Chapter 5: The Beginning of the Apocalypse

Li Gang slumped on the living room sofa, his eyes unfocused, staring blankly into space as if he'd lost his way on life's path, or perhaps pondering the origins of existence itself.

But, in truth, it was nothing so profound—he was simply spacing out in his usual daze.

“If you keep this up, you’ll be completely useless. Everyone says your state is all my fault, that I’ve spoiled you too much…” his mother’s voice lashed out like a sudden storm. “You didn’t learn your major well, you can’t find a job in your field, and when I ask you to…” Her words came down on him relentlessly. “If you were a girl, I wouldn’t worry half as much, but you’re—”

“Mom, just drop it. Who knows, maybe the world will end this year. What’s the point of finding a job?” Li Gang finally stirred from his stupor, a flicker of expression crossing his face as he replied.

Perhaps most people had long forgotten what happened ten years ago. Time really does wash away everything for most; many things can be forgotten within a year, let alone a decade. Life had returned to normal. The events of ten years past were rarely mentioned now.

Yet, there were still those who remembered. This year, the topic was alive again online, people heatedly discussing and counting down the days, because this was the tenth year—the supposed end year for all humanity.

Back in university, Li Gang and his roommates had followed the topic for a while. But few really believed in it; the heated debates only existed because so many people had nothing better to do.

Society now seemed split between two extremes: those working themselves to the bone under immense pressure for family and livelihood—white-collar workers and the masses; and those like Li Gang, drifting through days with no ambition, lying flat and waiting for life to pass.

Making a show of going out to look for work, Li Gang wandered off toward the familiar internet café.

As a seasoned slacker and part-time recluse, the café was where he spent most of his time. Surfing the web, playing games—these had become not just a pastime but a way of life since graduation.

After university, he hadn’t stayed in the city where he’d studied, nor ventured to the bustling metropolises for opportunity. He harbored no ambition to carve out a career or bring glory to his family. Li Gang simply had no drive for achievement; or perhaps he felt he’d already seen through life’s illusions. To him, life was just a handful of decades—enough to spend in his small, familiar world, passing the years in peace.

And so he lived: a slacker, an invisible recluse, content to exist without accomplishment or recognition.

Of course, it would be even better if he had a lovely girl to keep him company. But considering that the only time he’d ever held a girl’s hand was during group calisthenics at school, he felt even wishing for such a thing was wishful thinking.

He wasn’t a bad person, nor did he ever do anything wrong—just lacked motivation and drive. Whenever there was a charity event, he’d anonymously donate a few coins, proving he wasn’t a parasite after all, even if his donation barely covered an hour at the café.

Each time, he’d feel a quiet pride for a while, comforted by the thought that he was making some small, silent contribution to society. In truth, he was a good person—just not a particularly noble one.

He booted up the computer with practiced ease and launched a game that had once taken the world by storm a decade ago—League of Legends. These days, mostly men in their thirties and forties played it for nostalgia; its golden age had long passed. At Li Gang’s age, it was rare to encounter anyone still playing, but he didn’t care—just as he only listened to songs from the 1980s.

He simply liked what he liked.

Or, perhaps, he was just passing the time in his own way.

A few decades may seem an eternity to some, but to others, it’s fleeting.

Sitting alone in a corner, Li Gang let the hours slip by unnoticed. Solitude didn’t bother him; on the contrary, he had a wonderful time. He had never been sociable—even as a child, he’d only had a handful of friends. During university, he’d lost touch with his high school classmates, and after graduation, only two friends remained in contact. Unsurprisingly, neither had returned to this city.

When noon came, he ordered himself a bucket of instant noodles.

During his lunch, his mother called to ask how the job search was going and if he’d be home for lunch. He lied, saying he was still looking for work and eating out with friends at a restaurant, and quickly ended the conversation. Instant noodles would suffice for lunch—if his mother ever found out, she’d be furious enough to keep him bedridden for days.

On the screen, the game’s battle played out.

Controlling his champion, Li Gang fell victim to a clumsy but flashy maneuver by his opponent and died beneath the tower. The screen went black in less than a second.

He bought his items, ignoring the other lanes and the barrage of insults—“noob,” “feeder,” “stupid mid,” “stop giving kills”—and hurriedly slurped a few bites of noodles while waiting to respawn.

“Hey, man, that’s not how you play this champion. Especially against Talon—you’ve got to play safe and focus on farming early. You should have…”

A middle-aged man, who had been standing behind him for some time, began critiquing his gameplay in the tone of an expert, offering advice on proper strategy.

Li Gang glanced sideways.

The man’s face was unshaven, dark circles under his eyes, his gaze carrying the weariness of centuries.

Li Gang immediately recognized the type—not just a middle-aged man, but a confirmed, single, middle-aged slacker.

He thought to himself, Perhaps in ten years, I’ll look just like him. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I’ll still be fine, able to show off to the younger generation now and then.

He’d encountered people like this before. Usually, he would smile politely, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and continue playing his own way.

He was so absorbed in his game today that he hadn’t noticed anyone watching from behind until the man spoke.

Chewing his noodles, Li Gang turned to respond with his usual polite smile.

But there was no one there.

No one at all—he didn’t even see a shadow. Had he started hallucinating? Had he played too many games, or eaten too many preservatives?

He silently ate a few more bites, but something didn’t sit right.

He usually sat in a secluded spot, so there was rarely anyone nearby. Yet now, Li Gang saw no one around—just a few distant screens still glowing, but without a trace of their users.

Whatever, he thought. So be it.