The journey from the Rust Belt to the Ash Market was a passage between two distinct worlds.
The first half of the path was familiar to Ling Feng. The ground was a perpetual mire of mud, metal shards, and unidentifiable fluids. The air was a cocktail of scents: the cloying sweetness of engine oil, the acrid sting of acid waste, and the sour stench of rotting food scraps. On either side, "buildings" cobbled together from scrap metal and high-strength plastic stood like grotesque burial mounds. The people living inside them had eyes that were mostly as dull and gray as the land itself.
But after he passed through an invisible border marked by towering barbed-wire fences and infrared sensors, the world seemed to be instantly cleansed.
The ground transformed into flat, synthetic concrete. Though cracked and stained in places, at least there was no longer sewage flowing freely. The biting smells in the air thinned out, replaced by the aroma of food and the din of a crowd. Most importantly, there was light—a steady, bright white light cast by standardized streetlamps, illuminating everything with clarity.
At the end of the road, the uniform gray high-rises of the civilian district were visible, watching over the forgotten corner of the Rust Belt like silent, indifferent giants. Several uniformed security officers armed with stun batons, along with a slowly patrolling spherical mech guard, monitored the border. Their sharp gazes frequently swept over the Rust Belt residents who tried to approach, their eyes filled with undisguised vigilance and disgust.
This was the dividing line between two worlds. A wall that was invisible, yet undeniably real.
Ling Feng pulled his hood lower, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, and quickened his pace, melting into the chaotic and vibrant crowd of the Ash Market.
The Ash Market, true to its name, was a gray area built upon the ashes of urban civilization. It was a gathering place for all walks of life—impoverished civilians, daring scavengers, second-hand goods merchants, and the thieves and con artists who lurked in the shadows.
Ling Feng skillfully navigated past stalls selling dubious potions and second-hand cybernetics, finding an empty spot in the market's most obscure corner. He set down his backpack and carefully arranged his creations: the "Temperature-Controlled Heat-Flow Device" with its post-industrial aesthetic, a "Portable Water Purifier" that could turn sewage into drinkable water, and several "Handheld Lights" with adjustable brightness.
At first, his humble stall was ignored. The civilians who passed by mostly gave it a fleeting glance before being drawn to flashier goods.
Just as anxiety began to creep in, a plainly dressed middle-aged man with a child in tow stopped in front of his stall. He picked up the heat-flow device and asked curiously, "Hey, young man, did you make this yourself? Looks pretty cool. How much?"
"I modified it from industrial scrap," Ling Feng said, trying to keep his voice steady. "It uses thirty percent less energy than similar products on the market, and its heat efficiency is higher. You only need a single D-grade used energy lattice to keep a ten-square-meter room warm for a whole night. It's only... three hundred credit points."
The price was less than a fifth of what a new, official model would cost.
The man's eyes lit up. For families like his, living in the lower rungs of the civilian district, every bit of energy saved was a significant relief. He tested the device, felt the steady, powerful stream of warm air, and bought it without hesitation.
That successful sale was like flipping a switch. Soon, a small crowd had gathered around Ling Feng's stall. His modified appliances, though rugged in appearance, possessed a fatal attraction for these budget-conscious civilians due to their surprising practicality and low prices.
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, giving him his first taste of the weight of hope.
Maybe life wasn't so bad. Maybe he really could change his destiny with his own two hands.
However, this brief moment of joy was shattered by a sneering voice.
"Well, well, business is booming."
A tall, thin middle-aged man in a market manager's uniform strolled over, his hands clasped behind his back. This was the man Shi Lei had warned him about, Zhao San, with a nose sharper than a dog's.
Zhao San's gaze swept over Ling Feng's remaining two items, a flicker of greed in his eyes, which he quickly masked with an air of officialdom. "First time here, kid? Where's your business license? Your product safety certification? Let me see them."
Ling Feng's heart sank. He had none of those things.
"I... I'm just selling a few little things I made..."
"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 home, can you take responsibility for that?!"
His shouting drew the attention of the surrounding crowd.
Just then, three thuggish youths pushed their way out of the crowd. Their leader was a burly man with a scar on his face. They were members of the "Iron Fist Gang."
The scar-faced man chimed in, "Zhao, why are you wasting your breath on this trash! I bet he stole this junk from some poor bastard's house! Nothing good ever comes out of the Rust Belt!"
"That's right! He stole it!"
"Arrest him!"
Seeing this, the surrounding civilians backed away, not wanting to get involved. The same people who had been praising Ling Feng's goods just moments ago now looked at him with suspicion and wariness.
Ling Feng was instantly isolated and helpless.
Zhao San, representing "the law," and the Iron Fist Gang, representing "violence," formed an invisible net that trapped him. He clenched his fists, his body trembling with a mixture of anger and powerlessness. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but found that his voice was pale and insignificant amidst the noise and malice.
This was robbery, so blatant they didn't even bother to disguise it.
"According to market regulations, all illegal earnings and non-compliant goods will be confiscated!" Zhao San announced triumphantly, reaching for the money in Ling Feng's pocket.
The scar-faced man sneered, reaching for the items on the ground.
The immense mental pressure hit Ling Feng like a physical hammer. Humiliation, anger, injustice... emotions roiled in his mind, threatening to burn away his sanity.
At that critical moment, the jade pendant, which had been resting against his chest, warmed by his sweat, suddenly emitted a strange, cool sensation.
The coolness was like a bolt of lightning, instantly cutting through the chaos in his mind. His head, which had been on the verge of exploding, became preternaturally calm.
Ling Feng shot his head up.
He looked at Zhao San's greedy face, at the scar-faced man's vicious smile, at the numb or fearful eyes of the crowd. For the first time, the look of resigned endurance and uncertainly that had always filled his bright eyes—eyes accustomed to the dim light of the workshop—vanished completely.
In its place was a glint as cold and sharp as tempered steel.