Apocalypse Star House Hoarding-Chapter 210

This world is a grand lie.
When the entire planet was shattered by successive disasters, and humanity thought the calamities had ceased, the earth had stilled, and survivors could someday rebuild their home, an invasion from the universe shattered that dream.
Rain infused with a blue mist was unleashed over every corner of the planet, controlled with precision. No matter where humanity hid—whether in airships or the heavily fortified depths of fortresses—they could not escape the mist’s invasive reach.
The immense technological disparity meant that humanity stood no chance.
The cleansing rain fell for a full day and night before gradually ceasing. The massive structures hovering in the planet’s upper atmosphere began to move again. Portions of their exteriors disassembled into countless small spacecraft, descending rapidly to the surface.
This marked the beginning of the sorting process.
This phase was always complex, but after previous rounds of trials, the planet’s population had already dwindled from billions to less than ten million. Dividing them among the different family factions left very few to be accounted for.
The black crafts landed atop the fortresses, effortlessly overriding security mechanisms. Inside, humans rendered vacant-eyed by the rain and mist—standing or wandering aimlessly—were systematically tagged and categorized.
Men in one group, women in another. The elderly and frail in one, children in another. Patients of all kinds from medical centers were further categorized. High-ranking officials recorded in prior experiments were placed in yet another special group.
Throughout the sorting process, a repetitive phrase could often be heard:
&@ βγ
. Translated into the human language of this planet, it meant:
“Eliminate.”
Individuals with severed limbs — eliminated.
The elderly on the brink of death — eliminated.
Those infected with the “Shana Flower” virus — eliminated.
Occasionally, another phrase would follow:
“Failed brainwashing. Reprocess.”
Those whose memories were successfully wiped and categorized were neatly arranged inside buildings, awaiting the implantation of collective memories before being returned to this trial world.
Upon reentry, they would possess new historical backgrounds and memories.
Special high-ranking officials, however, would receive individualized memory implants, making them sharper, more decisive, and more dynamic than the general population.
Once this was complete, the shattered planet would undergo rapid reconstruction. What might have taken humanity decades or even centuries to rebuild would be restored in just over ten days.
Sometimes, on a whim, the families aboard the giant spacecraft would draw lots to decide the new world’s setting:
Primitive tribes of the Stone Age?
A feudal society plagued by famine?
A post-war world seeking peace after global conflict?
Or, to make things more interesting, a technologically advanced society on the cusp of interstellar travel?
If the latter were chosen, their observational outposts located near the planet’s outer atmosphere would need relocation to avoid being discovered by the rapidly advancing society.
This decision carried risks, but it also had clear benefits, accelerating societal development and hastening the next disaster scenario.
While the exact new world setting remained undecided, the sorting process was completed.
The number of survivors from each faction’s assigned region determined the top three winning families, who would claim 90% of all wagered resources. The fourth and fifth-ranking families split the remaining 9.9%.
The last-place family received a mere 0.1% consolation prize.
The wagers mostly consisted of mining planets, though some included remote, undeveloped worlds—costly ventures requiring significant fuel for wormhole travel. But a stroke of luck could reveal a rare resource planet during development.
Losses often led to dissatisfaction among the families, but with multiple trial worlds in play, they could quickly move on to the next experiment. Each family analyzed and refined its strategies for the future.
For example:
“Had I known how rampant ‘Shana Flowers’ would grow here, I wouldn’t have allowed your family to deploy them first.”
“We didn’t anticipate this either. The loss is substantial—this trial world probably won’t be usable for another 200 years.”
“Was the sample collected from that remote planet?”
“Yes, we modified its genetic sequence afterward.”
“Pointless meddling!”
Or:
“You’ve used high-temperature zones in consecutive trials. Isn’t that too monotonous? The Yun Galaxy observers are already bored with such tedious methods.”
“Who cares about them? If they’re not interested, they can stop watching. Do they think they’re gods just because they paid for full-area coverage? High-temperature zones require significant technical expertise, and this time we included both higher temperatures and viral infections. If your family can do better, prove it in the next trial!”
“The viral infection was caused by ‘Shana Flowers,’ which wasn’t even your design. Don’t act so smug.”
Despite their bickering, one conclusion was clear: the gray-mist disaster had been a resounding success. There was talk of pitching the technology as a weapon to the luminous regions of space—a move that could yield substantial profits.
Meanwhile, they noted the resourcefulness of the trial world’s humans. Low reproduction rates had driven them to create artificial lifeforms mimicking their own.
“This likely stems from the excessive biological and genetic knowledge implanted during the last memory reset. Let’s be more cautious next time.”
With such discussions underway, the new world setting was finalized.
The spacecraft’s supercomputer generated countless simulated memories, which were then implanted into the survivors. Once this was complete, the rejuvenated planet would be seeded with structures and creatures aligned to the new setting, erasing all traces of the old world.
