The sharp screech of metal grinding against metal came to an abrupt halt.
Inside the workshop, fashioned from a repurposed shipping container, Ling Feng held his breath. His dark hair, plastered to his forehead with sweat, framed a pair of unnervingly bright eyes. His gaze was locked onto the machine before him—a "Temperature-Controlled Heat-Flow Device," pieced together from countless scraps of junk.
Within his spiritual perception, an energy conduit, finer than a spider's thread, was being guided by an invisible force. It slowly navigated the labyrinthine energy circuits at the device's core.
This was the most critical step. The slightest deviation, and the device—the fruit of three days of painstaking labor—would be reduced to a worthless pile of scrap with a wisp of smoke.
"...In," Ling Feng squeezed the word through his teeth. His spiritual energy coalesced, and the tip of the conduit inserted itself perfectly into an interface smaller than a pinprick.
Voom—
The device vibrated gently. A soft, orange glow emanated from its heat vents, followed by a surge of warmth that dispelled the damp, metallic chill of the workshop.
Success!
The tension instantly drained from Ling Feng's body. He slumped onto a stool made from a block of compressed waste, gasping for air. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, making his head spin.
This was his daily life. As an undocumented scavenger in the "Rust Belt"—the lowest stratum of the city—his only means of survival was to transform the industrial waste cast off from the wealthy and industrial districts into something of value.
"Temperature-Controlled Heat-Flow Devices," "Automatic Water Filtration Units," "Portable Lighting"—common appliances in the civilian districts were enviable luxuries in the Rust Belt. He could create them all, thanks to an innate spiritual energy that was far beyond ordinary.
He didn't know what level his spiritual energy was; children of the slums were never given the chance to be awakened or ranked. All he knew was that this power made his senses incredibly sharp and his hands exceptionally steady, allowing him to perform the most intricate tasks of disassembly and reassembly.
Beep... Beep...
On the device, the "Energy Lattice" that served as its power core began to flash a glaring red.
Ling Feng's joy vanished, replaced by a deep frown.
Out of power again.
The energy lattices he salvaged from scrap heaps were mostly defective goods discarded by the upper districts, their power reserves already anemic. Powering the workshop's lights and tools, on top of testing new creations, drained them quickly.
If he couldn't sell this heat-flow device tonight and buy a few second-hand energy lattices from the Ash Market, he would be back to working in the dark tomorrow.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The workshop's iron door, repurposed from a tank's armor plate, thundered under a heavy fist. A gruff voice followed. "Feng! Open up! I know you're in there, I can smell the grease on you from a mile away!"
Ling Feng rubbed his temples wearily. In the entire Rust Belt, only that fatty, Shi Lei, would greet him this way.
He dragged his tired feet to the door and pulled back the bolt. A wave of air, thick with the smell of sweat and low-grade meat, rushed in. Shi Lei's mountain of a body squeezed through, making the already cramped workshop feel even smaller.
"Damn, what new gadget did you whip up this time?" Shi Lei's gaze immediately fell on the still-glowing heat-flow device, his large, bell-like eyes wide with amazement. "This thing looks way more advanced than the last one! Feng, how does your brain work? I bet even those engineers from the upper districts are no match for you!"
"Cut the crap," Ling Feng said, his voice weak. "Got any food?"
"Knew you'd forget to eat again." Shi Lei chuckled, pulling an oil-paper package from his coat. Inside were two grilled, blackened patties of some unknown synthetic meat. He handed one to Ling Feng and stuffed the other whole into his own mouth, mumbling, "Hurry, get something in you. You heading to the 'Ash Market' again today?"
Ling Feng took the patty and devoured it. The cold meat tasted like wax, but it brought some relief to his empty stomach. He nodded. "The energy lattices are almost dead. I have to go."
Shi Lei's expression turned serious. "Then you'd better be careful. The 'Iron Fist Gang' has been sniffing around the market lately, shaking people down. And that market manager, Zhao San, he's got a nose sharper than a dog's, always looking to make trouble for unlicensed guys like you. Don't let them snatch the money you worked so hard for."
"I know," Ling Feng's voice was calm.
The Iron Fist Gang, Zhao San... he knew the names, of course. In the Rust Belt, "survival of the fittest" was the only law. And in the Ash Market, which teetered on the edge of that law, the rules were just tools for extorting the weak.
But he had no choice.
After finishing the patty, Ling Feng carefully packed the heat-flow device and a few other small, modified appliances into a large canvas backpack. These items were his entire fortune, his only hope of clawing his way out of this mire.
If he could just earn enough money to pay the exorbitant fees at the Administration Center and prove he had "special talents," he might be able to earn contribution points. He could shed the "descendant of a criminal" status that was branded on his very bones and become a true civilian.
He reflexively reached into his collar and gripped the jade pendant hanging against his chest.
The pendant felt warm and smooth to the touch, the only memento his parents had left him. When he was young, he'd heard them speak of interstellar battlefields and of being unjustly accused, but he had been too little. All he could remember was the look of despair in their eyes as they were taken away.
All these years, he had worn the pendant close to his skin. It had never done anything special, aside from giving him a sense of peace.
But that was enough.
Ling Feng took a deep breath and tucked the pendant back into his shirt. He shouldered the heavy backpack and said to Shi Lei, "Watch the door for me."
With that, he pushed open the creaking iron door.
Outside, the eternal, dusky sky of the Rust Belt and its ceaseless clamor greeted him. In the distance, the towering, grey high-rises of the civilian district stood like an insurmountable wall, silent and imposing.
Without looking back, Ling Feng stepped forward, into the jungle of scrap iron, hope, and despair.