Coordinates: Ascending Second Universe, Tianhe Galaxy, Fiddler Crab Constellation, Mingyang Star System, Beiming Sphere, Central Continent – Eastern Longitude X°X', Northern Latitude X°X'.
Time: June 11th, Year 102 of the Beiming Calendar, early dawn.
Location: Eastern Tai Colony, Beiming Sphere – Chongdong Route, Yuyin Settlement, Formerly Zuo-made Colonial Site.
You may have witnessed lightning strikes. Perhaps you've seen a tornado. You've likely watched tidal bores crash ashore, and felt the tremors of an earthquake. Undoubtedly, you've been caught in a torrential rainstorm.
But have you ever seen all five unfold at once?
Ten kilometers south of the Longling River, on the east bank of its tributary, the Reed River, stood a nondescript biological research institute nestled upon Jigong Ridge. Its surface structure consisted merely of a modest three-story building measuring 35 by 15 meters. Yet behind it loomed a monstrous steel ventilation tower: 99 meters tall, 9 meters wide.
At its core, a six-meter exhaust shaft roared skyward, ringed by eight intake pipes—each a meter in diameter—and surrounded by a titanic outer casing.
The sheer incongruity between the steel colossus and the humble building betrayed one truth:
Vast secrets slumbered beneath.
Since a brief autumn rain the previous November, not a single drop had fallen. Then, on the afternoon of June 10th, the meteorological center issued an emergency alert: a deluge would strike Chongdong and Zhengnan Routes past midnight. Evacuation plans were advised.
But Dean Shen Jilan paid no heed. With fifty meters of soil above her underground sanctuary, she was untouched by wind or rain. What threat could the weather pose to her?
At 3:33 a.m. on June 11th, a sudden cyclone emerged above the ventilation tower, spiraling upward with unnatural force. Frigid air rushed inward, feeding the whirling vortex.
Normally, heat rising through the atmosphere births storm clouds. But this updraft was too furious, too laden with energy. It soared past ten thousand meters—yet still failed to condense into rain.
At 3:54, the sky tore open. The cyclone surged upward in a leap—then, as if a god's palm had slammed it down, plummeted straight to earth.
Its point of impact? The eastern edge of the Zuo-made colonial site.
Within three minutes, the entire settlement—its homes, its people—was erased.
At 4:01, clouds from the west devoured Jigong Ridge. Rain fell in maddened fury. No longer a storm—this was hysteria.
Since its onset that afternoon in western Chongxi, the rain had swept eastward without pause. Landslides gnawed both banks of the Longling River.
Yet Shen Jilan was unshaken.
"Praise the Lord for serenity," she said. "Praise the Lord for joy. I offer all I have unto You. Receive me, O Lord."
And the Lord did.
At 8:41 p.m. Eastern Tai Time, as Shen savored a cup of civet coffee, her room trembled. The cup slipped, shattered.
The tremor faded. She consoled herself: fatigue, perhaps. Delusion. After all, CZR3857 Research Institute was a fortress.
She summoned a cleaner and brewed another cup.
Settling back into her leather armchair, she raised the fresh brew to her lips—then chaos struck. The earth heaved. The floor tilted. The room—slanted.
Jigong Ridge was collapsing—not eroding, but dissolving. From deep below.
Unknown to any, the subterranean foundation had eroded into a gaping elliptical water cavity—over 440 meters wide, 250 meters deep.
The institute's true facility lay below—four underground levels spanning 350 by 250 meters.
Initially, bedrock held firm. But surging waters from the swollen Longling River triggered a chain collapse. The foundation destabilized.
The underground structure, now a crushing mass, broke through its supports and tilted southwest. In turn, the northeast supports fractured—then followed.
Water pressure blasted upward. Fifty meters of soil above melted like slices of toast.
Then came thunder.
Heaven's wrath descended: lightning lanced the steel tower.
Once, twice—over a dozen strikes before thunder even caught up.
The lightning arrestor failed—its connection severed by the collapsing structure.
Overloaded, the steel tower glowed red, then exploded with a deafening roar.
The blast first consumed the machine room. Eight giant air pumps linked to the tower ignited ahead of the explosion, vaporized by absorbed electric fury.
Flames engulfed the lab. Sealed inside, six engineers perished—burned alive.
The tower crashed, shattering the surface building. Twenty-some staff died instantly. Concrete crumbled under the fall.
The collapse struck the underground base's final blow.
All 35,000 square meters of it plunged into the water cavity.
Jigong Ridge vanished—replaced by a crater like a volcano's mouth.
