As he listened to his younger brother Li Tiang's explanation, more doubts arose in Li Dong's heart, though he kept them to himself.
With just one side of the story, it was impossible for Li Dong to truly believe Li Tiang.
Moreover, if the higher-ups of various countries were aware, why had there been no official action taken so far?
Could it be that all the decision-makers in power had died?
Or were they simply letting it happen?
Neither scenario seemed plausible.
"Big brother, I know you have many questions. I'll explain them one by one," Li Tiang said, noticing the flicker of uncertainty on Li Dong's face.
He then went upstairs, returning with a backpack, from which he pulled out a laptop.
With practiced ease, he opened the laptop, powered it on, and the screen lit up.
Once the laptop booted up, Li Tiang sat in front of it, clicking through folders until a series of documents appeared on the screen.
Li Dong's heart sank as he read the text displayed—these were the so-called "proofs."
Most of them were screenshots, dated from two years prior, showing articles from media outlets, including official state media from certain countries—though none from their own.
One screenshot featured an article from an official media outlet of an organization called the Blue Sea Astronomical Society, based in Erosvar.
Erosvar was a mid-sized country, unremarkable in terms of territory, economy, military, or overall national strength, yet it had produced many renowned astronomers. Their Blue Sea Astronomical Society was particularly famous, having published numerous groundbreaking astronomical papers.
The article stated that they had observed a meteorite on a collision course with Blue Star and urged high-level officials worldwide to take it seriously.
Less than an hour after its publication, the article was deleted. The head of the Blue Sea Astronomical Society's website issued an apology, calling it a "major error."
Now, not a trace of the article remained online—no search results, no screenshots.
Not even on the dark web, or any other obscure corners of the internet.
Apart from this article, similar pieces had been published by smaller astronomical organizations, but without exception, all had been scrubbed.
These materials had only been collected by Li Tiang thanks to his Internal Network Access and technical skills.
Li Dong studied the screenshots. The writing style was formal, typical of official statements, and didn't appear fabricated.
"If the content here is true—if, as you say, a meteorite is going to hit Blue Star—why has there been no action from any country?" Li Dong asked.
"Oh, they've taken action. It's just that the vast majority of ordinary people like you and me wouldn't notice," Li Tiang sighed.
Who outside the highest echelons of government could truly know or perceive what a nation was really doing?
If you weren't part of the ruling class, how could you be sure the authorities weren't acting?
Besides, short-form videos had become too pervasive.
Most ordinary people were accustomed to fragmented, fast-paced, entertainment-driven stimuli. Even if someone stumbled upon an article or video about a meteorite hitting Blue Star...
As long as there was no official media report with significant authority, they would simply treat it as a joke, swipe past it, and move on to the next article or short video.
In his future memories, Li Tiang was technically a mid-level figure within the Great Xia's system, yet he still had no idea what actions the domestic authorities were taking.
Of course, this might have been because he was a researcher, with limited access to information channels—some messages were likely encrypted.
Moreover, at the time, Li Tiang was deeply involved in a major classified research project with his colleagues at the institute, called Artificial General Intelligence Testing, which left him largely disconnected from the outside world.
Great Xia was simply too vast, too expansive, with too large a population. Countless events unfolded daily, making it impossible to keep track of everything.
In this era of fragmented entertainment, who would pay attention to the subtle shifts in everyday society?
Even if ordinary people found out, they might just say "Oh" and move on without a second thought.
If the sky falls, the tall will hold it up—just focus on your own tasks.
When necessary, underground parking lots, civil defense projects, air-raid shelters, subway stations, underground shopping malls, natural caves, and more could all be repurposed into shelters.
But how would ordinary people know whether the government had initiated any such transformations?
"What about our country?" Li Dong's heart sank.
"Our country has taken action too, but on a smaller, more covert scale—mainly to avoid public panic. Additionally, the Far Star Union and the Polar Bear Federation have also made some moves."
"Perhaps these two superpowers believe current human technology can destroy or alter the trajectory of the meteorites heading for Blue Star, which is why they haven't taken it too seriously."
Li Tiang shared part of his speculation, though he himself didn't believe it.
Honestly, with current technology, directly destroying a meteorite nearly ten kilometers in diameter was practically impossible.
Even one just five kilometers across would be beyond reach.
And this time, it wasn't just one meteorite—several, each several kilometers in diameter, were hurtling toward Blue Star.
It was as if they were aiming to wipe out humanity on Blue Star.
Worse, these meteorites had seemingly emerged from some dark corner of space, undetected by any nation's deep-space radar or satellite probes.
By the time they were spotted, there was little time left for Blue Star's nations.
"If you still don't believe me, you can buy an optical or infrared telescope to observe for yourself. Those meteorites are getting closer—high-end civilian telescopes should be able to detect them by now." Seeing Li Dong's silence, Li Tiang pressed on.
"I'll buy one." At this moment, Li Dong's conviction truly wavered.
"Then, you'll support what I'm planning next, right?"
"I will. Where would be the safest place to build a shelter? Or should we just retrofit this villa?"
Li Dong asked.
"This villa isn't suitable for conversion into an underground shelter. Here's my proposed location for the future shelter." Li Tiang manipulated his computer and opened a satellite map thumbnail.
The location shown on the map was a town in the suburban county east of Dongjiang City. This place was once an industrial town but later declined due to various reasons. Now, it has completely fallen into disrepair, almost becoming a ghost town.
In Guangnan Province, with its population exceeding a hundred million, this was nearly unimaginable.
There was no helping it. In recent years, some industrial chains from coastal provinces had been relocating inland and westward. The migrant workers who had come here to scrape by for jobs and a living naturally followed as employment opportunities dwindled.
Meanwhile, the original residents of the town had already made decent money, either buying homes in the city to settle down or moving to the neighboring international metropolis.
Thus, the industrial town fell into decline.
The town was named Linjiang Town, covering a vast area of over a hundred square kilometers.
Acquiring such a large piece of land with money was practically impossible.
Of course, unless the apocalypse came and the locals fled to safer places—then it might be feasible.
"You're not expecting me to take over the entire town, are you?" Li Dong's expression darkened abruptly.
Even if he sold all the buildings, supermarkets, and factories he owned in Pengcheng, he still wouldn't be able to afford the entire town.
This was a piece of land spanning over a hundred square kilometers. No matter how cheap the price, the Li family couldn't afford it—let alone the subsequent renovations.
"Of course not. I want you to help me secure a village in Linjiang Town—this one, called Donghua Village," Li Tiang said, pointing to a village within Linjiang Town.
To the west of Donghua Village was the Dongjiang River, while mountains bordered its east and north, though none exceeded six or seven hundred meters in height. The arable land to the south was minimal.
As a result, Donghua Village had always had a small population, with only a few dozen households at its peak.
Now, there were likely no more than a dozen families left.
The village covered an area of just four to six square kilometers, most of which was mountainous. Acquiring it wouldn't be too difficult.
A few million would be enough—maybe even less.
"I'll try. I'll reach out to some of my father's old connections. It should be doable, but I can't guarantee a hundred percent success," Li Dong said after a moment of thought.