Chapter 161: Year 1, Basement Level 2

*From “Restarting the Farm at the End of the World”*

She had always found it strange that the reborn—whether it was one person or several—had never come up with this invention.

Spatial devices could make a fortune; basically, anyone with a bit of ability would want to buy one.

Carrying things around yourself was just too much of a hassle. Anything even a little big or heavy was a pain to transport. When you went out scavenging or hunting, the most frustrating part wasn’t not finding anything, but rather finding a mountain of gold or a silver mine and not being able to bring it back. After all, not everyone could find a spatial ability user to help them haul stuff. Sometimes, even just a cubic meter or two of storage space could solve a lot of problems.

The fact that spatial devices hadn’t appeared yet, in her opinion, could be due to two reasons. First, the technical difficulty was too high. After all, it involved developing a second dimension—truly a revolutionary invention. Even in her previous life, spatial devices appeared quite late.

The second reason was that when spatial devices did come out, the value of spatial ability users plummeted overnight. Never mind those with spatial blades, teleportation, or spatial folding abilities—just those who could only store objects were hit the hardest. They’d once been envied by many, but after their fall from grace, they became targets for revenge. There was even a rather bloody saying: every morning, you could find the corpse of a spatial user in some remote alley, or discover the body of a once-famous spatial user left to rot in the wilderness.

So Bian Changxi couldn’t help but speculate maliciously: could it be that the reborn themselves were spatial ability users, or had a group of them under their command? Before they’d squeezed every last bit of value from their abilities, of course they wouldn’t want to introduce spatial devices and create competition.

Whatever the reason, she felt it was absolutely necessary to develop spatial devices independently. Even if they hit the market later than others, it didn’t matter—after all, they’d be selling products, not the technology itself. Only by mastering the technology themselves could they avoid being led by the nose.

The same logic applied to communicators. Compared to that, things like smart gloves or space detectors seemed trivial.

If you’re going to do something, do it big. Bian Changxi told herself: as long as you’re heading in the right direction and put in enough effort, it’s entirely possible for latecomers to overtake the pioneers.

Bian Changxi rummaged through her own warehouse and took out a vegetable seed. She placed it into the mutton-fat jade sphere that served as a spatial device, then took out another, repeating the process five times. With a soft “pop,” the jade sphere shattered.

She blinked and coughed lightly, a little embarrassed, and set the fragments on the table. Jiang Zhihuan and the others, including Lin Rongrong, were all shocked and delighted. Lin Rongrong immediately asked, “Changxi, how did you do that? When I used these prototypes, they couldn’t even handle a single infusion of ability. Once you put something in, you could forget about ever getting it out.”

Bian Changxi was stunned. “You mean you can’t use them?”

The others all nodded.

She thought for a moment, puzzled. “Isn’t it just about focusing your mind and sensing the—”

“Your mind!” Jiang Zhihuan interrupted, raising his voice in surprise. “You used your mind to sense it, not your ability?”

Bian Changxi shook her head. He fell silent for a moment, then picked up a cube-shaped ore, concentrated, and after a while, couldn’t hide his excitement. “I can feel it! There’s a space inside—an irregular hollow.”

He handed it to the others. “Don’t use your abilities. Just use your normal senses, like feeling where a breeze is coming from.”

Bian Changxi watched as they each tried. Some didn’t get it, but others were as excited as Jiang Zhihuan.

Jiang Zhihuan said to her, “We’d been thinking about this all wrong. We assumed only ability users could access space, so we instinctively thought these spatial devices could only be activated and used with abilities. But after Rongrong carved out the space in these little things, their internal structure became very fragile and unstable. If you pour in ability energy, they shatter instantly. But the human mind is different—it doesn’t have the same destructive power as an ability.”

The female researcher laughed and added, “Exactly. If the device could only be used by ability users, the market would be tiny. Why didn’t we think of it this way before?”

The man who’d done the cutting said calmly, “If that’s the case, the material requirements are much lower. Objectively, the stability of the spatial device itself increases a lot.”

It’s like an axe: the same axe will last much longer chopping wood than chopping stone. The analogy isn’t perfect, but the principle is the same.

The man taking notes was still frowning, trying to sense the space in the ore. He couldn’t tell if he was sensing it with his ability or something else. Seeing everyone else speak up, he stammered, “Even though I—I haven’t really felt anything yet, I agree with your conclusions.”

Bian Changxi found this amusing.

Judging from their name tags, the woman was Du Ruochen, the man who did the cutting was Zhong Min—both professionals. The note-taker was Meng Xiaobei; just from his name and demeanor, he seemed a notch below the others, and in fact, his expertise was lacking. But he made up for it with diligence, a great memory, and he was a speed-type ability user.

His speed was interesting—not in his legs, but in his fingers. He could take notes at lightning speed and was especially efficient at tasks like assembling mechanical parts, working three or four times faster than normal people, and with great precision. He was definitely a hands-on talent.