Two-thirds of personnel died instantly—crushed or driven mad by seismic shock.
Only those clutching cushions, beds, or sofas survived the fall.
But survival meant little.
The ridge buried them whole. They were sealed in a tomb of steel and rock.
Even the hardened outer walls cracked in places.
Flooding was inevitable.
The earth's wrath had not abated. The collapse of Jigong Ridge triggered cascading landslides.
Like dominoes, the devastation rolled to the Longling River—no longer minor erosion, but entire riverbanks and beds vanishing in seconds.
The apocalypse had only just begun.
This is an earthquake.
Moments later, a new term would be etched into the geological lexicon: Riverquake—a cataclysm as fearsome as a tsunami, yet born of inland waters. "Tidal surge" would be far too tame a description.
Between Yuyin and Nacao, over nearly a hundred kilometers, the great river suddenly soared skyward—then crashed down with the weight and fury of a divine hammer, flattening everything in its path like a monstrous wave of dough.
In the blink of an eye, all within the Riverquake's reach was reduced to ruins and wreckage.
Shen Jilan was a woman who not only knew how to enjoy life—but also how to preserve it. Her room was layered with hardwood flooring and luxurious wool carpets. Clutching the sofa with desperate strength, she survived the fall—not by luck, but by foresight.
As her senses returned, she hurled herself toward the northern wall, yanked open a concealed emergency hatch disguised as a wardrobe, and slipped into the evacuation capsule. She sealed the lid and released the brake.
With a deafening shriek from its braking wheels, the capsule plunged vertically, drawing terrified screams from her lips.
It landed in the fourth sublevel's core sector—now the only part of the floor not yet submerged. The rest had been utterly destroyed during the descent.
Gasping, Shen Jilan vomited up the contents of her stomach, then steadied her breath. She lifted the seat and retrieved a pre-packed duffel bag.
She locked the capsule tunnel manually, then proceeded through a corridor to a central sealed gate. Inserting her key, she passed voice, fingerprint, and retinal scans before the door opened, revealing the emergency life chamber.
The first thing she did was activate the surveillance monitors. As expected, her situation was dire—but others fared worse.
The first underground level, directly connected to the inspection and machinery zones, was the first to rupture. Those who couldn't flee in time had drowned. The survivors had gathered on the second floor.
Each level had its own sealed doors, so they were safe—for now. But their oxygen supply was finite. Without a way out, suffocation was inevitable.
Led by Security Chief Kimura Yoshihito, the survivors attempted to descend via the emergency stairs, only to find them submerged. Forced to retreat to the third level, they pounded on the doors, pressed emergency buzzers—no reply.
Level three housed the incubation labs, manned only by minimal staff during off-hours. On this day, the watch was kept by Shi Weikang, Xiao Meini, and Juliet.
As vice director, Shi Weikang should not have been on shift—but he had volunteered. Now, unmoved by the desperate pleas of his colleagues outside, he murmured into the security camera:
"Dean Shen… Dr. Shen… Miss Shen… if you can hear me, please respond. The situation is dire. We must work together if we are to survive this."
Shen Jilan laughed softly. Together?
Why not start by letting your colleagues in? Hypocrite. Disgusting.
"Miss Shen, I know you've made it to the lower levels. I know what you're thinking—you're waiting for a rescue team. But that's a fantasy. The entire institute is buried, and flooded besides. Tell me—how could help possibly reach us?"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to. She had calculated this long before.
With the emergency supplies stocked in the core zone, she could survive alone for at least six months. She had no intention of sharing.
But she knew Shi Weikang wouldn't back down. A master of genetic manipulation, he had access to creatures far more dangerous than any man. She needed to prepare.
After careful deliberation, Shen Jilan exited the life chamber and walked to another sealed door at the end of the corridor.
Key inserted, voice, fingerprint, retinal scan completed—the door opened. A changing room.
She donned a full biohazard suit, then approached the next sealed chamber. Key. Scans. Manual code entry. Finally, the door slid open, revealing a cryogenic vault.
The vast room spanned 300 square meters, housing twenty hibernation pods. Only two were occupied. She approached one—marked CHT1024.
She entered the password. The control panel slid open. She hesitated—then made her choice.
Warning lights pulsed. A siren blared. The pod's temperature began to rise. Nutrient solutions and pharmaceutical agents, carefully calibrated, began to flow into the being within.
Gradually, consciousness stirred.
Before he became one with the synthetic body, he bore a humble name—
Yet it was a name that had long haunted the dreams of the Dongtai Group's elite.
Li Zhui.