Chapter 2: I Am the Last Human on Earth

Sensing the scent of money, shrewd merchants immediately joined forces to create an interstellar livestream channel called “The Last Human on Earth,” dedicated exclusively to broadcasting Chen Chushi’s activities on Earth. The livestream was free to watch—there was no helping it, after all, when the Earth surveillance system was first installed, viewing rights were unconditionally shared; anyone with a smart device could tune in at will. So, they decided to monetize the live chat—charging for each message sent.

A catchy title attracts plenty of customers! Chen Chushi’s popularity soared to unprecedented heights. The moment the stream opened, the chat was flooded with messages, each costing a hundred yuan, despite the crowd being divided among thousands of parallel channels.

An American viewer remarked, “I bet this guy’s been abandoned all alone on Earth. He must be in utter despair—probably sitting on a rooftop, wondering whether to jump off.”

A Korean viewer chimed in, “Jump or not, I know his heart must be full of negativity. If he doesn’t dare die, he’ll probably vent his emotions with some serious destruction.”

A Japanese viewer added, “People who eat kimchi every day can only think of such things. Of course, if the one left on Earth were one of our own, he’d rather commit seppuku with the spirit of a true samurai than harm a single blade of grass.”

A Chinese viewer retorted, “Nonsense, all of you! Americans barge into people’s homes, smashing and looting under the guise of ‘justice.’ Koreans keep stealing others’ intellectual property and claiming it as their own! The Japanese talk of loving the world, yet dump nuclear waste in the ocean! If your morals were half as thick as your skin, the world would be at peace!”

Bickering in the chat grew ever more intense. The price per message was raised again and again—500, 1000, finally 1500 yuan per message—forcing viewers to become more “rational,” carefully considering and condensing their words before hurling them.

At that moment, a user suddenly sent a special VIP message for 3000 yuan: “Stop your pointless arguing! Pay attention—something’s happening with the ‘streamer.’ Looks like he’s about to catch fire?”

The VIP message struggled for three seconds before being swallowed by the flood, but a few did notice. They quickly switched off the chat overlay to see what was happening.

Right then, Chen Chushi was sitting cross-legged, hands resting palms-up on his knees, eyes half-closed. Wisps of white vapor rose faintly from his skin, as if he were a human furnace radiating high heat, the air around him swirling restlessly.

His self-created “Qi Refinement Technique” had been difficult to start, but with spiritual energy entering his body, completing a minor circuit from the crown of his head to the base of his spine, things began to flow more smoothly with each cycle. The technique worked surprisingly well, but the newspaper had said there were only three years left until the sun’s helium flash—realizing this, Chen Chushi felt his cultivation speed was still far from satisfactory.

Just then, a voice echoed in his mind: “Congratulations, host! You have successfully created and practiced the Qi Refinement Technique, earning the ‘First Step on the Path’ achievement and half an hour of enlightenment time. Would you like to use it now?”

So that was why it was called the Achievement Cultivation System! He had to unlock achievements.

“Use it!” he commanded inwardly.

Immediately, his mind became utterly clear. Previously dull knowledge came alive with interest, his thoughts crisp and sharp.

After a few cycles, feeling the faint magical energy surging within, he looked down at the rooftop, flexed his fingers, and grabbed a section of broken railing. With a forceful twist, he snapped it off and began to write on the ground—drafting his self-created “Qi Refinement Technique.”

He continued to calculate various possibilities, revising and perfecting the simplified Qi Refinement Technique, determined to make it a true entry-level cultivation method.

But the joy of enlightenment was fleeting—half an hour passed all too quickly. Exiting the trance, Chen Chushi felt a lingering sense of yearning. He gazed at the refined version of the Qi Refinement Technique inscribed on the ground, filled with pride but also regret. Such a powerful method, yet he was the only one who could practice it—what a waste! He chuckled, patting his forehead. Why overthink it? He’d cultivate diligently, catch up with the departing spaceships, and then invite all of humanity to share the delights of cultivation.

With a tenfold increase in cultivation efficiency, no one could surpass him anyway.

He seated himself cross-legged again and ran the improved Qi Refinement Technique. His body’s ability to absorb spiritual energy increased dramatically; the rate of conversion soared, magical energy gathering endlessly in his lower dantian. No more smoke rose from his skin, but the air around him swirled even more violently.

The international livestream exploded with excitement.

An American exclaimed, “What’s he writing—some kind of martial arts manual? Is this the legendary meditation from ancient Chinese kung fu? Look at the air distorting around him! Can a normal human even reach such a body temperature? I always thought their movies were exaggerated, but it seems they were true!”

A Korean insisted, “Ahem, kung fu actually originated here. There’s evidence! Sure, the records are written in Chinese, but doesn’t that just prove Chinese characters came from us, too?”

A Japanese viewer declared, “Regardless of where it’s from, anything that benefits humanity should be shared with the world!”

Meanwhile, in the Chinese livestream channel, the discussion was even more heated.

One user mused, “Ancient martial arts—no, high martial arts! This is like the novels, where inner energy can be projected to strike people from afar!”

Another countered, “You’re thinking too small! And besides, your guess isn’t even paywalled. I think he’s cultivating immortality! If you replay the footage before he started meditating, he said: ‘Let’s try creating a beginner’s technique and see how it works—there’s no rush.’ So, the words on the ground must be the technique he just invented… And listen to the name—‘Qi Refinement Technique’—it’s classic immortal cultivation!”

The first user protested, “Not necessarily. High martial arts novels have plenty of techniques that are just as impressive—like those in ‘Dominating the World,’ where martial artists can slay dragons and kill kirins…”

The other insisted, “I’m convinced he’s cultivating!”

“Be reasonable,” the first argued, “I say it’s martial arts!”

Another chimed in, “He’s probably delirious from a fever, just trying to cool off…”

As they bickered, the Chinese authorities, upon noticing Chen Chushi’s abnormal body temperature, immediately reviewed the footage and copied down the Qi Refinement Technique written on the ground, organizing it into text for research.

Other countries, including Korea, America, and Japan, did the same, each translating the technique into their own languages. But with cultural differences and the nuances of Chinese characters—where a single character’s change could alter the entire meaning, or even when the characters matched, interpretation differed—the task was daunting.

To make matters worse, the technique on the ground was a draft, written and revised on the fly—full of circles, crossings-out, and corrections that only Chen Chushi himself could decipher.

Everyone has their own habits of editing and phrasing, so Chinese researchers had their work cut out for them. Foreign experts were even more plagued by headaches, forced to translate character by character, prepare multiple versions, and still remain unsure of the meaning.

Chen Chushi’s actions captivated billions, though he remained oblivious—fully immersed in cultivation until hunger finally snapped him out of it at dusk.

The process of converting spiritual energy into magical power had also been strengthening his body. Chen Chushi clenched his fist, feeling the power coursing through his flesh and blood, unable to resist testing it. He took a deep breath.

With a mighty shout, he launched a straight punch at the concrete wall.

A dull thud, fragments of concrete scattered, cracks appeared—and at the center, a shallow dent in the unmistakable shape of a fist.