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Chapter 147
Chapter One Hundred Forty-Seven: Earth Wasteland Arc (Thirteen)
Stepping out of the "Changing Room", they still hadn’t reached the residential area. Instead, they entered another expansive space resembling a railway platform. This area’s layout and the pillars standing within mirrored those of the previous chamber almost identically. The two zones appeared to be vertically aligned mirror images, constructed with identical designs.
By this point, the air had become breathable for commoners like Hank. After crossing this zone and navigating a serpentine corridor, the environment suddenly broadened. The trio finally entered the heart of Divine Protection Village.
For the two players, the sight was undeniably surreal. Orange-yellow light cascaded from above. Looking upward, they saw layers of vegetation forming a sky-like canopy, its depth suggesting a height roughly equivalent to the distance from the underground to the canyon’s surface. Sunlight didn’t filter through gaps in the plants but instead passed through a purification process by the foliage itself—a natural shield akin to an ozone layer unique to Divine Protection Village. Of course, this wasn’t purely natural; over centuries, residents had repeatedly refined the vegetation. This protective barrier was the village’s lifeline, meticulously maintained for absolute stability and safety.
Straight ahead, rows of orderly roads and monotonous low-rise buildings stretched out. Pedestrians were sparse, all clad in standardized attire. Men wore identical uniforms to Hank’s, while women’s outfits differed only slightly in style, featuring brighter hues.
By now, Feng Bu Jue and Kuangzong Jianying had removed their protective suit helmets, leaving them behind in the Changing Room. They tightened their suits’ collars, folding them inward to conceal the clothing worn beneath. Even so, they still stood out like sore thumbs.
To illustrate, imagine two fifth-graders entering a kindergarten classroom. Their school uniforms differed slightly, and they towered over the younger children. Yet they still wore uniforms—just not ones as absurdly styled as a Conan cosplay. Villagers merely threw them curious glances instead of panicking or brandishing pitchforks.
“The designer who built this city has terrible taste. Not even robots would live in a place like this,” Kuangzong Jianying critiqued.
“Heh… what did you expect?” Feng Bu Jue asked.
“When he said ‘village,’ I imagined somewhere like the Shire,” Kuangzong Jianying replied. “Instead, it’s this… a soulless, formatted slum.” He snorted. “Even real slums are better—there, buildings and people at least have… hmm, what’s the word?”
“Personality,” Feng Bu Jue interjected.
“Exactly,” Kuangzong Jianying nodded. “Look at these people—same houses, same clothes, same possessions… Don’t you ever get lost?”
Hank turned. “Every road has a number. It’s easy to navigate.”
Kuangzong Jianying sighed theatrically. “Fair enough.”
“At least they still have hair freedom. The leader didn’t order everyone shaven-headed except officials,” Feng Bu Jue added.
“Fengxian Academy sends their congratulations…” Kuangzong Jianying quipped, clearly getting the reference.
After a short walk, two Street Patrol Officers intercepted them. The officers’ uniforms featured subtle color variations, adorned with epaulets and knee-high boots. Their equipment included a Catapult and a Metal Shield.
“Halt!” one barked.
The trio complied, waiting as the officers approached. Kuangzong Jianying stood unconcerned, meeting their gaze with calm indifference. Hank, however, trembled, lips sealed tight.
“Why are you wearing protective suits inside?” one officer demanded.
Feng Bu Jue shrugged. “Our uniforms got damaged, officer.”
“Damaged?” The officer eyed him skeptically. “Clothes in the Changing Room’s box? How?”
“Caught in the Filtering Layer’s metal door, sir,” Feng Bu Jue reported.
“Hmph…” The officer grunted, half-believing. “Get replacements from Supply Asap.”
“Understood! Thanks for your concern, sir!” Feng Bu Jue chirped.
The officers exchanged glances, shrugged, and departed.
Kuangzong Jianying chuckled. “Your tone… watched too many Chinese dramas? Basement couriers meeting Nationalist troops on the street?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Feng Bu Jue retorted.
Hank frowned. “Strange… they bought it? How would clothes get caught in the Filtering Passage’s door? We filter first, then change. If anything, the protective suits should’ve gotten caught!”
“Exactly,” Feng Bu Jue said. “But how would they know? They’re not Scavengers.”
“Oh! Patrol officers probably never leave the village,” Hank realized.
“Thought of that already?” Kuangzong Jianying teased.
“In a society rigidly stratified, insurmountable divides separating classes… Ground-floor dwellers couldn’t possibly understand another group’s operations,” Feng Bu Jue explained. “Scavengers don’t know patrol officers’ cafeteria menus, and officers don’t know Scavengers’ Changing Room protocols. I just needed a plausible excuse—do you think they’d pull out cell phones to Google Scavenger re-entry procedures?”
“Allow me to call that… ‘clever’,” Kuangzong Jianying said, mentally substituting “despicable.”
“Now, Hank,” Feng Bu Jue turned. “See? No worries—we’ve got this. Before you report to your superiors, show us your village first.”
“But… Scavenger teams must report immediately upon return…” Hank stammered.
Feng Bu Jue cut him off. “You’ve already brought two foreigners in. Who cares about rules? If you take us to your superiors, they’ll expose us as impostors. We can’t wait while you file reports—they’d kill you for betrayal without hesitation. If you try sneaking off to summon officers, it’ll destroy your people and you.”
