After drifting out of Red Rock Villa, the purple seed floated steadily toward Duniao Street on the outskirts of the city.
This was the largest slum in Lunovira Center City. A portion of the Primitive Sect's "ritual materials" was procured here, and they had never made any secret of it.
The purple seed drifted down into the district. This time, it was not wandering aimlessly, but searching according to the trace within it.
Under the Primitive Sect's influence and propaganda, many of the people living here survived on relief supplies, numbed themselves with cheap drugs, and used low-cost implants to consume and indulge in all sorts of entertainment.
They all knew they could fetch a good price by selling themselves, and many had started out with that very intention. Yet when the monitors displayed that their critical threshold had arrived, most were left with nothing but boundless regret and fear—desperately wanting to run away rather than fulfill their promise.
Yet the surveillance of their implants, their wasted bodies, and their drug addictions left them powerless to flee. And rather than simply lie there waiting for death, they might as well cash in.
Of course, there were also those who, even after seeing their threshold reached, preferred to just lie there, refusing to face reality and lacking any will to resist.
Above this neighborhood, the purple seed circled and hovered. Beneath the chaotic, disorderly lights of the slums, no one paid any attention to a speck of light as minuscule as a mote of dust.
After roaming for several hours, it slipped through a slit in a window into a rented room littered with liquor bottles and syringes.
It finally came to rest upon a corpse. Long-term ravages from drugs and the drain of implants had left his body completely withered, though in truth, the man was not even forty years old.
As the seed sank through his eye and seeped into his brain, strands of mutated tissue within the seed unfurled and spread outward, latching onto every vital organ and infusing them with gossamer threads of energy.
After a short while, as the heart resumed beating, warmth gradually returned to his body, and he actually sat up slowly.
He looked at a glass bottle nearby. Reflected in it was a gaunt, pale face with deeply sunken eye sockets, prominent cheekbones, and greasy, tangled hair and beard.
This was a man of Eastern Continent descent.
The hollows of his eyes turned profoundly dark. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were completely clouded and dull.
Standing up, he found the water and power had been cut off completely. There was still half a jug of bottled water left, so he poured some out to wash his face, changed into a fresh set of clothes, and walked out.
His purpose was clear. He headed straight for a checkpoint established by the Primitive Sect. He was going to sell himself.
The man at the checkpoint clearly knew him well, but looked surprised to see him. "Lao Zheng? You're still alive?"
"Yeah. Alive," Lao Zheng replied woodenly.
"Wonders never cease. I thought a coward like you would just lie around waiting to die." The inspector looked him up and down.
Lao Zheng wasted no words. "I want to cross the river."
The inspector perked up. "Looks like you've finally made up your mind. Well..." He added something seemingly casual yet very pragmatic: "Don't worry. Not a single cent of your blood money will go missing. Do we give it to you, or your daughter?"
Lao Zheng had only fragmented memories.
"Not me," he said.
"Alright, fair enough! Who'd have thought, Lao Zheng—you actually have a shred of conscience left. But standard rules: you need a checkup. Can't have you dying on the way. If that happens, your daughter won't get a penny, and someone'll have to haul your corpse all the way back, right?"
"Yeah."
The inspector didn't mince words either. Pointing to a biological scanner nearby, he said, "Step up on that. You've seen it enough times, haven't you?"
Without a word, Lao Zheng stepped up and pressed his hand onto the scanner. He felt his palm sink slightly, accompanied by a faint numbness in the pads of his fingers.
"Huh?"
The inspector glanced at the reading spectrum and found it somewhat hard to believe. A grayish-green glow showed on the display, indicating that while the body was weak and profoundly unhealthy, it was largely within normal functional parameters.
He knew Lao Zheng. The man hadn't shown his face for days, which meant his body had collapsed entirely, leaving him unable to even step out the door—a state where death was the only thing left.
The inspector had actually planned to check on him today and drag him back if he wasn't dead yet. Still, he couldn't be bothered to care too much. They had quotas to meet, so every extra head counted. Whatever was going on with the body didn't matter as long as it could be delivered up the line; why give himself extra trouble?
"In that case, you meet the criteria. Alright."
He walked over to a card-punch machine, tapped it a few times, and with a clattering rattle, a trimmed slip of paper rolled out. He handed it to Lao Zheng.
"Take this. Tomorrow, you—"
"Tomorrow? Can't it be today?"
"In that big a hurry to reincarnate?"
The inspector looked at him with surprised suspicion. "You haven't gone and pumped yourself full of some hardcore stuff, have you?"
Then he chuckled. "Well, even if you did, as long as you don't drop dead on the way, fine. Today it is." He picked up a stamp and pressed it down onto the paper.
