Chapter Three: The Dark Forest

Huaxia, River City.

Stone bridges shaded by willows, plum blossoms in the misty rain, rippling water, and a freshness lingering in the air after the rain.

“I’m back!”

Ye Han’s consciousness stood inside the house, gazing at the familiar ceiling, overwhelmed by a sense of otherworldly detachment. Yet, when his eyes shifted to the bed, something felt amiss.

“There’s a physical body in the Liyang Star Domain, and another one here?”

He reached out and pinched the body lying on the bed, which had no sensation whatsoever, leaving Ye Han speechless.

It was confirmed...

Soul transmigration, no doubt!

Ye Han of Earth had devoured the consciousness of Ye Han from Liyang, merging their memories. The Earth Ye Han’s consciousness took the lead, and the Liyang counterpart had vanished completely.

“The current consciousness can still enter this body, but there’s a condition!”

Noticing the prompt on the panel, Ye Han’s lips twitched.

‘Ding, the body of the consciousness has fallen into a dying state due to five consecutive days without replenishing essential elements. Irreversible physiological damage has occurred. Would you like to consume 10,000 origin points for repair?’

Ye Han sighed in despair.

Origin points were needed everywhere. Luckily, he’d only spent one night in the Liyang Star Domain; otherwise, he would have been finished!

“Confirm consumption!”

A pale green glow enveloped the body on the bed, and the once dry, lifeless skin gradually regained its vitality and color.

Origin points were hard currency in the Pool of All Heavens. Even at death’s door, as long as some genetic material remained, one could spend origin points to rescue the body—though the cost varied.

In less than thirty breaths, as the glow faded, Ye Han’s consciousness was seized by an indescribable yearning.

As he was still stunned, the consciousness returned to the body on the bed as swiftly and naturally as a fledgling returning to its nest.

???

His vision darkened, and as he opened his eyes again, Ye Han was utterly confused.

Did I just enter myself?

He pinched his arm and felt a hint of pain. Confirming his current state of fusion with the physical body, Ye Han fell silent.

The pale blue panel still floated before his eyes.

Wasn’t it said that the Bond Panel could only be seen in pure consciousness state?

Ye Han reviewed his memories once more, ensuring he hadn’t misremembered, but everything felt chaotic.

“Did I just trigger a bug?”

Baffled, Ye Han climbed out of bed and walked to the living room, grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge.

Drinking milk to replenish his nutrition, he examined the panel and quickly noticed something unusual.

At the top, the original “Bond Panel” title was now shrouded in a cloud of azure-gold mist.

Ye Han was certain this wasn’t an illusion; his eyes were fine.

Aside from this mysterious mist, nothing else had changed—except for the missing 10,000 origin points.

Why the green tint on a perfectly normal panel?

After pondering for a while with no new discoveries, Ye Han, feeling as though he’d swallowed a fly, reluctantly accepted reality.

“The consciousness can still freely detach, and that previous rush of emotion is gone.”

He tried separating his consciousness; everything worked smoothly with no abnormalities, finally putting his mind at ease.

If the consciousness couldn’t detach, the body in Liyang Star Domain would be doomed.

Now, at least, he didn’t have to worry about that.

A wise rabbit has three burrows. Suddenly having an extra body gave him another escape route, and some room to maneuver.

Ye Han opened his computer and browsed the news from the days he’d been away. Everything seemed normal; just the usual trivial, attention-grabbing stories.

Things like: a certain beauty setting up a street stall, a celebrity repairing computers, or couples splitting bills after thirty years of marriage.

Ye Han was long immune to such information.

“Hm? The Legend game is opening a new server?”

Just as Ye Han was about to close the browser, an advertisement popped up.

It wasn’t that he was interested in the game.

Rather...

“Order on Hanlan Star is in chaos right now. I could totally use the excuse of a game beta test to recruit people for work!”

Ye Han stared blankly at the webpage, rapidly calculating the feasibility of his plan.

Fat Xu had prepared a carbon-based manufacturing device for him.

Ye Han had previously learned about this device. Its operation was similar to 3D printing, able to quickly clone carbon-based lifeforms.

Fat Xu had boasted when he first assembled it: If the device ran nonstop and had a constant supply of raw materials, it could produce fifty thousand clones per day.

“If, during the clone’s creation, a neural control chip is pre-installed, and a virtual data parser is used as the port, then remote control becomes entirely possible!”

His fingers tapped unconsciously on the table; the more Ye Han thought about it, the more feasible the plan seemed.

The virtual data parser was native technology on Hanlan Star; the relevant production lines could be used immediately.

If the parser transmitted Earthlings’ brainwaves as data to Hanlan Star, the neural chips implanted in the clones would enable control.

