Gracie's Clinic.
An open silver briefcase rested on the long white table.
Inside lay a canister about half the length of a forearm, containing a completely transparent kidney suspended in dark green solution.
Crafted from an unknown flexible material, its exquisite structure made one marvel at what kind of advanced civilization could have produced such an intricate miracle.
Yet this "miracle," the culmination of countless research breakthroughs, was merely a speck of dust fallen from that great era.
With a rapt expression on his face, Gracie ran an index finger like a withered twig across the surface of the canister, murmuring under his breath.
"BIO-166..."
"What?"
"The serial number of this thing..."
Gracie murmured in entranced wonder, "A bionic prosthesis from Ideal City, the crystallization of mechanical engineering and biology. It's the most ideal replacement for a biological organ, as flawless as a work of art... even if it's merely a replica."
All the miracles of Ideal City were mere copies of the People's Federation era.
Even so, to the many survivor settlements of the wasteland era, those reproduced wonders still represented an insurmountable chasm.
While Gracie was lost in contemplation of the artwork before him, Fang Chang, standing beside the long white table, fell into deep thought.
After staring at the balding middle-aged man for a moment, he spoke up.
"Don't you plan to ask about Edmund?"
He had heard that the "butcher" named Edmund had once been Gracie's apprentice. He had caught the eye of Jeff, the boss of the Dagger Gang, during a surgery, and later went on to work for them.
This guy had tipped off the business to him, and he had turned around and shipped Edmund off to the New Alliance's POW camp in exchange for a reward of 100 silver coins and 200 contribution points.
Fang Chang didn't believe that this man knew nothing about what had happened to his former apprentice.
Yet upon hearing Edmund's name from Fang Chang's lips, Gracie merely curled his lip and replied nonchalantly,
"Why ask about him? Does he have anything to do with our deal today?"
Fang Chang's expression couldn't help but look a bit odd.
However, when he caught the subtle smirk at the corner of Gracie's mouth, a sudden glimmer of realization surfaced in his eyes.
"...You did it on purpose?"
The New Alliance and the marauders were like water and fire; everyone in Qingquan City knew this.
It was no exaggeration to say that the alliance itself was born from the flames of war between Shelter 404 and the marauders.
Under such circumstances, the odds of this transaction going through peacefully were less than one in ten.
If Edmund's clinic shutting down benefited anyone, it was undeniably Gracie's clinic.
Without those cheap, "all-natural" parts, mercenaries who had their balls blown off in combat would have no choice but to opt for pricier bionic prostheses.
Couldn't afford them?
Someone always could.
Even if he could only poach a tenth of the customers from Edmund's clinic and squeeze a 500 percent profit margin out of them, this guy would make a killing.
High-value-added bionic prostheses were where the real obscene profits lay!
Harvesting clones?
That was merely a cheap, crooked shortcut.
"I don't know what you're talking about... but there's one thing I believe in: if you walk along the river long enough, your shoes will get wet. Deal with marauders, and you either end up killed by them or turn into one yourself.
"So, I only do safe business with safe clients in safe places."
Gracie chuckled, closed the silver briefcase, and slid it into a drawer beneath the table.
Then, pulling a gilded storage box from who-knew-where, he placed it gently before Fang Chang.
"Here's five hundred thousand chips. Count them."
The box was packed neatly with fifty black-and-white plastic chips, their edges stamped with crown patterns.
They gleamed with an obsidian sheen like brand-new tokens, without a single fingerprint or fleck of dandruff on them.
Fang Chang accepted the box, counted them briefly, and asked,
"I'm suddenly curious—how much do you make flipping this?"
Gracie gave a mild smile.
"That's a trade secret. Besides, why ask me? You made a tidy sum yourself... didn't you?"
Fang Chang smiled and didn't argue.
Indeed.
Five hundred thousand chips converted to one million silver coins, while the cost had only been six hundred thousand silver.
Even though that six hundred thousand silver coins had been pooled together with several good brothers, each person still walked away with a handsome cut.
This was already wealth far beyond what ordinary players could earn from quests...
Weighing the box in his hands—less than half a jin—Fang Chang couldn't help a strange thought crossing his mind.
If the silver coin trading platform were seen as a stock exchange, could his savings qualify him as a shareholder of Wasteland OL?
Even if just a spiritual one.
"If you ever need more bionic prostheses, feel free to contact me," Fang Chang said.
Gracie smiled and replied, "I will, though I probably won't need any anytime soon. These past few days, a batch of bionic prostheses from Ideal City suddenly popped up in the inner city, and the price I heard was around five hundred thousand chips as well... I was actually wondering if that mystery seller was you."
"For now, I've only sold to you."
NPCs traded amongst themselves as well, so Fang Chang didn't find it odd. He was just a little curious who had made such a huge move.