Feng Bu Jue watched Hank’s face pale, knowing his persuasion had succeeded. “Your best move? Don’t report yet. Show us around first. After we leave discreetly, you can report a ‘delay.’ No harm done. No one dies. No one even knows we were here.”
“This isn’t what we agreed to earlier… You didn’t mention this before…” Hank stammered in panic, clearly flustered.
“And what did you expect would happen?” Feng Bu Jue smirked. “Plans only work if they keep up with changes.”
By now, Hank had already boarded the bandwagon. As Feng Bu Jue said, everyone had their weakness—once exploited, they’d betray their own principles.
At first, Hank simply wanted to survive. Then, he tried to protect his fellow villagers from death. Now, both threats loomed over him. His only solution was to cooperate with these two Foreigners and hope they could leave unnoticed.
Of course, his thinking was far too simple, too naive. If he’d considered things more deeply, he’d realize that even if Feng Bu Jue and Kuangzong Jianying slipped away as quietly as they arrived—leaving no trace of bloodshed—the truth would still surface. They’d already registered their names upon entering the village. Jia Wei and Qiao Yi were recorded as alive and returned. Could living people simply vanish? No. In days, Hank would be interrogated. If he couldn’t explain himself, he’d face execution. If he did confess, he’d die even faster.
……
At the heart of Divine Protection Village lay a place called the Temple.
Though called a Temple, it had nothing to do with temples. This “Temple” was a half-starship, rebuilt centuries ago.
Within the village, only the Kouben Family held the authority to enter and exit the Temple freely. It was their palace, their throne.
For years, the Kouben Family had claimed to be the voice of deities, delivering the “God’s” decrees. Naturally, this “God” had nothing to do with Christianity. The term “God” here was a tool, a will the Kouben Family could manipulate to suit their whims.
If they wanted someone dead, they declared it the deity’s wish. If they targeted a group, they branded them heretics. To enforce obedience, they issued orders in God’s name. To seize property or women, they conjured divine justifications.
In short, the Kouben Family’s words were divine law. To defy them was to defy God, endangering the entire village.
Yet, religion alone couldn’t sustain control for centuries. Their true power lay in “Knowledge”—information from the starship, monopolized and shared only with a select few (village priests). When they chose, they displayed “miracles,” keeping the ignorant populace fearful and obedient.
This explained why Divine Protection Village’s commoners knew almost nothing of biology, medicine, or astronomy.
Biology challenged the creator. Medicine demystified death. Astronomy shattered religious lies, exposing delusions.
Knowledge changed fate. Technology reshaped life.
But the Kouben Family had no desire to alter fate. No dictator or interest group wanted to disrupt their favorable status quo. Control was key.
As the saying went: The people are hard to govern because they have too much knowledge. Divine Protection Village’s policy of keeping its people ignorant was masterful. The Kouben Family didn’t bar the populace from all knowledge. They allowed partial education—agriculture, metallurgy, architecture—while flooding them with brainwashing religious propaganda. The people believed in deities, too terrified to defy the “sacred” order.
Thus emerged this unique, twisted civilization.
York Kouben was the village’s current “Chosen of God”—village chief, mayor, chieftain, president, king.
His ancestors, cunning and far-sighted, seized power after claiming the starship and designed this system, securing his present-day privilege.
From his brief exchange with Hank, Feng Bu Jue had already grasped Divine Protection Village’s social structure. That’s why he’d dared to declare this scenario nothing more than a sci-fi setup. What “Chosen of God”? It was an old trick from a millennium ago. By the 20th century, even dictators stopped claiming divine ties. At worst, they were self-proclaimed generals who’d never seen battle or doctors who’d never opened a book. To claim oneself the adopted son, legitimate son, or second son of some celestial being? Only those with minimal culture or intelligence dared such.
As Hank led his two uninvited guests deeper into the village, it was precisely York Kouben’s afternoon tea time.
York lived by routine: three square meals, two naps, an afternoon tea with pastries, and to bed by 9 PM, always with a different woman by his side.
Some might wonder: How could this village of thousands sustain such indulgence? Had every woman slept with him?
In truth, nearly all with even modest beauty had. Why? It traced back to the 13th century, when European nobles practiced the “Virgin Right,” or “First-Night Right”—a tenant’s daughter was sent to the local lord for “tasting” before her wedding. In Divine Protection Village, this atrocity revived, though phrased more delicately. Women were sent to the Temple to receive the Chosen of God’s “Baptism.” Some were returned quickly if he disapproved, others kept longer.
The Kouben Family’s centuries of such practices led to another issue: offspring scattered across the village. The current Chosen of God had one official wife (his favorite), while siblings became family members. The next generation dropped to priest rank.
Statistically, though, how many villagers were related to York Kouben? No one knew.
Over centuries, inbred lineages inevitably intertwined. Exceptions existed, but generally, genetic degradation worsened. Declining physical strength, poor health, low intelligence, high rates of congenital diseases—these became irreversible. With the village’s abysmal medical care (only a few doctors in the Temple), villagers grew short-statured, dim-witted, and infantile. The population barely grew, death rates from disease too high.
Divine Protection Village’s decline and destruction were inevitable—a matter of time.
But perhaps this was the turning point.
Because today, Feng Bu Jue’s apartment had arrived.
(End of Chapter)
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