[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-apocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train":3,"chapter-apocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train-apocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train-chapter-487":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Apocalypse: I Built an Infinite Train",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2262251,4414,"Chapter 487","apocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train-chapter-487",487,"\u003Cp>Lin Xian looked at the naked Hua Xiaoling before him and suddenly felt a chill surge through his body—not an emotional sensation, but real cold.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was as if it had started snowing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian scanned his surroundings and suddenly realized the space around him had changed—he stood inside a concrete bunker, a vintage kerosene stove hissing nearby, walls peeling to reveal rust, weapon racks displaying AK-74 rifles and RPG-7 rocket launchers, windows frosted with ice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The naked Hua Xiaoling walked slowly toward him; Lin Xian frowned, intending to step back—but found.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He couldn’t move.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could only watch as the naked Hua Xiaoling stepped forward, then her face changed, her hair turning into chestnut curls; Lin Xian felt himself tipping backward, while “Hua Xiaoling” straddled him, suddenly wearing a torn military-issue white shirt, and a discarded coat lay on the floor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian glanced at the name tag inside the military coat—it read in Russian: Yelena Panova.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What’s happening?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian was dazed—he had somehow been thrust into a scene of a secret midnight rendezvous with a Soviet female officer?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the cramped communications station, beneath the howling wind and snow, the room held only the creaking rhythm of a wooden table leg and the muffled cries of his brief, desperate intimacy with the officer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ooh!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ooh!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Suddenly, a shrill red alarm light spun violently! Outside, piercing air raid sirens blared—the two hadn’t even stopped moving when the blast door was pounded violently! A soldier’s scream cut through the storm: “Captain! Highest-level ‘Halo’ alert! Base emergency recall!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Crack—the teacup shattered as they sprang apart, frantically pulling on clothes; “Lin Xian” snatched the coat and bolted out the door, snow and wind rushing in, alarms swallowing silence, deafening in his ears—the scene outside shifted to a pine forest blanketed in snow, then leapt into a military jeep, wheels skidding on ice, headlights like the dying eyes of a beast, tearing through the blizzard curtain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was absolutely not a hologram—Lin Xian now felt fully immersed, as if he had become someone else.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He quickly calmed, absorbing every detail: the dashboard reflected his pale face; this old jeep had been obsolete for at least sixty years, and the scene clearly placed him in some era of the old Soviet Union.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The jeep passed through camouflage nets and a heavy reinforced concrete entrance; Lin Xian jumped out and rushed with a group of soldiers down a corridor—long, dark, echoing with dense footsteps, walls peeling to reveal gray underlayers, flickering fluorescent tubes humming with sickly white light, the air thick with the mingled stench of oil, cheap tobacco, and strong disinfectant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian’s gaze swept the corridor wall—and froze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the ‘Cassandra’ Strategic Missile Warning Center!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elevator sank into the earth; hydraulic doors hissed open—a massive radar screen, glowing with a monotonous green light, dominated an entire wall, its grid resembling a constellation map; five dots crossed the polar ice cap, countdown numbers pulsing like a heartbeat, several officers in khaki uniforms sat solemnly before the screen, all bathed in the low, mechanical hum of machinery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Yakov, repeat it again!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A tall major stood at the front, his voice heavy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Satellite data confirmed, Major! Trajectories locked on Moscow and Kiev. Five missiles total. Estimated time to homeland: twenty-eight minutes.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A deathly silence fell amid the alarm’s roar—so quiet you could hear sweat dripping from foreheads; every eye locked onto the pulsing red digits of the countdown, oxygen seemingly drained, suffocating apocalyptic dread gripping every heart—some unconsciously clenched fists, knuckles white.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian’s gaze swept the figure, then instantly understood—he looked up at the warning center’s clock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>September 26, 1983, 11:32.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That night of the Cold War nuclear crisis!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian’s heart sank; he looked up—and saw the figure turn toward him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Lieutenant Sergey, any anomalies in the North American command chain?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“None!” It was “Lin Xian” himself stepping forward to report: “The Cassandra system falsely reported a solar flare three weeks ago, but this trajectory doesn’t match.