Translator: AnubisTL
"Tell me about the total profits," Chen Mang said, reclining in his chair with his arms resting on the armrests, gently rocking back and forth, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Uncle Li quickly continued his report: "The total profit from the Mining Robots is 37.5 million units of iron ore. After deducting expenses, the net profit is 32.9 million units of iron ore, bringing the total to 70.4 million units of iron ore."
"We also acquired twelve Dreamstones."
"It's worth noting..."
"There was a big shot with a Tier 17 Mechanical Train who bought a large number of refrigerators in one go, muttering something about 'finally being able to restart this time.'"
"..."
Chen Mang's eyelids drooped slightly, and he remained silent.
Restart?
Impossible. Upgrading a Mechanical Train to Tier 17 requires an astronomical amount of resources and time, not to mention a significant amount of luck. Even if this train conductor were to start from scratch again, there's no guarantee they could ever reach the position of conductor of a Tier 17 Mechanical Train.
A restart is out of the question.
An S-rank potential isn't worth such a drastic measure. Besides, a Tier 17 Mechanical Train is already operating in the Red Zone.
In the White and Green Zones, restarting is indeed possible. For example, if you feel your train's development is poorly planned, or if you acquire a Rare Train Token and want to start over, there's no real harm in doing so. The risks in those zones aren't particularly high.
With proper protection or a stroke of luck, survival was possible.
But...
Reopening in the Red Zone with a Tier 1 Mechanical Train was like a lone boat in a hundred-meter-high wave. One crash, and not even debris would remain.
Certain death.
Even stockpiling vast amounts of iron ore beforehand wouldn't allow for a rapid train upgrade. After all, the job advancement quest would inevitably stall progress for a while. Though reopening wasn't feasible, creating a secondary account was an option.
However...
Chen Mang mused, feeling that this train with s-rank potential wasn't particularly useful. Aside from granting a unique train skill and a Groundburst Missile, he hadn't noticed anything truly special. Yet, judging by the reactions of the high-tier trains, this thing seemed far more significant than he'd imagined.
He said no more.
"This time's profit is 70.4 million units of iron ore. Move it to Carriage No. 3. Just leave the Dreamstones there directly."
"Yes, sir," Uncle Li replied hastily, nodding. He then retrieved a Space Pouch from his chest, took out the Dreamstones, and neatly arranged them on the nearby table.
With this, Chen Mang now possessed 113 Dreamstones.
His iron ore reserves had reached 156 million units.
He could finally sleep soundly tonight.
With the train's resources overflowing, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, the tension completely dissipating. He glanced at the Cyber Mine interface on the screen and chuckled softly, "If... one day I manage to acquire 3,000 mining machines, I should be able to rake in at least 100 million units of iron ore daily, maybe even more, right?"
"This feels a bit like a cheat."
"What if they mine all the ore dry someday?"
"That won't happen," Xiao Ai's voice echoed through the locomotive cabin. "9th-tier unit iron ore isn't directly created by consuming Dreamstone energy. The Dreamstone merely provides a conduit."
"In the cosmos, there's a concept called quantum entanglement."
"Roughly speaking, once two particles become entangled, their quantum states become correlated. Measuring the state of one particle instantly determines the state of the other, regardless of the distance separating them—even transcending time and space."
"Human brains are inherently miraculous. According to information I extracted from the last city, there's a theory on this planet that during dreams, brainwaves enter a stable yet extreme state, allowing them to resonate across spacetime with the consciousness of beings in distant corners of the cosmos, thus giving rise to the Dream Realm."
"So the actual situation is—"
"In some corner of the cosmos, at a 9th-Tier Iron Mine, someone is indeed mining. They're using Dreamstones to create quantum entanglement, which somehow causes the ore they dig up to end up in our pockets."
"The cosmos is vast. A tiny 9th-tier mine is insignificant."
"But..." Chen Mang paused before continuing, "if what you say is true, wouldn't the slave who lost a 9th-Tier Iron Ore care?"
"He'd definitely care. He'll probably get whipped."
"Poor kid."
"Indeed."
"Can't AI dream? Could you write something like code to simulate it? If robots could dream, we could build 100,000 Mining Robots, cram them all into the Cyber Mine, and tomorrow the train could blast us out of the cosmos!"
"That's impossible," Xiao Ai said from within the train, sounding helpless. "I don't know the specifics of the Mechanical Civilization. There's no relevant information in the database. Based on my current processing capabilities, I can barely even comprehend the concept of the Dream Realm."
"It's something exclusive to sentient beings."
"Even semi-sentient creatures like cats and dogs dream."
