Chapter 71: Codename 404

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1-0. 0-2. 3-0. … The score kept rising alternately.

Yet, while Alpha Ji could crush Jiangcheng Team's score, she could not destroy their fighting spirit.

“We lost? How is this losing? The wager isn’t settled yet—only then is it a loss!”

“Exactly, exactly, we simply haven’t won yet. Keep going!”

“If you’ve got guts, let’s play best-of-seven!”

0-4.

“If you’ve got guts, make it best-of-nine!”

5-0.

“Best-of-eleven!”

0-6.

…

Previously, Alpha Ji had already realized these Calamity New Humans had formidable resilience. Now she discovered she had still underestimated the thickness of their skin.

This wasn’t just thicker than a city wall—this was Himalayan, Mariana Trench level…

Flags were raised and toppled, one after another, but not a single one did they care about.

Flags? They had as many as you wanted; topple away. If anyone so much as blushed, they’d count that as a loss.

Among them, Ximen Qiong was the most shameless, Guan Junyuan next—no wonder they were the leaders.

It seemed those with thin skins had all perished, leaving only the thick-skinned survivors, and after thirty years of hyper-evolution, well…

“It’s just a game, isn’t it? We’re not losing our homes or lands.”

“Try if you can—kick us offline!”

“Can’t do it, can you? So what’s the big deal, bring it on…”

Hearing this, Alpha Ji was so infuriated she ground her teeth, desperate to boot these stubborn leeches out of the game.

This shouldn’t be. It made no sense. She was clearly the winner, so why did she feel like the loser?

But it wasn’t over yet…

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Losing game after game, these people started trying all sorts of tricks.

First, they changed heroes, then swapped out players, experimenting with every possible combination.

Not that this was unusual—it was all basic strategy.

And to be fair, their rate of improvement was remarkable.

If Alpha Ji hadn’t chosen two pairs of rookie-disruptor combos and, shamelessly, set the rule that no two players in the same game could pick the same hero, she might not have kept them entirely under her thumb.

After all, she wasn’t the kind of program that could run hundreds or thousands of threads at once, each flawlessly controlled. She was an anthropomorphic AI; what was basic operation for a program would be called schizophrenia for a human…

Against a top player, with enough computing power, she could dominate—she’d tested it herself, and her brother too. Facing two at once was hard enough—this wasn’t Go, after all. Against three, four, even five? She could only hope her enemies were hopeless.

Later, when they still couldn’t win, their antics only increased.

“This place makes no sense! Why can’t our skills hit teammates? That’s not realistic at all!”

Otherwise, in the chaotic skirmishes, the Demolitionist’s shells should hurt friends as much as foes—hurting the enemy a thousand, but losing eight hundred themselves…

And the Bastion’s bullets, if they could mow down enemies, should be able to mow down the big shield-bearer in front, too.

“Why can their bullets go through their shield, but ours can’t? Either both can pass, or neither can. Never heard of a shield that picks its bullets.”

Otherwise, never mind their rifles and cannons—the Bastion should be the first to break shields in every round.

Honestly, from a combat perspective, their points made sense… Alpha Ji had played too many games and inadvertently slipped in a bit of pre-calamity color with her settings.

“What, we’re no good? We’re making excuses?”

“Tch, we once won a war with billions involved—you think we can’t beat you?”

“If you’ve got guts, let’s not play here—these weird rules, no pain or consequence. How about we settle this in real life? We’re right here in Jiangcheng. Or…”

At this, Jiangcheng Team suddenly realized they’d been playing all night and still didn’t know where their opponents were: “Or we can come find you. By the way… which city are you from?”

When she heard this, Alpha Ji felt like crying, overwhelmed with emotion.

The whole night!

Theoretically, beating others should feel exhilarating, but she couldn’t shake the sense that she was the plow in “the worn-out ox, not the ruined field.”

Now, with dawn breaking, they’d finally gotten to the heart of the matter.

But it wasn’t an easy question to answer.

After several rounds of calamity, the world’s population had plummeted—no longer the packed masses of pre-calamity days, where even Marvel movies had to discuss population issues.

Now, the Nine Provinces Grand Alliance sounded impressive, but each alliance only had a dozen or so cities, the population equivalent to a pre-calamity prefecture-level city… and abroad, things were said to be even worse.

That’s why Jiangcheng Team got so worked up when Alpha Ji hadn’t heard of Jiangcheng.

Before the calamity, how many people knew Zhongwei wasn’t a state enterprise but a city of a million?

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And how many knew Wuzhong wasn’t just a person’s name, but also a prefecture-level city with a population over a million?

How many knew Baishan wasn’t just a mountain, but also a city of a million?

And Baiyin, not just a metal…

And Laibin, not just a guest…

And Guigang, Fangchenggang, Yangjiang, Neijiang, Heyuan, Yantai, Xingtai, Qitaihe…

So many million-strong, even multi-million cities had long remained obscure, so what was so special about a little Jiangcheng?

But after the calamity, there were only so many cities left on the land of the Nine Provinces—each city a one-to-one match, and Alpha Ji couldn’t just claim any as her own. This wasn’t an era of peace; should two cities meet in reality, it could spark a diplomatic incident.

So she had her standard answer prepared: “You probably haven’t heard of our city—its name is a bit odd. It’s called 404.”

City 404, also known as China’s Nuclear City; you couldn’t find it on a map, nor on the internet.

Alpha Ji felt this was the address that best embodied her identity—almost an outright truth.

However…

“You’re from 404?” To her utter surprise, the others had heard of it—not just heard, but seemed quite envious.

“I heard it hardly ever rains there, the climate’s great!”

“I heard the trees only grow twenty or thirty meters high, and you can even make paths through the forest, just like before the calamity—cars can even drive through?”

“I heard you even have deserts, stretching as far as the eye can see… and you can look up and see the sky every day—what’s that like?”

Alpha Ji: 눈_눈

“What are you all doing, we’re supposed to be challenging them—show some decorum!” Only after Guan Junyuan coughed so hard he nearly lost his voice did he manage to wake everyone, reminding them this was no time for idle chatter.

“In 2026, when the era of massive infrastructure began, several proposals were made by the authorities.”

“One camp called for everyone to stand firm and build using local resources and new technologies, fortifying cities as we have in Jiangcheng.”

“The other argued that while local resources were convenient, human-friendly areas were also best for other organisms. Favorable climates and human activity together would only accelerate biological mutation and evolution, bringing all sorts of existential risks.”

“By contrast, in areas once deemed harsh—deserts, plateaus, high mountains, snowy plains—life was sparser, and the risk of accelerated mutation much lower, making them better suited for migration.”

“In the end, those who stayed, stayed. Those who wanted to leave, left. That’s how we got the Tianhe Alliance—maybe not the strongest in the Grand Alliance, but currently the most populous. It includes City 404.”

At last, Ye Chao took it upon himself to explain the basics to Alpha Ji.

Alpha Ji: “…”

All she could say was, “How the world changes! How terrifying.”