Chapter 50: The Boy’s Confession

Nearly half an hour had passed before Ren Zhong finally exhaled deeply within the slumbering space. After skimming through the outline in a hurried, somewhat careless manner, he felt reassured. It had all been a false alarm; the venerable Sid Meier, after all, remained reliable. That bizarre introduction must have been nothing more than a quirk of the man’s peculiar sense of humor.

“Notes on Armor” consisted of four chapters, roughly 140,000 words in length, accompanied by 1,100 illustrations and 176 video segments totaling eight hours. Each chapter corresponded to a different stage in Sid Meier’s professional advancement. The content itself was unembellished; rather than a mere instructional manual, it read more like a memoir, meticulously recounting how he had struggled through each stage, seeking out the ultimate path of combat best suited to his own strengths, step by step.

There were passages detailing his mental journey and unique thought processes, analyses of technical skills, and countless demonstrations of experiments—some successful, some not—captured on video. At the end of each chapter, he proposed targeted enhancement and modification strategies for different types of mecha warriors, based on various combat and armor styles, while placing particular emphasis on cost control and feasibility. The advice was highly practical.

Ren Zhong, with his preference for balanced approaches, realized that if he simply followed Sid Meier’s recommendations and made the suggested modifications to his own equipment, he could boost his combat effectiveness by at least eighty percent with minimal effort.

In short, it was a thorough reference manual, much like the other knowledge stored in his wrist device. The only difference was its extraordinary practicality, and its focus—through the lens of a technical manual—on how one might break through the limits of pure data parameters.

Within the constraints of his era, Sid Meier had exerted his utmost effort, exploring the possibilities of human transcendence. Though not entirely successful, he could hardly be called a failure, either.

Ren Zhong returned to the first chapter, opened the section on Level One Mecha Warriors, and began to study it word by word, line by line.

It was not difficult to learn. The approach was simple: rote memorization, with inferences drawn from analogy.

He estimated that, at most, he would need only twenty-four hours to fully master the first chapter of “Notes on Armor.” This was the heart of the book, comprising the largest portion, laying out the central philosophy, and detailing how Sid Meier transformed himself from a mediocre soldier into an unparalleled king of cross-level combat.

Chapters two, three, and four were merely supplements and expansions built on the foundation of the first.

The night passed without incident. Nothing unusual occurred in Ren Zhong’s room. Perhaps it was good fortune, or perhaps it was that his gear was so neatly worn that his human scent failed to attract the nocturnal beasts prowling outside.

In the morning, Ren Zhong went to the canteen, where he met up with the rest of his squad. At the breakfast table, the other five chatted excitedly.

Zheng Tian, Chen Hanyu, and Bai Feng had all surpassed the basic metrics required of Level Two professionals, and their prospects for passing the assessment were bright. Ou Youning was slightly behind, and Wen Lei lagged a bit more, but with some extraordinary effort, they too had a chance.

“We just need to push through one more day,” Zheng Tian said. “Tonight, we should have enough money to buy stimulants for the mind at Healing Hands. Then we can pick up some functional drinks at the co-op. They don’t do much, but every little bit helps.”

Ou Youning, grinning mischievously, pulled out three books. “Heh, heh, heh. I went around and found these. They’re diaries written by experts about the Level Two assessment. You guys should all take a look—they’ll help. Ren, do you want to read them?”

Ren Zhong smiled, “You all read them during the day. I read quickly, and besides, your assessments are more urgent. I’ll go through them tonight.”

“Alright.”

Wen Lei clutched his pocket watch tightly, a look of longing on his face. He murmured, “I really hope all of us pass tonight. If we do, we’ll probably be the first team in town where every member reaches Level Two.”

Everyone knew that Ren Zhong intended to skip Level One and go straight to Level Two.

At last, Bai Feng spoke up, “All of us at Level Two is a bit optimistic. But at the very least, we’ll be the only semi-professional squad under Lin Wang with a Level Two member.”

“That’s right!” Ou Youning nodded vigorously. “If all goes well, in a few years, we might become the fourth professional team in town! Heh, heh, heh…”

“Shh!” Zheng Tian made a silencing gesture. “Keep your voices down. That’s not something to be spreading around.”

“Mm, mm, mm!”

The others immediately lowered their voices, glancing around cautiously to ensure no one was eavesdropping. Once they were sure they were safe, a look of pride flashed across Zheng Tian’s face. “It’s been such a hard journey to get here.”

“So true,” the group echoed.

After breakfast, they agreed to meet at the courtyard at 7:30 that evening to exchange their insights and make one last push. Ren Zhong bid them farewell and returned home.

Unbeknownst to him, it was already six in the evening. He exited the slumbering space, then retrieved his auxiliary on-board computer and connected the external keyboard.

This was a personal habit, a relic of his life as an old soul. Typing by hand was a bit slower than dictating, but it allowed his thoughts more time to organize, which aided his logic.

The keyboard was something Wen Lei had cobbled together from junk. From the etched circuits on the circuit board, to the switches, to the chips themselves, everything was handmade from second-hand scraps. The keycaps were carved from wood with a pocketknife.

