Chapter 3: S/L, Advance [New Book Seeking Favorites]

Five minutes later, Ren Zhong returned to the cryogenic chamber and tried tapping the LCD screen with his finger.

He already had a plan.

Push his S/L ability to its limit, making the most of every available resource.

As long as every resurrection let him advance one step further, it was a tremendous success—a step closer to dawn!

A prompt appeared on the LCD screen, asking him to enter an identification code. Ren Zhong typed in his eighteen-digit ID number, passed authentication, and unlocked administrator functions.

He browsed through the data and found maintenance schematics and repair tutorials for the cryogenic chamber.

After some rummaging, he pulled out a drawer-like box from the top of the chamber—a portable toolbox.

The tools inside were in decent condition: wrenches, drivers, screwdrivers, all usable, comparable to the wax-paper package found in German sewers.

With these, Ren Zhong dismantled two components from the chamber: a 1.2-meter alloy rod and an auxiliary onboard computer with voice input capabilities.

This computer wasn’t the chamber’s main control system, but an operator’s tool for external data entry and system checks.

Deep inside the chamber was another independent operating system, immune to external interference and offering greater stability.

Ren Zhong intended to use the auxiliary computer as a notebook, organizing the usable information dredged up from his memory for systematic analysis.

Once the task was done, Ren Zhong hurried to the stream, timing it perfectly to catch the falling red fruit with his clothes.

He washed it in the water, took a bite—sweet juice burst forth, crisp and refreshing.

Then, he took the palm-sized computer from his pocket and started recording voice notes, one by one.

About half an hour later, he stepped aside and shook his clothes again, not bothering to look up—a fruit came plummeting straight down.

Perfect, a second fruit in hand, and he was satisfied.

About an hour and a half later, Ren Zhong appeared to the south of the dense forest.

In the distance, a floating shadow was moving along the undulating terrain, just over five hundred meters away—Flightcraft 11899.

Ren Zhong didn’t hesitate and gave chase.

He wasn’t foolish enough to hunt it; his goal was simply to follow its path and break through the first encirclement.

After brisk walking for about an hour, Ren Zhong managed to dart ahead of Flightcraft 11897 in the east, entering the safe zone.

He paused to think for thirty seconds.

Ahead, five kilometers further, lay the territory of that giant insect with a three-meter wingspan.

This insect had six wings, three on each side—two long, one short per side.

The wings were extremely thin and nearly transparent, shimmering with rainbow fluorescence in the sunlight, crisscrossed with dark veins like the nerves of a leaf. The edges were serrated and razor-sharp.

Its body was a long, tapered shape, thick in front, narrow behind.

Behind a head the size of a human’s, eight slender legs concentrated at the front half, while the rear made up over seventy percent of its length, resembling a segmented whip.

In flight, the insect gained lift and thrust by rapidly vibrating its wings, stirring up the air.

Its shape was reminiscent of a dragonfly from Ren Zhong’s memories, but its structure was far sturdier—stones striking its body rang out with a metallic clang.

The glassy wings looked fragile, yet during a swoop, one wing effortlessly sliced through a tree trunk as thick as a thigh.

Moreover, its finger-thick legs seemed made of alloy, the curved hooks at the ends as sharp as surgical scalpels, cutting flesh like tofu.

Don’t ask how Ren Zhong knew this so well—he’d rather not recall.

The dragonfly was Ren Zhong’s chosen breakthrough point.

It seemed terrifying, but after careful comparison, Ren Zhong judged it the most manageable of all monsters.

The “little rabbit” looked cute, but its speed was lightning fast, and crucially, Ren Zhong couldn’t fathom how to deal with it: its attack and defense were flawlessly integrated.

As for the electric fish lurking in the ponds, those were worse—he never even saw them, but got electrocuted inexplicably, his body burning with blue flames, sizzling and crackling, dying miserably and mysteriously.

The others were even more dangerous.

Though the dragonfly was formidable, as an insect, it likely had high offense but low defense. If he played his cards right and injured it first, there was hope.

Twenty minutes later, Ren Zhong peeked out from under a small hill.

The dragonfly was sprawled motionless atop a huge rock.

Ren Zhong took a deep breath and raised his head fully.

Immediately, the dragonfly’s compound eyes rotated, spotting him, and it shot skyward, diving straight at him.

Ren Zhong turned instantly, sprinted sideways and back, then leapt, lying flat and sliding swiftly down the smooth meadow.

He’d mapped out this route meticulously from memory.

So far, his execution was flawless, with timing accurate to fractions of a second and the slide direction precisely as planned.

At the base of the meadow, Ren Zhong planted his feet, rolling forward twice to absorb the impact.

Bang!

He wasn’t a professional stuntman—his landing roll veered, and his head struck a protruding stone, splitting open, blood streaming, vision swimming.

He barely sat up, wiped the blood from his eyes, and saw the dragonfly’s scissor-like jaws gleaming coldly as it rushed at him.

Dead.

...

Familiar meadow slope, familiar sliding track.

