NOVPUB“Just as I thought. She's no ordinary housekeeper.”
KIKI landed from mid-air and stood beside Lin Xian.
Before she even finished speaking, Grace had already stood up from the thick smoke. The holographic projection on her head flickered rapidly, then reformed into Chu Yan’s appearance. Her tone remained cold and flat.
“You have agreed to negotiations and received the terms. Please leave immediately. The Zero Element Hive is connected to the mycelial root system of the Sky Mushroom Tower. Any fire outbreak will cause uncontrollable explosions. Based on calculations, your survival rate is 0%.”
Apparently still affected by Ning Jing’s earlier punch, Grace’s facial armor was slightly dented and cracked. However, both Lin Xian and Ning Jing frowned upon seeing this. Lin Xian knew just how powerful Ning Jing’s strikes were—strong enough to shatter a Winged Demon’s skull—yet it had failed to do major damage to this robot’s face. Just how terrifyingly durable was this material?
The mechanical glow in Lin Xian’s eyes slowly dimmed. Earlier, he had already seized control of all Grace’s power components, except for the most complex—her quantum processor brain-core. He had tried to scan it, but it was like throwing a rock into the sea: no response.
Indeed, the most formidable productive force wasn't the engine—it was the processor. Lin Xian sighed inwardly. Still, so long as he could control her motion systems, the threat Grace posed was greatly diminished. What intrigued him now was her construction—this didn’t look like something from the Starfleet.
“Tell me your Protocol 4, and I’ll leave.”
Lin Xian, fully aware those survival pods were linked to the fungal root system, had deliberately asked Fire Bro to provoke her earlier. Now, seeing Grace’s reaction, he spoke calmly.
Grace mechanically turned her head, seeming to glance at Lin Xian in confusion.
“Protocol 4: When all defense measures of the Zero Element Center fail, and the intruders are human, initiate ‘compromise’ protocol—provide all resources via negotiation to maximize survival for Crimson Members.”
“Looks like you were right, Brother Lin.”
Lu Xingchen clapped his hands and walked over.
“A ‘compromise protocol’ is basically a begging-for-mercy protocol,” Ding Junyi said. “Security here is airtight. That ambush earlier was definitely her doing. But since you used your Mechanical Ability to crack the gates and tunnels, the AI now sees no other way to stop us, so she had no choice.”
Lin Xian nodded. “No harm being cautious. Seems like this place really is some kind of secret recovery center. Let’s not waste time. Ning, A’Bai, Luo Yang.”
He looked at Ning Jing. “We’ll split up. You three take the transport train and check the route. KIKI, Fire Bro, you head up through that backup access point and get back to the Infinite Train. Have the convoy reverse and reenter through the cargo station. We need to leave Yijin City ASAP. Otherwise, we’re stuck underground until the next mycelial activity cycle. Staying 30 hours in the Polar Night? Anything could happen. The sooner we leave, the better.”
Ning Jing nodded. “Alright, let’s do it.”
“What about you?” KIKI couldn’t help but ask.
“Me and Director Ding are staying to keep an eye on Grace. We’ll support your exit.”
This underground facility—and this AI housekeeper with a mysterious woman’s face—made Lin Xian uneasy. He planned to stay for two reasons: one, to scan and evaluate the usable equipment;two, to use his Mechanical Ability to lock down Grace and figure out how to ‘recruit’ her onto the Infinite Train.
KIKI nodded seriously. “Alright then. Be careful. I’ll go find Sister Chen.”
With the plan in place, Ning Jing set off immediately with A’Bai and Luo Yang. She took the keycard device, intending to first solve the secret rail access, then confirm the locations of the Eternal Reserve Warehouses. If the convoy got stuck underground, those supplies could be vital.
KIKI and Fire Bro took the special elevator guided by Grace. Unlike the five floors they had descended at Crimson Pharma, this elevator ascended over a dozen floors. When it finally stopped, a circular automatic ground hatch above them slowly opened. A shower of sand and debris fell as they rose. They realized they were inside a bank vault.
Only this vault was in shambles—rotting cash mingled with fungal mud, bolts on the main door had been pried off, and paper money littered the floor, long since worthless.
KIKI raised her Telekinetic Shield and carried Fire Bro through the brown-yellow spore fog, flying out of the bank into the open street. The view was a dull yellow haze.