Liszt?
Or Ditwei, who ran the nutrient paste business?
Or...
The Administrator himself?
Then again, the Administrator seemed unlikely.
Pondering back and forth, Fang Chang couldn't associate that venerable man with a mercenary merchant.
Not that the NPC lacked business acumen; it just didn't quite fit his character persona. Besides, the Alliance had so much talent that there was no need for that "lord" to handle such matters in person.
"Is that so? It doesn't really matter," Gracie chuckled. "It's not like I signed an exclusivity agreement with you. Who you sell to is your own business, and besides, my clients will end up coming to me for the transplant surgeries anyway... Anything else? If not, I suggest heading to the bank first. Carrying that many chips around isn't wise; Boulder City has no shortage of pickpockets."
Fang Chang offered a faint smile.
Pickpockets? Right.
As an Agility-type player in the third stage of his gene sequence, the pickpocket who could snatch something off him probably hadn't been born yet.
It wasn't unwarranted arrogance.
Anyone genuinely skilled enough for that would have no reason to be a petty thief; joining any random caravan or mercenary corps would give them whatever they wanted.
Stowing the storage box, Fang Chang turned to leave.
Just then, a thought struck him, and he stopped in his tracks.
"...Right, let's make a deal."
"What deal?" Gracie raised an eyebrow.
"Next time you have a business competitor, there's no need to beat around the bush. You can just tell me directly... You know what kind of competitors I mean."
The New Alliance forbade players from "privately" attacking survivor settlements with a neutral or higher disposition, but that certainly didn't include marauder dens.
While the criteria for designating someone a "marauder" were flexible, submitting "sufficient evidence" to the great Administrator's assistant gave a chance to receive authorization for "lawful bandit suppression" and unlock the "unrestricted warfare" option.
The types of evidence included, but were not limited to, videos, photographs, audio recordings, and so forth, with the assessment taking into account both the local level of civilization and the weight of the evidence.
If conditions weren't met, a follow-up investigation quest was usually triggered to further verify the situation... Because so many factors were involved, it was typically quite a complex process.
Yet if someone could help them pinpoint the target, things became much simpler.
A stronghold like "Edmund's Clinic" in particular yielded loot far exceeding ordinary marauder dens. Upholding justice while making money amounted to winning twice over.
Was that not perfection itself?
Staring at Fang Chang with keen interest, Gracie's face broke into a meaningful smile.
"Finally discovered how to make fast money, eh?
"Still, I must offer you a word of advice: when you try to take something from the dark, never forget that the dark is staring right back at you."
Fang Chang wore a completely indifferent expression.
What a joke.
It wasn't like he could die for real.
"You only need to tell me whether you're interested or not."
"Of course I am. Nothing would please me more than having you eliminate all my competitors who strayed down the wicked path."
Gracie extended his right hand, a smile on his face.
"Here's to a pleasant partnership."
...
"And then what happened?"
"Then my friends took those homeless people back to the Alliance, where the Refugee Home took them in..."
In a small tavern in Boulder City.
Fang Chang sprinkled cumin—which he had asked Lao Bai to bring along—over grilled lizard tail skewers, casually chatting with Dolly about the events of the past few days.
Perhaps because he had been eating this stuff so often lately, he found himself surprisingly accustomed to such crude, unholy cooking.
Maybe once he returned to Dawn City, he could compare notes with Elaina on their experiences tasting culinary horrors from an otherworldly wasteland.
Sitting across the wooden table, Dolly listened intently.
Her face radiated immense interest, her calves swinging gently beneath the table, while her right hand gripped a brand-new fountain pen, scribbling briskly across a palm-sized shorthand notebook.
Though she hadn't been on the job long and hadn't even passed her probation period, both her demeanor and actions were looking more and more like a real reporter.
"Will going there make a difference for them?"
"Mm, hard to say," Fang Chang considered for a moment before answering. "The Alliance has poor people too. But we give them food so they don't starve to death. We teach them skills to earn a living, giving them a chance to choose what kind of life they want.
"As for whether to integrate into our society and how to integrate, they can decide for themselves. If they feel uncomfortable, they can leave. Whenever they want to come back, they're free to return."
His throat parched from talking, Fang Chang gulped down a mouthful of cold beer.
Watching Dolly hastily jot down notes, he couldn't help teasing,
"Looks like you've adapted to your new life."
Her thin lips curled slightly upward. Setting down her fountain pen, Dolly leaned back in her chair, stretched comfortably, and said cheerfully,
"It's all right. It was a bit tiring at first, but once I got the hang of it, I found it's actually pretty fun.
"Working hours are flexible every day, no pulling all-nighters, and I get to hear all kinds of interesting gossip... and of course, the best part is the pay is pretty good."
Seeing her upbeat expression, Fang Chang felt genuinely happy for her.
