Abrupt End

To prove himself, Wang Chuan unhesitatingly pressed the power button on the device before him. As long as he found writing, he could determine whether this really was something left behind by humans.

He did not know why he had become so "mad," so obsessed with proving something that was not all that important.

The device's screen lit up. There was still no writing on it, only a startup animation: a cluster of polygons rotated and collided, eventually converging into a strange composite symbol.

Before Wang Chuan could figure out what that symbol represented, the screen jumped straight to the home page.

However, after Wang Chuan swiftly scanned the icons on the screen, his breathing abruptly became rapid.

"Where's the writing? Where's the writing?"

There was still no text on the screen. It was like an unlabeled computer desktop, every file and interface represented by an icon, as though writing had completely vanished from the device.

The device's hum surrounded Wang Chuan's ears, and his mood grew increasingly irritable, a nameless anxiety rising within him.

He scanned the screen again and spotted a familiar icon.

It was a circle with a right-pointing triangle inside...

"Video?"

This was also a design concept deeply ingrained in the consciousness of modern humans. Realizing this might be rare visual footage, Wang Chuan clicked it without hesitation.

A window popped open, and Wang Chuan hurriedly picked up the recording device and aimed it at the screen.

With video footage, I should at least be able to learn where this city came from... Wang Chuan thought expectantly.

However, once the video began playing slowly, what it showed still disappointed him greatly.

There were no captions in the video, nor did any living creature appear on screen. It was merely footage of a fixed scene, seemingly documenting