Pretending To Be A Boss-Chapter 363 - 45: Song Que’s Last 7 Days

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(This part of the plot serves as a foundation, paving the way for the next chapter. For an enhanced reading experience, it’s suggested not to skip this one. The protagonist will make her appearance in the next chapter, which in this volume, is quite an interesting section. However, I truly can’t finish writing it today, so it will be published tomorrow.)

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Darkness, dampness, chilliness.

Even the sparse torches made it hard to see the bottom of the pit clearly.

How deep the pit actually was, even those who had lived there and mined for thirty years didn’t know.

All they knew was that, over these thirty years, countless leaders had come and gone, each attempting to lead them out of this place.

Some had drowned, others had been eaten because of their rebellious words.

The one leading them now was a sixteen-year-old girl named Lingyi.

Even those not from the national region knew that this surname did not exist.

But no one bothered to ask.

Many here were people without surnames.

Because they were the abandoned children of their families.

There was no day or night in the pit.

Unlike the fortresses remembered, the bottom of the pit, a place called the Abyssal Kingdom, lacked the distinction of daylight that fortresses had.

It was a place of absolute darkness that even sunlight could not reach.

People could only know the time through the carrier crows that brought food.

According to those who had arrived first, the carrier crows would bring food every day at noon. They were also responsible for transporting the minerals.

Every once in a while, creatures like flood dragons would circle in the air, overseeing the prisoners of the pit like the wardens of a prison.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

This was their fate; they had to keep digging in the mine.

It was deep underground, with the highest quality ore source, and people who did nothing but dig except when eating or sleeping.

At the bottom of the deep pit, there was a vast waterhole.

The water from the waterhole couldn’t be drained, so those living on the pit walls threw all manner of filth into it.

Therefore, the water in the waterhole was extremely dirty.

The entire bottom of the pit was filled with foul odors.

Life is fragile, and in such unsanitary conditions, many began to fall ill with strange, sometimes contagious diseases.

The people here had been ravaged by diseases on a large scale several times.

But life is also resilient, and the people at the top of the pit didn’t wish for all the miners to die, so they would send some medicine regularly via the carrier crows. Over time, those who survived became more and more adapted to the filthy environment.

Yet the threat of the waterhole was not just that.

It seemed to always be raining in the holy land, and no one knew why so much rainwater fell.

The water level of the waterhole kept rising.

Most of those who arrived here thirty years ago had already drowned, starved to death, or died of illness.

Those who drowned did so because the rising speed of the water level overtook their mining speed.

Ever since the waterhole formed at the bottom, people had to start moving their living areas from the vast flatlands at the bottom of the pit to the cliffs above.

The first to arrive must have known their fate; they were also aware that in the coming decades, even centuries, those without talents from their kind would be exiled to this place.

Therefore, they carved a spiral stone path along the cliff face.

This path was not wide; it was just over four feet. It was somewhat cramped for two people to stand side by side.

Standing on the path left very little room to move.

But for these thirty years, nearly ten thousand days, these people’s lives, from their clothing to their food, everything happened on this narrow path.

They had to keep carving out the path, continuing to excavate upwards along the cliff face.

Because that stench-filled waterhole was constantly rising.

The previously carved paths were gradually submerged, and when heavy rains fell, people were forced to crowd on the four-foot-wide path.

Even so, those on the lowest level were still swallowed up by the rising waters.

Over time, a cruel but logical rule took hold among those living here.

People began to arrange themselves based on the amount of mining they did.

Those who mined the most, the strong and able-bodied, were mostly on the upper paths, leading the expansion.

The ones who mined the least—the old, weak, sick, and disabled—were mostly on the lowest level of the path, responsible for repairs.

No one objected to this harsh rule of survival.

Despite the tears streaming down everyone’s faces whenever they heard the cries of those at the bottom of the path being overwhelmed by the foul waters during a flood.

But to survive in such a hellish place, crawling like reptiles, they had to continue mining relentlessly.

The strong and able-bodied also carried the will of pioneers.

They knew that only by mining continuously and quickly, could they ensure that those on the lowest levels had more room to rise.

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A few years ago, when Lingyi first arrived here, she was among the old, weak, sick, and disabled.

Coming from the fortresses to such a ghastly place, she soon fell severely ill.

Only an old woman in her fifties saved her.

The old woman was once a doctor in the original Saint’s Fortress.

Time and again, the old woman survived the rising waters with sheer tenacity.

During the outbreaks, she also saved many lives.

People knew how precious a doctor was in such a place, and they later granted the old woman special privileges. She didn’t need to mine and could stay on the upper levels of the path when the heavy rains came.