6. An Unexpected Greeting

Seventeen minutes? Do they all have chips implanted in their brains here?

That was Wu Qingchen’s first impression as he grasped the document in his hands—for it was no longer merely a document, but a sixteen-mo volume, at least two hundred pages thick.

There was no time to waste. Wu Qingchen swiftly opened the first page, jumped to the second, then the third…

It was not that Wu Qingchen possessed the gift of speed-reading or an eidetic memory, but simply that he could not understand any of it. After Li Ziping’s repeated emphasis on the urgency during his “brief explanation,” Wu Qingchen had guessed that the voting rules in his hands were probably already the most concise version. Still, as he flipped through page after page, dense with technical jargon, unfamiliar acronyms, and a barrage of referenced articles, he found almost no sentences he could fully comprehend.

And even if he did understand—what difference would it make?

Wu Qingchen’s lips twisted bitterly. He was utterly unprepared for why his midday dream had been broadcast worldwide, let alone able to offer any explanation. He hadn’t stumbled upon any alien meteorites, nor unearthed any yellowed family heirlooms, nor purchased any mysterious bargain items. His life over the past month was almost indistinguishable from last month, the month before, and even the past six months.

Why is this happening? Why me?

Thinking of the military’s strict lockdown on his room, Wu Qingchen realized that this was a question the whole world wanted answered. Despite the tense situation, Wu Qingchen never imagined he’d attract the attention of the UN Security Council, nor could he fathom that his predicament would be equated with threatening peace, destroying peace, or invading other countries.

Wu Qingchen, who often watched the news, knew that the UN Security Council was, most of the time, a mere formality. But when the five permanent members reached consensus, it became the world’s only legitimate body with authority to take coercive military action.

Tragically, in his case, whether the five permanent members would agree was no longer in doubt—the agenda itself had been jointly proposed by them.

At this point, even Wu Qingchen could grasp the implicit meaning of this agenda and vote:

The unprecedented phenomenon appearing in the skies worldwide, the grave matter of humanity being simultaneously injured; the direct threat to global safety meant that, to prevent uncontrollable panic and large-scale unrest, the five permanent members had to invite the smaller nations to participate collectively, handling the matter openly to reassure them. As for the actual solution and process, those smaller nations would likely just continue their usual roles—being sidelined.

Understanding this, Wu Qingchen could foresee the outcome of the vote: experiments on him were inevitable.

More terrifying still, his future was likely already decided.

He recalled the words “great loss” and “tragedy” that Li Xiaoping had muttered with a frown… Although, apart from verifying his identity at his doorstep, Wu Qingchen had not been interrogated or questioned, this unfortunate soul, not overly slow-witted, could already see his tomorrow clearly:

A small room lined with plastic panels from floor to ceiling, a soft bed covered with restraints and devoid of sharp edges, a toothbrush or fork that would bend with the slightest force, and security measures hundreds or thousands of times stricter than those for patients with pronounced suicidal tendencies.

This luxurious parasite’s life would be his, no application needed.

Of course, refusal was out of the question.

Wu Qingchen was still lost in thought when several people strode out of the side door of the small hall. The man in front held several documents in both hands: “Minister Li, we’ve just received a fax—this is the confirmed result.”

Li Ziping nodded, glanced over it quickly, picked up the microphone and tapped it: “Ladies and gentlemen, here are twenty-five countries’ authorization faxes, just received and verified by the Security Council Secretariat. The following representatives are designated to vote on their behalf…”

Most of the delegates below continued their tense phone calls or fierce debates; only a small portion looked up.

“Saint Vincent and the Grenadines designates Mr. Thor Johnson as their proxy. Mr. Thor Johnson, do you accept?… The Republic of Gambia designates Mr. Thor Johnson… Costa Rica…"

Thirteen countries in succession entrusted the same person. Following Li Ziping’s gaze, Wu Qingchen saw a slightly overweight, balding Western man stand and nod repeatedly. The nameplate before him bore both Chinese and English, the latter reading: "Thor Johnson, US Ambassador to China.”

