After a sudden downpour, the sunlight dried the muddy tracks once more. When heavy trucks rumbled past, dust billowed into the air, rising and settling listlessly in the muggy, humid breeze.
Exposed skin felt an unpleasant layer of grease and stickiness, and one's crotch was a clammy, bunched-up mess that felt wrong no matter how one shifted.
Walking just a few steps outdoors made a person yearn from the bottom of their heart for ice-cold soda and air conditioning.
Unfortunately, both were luxuries in the borderlands.
Chances to enjoy them were few and far between.
As summer gradually receded, after enduring one seemingly endless storm after another, the rainy season—so long it felt like mushrooms would sprout from the sheer torment—finally drew to a close.
Once again, stability and prosperity returned to the borderlands.
Setting aside the comparatively less frequent storms and the somewhat less oppressive sun, it could already be considered a fine spell of crisp autumn weather.
The settlement dwellers and scavengers, cooped up for months, once again shouldered all their worldly belongings and poured out in droves as though heading into a busy harvest. For a time, the previously desolate and deserted borderlands bustled with faint activity.
Unlike previous years, this time there was an abundance of eye-catching red.
More and more overloaded little trikes painted in vibrant colors appeared on the roads, shuttling between settlements or temporary construction sites and mines.
Drivers clad in equally striking uniforms drank, smoked, and carried rifles, tasked with delivering goods to every godforsaken corner of the wasteland.
On the little trikes and uniforms, a black logo was emblazoned alongside the name of a company that had recently surged to fame in the borderlands—Courier Logistics.
"Unc, Lao... Lao... Who the hell is this Lao guy? His name is pretty damn complicated—"
The bearded man hit the brakes, hopped down from the trike, and spat a glob of phlegm into the mud. He gripped the invoice and stammered for ages, unable to read the characters.
Then, as expected, a furious roar greeted him.
"Fuck your mother! If you can't read, don't read it out loud! Lao Chang! Lao Chang!"
Amid a burst of jeering laughter, the customer pulled back the curtain of a battered RV and crawled out. He snatched the invoice away, signed his name, and slapped it back into the courier's hand. "Where's my stuff?!"
"Hey, what's with the attitude?"
The courier shook his head, turned around, and rummaged through the cargo bed for a good while before producing a standardized metal case and handing it over.
A combination lock was fitted to the top.
Clearly not their first interaction, Lao Chang had long grown used to Courier Logistics' rules. He wasted no words. Before long, he emerged from the RV and handed back the empty case.
The case belonged to Courier Logistics.
As for what had been inside, no one asked, and no one said.
Rules were rules: as long as it was checked upon shipment and didn't violate the boss's regulations, the deliveryman didn't need to pry. If you were too rigid with standards out in the borderlands, you'd never do any business.
Once he confirmed the order was fulfilled, the courier rode his trike to continue delivering ordinary cargo.
Most of it consisted of items from the Courier Logistics catalog: uniformly packaged, batch-purchased medicines, emergency rations, clothing, toilet paper, and hard liquor. A small portion included refrigerated goods like vegetables or meat, or digital products that couldn't be manufactured or made do without in the borderlands. Occasionally, there were a few books, some bizarre discs, or packets of dried seaweed egg drop soup that lacked both vegetables and egg and had forgotten to include broth.
Toward the end, the courier cursed loudly, demanding to know which prodigal bastard had bought such an enormous toilet—and adding that he wasn't doing any fucking installation.
Once the delivery run was finished, the courier smoked a cigarette, loaded up the goods the settlement needed to ship out, signed the contract, and accepted a half-filled order slip. Nodding, he agreed on the next delivery date with the settlement's leader.
Barring unusual circumstances or rush orders, his next visit wouldn't be for another three days.
Naturally, nobody minded.
Unlike their counterparts in the cities who were browbeaten over same-day delivery, time was the least important factor when doing logistics out in the borderlands.
Surviving the delivery was what mattered.
"Carrying this much stuff every time, isn't it dangerous?" An idler smoking by the settlement entrance craned his neck curiously. "What if you run into bandits?"
The courier turned, glanced at him, then eyed the few seemingly curious onlookers nearby. A wry, half-smiling grin formed on his face. "What else can I do? Run, obviously."
He continued, "Company policy: if we get held up, ditch the cargo crate immediately and make a run for it. Forget the goods. Whoever grabs them keeps them."
"That generous?" Several people nearby laughed, clearly disbelieving his nonsense.
