Chapter 90
At dawn, the camp remained cloaked in dimness, but people were already stirring, dragging their weary bodies to start the day’s labor.
A filthy, tattered tent was pulled open at one corner, and a man ducked out through the gap, carrying a plastic basin adorned with a red-and-white koi fish design under his arm.
The man was stocky, sporting a buzz cut and a stained white tank top. His rugged appearance was punctuated by a jagged, dark brown scar stretching from below one eye to the opposite corner of his mouth, resembling a grotesque centipede crawling across his face.
A long line had already formed by the well, where people queued to draw water. Beside the line stood guards in uniforms, armed with guns and carrying whips.
After filling their containers, people were required to place them on a scale for inspection.
When some water spilled, one person instinctively reached out and pleaded, “Hey, sir, careful! It’s spilling!”
The scarred man joined the line at the back.
Those behind him, upon noticing his arrival, averted their eyes and edged away.
The line moved slowly, and the wait grew tedious.
Up ahead, a scuffle broke out, and someone was thrown to the ground, curled up with their hands over their head as the crack of a whip rained down on them.
The person’s anguished screams filled the air, prompting the rest of the line to lower their heads and fall silent.
The scarred man yawned lazily, slipping a hand under his yellowed tank top to absentmindedly scratch his belly.
“Hey, Cheng Bin!”
A man with a small mustache approached him from behind, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “Someone’s looking to hitch a ride. You taking the job?”
Without turning around, Cheng Bin replied flatly, “No work today.”
“You do!” The mustachioed man’s face twisted in frustration, his tone bordering on desperation. “It’s the ironworks—your regulars! You’re always hauling goods for them.”
“Last time, people wanted a lift there. After just a few trips, you’d have made this much!” The man gestured with his fingers to emphasize the lost earnings. “But you refused, and someone else took the job. Later, when Uncle got sick, you nearly couldn’t afford the medicine—did you forget that?”
Cheng Bin’s hand paused mid-scratch. He turned his head, his expression blank but his eyes fierce.
Meeting that predatory glare, the mustachioed man flinched and immediately backed down, muttering, “The client offered ten pounds of fresh fish and a chocolate bar. If you don’t want to take it, that’s fine…”
“Who said I’m not taking it?”
Cheng Bin smirked, tossing his plastic basin to the other man. “Lead the way.”
Uneasy, the mustachioed man hesitated and gave a word of caution. “This person seems… unusual. If things go south, just find a reason to turn them down. Be tactful. Don’t cause trouble.”
“Relax.”
Cheng Bin’s tone was nonchalant, his thoughts brimming with curiosity. I just want to see who’s crazy enough to tempt fate.
When they arrived, the pair spotted a young man waiting by the roadside in the distance.
The youth wasn’t alone. Three strange creatures squatted beside him, their vivid colors were unnervingly odd: one blue, one green, and one a deep grape red. They looked as though they’d been dunked into a vat of dye.
Others who noticed the peculiar creatures kept their distance, unnerved by their bizarre appearance.
When people saw the young man’s clean-cut appearance and attire, they couldn’t help but approach him eagerly.
“Hey, friend! First time here? Need a guide?”
Noticing that the three odd-looking creatures—one blue, one green, and one grape-red—were either dozing or licking their paws without showing any aggression, others grew bolder.
“I just heard you mention a destination. Why not hire me? I know this area better than anyone! Wherever you want to go, I can take you!”
This was the crossroads leading in and out of the Desire Market, commonly known as the “slums.” Here, even a single compressed biscuit could secure a week’s rent.
The surrounding scenery consisted of empty, dilapidated buildings, a direct visual of impoverished squalor and chaos.
In stark contrast stood the young man—fair-skinned, with soft, tidy hair. His outfit was spotless, a clean-cut tactical jacket zipped just high enough to give him an air of subdued refinement and gentleness.
He looked like a lamb that had strayed into a pack of wolves.
Wen Xin politely declined the offers, but his attention was suddenly drawn to a sneaky figure approaching from behind.
The person was slipping a sharp blade from their sleeve, aiming to slice open Wen Xin’s military backpack.
Before Wen Xin could react, a rough, powerful hand shot out, grabbing the thief’s wrist and yanking them backward without mercy.
The thief yelped in panic, “What are you doing?!”
Cheng Bin, the scarred man, didn’t bother responding. With a squeeze, the blade clattered to the ground.
The thief struggled briefly but froze when they recognized Cheng Bin. Their face turned pale.
“Brother Cheng, no, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
Before they could finish, Cheng Bin delivered a solid kick to their gut, sending them crashing into a wall.
“Scram.”
The thief staggered to their feet, almost coughing up blood. They bolted, tripping over themselves in their haste to flee.
