choices were bad.

The only existence in the alliance not bound by constraints is himself, and his self-control is an integral part of the plan itself.

And this old man disliked his slow pace, perhaps not standing in a position for his good, but hoping he and the alliance, like the Human Alliance, would beco the fuel for future children.

Just like what Julius had already done, the dissolution of the Army achieved Weilante’s glory. The fact he didn’t swell like Julius apparently made this old man anxious.

Seeing the old man’s gaze with a hint of encouragent, Chu Guang, gradually understanding everything, was glad he didn’t get lured in, laughed heartily and broke the old man’s trap.

"It seems that everyone turns nihilistic when they get older; I should take this as a caution."

The old man’s brow twitched slightly, shaking his head in refute.

"This isn’t a matter of aging but of the information received. So people near the end can’t let go of their obsessions, while others are just beginning their lives but have already reached an age of understanding. I don’t think this is a good thing. You’re exceptional, even better than another ’you’; I have high hopes for you."

"...Another ?"

Chu Guang frowned, but the old man suddenly changed his face as if he’d misspoke and closed his mouth.

"Ahem... it’s too early to talk about this now. I have so things to do, just escorting you here for now; let’s talk later."

With that, the old man turned to leave.

Looking at the guy who stopped mid-sentence, Chu Guang wore an amused yet annoyed expression.

They’d talked for so long, but this guy hadn’t even told him his na.

"At least tell your na."

The old man paused, deliberated for a mont, then slightly turned his head.

"Na... call Qian Wu, though I haven’t used this na in years; you might call without getting a response."

Chu Guang nodded.

"Doesn’t matter, just a matter of courtesy."

Chief: "..."

Watching the two-hundred-year-old man leave, Chu Guang looked at the attendant arranged for him by the Great Rift Valley, nodded to signal the power armor-clad big guy to continue leading the way.

The two walked forward a bit further, entering the silver-gray building at the top of the Great Rift Valley.

The entire building resembled a spaceship lying on the valley, with the streamlined shell rging into the transparent do.

This seed to be the core of the Holy Shield System, reportedly the safest place on the wasteland—even safer than the shelter.

After all, the latter still needed to filter fuel supply, while beneath the forr lay a vast sea-like energy source.

Players ca here long ago and brought the photos they took back to the official website.

Chu Guang had already seen those photos back then, still viewed the unfiltered versions, so he wasn’t too surprised by the grandiose scenes here.

However, as soon as he walked through the silver sliding doors into the hall, he was stunned by the scene in front of him.

In the center of the hall stood a bulky and bloated "golden tin can," with a familiar face embedded atop it.

That guy was none other than his "Ace Dual Pangolin"—

Battlefield Atmosphere Group!

And standing next to this guy was the forr Army ambassador to the alliance and now influential mber of the Triumph City’s Civil Official Group, Centurion Bennott.

Though this guy had often quarreled with him at the Sticky Community etings, that was purely due to positional differences, even fiery argunts weren’t personal grudge.

Since the West Sail Port incident, the alliance had helped the Civil Official Group.

Since then, Triumph City had gotten closer to City of Dawn, while the Southern Legion, which had trade dealings with the alliance, grew further due to geographic conflicts.

Now, with the founding of the Weilant Alliance and the alliance’s wholehearted aid to Triumph City against the "Mortal Serum," Triumph City and City of Dawn were experiencing a sticky honeymoon period, naturally leading Bennott to have a full turnaround in attitude towards the alliance.

The mont the blue iron can walked into the hall, the old man instantly lit up with joy, greeted him with a beaming smile and ruddy face.

"Haha! Dear Manager, it’s been a long ti! You are still as handso as ever!"

"You too, still as robust as ever..." Chu Guang’s expression beca a bit subtle, not due to Centurion Bennott’s contrasting deanor, but because he hadn’t expected to see his little player here.

Clearly, it wasn’t just him who felt awkward. The person squatting in the golden tin can awkwardly smiled at him.

Yet Bennott didn’t show any embarrassnt, nor did he notice his leader behind him was curling his toes tightly, still enthusiastically chatting away.

