Apocalypse Star House Hoarding

Chapter 209

No one could sleep. Those without tasks at hand stood by the glass windows, their hearts trembling as they watched the planet below.

After finishing its stabilization task, Yu Xi’s airship released its mooring ropes and ascended back to its original hovering altitude. She hurried to her suite, where the expansive glass observation deck provided an even broader view of the unfolding catastrophe.

She had never seen an earthquake like this. The ground seemed to be churned by enormous earthworms, fragile as tofu.

Within the former fortress base, small remaining buildings collapsed one after another. The towering steel walls wavered like falling dominoes.

Even the once steadfast and sprawling green mountains—unmoved by previous disasters—shattered with a thunderous sound.

The sight left even Yu Xi shaken.

Had she remained on the surface, there would have been no place to survive this superquake—not in a solid building, on a mountaintop, or underground.

Thankfully, this world had “floating wood.” Thankfully, its technology had created floating fortresses. Without these advancements, humanity would have faced extinction.

In this world, only the skies were safe.

Was this earthquake the final disaster? One could hope.

Hope that, before the fuel powering the suspended fortresses and air filtration systems ran out, the planet’s surface would stabilize.

No matter how much the world was destroyed, as long as humanity survived, they could rebuild their homes atop the endless ruins.

In the following days, Yu Xi’s airship anchored near the cylindrical structure of Zone K. The zone housed both the agricultural and livestock areas. However, due to technical constraints, the cylindrical structures had yet to be fully connected, requiring flight tools to travel between them.

Yinyin’s parents worked in this zone after their unexpected job changes. Her mother worked in the livestock area, while her father handled electronic machinery maintenance in the agricultural area.

With Xing Min’s involvement, their application for employee housing in the zone had been approved. Moving into this restricted-access area meant better security and proximity to Yan Shang.

Zone K did not permit the mooring of non-official airships, so Yu Xi’s airship hovered nearby. This allowed her to return Yinyin to her parents whenever necessary.

Over the next month, Yinyin occasionally went back home, but she always dragged Yu Xi along. She clung to Yu Xi like a small accessory, following her everywhere and insisting that Yu Xi accompany her whenever she went anywhere.

The young girl had grown adept at using her innocent and adorable appearance to her advantage. She would clutch Yu Xi’s sleeve and softly plead until Yu Xi, with little else to do, agreed to join her.

Occasionally, they encountered Yan Shang during their visits. He seemed thinner than before, though it was unclear if it was due to hard work or the fortress’s strict water and food rations. Thankfully, his spirits appeared intact.

He still spoke little, often casting quiet glances at Yu Xi while she talked to others, only to quickly look away when she noticed.

Xi Yuan sometimes accompanied them to Zone K. When he saw Yan Shang, he privately asked if he wanted to return to the airship, pointing out the stark difference in living conditions.

“There’s no need. I’m no longer her Subordinate.”

“What does that matter? Yu Xi doesn’t care about such things,” Xi Yuan replied, noting that Yan Shang seemed reluctant but didn’t understand why he had severed their bond.

Yan Shang glanced at Xi Yuan’s delicate, refined face and smiled faintly. “I envy you. You do whatever you want, say whatever you like, and call her name so casually. You can express yourself freely and work toward what you desire.”

These were all things Yan Shang could not do.

Xi Yuan frowned. “If you care so much and like her, why did you dissolve your bond in the first place?”

“You wouldn’t understand. It was the only thing I could do…”

“You’re impossible. If you don’t fight for what you want, what’s the point?” Xi Yuan shook his head, exasperated. “Forget it.”

As someone who had also been bought by Yu Xi, Xi Yuan felt a mix of empathy and frustration toward Yan Shang. After their conversation, he couldn’t help but mutter to himself as he walked away.

Yinyin, who came to call him for dinner, overheard him and remarked coolly, “With your limited brainpower, worrying about others is a waste. Take care of yourself first, you clueless idiot.”

“…??” Xi Yuan nearly laughed in disbelief. “What’s with you lately? Why are you so sharp-tongued and condescending? When did I offend you? What do you think I don’t understand?”

The girl’s dark eyes fixed on his familiar face, hiding layers of emotions—pity, helplessness, and even envy.

Yes, he didn’t yet know the path that lay ahead for him.

