Liu Weian took off the helmet and lay on the bed without moving. But something felt off. The usual wave of weakness after logging out was absent—his body still buzzed with energy. Thinking back to the two white crystals he consumed earlier, he immediately understood why.
He opened his eyes. The room was dim. He had logged out at least an hour and a half later than usual. When he pressed the switch, the fluorescent light flooded the room with brightness, illuminating two figures—one tall, one small.
He wasn't surprised and simply asked, "Why didn't you turn on the light even though it's already dark?"
The two figures were women. The older one looked around thirty; the younger was about eleven. They shared the same trait: thin—dangerously thin from long-term malnutrition, as if a gust of wind could knock them over. Their faces, devoid of flesh, made their eyes seem disproportionately large.
Both had red blotches on their faces and exposed skin, some swollen and festering—disturbing to behold, yet Liu Weian reacted as if it were normal.
They were a homeless mother and daughter who, by chance, had once saved his life. After surviving the crisis, Liu Weian took them in. He could barely support himself and had no right to take in others, but had he not done so, they would have been killed as suspected virus carriers.
But Liu Weian knew the truth. Though their symptoms resembled smallpox, the condition was non-infectious.
The mother's name was Zhao Nannan. The girl took her mother's surname and was named Zhao Xin—"Xin" as in prosperity and joy. Clearly, life had trampled all over that hopeful name.
"Mom said we have to save electricity," Zhao Xin said sweetly. Her expression mixed joy at seeing Liu Weian awake with a trace of self-consciousness about the spots on her face. Zhao Nannan had a beautiful face beneath the blotches—graceful lines, refined features. Without the red marks, she would have been stunning. She looked down at Zhao Xin with sad eyes, gently stroking the child's hair, lost in thought.
Liu Weian sighed silently and climbed off the bed.
The room was barely ten square meters. After placing a bed, there was little room left to move. There were no windows. The iron door, rusted from humidity, barely held together. Thankfully, the fluorescent light was still strong. A battered nightstand stood by the bed. When he opened the drawer, only two energy tubes remained. Liu Weian immediately understood the source of Zhao Nannan's sorrow.
Energy tubes—the bare minimum for sustaining life, extracted from food and flavorless, their only purpose was to prevent starvation. These were the lifeline of most slaves and impoverished citizens.
Standard use was one tube per person per day. But most of the poor and enslaved considered themselves lucky to get one every three days. Some stretched it to five. The lack of energy forced long hours of sleep to conserve strength, making it impossible to work, earn money, or escape poverty. A vicious cycle.
Zhao Nannan and her daughter hadn't consumed an energy tube in three days. Zhao Nannan could endure it, but Zhao Xin was still growing. Yet the mother dared not give her one—because Liu Weian needed it more. He had to enter the World of Beasts to earn money. Without stamina, he'd die. And Liu Weian was the only one supporting all three of them.
His gaze swept over the mother and daughter—his eyes filled with emotion, compassion, and a deep-seated loathing for the injustice of this world. But those feelings passed in an instant. He spoke:
"I'm going out."
The two froze. Zhao Xin's face filled with fear, while Zhao Nannan hesitated, then said quietly, "Be careful."
Liu Weian nodded and walked out.
It should have been early evening—around six o'clock—but it was already dark as midnight. The wind howled, biting cold. The temperature was pitifully low. Liu Weian tightened the threadbare coat around him and marched forward with determination.
This was no longer Earth. This was Mars. Mars in the year 3017. Though he had been here for three months, he still couldn't adapt to the brutal climate and harsh environment.
Three months ago, he was still on Earth. Life in the orphanage wasn't ideal, but there was food, books, and friends. Until fate played a cruel trick.
One dark night, the gentle director of the orphanage called him out—and he never returned. He was loaded into a vehicle and falsely accused of murder. Sentenced to exile on Saturn, never to return.
At first, he was confused. But once aboard the interplanetary transport heading to Saturn, realization dawned—he had been made a scapegoat.
Too late.
But fate had other plans. Near Mars, the ship was attacked by space pirates—a once-in-a-decade event. Amid the chaos, the ship crashed in Mars' slave zone. Liu Weian escaped in the confusion, snatching a game helmet in the process. It was during that escape that he met the mother and daughter who survived by scavenging trash. They were filthy, ulcer-ridden, and reeked of rot. Liu Weian had hidden under Zhao Nannan's skirt to evade a deadly patrol.
They traveled by night and hid by day, eventually reaching the border between the slave zone and the slums. Using stolen money, he rented a basement and finally found a fragile sense of safety.
A month ago, while out buying supplies, he came across the mother and daughter again. How they ended up wandering there, he didn't know. The slums were only marginally better than the slave zone—but the rules were stricter. People showing signs of contagious disease were detained immediately. Resistance could result in summary execution.
Grateful for their help, Liu Weian had brought them back in secret.
A month passed. Three people consumed far more than one. Though they tried to conserve, they were reaching the end of the line.
The World of Beasts was no easy place to survive.
It was a real world—but in another dimension. It definitely wasn't part of the solar system.
In the year 2717, after an age of extreme prosperity, humanity entered inevitable decline. Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn were overpopulated. Conflicts exploded: wealth inequality, class divides, political rivalries, international wars, underground syndicates, terrorism… Society boiled like a pressure cooker—until it finally blew.
War broke out first on Saturn, then spread to Jupiter, then Mars, and finally to Earth itself. The year-long war nearly obliterated the planets. Billions died—humanity lost a third of its population.
And as if things weren't bad enough, the aliens came.
Humanity had long passed the solar system's bounds in search of extraterrestrial life—without results. Yet the aliens showed up when no one expected.
The war transformed—from civil conflict to a fight for survival.
After ten brutal years, humanity finally drove the aliens away. But the cost was unimaginable. Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn were scarred beyond recognition. Radiation blanketed the planets. The population plummeted to less than a thousandth of its peak.
Technology regressed nearly to the Stone Age.
This conflict would later be known as The Doomsday War.
Three centuries later, humanity clawed its way back to 2717-era tech. But the planets themselves never fully recovered. Radiation still plagued vast regions. Mutations ran rampant. Beasts roamed freely. But even those weren't the worst problem.
After thousands of years of exploitation, the solar system's resources had run dry.
Humanity faced extinction not from war or disease—but from a total lack of resources.
Just as the rulers of the three empires prepared to launch the "Weeding Plan"—a purge to eliminate "useless" humans like slaves, the poor, and criminals—something unexpected happened.
The World of Beasts was discovered.
The failed "Black Hole Project," a joint experiment by the three empires, exploded during testing. Normally, that would mean failure. But this explosion created something else—an unstable gateway to another world.
A world filled with monsters.
And more importantly—resources. This new world had three times the raw materials the solar system once held.
It could sustain humanity for at least 300 more years.
Thus, the game Plunder was born.
Due to the failed nature of the black hole experiment, physical travel wasn't possible. No living being—or even objects—could pass through. Only one method worked: a game helmet, using brainwaves to connect to the other world. Players' consciousness was projected into the World of Beasts to create an exact human replica.
These replicas had the same stats as their real selves—same strength, same intelligence. The only difference? In that world, death wasn't final. You could respawn—but it would take time. For most, one month.
The game's biggest breakthrough: players could transport non-living items back to the real world through the wormhole. Not ideal—but enough.
Meat, plants, minerals—all could be extracted and sent to sustain humanity.
Liu Weian's thoughts drifted. But his pace quickened.
Ten minutes later, he stepped into a commercial zone. The lights and noise grew steadily louder.