Seeing that someone had stepped in to help, Wen Xin relaxed his stance and withdrew his hand.
Looking around, he noticed that the small crowd that had gathered around him earlier had scattered, retreating like frightened birds. They were now whispering amongst themselves at a safe distance.
Wen Xin had two blue pearls. The first was given to him by one of the children he saved in a time of crisis. This had doubled his physical abilities after consumption.
The second had been gifted to him later by the little boy’s sister, as a token of gratitude for saving their village. The village chief had warned that a human body could only handle one blue pearl; consuming more would be fatal. So, Wen Xin had tucked the second into a small cloth pouch for safekeeping.
His enhanced hearing allowed him to catch snippets of the muttered conversations around him.
“Did Cheng Bin take the wrong medicine today? Why’s he being so nice?”
Wen Xin glanced at the retreating thief and paused briefly. Then he looked up to find Cheng Bin studying him with a curious expression.
“So, you’re the one headed to the ironworks?”
Wen Xin glanced at the mustachioed man, who made a subtle face at him—a silent cue that “ironworks” was code for the Aurora Armory.
Nodding in understanding, Wen Xin replied, “Yes.”
Cheng Bin eyed him, muttered something under his breath—sounding like “Where’d this student come from?”—and then picked up a bucket of fish from the ground.
“Let’s go. The bus leaves at noon. We’ll head back to prepare.”
Wen Xin noted that Cheng Bin’s tone seemed marginally softer now.
The mustachioed man, seeing that the deal was sealed, made a quick hand gesture behind Cheng Bin’s back, signaling for payment.
But Cheng Bin, as if he had eyes on the back of his head, growled, “Wait.”
He freed a hand and pried three packets of chocolate from the mustachioed man’s grasp.
“Four chocolates in total, and you tried pocketing three for yourself? Greedy, aren’t you, Old Li?”
The mustachioed man rubbed his nose sheepishly and muttered, “If I hadn’t made the connection, you wouldn’t have this job, right?”
Cheng Bin let out a heavy huff and tossed two chocolates back, keeping one for himself and stuffing it into his pocket.
Grumbling under his breath, the mustachioed man left.
Once he was gone, Cheng Bin retrieved the chocolate from his pocket and handed it to Wen Xin.
Wen Xin blinked. “?”
“I do repeat business. If you ever need to go to the ironworks or return from it, you can come straight to me. No middleman fees.”
Something about Cheng Bin’s words suggested he’d leaped to some kind of assumption. Wen Xin thought for a moment and, without refusing, accepted the chocolate with a calm, “All right.”
Cheng Bin turned his attention to the three bundles following Wen Xin. “Just them with you? No attendants?”
From Cheng Bin’s expression, it was clear he’d guessed that the creatures were mutants, though he didn’t seem particularly surprised.
Wen Xin, catching the subtext, shook his head. “I’m not used to having attendants.”
“That’s impressive—managing everything yourself.”
Wen Xin tilted his head at the comment, unsure if it was a genuine compliment or just filler.
Cheng Bin seemed to realize the ambiguity in his words and coughed awkwardly. “I mean, it’s not easy taking care of yourself so well on your own.”
“Thank you” Wen Xin replied politely.
Realizing he wasn’t skilled at small talk, Cheng Bin stayed silent for the rest of the journey.
They arrived at the camp, where most of the residents were already up and about.
The moment they spotted Wen Xin, their eyes lit up like starving beasts catching sight of a mythical feast.
It wasn’t until Cheng Bin stepped forward with a menacing look, scanning the crowd one by one, that the prying gazes dispersed.
Surveying his surroundings, Wen Xin heard Cheng Bin say suddenly, “This must be your first time seeing people like this.”
The scarred man extended his hand, gesturing toward the long queue at the well. “There’s only one well here for drawing water, but it costs money. People only use it for drinking—they can’t afford to waste it on hygiene. That’s why everyone looks filthy.”
“But you,” he continued, nodding toward Wen Xin, “are clean from head to toe. Of course, that’s going to catch their attention.”
Wen Xin’s gaze swept across the thin, malnourished figure of a small child before returning with a frown. “But this is the southern region. It’s near the sea and has plenty of lakes.”
“The sea is guarded by that beast. Who dares approach it?” The scarred man sneered. “As for the freshwater lakes, they’ve all been claimed as private property by the authorities. Can you imagine living by a lake and still being short on water?”
Wen Xin asked, “Has no one ever tried to resist?”
“Better to live miserably than die outright. We’re here.”
They stopped in front of a tent, noticeably larger than the others around it. From inside came the intermittent sound of an old man coughing. The flap opened, and a bespectacled young man emerged. He looked slightly younger than Wen Xin and had a delicate, scholarly demeanor.
