Chapter 145
Lu Chuan blankly watched as person after person was matched, catching glimpses of all sorts of creatures.
Elves, lizardfolk, octopus people, and more—each uglier and stranger than the last.
If Sun Wukong were here, he could complete the “81 Calamities” in an hour flat. One swing of the staff, and none of them would be innocent.
By the end of the day, Lu Chuan had fully grasped the [Mother of Fertility]’s nature.
Good. This thing should never, ever be revived.
Thankfully, the main god system had some shred of mercy: on the first day, Lu Chuan’s number wasn’t called.
His number—39789—was etched on his arm.
Over the day, Lu Chuan quietly gathered information.
Here, no one had names—only numbers, tied to their birth month. Those starting with “1” were born in January, “3” in March, and so on. From childhood, they lived on free food and lodging, studying only one subject: how to please the [Mother of Fertility]. Their most important training was fertility.
They had to constantly train their bodies, learn reproductive medicine, and ensure they were strong, healthy “mother-hosts” capable of producing more bizarre offspring for the Mother.
The only way to rise in status was to give birth—more, and better. The more numerous and higher quality the offspring, the more divine power the Mother would grant. That power could heal all injuries, restore youth, and even elevate one’s rank.
For example, their overseer, Number 5521, was a top-quality mother-body. She had birthed nearly 20 children, one of whom was chosen as a sacrifice. In return, she received the Mother’s blessing—restoring her youth overnight, returning her health, and even granting her the power to fly. Practically a miracle.
Lu Chuan didn’t even know where to start ridiculing this place.
It was larger than the City of Immortality—almost like a small country.
Besides humans, plenty of strange hybrid races lived here, but all were treated roughly the same.
Each person had a pigeonhole-sized house. The rest were communal spaces for study and training.
Meals were free nutrition packs in the cafeteria; drinks were vegetable juices. Clothes were loose robes—easy to remove.
The motto: as long as you’re alive, that’s enough.
Since no one here ever learned otherwise, they believed reproduction was the only truth. Especially interspecies reproduction—that was the ultimate path.
Naturally, there was no wealth, no gold or jewels.
When Lu Chuan realized this, his heart broke.
This was worse than cavemen. Even cavemen knew to gather wealth.
[Host, don’t be sad. Even if there’s no gold, human resources are also a kind of wealth,] #888 whispered to comfort him. [These people look easy to fool. If you beat the Mother of Fertility, you could drag them all off to work for you.]
“Easier said than done. Even if I wanted them to work for me, I’d have to teach them how to work first,” Lu Chuan sighed. This [Mother of Fertility] was really inhuman.
Had he known gods were like this, he would’ve treated the [God of Exchange] more politely back in the City of Immortality.
Chen Ji’s words—that the [God of Exchange] was the easiest god to deal with—were gaining value by the second.
“Cynthia and Lilus must’ve been dropped into different zones, same as me. But Shen Li… he’s in trouble. I should’ve picked Messiah instead.” Lu Chuan sighed. “I wish him luck. I tested it earlier—our powers are suppressed to less than half, but at least we can still protect ourselves.”
But when Lu Chuan tried using an item, the main god system’s warning chimed:
[Warning: current area is divine territory. Any power beyond this domain’s creatures will draw the god’s attention, with a high probability of divine punishment.]
Lu Chuan had to give up the idea.
This was the [Mother of Fertility]’s stronghold—Her revival grounds. Her power was everywhere. Before causing trouble, he’d have to think carefully whether he could withstand Her wrath.
[Host, why do you say Shen Li will be in trouble?] #888 was puzzled. [Wouldn’t he be cautious too?]
“Look closely. Of all the people I’ve seen here, have you noticed anyone over 30?” Lu Chuan said calmly. “Whether me or the ones getting matched, almost all are just in their early twenties. Every one of them is young. Her followers are all youthful and fertile. But Shen Li—though he looks young—his real age is against him. From this angle, he’s not the type the [Mother of Fertility] favors anymore.”