"That's what they said in training, anyway. Encounters with bandits happen all the time. If you die, there's a pension—twenty months' pay. If you live, they don't dock a dime, and you can keep on delivering."
The courier lit another cigarette, lazily started the engine, and drove off.
In the crowd, several men exchanged glances and were about to speak when the gathering abruptly scattered.
A gaunt, dark-skinned man walked over. He gave the man who had spoken an impassive look, and without warning, swung his hand in a hard slap across the face.
He moved down the line to the few standing beside him, delivering a slap to each followed by a vicious kick to the chest.
No one dared hit back; they didn't even dare dodge.
"U-Uncle Li..."
"Look at you, getting ambitious, Mouse Hui," the gaunt man remarked, clicking his tongue. "You actually dare eye Haian's shipments? If you're so eager to die, why don't I help you out by kicking you out of the settlement so you can try your luck alone? How about that? When you make a name for yourself in the future, maybe I'll even have to look to you for permission."
"I... Uncle, that's not what I meant." The idler who had been slapped shifted his gaze evasively. "I really didn't have any ideas like that. I was just asking..."
"You'd better not."
The settlement leader spoke coldly. "Otherwise, before Haian even gets here, I'll hang you from the power tower myself, just so you don't drag the rest of us down when Haian's liquidation squad comes knocking!"
Everyone fell deathly silent.
"All right, scatter."
Uncle Li waved his hand, gave the restless youths one last warning glare, and turned away.
Back in his RV, he cracked open a bottle of beer, gulped down more than half in one go, and said without turning around, "Xiao Liu, keep an eye on those few. If they sneak out, let me know."
"Good advice is wasted on someone hell-bent on dying."
The youth watching porn inside the RV shook his head. "A piece of trash like Mouse Hui doesn't know what's good for him. You saved his life, and he'll only resent you for blocking his path to riches. Driving someone like that out early would be better for everyone."
Uncle Li said nothing, continuing to drink his beer.
After fast-forwarding through a scene, the young man waited a while, unable to resist asking, "Haian's logistics operation is drawing too much attention. I don't think it'll last. Several bosses have put the word out. What do you say, should we—"
Uncle Li looked over expressionlessly, cutting him off. "You called them bosses. Do I look like a boss to you?"
"No," Xiao Liu replied, shaking his head with regret. "You look like a broke bastard."
"Then what's the problem?"
Uncle Li chuckled. "Why should a broke bastard worry about boss business? If the bosses want to make moves, let them. When they're done, no matter who dies or who wins, won't they still have to hire broke bastards like us to do the grunt work? Hell, if I had what it takes to beat Haian, I'd have become a boss myself long ago. Why would I still be risking my life for their measly change?"
Xiao Liu fell silent for a long time, watching him with doubt. Finally, he shook his head. "You really don't sound like yourself, Uncle. Back when you grabbed your weapons and led me out, you never flinched."
"I'm old. I'm scared now."
Uncle Li lifted the bottle to tip it back, only to find it already empty. After a brief silence, he didn't reach for another, merely smacking his lips and letting the final drop fall onto his tongue.
The beer Haian supplied in bulk could hardly be called rich or aromatic; at best, it was an accompaniment to a meal with a bit of alcohol and flavor. It tasted rather bland.
Yet once chilled, such beer had formerly been a privilege only settlement chiefs in the borderlands could enjoy on a whim. Now, an entire row was stacked at the back of his vehicle.
A secondhand refrigerator of indeterminate age hummed as it cooled, a rickety makeshift air conditioner buzzed while blowing chilled air, and inside a scrapped microwave, a prepackaged meal spun for a few turns before a ding signaled a mouthwatering aroma.
"Let's eat."
Uncle Li tossed the crushed can into a bin and picked up his chopsticks.
He tore open the plastic pouch, dumping the shredded pork, green peppers, and oil over a plate. Shoveling the food into his mouth alongside the sticky rice, he occasionally glanced up toward the borderlands outside the settlement.
The grass was green, the sky blue, and the sunlight bright.
The tarpaulins purchased from Haian were already being put up. Once the temperature dropped a bit further, they could try planting some garlic and rapeseed. They could set aside some space for a chicken coop; even if the birds didn't sell, they could keep them to eat.
Life like this was actually pretty good, he thought.
***
There was no way this life was going to get any better.