The young man’s gaze landed on Wen Xin before he addressed the scarred man. “Cousin.”
The scarred man grunted a response and turned to Wen Xin. “This is my cousin, Ting Xiaoshu. He was top of his class before the apocalypse—really smart. Now he’s teaching himself advanced college-level chemistry. He’s already on that chapter… what’s it called again?”
“Inorganic chemistry,” the bespectacled young man murmured softly, “Entropy and Gibbs functions.”
“Yeah, that thing!” The scarred man nodded vigorously.
After speaking, he glanced at Wen Xin, seemingly observing his reaction. But Wen Xin’s expression remained composed, betraying no particular interest.
The scarred man wiped his face and set the bucket of fish aside. Grabbing a small stool, he placed it next to Wen Xin. “Sit here for a bit. I need to talk to my family.”
He led Ting Xiaoshu into the tent.
Inside, the space was cluttered with various odds and ends. A small table, resembling a tea table, was stacked with chemistry textbooks, their margins densely filled with handwritten notes.
On the nearby bed lay an elderly man, his chest rising and falling faintly as he slept.
The scarred man tucked the old man’s blanket in gently before lowering his voice. “Did you see that guy just now? Doesn’t he seem like some kind of researcher?”
“Sort of…” Ting Xiaoshu replied hesitantly. “He looks very young, more like a university student who hasn’t graduated yet—maybe a graduate student.”
“Exactly.” The scarred man muttered to himself, “And he can command mutants. I just don’t know their ranks, but they shouldn’t be too high.”
Ting Xiaoshu’s head snapped up. “Cousin, could he be the one you mentioned before—the person seen at the ironworks controlling mutants?”
“Not just the ironworks.”
The scarred man’s tone turned cold. “The Market Corporation has people like that too, but that’s not our concern.”
He leaned closer to Ting Xiaoshu and spoke seriously. “In a bit, I’ll take him to the ironworks. A few days ago, I saw a recruitment notice from the factory. He’s probably one of their newly hired researchers. When we get there, I’ll see if I can build a good rapport with him and get you a job in the factory.”
Ting Xiaoshu opened his mouth but said nothing. His head dropped, and his fists clenched tightly.
The scarred man glanced at the old man again, relieved to see his breathing steady, before standing to leave.
“Cousin,” Ting Xiaoshu suddenly called out, his voice trembling as he bit his lip. “But we all know that factory… eats people. Even so… you still want me to go?”
“Eats people?”
The scarred man instinctively touched the scar on his face and laughed. “Xiaoshu, tell me—what place doesn’t eat people nowadays?”
“Take Auntie Wang’s son next door. A while back, he went off with some folks to look for work, and what happened? He disappeared. Not even a body turned up. Cases like his—are they rare? Tell me, are they rare?”
Ting Xiaoshu’s lips moved, but no words came out.
“If you can get into the factory, at least you’ll be one of the ones eating, not the one being eaten.”
The scarred man sighed and added, “Stay home and take care of Uncle. Cook those fish and make something nourishing. Eat some yourself—you’ve been working hard with your studies. I’m heading out.”
“Cousin!”
Before Ting Xiaoshu could say more, the scarred man had already ducked out of the tent.
Wen Xin sat on the stool, breaking dried fish into pieces to feed his little companions. Hearing the movement, he looked up.
“Let’s go. Sorry, but I might need you to help me load some goods.”
Wen Xin shook his head and followed the scarred man toward the market’s central hub, where workers were loading white-sealed shipping containers.
Someone noticed the scarred man and called out, “Why’re you here so early today?”
“Gotta hustle to make money.” The scarred man replied casually, gesturing for Wen Xin to wait nearby.
“Need a hand?” Wen Xin offered.
Dressed in his tactical jacket and pants, with gloves hiding the calluses on his palms, Wen Xin’s youthful appearance gave him the air of someone inexperienced—almost fragile—despite his upright posture.
The stranger chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but these are off-limits to outsiders. Just wait there.”
Wen Xin nodded and waited. Shortly after, the scarred man returned with another stool—this one a blue plastic chair with a backrest, a significant upgrade.
Sitting down, Wen Xin mulled over the bits of conversation he had overheard outside the tent. He hesitated, unsure if he should come clean about his intentions.
Ah Lü hissed in Wen Xin’s mind: “If you tell him now, and he flips on you, what if he decides not to take you?”
Wen Xin deliberated briefly. When the scarred man returned, Wen Xin casually asked, “You deliver goods to the ironworks—have you heard of a purple squirrel there?”
“A purple squirrel?” The scarred man’s expression shifted instantly. “Why are you asking about that?”