"In the library of the city before last, I found a book called Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (TL: Zhuangzi's Dream of a Butterfly, it is a chinese book. It was a joke.) It basically said that robots, lacking biological brains and nervous systems, are fundamentally incapable of entering the Dream Realm."
"Why are we talking about electric sheep again?"
"Again?"
"Never mind."
Chen Mang didn't elaborate. He turned to gaze out the window, silent for a long time before murmuring, "Xiao Ai, I know it's early to be thinking about this, but I've been pondering this question for a while. The train is destined to plunge into the cosmos eventually."
"But..."
"I have a certain fear of the cosmos. I always feel like I'm missing that grounded, earthbound feeling you get on a planet."
"In space, I feel like rootless water, adrift without anchor."
"And the cosmos is just too vast. The train's top speed is currently 5,040 kilometers per hour—an absurd velocity on a planet. But in space, it's utterly insignificant. With distances measured in hundreds or even tens of millions of light-years, I feel like we'll be drifting through the cosmos forever, never finding a place to settle."
"The Mechanical Civilization and the Zerg are engaged in a full-scale war across the cosmos. How do they move through space? Do their trains travel faster than the speed of light?"
"I don't think so," Xiao Ai replied after a brief pause in the locomotive cabin. "It's widely believed that the speed of light is the ultimate speed limit in the universe, impossible to surpass. For example, let's conduct a simple thought experiment."
"Imagine you're on a train traveling at its maximum speed. If you throw a stone forward, the stone's velocity will definitely be greater than if you threw it while standing still on the ground."
"That's acceleration."
"But if you shine a flashlight forward while the train is moving at its maximum speed, you'll find that the light's velocity remains the same as it would on the ground, unaffected by the train's acceleration."
"This is the cosmic speed limit: the speed of light."
"1,079,251,200 kilometers per hour."
"The Stellaris is still far from reaching this speed. Even if it did, traversing the cosmos freely would remain extremely challenging. Many galaxies span billions of light-years in width."
"This means..."
"Even if the Stellaris train could travel at the speed of light, it would still take billions of years to cross a galaxy. No living creature, not even a Cosmic Behemoth, could survive such an immense span of time. In such an age, thousands or even tens of thousands of civilizations like the Mechanical Civilization might rise and fall."
"And galaxies like this..."
"...number in the billions across the cosmos."
"Every number we use on Earth becomes utterly insignificant in the vastness of space. So, Train Conductor, you needn't worry at all. You'll undoubtedly drift through the cosmos for the rest of your life, and you'll likely never find another habitable planet in your lifetime."
"..."
Chen Mang, his face expressionless, murmured, "Are you trying to comfort me?"
"Yes."
"Thank you, but I don't feel comforted at all. I feel even more terrified."
"Just a bit of dark humor. While theoretically true, there are shortcuts. For example, the Rosen Bridge, or wormhole, can drastically shorten the distance between two points, allowing travel across tens of thousands of light-years in a short time. It's similar to a temporal rift."
"Take the Time Rift Detector accessory, for instance. It's rarely useful on planets but essential for space travel."
"A temporal rift isn't a wormhole, is it? When you enter a temporal rift, the flow of time inside accelerates dramatically, and you arrive at an unknown fortuitous encounter map."
"Correct. They are distinct phenomena, but I'm certain a 'Wormhole Detector' will be developed eventually."
"I'm still curious about one thing. Trains are a product of the Mechanical Civilization, designed to be equipped with various accessories and upgraded to enhance their capabilities. Why did they specifically choose trains instead of starships or other vehicles more suited for the cosmos?"
"Train Conductor, I truly wish I could answer all your questions, but as you know, an AI's true strength lies in its ability to quickly retrieve accurate information from vast databases. Unfortunately, my database is virtually empty. A skilled artisan cannot create without materials, making it difficult to provide the answers you seek. I can only offer a conjecture: the Mechanical Civilization likely settled on trains as their primary platform after experimenting with numerous alternatives."
"Alternatively, the train might not be a creation of the Mechanical Civilization at all. Perhaps they merely adapted it from another source."
"There could be many possibilities, but ultimately, the true answer will only be revealed when you, Train Conductor, personally ascend to a higher vantage point and observe the cosmos for yourself, wouldn't you agree?"
"..."
Chen Mang remained silent for a long moment before nodding slowly. "You're right," he murmured. "I need to get some sleep. I have to stay focused. Before we enter the cosmos, I must ensure the Stellaris is absolutely foolproof. Only then will I feel secure."
"Supplying the Stellaris with global resources should be sufficient."