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian studied the middle-aged officer and guessed his identity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Major Stanislav Petrov, the night’s duty commander—around fifty, gray hair, no uniform coat, only a faded green shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up, every inch of him seemingly crushed under immense pressure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looking at this man, Lin Xian’s doubts surged—what did Hua Xiaoling mean? What was she trying to show him?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian had studied Cold War history from the Federation’s modern records and knew the secret that had nearly doomed humanity—but now, experiencing it firsthand, he truly felt the bone-chilling pressure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ahead, Major Petrov stood rigid, bloodshot eyes fixed on the red dots on the radar screen; the highest alert meant immediate reporting—and once received, the Defense Ministry would instantly launch a counterstrike, destruction orders flying to every missile silo across the Soviet Union.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He picked up the red phone, his finger hovering mere centimeters above the red button, trembling slightly, sweat gathering and dripping from his brow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This makes no sense! How could the Americans launch only five missiles to start nuclear war? This looks more like a simulation glitch or technical error! But… what if it isn’t? What if this is a first strike?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Twenty-two minutes! Protocol demands immediate reporting!” the staff officer beside him urged: “We must respond!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that moment, every eye turned to Petrov—they all saw the terror pressing upon him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Counterstrike meant war—a war with no return, assured mutual annihilation!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Billions would die tonight—including those here and now; the nation might vanish; no one would imagine destruction could come in an instant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Time seemed frozen—only the red digits counted down mercilessly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The staff officer urgently reported: “Comrade Major! Readings confirmed! Twenty-one minutes remaining! We must report!!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian watched silently; as an observer, he knew this was merely a historical information crisis—he only needed to wait for ground radar confirmation, and it would be revealed as a false alarm, a glitch later celebrated as a historical anecdote online, never even written into history books.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the scene he expected never came—Petrov suddenly shut his eyes, drew a deep breath of the foul air, then, under Lin Xian’s gaze, pressed the transmit button…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hum~\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A deafening ringing filled Lin Xian’s mind—as if his own “self” had gone blank.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lin Xian opened his eyes and felt his vision detaching, rising—like his soul escaping, soaring through the underground bunker of the missile warning center, flying up from the pine forest into a black sky, a bone-deep chill piercing his marrow, just like the ancient battlefield’s vision of doomsday.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he rose higher, he watched firsthand: the iron doors of missile silos burst open, missiles painted with red stars erupted, flames tearing through the dim sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Far away, the Baltic Sea churned; the Northern Wind nuclear submarine rose like a monstrous beast, submarine-launched ballistic missiles screaming death into the clouds, their trails dragging brilliant white light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Countless ascending flames became brilliant stars, surging toward the heavens.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This lethal symphony instantly ignited the opening act of nuclear war—hellish flowers bloomed across the globe, multiple regions simultaneously erupted with dense missile launches, aimed at every corner of the world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In New York, financial elites at their keyboards looked up abruptly—outside, blinding light swallowed everything; their screams turned to dust on their chairs, suit fragments and paper scraps scattered like snow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In London, a café at dawn had just released the aroma of coffee; as pedestrians fled in panic, the shockwave instantly crushed flesh to dust, the entire city reduced to a boiling ruin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In Tokyo, millions slept deeply through the night; in a four-generation apartment, the grandmother peacefully closed her eyes on the tatami, the child curled in his parents’ arms—unaware they were torn apart by the blast, their home erased into nothing beneath a pillar of light; Tokyo was struck simultaneously from three directions by flowers of destruction, swallowed in flame.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nuclear bombs descended in silence; the land became a silent, charred wasteland, only heat waves from scattered embers surging. Panic was a futile symphony—tourists on California’s shore screamed and scattered, only to collapse on sand melted to glass by the light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Outside Moscow, factory engines fell silent; workers hadn’t even put down their tools when heat and radiation turned steel and flesh to steam, leaving blackened skeletons slumped on the ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A dozen suns ignited above cities, blinding light painting the horizon white.\u003C\u002Fp>",1395,"2026-06-19T18:20:07.351Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","fb27cb7de6b55178b309787a41dad9f50a8014c15ca6538be061a67078c765b1","apocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train-chapter-488","apocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train-chapter-486",541,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fapocalypse-i-built-an-infinite-train-cover.jpg"]