Flipping through her notes, Dolly leaned back before suddenly sitting upright, looking curiously at Fang Chang across from her.
"Actually... about what you mentioned earlier, I still have a question."
"Which part?"
"I think I've heard about that Edmund's Clinic somewhere before. They say mercenaries and bounty hunters who can't afford bionic prostheses, or who just want to save money, go there for surgery."
"Pretty much what I found out too," Fang Chang nodded.
"Hmm... what about the mercenaries who need replacement prosthetics?" Dolly tilted her head. "People will always get injured in accidents. Even if you wiped out Edmund's Clinic, wouldn't someone else just open another shop somewhere else?"
Equality was a noble ideal, but most of the time, lives carried different price tags.
As long as people were willing to pay chips, someone would supply the trade.
Even the cheapest mechanical prosthetics produced in Boulder City cost two to three thousand chips, while precision-crafted bionic organs and the like routinely ran into five figures.
In comparison, the lives of clones and slaves were far cheaper, and if they captured scavengers or ordinary civilians, the cost was practically zero.
As long as people on the wasteland were still struggling to survive, this market would never disappear.
Setting down his beer glass, Fang Chang pondered for a long while before speaking slowly.
"Of course we considered that. That's why we decided to address that demand.
"Only, in a different way."
After leaving Gracie's Clinic that day, he had created a thread in the closed-beta discussion section of the forum, revealing this money-farming bug while discussing the dilemma with other closed-beta players.
Upon hearing what they had witnessed at the Golden Dunes Cinema, the vast majority of players shared similar thoughts.
Even though it was truly a "win-win" business—since players didn't actually die—exploiting this bug for profit weighed on their consciences.
Especially since many players had forged close friendships with NPCs in the game.
Leaving aside the backseat gamers who hadn't played the game yet, for the closed-beta players at least, many could no longer view NPCs merely as lines of data.
They saw them as another form of life.
Taking into account opinions from the other players, Lao Bai planned to communicate with the Alliance First Hospital to preserve the biological organs players swapped out for bionic prostheses, making them available for survivors who genuinely needed transplants.
As for the cost, only a reasonable processing fee would be charged.
In addition, critically wounded players, before respawning, could donate their organs as well.
Naturally, this would follow a voluntary principle.
Players could choose whether or not to sign an organ donation agreement.
And for players who signed the agreement, when they or their friends needed replacement parts, their surgeries would be given priority.
Doing this was naturally unprofitable, but as Brother Guang said, they weren't just playing a game; they were building a virtual community.
Silver coins weren't everything in this game. Beyond simple profits, there were many other things in this world worth exploring.
Fang Chang felt their vision could be broader still.
They weren't merely building a community; they were building a society.
Including himself, the players who had gained closed-beta access could no longer do without those extra twelve hours each day.
This was their second world, and in fact had become their second home.
Particularly as one of the earliest batches to enter the game, they had acquired massive resources and wealth along with the game's progression—both in-game and in the real world.
In reason and sentiment, they had a duty and responsibility to make this place better, rather than turning it into a lawless jungle, bleeding it for profit like cancer cells only to run off somewhere else and wreak havoc.
"Our Alliance will make strikes against marauder dens a regular occurrence, making it far harder for dens that 'slaughter survivors' to survive.
"...At the same time, through 'shelter technology,' we'll provide cheaper replacement parts, rendering that kind of trade completely unprofitable."
Fang Chang explained the decision he and the other shelter residents had made in terms an NPC could understand.
Dolly looked at him in astonishment, her bright right eye filled with surprise.
"I didn't expect you to be someone with such a sense of responsibility."
Fang Chang smiled faintly.
"You only just realized?"
Though he hadn't been that way from the very beginning either.
Rubbing her chin with an index finger, Dolly pondered for a long while.
Suddenly, she snapped her fingers.
"Got it!"
"Got what?"
"Tomorrow's headline for the *Survivor Daily*! I'm going to put your deeds in the newspaper!" Dolly said, her eyes shining brightly.
A headline in an NPC newspaper?
While it didn't sound quite as attractive as the Hall of Fame on the official *Wasteland OL* website, it was still a novel experience.
He happened to be studying the Human Alliance language anyway, so he'd buy a copy to check it out when the time came.
"In honor of the front page, how about you treat me to this meal?" Fang Chang joked.
"No problem—"
Dolly was about to pat her chest and agree, but just then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the skewers piled high as a hill on the plate.
The perkiness at the corners of her mouth instantly froze, and her voice betrayed her by dropping several octaves. Blushing, Dolly continued,
"I'll... I'll owe you for now... I'll pay you back once I get my salary."
"I'll hold you to that!"
Seeing Dolly's embarrassed fluster, Fang Chang chuckled in high spirits. He casually produced a few chips and tossed them onto the waiter's tray.