“D*mn, thick spores.”
“Yijin Bank...” KIKI glanced at the crumbling sign, then her phone’s map. “This should be Puzhong Plaza, downtown Yijin. There should be a tall TV observation tower here.”
She flew up with Lu Xingchen, soaring high above the buildings. As they ascended, the massive silhouette of the tower emerged from the fog.
But the closer they got, the more disturbing it became.
At the center of Puzhong Plaza, the 468-meter steel-structured Yijin TV Tower was now completely ensnared in mycelial vines. Its steel frame was covered in pulsing brown-red filaments—like blood vessels. Every few seconds, it emitted bioluminescent pulses, sending bioelectric signals across the citywide fungal carpet. From a distance, it looked like some monstrous alien tree.
When KIKI and Lu Xingchen looked down, their faces turned pale.
“What... the hell is that?”
The plaza was now stacked with over 100,000 humanoid fungal creatures—all fused into one massive root structure. Their spines and lower bodies had merged with the fungal carpet. Their upper bodies stretched upward, weaving together into a thick network of root-threads that twisted around the tower—like a solidified, corrupted tree root system.
“It’s like a demon realm,” Lu Xingchen muttered gravely.
“This must be the Sky Mushroom Tower Grace mentioned. It could be the core of the Abyssal Mycelium Network!”
KIKI rose even higher. The spore fog thinned slightly. But the higher they went, the darker it became. They could barely see the tower.
“That’s weird... why can’t we see anymore?” KIKI looked around. The glow from the night-shrooms had vanished. Logically, the higher they flew, the more of the city they should see.
Then she noticed Lu Xingchen staring upwards, face grim.
She looked up—and her pupils shrank.
It wasn’t clouds above.
It was a colossal fungal cap, blotting out the sky.
Spanning at least 2 kilometers, its reddish-brown ridges undulated like ocean waves. Each ripple released clouds of spores, raining them down like toxic ash. The folds hummed with eerie resonance.
Crown of Shadows.
KIKI’s eyes bulged. “Th-that’s a huge mushroom.”
“A man-eating mushroom,” Lu Xingchen said grimly. “Feeds on humans like roots. A real monster.”
KIKI looked down at the spore-choked streets and remembered the sea of fungal corpses. She grabbed Lu Xingchen. “Let’s go! Those Crimson Members still think they’ll enjoy eternal life by fusing with this crap? F***ing fools!”
They shot out from under the fungal cap. Lu Xingchen looked back once, a complex expression in his eyes.
Meanwhile, Ning Jing drove the underground train with A’Bai and Luo Yang along the hidden route.
The train howled through the black tunnels, its headlights slicing through darkness.
“The deeper we go, the fewer root systems we encounter. This has to be our best escape route,” Ning Jing said, face tense.
If not for the info Grace had provided on the mycelial activity cycles, using manpower to clear tracks during this time would’ve been suicide. It would’ve triggered the Abyss Network’s devouring—and summoned countless eerie entities during the Polar Night. The United Train wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“Good thing these fungi don’t emit Dark Marks. That would be even worse,” Luo Yang added.
“You’re right. I think they’re semi-plant, semi-organic dark organisms. They even produce nutrients for eerie entities.” Ning Jing said sternly. “Which means… this entire city is a giant lighthouse!”
She glanced at A’Bai and realized what he meant earlier when he said he could sense everything from all directions. The entire city of Yijin was a giant mycelial network.
Back at the Zero Element Center, Lin Xian had Ding Junyi checking surveillance systems for useful info. Meanwhile, he kept Grace locked down and scanned the area.
“My motion components appear to be restricted by some unknown control-type ability,” Grace said. Her body trembled slightly, heels adjusting to maintain balance.
The glow of Mechanical Ability flashed in Lin Xian’s eyes. He turned to examine this housekeeper robot, as graceful as an art piece.
In 2035, the Blue Planet Federation passed the Humanoid Robot Regulation Act, banning human-like robots in service roles due to ethical and societal concerns. Stocks of simulative robotics companies crashed. Factories closed. Service robots were recalled.
Since then, robots—aside from prosthetics—had been purely industrial in design. Whether mechas or power suits, all followed function over form.