In this place, let alone elders—even a single middle-aged person couldn’t be seen.
But Shen Li just happened to be a middle-aged man.
Of course, the Main God System wouldn’t “kill him off for plot convenience” just for that reason, but it definitely placed Shen Li somewhere the others couldn’t easily reach.
[Then where would Shen Li go?]
“Probably somewhere like logistics,” Lu Chuan tilted his head, thinking. “Everything we eat, drink, wear, and use is supplied for free, but the deities aren’t going to handle that personally. So aside from us people in charge of reproduction, there must also be a group responsible for logistics support.”
Lu Chuan was right — Shen Li was now living in an area in charge of logistics.
“Move faster! We need to get all the meals ready before those birthing hosts wake up.”
“Come on, everyone, even if we can’t give birth anymore, we still have to contribute to the gods with our labor.”
…
“Hey, don’t just stand there.” Someone patted Shen Li. “I remember you’re good with your hands — you’ll be cutting fabric. No breaks until you finish three hundred pieces. We’re already like this; we can’t slack off and make the Mother unhappy.”
Shen Li looked at the crowded room full of elderly men and women, plus some alien laborers, and felt a grief he couldn’t put into words.
Damn it, he was in the prime of his life — why had they put him here?
It wasn’t hard to guess where Lu Chuan and the others had been sent.
Shen Li almost wanted to cry.
But crying wouldn’t help. He still had to work properly.
And it wasn’t without its perks.
In this logistics area, Shen Li could access much more information than Lu Chuan.
Lu Chuan only came into contact with breeding-age “hosts,” and those hosts knew nothing except how to reproduce. But here, many who had already borne children were now contributing their strength as part of logistics. They knew far more than the younger hosts.
For example, Shen Li learned that only the best-performing, most capable retired hosts had a chance to be chosen as caretakers for the young.
Moreover, the young themselves were ranked.
From birth, every infant’s level was tested. Those with sharp minds and strong bodies were given special care and promoted into schools to study a wide range of subjects, including (but not limited to) body modification and cross-species embryo fusion. Those whose brains weren’t as developed were grouped together to learn only one thing: how to reproduce.
And the hosts who produced outstanding infants were held in higher regard, becoming nannies dedicated to caring for these elite young.
Several such “elite nannies” worked in Shen Li’s logistics department.
After finishing their shifts, they loved to brag about the exceptional children they’d tended.
“The little one I cared for was a hybrid of several races. Not only was it born incredibly strong, but it also had photographic memory — it grasped every bit of knowledge at a glance. I heard it’s destined to lead many research projects.”
“The ones I looked after were amazing too. They supposedly had the potential to become priestesses of the Mother, so they were taken away very quickly.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
“Yeah, the priestesses are formidable. I can’t believe you actually cared for one!”
“Haha, it’s my proudest achievement.”
Shen Li shivered.
The priests of the gods served as intermediaries between ordinary believers and the deities. In critical moments, they could even become expendable vessels for divine descent — a type of enemy players dreaded.
Shen Li wanted to use his ability to escape for now and regroup with his teammates, but as soon as he tried, he received a warning from the game system, forcing him to stay put.
Here there were: the birthing hosts’ quarters, his own logistics department supporting them, a youngling training base for those under twenty, and a facility for experiments on embryo compatibility. The place didn’t look big, but it was self-contained. Who knew where everyone else was?
“81235, don’t run off.”
“Alright, alright, I admit it — you’re the strongest host.”
“Wow, you’re amazing! So many people hope to be paired with you when they come of age.”
…
Lilus was surrounded by chattering people, so annoyed he wanted to hit someone.
But he couldn’t keep hitting people — if he kept it up, he’d be in serious trouble.
It was bizarre.
When Lilus woke up, he found himself in some sort of youngling training center. Here, anyone under twenty was considered a “cub.” The moment they turned twenty, they’d be sent to the breeding-host center for matching, then tasked with producing children.