The United States…

The scene before him confirmed Wu Qingchen’s suspicions, and weighed even heavier on his heart.

Clearly, everyone else understood what was happening. Li Ziping recited the thirteen delegations with formulaic precision, and Thor Johnson responded just as mechanically, never letting go of his phone, occasionally exchanging words with the other end.

After Mr. Thor Johnson of the United States, Li Ziping proceeded to assign proxy votes to representatives from Country Z, Russia, Britain, and France.

Turning to the last page of the fax, Li Ziping’s expression finally changed, his brows furrowed as he reread the document several times.

This unusual situation immediately drew the attention of Pierre Sipar, the French ambassador who seemed to be awaiting the final proxy. Soon, it spread to the cluster of assistants and bureaucrats around him, who glanced curiously at Sipar, then at the frowning Li Ziping, unconsciously ceasing their discussions.

Several rows nearby, all French delegates, noticed the lull and also paused, focusing on the center. The silence rippled outward; those farther away, unsure what was happening, stopped mid-sentence or action as the room abruptly quieted.

What’s going on?

For the first time, the hall grew somewhat quiet. On the dais, Li Ziping put down the microphone, speaking softly into his headset, apparently communicating with the back office or reporting to superiors.

Such a situation was rare for diplomats, but today’s delegates had witnessed countless extraordinary events. No one was alarmed; instead, their eyes shifted from Li Ziping’s face to the final document in his hands.

After at least five minutes, the exchange seemed to conclude. Li Ziping finally opened the much-anticipated last document: “The Republic of Sierra Leone designates Mr. Wu Qingchen as its proxy. Mr. Wu Qingchen, do you accept?”

Me…

Wu Qingchen’s eyes suddenly widened.

---

The hall erupted with noise; countless people shouted into their already-dialed phones, while more gathered in urgent clusters to consult.

Sierra Leone? What kind of country is that? Did its leaders get their brains knocked out?

Wu Qingchen knew there were some peculiar countries on Earth—some scarred by history, others crushed by modern society—whose hobby seemed to be opposing the UN’s major powers, as if their sole purpose in joining was to cause trouble.

He never imagined that, aside from dragging in the Security Council, he would one day become the stepping stone for such a country’s self-actualization, a tool to inconvenience the major powers.

“Mr. Wu Qingchen, do you accept?” Li Ziping repeated his formulaic inquiry as Wu Qingchen reeled in shock.

“I accept!”

Such an unequivocal answer startled Li Ziping.

Accept! Why not?

Covered in lice, one no longer itches; weighed down by debt, one no longer worries. Numb, Wu Qingchen agreed in a single breath.

A vote falling from the sky—even if it’s minuscule, at least it lets me have a voice! Wu Qingchen thought fiercely, wishing his tiny vote could carry veto power and exempt him from the human experiments.

Yet, just seconds later, his face stiffened: What if the five powers’ real plan was for the vote to fail, so they could legitimately confine and study him for life in the name of safety…

Chilled by his own suspicion, Wu Qingchen shuddered.

No, I must vote in favor!

If the vote fails, lifelong confinement is certain, absolutely inevitable.

If it passes, there’s at least a sliver of hope… Maybe what happened at noon was just an accident? Maybe if I’m injured again, it won’t affect all humanity? Maybe after ten or twenty years, the situation will fade? Maybe I’ll have a chance to be released?

A tragic life needs no explanation; he must resolutely vote in favor of human experiments on himself…

Even in such circumstances, facing a miserable future, Wu Qingchen’s heart twisted with conflicting emotions.

By now, Li Ziping beside him had already recovered from his brief surprise, and was again communicating with several people via his headset.

Minutes later, Li Ziping, seeming somewhat resigned, nodded and finished another call, turning to Wu Qingchen: “Mr. Wu Qingchen, from now on, your opinion represents that of Sierra Leone. Please vote carefully.”

