Iron Rice Bowl, Civilization Collector!

"I did make a wish for an iron-rice-bowl job, but I never asked to be sent to a wasteland!" How did I end up transmigrating? At his master's graduation party at the age of twenty-six, egged on by his friends, Cheng Ye had made a half-joking wish: to quickly land a high-paying, secure "iron rice bowl." Who would have thought that upon waking, he would transmigrate straight into this wasteland sanctuary known as Happiness City? His predecessor's father had been an inspector in Happiness City who met an untimely death during a field mission. By regulation, the original host, who had lived inside the Inner City since childhood, was forced to step outside the towering walls and take over his father's role in the quarantine zone. Yet after just one day, overcome by sheer terror, he swallowed poison and ended his own life. When Cheng Ye woke up, he had become the third-generation heir to this "inspector" title. Fortunately, an inspector really was an iron rice bowl. During the three-month probationary grace period where he didn't have to go on field duty, as long as he didn't court disaster, the fatality rate was remarkably low. "In half a month, I'll have to go on field duty. Scenes like this... I have to get used to them fast." Watching Edmond slowly cease convulsing, Cheng Ye let out a heavy sigh, finally forcing the churning nausea back down into his stomach. "And then there's... activation!" Raising a hand to grasp the star-shaped pendant on his chest, a flicker passed before Cheng Ye's eyes, and an illusory interface popped up—visible to him alone. [Civilization Collector] [Current Activation Progress: 97.4%] The interface shimmered with a faint blue light, rippling gently like ocean waves, easing some of the tension in Cheng Ye's anxious heart. This pendant was among the belongings left behind by the host's father. Unfortunately, the original host had been so petrified that he never uncovered its secret. It was only when Cheng Ye was rummaging through the relics and accidentally knocked it into a power strip that he discovered the pendant could absorb electrical energy, thereby awakening this mysterious interface. "I hope this thing is actually useful once it activates. Otherwise, I'm screwed." Cheng Ye prayed silently in his heart. For a modern person who had lived through the information age, coaxing information out of people at the gate wasn't hard. But when it came to a real, head-to-head clash with an infected creature, he had virtually zero confidence. After all, the infected in this world weren't like the zombies in Hollywood blockbusters—creatures that relied purely on gore and screeching for cheap thrills, holding combat power only when massing into a horde, while a lone one could easily be taken down by a normal adult. In this wasteland, even the most mundane infection vector—like the tentacle whose host the marksman had just headshot—could revive a dead human on the spot. So long as no one exposed the truth of their death, these infected corpses could walk, speak, and live among human society just like ordinary people until the infection within accumulated enough power to trigger a second, massive outbreak. As for stronger infection vectors—like "Dandelion"—the moment they died, they would instantly release spores blanketing a two-kilometer radius; inhaling even a single micron of those spores would turn a human into a new infected host. Compared to threats of that caliber, given a choice, Cheng Ye would have vastly preferred brainless cheat systems like "Hundredfold Rewards" or "Sign-In for Godly Arts." Failing that, a "Two-Way Portal" or "Infinite Level-Up System" would have worked too. Yet reality was harsh. The supposed cheat, "Civilization Collector," sounded thoroughly austere. Speaking of austere... Footsteps approached from the distance. Four bare-chested cleanup crew members seemed to embody that word even more fittingly. They wore no protective suits and carried no weapons—only a body bag, a shovel, and an isolation box used to contain the infection source. Chatting and laughing, the four opened the iron cage, used the shovel to crisply bash Edmond's still-twitching form to death, and then grabbed the sucker-covered tentacles bare-handed, roughly shoving them into the isolation box. Once containment was finished, while the other three cleaned the isolation cage, their leader turned around and grinned. "Inspector Cheng, the specific contribution points reward will be handled as usual—deposited into your personal account once the infected's stage is officially confirmed." "All right, thanks for the hard work, everyone... Buy the boys a round." Cheng Ye nodded slightly, then fished two bottle caps from his trouser pocket and tossed them over. Catching them, the man's grin widened, though he still said, "Aw, how could you be so generous?" "No need to stand on ceremony between us, Flynn. Just come a bit faster next time I need a cleanup." "Leave it to me! I'll be here the very second you call, no delay to your work, Inspector." Flynn slapped his chest, entirely unbothered by Edmond's gore splattered across it. This brand of roughness and "austerity" made Cheng Ye's eyelids twitch, taking him quite some time to regain his composure. As for the rest of the day... Perhaps spooked by Edmond's fate, far fewer survivors chose Conveyor Belt No. 8. With no one arriving for half an hour straight, Cheng Ye simply packed up his desk and clocked out early. What did an iron rice bowl mean? Becoming an inspector meant he could never set foot inside the Inner City again, but it also granted plenty of perks. Compared to inheriting a father's post, slacking off on the clock, leaving early, taking under-the-table cuts... cough, all of that was just the appetizer. Having dealt with an infection vector, Cheng Ye strictly followed procedure when passing