"Allow to introduce... the Tyrant of Triumph City, the inheritor of the Golden Armor, the hero of survivors from Weilante Governorate and Bartoya Province! Mr. Pangolin!"

With an intonated speech, he proudly looked at Chu Guang and continued speaking.

"He is quite an extraordinary person! The stories about him can’t be told in three days and nights—"

Seeing Chu Guang almost unable to contain his laughter, the Old Soldier coughed loudly, interrupting Bennott, and hurriedly spoke.

"Alright, no need to talk about my matters... Manager of the alliance, there’s sothing I’d like to discuss with you, are you available now?"

"Closed-door eting before the Human Conference?" Chu Guang said in a teasing tone.

Battlefield Atmosphere Group replied with a smile half-laugh and half-grimace.

"Indeed..."

This play has lasted until now purely by his improvisation, and he really doesn’t know how to continue it further.

Chu Guang nodded, then looked at the attendant beside him.

"I need a private eting room, can you arrange one for ?"

The attendant in the power armor nodded respectfully.

"No problem."

...

On the other side, the helipad was in chaos.

The landing of the aircraft from the enterprise caused quite a stir, to the point where the leader of the Red River Alliance accidentally stepped on the shoes of the Dam Alliance’s leader, almost causing a diplomatic incident.

Fortunately, the soldiers of the Great Rift Valley separated the two in ti and politely escorted them back to their respective rooms.

Unlike the Alliance, the "thorny rose," Ideal City is the purest symbol of wealth!

Especially for those who only want to get rich quickly without progress, they are even more of a hot commodity than the Alliance.

Like Mayor Otto.

When he saw the representative of the Ideal City Council coming down from the helipad, his eyes glinted with golden light.

And standing at a distance, the Chief of the Great Rift Valley watched them with a pleased smile on his wrinkled face.

Although the "Human Conference" has not officially started and remains a prelude, the curtain had already risen the mont the first aircraft landed.

Those standing here are the ones who can decide the future destiny of the Wasteland, whether it concerns the lives of a hundred million or several hundred thousand people.

It can be said that it was not his invitation that brought them here, but the survivors of the wasteland who pushed them to the forefront.

As a night watchman of the old era, he will fulfill his last duty here—building a stage for these trailblazers of the new era.

This is his true mission.

The final eting is not really sothing to look forward to; what is truly worth discussing is often already decided before the eting starts...

As the old man was admiring his handiwork, footsteps ca from behind him.

"Sir, are you the Chief of the Great Rift Valley?"

Absek watched the old man’s back with a respectful expression.

Earlier, when Chu Guang was conversing with this person, he was already paying attention to this old man.

When everyone gathered in front of the helipad, he saw there was no opportunity to squeeze in, so he ca here on a whim.

His intuition told him that this person was also a heavyweight figure capable of influencing the wasteland’s situation.

If you can’t climb the enterprise’s tall tree, grasping a branch of the Great Rift Valley is still excellent.

The Poluo people are extrely intelligent, though their intelligence may differ.

The old man turned around, took a good look at Absek, and then smiled gently.

"That’s , is there sothing you need?"

His amiable tone was like a spring breeze, a stark contrast to the surging undercurrents below the steps.

Absek stood in solemn respect,

"I’ve long admired your na; I’m Absek, the Leader of the Poluo Country. Please allow to extend the most sincere greetings on behalf of the hundreds of millions of people of the Poluo Country."

Poluo Country, huh...

The old man’s gaze fell into mories,

That ans this person should be a descendant of General Lowell.

He could still call Julius "children," but that guy would have been his contemporary...

Thinking of this, the old man smiled amiably and said in a gentle tone.

"Hello, Leader of the Poluo Country, and please also convey my greetings to the hundreds of millions of survivors of Poluo Country."

Unexpectedly, this big figure was so approachable, and Absek admired him all the more in his heart.

The world outside of Poluo Country was far larger than he had imagined, and it seed he still had a long way to go...

"I will certainly convey your greetings to them!" he said, smiling and bowing slightly, skillfully building a rapport. "Speaking of which, the survivors of Poluo Country and those of the Great Rift Valley have so connections! It’s sothing I learned later on. The General Lowell who led us through the crises was actually an officer of the United Human! We are like two buds growing from the sa tree, one falling to the south, the other to the north, but sharing the sa roots."

