Volume One: The Solitary Beta Test Chapter One: Prologue

In the boundless darkness of the cosmos, the eternal sun still blazed with mad fervor, casting its light upon the nine planetary children that had encircled her for millions of years. Yet on her third child—Earth—not a single ray of light could be discerned. The spirits that once frolicked within her embrace—humanity—had vanished without a trace, not to mention those lesser creatures.

Once a sapphire gem, Earth's world now knew only darkness and death; these were its defining themes.

If anything remained to bestow a semblance of "life" upon this planet, it was only the three humanoid "moving" beings wielding gigantic axes, laboriously hacking at celestial debris high above—over thirty thousand meters in the sky.

Why not simply call them humans?

Because, no matter how mighty or tall, no human could match even one percent of their size. The axes they brandished had handles as thick as six meters and stretched over a hundred meters in length—far beyond normal human proportions by a thousandfold.

They were called "moving" things for a reason, too.

Their bodies were an almost grotesque assembly of cold steel and soft flesh, jarringly incompatible. In the upper reaches of the atmosphere, amidst vast layers of planetary debris, their movements were slow, but still far surpassed anything possible for carbon-based life. Thus, the term "moving" was but a placeholder for their identity.

Each swing of their axes reduced dozens of cubic meters of debris to dust.

Such labor was truly awe-inspiring. Yet, compared to the nearly all-encompassing shroud of planetary remnants wrapped around Earth, it was but a drop in the ocean.

Every strike sent a thunderous clang of metal reverberating like a million storms, deafening to the ear.

But on a nearby celestial fragment, stripped of much of its mass, there was not the faintest sound—here, silence reigned supreme.

Among the dust on that broken star's surface, some fortunate grains remembered—eight years had passed since they last shifted or rolled. They lay in a ring of solitary, twisted footprints, unchanged since then.

Following the direction of the footprints, one found at their end a small, round, transparent, fully enclosed structure.

Tiny among endless sand, from afar it resembled the eye of a lizard buried in the dunes, staring unblinking at Earth suspended in the heavens.

The more perceptive grains remembered that this eye-like structure had appeared over a century ago.

Back then, Earth overhead was smaller and glowed a gentle blue, like an elfin eye.

And the star they rested on was still a whole sphere—called the Moon.

Shortly after the structure appeared, many people arrived. A year later, only two remained.

These two seemed busy every day, but no matter how occupied, they always made time to sit cross-legged in the glass house, gazing at the beautiful blue gem in the sky.

One day, Earth erupted in a brilliant cross-shaped beam, shattering the Moon into countless fragments.

The shards soared toward Earth, caught one by one, forming the debris layer now suspended above and enfolding the planet. As this layer grew, Earth dimmed, becoming as we now see it.

The largest fragment, holding the glass house, moved slowly toward Earth, but over the past century had halved the distance.

Half a year after that cataclysm, the two inside the glass house fell into slumber. One slept undisturbed for a century; the other woke many times.

Six months after his first awakening, a new glass container appeared beside the sleeping places. Another half-year, a female body formed within.

Another six months passed, and a youth emerged from the glass house. He carried out a pile of bones, gray from boiling, and buried them simply among the sand, raising a shallow mound.

From then on, every time that person awoke, six months later, the same youth would exit the glass house and repeat the burial. Over nearly a century, the youth never changed, as if immortal.

The newest mound was built eight years ago. Now there were eight, side by side.

If nothing unexpected happened, that person would soon awaken again.

Indeed, days later, movement stirred within the container where the frequently awakened one slept.

First, his floating hair quivered; as the tremors intensified, his head visibly shifted. His tangled hair concealed his face, making his features indistinct.

Suddenly, with a splutter, he sat up. After half a minute, he pushed open the container lid and crawled out with difficulty.

Were it not for the meter-long hair draped over his body like an apron, his nakedness would have been exposed.

After a bout of dry heaving beside the container, he dressed himself.

Perhaps from long inactivity, his steps were unsteady. Stumbling, he approached the container of the never-awakened sleeper and leaned against it.

Seeing the person within still asleep, he sighed deeply, sorrowful and half-accusing: "Lei, damn it, you're so useless! Is it so hard to return from the 'Heaven' world?"

Lei inside the container made no response; clearly, he hadn't heard.

"What did you promise me, huh? Nearly a hundred years! Every time I wake up, I'm utterly alone, no one to talk to—not a soul… Do you know?"

He paused, carefully inspecting the container's cleanliness before helplessly remarking:

"You're comfortable, huh? Lying inside, your mind off somewhere in 'Heaven,' living it up. Every time I escape from 'Heaven,' I have to cut your hair, shave your beard, bathe you, afraid you'll get dirty, ugly, miss out on girls in that world; and check the life support system, in case you starve!"

"Grandpa Chen, wake up! Let's switch, alright? Let me enjoy it, just once!"

His voice nearly broke with tears, yet Chen Lei remained motionless.

"Forget it, do as you please!"

He said, then slowly approached another container, gently caressing the glass with his fair hand.

"Suwei, you know, when I first infiltrated 'Heaven' and found your DNA data, how happy I was! When your familiar face formed inside this container, you can't imagine my joy and madness!"

As he spoke, happiness bloomed on his face.

"In that excitement and madness, I copied a younger version of myself, transferred my consciousness, and within a week, devoured my old body entirely. If not for discovering a new way to save you, I would never have eaten a piece of my old self, not even on this desolate moon with its half-month-long nights and meager synthetic food."

He finished, gently lifting the container lid, gazing tenderly and lovingly at the beautiful face within.

Anyone who saw her would never forget, could only admire from afar, unable to touch or possess her. Her slender neck and vital parts were covered by pale sand, placed there by the long-haired, handsome yet slightly puffy man whose eyes brimmed with emotion.

"But… nearly ninety years, nine times I've escaped from 'Heaven,' yet never succeeded in bringing your consciousness back. Suwei, how I long to trade those nine strokes of luck for—"

He choked up, "—for one success, to save you!"

Turning away, he let a tear slip into the container. He crouched, rubbing his face vigorously, then continued: "Damn 'Heaven,' it's kept us apart for over a hundred years. Whether infiltrating its world or waking here on this broken moon, the knife of longing never stops slicing my heart!"

As he spoke, he pressed hard against his chest. "Do you know? That knife never rests! With this life system, I can copy your body, shape your form, but I can never create your soul, never bring you truly to life, not even for a glance!"

Now his tears flooded like a breached dam; he slumped to the floor.

"I'm so lonely. This cold, dim, lifeless moon is nothing like people say—especially now, as a broken fragment! Ninety years, I've eaten eight old bodies, raised eight shallow graves, buried eight versions of myself! And this current skin won't last much longer—I don't know if I have the courage to keep replacing it."

He stood, looking at Suwei and Chen Lei. "Will you wake up and give me some warmth?"

After his plea, the room grew quiet—so quiet he could hear Suwei's faint heartbeat.

After a while, he murmured: "I understand now."

Dejected, he walked to his own sleeping container, raised the lid, about to hurl himself inside, when an instrument beside him sounded with a series of beeps.

Drawn by the sound, he approached the device, saw lines of mysterious numbers on its display, and as he finished reading, he had already translated them in his mind:

Awakened from a dream, the world feels distant,

A hundred years of solitude in the cold palace of the moon.

Nine battles against the sky leave lingering regret,

To save others and oneself, first save the lost brother!