Without waiting for Wu Qingchen’s reply, Li Ziping pressed several keys, gave instructions to his headset: “Prepare a voting device.”

Soon, a young staff member appeared at the side door, carrying a small box in both hands. Several soldiers intercepted him; the staffer understood, opened the box, and took out the voting device, with several small instruments quickly clustered around it.

“Beep beep beep… Beep beep beep… Beep beep beep…”

Shrill, urgent alarms blared.

---

Chapter Six: The Sudden Greeting (Part Two)

The dozen soldiers in the small hall paled; two standing by the door quickly shut it. Through the last sliver of space, the three on the dais saw the soldier closest to the staffer snatch the voting device, hurl it into the corner, grab the staffer’s hair and slam him to the floor. At least ten different guns instantly aimed at the staffer’s head.

“Bang…”

Through the now fully closed side door, standing behind Li Ziping and Liu Tao, who had spread their arms in front of him, Wu Qingchen heard a muffled explosion.

Perhaps a long time passed, or maybe only moments; the side door slowly reopened.

The sight before them was chaos. The staffer who had been dragged to the floor was gone, replaced by wood shavings and plastic fragments, trampled with messy footprints and a long drag mark. A few limp petals drifted in midair. As the door opened, thick dust and a pungent burnt smell wafted into the hall.

Someone wants to kill me! Who wants to kill me?

Staring at the blackened corner, a cascade of thoughts flashed through Wu Qingchen’s mind.

Proxy… acceptance… voting… voting device… bomb… assassination…

A simple, direct trap; ruthless, straightforward tactics. Wu Qingchen’s face was ashen.

Someone wants to kill Wu Qingchen! Who wants to kill Wu Qingchen? Who intends to perish with all humanity?

Amid the heavy dust and acrid smell, the hall was silent; everyone’s faces were pale, each casting suspicious glances around.

---

Almost simultaneously, within thirty seconds of Wu Qingchen’s assassination attempt, 1:52 PM, Moscow, Kremlin.

“Bang…”

The phone smashed against the wall, shattering.

“This is war! This is a declaration of war against the Russian nation and its 160 peoples! Leonid, what are you waiting for? Did you not hear? This is war! Go draft your documents! Prepare to declare war on Sierra Leone!”

Amid the prime minister’s furious roar, Foreign Minister Leonid hurried out of the conference room.

---

“Vitaly, Bervshka, call your subordinates, prepare the joint chiefs’ meeting. Boris, order the Black Sea Fleet, Northern Fleet, and Pacific Fleet to sail. Order the Caspian Fleet and Second Fleet to approach the South Atlantic coast…”

“Prime Minister, the Second Fleet is short on funds, many ships lack maintenance…”

“Sail as far as you can—even if you sink! Whoever stole the money from the ships, let the ship become their coffin!”

---

Five minutes after Wu Qingchen’s assassination attempt, 5:57 AM Eastern Time, Washington D.C., underground bunker.

A young adjutant stumbled around several corners, clutching a still-warm fax. At the corridor’s end, a senior officer in full uniform, four golden stars on his shoulders, awaited.

He snatched the fax almost violently, skimmed it, then pushed open the door.

Inside the room, generals sat in splendor; at the far end of the table, a tall, sharply dressed Black man fixed his gaze on the entering officer, who closed the door and read aloud: “Mr. President, Africa Command reports: the 133,271st Airborne Division is boarding, requesting Naples Allied Joint Forces escort.”

“Approved.”

Another general entered: “Mr. Winfield, NATO Command has mobilized; aerial reconnaissance from bases in Egypt, Kenya, and Turkey is underway.”

To the president’s left, bald Mr. Winfield, Air Force Chief of Staff, nodded: “Order Zahran, Mahira, and Izmir strike groups to launch, prepare aerial refueling at Cerlilk base.”

The door banged open again; the newcomer was sweating and pale: “Mr. President, Russia’s Black Sea, Northern, and Pacific Fleets have all departed port, current targets unknown.”

