In the year 2159, in a remote region of southwestern China, a high wall enclosed a designated area. Where the walls converged, two iron gates stood firmly locked. Above them, the national emblem was emblazoned, flanked by nine golden characters inscribed vertically: "Lijiang Detention Center, Yunnan Province."Inside a cell sat a man, his back rigidly straight, hands resting on his knees. He was a death row inmate whose two appeals had been rejected. The Supreme Court had approved his sentence, set to be carried out in just six months.
Three years prior, he had been an entrepreneur, undertaking government projects only to be denied payment upon completion.When he pressed for payment, they framed him for disturbing public order. He served two years in prison, and his company was confiscated. On the day of his release, he drove a large truck into the government cafeteria at full throttle, crashing into the tables where officials were chatting and laughing. He crushed them beneath the tables along with the special-supply meals, turning everything into a bloody mess.
Now, he simply waited quietly for death.
Then, one day in April, a voice drifted down from the heavens: "The cosmic cycle will conclude on the third day of the ninth month. All beings should prepare for it!" The voice repeated three times, enveloping the earth—nowhere to be pinpointed, yet everywhere present.People couldn't locate the source, suspecting it was a new American weapon; later, news reports revealed it had been heard everywhere—in English in Britain, in French in France. Panic gripped the world, but the condemned man laughed heartily—for that day was his scheduled execution date.
"Communists! You tried to kill me, but you'll die with me instead. Don't think your power and influence last forever—on Judgment Day, we'll be equals!"
From that day onward, no mobile phone, clock, or computer could display the date as September 4th.The detention center's TV looped reports from around the world: sun and moon dimmed, gales howling, earthquakes and floods erupting daily. Everywhere, people worked day and night, digging shelters. The prison's basement, once a library, had been excavated further down. Books—donated elementary and middle school textbooks, rarely read anyway—were piled aside as inmates were herded inside.
On September 3rd, the prisoners sat cross-legged on the bunker floor, surrounded by guards with rifles. All electronics had failed. The only sounds were the hiss of air passing through nostrils and the buzzing hum of flickering incandescent bulbs. The warden stood atop an iron platform, surveying the crowd below.The death row inmates sat in the front row, noticing the metal platform trembling slightly. Looking up, they realized it wasn't the platform shaking—it was the warden's legs. His left hand gripped the pistol at his waist, sweat glistening on the metal barrel. Four fingers tapped the grip nervously, the wedding ring striking the steel rhythmically, producing a steady clinking sound.
Suddenly, a deafening roar erupted overhead, sounding like countless shells exploding, forcing everyone to cover their ears with both hands. The reinforced concrete roof was torn open by the gale like a can being ripped apart, exposing all beneath a blood-red sky. Everything outside had been flattened, the view filled only with swirling yellow sand and a hazy, grim mist.
Huddled together, shivering, they looked up to see half the sky transformed into the face of an old man with white hair...