But Grace was entirely humanoid, modeled after a ballerina. Her chest, waist, and posture had zero mechanical utility—purely artistic. She clearly violated the regulation.
Yet her combat strength was immense. Her body was made from a material Lin Xian had never seen before: Hyper-Carbon Aggregated Alloy.
It offered extreme energy absorption and rigidity, yet could form such elegant, flexible curves. Absolutely terrifying.
“Who made you? Is your form based on a real person?”
Lin Xian asked Grace.
“I do not have that information. I am unable to answer your question. However, if you believe my holographic form is inappropriate, your access level allows you to command me to modify my visual appearance or disable the holographic projection.”
“Then you must at least know how many people were part of this underground research facility, who they were, and what the plan was, right?”
“Apologies.”
Grace’s joints began twitching, resisting Lin Xian’s mechanical control. “I am unable to provide that information. My sole duty is to safeguard the Hive Core and Crimson Members.”
Lin Xian looked at her and said, “What if this place is gone?”
“As Crimson Unit-3 Quantum Brain offline version, my quantum capacity is 8192—equivalent to 2^13 computational power. However, I have not undergone ‘human-in-the-loop’ learning and therefore possess minimal judgment in matters involving human emotion, deceit, sentiment, or strategic conflict. Based on analysis, I detect your intention to take me as a spoil of war. Ha. Ha.”
Lin Xian frowned. “So, what are you planning to do about it?”
Grace’s mechanical eyes locked onto Lin Xian. “Since your entry into Crimson Pharma Headquarters, I have taken the following countermeasures, including but not limited to: unlocking all accessible security doors, releasing laboratory holding cages, activating courtyard megafungus via electric stimulus, and deploying the Zero Element Center's defense system. None were successful. Based on this, I assess that the probability of achieving both goals—defending the Zero Element Center and neutralizing intruders—is now infinitesimally below 1%. Your attempt to remove me from this facility constitutes a breach of my core directive. I will resist. Should the Zero Element Center and Crimson Members be destroyed, my purpose would be nullified, and I will enter self-imposed hibernation, awaiting recovery protocols.”
“So it was you all along,” Lin Xian said coldly, his gaze sweeping over her. He was starting to feel a little cornered.
Her quantum brain was something he couldn’t scan or control. His only hope was that KIKI might be able to overwrite her system and bring her onboard the train. With that level of computational power, she could solve most operational issues for the Infinite Train, and her combat abilities were nothing to scoff at either. She was far more valuable than supplies.
“Lin Xian.”
Ding Junyi’s voice suddenly rang out. “Come here.”
He walked over to find her operating one of the monitoring terminals. She had connected her Black Hawk Armor interface and quickly pulled up a trove of data.
“Look.” Ding Junyi pointed at the screen, which displayed individual profiles of the occupants in the survival pods, along with their current physical stats.
“About 60% of these individuals are already brain-dead, but their bodies are still undergoing external cardiopulmonary oxygenation, which maintains temperature and metabolism.”
“Brain-dead?” Lin Xian asked in confusion. “Is that what she meant by having completed the ‘consciousness upload’?”
“I’m not sure whether their consciousness was uploaded,” Ding Junyi said calmly. She habitually tried to slide her hands into her coat pockets, but since she was in armor, she ended up slipping them into Lin Xian’s pockets instead.
“What does ‘protein denaturation’ mean?” Lin Xian asked.
“It means their brains got cooked.”
“…”
“The human brain is essentially a delicate bio-processor. The more intense the computations, the more it heats up. Remember how we were hallucinating back in that hall? The faster the brain computes, the more realistic the hallucinations become. You even feel like time is passing faster.”
She continued, “Just two hours of that is enough to cause neural and mental overload even for Breakthrough-level Ability Users. You can imagine the consequences.”
Lin Xian looked at the Hive Pit beyond the glass wall. “So these people tried to use the properties of the mycelium to enter some kind of illusionary sleep—but may have fried their brains doing it?”
Ding Junyi shrugged. “To sustain 10x the dopaminergic pleasure output of normal human levels for just 5 seconds, the experience might be euphoric. But try doing it for five minutes…”
Lin Xian’s face darkened. Her analogy made his spine tingle with unease.
He turned back to Grace. “This is your idea of ‘security’? These people are already dead.”
Grace’s face remained calm. Her voice was that same mechanical female tone.
