Eve of the Riot

Grass. A plant.

Having barely gotten a second chance at life, was he about to die under a Valkyrie's blade?

Yang Ming felt he needed to salvage the situation.

He began carefully reviewing the body's recent memories, searching for any useful intel.

Unfortunately, Yang Ming found the Imperial Valkyrie Program in Hanton's memories and confirmed the existence of the Valkyrie.

Fortunately, Hanton's life over the past two years had been monotonous; skimming through it didn't take much effort.

Hanton's recent memories could be summed up simply:

One medal;

Two mistresses;

Three wishes.

By now, Yang Ming was utterly exhausted, so he simply let himself fall asleep; when he woke again, he could open his eyes, but he kept them shut and pretended to sleep.

To survive on this research ship, he had to play the role of Hanton perfectly.

Only by living could Yang Ming figure out why he had ended up in the world of the Abyss, and have a chance to uncover the connection between Earth's explosion and this holographic game.

First, let's look at that fool Hanton's three wishes:

One, to earn Professor Gigrov's recognition, gain the chance to undergo modification, and become a powerful Valkyrie Warrior.

Two, to be transferred back to Prime Star or another wealthy, stable Imperial region by age thirty, switching to a job as a sheriff in a city with a vibrant nightlife.

Three, to marry an Imperial Noble. Female nobles only.

To these three wishes, Yang Ming, who had seized this body, could only offer an apology.

He could try to fulfill the second wish, if the opportunity arose.

But the first and third wishes? Forget it.

Why would anyone give up being a normal person to willingly become a grotesque bio-fascia monster?

That wasn't something Yang Ming could accept aesthetically at this stage.

Besides, when Yang Ming played the Abyss, he spent half his time mingling in the Imperial faction. The Imperial Noble NPCs he encountered—even the purest female noble had three or four lovers!

Marrying a noblewoman... was he trying to evolve into something that could survive solely on photosynthesis?

That aside.

This world was so real.

Yang Ming could breathe freely. When he had opened his eyes earlier, the edges of his vision lacked the inevitable wide-angle distortion of a holographic visor.

What about the Attribute Board?

The Attribute Board you could tap to view your stats?

In the Abyss game, even the most minimalist interface retained the Attribute Board button, but now there was no trace of it.

Yang Ming felt he was in a real world.

This realization grew clearer and more firm.

After reviewing Hanton's three wishes, he moved on to those... two mistresses.

Space travel was so lonely.

In these cramped, maze-like cabins, on a research ship that usually couldn't return to its home port for over half a year after departure, it was perfectly normal for men and women with physical needs to be drawn to each other's bio-factors, to have some wonderful encounters, to rehearse the rituals of reproduction... It was all too common.

Everyone was used to it. As long as it didn't interfere with work, there was no trouble, and after leaving the ship, there was no need to dwell on each other.

Yang Ming watched a few small films from the memory fragments and soon felt a change in his own body.

It was functional.

That was good.

He quickly sealed away that part of the memory to avoid any uncontrollable physical reactions.

As for 'one medal,' that was simpler.

Because Hanton had always worked diligently, excellently completing several high-risk tasks, he had recently received a 'Thorn Flower' medal—equivalent to a kindergarten gold star.

At this point, Yang Ming fell into a long silence.

Earth had exploded. He had been reborn in the background world of the Abyss game, at least thirty years before the game's launch, as the hardworking, romantically fortunate Third Mate on this research ship.

But the survival crisis wasn't over.

The Valkyrie's rebellion hung like a dark cloud over Yang Ming's head.

Stop the Valkyrie's rebellion?

Or find a way off this research ship before it happened?

Yang Ming analyzed carefully.

His top priority now was to determine how much time remained until the Valkyrie launched her revolt.

If the rebellion was still a few years away, he didn't need to panic—there would be plenty of chances to escape this vortex.

Time is critical.