Handing it to Lao Zheng, he asked, "Not going to see your daughter?"
Lao Zheng said nothing.
The inspector didn't mind. "Yeah, better not. Once you're dead, it's all over anyway. Alright, midnight. Go wait over there and just follow along when the time comes. Remember which boat is ours—don't mix yourself up with those Tawatinian nationals."
Lao Zheng took the paper and sat down on a bench off to the side. A row of people sat there, their eyes hollow and numb.
Lao Zheng closed his eyes.
The mutated tissue within his body maintained the bare minimum rate of consumption.
After a long time, someone tapped his shoulder. He opened his eyes and saw the people beside him getting up one after another, while someone up front was shouting instructions.
A light drizzle had begun to fall. Gripping the papers in their hands, they followed dazedly behind a figure clad in a raincoat.
Arriving at the wharf, they boarded a ferry. There were people of Eastern Continent descent, Tawatinian descent, and immigrants of Paranio descent, all mingled together now. After boarding, each person was required to swallow a pill, which seemed to possess a powerful sedative effect.
He could clearly estimate that the drug would affect this body for upwards of twenty hours, at which point the voyage would likely only be halfway through, far from their destination. Making no attempt to resist, he soon sank into slumber.
After releasing the seed, Chen Chuan paid it no further heed. He had no way of knowing the specifics once the seed landed; this was an ability unique to martial artists of the Dongxuan View.
Nor could he exert complete control over its actions after possession, though he had embedded a wisp of spiritual force beforehand, compelling it to doggedly pursue a single objective.
Once the seed entered a suitable vessel, it usually needed to maintain an equilibrium boundary, though it would not collapse so easily within just a few days. The most crucial part was how to convey the information back.
Fortunately, there was no need for the possessed body to return. As long as it found the fissure, it could terminate its own life, thereby signaling to him its approximate location and a definitive confirmation.
If all went well, there should be results within two days.
And once he confirmed the news, he would act immediately.
While waiting, however, he received an invitation.
Over the past few days, various groups, organizations, and news media in the Federation had sent him invitations, but he had declined every one of them. He was not a diplomatic negotiator and held no interest in such matters; he would rather spend the time cultivating.
Yet this one was special.
It came from the Progenitor Company.
He stared at the Progenitor Company insignia on the invitation and thought, *Has it finally come?*
Looking at the signature, the sender was Gao Xinjian—the current helmsman of the Progenitor Company.
He pondered for a moment. Addressing the matter of the Progenitor Company was something he had intended to do upon arriving in the Federation anyway.
After viewing the memory potion left behind by this body's parents, he had formed several conjectures, but they were not yet fully confirmed. Meeting this man in person would help substantiate a few things, after which he could decide how to proceed.
Checking the time and location of the meeting, he told the orderly, "Go tell the person who delivered the invitation that I will arrive punctually tomorrow."
The orderly saluted and went out to reply.
Once the man had left, Chen Chuan gave it no further thought and resumed his cultivation.
The following afternoon, accompanied by his security personnel, he boarded a private car and departed Red Rock Villa, heading toward Chazburen District on the south side of Center City.
The venue for this meeting was the famed Motetu Square Pillar Hall.
Ninety years ago, shortly after the founding of the Federation, because the nation was built upon a "barbaric" land, it sought to supplement its historical and cultural depth by either plundering or purchasing ancient buildings at exorbitant prices from countries around the world. Expending enormous manpower and resources, they dismantled them entirely and transported them back.
Motetu was one such acquisition. Over the ensuing decades, expansions were built upon the original ruins, transforming it into a banquet and reception venue with a distinct style.
Guided by a receptionist, Chen Chuan entered the hall and saw staircases supported by thread-thin yet resilient boughs, appearing at first glance as though suspended in midair.
The dining areas consisted of square pillar-shaped platforms varying in height between twenty to thirty meters above the ground, arranged in an undulating spiral. The highest platform, seemingly devoid of any railings or barriers, was where meals were served.
These were the renowned Dish-Stair Banquet Pillars.
For ordinary people, whether ascending the stairs or dining atop the pillars required considerable courage.
Yet let alone for him, it posed little challenge even to an ordinary fighter. He walked straight toward a banquet pillar at the center and stepped onto the stairs, reaching the summit before long.
The space up here was quite ample, around forty square meters. But looking down from this vantage, with the deliberate visual contrast in elevation combined with the glass-like transparent floor tiles beneath one's feet, an ordinary person standing in this precarious open expanse would likely still feel a breathtaking sense of vertigo.
A middle-aged man stood there, his posture straight and demeanor poised. Behind him stood a quiet, black-haired woman, lingering there like a silent shadow.
Chapter 1187