“If this works, it’s basically Hanlan Online!”

Ye Han had originally thought about working with the military, opening a channel between the two worlds to send people and supplies.

But now, it seemed unnecessary.

If all clone genes were collected from Hanlan Star’s natives, the created lifeforms could bypass the pan-human camp’s detection.

Whereas directly sending humans would mean risking their sole life, and paying a hefty sum of origin points to erase traces.

“If I add a neural sensory device, Hanlan’s simulation for Earth would reach one hundred percent!”

With his thoughts clear, Ye Han stood up excitedly and took a long gulp of milk.

A trace of white lingered at the corner of his lips, but nothing could dampen his spirits.

This idea was workable!

Remote control of clones via brainwaves.

Transmit the clones' sensory data back to the sensory device, which then stimulates the nerves of the “players” on Earth.

A hundred percent sensory simulation—even just the sense of pain would make players cherish their lives!

If they really couldn’t survive and died...

Well, nothing could be done. After all, there’s only one life; death means deleting the account!

“The current issue is, how do I get the login devices to the selected players?” A sharp gleam flickered in Ye Han’s eyes.

He wanted to preserve Earth’s fighting strength as much as possible!

Ye Han estimated this path would be a long one.

The moment he entered the Pool of All Heavens, Earth had stepped onto the battlefield of cosmic conquest.

In the future, Earth would be embroiled in endless warfare.

On this battlefield, the unit of war was the planet—how insignificant was Earth!

It was the competitive, perilous dark forest.

Had he not experienced it firsthand, who would imagine that, somewhere in the universe, a simple college entrance exam could obliterate a planet a hundred times larger than Earth?

Compared to rich resources, life could be so cheap it was unimaginable.

Hanlan Star was a living example.

...

Hanlan Star.

Northern continent, Qingzhou.

On a flat plain.

“This is the place!”

With a flash, Ye Han arrived above a factory on Hanlan Star, his consciousness enveloping the premises.

This factory had a production line for “virtual pods,” but due to species evolution, it had already been taken over by evolved beasts.

“857 virtual pods in stock, 18,800 virtual helmets.”

These virtual pods were obsolete products on Hanlan Star, integrating “data parsing modules,” “neural sensory modules,” and deep body therapy functions.

The virtual helmets, aside from lacking therapy, had all the same features as the pods.

Ye Han sought these near-obsolete devices because he had no grounds to persuade players to implant integrated biochips.

Even if players were willing, the technology wasn’t available on Earth, so reliance on these older devices was necessary.

“Raw materials for manufacturing are sufficient. Some parts of the production line need repairs!”

After confirming no major issues, Ye Han finally felt reassured.

Fat Xu’s carbon-based manufacturing device was ready; Ye Han just needed to link the spatial coordinates to teleport it over.

“But there’s no rush. The pod parameters for controlling clone chips need adjustment first.”

If the device was teleported now, Ye Han couldn’t stay and guard it.

If it were destroyed by evolved beasts, he’d have nowhere to cry.

Thinking this, Ye Han gazed southeast: “I need a foothold!”

...

Qingzhou, Yan Clan Base Ruins.

The once vast base with over three hundred thousand residents now had fewer than thirty thousand.

These survivors huddled in corners, barely clinging to life.

On the outskirts of the base, in a remote apartment, a nimble young girl in gray combat gear, riding a large white dog bigger than herself, bounded in from afar.

“Is the port relay ready?” Yan Qiluo pulled a fist-sized cube from her satchel.

To obtain this data storage device, she’d dodged and weaved through the ruins for half a day to avoid the beast packs; the white dog’s paws were worn bloody.

“It’s ready!”

Inside the apartment, a floating projection displayed incomprehensible streams of code. The person in front of the light screen hastily stepped aside as Yan Qiluo entered.

The less-than-one-hundred-square-meter apartment was strewn with tangled wires. Yan Qiluo carefully avoided them as she approached the projection.

“Let’s hope this storage device can hold a platform!”

She inserted the cube into a slot and placed her hands on the floating keyboard projection.

Hanlan Star’s core virtual brain was well-protected, but the external signal relays had been destroyed by evolved beasts.

Connections between bases and the main brain were intermittent, making safe access impossible.

Yan Qiluo’s task was to build a small virtual world within the storage device, providing a communication platform for the base’s survivors, and a relatively stable experimental space for researchers.

After all, with only physical prowess, Hanlan Star’s humans were at the bottom of the food chain.

To survive and reclaim their lost home, they needed unity and technological support.

Yan Qiluo stared intently at the light screen, her slender fingers dancing across the virtual keyboard, leaving traces in their wake.

She was modifying source code parameters according to the existing intelligent framework.