“What?” The president sprang up, looking left and right, his gaze settling on the fourth seat to his left: “Mr. Rodriguez! How much longer for the CIA report? The world is waiting! What do you want? Just admit it—how much budget do you want for next quarter?”

“Mr. President…” The CIA director’s uniform was soaked with sweat, his forehead shining: “The situation is sudden; my colleagues are fully mobilized, working tirelessly. I believe very soon…”

“Mr. Rodriguez, kindly make one more call, check with your colleagues about the report’s progress. If there’s still nothing…” The president pressed his brow, clearly pained. “Just fabricate one for now—you’re better at that anyway.”

“Mr. President,” the director replied, “we have never, and never need to fabricate reports. My colleagues will soon…”

“Soon! Damn it! Again with the ‘soon’! You’ve said that countless times!”

The president’s right hand slammed the table: “When the celestial phenomenon happened, you said ‘soon.’ When Country Z found Wu Qingchen first, you said ‘soon.’ When Sierra Leone inexplicably entrusted him, you said ‘soon.’ When the explosion in Country Z’s conference hall happened, you said ‘soon!’ Now, World War III is about to erupt, and your only answer is still ‘soon’… FUCK YOU! You fat pig! Take your ‘soon’ and go to hell!”

In the silence, the CIA director turned pale, trembling, sweat soaking his forehead, as if he might collapse at any moment. At that moment, the phone before him rang like a lifeline.

Rodriguez, surprisingly agile for his build, snatched the receiver. Seconds later, a CIA agent entered with a report.

The report was brief; the president finished it in less than half a minute, pressed his brow, and beckoned an adjutant in the corner: “Connect the hotlines to Country Z and Russia’s leaders.”

---

Nine minutes after Wu Qingchen’s assassination attempt, 7:06 PM Beijing time, confidential city, confidential location, confidential room.

Another conference room; several seated around a round table. The teacups were cold, the glass jar overflowing with cigarette butts, a haze of smoke drifting in the air.

The room was quiet; everyone’s gaze fixed on the seat opposite the door, where a man was on the phone.

A moment passed.

“The CIA has confirmed…” The man, his forehead wrinkled but hair jet-black, set down the hotline. “Thirty minutes ago, a small-scale disturbance occurred in Sierra Leone’s capital, Freetown.”

“Small-scale disturbance?”

“According to current intelligence, it should be a coup.” The black-haired man glanced at his notepad: “CIA sources initially claimed everything was normal in Freetown, with no military or police mobilization.”

“Repeated orders from the CIA, especially after the assassination attempt and with some special measures, led the informant to mobilize all local contacts, even walking the streets asking everyone. Someone finally claimed to have witnessed sparks at the Revolutionary United Front office, and faint smoke was seen near the cabinet offices.”

“A highly unusual coup.”

“Yes.” The man set down his notepad, his face grave. “The action was discreet and decisive, the assassination swift and direct. This is not the modus operandi of Sierra Leone’s warlords.”

“Sierra Leone likely lacked the capacity to orchestrate this assassination.”

The first man below put out yet another cigarette: “Such crazed, mutually destructive behavior is typical of fanatical religious groups or extremist terrorists; only organizations capable of such rapid, decisive action—and able to bring explosives into the venue—are few.”

“This is not our priority; hand it to Section Six, move quickly, don’t let America get too far ahead or we’ll be at a disadvantage.”

“Yes…” The fourth man below picked up the phone, hesitated: “Should we postpone the conference hall session…”

“No…” The leader at the head of the table waved decisively. “Delaying the meeting would create panic, give the enemy a chance to stir international turmoil. This almost inevitably doomed action was meant to do just that. Now is the most dangerous time—we must proceed with the meeting, and speed up. We can’t afford delays.

“Furthermore…” He looked to his right. “General Sun, reinforce security at the venue, tell Li Ziping not to worry and to carry on with his work.”