Of course, if you performed exceptionally well in the training center, you could be sent to an even more prestigious and legendary place.
What a joke.
He’d already passed his twentieth birthday in the real world — why had the system placed him in a cub center?
The game system must be messing with him.
Lilus was considered one of the higher-quality cubs here.
When he woke up and found people crowding around, chattering and touching him, he’d unceremoniously fought back.
Lilus was smart enough not to use any abilities.
But that one fight made him famous.
Soon, everyone realized Lilus could take on ten people at once and had incredible strength.
No one questioned whether it was wrong for him to hit others; instead, they marveled at how strong he was, predicting he’d be paired with some powerful alien and sire exceptional offspring.
Lilus thought this place was cursed. He desperately wanted to burn it to ashes with his sister.
Damn it, if the [Mother of Fertility] had any guts, she should come fight him herself.
What kind of twisted place was this?
Lilus forcibly suppressed his anger and kept observing.
If he couldn’t use abilities or items, he’d need to gather intel to reunite with his teammates.
At the same time, Cynthia woke up in a laboratory.
“Team Leader, you’re awake.” Several researchers respectfully greeted her. “Here’s today’s report: 3,821 pairs completed matching. However, during mating, about one-third of the hosts couldn’t withstand the damage caused by reproduction and were injured. Those we can repair will be gathered for treatment; the rest have been repurposed as experimental subjects and are being transported here. Also, at the youngling center, we’ve detected several newborns with exceptionally high brain development, suitable to become researchers, so…”
The researchers each reported their updates.
Cynthia wanted to use an item but also received a system warning, so she held back for now.
There had been no briefing, no information transfer. Cynthia quickly scanned her surroundings and analyzed her situation.
Apparently, her status here was quite high?
“Team Leader, that concludes our report.” The researchers looked at her expectantly.
Cynthia remained calm. “Carry on as usual.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Unsure of what this place really was, Cynthia followed the rule that “the more you say, the more mistakes you make.” She kept her response simple, added a few gestures, and dismissed the researchers.
Once they left, she carefully examined her surroundings.
It was an intricate laboratory, very advanced, clearly specializing in embryo research.
A casual glance showed numerous formidable creatures in the incubation tanks.
Any one of them, if released into another dungeon, would count as a boss-level threat — without at least an A-rank player’s strength, you’d die on the spot.
And those were only the ones Cynthia could see.
There were surely even more powerful embryo specimens hidden from sight.
Among the gods, the [Mother of Fertility] was notorious among human players.
She loved experimenting across races. Cynthia’s own mother had exploited this, disguising herself as a frail host and, thanks to the [Breeding] ability, infiltrated the Mother’s cult, quickly rising in rank. With the Mother’s power, she’d successfully mated with a high-ranking NPC and conceived Cynthia and Lilus.
But because of this, the [Mother of Fertility] once considered Cynthia and Lilus her property, intending to claim them as her so-called “holy children.” If not for the Main God System and the Executors intervening in that union between player and advanced NPC, the Mother wouldn’t have let them go so easily.
Thus, in Cynthia’s eyes, for her and her brother’s safety, the [Mother of Fertility] was a target to eliminate first.
Even if the Main God System hadn’t instructed players to stop that deity’s resurrection, Cynthia wouldn’t let her off.
The lab held the most accessible intelligence.
Cynthia could easily obtain information on other areas; given a little time, she could pinpoint her teammates’ locations.
But here, time was the scarcest resource.
When the game system assigned player locations, besides factoring in their age and abilities, it also considered the dungeon’s overall balance.
For example, Shen Li’s logistics department—though they couldn’t access core dungeon secrets—was relatively safe. The birthing center, on the other hand, had enough staff and allowed players to slowly build up their own forces in the early stages. In the infant-nurturing center, the youngest players could receive a certain level of protection. Cynthia’s research department, however, could be called the true core of the dungeon. They not only accessed the most information but were also closest to the deities—though, correspondingly, the risk of being discovered was highest.
