In the Green Pheasant Country, within a simply furnished studio apartment, sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, casting jagged shadows upon the floor. The air was thick with the light fragrance of wood shavings and the scent of grain.
A twenty-one-year-old woman sat before her computer, her left hand propping up her chin while her right hand's slender fingers gently stroked a silver-fox dwarf hamster curled on a soft pad. The hamster, named "Pudding," squinted its eyes in enjoyment, its snow-white belly rising and falling slightly with its breath.
On the computer screen, a webpage titled "Spirit Realm Forum" flickered with a ghostly glow. The headline of the stickied post was particularly eye-catching: [In-depth Analysis: Uncovering the Spiritual Slaughter Behind the So-called "Bio-Brainwave Audio"]. The click-through rate of this post had climbed to a terrifying ten-billion level; almost everywhere on the Blue Planet with internet access, people were discussing it. The account name of the poster was clearly written as "Rodent Lover," with a small system tag next to it: [Self].
The woman watched the back of the energetic young girl on the live broadcast—Qinghong—and a sense of relief, like that of an old friend, surfaced in her eyes. "It seems the little one is truly doing well," the woman whispered, a relieved smile gracing her lips. "Now I can be at peace."
During the darkest days of the laboratory, she had been the intern who secretly fed the test mice fodder and sugar in the blind spots of the surveillance cameras. She once thought it was merely useless pity, never imagining that those insignificant acts of kindness would eventually converge into the fuse that brought the descent of the Deity.
"Squeak!"
Pudding suddenly let out two cries, its small black-bead eyes staring straight at the woman, its nose twitching as if it had caught the scent of a craving. Returning to her senses, the woman tapped its forehead and laughed softly, "I know, you glutton. It hasn't even been two hours since lunch."
She rose and walked to a sealed cabinet high on the wall. Inside were neatly stacked rows of expensive organic feed. She took out an exquisite glass jar with a label that read: [House Special: Organic Candy for Rodents]. This was a special reward she received for her "Saving Karma" during the Great Asset Migration of the Blue Planet, and she was now starting her own pet brand era. She poured out a pink candy smelling of strawberries and held it to Pudding's mouth. The little fellow immediately stood upright, holding the candy with two small paws and crunching away, its cheeks bulging like two small balls.
Sitting back down, the woman's gaze deepened. She knew this world was undergoing a cleansing more thorough than any nuclear war.
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Bald Eagle Nation, West Coast, Dorokora.
The once-bustling pier now resembled the abandoned skeleton of a giant beast. Jack leaned against the rusted door of his off-road vehicle, an unlit cigar in his mouth, clutching an electromagnetic railgun. He was a veteran agent, once a cold-blooded killer, but now his mission was to protect a group of volunteers feeding milk to stray cats in the ruins. It sounded absurdly comical, but in the current B.E.N., it was the only logic for survival.
Jack glanced down at his mechanical watch. Due to the "Collapse of Physical Logic," the originally precise atomic clocks had long since been scrapped; these old-fashioned spring-driven watches had instead become hard currency. An hour ago, the gravitational constant here was still jumping erratically like an EKG, causing two helicopters attempting low-altitude patrols to crash into scrap metal. But now, the air seemed to have quieted.
"Boss, look!" his assistant pointed excitedly at the sky.
The pitch-black "Karmic Rifts" that once shrouded Santa Monica were starting to thin. The building rebar that had been slowly decomposing stopped turning into sand.
"The logic collapse... is slowing down?" Jack spat out his cigar.
This was the result of the petition by all humanity. In the broadcast just now, every winner from the B.E.N. had simultaneously launched a petition to "Preserve the Motherland." This was something even the B.E.N. high command had not expected; the President had even been moved to tears because of it.
However, this "deceleration" was not uniform. In the "sin-heavy" port city where they were currently located, the collapse had merely changed from "once every minute" to "once every two hours." Gravity would still occasionally fail, causing people drinking water to choke to death. Yet, in some inland towns that had never participated in the development of biological laboratories, physical logic had miraculously returned to normal, as if the Deity had already removed those areas from the "Cleansing List".
"It's not science at all," Jack sneered, wiping the cold sweat from his face. "It's a goddamn 'election.' Whoever saves more cats gets stable gravity. The world has gone mad."
Yet, he had to admit that this insane logic was the only thing leaving a sliver of breathing room for this dying civilization.
In Live Room E, Qinghong watched the surging data with a playful glint in her eyes. She knew that one-sided charity wouldn't truly change these greedy mortals; they had to be fitted with the heaviest "Shackles of Hope."
"Everyone, now that you've made your wishes, do you feel better?" Qinghong giggled, unconsciously twining a strand of hair around her finger, her tone turning teasing. "But don't forget—besides the glittering rankings up here, there is another hidden list in your actual sky!"
At these words, people all over the Blue Planet looked up as if waking from a dream. In national capitals—the Long Nation, the B.E.N., Green Pheasant Country—countless people rubbed their eyes or aimed high-powered telescopes.
High above the iridescent halo of Live Room E, in the highest reaches of the clouds, transparent threads were weaving together like a gargantuan, empty chessboard.
"That is the [Enfeoffment List of Myriad Souls], prepared for the animals you have rescued or loved," Qinghong's voice suddenly became high and majestic. "It is their wish list. Only when their love and trust for their owners reach a critical point—the stronger their wish, the higher they climb!"
"Once on the list, they receive divine empowerment and can even provide feedback to their owners—extending your lifespan, or placing your home within a permanent 'Karmic Protection Circle'." She paused, smiling. "And more importantly, extending the expiration date of your Orange Orbs."
A deathly silence fell over the planet, followed by a mountain-toppling uproar.
—[Wait, the orbs have an expiration date?]
—[Qing-Bao, how do we know how much time is left?]
Qinghong kept them in suspense this time. "Don't be anxious, family. Soon... everyone will know!"
In an old residential area of the Long Nation, fifty-year-old Old Zhang—a typical "tough guy" who was the boss at work and a stoic at home—sat frozen. He had a secret: he had adopted a stray Pekingese with a broken tail named "Potato."
He looked down at Potato, who was crouching by his feet, wagging that stump of a tail. Nearby, his neighbor, a wealthy CEO named Li, was screaming as he ran home: "Quick! Buy the best Wagyu! I need to feed my Caesar!"
Old Zhang didn't run. He sat down and used his rough hands to pick up Potato, burying his weathered face in the dog's dusty fur.
"Girl..." Old Zhang's voice choked up, carrying a humble plea. "Whether our family makes it through this reckoning... whether your mom's illness gets cured... it's all up to you now."
Potato seemed to sense her owner's unease. She didn't hide; instead, she used her warm tongue to gently lick the tears from the corner of Old Zhang's eyes.
At that moment, the most absurd yet tender scene erupted globally: business tycoons, hardened men, and cynical youths all humbled themselves, picking up their cats, dogs, hamsters, or even spiders.
"Baby, please, think of something good. Think well of me."
"If you get on that list, I'll wash you every day and feed you meat every meal!"
The fate of humanity had been placed entirely into the hands of creatures they once viewed as "toys."
Back in Live Room E, Qinghong watched this spectacle of sentient beings. "Remember," she whispered like a demon's murmur, "the intuition of animals is the sharpest. Whether you truly love them or are just acting to 'get on the list,' they know better than anyone."
"Hypocritical love only brings—[Execution of the Betrayer]."
Off-camera, the Blue Phoenix let out a clear cry. On the transparent list in the sky, the first row of golden characters began to emerge: the names of a small boy and a disabled stray dog.
The true "Great Era" had just begun.