Defend Namsan Park

Chapter 100 They All Deserve to Die

Wang Xiangbing's swift and ruthless thrust seemed to have truly wounded Tang Di's pride. For the next two weeks, he turned a blind eye to the secret dealings between his megamachine driver and the operations office. Wei Mao and Shang Lu were having an affair, indulging in debauchery, shameless and oblivious to the world. State-owned assets were being lost truckload after truckload, from large aluminum alloys to small screws, all flowing from the rear warehouse into the hands of the operations office under Shang Lu's sweet talk, coercion, and enticement.

Tang Di seemed to have become indifferent to the world's destruction. What did the world's end matter to him? Let them all die! Wang Xiangbing deserved to die, Shang Lu deserved to die, Wei Mao deserved to die, and all of them in 151 deserved to die. He no longer spent 24 hours a day at his workstation watching Wei Mao's training. He went to work on time and left on time, then disappeared without a trace. He didn't answer the phone or reply to emails. Faced with Wei Mao's deteriorating training results, Tang Di signed the papers numbly, expressionless.

Wei Mao's accuracy dropped to 22.5%, but it is still the highest hit rate in all of humankind.

The Foucault pendulum in Tang Di's office was still spinning endlessly.

In contrast, the operations office was as festive as if it were New Year's Day. As the saying goes, "With grain in hand, one is not afraid." When had the operations office ever fought such a well-fed battle?
"We've completely crushed the arrogance of 1047 and the Planning Office! One punch is enough to prevent a hundred more! They won't dare to interfere again." Wang Xiangbing danced the cha-cha happily in his office, his heart brimming with joy. "Eight hundred tons of aluminum alloy, delivered just as promised, eight hundred tons, comrades, a full eight hundred tons! Chaofeng's future is secured."

"Where's Pokeweed?" Bai Shu asked. "Did he go to see Euonymus again to discuss the illness?"

Shang Lu's desk was empty. He hadn't been coming to the operations office or workshop 112 much lately.

"Is he staying with Wei Mao?" Wang Xiangbing said. "Yesterday we asked him for a batch of high-temperature resistant ceramics, and he said he would figure out a way."

Shang Lu did indeed try to find a way, and the best way he could think of was to go to Wei Mao and extend his hand, palm up:
"Get me some high-temperature resistant ceramics."

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Although Wang Xiangbing and Tang Di are now bitter enemies, Shang Lu, the instigator, has remained aloof from the conflict between the work operations office and the planning office. He often wears a hard hat and goes to the construction site to gaze at the Chongqing World Trade Center from afar. On the roof of that building are three tower cranes: two Zoomlion and one Liebherr. As the sun sets, the dark silhouettes of the tower cranes and the super-sized cranes stand against the fiery red sunset clouds, like vertical knife handles, with black cormorants scattered on them.

Those birds inhabit the banks of the Jialing River, sometimes swooping down to catch fish, sometimes perching on the tops of tall buildings to overlook the entire human city.

Wei Mao also enjoyed gazing at the Super Barat Brahma Temple, specifically at the Dragon Emperor Stan Gang. Unlike Shang Lu, he was the pilot of "Da Yi," and this giant spear was built for his use. This was a bizarre and wondrous era, where angels or gods roamed the earth, while humanity erected towering giant spears on the land, intending to pierce the planet. Deep within the mountains behind them slept giants forged from alloys, but these behemoths were not warriors, but wise men.

"High, high, high, high..."

"High-temperature ceramics," Shang Lu said. "Can you get your hands on silicon carbide-zirconium diboride two-phase ceramic materials?"

Wei Mao thought for a moment and nodded:
"Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes—"

"If it works, that's fine."

“It is possible,” Wei Mao said. “What do we need it for?”

Wei Mao rarely asked questions. He never cared much about the whereabouts of the strategic materials that Shang Lu asked him for. Shang Lu asked him for titanium alloys, aluminum alloys, cables, and high-temperature ceramics. He gave him whatever he wanted. As for what Shang Lu did with them—it might be to resist the angels building the giant machine "Chaofeng," or it might be to destroy Chengdu and develop the continental shelf vibrator—Wei Mao didn't ask.

"The workshop asked me for it. They plan to add a high-temperature resistant protective shell to the outside of the Chaofeng's cockpit. Based on past combat experience, the workshop believes that high-temperature protection is necessary." Wei Mao's wandering gaze gradually focused on Shang Lu.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Shang Lu felt a chill run down his spine.

“You—” Wei Mao hesitated for a moment, “Do you know how the other people in the base evaluate you?”

"I know." Shang Lu said frankly, "I not only know how others in the base evaluate us, but I also know how the Science City in the rear and the higher military commission evaluate us. I think they are all right."

"right?"

"Chaofeng is useless, of course, but is Dayi useful? What use is it? Can it save all mankind from this abyss of despair?" Shang Lu said. "Whether it is Chichao, Kuiniu, Honglian, Dayi, or Chaofeng, Qiongding, Tianshu, and Feilu which are under construction, which one is our savior? Angels may still exist in this world for another ten thousand years."

Wei Mao paused for a moment. He told Shang Lu these things, which had nothing to do with the fate of humanity. It was just because he had overheard the Planning Office fiercely criticizing Shang Lu while passing by. The words they used were comparable to a complete collection of national curses, including but not limited to: bastard, son of a bitch, bastard, little turtle, turtle son, hooligan boss, street thug—Shang Lu said they were all right.

"The staff officer once told me that if he lived to the end, he would write a book to record everything," Shang Lu said leisurely, sitting on the curb.

"put?"

“Chen Yu, my roommate, is a staff officer at the base command and the head of the operations section,” Shang Lu explained. “He’s a person who loves literature and poetry. He’s very interested in you and often follows your gossip. I’ll introduce you to him when I have the chance.”

"Then...what exactly constitutes the end?"

"Probably the day when humanity destroys all the angels," Shang Lu replied.

"That shouldn't be called the end, it should be called the beginning."

Shang Lu paused for a moment, then nodded:
“You’re right, the day we destroy all the angels will be the beginning, not the end, but for us…”

Wei Mao didn't hear the last sentence clearly. The eight-wheeled dump trucks transporting construction waste roared past them on the road in front of them, the noise drowning out Shang Lu's voice.

Wei Mao tilted his head and pricked up his ears.

"For us—" Shang Lu raised his voice, repeating it loudly and without restraint, "August 27, 2019, is the last day!"

Wei Mao still couldn't hear clearly; it seemed he was not only a stutterer but also deaf. Shang Lu didn't repeat himself. He leaned back, lying on the gray grass of the green belt, his gaze fixed on the azure sky above. Another cormorant flew by—the black bird's shadow flashed by. Was it a cormorant? Or a night heron? He hummed a song softly.