The surface of Proxima b.
Central City.
Lü Yongchang gazed at the yellowish snow outside the "window," a hint of wistfulness in his eyes.
"The weather is getting colder and colder."
"Proxima Centauri is entering its final death throes, too..."
Beside him, Fang Xu spoke. "Yes. Time to move again, isn't it?"
Lü Yongchang's eyes dimmed slightly.
Human Civilization had only just gotten back on track, yet they had no choice but to order another migration.
This was the price of being weak!
He sighed softly and spoke in a low voice toward the camera beside him. "Zero, turn off the exterior projection."
As soon as he finished speaking, the enormous floor-to-ceiling window and the scenery vanished.
In their place stood a cold, silver-white wall.
"How is the mobilization effort going?" After a moment's thought, Lü Yongchang spoke again.
At the question, a trace of bitterness appeared in Fang Xu's eyes.
He slowly shook his head.
"At present, five hundred million people are still unwilling to leave Proxima Centauri."
"We've tried many approaches, but none have worked."
Lü Yongchang's expression darkened.
Five hundred million people already accounted for 8.3% of the total population!
Fang Xu quickly added, "Fortunately, most of those five hundred million are elderly."
Hearing this, Lü Yongchang's expression eased slightly.
"Most of them are elderly people who came from Earth, aren't they?"
Fang Xu nodded.
"The survey shows that four hundred million of them are elderly."
"After more than a century of hibernation, they no longer want to keep wandering."
"Although this isn't Earth, sixty years of living here have given them a certain attachment to Proxima b."
"So..."
Lü Yongchang sighed again.
"What about the remaining hundred million?"
Fang Xu hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, "The vast majority belong to the younger generation born