Ren Zhong jokingly referred to it as the Rolls-Royce of keyboards. Sadly, Wen Lei had no idea what a Rolls-Royce was, and could only stare blankly when asked.

He powered on the computer and began typing rapidly, creating spreadsheets in Sid Meier’s style, sorting his own data models and refining his parameters.

Dynamic cerebral response, static analytical ability, dynamic and static visual acuity indices, arm endurance, leg endurance, arm explosive power, finger dexterity, neck strength and flexibility…

He then fine-tuned his training plan based on these refined parameters, preparing for targeted training sessions.

He also planned to ask Ju Qingmeng to test his brain-machine synchronization rate again soon—a key parameter he needed to know. Only with an exact number could he safely increase the bioelectric stimulation level of his armor, pushing himself to his true limits and maximizing efficiency.

In addition, he was compiling a list of performance-enhancing supplements suitable for Level One Mecha Warriors with no side effects. By stacking these, he could further increase the effectiveness of his physical training and accelerate his progress.

By the time the clock passed seven, Ren Zhong had completed his entire acceleration framework. Now all that remained was to fill it with data and details.

He powered down the auxiliary computer and slipped it back into his pocket with a long sigh.

Everything was under control, but there was still a lingering sense of regret.

In “Notes on Armor,” Sid Meier repeatedly mentioned a key term—“virtual reality training.” This was a game embedded in the wrist device’s internet function, an advanced version of “Virtual Life” stripped of its entertainment features, retaining only the core of professional combat training, with significantly improved realism.

The experience was identical to the monthly professional assessment.

Sid Meier claimed that it was this virtual reality training that had truly changed his fate. In his formative years, he had continually honed his skills in this simulation, identifying and patching his weaknesses, constructing his theoretical framework, fine-tuning his training and equipment, validating his regimen, and rapidly accumulating combat experience. With each step, he excavated more of his potential.

He built up strength in silence, making his stunning leap from Level One to outperform Level Five as soon as he emerged.

“In short, if you are an aspiring warrior, you must have it!”

Sid Meier’s eloquence in the video was dazzling, painting virtual reality training as the ultimate solution, and ending with this conclusion.

Ren Zhong was thoroughly tempted, his eyes alight with longing.

But alas, this was an unattainable mirage.

Ordinary wastelanders could access simulated combat once a month by renting a wrist device and paying a hefty entry fee for the professional assessment—a safe, high-intensity challenge.

But to immerse oneself in it daily, as Sid Meier had?

Sorry, that required more money—and, crucially, the right permissions.

Though there were no special hardware requirements, the rules stipulated that only a Level Four wrist device could unlock virtual reality training. And to buy one, you needed an authorization letter from a town mayor or someone of similar administrative rank.

Level Four wrist devices were the highest tier available to wastelanders, priced at “only” 5,000 contribution points.

Yet for most, saving up just 100 points for a Level One device was already a struggle. The Level Four was worth fifty times as much!

Ren Zhong truly could not imagine how an ordinary wastelander could possibly save that much.

Even he found the thought unsettling.

It was like a carrot dangling forever in front of a lamb’s nose—always visible, never within reach, no matter how long one chased it.

He sighed. Best not to dwell on it.

There was nothing to be done.

As a compulsive perfectionist, he felt a pang of disappointment.

He mused, I still haven’t done enough.

The most fascinating aspect of life lies in looking back and realizing that the time you thought had slipped away was filled with countless regrets.

Fate is infinite in its possibilities.

Even when you think you’ve achieved perfection, a backward glance reveals there’s always something more perfect.

So many details overlooked, so many silent opportunities slipping away between your fingers in the endless river of time.

This time, I’ve lasted half a month.

If only I’d known all this from the start, how different things might be.

By now, I might already be a peerless Level Two warrior, dominating the battlefield.

If I could start over, I would—

Ah, how I wish I could push Armstrong’s Spiral Accelerator Cannon to the limit!

But really, I’m not so eager to start over.

Dad always said, keep moving forward.

He packed up quickly and headed down to the first floor, intending to go to Zheng Tian’s team’s courtyard. Having been delayed a bit, it was now 7:45—already past the agreed meeting time. He wondered how the others were doing.

Just then—

Bang, bang, bang!

Someone pounded on the door downstairs.

A tense, deliberately hushed voice spoke from outside.

“Sir, sir, are you home?”

Ren Zhong was surprised.

It was the neighbor boy from next door. The young man respected and was grateful to him, but always kept his distance, never coming by uninvited.

What could have happened?

He opened the door.

“Hello. What is it?”

Seeing Ren Zhong safe and sound, the young man breathed a sigh of relief, then quickly slipped inside and whispered, “Mr. Ren! I don’t know what’s going on, but there are rumors in the street that you’ve been impersonating a census officer and swindling people. Lots of wastelanders are out looking for you. You need to get out of here, fast.”

“What?” Ren Zhong’s brow furrowed sharply.