Then, the spaceships would leave. One or two hundred years later, when this trial world had developed sufficiently, they would initiate a new round of catastrophic experiments.
The so-called masters of this planet—at least as they perceived themselves—these arrogant, self-assured “natural humans” would never know the truth: they, too, were a manufactured species.
Natural humans were merely another form of advanced Subordinates, bred and contained within trial worlds as large as planets. Ignorant of the truth, they believed themselves to be the supreme rulers of their world, possessing the greatest emotions and intellect in the universe, superior to all other lower forms of life…
This inflated pride, juxtaposed with the crushing despair brought by catastrophic events, created vivid contrasts. These moments of stark suffering became the favorite entertainment of advanced beings from the Yun Galaxy, who thrived on consuming terror and despair.
The endless cycles of disaster trials were, in truth, experiments for new weaponry. The families orchestrating these events, blessed with long and dull lives, sought such spectacles as a way to pass their time.
The first generation of humans implanted with memories after the trials might initially live awkward, hazy lives. But soon, as the second and third generations were born, everything would align naturally.
They would accept the fabricated history as their truth, reconstruct social order, grow in harmony and freedom, expand their population, and eventually become ripe lambs awaiting slaughter.
**
Time rewinds to the stage of survivor sorting.
After a day and night of dense rain and mist, Yu Xi had seen the truth of the world with her own eyes.
Having visited many worlds, this was her first encounter with intelligent beings beyond humanity. Their tall, distorted forms were grotesque and unsettling, their absolute technological superiority overwhelming.
“Is this some kind of live-broadcasted disaster show?”
“No,” the girl replied. “This is a secondary industry, made by recording footage from existing monitoring devices on the planet. It’s not a live broadcast and cannot monitor everything in real-time. This is just one of many captive trial worlds. They won’t return except on sorting days.”
Yu Xi watched the black spacecraft flit by the glass without responding.
“Don’t worry. The protective shield used a great number of her points—it’s among the best even within the inner system. The inner system surpasses the outer system, and the outer system far exceeds this SSS-level world. We won’t be discovered.”
The girl, standing beside her and watching the black spacecraft outside, continued, “The only pity is that this shield is a one-time-use tool. Once activated, it can’t be withdrawn. If it’s deactivated, it becomes useless. Until they leave, we’re confined to the airship and can’t go anywhere.”
Yu Xi turned to the girl, who hadn’t revealed her identity.
Perhaps there were reasons she couldn’t disclose, or perhaps she truly didn’t know her—though Yu Xi doubted that. The emotions she’d sensed earlier didn’t align with ignorance.
She temporarily set her questions aside.
According to “Yinyin,” the blue mist rain ignored barriers and air filters, seeping into every human hiding place to wipe their memories before they were reclassified.
Occasionally, some individuals would resist memory erasure. These people were subjected to one-on-one processing. But if someone like Yu Xi avoided memory erasure through abilities or artifacts, they would still be classified as anomalies and destroyed. If caught, she would die, and her mission would fail.
However, if she didn’t resist the rain and allowed her memories to be erased, she would lose her sense of self entirely. Even if she survived the next four months and completed her mission, she wouldn’t choose to leave this world as herself. She would remain here forever, effectively failing her mission.
No wonder Cold Mian’s message described this as a guaranteed failure scenario.
But how did she know so much about this world? Had she been here before?
And what did she mean by saying she had “entangled it” and would “eliminate it”?
Was she referring to the system tower?
Yu Xi was shaken. Her memories of Cold Mian remained fixed on the tenacious girl she had known—resilient, young, and vibrant, like a sister.
What had she experienced in her world? How much time had passed, and how many missions had she undertaken to acquire such capabilities?
“Tang Yatong and Cold Mian were unforeseen elements. While missions can be cold, the people within those worlds possess their own warmth.”
Star Min’s voice echoed in her mind as she turned to look at him.
“Perhaps the day we’ve both been waiting for isn’t as far off as it seems. After all, you’re not the only one fighting.”
Yu Xi nodded.
Indeed, she was not alone in her struggle.
**
Yu Xi’s airship didn’t linger long in the vicinity of the hovering fortress. The skies around the fortress were filled with alien spacecraft. During the initial sorting, it was manageable, but as reconstruction efforts began, the ships would traverse the area frequently.
Although her airship was cloaked by a special tool, it wasn’t invisible. A single collision with an alien craft would spell disaster, exposing her location.
Thus, Yu Xi, Star Min, and “Yinyin” decided to leave the area, heading east toward the ocean before turning south to the southern continent.
The southern continent, isolated by oceans, was sparsely populated. During previous evacuations, no one had ventured there.
In this world, the fewer people, the safer it was. Parking the airship above the southern continent was the best choice.
However, the flight path had to avoid all land and islands, and the airship couldn’t rely solely on autopilot. Manual navigation was essential to monitor the surroundings and avoid alien craft.
Xi Yuan and Hei Mu had no knowledge of taskers, but after witnessing the alien ships firsthand, they were deeply shaken.
