Star Calendar 2333, Waste Star No. 101, Sector Nine.
Blistering sunlight baked the endless, boundless mountains of refuse that stretched as far as the eye could see.
The air was forever saturated with a sour, rotten stench that made one retch.
Add to that the intense cosmic radiation—under such conditions that were utterly unfit for human life, there were still plenty of figures, their bodies emaciated and their skin a sickly black, who, the moment the garbage‑hauling starships pierced the atmosphere and dumped their loads wantonly upon this Waste Star, would sprint at astonishing speed and scramble over the newly formed garbage mountains in search of something edible.
These things that could temporarily fill their bellies and keep basic bodily functions going might be half‑rotten fruit peels and vegetable leaves, maggot‑ridden bones—if luck smiled on them, they might even find some expired nutrient solution.
If they could find mouldy biscuits or bread—that was truly striking gold!
Even more joyous than winning the Alliance lottery.
Among all the people whose bodies had been slightly deformed and whose skin had turned ashen‑black from years of breathing Waste Star's heavily polluted air and living amid radiation, there were a few who were paler.
They were criminals who had been exiled to this Waste Star only a month ago—unforgivable people awaiting death.
Given the harsh environment of Waste Star No. 101, no matter how vicious an outsider was, surviving here was extremely difficult.
For outsiders, every breath of air here was tantamount to a slow‑acting poison.
Aside from the natives, eight or nine out of ten exiles ended up as carrion in the mouths of the low‑ranked carrion rats that lived on the garbage mountains.
Those who survived were half alive at best, and in the end, they basically rooted themselves on this Waste Star, eking out their remaining years.
Lan Grace wore clothes so filthy their original colour could no longer be seen. Underfoot, she stepped on garbage whose clammy feel made one's skin crawl, yet her expression did not change as she kept her head down, focused, and combed through the garbage mountains like the others—for the sake of staying alive.
She had been on this Waste Star for a full month now. Unlike those exiled criminals, she had been blindsided by sheer bad luck—hit by calamity for no reason!
Because she was not the real Lan Jiao, and she was not a person of this world!
A month ago, she had been a stay‑at‑home young lady from the family of a well‑known Chinese conglomerate's chairman on Earth. She had finally worked up the will to travel, only to get into a car accident the moment she went out. When she woke again, she was already on this Waste Star.
Whether by coincidence or not, the original owner of her current body was also called Lan Jiao, seventeen years old—same name and surname.
Moreover, the original owner had also been a rich family's young lady, though her life had been far more wretched.
In this interstellar era, the original owner's parents were battlefield generals in the Alliance's Mecha Battle Corps who fought bravely against the enemy and ultimately died on the field. As a martyr's child, her treatment was highly preferential.
Besides that, the original owner had an elder brother—the Alliance's youngest genius mecha designer.
Although the original owner was unlearned and incompetent—a bit of a waste—she had a good elder brother willing to support her unconditionally. Add in her parents' estate and death benefits, and she could have spent the rest of her life in carefree comfort, without worry for food or clothing.
Unfortunately, alongside the original owner's worrying IQ, she had a knack for courting disaster.
She despised the poor and fawned on the rich, meddled in what was not her business, and, relying on her brother's favour, looked down on the orphan girl whom the Lan family had adopted—the daughter left behind when a subordinate under Father Lan fell in battle—who was also her brother's childhood sweetheart and girlfriend.
The original owner was determined to pair her brother with the daughter of her father's superior, who secretly loved him. In her mind, only a society miss with such a background was the best match for a genius like her brother—and such a match could also "help" him.
So, upon hearing that her brother was going to marry that orphan girl, she stormed over to the fiancée's place—only to find the woman lying in a pool of blood, already dead.
As for who killed her brother's fiancée?
No one knew.
In any case, everyone believed the murderer was her.
Even her own brother believed it firmly. After all, everything she had done over the years made her the prime suspect.
On one side was his younger sister; on the other, the woman he loved. Taking the Alliance's laws into account, her brother ultimately spared her life. Exile to Waste Star was the greatest mercy he could offer.
But the original owner had been pampered at home—how could she bear the conditions on a Waste Star?
Thus, once she arrived, just a few breaths of Waste Star's air made her fall ill. Having no will to live, when she woke again, the "core" within the body had become Lan Grace.
Standing upon the garbage mountain and gazing at the endless waste, Lan Grace sighed helplessly.
The original owner had started with a great hand yet insisted on "playing to die," and finally got herself killed. That was one thing—but she had dragged Lan Grace inexplicably into this bird‑does‑not‑even‑defecate‑here place to suffer as well.
Lan Grace had spent this month teetering daily on the edge of starvation.
To make a foodie like her eat those filthy things dug out of the trash all day was torment—both to the soul and to the flesh!
In just one month, she had shed a lot of weight and darkened several shades.
Fortunately, the original owner had been on the plump side; now, slimmed down, she did not look like the natives on this Waste Star—hunched over, skin and bones.
Only, who knew when such days would end…
"Lan, what are you spacing out for? Move faster. If we wait any longer, the carrion rats will catch the scent and come."
Following the voice, Lan Grace looked up. A few steps away, a fair‑skinned blond youth of sixteen or seventeen, also in filthy clothes, shouted a reminder to her.
Although he was very dirty, no amount of grime could cover the noble air about him.
At a glance, he was someone raised in luxury since childhood, with a level of privilege beyond common imagination—a true aristocrat. For some unknown reason, he had been exiled to this Waste Star in the same batch as Lan Grace.
"Got it," Lan Grace answered mildly, lowering her head to continue carefully searching through the garbage.
In truth, there was quite a lot of edible stuff in a fresh garbage mountain. Unfortunately, neither Lan Grace nor the blond youth, Mi Milo, could stomach those slimy, rotten things, so "food" that could fill their bellies was much scarcer for them.
Lan Grace pried aside a pile of plastic waste with the iron rod in her hand. After a search, nothing.
Not far off, Mi Milo was luckier—he found half a bottle of low‑grade nutrient solution amid the garbage.
With this half bottle, he would basically be assured a full stomach today.
"Lan, come search over here. You might find nutrient solution too." Mi Milo waved at Lan Grace, delighted, the nutrient bottle in hand.
Suddenly, Lan Grace's face changed. She shouted towards him, "Careful!"
A carrion rat the size of a cat burst out from the trash heap beside Mi Milo. With scarlet eyes and sharp fangs, its rotund body moved with agility as it lunged for Mi Milo's vulnerable neck—