Yang Wanqing ran up from the stairwell, clutching a stack of registration forms.
"Yaoyao, the registration counters downstairs aren't enough. I had them set up four more tables outside."
"Do we have enough computing power?"
"No. I've already asked logistics to add more." Yang Wanqing stacked the forms on the windowsill and glanced down as well. "How many people must there be?"
"At least a million," Chen Siyao said.
A young officer's voice rose from downstairs, already hoarse. "How old are you, comrade?"
"Sixteen."
"Anyone under eighteen cannot register for combat duty. You can..."
"I've evolved to the Body-Tempering Realm. I can fight."
"It's not about whether you can fight. Regulations..."
"Screw the regulations! Jupiter's gone! My home is right here! My dad, my mom, my grandma—they're all here!"
The officer fell silent for two seconds. Another staff member beside him handed over a different-colored form.
"You can register for logistics support. Weapons assembly, supply transport, early-warning posts. Pick one."
The sixteen-year-old boy stared at the form for three seconds, then took it and lowered his head to fill it out.
At another window.
An elderly man with graying hair stood before the counter. His back was stooped, and he leaned on a wooden cane.
"Comrade, I'm here to sign up."
"Sir, you..."
"Enough with the 'sir.' I was a soldier when I was young, too. I'm eighty-three. Been retired sixty years. I can still hold a gun."
The officer gave a strained smile. "Sir, at your age..."
"Never mind my age!" The old man thumped his cane against the ground.
"Rear support is fine, too. I can cook. I can mend clothes. I can guard a warehouse. But if you expect me to sit at home watching television and waiting to die, I can't do that."
The officer glanced