"Check, please. Keep the change."
Seeing the chips spinning on the tray, the waiter recognized him and couldn't help rolling his eyes behind his back.
This guy again.
Then again, this guy sure could eat...
Glancing at the mound of wooden skewers on the plate, then looking at the gentle, refined-looking young man, the waiter clicked his tongue inwardly.
You really can't judge a book by its cover...
...
Shelter 404, reading room on Floor B4.
Chu Guang sat on the sofa, holding a freshly printed copy of the *Survivor Daily* in his hands.
Spread out before his eyes was the headline of this latest issue—a report on Edmund's Clinic.
The newspaper selectively displayed several photographs taken by players at Edmund's Clinic.
Featuring haphazardly dumped corpses and survivors locked in iron cages like lambs awaiting slaughter, the harrowing imagery shocked the eye and struck directly at the soul.
Residents of the outer city naturally understood the wasteland's cruelty; after all, the distance between them and the outside world was just a single gate.
Yet it was precisely because of the towering wall that they didn't have to confront things outside their world in daily life.
Even though *Voice of Boulder City* often brought up the suffering beyond the Great Wall for entertainment, the tone was largely cynical mockery and flattery directed at the Castellan.
Rather than pleasing a castellan who didn't care about them in the slightest, it was catering to its audience.
Laying the naked truth right before people's eyes the way the *Survivor Daily* did was a first in at least over a decade.
Because of this, the report caused a massive sensation in Boulder City's outer city, rapidly becoming the hottest topic of discussion.
More interestingly, when it came to the very same issue, Boulder City residents showed a clear divide in perspective.
Ordinary residents cared more about the survivors trapped in iron cages.
After all, among them were not only slum dwellers, but also several outer city residents.
No matter what reasons landed those unfortunates in a bloody slaughterhouse, it caused a crack to form in the illusions of those sharing a similar standing regarding the Great Wall.
The impregnable Great Wall wasn't as impregnable as they imagined, and eternal isolation couldn't truly keep them away from the wasteland.
Still, the final outcome was deeply satisfying.
An evil marauder den had been destroyed, and survivors were reunited with their families.
While the impregnable Great Wall wasn't entirely reliable, the unbreakable Alliance seemed to have played a modest role.
For mercenaries, however, this was hardly good news.
It meant they had to take greater risks to complete contracts and shell out far more chips after getting injured to buy expensive, potentially inferior mechanical replacements.
Of course, the paper also mentioned at the end that the New Alliance First Hospital, with the aid of Shelter 404, was exploring alternative solutions.
It advised mercenaries in need of treatment to try their luck in Dawn City.
Her legs stretched out as she sat on the coffee table before the sofa, the doll figure controlled by Xiao Qi gazed up at Chu Guang in open worship.
"As expected of Master!
"You already guessed that your players would do this, didn't you?"
Long accustomed to his little assistant's flattery, Chu Guang merely smiled faintly, turned a page, and spoke in an offhand tone,
"I'm not as prescient as you think. Human behavior can never be simply predicted.
"Though I admit, they did make a choice that brings me comfort."
No matter how rigorous the rules, loopholes were bound to exist. Especially as the player count on the server grew, Chu Guang knew well that he couldn't personally plan every player's trajectory like before.
What was more, there was no need to do so.
Players were also part of *Wasteland OL*; they too could take part in setting the game's rules and charting its path forward.
What Chu Guang preferred to see was players taking the initiative, voluntarily improving the "game content" and upholding "server order."
This was their right.
And their duty.
Having reached the final page, Chu Guang folded the newspaper, set it on the coffee table beside Xiao Qi, and was about to open his laptop to browse the forum.
Just then, a knock sounded outside the reading room.
"Come in."
The alloy door slid open.
Entering from outside was Yin Fang.
Seeing his beaming, exhilarated expression, Chu Guang guessed something good must have happened. Thinking back to how the man had been busy repairing that power armor lately, he blurted out,
"The Dragoon is fixed?"
"No, not quite yet, but it'll only take a few more days," Yin Fang said merrily, settling onto the sofa across from Chu Guang. "I have another piece of good news to tell you."
Chu Guang asked with interest,
"What good news?"
"Based on clues gathered by the Scientific Expedition, we've pinpointed an abandoned shelter... The shelter is old, but the data is fresh. According to historical access logs, we are almost certainly the first to uncover its coordinates. You should know what that means."
Pulling out a tablet modified from a VM, Yin Fang deftly tapped the screen twice before handing it to Chu Guang.
"Its designation is Shelter 79, located in Ruigu City, a hundred and fifty kilometers from here, right on the border between River Valley Province and Sunset Province."
Excitement written all over his face, Yin Fang continued,
"A two-digit shelter—you should know what that means!"
Chapter 371