PGVCW 54

 

Playing God in Various Catastrophic Worlds

Chapter 54: Opening the Spacetime Gate

If it had been anyone else, faced with what the golden-eyed angel had just uttered, they would have inevitably raised a barrage of inquiries. Questions such as "Is this for real?" "What are the limitations of transporting people?" "What kind of repercussions will this trigger?" or "Why do you possess such an ability?" would naturally follow.

Yet Xia Wang'an did not dwell on such complexities.

The moment she confirmed that Lux was capable of opening a "channel" enabling the mortals of Blue Star to cross over into the magical realm, she placed her absolute trust in him without a shred of hesitation. From a conventional human perspective, her unreserved trust defied all logic and bordered on reckless imprudence. Placing faith in the wrong entity could easily precipitate catastrophic consequences.

Fortunately, Xia Wang'an possessed a distinct asset: "intuition".

Initially, she had been entirely devoid of this instinctive faculty, a deficiency that had subjected her to certain hardships during her past dimensional traversals. As a high school student with stellar academic credentials, her capacity for practical adaptation matched Qiu Zhuang's legendary aptitude for slacking off during lectures. Gradually, however, this "intuition" began to take shape.

This uncanny intuition served as her internal barometer for truth and deception. Operating almost like a supernatural ability or deep subconscious reflex, it functioned much like a martial artist instinctively parrying incoming strikes before conscious thought could intercede; whenever she encountered malice or falsehood, a sharp, piercing pain would ripple across her heart, warning her of imminent danger. This subconscious mechanism allowed Xia Wang'an to navigate her existence with greater ease and unadulterated simplicity.

Thus, at this very moment, a mere glance at Lux was all it took for her to drop the gavel: Summon the reinforcements! Call in backup immediately!

The remaining members of the Five Tongs Squad could only wonder: How on earth does Wang'an manage to decipher a single word of what Lux is saying?!

007 offered its unwavering support to Xia Wang'an, though to be fair, it had never once offered anything less. Toward Lux, however, the system maintained a mild, accommodating tolerance.

A spacetime portal materialized seamlessly across the boundless expanse of the lawn. It was designated a lawn rather than a field because it formed a part of Xia Wang'an's private rear garden—stretching so far beyond the horizon that it remained out of sight even when viewed from the elevated vantage of the "cliff". Clearing and cultivating this space had consumed a considerable expenditure of time from both the automated units and the local serfs; the building automata dispatched from Blue Star had even deliberately planted native floral species so Xia Wang'an could occasionally enjoy the view while sunbathing on the rooftop terrace.

Possessing a private garden exclusively for one's leisure was an aristocratic privilege in this realm, and the Blue Star administrative teams had spared no effort in meticulously preserving the illusion of Wang'an's royal persona. Thanks to the team's prior insistence, even though a portion of the garden had been reallocated to accommodate incoming patients, the sections situated further away from the palace remained strictly within Xia Wang'an's personal domain.

Not a single soul dared commit the sheer folly of encroaching upon a princess's private garden—regardless of how exalted their noble lineage might be, and even if overcrowding drove them to desperate thoughts of imitating the celestial kingdom by taking up residence in the sky.

The unfolding of the spacetime portal proved infinitely smoother than anyone had anticipated. There were no crackling thunderbolts, blinding lightning flashes, or deafening concussive roars; Lux simply reached out and grasped Xia Wang'an's hand, and the gateway unfurled of its own accord. In essence, the mechanism was as straightforward as her previous gateway activations, save for one crucial distinction: this time, the process lacked the usual heavy, intangible resistance, as well as the necessity to forcefully suppress troop numbers to ensure safe passage.

To put it into perspective, every prior dimensional crossing executed by Xia Wang'an resembled kicking a heavy door open amidst a deafening crash, forcing her to shriek over her shoulder while the threshold slowly drifted shut: "Old timer! Hold the door for a second, I've still got accomplices trailing behind!"

Though the portal continued its descent toward closure, her formidable pull invariably dragged several companions through before the seal locked entirely. As her personal cultivation matured, the threshold permitted larger cohorts to accompany her. Yet these "accomplices" never possessed Xia Wang'an's innate prerogative to casually stroll into foreign realms, commandeer sovereign territory, and indulge freely in local provisions without consequence. Without fail, within a maximum span of three months, native world wills would invariably invoke exclusion protocols to expel them.

Yet now...

It felt as though the very master of this universe had thrown open the front doors without a trace of reservation, cordially handing her the master keys while offering a warm, hospitable smile: “Please, make yourself completely at home. Come and go as you please, and feel free to bring your friends along—you are all warmly welcomed into my abode.”

Xia Wang'an cast a sideways glance at Lux, who—acting in his inadvertent capacity as the master key—was currently bouncing on his heels and chirping happily, thrilled to have successfully rendered assistance.

A warm, welcoming aura suffused the entirety of the newly established passage.