Yang Ming didn't continue reading through Hanton's fragmented memories. He decided to find a calendar himself, using this small self-assigned task as the starting point for his new life.

He had to find some way to integrate into this environment, both familiar and strange.

This research ship was conducting shady, illicit human experimentation. To maintain secrecy, the ship forbade the use of any Network Terminals, and each person's work uniform wasn't allowed any extra electronic items.

Back in my cabin, I'll find a calendar.

—A passable beginner tutorial quest.

Yang Ming slowly sat up, still feeling a slight dizziness.

The reason this body was injured was that, during an external operation to repair the research ship's tail stabilizer, he'd hit his head. Now he definitely had a concussion.

Yang Ming looked down at this body, his body from now on.

So buff!

He meant the chest muscles.

The bulging pectorals nearly burst through the white undershirt, his two thick thighs filled out the light blue military trousers, and beside him lay a pair of beige leather boots.

In fact, Hanton held a Level 2 Combat Mech Operator certification, had graduated from a formal military academy, and had participated in over a dozen small-scale battles.

Yang Ming bent down to pull on his boots, surveying the cramped medical bay cluttered with all kinds of instruments and cabinets, feeling the simulated gravity transmitted through the floor.

Above his head was an oval window, and beyond it stretched a brilliant nebula.

He stared blankly for a while.

Only when the sound of footsteps came from behind the cloth curtain did Yang Ming snap out of it, letting the confusion fade from his eyes.

A middle-aged female doctor with light golden hair pulled back the curtain.

She had facial features resembling a mix of Eastern and Western Earth ethnicities—fairly dignified features, a very slender figure, but the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes were starting to show.

Hanton was quite familiar with this doctor.

Dr. Lina, the ship's physician on this research vessel, responsible for the health of the several hundred crew members and soldiers. She had a very gentle personality.

"How are you feeling, Hanton?" Dr. Lina asked.

"Not bad. Did I end up with any lasting problems?"

"You're very healthy. You just can't do any strenuous activity for now, and you need to avoid bumping into things when you walk."

Dr. Lina handed over a transparent bag containing a dozen or so yellow capsules.

"Go back to your cabin and rest. You've been sleeping here long enough. If you get a headache or feel dizzy, take one. It'll help you recover quickly."

"Thanks."

Yang Ming said quietly.

He remembered something but didn't continue talking to Dr. Lina.

Suddenly asking someone what year it was in the Imperial Calendar would be a bit too abrupt.

Leaving the medical bay smoothly, Yang Ming walked with his head down along this corridor, which was barely wide enough for three people to walk side by side.

The corridor seemed nearly endless. Every few meters, a narrow cabin door appeared, its peephole equipped with biometric recognition. Inside were the single-person quarters for senior crew and officers.

Fortunately, the Third Mate, though a technical laborer, counted as senior crew.

The medical bay was at the edge of the senior crew quarters. After two turns, Yang Ming reached his own cabin door, already calculating the background time when the Abyss server launched.

Yang Ming was a veteran player, and the Abyss's Galactic time conversion mechanism had been a hot topic among players.

The game launched in [Imperial New Calendar Year 753], and thirty years prior was [New Calendar Year 723].

The description in the dungeon background was a bit vague—it only said a riot had occurred thirty years ago, without a specific date.

The biometric recognition passed smoothly, and the iron door before him slowly opened, revealing the true face of the ten-square-meter cabin.

Pretty tidy. Probably because a woman often came over to spend the night.

Yang Ming closed the cabin door, went straight to the desk, grabbed the long, rectangular electronic clock, and started pressing buttons. He read the language and numbers on it without any difficulty.

It dawned on him belatedly: the language he'd been hearing and speaking was all Galactic Common, and he had no trouble with it at all.

Whoa. Thanks, Hanton.

Let me see how long until New Calendar 723...

He'd already pulled up the calendar, squinted at it, and then froze in place.

New Calendar 724, 01, 22.

Damn it!

It was last year.