Ignorance is bliss. Let him enjoy these last carefree days.

With that thought, Yinyin turned away. “Dinner’s ready. Hurry up. Yu Xi cooked today—potato and beef stew and twice-cooked pork.”

As June approached its end, only four months remained for Yu Xi to complete her mission.

In the past month, the aftershocks and collapses triggered by the superquake had gradually ceased. The “Red Lotus Mutation” patients, once roaming the surface, were entirely swallowed by the depths of the earth. The frequency of acid rain was also slowly diminishing.

With the volcanic ash in the troposphere dispersing, outdoor temperatures had risen, stabilizing at a comfortable range of 10 to 20 degrees Celsius.

Even more encouraging for the authorities, instruments detected that the previously rampant airborne virus was losing its activity.

Everything seemed to be heading in a positive direction.

Yet, unlike others who celebrated these developments, Yinyin grew increasingly tense.

She no longer had the energy to bicker with Xi Yuan. Instead, she spent her days pressed against the glass windows of the airship, her dark eyes fixed on the sky, as though trying to peer through the volcanic ash clouds to the outer layers of the atmosphere.

Beyond the troposphere lay the stratosphere, then the mesosphere, the exosphere… and beyond that, the vast expanse of space.

Yu Xi shook her head at her wandering thoughts, but Xing Min’s timely reminder snapped her back.

“The superquake might only be considered the last disaster if the Subordinate Rebellion is counted as one of the seven major calamities.”

Yu Xi: I understand. I’ll stay vigilant and avoid assumptions—it’s too easy to be blindsided by reality.

Early one morning, Yu Xi was startled awake by the sound of heavy raindrops pounding against the airship’s glass windows.

It was raining—a torrential downpour unlike anything they’d seen recently. The dense rain streaked the glass, creating a cacophony of noise.

She walked quickly to the observation deck and saw that the perpetually cloudy sky appeared as though it had been cleansed. The true sky, long obscured by volcanic ash, was finally visible again.

A knock came at the door, hurried and urgent.

Yu Xi opened it to find Yinyin standing outside. Without a word, the girl rushed past her to the glass window.

As she had done many times before, Yinyin pressed herself against the glass, her dark eyes scanning the sky. But this time, her gaze carried unease and tension.

“It’s here,” she murmured, her voice soft yet laced with the wariness of an adult.

Yu Xi’s expression turned cautious. “What’s here?”

Yinyin turned to meet her gaze. “The real seventh calamity.”

As the words left her lips, Yinyin bolted from the suite, heading for the cockpit.

A moment later, Yu Xi heard a strange noise coming from the sky outside the airship—a deep, distant rumble, as if something enormous was approaching from the far reaches of space.

The suite door swung open again, and Xing Min strode in. His heightened senses had already detected the commotion in the distant sky that Yu Xi could only just hear.

“The situation is unusual. Whatever’s coming, its technology far surpasses what exists in this world—it doesn’t belong here,” Xing Min said, pulling her toward the observation deck to survey the sky.

“I’ve always wondered why there’s so little information about this world. It’s clearly not a fragmented world, so why hasn’t the System Tower sent other taskers here?”

Yu Xi: Are you suggesting the System Tower deliberately concealed critical information, and these extraterrestrial visitors are the reason?

“Yes, and the System Tower didn’t send taskers because there’s no point.”

Xing Min turned to look at her, the implication clear: this final disaster was beyond her ability to withstand.

He might be able to protect her for a while, but with four months left to complete the mission, his damaged body couldn’t guarantee her safety for that long.

Frowning, Xing Min turned his attention back to the sky. To an ordinary observer, the black, massive aerial objects weren’t yet visible. But beneath their immense structures, faint blue mist was rapidly spreading, blending with the rain and descending toward the planet’s surface.

He felt an unprecedented sense of danger—a visceral, undeniable instinct.

“Clear your mind. I’m sending you back!”

Yu Xi: Back where?

“To your original world.”

Yu Xi: But my main storyline mission isn’t complete. If I leave now…

“Don’t worry, I’ll first sever my connection to this world. The system will register an error, and you’ll safely return to your starting point, back to when the mission hadn’t begun.”

Yu Xi was stunned. “What?!”

