200: Chapter 200 Moscow's Desperate Situation! Redemption from the Desert!

In Moscow, inside a dilapidated Khrushchev-era apartment building, Dmitry Volkov's gaze was fixed on a bottle of cheap vodka, motionless.

Outside the window, a snowstorm raged; there was no heating indoors, and the white mist of his breath drifted before his eyes.

He had once been the youngest biology professor at the Far Eastern Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences, specializing in plant genetic modification for extreme environments.

Although his laboratory equipment was old, it carried his grand ambition of cultivating super crops capable of growing in the Siberian permafrost.

But the outbreak of a conflict caused his career to collapse in an instant.

His school was reduced to scorched earth by shelling, his laboratory became ruins, and all his research data and precious experimental samples were destroyed in one fell swoop.

He had gone from being a scientist with a bright future to a homeless, unemployed person.

He tried to find a new job, but in these turbulent times, research projects were the first expenses to be cut.

No institution was willing to take him in, and no one paid the slightest attention to his so-called "permafrost agriculture."

Just when he was about to give up and prepare to work as a porter at the docks, he saw a recruitment notice for the Cyber Freedom Republic in the corner of an academic forum.

"Creating miracles in the desert..."

He read this slogan and snorted with disdain.

Deserts were even less suitable for farming than permafrost; this was just another whimsical gimmick.

But clinging to a last shred of hope, or perhaps out of a sense of self-abandoning numbness, he still submitted his resume, which had long since gone ignored.

After that, there was no news.

He had almost forgotten about it, until tonight.

The second-hand laptop on the table chimed with a "ding" notification sound.

A new email.

Sender: hr@cydor-freedom.gov

Subject: [Admission Notice] Invitation from the National Research Institute of the Cyber Freedom Republic

Volkov's heart skipped a beat.

His fingers were a bit stiff as he clicked open the email.

"Dear Dr. Dmitry Volkov: Hello! After our rigorous screening and evaluation, we are honored to inform you that you have been successfully selected for the first batch of senior researchers at the National Research Institute of the Cyber Freedom Republic..."

Volkov confirmed the content that followed word by word.

A probationary annual salary of three hundred thousand US dollars...

A starting annual salary of nine hundred thousand US dollars after obtaining citizenship...

Unlimited research funding...

Every one of these figures and terms made him check repeatedly, suspecting he had misread the lines.

A scam.

This was definitely a scam.

He closed the laptop, grabbed the bottle, and took a large gulp of vodka, trying to use the burning sensation of the alcohol to dispel the distracting thoughts in his mind.

But as soon as he closed his eyes, the salary and promises in the email swirled in his mind, unable to be dismissed.

What if... it was real?

Once this thought popped up, he could no longer suppress it.

He opened the laptop again and began searching the internet for all information regarding the Cyber Freedom Republic.

The Gold Mine War, the Miracle Seed, the global live stream... all the news pointed to one fact: this was a mysterious new country that did not follow conventional logic, yet possessed astonishing financial power and technological foundation.

He clicked on the recording of Lin Zhou's recently concluded live stream.

When Lin Zhou personally stated that staggering compensation package, Volkov almost forgot to breathe.

It was real.

It was all real.

At the end of the email, it suggested he go to the nearest embassy to apply for a visa.

The problem was... the Cyber Freedom Republic and Russia had not established diplomatic relations.

The email included a solution: travel to Beijing, China, where the Embassy of the Cyber Freedom Republic in China would provide him with all necessary assistance and cover all travel expenses.

Go, or not go?

Volkov looked out at the boundless white snow outside the window, then looked down at the half-bottle of vodka and the last piece of black bread on the table.

Staying here meant only endless cold and depression.

Going to that distant desert in Africa might just be a chance to fight for a way to survive.

He made up his mind.

He sold everything he owned that could be exchanged for money, scraping together enough for a one-way ticket to Beijing.

A week later, when he dragged a worn-out suitcase and stood at the entrance of the Embassy of the Cyber Freedom Republic in China, everything around him felt surreal.

The embassy staff received him very politely.

After confirming his identity, they immediately arranged for him to stay in a five-star hotel and began handling his visa matters.

An immigration official who identified himself as Wu received him, his attitude kind.

"Dr. Volkov, the Lord highly values your academic background."

Old Wu pushed two documents in front of him.

"These are two contracts; you may choose for yourself."

One was a senior researcher contract with an annual salary of three hundred thousand US dollars.

The other was a citizenship application and a chief researcher contract with an annual salary of nine hundred thousand US dollars.

Volkov's gaze fell upon the citizenship application, and he remained silent for a long time.

Giving up his motherland's citizenship to swear allegiance to a newly established desert country—the weight of this choice made him unable to breathe.

Old Wu noticed his hesitation but did not urge him.

"Doctor, let me tell you something.

The first batch of core members of our country, including the President of the Privy Council and the Minister of Revenue, were also citizens of other countries in the past.

But they all eventually chose to become true citizens here.

Because they believe that here, they can create history with their own hands."

Old Wu gestured with his chin toward the bustling Beijing cityscape outside the window.

"Our Lord often says, heroes are not judged by their origins.

We do not care where you come from, only where you will go with us."

As Old Wu's voice faded, Volkov's thoughts drifted back to that apartment in Moscow where he could see his breath, back to the laboratory swallowed by the flames of war, and he also thought of the dream buried under the ruins.

He raised his head, the hesitation in his eyes vanishing.

"I choose the second one."

He picked up the pen and wrote his name on the citizenship application, his handwriting firm.

The corners of Old Wu's mouth lifted slightly; the goal was achieved.

Another top talent had boarded the rapidly launching ark of the Cyber Freedom Republic.

Three days later, Volkov boarded the private plane heading to the Cyber Freedom Republic.

The plane pierced through the clouds and landed on that futuristic desert oasis.

He understood that his life would start anew from this land.