This state of shock didn’t last long. They quickly returned to their routines aboard the airship.
Being Subordinates themselves, manufactured from the start, they had long accepted this reality. Compared to learning that so-called “natural humans” were also bred species, it wasn’t as shocking as Yu Xi had feared.
What struck them more profoundly was the irony.
And, naturally, they worried about the safety of their friends.
“It’s possible to return after the alien ships leave,” Yinyin said at the right moment. “By landing discreetly in a building away from their surveillance, you can easily blend in with the reintroduced humans. Don’t worry—your friends, and… my parents, aren’t within the destruction category. They’ll survive, though they’ll lose all their past memories.”
Yinyin herself felt powerless about this situation. She had come for Yu Xi and faced many constraints, only able to protect the few people around her.
Still, survival was what mattered most. Forgetting everything wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—living with a new identity and memories in a new world might be a blessing in its own way. Even if the entire world was a lie, as long as the lie was never exposed, it could still count as a kind of happiness.
Five days later, the airship successfully crossed the planet, arriving over the southern continent.
This area was already largely devoid of human structures or traces of habitation, with only the ocean and ice visible. Considering that the alien ships would likely clear the previous world’s structures in this region, they decided to hover above the ocean, activating the airship’s monitoring systems to alert them if any foreign aircraft approached.
Additionally, they reestablished night watch shifts. Facing an advanced cosmic species with unimaginable technological prowess, they had no illusions about resistance.
The airship became their safe haven. Fortunately, its lower storage held ample supplies of food, water, and fuel, while Yu Xi’s Star House was packed with everything they needed—from food and drink to entertainment and fitness equipment.
Hei Mu continued to handle the daily meals and snacks with diligence, even preparing late-night treats for those who stayed up binge-watching shows. Yu Xi didn’t let him bear the burden alone and would occasionally prepare her specialties for everyone.
Whenever Yu Xi was in the kitchen, Xi Yuan would abandon his cleaning duties and join her to help, despite the cramped space. The kitchen wasn’t designed for two people, and after numerous collisions and several exasperated glares from Yu Xi, Xi Yuan reluctantly stayed outside, assisting only when needed.
Meanwhile, Yinyin would occasionally glance over from her cleaning tasks, shaking her head with an exaggerated sigh. “Fool,” she muttered, her tone filled with exasperation.
As for Xing Min, he seemed to avoid being alone with Yu Xi during the initial days, his ears inexplicably turning red whenever she looked at him.
Yu Xi: “What’s wrong with you?”
After a long silence, he replied with a cryptic string of ellipses.
Yu Xi: “…?”
“Did you… forget?”
Yu Xi: “Forget what? Forget what exactly? What?”
“…”
After teasing him, she suppressed her laughter and earnestly asked in her heart, “What’s really going on? You’re not just my system, you’re my partner. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
“…It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”
Since Xing Min reassured her, she chose not to worry.
Though confined to the airship, Yu Xi was no stranger to staying in one place. With her abundant supplies, she had everything she needed at her fingertips.
The airship, as luxurious as a floating villa, offered stunning views of the southern continent’s glaciers and azure oceans through its glass observation deck.
And so, the five of them stayed aboard the airship for four entire months.
They became observers, detached from the world below but keenly aware of every movement on the ground and in the sky.
Within two weeks, the alien ships began their planetary remodeling, reaching the southern continent. Their stay on the land lasted only a few hours before the work was completed.
Three days later, all the flying vehicles withdrew to the massive motherships suspended in space.
One day after that, the motherships left the planet’s atmosphere.
They remained cautious, staying in the southern continent’s airspace for another seven or eight days to ensure the aliens had truly departed.
Once confident, they charted a course northward, planning their return.
As they traveled, they occasionally passed islands with new structures, analyzing the architecture to infer the nature of the new world and how to integrate themselves if needed.
One day, while in Yu Xi’s suite, Xing Min and Yinyin discussed their strategy.
Yinyin proposed staying on the airship until the mission’s end. “Judging by the architecture on those islands, this new world has moderate technological development, with a slight cyberpunk aesthetic. Most regions are barren wastelands, natural resources scarce, and the situation likely chaotic. You should focus on your mission and use the safest method to survive. If something happens, wouldn’t my efforts be wasted?”
Yu Xi looked at her and asked, “And you? What’s your mission?” She knew only those bound to the System Tower could enter these task worlds.
Her own mission only required her to survive. Four more months, and she could leave.
But what about Yinyin? If she stayed on the airship, wouldn’t she miss her mission’s objectives?
Yinyin smiled softly at her concern, her expression unexpectedly tender. “Yu Xi, you are my mission.”
**
In the end, they spent the remaining months aboard the airship.
One morning, Yu Xi woke to a familiar notification sound.
[World Mission: Survive for one year—completed. Host earns 1,000 star coins. Total star coins: 2,235.]
[Would you like to leave the current apocalyptic world?]