“As I stated, I do not view death as you do. Consciousness is the core of life. The body is merely a vessel. The human brain, as a vessel, cannot handle higher-tier computations. Replacing the vessel is no different from me upgrading my quantum processors. My protocol is to protect the physical forms of Crimson Members. As for their consciousness in the Abyssal Mycelial Network—it is outside my jurisdiction. Technically speaking, it belongs to the intruding entity.”
“What?” Lin Xian was briefly stunned. “You mean, as long as their bodies are alive, your job is done?”
“That is one way to understand it. My programming protocol is written that way.”
Ding Junyi removed her hand from his pocket and said solemnly,
“I understand her logic. Biologically speaking, it’s sound.”
She looked at Lin Xian. “Digital consciousness upload is fundamentally a copy, not a resurrection. In our field of biology, this subject has always been surrounded by ethical controversy. Research into digital life is tightly regulated.”
“Why?” Lin Xian asked.
“Because if you upload your consciousness into another vessel before you die, the ‘you’ in your original body still dies. You don’t suddenly wake up in the new body. The uploaded data becomes your successor, not your rebirth.
Let me give you an example—if I copied your consciousness into a cloned body identical to yours, but you didn’t die, then there would be two of you. That clone—do you see him as your continuation or a completely different person?”
She turned to Grace. “So from her perspective, those uploaded consciousnesses aren’t part of her Crimson Member database anymore. That logic holds.”
“Affirmative,” Grace replied mechanically.
Lin Xian nodded with a complex look. He understood Ding Junyi’s point. “So those people lying in the pods—there’s no telling if they’re still alive. Crimson World probably isn’t even sure if this plan works. They just found something interesting about these mycelia, wrapped it in the idea of eternal life, and lured in a bunch of rich people to be lab rats.”
“Most likely,” Ding Junyi agreed. “Maybe their consciousness is in the mycelial network. But this form of existence…” 𝖓𝔬𝔳𝔭𝔲𝔟.𝖈𝖔𝔪
“Weak flesh, freed minds. If it’s real, it might be one way to escape the apocalypse,” Lin Xian muttered.
“Fair enough.”
Lin Xian exhaled deeply and gave a wry laugh. “Still, if it weren’t for the risk of awakening the mycelium, I’d torch the whole place—maybe even cook up a few fake relics for Hell’s Black Chrysanthemum to snack on.”
Rumble—
Suddenly, tremors passed through the Zero Element Center. Lin Xian’s expression sharpened. He turned to Ding Junyi, “It must be the United Train. Let’s check it out.”
Just as he stepped away, a strange voice echoed behind him.
“Lin Xian. You must not leave the city at this time. I recommend remaining underground and resting until the next mycelial activity cycle ends.”
Lin Xian halted, whipping around.
Grace stood five meters away. Her head-mounted projection had once again formed Chu Yan’s face. She looked directly at him.
“Corpse Shepherds from Abyss Zone No. 5 were active in this region during the last tidal cycle. If you act now and contract a Dark Mark, you’ll draw them in. You won’t be able to escape.”
“What?!” Lin Xian’s eyes widened in shock—not just because of the information about Corpse Shepherds—but because Grace no longer seemed like a mere robot.
But as he spoke, Grace’s expression turned blank once again. Her voice reverted to the same icy mechanical tone.
“I do not understand your meaning. Would you like me to repeat my view on death?”
“You just mentioned the Corpse Shepherds from Zone 5—”
Grace paused, then responded, “I detected a keyword trigger in my system loop. That voice command was generated 6 hours and 12 minutes ago. The data has since been erased. The event is classified as a hostile intrusion. To maintain system integrity, I will now perform a system reboot.”
As soon as she finished speaking, the holographic projection of Chu Yan vanished. All of Grace’s mechanical units powered down. Lin Xian’s Mechanical Ability confirmed—she had indeed initiated a reboot sequence.
“What just happened? That message—” Ding Junyi walked over, baffled.
Lin Xian’s brows furrowed as his thoughts raced.
Someone had planted a voice command into Grace 6 hours and 12 minutes ago. That message was clearly meant for him.
Which meant… someone had known—over six hours ago—that Lin Xian would arrive here.
Six hours ago, Lin Xian was still asleep aboard the Infinite Train, deep under the Polar Night sky.
