Chapter 885: The Enigmatic Rise of the Technology Church

After the Red Moon Incident, the mysterious Technology Church emerged on this land—a former powerhouse once considered on par with the Moon Eclipse Research Institute. Bearing the word “Technology” in its name, it seemed to champion scientific principles, yet its true nature was chilling and enigmatic, revealing a horrifying truth beneath its normal facade.

Take, for example, a common lamp—a simple object meant to bring comfort and familiarity.

But the lamps crafted by the Technology Church possessed an uncanny ability to mesmerize and drive people to lose all reason.

In earlier times, the Technology Church ran rampant and brash. It dispatched missionaries far and wide to round up scattered settlements and vagrants across the land, gathering them in batches to be taken south. Sometimes, even the High-wall City wasn’t spared.

The southern Qinggang area once became a prime target, with countless residents abducted en masse.

At its inception, the Technology Church made an impression by clad figures in white robes, clutching luminous crystal balls as they marched forward. Everywhere they passed, those who encountered them seemed hypnotized, abandoning everything to follow.

Mysterious, insane, distant—and yet, as if ready to appear at any moment right before your eyes…

That was the enduring image of the Technology Church.

However, in recent years—accurately speaking, starting about a decade ago—the Technology Church’s style underwent a sudden transformation.

They grew even more enigmatic and powerful, yet became far more low-key.

Big, world-shaking maneuvers became rare, and they virtually disappeared from public view, lurking quietly in the south.

No one could explain why the Technology Church changed so abruptly.

Yet everyone knew that this transformation had indeed worked in its favor—even if few still dared to treat them as enemies.

It lingered in people’s memories, though it seemed to have been mostly forgotten.

……

……

Logically, the Technology Church should have many members.

After all, ten years ago it frantically scavenged populations across the globe, amassing terrifying numbers.

Yet, upon entering the radiation zone of the Technology Church, Lu Xin only encountered vast emptiness.

A sprawling wasteland lay before him—with not even the abandoned villages and towns of old in sight. Only a raw, primitive blue blanketed the earth, occasionally interrupted by a farm or a neatly paved road, but these were few and far between. It hardly felt like a place named for technology at all.

Moving further ahead, he spotted curved iron tracks suspended in mid-air.

They stretched out like enormous strands of silk, interweaving across the vast wasteland before bundling together and extending under the white clouds toward a glittering metropolis in the distance—a massive, disk-shaped city with a huge central core encircled by dozens of smaller rings.

This was the Main City and its satellite cities—a layout familiar to everyone after the Red Moon Incident.

Yet now, even Lu Xin and his classmates, seasoned wanderers of southern and northern lands alike, had never seen such a grand Main City or so many Satellite Cities. Their concept of a city was subtly elevated to a new level.

The City of Life.

Within the radiating influence of the Technology Church lay the largest High-wall City.

In a sense, it was not only the core of the Technology Church but also its testing ground.

A colossal metropolis supporting over a hundred million inhabitants.

Many had heard of it before, but seeing it with one’s own eyes was utterly staggering.

Chug, chug, chug…

The Ghost Train barreled onto the aerial tracks, its haunting whistle echoing as it headed straight for the City of Life. Being a product of the mental realm, the Ghost Train deliberately emitted its own mental radiation so that ordinary onlookers could spot it from afar; otherwise, it would have felt like some strange creature silently infiltrating an unseen place.

Lu Xin didn’t like that one bit.

Since this was a proper gathering, he and his classmates had arrived openly and upright.

Of course, releasing its radiation early meant that after the Ghost Train passed, the air twisted in eerie waves.

Its imposing presence radiated formidable intimidation, appearing as if it meant business.

“Ha… ha… ha…”

As the Ghost Train sped along the tracks, far ahead the Steel Drawbridge connecting the City of Life to the tracks began to react. Rough, grating alarm sounds blared as numerous red lights flashed warnings to the city’s armed defenders.

A massive metallic fortress slowly rotated its gargantuan gun barrels, fixing their aim on the Ghost Train.

“Don’t panic. We’re not hostile—we’re here to see our teacher,”

whispered someone inside the train as the passengers paled before the pitch-black gun barrels.

Number Fourteen suddenly raised his head and spoke into the air in front of him.

He talked from the train compartment, yet even the Life City’s defensive squad some tens of kilometers away heard him. They held their fire until the Ghost Train drew ever nearer. Meanwhile, the fortress units remained steadfast at the city gate. As the two sides approached, the tension mounted as if gasoline was about to ignite.

“Let them in!”

At that peak of tension, right near the Steel Drawbridge, a middle-aged man clad in a black cap—his armband marking him as the drawbridge’s overseer—spoke in a low, commanding tone.

