Chapter One: Phytolacca

Here we go again—another drill.

Never a moment’s peace.

Shang Lu glanced at the message on his phone, switched off the screen, and slipped it back into his pocket. He looked up and asked, “Mister, with all these drills every day, doesn’t it bother the locals?”

“You get used to it,” the taxi driver replied in a leisurely Chongqing accent. “It’s just the air-raid siren going off now and then, telling us to stay indoors. Treat it like fireworks.”

The car jolted as it rolled over a speed bump. Shang Lu turned to gaze outside—they were nearing the seventh hairpin turn on the mountain road. On one side, a concrete embankment taller than a person; on the other, dense and lush vegetation. Nanshan’s average elevation was four hundred meters, and from the winding road, one could faintly make out the skyscrapers of downtown Chongqing, shrouded in a thin haze—Chongqing was a city of perpetual fog.

That’s what Shang Lu thought.

There were no pedestrians or other vehicles in sight. The driver said you’d hardly ever meet anyone heading up the mountain all year round—maybe an army officer on official business, now and then. Who would come up here these days?

Beyond the mountain was the front line.

Officially, it was called the “Tier Three Contact Buffer Zone,” but to ordinary people, it was simply the front line.

“It’s hard to get a taxi up here—I waited over half an hour.”

“Well, of course. Coming from the West Station, there’s never any cars. There’s more traffic around Jiefangbei or Guanyinqiao, but once you cross the river, there’s nothing. No one lives on this side anymore,” the driver said. “Everyone’s left. All gone.”

“So, why haven’t you left?” Shang Lu asked.

“If I left, who’d drive the taxi?” The driver sounded a touch proud, then his voice fell again. “You’re from Chengdu, aren’t you? What do you think—does Chengdu have it better than Chongqing?”

“Not necessarily,” Shang Lu replied. “But Chengdu’s at the rear, it’s safer.”

“Safe, my foot.” The driver snorted. “Let me tell you, Chongqing is the safest place there is. You want to know why? Let me break it down. First, Chongqing is humanity’s last stronghold. If it falls, the entire Sichuan Basin falls. That’s why our defenses are the strongest. Why do you think there are so many military bases up here on Nanshan? To protect the people, of course. If something happens to Chongqing, nobody can escape. If nothing happens, there’s no need to run. The most dangerous place is the safest place.”

He made a fair point.

Even at the end of the world, a taxi driver’s professionalism remained intact.

The car bumped again over another buffer strip. In the distance, both the driver and Shang Lu could see a guard post by the roadside, a red-and-white barrier arm, and a young soldier in green camouflage waving them down.

The driver slowly turned the wheel and pulled over by the roadside. The soldier came up and tapped on the window, leaning in to ask, “Where to?”

“Dropping someone off at One-Five-One!” The driver handed over his license, then pointed to Shang Lu in the back seat. “He’s from your unit.”

“Comrade, your documents.”

The soldier saluted.

Flustered, Shang Lu dug through his backpack for his entry permit and assignment papers, passing them through the window.

“Shang Lu, Technical Specialist, Institute of Automation, Chinese Academy of Sciences, assigned to the 151st Support Base. Reporting today.”

The soldier checked the documents, returned them, raised the barrier, and let them pass. Shang Lu leaned out the window for one last look— the young, slender figure still stood there, facing the empty mountain road, all alone.

Once past the checkpoint, there was nothing else to stop them. The taxi climbed steadily upward, flanked by abandoned, dilapidated houses. The windows were black and unlit, the sills coated with thick dust. These houses had stood empty for years, gradually reclaimed by animals and plants. Before the Descent, Nanshan had been a famous scenic spot, with villages dotting the slopes. But now, no one lived here—all had been relocated, and even the signature spring chicken dishes had vanished with the people.

Shang Lu turned his head to the other side, looking west through the window.

“Mister, can I ask you something? You’ve been in Chongqing so long—have you ever seen…”

“You mean the angels, or the colossi?”

“Both.”

“Both, yes.”

“When?”

“Yesterday,” the driver said offhandedly. “I saw one when I was driving up to the botanical garden. It was far away, but huge—really huge—lying on a trailer. Didn’t they announce a drill? Every time there’s a drill, they haul that thing out for a spin. I’d say it’s as tall as dozens of stories. Red, with four arms. They call it the Red Lotus. You’re one of those Academy prodigies—tell me, can that thing really move?”

“No idea. I’ve never driven one.”

“You’ll get to see it for yourself. The Red Lotus is at One-Five-One—you’ll definitely run into it. Straight out of school and off to the front line—impressive, young man… I envy you kids, young and capable.” The driver smacked his lips, genuine envy in his voice. “I’m no good at that stuff, so I just drive cabs in the city.”

“What’s there to envy?”

“If you had the choice—driving a taxi, or piloting a colossus—which would you pick?”

Shang Lu was silent for several seconds. He didn’t answer. In an age when humanity’s defeat seemed inevitable, it was hard to say which held more meaning.

If he had to choose, why not drive a colossus as a taxi?

Shang Lu turned his gaze outward again. He couldn’t see beyond the mountain, but rumors had been circulating lately that a Seraph had been spotted nearby. Everyone had received drill notifications from the war zone command, which likely meant the rumors were true—another Seraph had descended.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best time for a first assignment.

Who knows, on his very first day, Shang Lu might become the 6,418,674,321st person to die in a Seraph incursion—not even a nice, round number.

Looking at it that way, those who died on round numbers were the lucky ones.

But when would there ever be a good time for a first assignment? This was an absurd era, with humans piloting colossi to defend cities and angels wandering the wastelands. If it weren’t really happening, Shang Lu would have thought all of humanity was trapped in some bizarre, endless nightmare, where every day was worse than the last.

So be it. If he died, he’d be a martyr, and his name would be carved on a gravestone in the botanical garden’s martyr cemetery:

“August 27, 1992—August 26, 2016.”

Suddenly, Shang Lu remembered that tomorrow was his birthday, and dismissed the thought.

He couldn’t die tomorrow.

The taxi continued its climb. Shang Lu looked ahead—tomorrow he would turn twenty-four. He had managed to survive another year in this world, and he hoped his twenty-fourth birthday would be a decent new beginning. At the very least, he hoped the 151st Support Base would be a halfway presentable birthday gift from fate.

The car jolted again over a speed bump.

Shang Lu counted silently in his heart.

This was the twenty-second hairpin on the road up the mountain.