Beneath the same sky, in the same borderlands, the joys and sorrows of men did not align. Some dreamed of the future, while others felt they no longer had one.
On the settlement's street, no one spoke. Faces were solemn, sullen, or curious, peering toward the grandest building at the center.
A three-story building typical of the city.
In front of the entrance, an armored car bearing Haian's logo was parked, surrounded by fully armed "security personnel" who coldly surveyed the crowd.
Inside the hall, the earlier polite pleasantries were gone, replaced by a tense standoff.
On one side of a battered table, a visitor dressed impeccably in a suit sat calm and relaxed. Across the table, the weather-beaten, dark-skinned locals were flushed with agitation and fury.
Many of the young men were on the verge of exploding. It would take just one order for them to swarm forward and tear these money-grubbing outsiders to pieces!
"Is Mr. Ji trying to drive us to utter ruin?!"
Feng Yao's hands trembled as he stared at the notice in his grip, his eyes bloodshot. "He can't refuse to leave us a single way out! Does he have to push us to death to be satisfied?!"
As he spoke, the man beside him glanced backward and signaled with his eyes. At once, the atmosphere grew even more tragic and indignant, and the crowd gathered outside the hall began to clamor. Some even leveled their rifles.
*Defend our home! Defend our settlement! Better dead than slaves!*
*At worst, we'll fight to the death with you!*
"This isn't what we agreed upon earlier, Mr. Feng."
The debt collector in charge had clearly grown accustomed to the borderlands' temperament. He let out a helpless sigh. "A month ago when we came to ask, you said the water ghosts hadn't left yet and it wasn't safe. Half a month ago when we came to ask, you said there were too many wounded who hadn't recovered. Now I'm asking for the third time—how can you call this pushing you to death? Even outside the city, people have to abide by reason and rules, don't they?"
"Reason is reason, and rules are rules, but this is far too harsh!" Feng Yao's voice was hoarse, near tears. "Mr. Ji's price is so high, but we have to survive too! Taking away so many people all at once—"
"You didn't sound like this when you called us begging for help."
The collector shook his head, pulled out a phone, and slid it to the middle of the table. "The borderlands don't care much for written contracts, but the audio recording, video, and electronic signatures from back then are all completely intact. Mr. Feng, you wanted the aid, you don't want to hand over the personnel, and you want to renege on your debt while demanding a way out. Where in this world do things come so cheap?"
Back during the rainy season, when water ghosts were running rampant, Haian had launched security services across the Haizhou borderlands, offering around-the-clock fire support.
If any settlement found itself outmatched during an attack or facing a critical crisis, Haian stood ready to lend a helping hand at any time.
Whether weapons, equipment, or fire support.
Anytime, anywhere.
As for the price, it was fully transparent. But they took neither cash nor precious metals.
All supplies and fire support were priced in terms of labor.
A single missile cost ten years of labor—whether ten able-bodied adults working for Haian for one year, or one person signing a ten-year contract, made no difference.
And now that the rainy season had ended, one hundred and sixty years of labor lay before Feng Yao.
Yet, having enjoyed the relief, Feng Yao felt the price was rather unreasonable, much like countless people who balked when the bill arrived after a good time.
If they truly followed this price, the entire settlement would do nothing else for half a year except work for Haian for free.
Besides, with so many people leaving, whether they would ever return was up in the air. Would their old "businesses" still operate? Never mind business—the settlement itself might not survive!
When that time came, what would he, the chief, eat? What would he drink?
Go screw bolts on Haian's assembly line?
And so, after brushing off several waves of debt collectors with empty pleasantries, Feng Yao wracked his brain, nursing an idea he shouldn't have had.
"You know me. I, Feng Yao, have always been a man of my word. Every spit of mine nails a spike! I would never renege on a debt!" After wiping away a couple of tears, Feng Yao squeezed a stirring expression of sincerity and helplessness out of his sorrowful face. "It's just that the rainy season has only just passed. The settlement can't spare the hands right now; people can barely put food on the table! Please, show some mercy and give me some breathing room... I... I..."
Growing emotional, he couldn't hold back his tears.
A strapping grown man, overcome with genuine emotion, was actually weeping.
"All right,"
the collector across the table agreed without a second thought.
"..."
Feng Yao froze in place.
Not only him, but all the members of the angry mob behind him, previously brimming with righteous fury, fell into a daze, staring at one another.
*Wait—*
*Is this right?*
*Is this how the script was supposed to go?*
Chapter 463