Amused by this notion, the old man chuckled sympathetically and, after a pause, continued.

"Lowell... I rember that na, and may I thick-skinnedly call him an old comrade! To my sha, the War Construction Committee really let him down by failing to extend a helping hand when he needed it the most."

"That’s understandable; we can appreciate that you had your own difficulties," Absek sighed lightly, magnanimously letting go of the past, "Let bygones be bygones. The Poluo people are ready for the new era and are now more concerned about our own futures and those of our children."

This was just a nice diplomatic statent, which the speaker didn’t have to take too seriously, nor did the listener.

Yet after listening, the old man just gave him a aningful smile.

"Are you really ready?"

Seeing that smile, which suddenly seed different, Absek was montarily baffled, unsure of what the Chief ant.

"Of course... if we weren’t ready, how could I be standing here?"

Hearing these words, the old man smiled and nodded, suddenly looking past him into the distance.

"Lowell... I know the story of this comrade; he was probably one of the earliest saviors of this wasteland, and a true savior. Unlike us, who are relief agencies rely trying to minimize losses and preserve the last sparks of dying human civilization, he was genuinely different. Regardless of whether his ideas were clever, we must all admit his bravery in attempting to rescue those dood to die... and that is a courage we did not have."

"To ensure as many people survive as possible, we abandoned that impossible dream of saving everyone a very long ti ago, both I and that ’Professor.’

Absek stared blankly at the old man, unable to grasp the aning behind these words.

But as a wise man, he naturally would not counter the "giant" before him.

Researching Lowell was sothing for Mr. Mouse Niyan and Kaba Ha Committee mbers to handle; what happened 200 years ago was irrelevant to the Leader of the Poluo Country.

"...We think it’s the sa; he is a true savior."

Absek thought the old man would nod in satisfaction, but to his surprise, he broke into laughter.

What puzzled him even more was what the Chief said next.

"The Manager of the Alliance says I’m a nihilist, that my understanding of history is like fortune-telling, and warns to take heed... This young man looks down on , haha. In that case, let do a divination for the kindred of this nihilist—a pragmatist."

Absek stared blankly at him, unsure of what he was trying to do, not even knowing who this pragmatist was he ntioned.

This 200-year-old man closed his eyes and thought for a mont, then suddenly opened them mysteriously.

"How many people are there in Poluo Country?"

Absek didn’t want to tell him, but after thinking for a mont, he realized that it would be quite easy for the old man to find out if he wanted. So he decided to be honest.

"Less than 200 million."

"That’s bad," the old man shook his head, "at least another 20 million will die."

Absek held his breath for a mont and hurriedly retorted.

"How is that possible! 20 million?! The Weilante people can’t kill that many! There aren’t that many people in the entire Northern Three Continents combined! Do you an Laxi is going on a killing spree? No, wait..."

He suddenly cald down.

After all, he was a Leader of a region, he shouldn’t lose his composure over a few delusional words from an old man.

Perhaps this was a sche from the Great Canyon...

They saw through his reluctance to initiate this civil war and intentionally provoked him with words.

But why?!

Absek’s eyes were filled with confusion as if he had fallen from the peak of his life into a dry well, with thick walls on either side and unreachable clouds above.

Apart from Laxi suddenly going mad, he couldn’t figure out where these 20 million heads would co from.

Famine?

They were no longer short of grain.

Flood?

Again, there weren’t that many people along the banks of the Tasang River!

Plague?

That was possible, but also unlikely. After all, the Poluo Province didn’t have as developed a road network as Bartoya Province. The Weilante people had already proven that their virus could at most wipe out a village or a town, beyond that it couldn’t spread far...

Besides, the Alliance’s dical technology is the best in the world!

And the companies! If sothing like that happened, the companies would help too!

A trace of annoyance appeared on Absek’s face, as if he were being toyed with.

If it weren’t for the fact that this old man was the Chief of the Great Canyon, soone he couldn’t afford to offend, he would’ve turned and left!

