Chapter Fifty-Five: New World, Terminator

After leaving the holographic conference room, Wang Jing planned to return to his quarters for a well-deserved rest. However, on his way back, he noticed in the distance a massive portal suddenly appear. Wang Jing recognized this portal—it was generated whenever the Energon Pillar of the Celestial Nemesis was activated.

Curious, Wang Jing walked toward the portal. Even before he arrived, he saw the Celestial Nemesis and a group of people in spacesuits moving in and out of the portal. Trucks would occasionally emerge from within, laden with cargo.

He approached and asked, “What are you doing here?”

The Celestial Nemesis looked down, saw Wang Jing, and explained, “This is the monthly lunar supply transport mission.”

“Wasn’t this supposed to be my responsibility?” Wang Jing inquired.

“It was, originally. But the United Government, concerned about your safety, assigned me to handle the lunar transport instead,” Celestial Nemesis replied.

“Your Energon Pillar is being used so frequently—how is its energy replenished?” Wang Jing suddenly thought to ask.

“For such short-range transmissions, the energy consumed is minimal. Besides, the Seed Source can recharge the pillar, so there’s no need to worry about power,” Celestial Nemesis explained.

Just then, a spacesuited worker called out, “This is the last batch of goods!”

Celestial Nemesis nodded, and after five trucks had passed, he closed the portal and stored the Energon Pillar.

Watching the pillar float in midair, Wang Jing suddenly asked, “Celestial Nemesis, can you still manufacture such pillars?”

Celestial Nemesis shook his head with regret. “The Energon Pillar was a product of Cybertron’s golden age. Its manufacturing technology was lost in the war long ago.”

“Even if it weren’t lost, with current technology we couldn’t hope to reproduce it. The gap is simply too vast—like giving the most advanced aerospace blueprints to a tribe of primitive people wielding sticks.”

“That’s truly disheartening,” Wang Jing sighed.

“But as long as Cybertron is rebuilt, I believe we’ll soon return to our former glory,” Celestial Nemesis said, clenching his fist.

His unwavering confidence inspired Wang Jing. He believed that, through his own efforts and those of all humankind, that day was not so far off.

In the days that followed, Wang Jing worked with renewed vigor, which puzzled Song Guohua. Upon inquiry, he learned the truth.

“Though I don’t wish to dampen your spirits, I feel obliged to remind you: Life is life, ideals are ideals. Distinguish between the two, or your life might become a tangled mess,” Song Guohua said.

Wang Jing didn’t quite grasp his meaning at first, but a week later, he understood what Song Guohua meant by “a tangled mess.”

Time is the greatest file for passion; no matter how grand the ideal, it is inevitably worn away by time’s relentless touch.

Settling back into the mundane, Wang Jing found his days dull and flavorless. Day after day, he traveled to various countries, greeted by presidents and officials, carrying the supplies they had painstakingly gathered, and then departing amid their enthusiastic farewells to repeat the cycle elsewhere.

Yet this gloom was soon dispelled, for Wang Jing once again crossed over into a new world.

As before, it happened during a routine transition.

Surveying the barren hills, Wang Jing’s restless spirit flared anew. Climbing a hilltop, he saw a landscape of ruined houses.

Windows were gone, and the roads were littered with abandoned, shell-like cars. From this, Wang Jing surmised that this too was a post-apocalyptic world.

He descended into the forsaken city, and there found that the buildings bore bullet holes of varying sizes on their façades. Some structures had collapsed entirely into rubble.

Wang Jing selected a relatively intact building and entered. The main door was gone, and a thick layer of ashes covered the floor, leaving clear footprints with every step.

The lobby was equally dusty; the reception desk and sofas were covered in grime. Wang Jing guessed it might have been a hotel, or perhaps an office building.

He continued on and spotted a rack beside the sofa, piled with newspapers and magazines. He took a newspaper and began to read.

Its surface was wrinkled from the passage of time and deeply yellowed. The black print was faded, with some words barely legible.

From the text, Wang Jing deduced he was in the United States; the date on the paper was 1997.

Upon seeing a headline proclaiming, “We must control our own destiny, not a computer!” Wang Jing guessed immediately which world he had entered.

Reading the detailed report below confirmed his suspicion.

Knowing what world this was, Wang Jing hurried outside. Terminators were most numerous in cities, making them unsuitable as frontline bases.

But as he exited the building, he quickly retreated, for a T-600 armed with a Vulcan cannon was approaching on the street.

Cursing his luck, Wang Jing drew his electromagnetic weapon, set it to maximum power, and charged out, blowing the T-600’s head off in a single shot before landing.

He then stepped forward, sent the fading T-600 back to the primary dimension, told it to wait for his return, and crossed back into the Terminator world.

Upon arrival, Wang Jing activated his jetpack and soared toward the distant forested mountains.

Locating a dense woodland, he landed and, once he confirmed he hadn’t been followed, crossed back to the primary dimension.

Wang Jing had barely returned when Song Guohua approached, asking, “What kind of world is it this time? And what was that robot?”

“In short, it’s a world where an AI called Skynet went rogue, launched nuclear missiles to destroy everything, and that robot was a T-600, built by Skynet to wipe out the surviving humans.”

“But there’s something worth noting: Skynet in that world developed a machine capable of traversing parallel dimensions. This could be key in understanding the origin of my abilities.”

“So what should we do?” Song Guohua asked gravely.

“Prepare for large-scale warfare—at minimum, assemble a force capable of defending a small city,” Wang Jing said, holding up a finger.

Song Guohua nodded. “I’ll pass the word.”

After Song Guohua left, Wang Jing began assembling his team: Alice, Liu Peiqiang, Wang Lei, the long-absent Li Yiyi, and the newest member, Optimus Prime.

“Is there a new mission?” Liu Peiqiang asked with a smile.

“That’s right. But this time, the mission is extremely dangerous. Our opponents are emotionless machines; one lapse and you could be riddled with bullets,” Wang Jing replied sternly.

“Machines—are they like Optimus Prime?” Li Yiyi glanced at the towering Optimus Prime.

Wang Jing shook his head. “Not at all. They have no feelings, mere steel constructs built from code. Their numbers may exceed five hundred million, all controlled by an artificial intelligence called Skynet.”