Another attempt.

Landing.

This time, he pushed a bit harder with his right foot, altered his roll, successfully avoided the stone, straightened his posture—just like a sprinter at the starting line.

Right foot pushed—go!

Ren Zhong ran with unprecedented strength, and fourteen seconds later, passed a massive tree, its trunk thick enough for seven people to encircle.

Fourteen seconds for a hundred meters was unimpressive, but for a terminal cancer patient, it was a personal best.

The moment he crossed the tree, the dragonfly was already on his heels, eight legs forming eagle-claws, reaching for his back.

Only ten meters separated them.

As the dragonfly passed the tree, its 1.5-meter left wing sliced through the trunk like a craft knife through paper.

The tree, though only a meter of trunk was cut, was not fatally damaged.

But Ren Zhong had chosen this tree for a reason.

Its base was already mostly decayed, and now, with the dragonfly’s wing slicing through the remainder, the wood splintered, and the tree collapsed toward the east—where the branches stretched and where Ren Zhong aimed to escape.

He took several strides forward, leaping out before the shadow reached him, narrowly avoiding the falling canopy.

He circled half a round, then dashed away from the dragonfly, heading further from the forest.

Running, he glanced at the tree.

Beneath the thick leaves, sharp bird cries and the dragonfly’s buzzing wingbeats erupted.

The tree shook violently, branches breaking as a few iron-feather bluebirds, wingspans a meter wide, burst from the foliage, redirected mid-air, and dove missile-like back under the tree.

No ordinary tree could trap a dragonfly whose every body part could cut iron.

Ren Zhong’s real target was the bluebird nest atop the tree.

In previous deaths, he’d learned these iron-feather bluebirds, though aggressive, had no interest in attacking humans.

He was gambling that the bluebirds would resent the destruction of their home and attack the culprit, sparking a battle.

A minor scheme—drive the tiger to swallow the wolf.

Under the canopy, the sounds of conflict intensified, branches collapsing from collateral damage.

Dragonfly and bluebirds came into view.

Seven bluebirds, large and small, circled and attacked the dragonfly, their sharp beaks and claws raining down, striking sparks and metallic clangs.

The dragonfly, ignoring them, kept its head fixed on Ren Zhong, trying to break free and pursue, but was pinned down on all sides.

Three minutes later, Ren Zhong passed the huge stone where the dragonfly had been lying.

He had finally reached a place he’d never touched before—he was now more than ten kilometers from the cryogenic chamber!

Only now did he notice the pile of metal debris beneath the stone.

A quick glance revealed battered, hollow mechanical arms that looked wearable, and piles of mangled machinery, unrecognizable.

It resembled a miniature scrapyard.

Ren Zhong crouched and rummaged through the pile, but found nothing usable.

The screeching behind the hill hadn’t subsided—the dragonfly and bluebirds still hadn’t settled their fight.

Not daring to linger, he pressed on.

Every step now was a new one, treading into the unknown.

He wasn’t truly safe yet, but the weight in his heart had eased.

Confidence smiled across his face.

He’d seen Arabic numerals on the flightcraft, and in the dragonfly’s nest, found mechanical arm armor clearly meant for humans, as well as gears, metal wires, alloy scraps.

These were unmistakably man-made. There must be humans in this world!

Every step further increased his hope of meeting people.

If he could find others, he’d have a chance to survive!

After being tormented over a hundred times in despair, Ren Zhong, filled with hope, strode southward into the sunset.

Charge!

Roar!

Crash...

He died again.

As abruptly and carelessly as ever.

It happened just three hundred meters beyond the dragonfly’s territory.

He’d just crossed another small mound; ahead stretched a vast indigo prairie, the ground riddled with ravines. Herds of creatures, resembling deer or horses, ambled about in groups of dozens.

Occasionally, they lowered their heads to pull up grass roots and chew.

Some kept their heads raised, vigilant.

Their behavior marked them as herbivores.

The air was peaceful; Ren Zhong thought he was briefly safe.

Unexpectedly, as he passed a mound three times a man’s height, a deafening roar erupted from its depths.

He turned—an enormous, black beast burst from the shrub-covered hill, charging at him.

The beast stood three meters tall, jet-black, broad-headed and barrel-chested, arms and legs thick and powerful.

Its maw gaped wide, fangs gleaming.

Its massive claws, tipped with gray-black talons, glinted coldly.

Ren Zhong wanted to flee, but couldn’t—the beast was too fast.

He had no time to grab the alloy rod from his back, stood frozen like a stunned goose, and the beast’s giant paw smacked him square on the head.

His death was tragic, but he felt a touch of relief—finally, an animal he recognized.

It was clearly a bear, just larger, faster, and deadlier than Earth’s bears... that’s all.

In his posthumous perspective, Ren Zhong glimpsed the dragonfly bursting skyward from behind the mound.

Thick, blue blood coated the dragonfly’s body like paint; it was slightly damaged and flew a bit slower.

The bug had wiped out the bluebird nest, and wasn’t done with him yet.