through the checkpoint, submitting his health report. It barely took a few minutes, yet it earned the young man a favorable impression from the checkpoint's station master, Ding Yishan. "Not bad. This Cheng Ye... really has his father's touch. Crisp, decisive, and knows how to use his head to solve problems." "Yes, and most importantly, he follows our rules!" "Pity his combat talent is so poor and his guts are so-so. I wonder if he'll even survive his first field mission," Deputy Station Master Harlin said with a shake of his head. He was in charge of combat training, and among all the fresh recruits he had ever handled, Cheng Ye ranked among the absolute worst. At times, Harlin even felt Cheng Ye was like a human from the Old Era—firing a gun would actually startle the boy himself. "Combat talent or not, isn't Liu Bi giving him special training?" Ding Yishan frowned, displeased by Harlin's attitude. "How many times have I said it? We need to be more accommodating toward newcomers. Tell Liu Bi later: before going on field duty, Cheng Ye gets a daily quota of one hundred free training rounds, billed to the checkpoint's public expenses." "Understood." Harlin complied aloud immediately, but as he turned around, he curled his lip, unvarnished disdain flashing in his eyes. The station was divided into eastern and western factions. Ever since Cheng Ye's father, Cheng Long, died in the line of duty, the East Faction had lost a key pillar, its influence steadily waning. Ding Yishan must have lost his mind, grasping at straws so desperately that he actually thought to prop up this greenhorn Cheng Ye. With his pathetic talent? Forget a hundred rounds—even approving ten thousand would just be throwing them down the drain. Thus, Harlin didn't even bother objecting. It was public expense anyway. Let him use them—did Happiness City's brass care about a few bullets? ... Passing through the quarantine zone, Cheng Ye entered the buffer zone. Old residential compounds lined both sides of the narrow roads, alongside pedestrian streets crammed with vagrants and shopping malls converted into makeshift shelters. Compared to the brilliant neon and glittering lights of the Inner City, this place still resembled the Old Era, yet it gave Cheng Ye a warm, familiar sensation, as if he were back in the modern world. Winding through several alleys, Cheng Ye sniffed the air and arrived back at his home in this wasteland: "Chaoyang Electronics Factory Staff Compound." Don't let the drab name fool you; it was a bona fide "luxury mansion" in the buffer zone. With a colossal living space of twelve square meters per person, Cheng Ye had plenty of room to exercise right inside his apartment, without worrying about being crammed with four or five family members into a bathroom-sized space where standing up at night meant banging your head, like the buffer zone's ordinary residents. At the entrance to the staff compound stood three shops. From left to right, they were "Uncle Dong's Convenience Store," "Big Meat Canteen," and "Material Depot." The first two were private businesses, while the last was one of the buffer zone's official establishments, tasked with purchasing and selling rare resources. "Uncle Dong, two packets of nutrient paste and a pack of malt slab candy." Entering the convenience store, Cheng Ye called out familiarly. "Also, my defense comm is out of juice. I'm not heading home just yet, so mind if I charge it here for a bit?" "Go ahead! It's flood season anyway, so electricity fees are temporarily waived." Happiness City was powered by a hydroelectric dam. With the summer flood season in full swing, power was abundant, and the high-ups had generously handed out a perk by temporarily waiving electricity fees. Cheng Ye pulled out his defense comm—which resembled a retro brick phone—and plugged it into the power strip. Then, without drawing attention, he slipped off the pendant, wedged it into a socket, and pressed the defense comm over it. It had been over two months since he discovered the pendant. Based on the percentage and consumption conversion, it required two thousand kilowatt-hours of electricity to activate. Only Happiness City had this kind of capacity; in any other sanctuary city, scraping together that much power would probably take half a year or more. To avoid raising suspicion over massive power consumption, Cheng Ye had been exceedingly cautious. Aside from charging it entirely at home in the beginning, he later made a habit of visiting convenience stores under the pretext of charging his defense comm, using the opportunity to covertly "steal electricity" for the pendant. The convenience store's wiring was mostly 2.5-square-millimeter gauge, allowing him to charge roughly two kilowatt-hours an hour—quite an efficient rate. Now, he was only fifty kilowatt-hours away from full activation. If he plugged it in at home tonight, it should meet the activation requirement by tomorrow morning. "Here you go: two packets of nutrient paste and a pack of slab candy. Just three Happiness Coins, Little Cheng." Uncle Dong was a veteran warrior of Happiness City, around fifty-five years old, who had retired after an injury to his right arm left him unable to hold a gun. "How could I do that? Outside, these go for at least five. Even if you were close with my dad, business is business." Taking the blood-like nutrient paste, Cheng Ye twisted open the cap and took a sip while digging out money to pay. Happiness Coins were the circulating currency of Happiness City, used for food, rent, and other daily necessities. Unlike the scarce contribution points, the original host's father had left behind nearly five thousand coins when he died—more than enough for Cheng Ye to spend lavishly on himself. On top of that, an inspector's monthly salary was five hundred coins. For a single person, he couldn't even spend it all! ...