In fact, he didn’t even understand what kind of entity the Great Canyon was, instinctively using his hotown mindset.

If he, like Chu Guang, understood the true nature of the Great Canyon, he wouldn’t care about face, much less try to ingratiate himself with these people.

Whether or not he gave the Great Canyon face, the longest-living old man in this Wasteland wouldn’t make things difficult for him.

And that the old man was willing to speak so plainly was actually a kindness.

Entirely because of Lowell.

As an "observer," he absolutely wouldn’t extend his pinky towards the board unless absolutely necessary.

"Mr. Absek, the clever one elected by the Poluo Country, answer a question: If there are a billion sheep on the prairie and a billion freeze to death in the Wasteland Era, how many are left now?"

Absek replied instinctively.

"Of course, there wouldn’t be any—"

"Wrong," the old man shook his head, smiling and said, "I’ll tell you, there’s still a billion left."

"How can that be?" Absek exclaid in surprise, but then regained his composure, "Old man, is this so sort of sophistry?"

"It’s not sophistry; it’s a natural law," the old man slowly began to explain, "The Wasteland Era isn’t a gust of wind, but the sand blown by the wind, which only hurts when you rub your eyes. The war ca quickly, and by the ti we realized that winning and losing mattered, everything we cherished had already ended... For so, this process takes one day, for others, it takes 200 years, and for you all living on the prairie, it might be half a century."

"The harshest winter probably lasted 43 years, maybe 46, I can’t rember exactly... If there were no Looters, no Variants, and there was ample water and food, even if the flock starved to only ten thousand, they could restore their numbers to a billion over the next one and a half centuries."

"You thank Lowell for saving at least a billion people, but how do you explain the break in civilization that occurred? Is it rely because the fathers didn’t pass their knowledge on to their sons?"

"Is it possible that his self-righteous tinkering killed those who needn’t have died? That the sheep on the prairie could have left a thousand, but they were reduced to five hundred because his Red Soil didn’t have much of an effect in the winter. Of course, Poluo Province isn’t the Great Desert; there are no Variants and Sticky Communities here, and Looters from outside can’t easily get in, so the number of sheep didn’t decrease, and actually doubled instead."

"Perhaps only the Red Soil can give you the right answer, but I can responsibly tell you that if that generation truly survived because of Lowell, it wouldn’t be the destitute Weilante people that educate you, but it should be you that shoulder the mission of ending the Wasteland Era, to save the River Valley Province, to save Triumph City, and then I’d award you the dal of Victory... Of course, by then you might scoff at as that young man did."

Looking at the breathless Absek, the old man chuckled softly and said,

"Your evaluation of Lowell should actually be more objective, this is the only chance to survive, so already realize this, but it’s far from enough. Otherwise, I’m not joking; he really will co back for you, to continue his savior’s ga with you, then beco the new Lowell, and lead you to the next trial."

The old man felt a hint of regret at this mont.

He really shouldn’t have "leaked the answers," for if these people really found this Lowell and hastily buried him like two hundred years ago, forgetting the unpleasant mories, the next Lowell would be harsher and kill more people.

However, the Great Canyon was rarely as lively as today, and he indeed got a bit carried away, also genuinely liking this young man.

Who knows, perhaps a life could be saved?

Although this life might require countless others in exchange, he honestly didn’t care much anymore.

"Are you talking about Anush..." Absek’s voice trembled, a drop of cold sweat streaking across his forehead.

That guy was undoubtedly dead yet beca an unshakable nightmare in his mind.

For a while, he kept having nightmares, which only got better after he believed in the Silver Moon Goddess.

Yet two sentences from this old man brought back thoughts of that bloodied figure staring at him.

It was as if he was telling him he’d return to reclaim everything taken from the blood-stained throne.

Not wanting to scare the young man too much, the old man’s hesitations between saving and not saving ended with a light sigh.

"I don’t know the Anush you speak of; who he is and his na doesn’t matter."

"You think I said these things to tell you Lowell hard you all, but that’s not it."

"Every resident of Shelter No. 404 is Chu Guang, and every Poluo person is Lowell."