Instantly, the city guards exchanged uncertain glances before gradually retracting their defensive measures.

The stern, indifferent overseer then turned around and, with a cigar perched in his mouth, glanced coldly up at the train.

Then he suddenly grinned, “Remember me?”

……

……

Everyone aboard the train now stood up, craning their necks to peer out at the figures below the Steel Drawbridge, exchanging looks of bewilderment.

In that moment, Lu Xin’s eyes fixed on a tall, robust sergeant who sported a face incongruous with his build—two faces superimposed: one stern and unyielding, the other chillingly sarcastic.

Number Seven.

Even if others couldn’t see him as clearly as Lu Xin, they surely had their own ways of recognizing him.

Everyone nearly recognized the man.

Yet despite the recognition, an awkward tension lingered.

He was someone with whom they had grown up, but Number Seven had always been markedly individual and unconventional. As children planning an escape, she had once betrayed them by informing the Old Director, and even back in the orphanage, she kept her distance, leaving little room for affection—in fact, only mutual disdain remained.

She was the traitor of the orphanage, yet also the one who willingly stayed by the side of the Old Director.

Still, she remained one of their classmates.

Every child from the orphanage recalled her silhouette whenever they reminisced.

Amid such conflicted emotions, Lu Xin stood up.

He glanced at Number Seven, who stood beneath the Steel Drawbridge, a cigar in her mouth, and gave a slight nod.

“Where’s the Orphanage Director?”

“…”

Number Seven slightly tilted her head, looked at Lu Xin, and gave a gentle shake of her head.

Meeting his steady gaze, she appeared completely unfazed by his cool detachment and the underlying danger, and instead, a smile slowly emerged on her face.

Conversely, her expression brightened with warmth.

“If you want to kill me, hold on—I’m here to pick you all up…”

She suddenly burst into laughter, then got up and boarded the Ghost Train.

She brushed past Lu Xin and slipped into the carriage; her teasing glance swept slowly over everyone as she shook her head with a smile, “I hadn’t expected everyone to show up so well. I originally planned to have you transfer to my train for the pickup, but seeing how many things you’ve prepared, I’ve changed my mind…”

Her eyes casually scanned the interior of the train.

There lay everyone’s luggage—like a section of carriage belonging to Number Five, Sister’s belongings, and other assorted items.

All of these were gifts for the Orphanage Director.

Number Seven observed all this with nonchalance, paying little heed, and casually sat down on a seat.

Smiling, she said, “Let’s go. I’ll take you there.”

All eyes turned to Lu Xin, who met Number Seven’s gaze and nodded.

Had he encountered Number Seven before, he might have attacked outright.

But now, before meeting the Old Director, Lu Xin had to hold back—this wasn’t a good moment to act.

“What a pity…”

As the Ghost Train sped past the Steel Drawbridge and, guided by Number Seven, entered a light rail heading for Satellite City Number 12, she smiled wryly. In the silent carriage, breaking the calm, she addressed the group:

“After all, we grew up together. Haven’t any of you had something to say after all these years?”

“…”

Most inside the carriage remained silent, unsure how to respond to her enthusiasm.

After a while, Number Five finally let out a chuckle and said, “What are you saying?”

“It’s a shame to see you still alive, isn’t it?”

“…”

Number Seven giggled a few times, then turned to Number Five and said, “You’re still as infuriating as ever.”

She then turned again, letting her eyes sweep over everyone in the carriage as she remarked, “I know none of you like me.”

“But that’s fine—I don’t like you either.”

“…”

The group exchanged glances, and gradually, smiles began to appear, nods and admiring looks directed at Number Seven.

Her frank attitude put everyone at ease.

“Number Seven, I heard you went rogue in the wasteland to become a bandit?”

“What about joining the Knights? And how’s business after all these years? Got a few billion to invest in my new drug research project?”

“Bah! Not even a few billion. How on earth did you manage all these years…?”

“I recall the Old Director used to find you rather troublesome. Any better now?”

“…”

Number Seven calmly sat back down, a slight smile on her face as the aroma of her cigar filled the carriage:

“I’m truly useless—really.”

“Back then, betraying your ridiculous escape plan didn’t earn me any reward.”

“I died once just like you, only to come back to life.”

“I never left the Old Director’s side, but I gained nothing—instead, he controlled me ever more strictly. I used to be able to kill anyone I wished; now, even killing requires an application. Can you imagine?”

“Sigh, after so many years of serving him, nothing ever changes for me. He even treats the newcomers better than he does me.”

“You all are fortunate—leaving the Old Director at the right moment…”

“Some have infiltrated the upper echelons of the High-wall City. Some have set up respectable families. Some, who once barely passed most subjects back in the orphanage, now even manage to conduct scientific research. Ha…”

“But if you’re all doing so well, why is it that now, upon nearing the Director, you’re all so tense?”