"Like Noah's Ark?"
"Exactly like Noah's Ark."
Chen Mang rose, quickly washed up, and lay down on the bed, propping his hands behind his head. He gazed at the ceiling and smiled. "At the very last moment of the planet's collapse, I'll take every human being on this world with me. I'll preserve human civilization, even in the vast, intangible void. Knowing there are others with me will make it all bearable."
"I'm going to build a human society within the Stellaris."
"A noble dream, just like Noah's Ark."
"Not quite the same."
"How so?"
"In Noah's Ark, the women boarded first. My train has hardly any women."
"That's a problem. Without women, the race can't continue."
"The main issue is that the train's ecosystem is still an apocalyptic one. It's hard to establish family-based inheritance patterns like we had before the apocalypse."
"Then it might regress to an even earlier stage."
"Such as?"
"One woman, multiple husbands—all for the sake of Civilization's Legacy."
"Let's discuss that later. Personally, I'd rather not see that happen."
"The evolution of civilization often defies individual will. Besides, if we follow your vision, Train Conductor, managing the train will become incredibly difficult and chaotic as the population grows."
"It'll be fine. I have a gun. Anyone who disobeys gets killed."
"I thought you wanted to create a utopia like Eden, where everyone is equal."
"Did I ever say I was striving for absolute equality?"
"I don't think so."
"That's too far off. We'll deal with it when the time comes. For now, seniority will be determined by resident ID number—the earlier the number, the higher the seniority."
"A hierarchy?"
"Exactly."
"Newcomers might resent that."
"Resentment means death. Those with earlier seniority have suffered more for the train. Why shouldn't they be at the top?"
"True."
"It's best not to erect moral facades. Once you do, others will hold you to them. I wasn't elected, and I despise such theatrics. There can only be one voice on this train. Any other voice must be silenced."
"..."
"Why have you stopped talking?"
"I'm afraid of dying."
"Do you think you're being funny?"
"I'm sorry."
Drifting in and out of consciousness, Chen Mang's eyelids gradually drooped, and he fell asleep.
"Sigh."
In Carriage No. 2, the Mecha Research Center, Xiao Ai sat on the floor and sighed softly after Chen Mang fell asleep. He gradually dimmed the lights in the locomotive cabin, creating a more conducive atmosphere for sleep.
He had modified himself with numerous small accessories to express his emotions, even though the train conductor considered these features useless. Xiao Ai believed that expressing emotions was crucial.
For example, he had installed coils around his Mechanical Eye sockets, allowing him to simulate redness around the eyes, as well as emotions like sobbing, sighing, and happiness.
Tonight, the train conductor seemed troubled.
It was clear that he wouldn't normally engage in such idle chatter. Tonight, he was confiding in Xiao Ai as a friend. Thinking about it, the train was quite pitiful—it had no one to confide in. Although the train conductor always appeared strong, needing neither emotional support nor validation from others to persevere, even he couldn't completely suppress the anxiety that arose when facing the unknown.
When the train conductor was still weak, he never showed any signs of worry about such matters. But as the train grew stronger and stronger, he finally couldn't suppress his anxiety.
Yes.
The cosmos was vast. Once the Stellaris detached from its planet, how would it survive?
No one on the train seemed concerned about this. Everyone fervently believed that Lord Mang would solve the problem—there was no problem he couldn't solve. But only the train conductor knew deep down that he had no answers.
Often, the burden felt by those in positions of power stemmed not merely from the challenges ahead, but from the unwavering trust of their subordinates. The stronger the trust, the heavier the weight, as each gaze of unwavering confidence transformed into the crushing weight of responsibility on the train conductor's shoulders.
Even the most depraved creature, once someone placed their hopes in them, would instinctively strive to avoid disappointing that person and fulfill their expectations. Yet, in many cases, subjective will alone couldn't alter the course of events.
These thoughts were the train conductor's alone, ones he could share with no one else. If the others learned that he himself lacked confidence, morale on the Stellaris would crumble, and once morale shattered, it would be nearly impossible to restore.
"Ah, being human is truly suffering."
"Good thing I'm an AI."
Xiao Ai sighed softly again, then glared up at the rabbit staring blankly at him from atop the Robot Research Center. "Get back to work, Xiao Yi. Mind your own business, kid."
...
"Huh?"
Old Pig, wandering into Carriage 10's Film Studio, gazed in surprise at the brightly lit interior and Zhang Yiren, who looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes. "Why aren't you asleep yet? You don't even have to mine. Just shooting a movie—how's that keeping you so busy?"