This was the first time she’d heard of such an operation. But she wasn’t naive—if it were so simple and risk-free as Xing Min claimed, why hadn’t he used this method before? For instance, during the Acid Rain World mission, when he endured excruciating pain for 36 hours to maintain the protective shield until her task was complete, rather than adopting this solution?

This meant that Xing Min’s current proposal must pose immense danger to the system—far greater than the toll of sustaining that shield and entering hibernation.

Yu Xi grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Wait! We’re not at a life-or-death moment yet. Hold on a little longer, if—”

Her words were cut off by his actions.

Xing Min raised a hand to her face, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Yu Xi, I can’t gamble with your safety right now.”

His long fingers slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. He bent down and pressed his lips lightly to her forehead.

As she stared at him, stunned, he frowned and began forcibly severing his connection to the world.

At that moment, they both felt an overwhelming surge of energy—a power far surpassing the faint traces Xing Min had previously displayed.

They turned toward the observation deck window. A pale gray halo was rapidly spreading along the outer shell of the airship, encasing it completely within seconds. The protective barrier, emanating from the front of the airship, sealed it entirely from the outside world.

This shield was a power that belonged to the System Tower.

Yu Xi and Xing Min exchanged a glance. One of them conjured an ice shield to envelop them both, while the other materialized a pale golden sword, and together, they moved toward the source of the disturbance.

As they passed through the airship, the doors to Xi Yuan and Hei Mu’s rooms remained closed. Both of them were ordinary people, oblivious to the threat emanating from deep space, likely still asleep.

They reached the cockpit area and found Yinyin standing there, retracting her hand from the glass floor. A faint gray bracelet shimmered around her slender wrist—the origin of the energy surge.

Xing Min observed the barrier separating the airship from the rain laced with pale blue mist outside. The airship had also been maneuvered behind a massive cylindrical structure, seemingly to avoid detection by the enormous objects looming in the sky.

Looking out, Xing Min noticed that even the polished surface of the cylindrical structure reflected no trace of their airship. The gray barrier not only shielded them from external threats but also rendered the airship invisible.

“Who are you?” Xing Min asked.

Yinyin glanced at him but gave no answer. Instead, she took two steps toward Yu Xi and tapped her gray bracelet. A plain white sheet of paper materialized in her hand.

“Someone asked me to give this to you,” she said, handing it over.

Yu Xi unfolded the paper. Written in neat handwriting were two lines:

I know ‘It’ has set its sights on you. Don’t worry, I’ve tangled with ‘It,’ and I’ll take ‘It’ down. I’m trying my best—so you must, too. Trust the person who gave you this message. They’ll help you through this seemingly inevitable failure.

Keep going. Finish the mission well. I’ll be waiting for you.

There was no signature, but Yu Xi instantly recognized the writer upon reading the second line.

It was the last thing she had said to them in the Zombie World.

She knew she had broken her promise. When the person returned, they hadn’t found Yu Xi—just “Yu Xi.”

She had once believed that whenever she left a world, those she had cared for wouldn’t notice her absence. They would continue their lives happily with the “Yu Xi” she left behind.

It had been that way in the Meteorite World and the Zombie World—or so she had thought. Now, she realized that no matter how perfect the replacement “Yu Xi” might seem, those who had shared true bonds with her would eventually notice the cracks.

Yu Qin had noticed. Ya Tong had noticed. And Leng Mian… had noticed too.

Perhaps the parents in the Zombie World, the daughter in the Storm World, and the companions in the Vampire World would also notice. She didn’t know—she couldn’t see across the vast divide of space-time.

And yet, just like Ya Tong and Leng Mian, perhaps they, too, were thinking of her, helping her, somewhere beyond her view.

The white paper in her hands disintegrated into fine dust, dissipating into the air. Clearly, this had been a tool. Leng Mian must have used this method to convey information that couldn’t be stated outright—after all, this was a task world under the control of the System Tower.

“Was it Leng Mian?”

Yu Xi nodded at Xing Min, gratitude welling up inside her for the timely intervention that spared him further harm.

She squeezed his hand and turned back to the small girl before her. “Who are you really? And what is the seventh calamity?”

The girl’s gaze flicked to their joined hands before tilting her head slightly. “See for yourself. This world… is a lie.”