The journey from the Rust Belt to the Ash Market was one of stark contrasts.
Ling Feng was long familiar with the first half of the trip. The road underfoot was perpetually muddy, a mix of metal shavings and unidentifiable fluids. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of motor oil, the acrid smell of acid waste, and the sour stench of rotting food scraps. On both sides of the road, "buildings" cobbled together from scrap iron and high-strength plastic stood like bizarre burial mounds. The eyes of the people living inside were mostly as gray and numb as the land itself.
But after he passed through an invisible boundary formed by a high barbed-wire fence and infrared sensors, the world seemed to be instantly purified.
The road surface changed to flat synthetic concrete. Although there were still some cracks and stains, at least there was no longer sewage flowing freely. The pungent smell in the air was diluted, replaced by the aroma of food and the clamor of a crowd. More importantly, there was light here—stable, bright white light emitted from standardized street lamps, shining evenly on the street and illuminating everything clearly.
At the end of the road, one could see the neat, uniform gray high-rises of the civilian district. They stood like silent giants, looking down indifferently on this forgotten corner of the Rust Belt. Several uniformed security officers armed with stun batons, along with a slowly moving spherical mechanical guard, patrolled the border area. Their sharp gazes would occasionally sweep over the Rust Belt residents who tried to get close, the vigilance and disgust in their eyes unconcealed.
This was the dividing line between two worlds. A wall that was invisible, yet undeniably real.
Ling Feng pulled the hood over his head, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, and quickened his pace, merging into the chaotic and vibrant crowd of the Ash Market.
The Ash Market, true to its name, was a gray area—not quite black, not quite white—built on the ruins of the city's civilization. All sorts of people converged here: civilians struggling to make ends meet, audacious scavengers, merchants dealing in second-hand goods, and the thieves and scammers lurking in the shadows.
Ling Feng skillfully navigated past several stalls selling questionable potions and second-hand cybernetics and found an empty spot in the most obscure corner of the market. He set down his backpack and laid out his meticulously modified creations one by one: the "Temperature-Controlled Heat Flow Device" with its post-industrial aesthetic, a "Portable Water Purifier" that could filter sewage into drinking water, and several "Handheld Lamps" with adjustable brightness.
At first, his humble stall was ignored. Passersby, mostly civilians, would give it a quick glance before being drawn to more flashy merchandise.
Just as Ling Feng was starting to feel anxious, a plainly dressed middle-aged man with a child stopped in front of his stall. He picked up the heat flow device and asked curiously, "Hey, young man, did you make this yourself? It looks pretty cool. How much?"
"I modified it from industrial scrap," Ling Feng said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Its energy consumption is thirty percent lower than similar products on the market, and its thermal efficiency is higher. You only need a Grade-D second-hand energy lattice to keep a ten-square-meter room warm for a whole night. It's only... three hundred credit points."
This price was less than a fifth of a new, comparable item from an official store.
The man's eyes lit up. For families like his, living in the lower levels of the civilian district, every bit of energy cost was a significant burden. He tested it, and after feeling the steady and powerful stream of warm air, he bought it without hesitation.
This successful transaction was like flipping a switch. Soon, a small crowd had gathered in front of Ling Feng's stall. Although his modified appliances had a rough appearance, their incredible practicality and low prices were fatally attractive to these budget-conscious civilians.
In less than half an hour, he had sold three of the five items he brought. The nine hundred credit points in his pocket felt heavy, letting him feel the weight of hope for the first time.
Maybe life wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he really could change his destiny with his own two hands.
However, this brief moment of joy was soon shattered by a snide voice.
"Well, well, business is good."
A tall, thin middle-aged man in a market administrator's uniform walked over slowly with his hands behind his back. This was the man Shi Lei had mentioned, Zhao San, who had a nose sharper than a dog's.
Zhao San's gaze swept over Ling Feng's two remaining items, a flash of greed in his eyes, which was quickly replaced by an official-looking expression. "Kid, first time here? Where's your business license? Your product safety certification? Show them to me."
Ling Feng's heart sank. He didn't have any of those things.
"I... I'm just selling a few little things I made myself..."
"Little things?" Zhao San's voice suddenly rose. "An electrical appliance without safety certification is a ticking time bomb! If something goes wrong and it burns down someone's house, can you take that responsibility?!"
His voice attracted the attention of the people nearby.
Just then, three thuggish-looking youths pushed their way out of the crowd. The leader was a burly man with a scar on his face. They were from the "Iron Fist Gang."
The scar-faced man chimed in, "Brother Zhao, why waste your breath on this trash! If you ask me, his goods are probably stolen from some unlucky bastard's house! Nothing good ever comes out of the Rust Belt!"
"That's right! Stolen goods!"
"Arrest him!"
Seeing this, the surrounding civilians all backed away, afraid of getting into trouble. The few people who had just been praising Ling Feng's products now looked at him with suspicion and wariness.
Ling Feng was instantly isolated and helpless.
Zhao San, representing "regulations," and the Iron Fist Gang, representing "violence," formed an invisible net that trapped him tightly in the center. He clenched his fists, his body trembling slightly with anger and helplessness. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but found that his voice was so pale and weak amidst the noise and malice.
Robbery. They weren't even bothering to hide it, carrying it out in broad daylight.
"According to market regulations, all illegal income and non-compliant goods will be confiscated!" Zhao San announced smugly, reaching for the money in Ling Feng's pocket.
The scar-faced man sneered and reached directly for the goods Ling Feng had laid out on the ground.
Immense mental pressure, like a physical hammer, slammed into Ling Feng's nerves. Humiliation, anger, unwillingness... all sorts of emotions churned in his mind, nearly incinerating his sanity.
At this critical moment, the jade pendant that had been resting against his chest, warm and damp with his sweat, suddenly emitted a strange, cool sensation.
That coolness was like a bolt of lightning that instantly cut through the chaos in his mind, calming his nearly explosive temper in a fraction of a second.
Ling Feng's head snapped up.
He looked at Zhao San's greedy face, at Scarface's vicious grin, at the numb or fearful eyes of the crowd around him. For the first time, the submissive forbearance and confusion about the future that had always been in his bright eyes—eyes adapted to the dim environment—vanished without a trace.
In its place was a cold glint, like the edge of quenched steel.