Looking at the ill and devastated child, Li Yao could not help but feel sorrowful.
The Fist King continued projecting the third paragraph of last words, which belonged to a skinny man whose big eyes were filled with sadness.
"…Today is March 4th, 1855. This is Shelter 668. Yesterday, our last companion left this world. I am the only living man in the shelter right now.
"The air circulation system has been seriously damaged. The food has been used up, too. Whatever's left of my life can only be measured by 'minutes' now. In a certain number of 'minutes', this shelter will become a dead tomb, which will probably not be discovered in the next thousand years. Let's hope so!
"In the past half a year, I sorted and gathered the journals and last words of everyone in the shelter. Together with the books, jade chips, and crystal processors we brought from the ground, I preserved them in a vacuum.
