Young, living in the main district, Cheng Ye was a clear winner in life.
Passing through the gap, he pressed on.
The main district’s buildings were old, pipelines decrepit, yet puddles were scarce.
Shops along the street had stacked sandbags, some waist-high, with shredded vines stuffed in the gaps.
Every four or five hundred meters, a Works Department foreman led temporary workers, either shoveling clumped silt from drains or pulling debris from outlets with bare hands.
A tin megaphone hung around the foreman’s neck, hoarsely repeating calls to clear pipes, overcome hardship, and embrace a happy life.
The stark contrast made Cheng Ye feel this world was truly mad.
In his predecessor’s memories, the inner city’s technology, if even a fraction were shared, could transform the buffer zone.
Yet the higher-ups chose to restrict tech, letting the buffer zone languish in obsolescence, keeping residents teetering between barely fed and starving, clothed but not warm.
“Without stark contrast, there’s no desperate drive to enter the inner city.”
Cheng Ye saw the same numbness in the foreman’s eyes.
For those just getting by, the more they knew, the more hopeless the future seemed.
Hurrying through outer streets toward the main district’s center, foremen and work crews grew more common.
Suddenly, Cheng Ye paused.
Under a building marked “Tianyuan Mall” at the street’s end, a faintly familiar figure worked among the temporary laborers, hauling sandbags to block flood-prone spots.
Not far off, a woman shielded a child, huddling under a tent to escape the rain.
“A real man.”
Each flood-blocking sandbag weighed at least seventy kilograms.
Average workers, frail and weak, needed two to carry one.
Chu Yunfeng, however, shouldered one on each side, his expression relaxed, as if he had strength to spare.
“Pity, in the buffer zone, one person can’t support a family just by manual labor.”
Cheng Ye lingered in the street’s shadows, watching the crew for over ten minutes.
When Chu Yunfeng headed to the mall’s rear to fetch more sandbags, Cheng Ye approached the foreman.
“That big guy, strong one, what’s his deal?”
The middle-aged foreman, questioned by a young man, frowned, about to snap.
But seeing the badge spinning in Cheng Ye’s hand, his face changed instantly.
“Sir, he’s a refugee who arrived this afternoon. I saw his strength and him asking around for work, so I pulled him in.”
“He’s doing four people’s work. How many shares does he get?”
“Uh…” The foreman hesitated, gauging Chu Yunfeng’s relation to Cheng Ye.
A fresh refugee and a checkpoint official… if they were connected, Chu Yunfeng wouldn’t be here laboring.
Figuring this, he answered honestly, “Sir, you know the buffer zone’s labor rules. No matter how much work, pay’s per head.”
“His strength means he’s more likely to get picked. That’s fair.”
“Give him four shares.”
Cheng Ye waved, his tone firm. “Any issues, have the Works Department find me.”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
Cold sweat beaded on the foreman’s neck as he nodded hastily.
Even as he watched Cheng Ye leave, he didn’t dare ask to verify the badge or log his identity.
Why would he?
The checkpoint, the pinnacle of power in the buffer-isolation zone, controlled personnel movement, resource allocation, work scheduling, and external duties. A lowly foreman, even a Works Department head, bowed before an inspector. Verifying identity was asking for trouble.
Explaining the extra shares was simple: report it.
In the buffer-isolation zone, lying or embezzling might not kill you, but taking the fall for an inspector would lead to a thorough investigation and heads rolling.
“Qinghui, son, hungry, huh?”
Chu Yunfeng spread his coat, revealing five bags of nutrient paste and two pieces of malt candy. His stern face, unchanged since entering the city, softened with a faint smile. “That wandering merchant didn’t lie. In Happiness City, if you’re willing to work, you can earn food.”
“Dad, wasn’t it just two bags? How’d… how’d the boss give you so much?”
Adults could endure, but the kid, starving, grabbed the candy, munching happily, eyes sparkling.
Others in the tent, families of workers, licked their cracked lips enviously.
“No idea. The boss said pay’s per head, but just now he gave me four shares, saying I worked hard, didn’t slack, and made him look good… he’s pleased?”
Chu Yunfeng was puzzled.
Normally, he’d be paranoid, suspecting a conspiracy.
But today’s events had left his mind in chaos.
Happiness City, famed in the wasteland, was full of contradictions. One inspector extorted entry fees, pushing him to the brink of violence; another acted like an old-era philanthropist, treating them kindly, leaving him skeptical.
And that second inspector was holding back laughter the whole time, deepening Chu Yunfeng’s confusion.
Finding work was the same.
Some foremen scorned him, preferring scrawny refugees to dawdle and waste time.
Others, like this boss, were warm, hiring him after a few words and paying four shares.
Such stark contrasts dulled Chu Yunfeng’s wasteland-honed vigilance.
“Yunfeng…”
Yu Qinghui beckoned, whispering, “I saw a young man by the boss, who seemed very respectful to him. Could it be related to him?”
She emphasized “him.”
Their tacit understanding let Chu Yunfeng know who she meant.
“You sure? He was masked this afternoon.”
“Pretty sure. Couldn’t see his face, but his build, habits, posture, too many traits match. Only thing’s odd…”
“Odd how?” Chu Yunfeng pressed.
“I… his walk felt like yours. That power exertion, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but it was so similar…”
Yu Qinghui stammered, unable to say it felt like seeing a young, lean Chu Yunfeng from their early days. Too far-fetched.
“He’s like me?”
Chu Yunfeng was shocked. “I didn’t notice his walk this afternoon since he was sitting. He helped us—could we really be connected?”
“I don’t know if I misjudged. It’s night, raining…”
Yu Qinghui’s explanation sounded like a cover-up.
After years surviving the wasteland, their martial senses were sharp. Misjudge?
Chu Yunfeng fell silent, alternating between shaking and nodding his head, then handed a warm nutrient paste to Yu Qinghui.
“Drink. Whatever his motive, he helped us twice. We owe him.”
“I’ll find ways to repay him tenfold later,” he paused, “but for now, we focus on finding a place to stay before the storm hits and a steady job. Don’t overthink the rest.”