Of the five people here, besides Lin Rongrong, only he was an ability user.

Jiang Zhihuan summed up, “Looks like we need to change our approach.” The group discussed for a while. Bian Changxi didn’t quite follow, and judging by Lin Rongrong’s expression, neither did she. Who knew how much Meng Xiaobei understood, but his pen never stopped moving.

Bian Changxi wandered around the lab. She noticed there was very little mutton-fat jade left on the table; there were plenty of other random materials, though. When they finished discussing, she asked, “That kind of jade seems pretty rare.”

Jiang Zhihuan smiled wryly. “That type was already precious before the apocalypse. Nobody would’ve thought to bring jade with them while fleeing. We only managed to scrounge up a few pieces after a long search.”

There were only two rings and a jade pendant made from similar material in the glass display case—pitifully few.

“But that red ore—there’s some about ten miles north of the base, underground. We’ve already sent people to dig it up, and we have over a thousand kilos in storage.”

Once production really started, the material requirements wouldn’t be too high. But during R&D, a lot would be consumed, so even a thousand kilos might not be enough.

Bian Changxi made a mental note and left after standing around for a bit.

When she opened the door, she found Gu Xu already waiting outside. She was surprised. “Why didn’t you come in?”

Gu Xu shook his head. “How did it go?”

“Not bad, just short on materials.” Seeing her deep in thought, Gu Xu knew she was already calculating where to get the needed supplies.

If she was going to do something, she’d do it right—she was that kind of person.

Just then, Luo Jiuqing came storming out of the lab, shouting for his assistant to fetch something. His voice echoed through the whole floor. Bian Changxi was jolted out of her thoughts and noticed the annoyed looks on people’s faces. She shook her head and said, “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day Luo Jiuqing ends up dead in the lab—someone’s bound to snap and kill him out of frustration.”

She’d never seen someone so clueless. Even in the relatively simple environment of a school, there were cases of roommates killing each other over a single argument. In the apocalypse, with everyone’s mindset changed, Luo Jiuqing was practically asking for it.

After saying this, she belatedly remembered that in her previous life, Luo Jiuqing really did die this way—though it was a few years later. She felt a bit awkward.

Gu Xu thought for a moment and called over Gu Pei. “Keep an eye on the staff—make a note of anyone with a bad temper or personality. When you have time, arrange some courses for them to help them mellow out.”

The two of them left together. Bian Changxi sighed, “Even a tiny workshop has these headaches. It’s strange—there aren’t even any real tempting benefits yet.”

Gu Xu replied, “It’s also a management issue. If you don’t give them loopholes to exploit, things like this might not happen.”

“You also need a fair reward and promotion system. Isn’t Hu Zhenyuan just worried he’ll always be looked down on? And that old scholar—if you hadn’t brought it up, even if he noticed the problem, he might not have spoken out. Recruitment also needs to be transparent and fair. Today’s conflict, at its root, was caused by me. As for Liu Xiangjie, just be fair—don’t go easy on her.”

“But, to be fair, Hu Zhenyuan’s suggestion wasn’t bad—installing a security door or something.” She pointed at the workshop’s entrance. “To keep out thieves. The research institute doors are all so high-tech.”

Gu Xu gave her a thoughtful look. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

Seeing he was taking it seriously, Bian Changxi quickly waved her hands. “Not really. We’ll be gone in a year anyway—wouldn’t it be a waste to build it?”

Gu Xu paused. “In a year?”

Bian Changxi’s face stiffened. Oops, she’d let it slip! That’s what she got for being smug!

She was just about to cover it up when Gu Xu’s expression turned distant and unreadable. “Qiu Yun told you, didn’t he? He just can’t keep a secret.”

Bian Changxi blinked. What had Qiu Yun said? He could talk about anything, but would he really mention that Su City would collapse at the end of the first year of the apocalypse?

That’s what she thought, but she just said vaguely, “Well, you can’t really blame him.” She spent a second mourning for Qiu Yun, a second apologizing to him, and a second feeling both confused and curious—what she’d said and what Gu Xu was about to say didn’t seem to be the same thing.

Gu Xu glanced at her, a spark of light flickering in his eyes, as if something had dawned on him or he’d made up his mind. He turned and headed downstairs. “Come with me.”

Bian Changxi, sensing the seriousness, quickly followed.

Only then did she realize there was a second basement level in the building. The empty, dim space echoed with their voices and even their breathing sounded loud, creating a stifling atmosphere.

Gu Xu switched on the overhead lights, their faint glow illuminating the way as he led her to a tightly closed door. He took out a magnetic card and opened it.

The door made a soft sound as it slid into the wall. Bian Changxi finally saw what was inside, her eyes going wide. She looked at Gu Xu, then back inside, her expression a mix of shock, amazement, and a hint of guilt.

*ps:*

*Thanks to Ye Li for the pink ticket!*

*There might be a delay with the third update, but it will definitely be posted. Feel free to check back later, everyone!*