Cynthia understood clearly: her inseparable link with the Mother of Fertility meant she was destined to gain more key information than others in this dungeon, but it also made her far more likely to attract the deity’s attention.
She had to be extra careful.
For now, all she could do was wait.
Although her current post seemed crucial, in reality her freedom was the most restricted. Only the birthing center, with its sheer number of people, offered the greatest freedom.
Considering the different departmental traits, Lu Chuan’s age fit best. Unlike Lilus or Shen Li—too old or too young—he was likely to be assigned to the birthing center.
But when Cynthia imagined that guy being pointed at and scrutinized in the birthing center—whether he was “suitable” to have children—she couldn’t help but laugh.
Once this dungeon was over, she thought, the Mother of Fertility would surely land on Lu Chuan’s kill list.
At that very moment, Lu Chuan was struggling to turn down multiple “mating invitations.”
To be fair, the Mother of Fertility’s chosen vessels were all young and beautiful; any genes deemed inferior had already been weeded out.
In the birthing center, aside from the “matching mechanism,” free unions born of love were also allowed.
It was said this was the so-called “attraction between genes.” If two vessels were irresistibly drawn to each other, it meant their genes also resonated. Their union might produce extraordinary offspring. And since the Mother of Fertility did not forbid her believers from indulgence, she granted these young vessels some freedom.
If it were any other player here, even a little bit of desire would be magnified, until they freely sweated and sowed their seed—contributing directly to the Mother’s power.
But unfortunately for her, Lu Chuan had no such interest at all.
No matter how stunning or alluring the ones who approached him were, in his eyes, they couldn’t hold a candle to a single gold ingot.
“System, tell me, doesn’t this Mother of Fertility have a screw loose?” Lu Chuan finally returned to his “pigeon coop” after narrowly dodging one advance after another, grumbling with nowhere to vent. “I just went out for a stroll, and I nearly got dragged off for the night. I sell my skills, not my body! Even at my poorest, I never considered selling my body.”
Selling one’s body was against ancestral law, and Lu Chuan had been bound by that to the letter.
[It’s more likely the Mother values the players’ genes. Since the main god system has enhanced players’ physical attributes, they’re the best gene providers from a vessel standpoint. But generally, the stronger the player, the less likely they are to have children. Here, with the Mother’s power, they might actually be able to leave descendants.] #888 explained seriously. [Perhaps for many high-level players, they’d actually want to leave offspring here.]
But how the Mother would use them afterward—that was another story entirely.
“Never thought I’d have to worry about my chastity in a dungeon.” Lu Chuan was speechless. “But I’ve already left hidden marks in several places. If my teammates are here too, they’ll contact me soon enough.”
From the looks of it, though, they hadn’t been placed in the same location as him.
Which made sense. The main god system wouldn’t lump them all together. Even using abilities or items triggered reminders from the system—clearly, causing trouble in the early stages wouldn’t be easy.
Otherwise, Lu Chuan would’ve happily set the whole place on fire. Once the vessels were endangered, the Mother would be forced to descend with divine power, revealing clues he could grab onto. Then, once his teammates gathered, they could unleash their abilities and items. Even if they couldn’t kill the Mother outright, they could seriously wound her, delay her revival, and clear the dungeon in one blow.
Unfortunately, the main god system had likely seen their combat potential—and split them apart.
[Host, I’m afraid the matching mechanism will reach you tomorrow.] #888 sounded worried. [The first day still had a conscience, but tomorrow, I doubt you’ll be given much time.]
“Let it come. I’m curious what kind of alien the system thinks matches me.” Lu Chuan sneered. “If they pair me with something ugly, I’ve got plenty of strength and tricks to kill it.”
But whether it was ugly wasn’t really the issue.
Author’s Note:
Cang Jiu: preparing to go online.