The Blue Star Vanguard

The abrupt manifestation of the unknown portal plunged Blue Star headquarters into a minute of chaotic alarm before disciplined protocols took over to restore order, complete with armed defense units deployed to neutralize potential "contaminated entities".

Then, Xia Wang'an casually stepped out from the gateway.

Upon learning that this threshold offered unhindered bidirectional passage into the neighboring magical dimension, it is no exaggeration to state that virtually every active staff member—including logistics personnel—promptly flooded the administration with transfer applications.

The vanguard operation was executed in strict phases.

First to cross were personnel exceeding fifty years of age. Arrayed in solemn composure, these veteran men and women donned protective hazard suits, hauled sophisticated diagnostic instrumentation, and carried heavy rucksacks laden with emergency survival gear and rations. While Xia Wang'an could intuitively sense the absolute safety of the transit lane, the vanguard members lacked that divine certainty; they stepped across the threshold fully prepared for the possibility of mortality.

Ten minutes later, the delegation re-emerged into the receiving hall, greeted by an eruption of triumphant cheers.

The testing protocols did not stop there; successive waves comprising cohorts aged forty and above, thirty and above, and twenty and above followed in orderly succession. Civilians and ability-users alike were vetted, each contingent backed by specialized medical units performing rigorous biological screenings both prior to entry and immediately upon return.

Having initiated her observations in the morning, it was well past eleven o'clock at night before the Blue Star supreme command officially stamped its final approval: Proceed with full deployment!

Reaching a verdict of this magnitude in under a single day demonstrated unprecedented administrative efficiency; leadership was acutely aware that a single miscalculation could result in the total annihilation of the deployed expeditionary force.

That very evening, Blue Star reactivated its nationwide general mobilization directive. Unlike prior alerts, the current call-up spanned an eclectic array of professional specializations, assembling a workforce diverse enough to collaboratively establish a functional micro-nation from scratch.

Physicians, nurses, chemists, construction engineers, geological surveyors, linguistic specialists, military units operating heavy medical infrastructure, and... culinary chefs.

Noticing Xia Wang'an's gaze lingering on the entry for "Culinary Chefs," an administrative officer offered an explanatory breakdown: "Logistical culinary staff are profoundly critical. We project the initial migration wave crossing into the magical realm will exceed fifty thousand personnel; our supply chains must precede them, otherwise our vanguard units will arrive only to find themselves without hot meals."

Feeding a population of fifty thousand required at least sixty core culinary specialists—before factoring in procurement officers, grain transport teams, and sanitation support. Mindful that the deployment targeted an unfamiliar alternate dimension, every single chef selected for this assignment was hand-picked directly from frontline military mess halls. Beyond demonstrating culinary mastery, candidates were evaluated on tactical combat proficiency and their ability to maintain uninterrupted hot meal delivery to frontline combatants while evading active hazards.

Regardless of operational domain, securing adequate nutritional sustenance remained the primary anchor for maintaining social stability—paralleling historical disaster responses where major metropolitan centers established soup kitchens and medical dispensaries to pacify displaced populations.

The officer smiled warmly: "Rest assured, these individuals are veterans seasoned across various military commands; their competence is uncompromised."

Mental imagery instantly blossomed within Xia Wang'an's consciousness: platoons of resolute soldiers hoisting massive cooking cauldrons, charging across contested terrain with unwavering determination amidst flying noodles and steaming rice.

For the nth time, she concluded that delegating administrative governance to her homeland's bureaucracy was an exceptionally wise choice.

The National Mobilization and Chu Duomian

Because the renewed mobilization directive possessed an expansive scope and lacked strict confidentiality constraints, word spread like wildfire across the public sphere.

The rationale behind dropping information security protocols was simple: the broad parameters of the current call-up implied that virtually any profession could theoretically receive deployment orders.

Receiving her official notification, Chu Duomian sat utterly bewildered.

It was common knowledge that the Xia Kingdom's national mobilization directives were reserved exclusively for monumental crises affecting the entire polity. Historically, activation protocols were restricted to medical personnel, law enforcement, or elite industry specialists; for instance, thirty years ago, a Tier-2 mobilization summoned an elite cadre of demolition experts to defuse a systemic hazard threatening the entire nation. Forty years ago, another Tier-2 call-up requisitioned geological survey specialists to preemptively neutralize massive surface subsidence threats, rescuing thirty million residents across the Eastern District from catastrophic ruin.

What adolescent student passing through an imaginative phase had never secretly indulged in the fantasy where, amidst diligent study, military officials suddenly arrived to deliver a crisp salute and declare: "Comrade XX, you have been officially requisitioned by national mobilization."—whereupon the protagonist would accept the assignment with righteous resolve under the awe-struck gazes of family and peers, stepping forward with unwavering footsteps.

Chu Duomian had harbored precisely such daydreams during junior high, even mentally composing her parents' tearful farewells followed by her own heroic declaration of "I dedicate my life to the motherland, undeterred by ten thousand deaths!"—moving herself to sentimental tears in the process.