“After years on the run, why does one word from the Director bring you all back?”

“Hehe, in recent years I do sometimes think of you. I wonder—what’s the biggest difference between you and me?”

“Why does the Director sometimes seem to favor some of you over me?”

“But I now understand—perhaps there isn’t much difference after all. Just like those of you who once wanted to escape or rebel against the Director and have now returned, the hope of breaking free may be greater than the chance of remaining controlled.”

“……”

“……”

Amid the warm and friendly chatter of long-lost classmates, Lu Xin gazed out the train window.

What met his eyes was the bustling prosperity of the City of Life.

It was beyond anything Lu Xin had imagined, a city so normal in its vibrancy.

Normal to an absurd degree.

After the Red Moon Incident, even cities like Qinggang City and Central City bore a tinge of decay, but the City of Life thrived—endless streams of people, towering skyscrapers, and countless lives moving along their separate tracks.

If one must choose a descriptor, this city gave Lu Xin the feeling of returning to the pre–Red Moon Incident era.

Back in the orphanage, the Old Director would regale them with tales of that bygone era—of opulence, abundance, stability, and order, with endless entertainment and delights.

Those repeated stories left every orphan yearning for such a life—a fixation on the pre-civilization days.

All of them were born after the Red Moon Incident.

Yet the Director’s teachings had left an indelible mark reminiscent of those earlier times.

That mark formed an instinct, a gut feeling.

And so, when Lu Xin beheld the City of Life, he couldn’t help but feel something profound stir within him.

This place resembled the bygone era rather than a world under the Red Moon.

Was it because the Technology Church’s advancement had resurrected the brilliance of the old days, or

was it the Director’s influence shaping the city’s development?

Lu Xin’s emotions became tangled. Without the Director’s factor, he would have unabashedly confessed—

he adored this city and the life it represented.

It even surpassed the fondness he once felt for Qinggang…

……

……

“Toot-toot-toot-toot…”

As the Ghost Train barreled along the light rail and charged into Satellite City Number 12 of the City of Life, its unique mental radiation set off a chain reaction. The streetlights around it inexplicably turned red as the train approached.

Drones resembling small disc-shaped objects flew out from surrounding office buildings, forming neat rows to block the train’s path.

Although Number Seven had helped Lu Xin and the others bypass the first line of defense at the Steel Drawbridge, her method of issuing orders while inhabiting the Commander’s body still couldn’t fool the City of Life’s defense system. As soon as the Ghost Train entered the satellite city, the second layer of alarms was triggered—the drones began to condense blue electrical arcs.

Inside the train, everyone was taken aback. Was this yet another trap?

The thought of the Old Director resorting to such a simple trick was unthinkable.

Yet Number Seven remained as calm as ever, firmly seated as drones swarmed around her.

Then came an unexpected turn: the drones scanned the Ghost Train, then all simultaneously retreated along their original paths, returning to the buildings like birds returning to their roost at dusk.

Meanwhile, changes were visible among the people outside the train.

Everyone in this city—whether on the streets, in moving vehicles, atop towering office buildings, or even those sweeping the roadside—straightened their backs, their eyes fixed on the approaching Ghost Train. Gradually, expressions softened, and smiles began to spread as they waved gently.

Looking around, one could see people everywhere halting their tasks to wave in friendly greeting.

This scene was both heartwarming and eerie.

“It’s alright,”

Number Seven explained with a smile to quell the confusion among the passengers, “It’s just an old friend dropping by to say hello.”

Old friend?

Silence fell over the carriage, though puzzled looks were impossible to hide.

Number Seven did not offer further explanation. Instead, she stood up slowly and said, “The Old Director’s home is just ahead.”

“Really, here?”

Everyone stood up and craned their necks to peer out the windows.

They had reached a modest, somewhat rundown residential area on the edge of a satellite city. Strangely, despite having witnessed the dazzling prosperity of the Main City in the City of Life and the vibrant spots in the satellite city—along with numerous secure military installations—they found themselves before an almost ordinary, even shabby place.

“So, the Old Director lives here?”

Not only does he live in the satellite city, but apparently everyone there resides in such unremarkable conditions.

“Are you planning to haul all these ‘gifts’ upstairs?”

Number Seven was the first to disembark. In a clumsy stumble, she fell to the ground. Soon, a woman emerged from the community—a lady in a cropped top with a band of menacing scars around her waist, clad in camouflage pants with gleaming high boots. This was the true form of Number Seven.

She wrapped both arms around herself, wearing a smile that was both enigmatic and sardonic as she regarded Lu Xin and his companions.

