The Artificial Sun Won’t Light? I’ll Strike Another Match

The sun is about to die, the Earth is freezing solid, and humanity has only 98 days left. Pang Bo: No big deal. I'll just take a trip fifty years into the future first. Other transmigrators get a golden finger. He got an entire frozen morgue: familiar faces frozen like statues all over the streets, and he still hadn't returned the power bank he borrowed from next door. The System gave him two choices: A. Look out for himself and get a temperature-regulating down jacket (shelf life: until he freezes to death) B. Tell the government and get Einstein's brain multiplied by 10,086, plus a complete set of cutting-edge doomsday survival technology Pang Bo looked at the ice sculptures in the minus-200-degree cold and quietly chose B. And so an ordinary twenty-one-year-old kid whose college diploma couldn't even be found became director of the National Strategic Bureau of Yanlong: in charge of turning eighty cities across the country into “snow shelters,” building nuclear-powered high-speed rail, rolling out a nanotech sky screen, and building an artificial sun by hand. “Don't ask. It's just the government's newest relocation project: demolish the Earth and build a new home.”