A single day in the mountains, and a thousand years have passed in the world.

Buried in the work of building the Vajra Fortress, Shen Cong had lost all track of time outside.

Two weeks had slipped by without his noticing. It was the middle of May now, and only five or six days remained until May 18. Which was to say: a full year had passed since the end of the world.

In that one year, the Earth had changed shape entirely.

In Shen Cong's field of view there was essentially nothing but boundless green forest, glittering wherever the sunlight fell across it. No more high-rises. No more paved roads and structures. No more houses to live in or vehicles to travel by. Only the new world's tableau of the strong devouring the weak, rendered in metal.

A jin beast much like a tiger, five meters from end to end.

It was pacing slowly between the trees, and when it yawned its jaws open now and then, its teeth flashed silver. Its magnificent coat glinted with a metallic sheen, and the markings on its brow made the character for "king" (Chinese tradition reads the stripes on a tiger's forehead as the character 王, wáng, meaning "king") above a pair of bright, upswept eyes.

Set down in the old world a year ago, this tiger would unquestionably have been the king of the jungle — one roar, and every beast alive would have submitted.

Then, suddenly.

A faint stirring carried out of the dense woods.

The tiger, careless a moment ago, snapped its head up on full alert, body leaning slightly forward, the muscle in all four limbs drawing tight, readied to move. It had caught sight of a sika deer somewhat larger than itself, its antlers a fleshy red, their dull cold gleam almost intoxicating.

The tiger's eyes lit. Soundlessly, it closed on the sika deer.

The sika deer was busy working out how to strip the tender young leaves off a branch and never noticed the tiger coming. By the time it registered the danger and made to…