Now, the mobilization order had materialized in reality.

Yet Chu Duomian felt entirely devoid of that heroic sentiment characterized by "marching to the frontlines for country and family without regret."

Her overriding mental reaction boiled down to a singular sentence: "But I'm just an elementary school teacher."

Try as she might, she could not conceive how her professional skillset could possibly contribute to national security during a major crisis. Was she expected to stand at the frontline holding primary school textbooks, correcting the pinyin pronunciation of falling meteors?

Furthermore, the delivery method deviated entirely from her romanticized fantasies of stern military officials arriving in person to hand over physical documentation. Instead, her personal optical console registered a direct systemic prompt: "You have received a Tier-2 National Mobilization Directive. Please report to Government Hall #34 on Domin Road for formal debriefing."

Had this message originated from an unrecognized source, she would have unhesitatingly flagged it as an optical network phishing scam.

"In previous eras, mobilization notices were indeed delivered manually by couriers, but the scale of the current call-up required automated digital distribution," explained a friendly administrative receptionist who welcomed Chu Duomian with professional cordiality. The staff member added helpfully that if she genuinely preferred manual dispatch, the department could arrange to place her on the physical delivery queue, though processing delays would postpone notification by up to two months.

The smiling receptionist wearing an official identification badge offered a helpful suggestion: "We can even schedule manual delivery during your official working hours to ensure maximum public visibility, or alternatively, select option two on your terminal interface: dispatching the notice while you are gathered in fellowship with family and friends."

Chu Duomian: "......" It appears everyone shares the exact same adolescent daydreams.

Being well into her forties, however, residual self-consciousness swiftly compelled her to reject the option of a public theatrical notification.

"Still, are you certain this isn't an administrative error? My sole professional competency is pedagogy."

The receptionist maintained an unyielding, amiable smile: "No error whatsoever, valued citizen. This mobilization directive specifically requires pedagogical talent. Might we confirm your availability for assignment acceptance?"

Without prolonged hesitation, Chu Duomian elected to accept. Although her vocational training centered around primary education, the prospect of deploying to an active operational theater alongside firearms and tactical equipment stirred an undeniable sense of anticipation. To be frank, as a first-grade homeroom teacher, she occasionally experienced creeping burnout from drilling foundational alphabet pinyin and character recognition day in and day out. A sudden disruption to her tranquil routine offered an unexpectedly exhilarating prospect.

Once her acceptance was logged, the specifics of her assignment were promptly unsealed.

"Cross-dimensional traversal into an alternate reality? A magical world?! Is this the exact magical realm featured in the documentary broadcasts?!"

The Xia Kingdom maintained an open, promotional stance regarding parallel spacetime dynamics—partly to instill collective optimism among the populace, and partly to channel concentrated streams of faith energy toward Xia Wang'an. For the average Blue Star citizen, these alternate realms held an irresistible allure: unpolluted skies, stable agricultural yields, and untamed natural wilderness.

Discovering she was slated for active deployment in this frontier ignited Chu Duomian's blood. Overflowing with eager anticipation and excitement, she experienced a sudden flutter of apprehension: "So... what constitutes my specific operational objective?"

The receptionist replied pleasantly: "Instructing the populace of the magical world in pinyin literacy—hahaha."

Chu Duomian: "......" She was crossing the boundaries of space and time... simply to continue teaching pinyin?!

The receptionist confirmed cheerfully: "Precisely, Teacher Chu."

Chu Duomian: "......"

Crack—

The sound of a heart shattering into fine powder.

Unrest in the Magical World

While the machinery on Blue Star hummed with calculated precision, panic and resentment brewed beneath the surface across the magical realm.

Total disarray had taken root, breeding widespread discontent among the populace. The aristocrats who had journeyed across vast distances to seek medical intervention grew increasingly vocal over their lack of preferential treatment, bitterly resenting being forced to mingle within cramped provisional quarters without specialized privileges.

Conversely, the indigenous serfs residing within the domain refrained from voicing overt grievances, though deep resentment simmered in their chests, threatening the fragile equilibrium of their newly improved lives. Sustenance was finally adequate, labor quotas no longer crushed their physical bodies, and the dignitaries accompanying Princess Wang'an maintained an approachable demeanor, refraining from physical abuse or arbitrary punishment. Yet the influx of arrogant foreign nobles struck an abrasive chord; had Princess Wang'an not intervened on a couple of occasions by personally executing public deterrent measures, those visiting elites would have swiftly re-instituted oppressive serf-driver practices.

The sole faction reaping unalloyed satisfaction consisted of commercial merchants. Capitalizing on the influx of wealthy nobles, they reaped a fortune vending diverse magical scrolls; simultaneously, they catered to the commoner demographic by circulating accessible consumer goods, securing profit margins across both ends of the socioeconomic spectrum.

---