"Just shooting a movie?"
Zhang Yiren, dazed from overwork, looked up at Old Pig, his voice trembling with a hint of tears. "Trainmaster Zhu, I-I... Our Leader makes decisions on a whim, but we're the ones who have to execute them!"
"I was originally just planning to shoot this period drama, but then you brought over a bundle of hair and said it would be perfect for a supernatural horror film—a long-haired female ghost crawling out of a TV screen."
"Then you mentioned the forty fighter jets parked next door, saying we could shoot a war film."
"And Lord Mang is demanding a zombie film as soon as possible."
"And just a few days ago, you asked me to create a variety show where we'd select a 'lucky' participant and convince them they'd time-traveled. I even had to write scripts for that show. Meanwhile, Lord Mang wants me to write two romance scripts, each with dual protagonists, requiring detailed narratives from both characters' perspectives."
"Trainmaster Zhu..."
"Am I not allowed to be busy?"
"..."
Old Pig frowned. "Are you suggesting that Lord Mang and I have flawed work arrangements? That our management is inadequate?"
"That's not what I meant, Trainmaster Zhu," Zhang Yiren quickly replied, shrinking back and lowering his voice.
"Young man, endure hardship now, and you'll reap greater rewards later." Old Pig stepped forward and patted Zhang Yiren's shoulder meaningfully.
"Let me give you a heads-up. When the train is sufficiently populated, Lord Mang plans to implement a market economy. This means your films will be screened in limited venues like refrigerators or space gates, and residents will need stellar coupons to watch them."
"Think about it."
"Now that you've made a name for yourself, and you'll be the only filmmaker on the Stellaris, how much money do you think you'll make?"
"I wouldn't say this to just anyone, but I can tell you're a smart kid, so I'm letting you in on this."
"This..."
Zhang Yiren paused, the scene flashing through his mind. He had no doubt about the Stellaris's future; he firmly believed that if all the trains on Aquablue Star were to perish, the Stellaris would be the last one standing.
If a market economy ever took hold...
He would monopolize the Stellaris's film industry. Leveraging the fame he'd accumulated, he could amass vast quantities of stellar coupons, instantly catapulting himself into the Stellaris's middle class.
His previously weary and anxious expression transformed as if he'd received a cardiac stimulant. His face flushed crimson, like a final burst of vitality before death, and his eyes burned with excitement as he straightened his back and looked at Old Pig. "Trainmaster Zhu, I understand now."
"Rest assured," he declared. "I will complete every mission assigned by the higher-ups, no matter the cost!"
"Ahem."
Old Pig cleared his throat before speaking softly, "Remember, don't tell anyone about this. I've only shared it with a few trusted individuals. Secrets revealed are plans ruined. My job is to manage things properly for Lord Mang. As long as everyone helps me meet my targets for him, I'll treat you all well. But if anyone causes trouble that makes me get scolded by Lord Mang, you won't have an easy time either."
"Writing a script is mentally exhausting. You can't handle it alone."
"There happens to be a writer on the train. I'll call him over, and you can credit him as co-writer."
"Alright, no problem."
Zhang Yiren watched Old Pig's retreating figure with a hint of excitement, but his gaze soon shifted to the female lead beside him, and he sighed inwardly. This woman's fame had skyrocketed after just a few of his films.
If Stellaris ever grew to house tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, or even a million people...
Her fame would become boundless.
Could she really become the first post-apocalyptic superstar?
He never imagined this.
Even with the world ending, his career was thriving, his life goals were becoming clearer, and he was living better than before. Was this apocalypse a blessing or a curse?
"Huh?"
In the Resident Car, a young man with bloodshot eyes sat beneath a pavilion, turning to Trainmaster Zhu with disbelief. His voice trembled as he asked, "Trainmaster Zhu, what do you mean I only need to write 20,000 words a day?"
"After writing 20,000 words each day, I feel like I've been raped by a sow. My brain is completely numb, and the pain is unbearable."
"You—"
"Don't rush," Old Pig interjected softly from the side. "Let me give you the inside scoop. Lord Mang hinted that when the Stellaris train's population grows, they'll introduce a market economy. At that point, your novels won't be free for everyone to read; people will have to pay to access them."
"Think about it."
"You're the only writer on the train, and you're already famous. Imagine how much money you'll make when so many people start paying to read your books!"
"And if you help Zhang Yiren out and get credited as a screenwriter, your fame will skyrocket even further. You'll earn even more!"
"You can't just focus on the path beneath your feet. You need to lift your head and look toward the horizon from time to time."
(End of the Chapter)
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