“No need…”

After a moment of contemplation, Lu Xin shook his head and suggested a plan to his classmates.

He was the first to step off the train. Almost immediately, he paused at the entrance of the community, then turned back to the convenience store by the gate.

He bought some fruit.

“Let’s go.”

Feeling that at least a little preparation was warranted, he smiled and said to Number Seven.

Number Seven gave Lu Xin a slightly odd look. After a moment, she remarked, “No wonder the Old Director likes you so much.”

The group followed Number Seven into the community, their unease growing with each step deeper inside.

They instinctively scanned the surroundings, hoping to spot any sign of danger or peculiarities, yet were disappointed to find that everything—both people and decor—seemed utterly ordinary. There were no mental monsters, no high-tech devices camouflaged as everyday objects, and not even any decent security or heavily armed forces in sight.

This place was as unguarded as it could be.

But knowing that the Old Director lived here made everyone increasingly anxious.

“So, are we really just going in like this?”

Number Fourteen’s murmuring voice echoed in their minds, “I have a feeling we’re being led into a trap.”

“When we meet the Old Director, do we strike immediately or catch up first?”

“…”

Number Fourteen’s unique ability allowed them to establish a mental link for discreet discussions. In that quiet space, Number Five’s voice sounded sternest: “The Old Director is too smart. He anticipates everything. Even if we listen to him for one more word, we might fall right into his trap. I say we take him by surprise the moment we see him.”

“Some matters shouldn’t wait until his funeral,”

Number Fourteen countered softly.

Number Three offered a detached disagreement, “If he were truly that smart, wouldn’t he expect us to attack straight away?”

She continued, “Besides, don’t you have questions for him?”

“…”

Even Number Eight couldn’t help but chime in, “Everything else is understood—we all know the score. But why did he rescue us back then? In the orphanage, apart from us, were there any others who survived? Only he might know the answer…”

The tension in their voices rose as they inched closer to a building in the community.

Number Seven led them up a narrow corridor, climbing four flights before turning left and halting before a door.

Apartment 401.

Then Number Seven glanced back at the group, chuckled, and tapped on the door with her finger.

The rhythmic knock—”Dong Dong”—silenced everyone.

A ripple of nervous energy, like a drawn bowstring, spread through them. Every stray thought vanished as all eyes fixed on the door. Some clutched their fists, others felt their pupils narrow, and a few even reached for concealed weapons.

Then, with a soft click, the door swung open.

A sudden gust stirred the corridor—a testament to the collective mental tension that even manipulated the air itself.

Everyone’s anxiety and aggressive intent seemed poised to pour through the door.

But just as these feelings were about to manifest on the person who opened it, they evaporated.

……

……

Unexpectedly, a woman opened the door.

She looked plain, dressed in loose home attire, with a gentle and joyful expression on her face. She glanced in surprise at the gathered visitors and hurriedly ushered them inside, “Oh my, you must be the kids from the welfare home, right?”

“Come on in—your teacher has been waiting for you for ages…”

“…”

Stunned by the courteous and gentle woman, everyone lingered at the threshold.

Even Number Five and Little Nineteen, who had initially planned to strike immediately, were taken aback.

They hadn’t expected someone so unassuming to open the door.

“Please, come in…”

Number Seven, still watching the astonished faces of Lu Xin and the others, was the first to step inside. She then removed her boots, changing into slippers.

Glancing playfully at the group’s expressions, she laughed and said, “Perhaps you haven’t met her yet. This is our Master’s Wife—Ms. Chen. The Director can be fierce with us, but at home, everyone knows he’s terrified of her. Of course, you can’t blame her—Senior Sister is the kindest person in the world.”

“Master’s Wife…”

Everyone stood dumbfounded as they looked at the woman greeting them at the door.

“Sister Seven, are they all here?”

Before anyone could react, two small figures tumbled into Number Seven’s arms.

A boy and a girl—one around eight or nine, the other about eleven or twelve years old.

They appeared shy yet curious, peeking at Lu Xin and the others with glittering eyes.

“They’ve arrived…”

Number Seven hugged the children briefly before introducing them, “These two are the Director’s kids.”

“The girl’s name is Tutu, and the boy is Wangwang. They can be quite mischievous…”

“…”

“…”

At her words, the children, refusing to be labeled as naughty, burrowed back into her embrace, playfully tussling.

The gentle woman at the door welcomed Lu Xin and the others inside.

But standing outside, Lu Xin and his companions froze, their inner turmoil overwhelming them; an inexplicable chill gripped their hearts, as if their thoughts had been frozen in that moment.

The Director’s Wife and his children…

Yes, indeed—everyone from the orphanage knew these few figures and had seen their pictures.

But hadn’t they all perished when the Red Moon Incident broke out?