"This nutrient paste doesn't actually have any real nutrition—it just tricks your stomach. If you drink it every day, you'll end up sick and hollowed out sooner or later."
Taking the five coins, Uncle Dong shook his head, pulled out a small folding stool, and sat down across from Cheng Ye.
"Your old man left you plenty to get by on. Besides, you're an inspector now, so why be so hard on yourself? How good does that chunky meat next door smell?"
"The Chunky Meat Diner?"
Cheng Ye shuddered, unpleasant memories instantly flashing through his mind.
When he'd first transmigrated, the name really had fooled him into walking inside, but the moment he laid eyes on the menu, he bolted out without a second's hesitation.
"Chunky meat" was the affectionate pet name Happiness City residents gave to roaches.
A whole plate of fat roaches sandwiched in slab candy—supposedly crisp and crunchy to bite into, bursting with juice!
Still, Cheng Ye had resolved that unless his life depended on it, he would eat as little of that stuff as possible—or none at all if he could help it.
If he wanted protein, the nutrient paste extracted plant protein; its absorption rate might be worse, but at least it was an alternative.
"I can't stomach it. I'd rather stick with this."
"Fair enough... You grew up in the Inner City, after all. The worst they have there is synthetic meat."
Uncle Dong's wrinkled brow twitched, looking at Cheng Ye crunching loudly on the slab candy with a sigh.
"When you first got kicked out, you were ready to end your life. I didn't expect you to adapt so quickly. Just two months, and you're already starting to look a bit like your old man."
"Circumstances force a person's hand. Nothing to be done about it—my dad had to push himself just as hard back then."
Cheng Ye shrugged, putting on an easy facade.
Ever since arriving in this world and getting his bearings, he had never forgotten to keep up his guard. Even in front of familiar faces, he never showed weakness.
After all, in this man-eating wasteland, no one knew if the person next to them would be the one to strike them down the very next second.
The two chatted idly back and forth.
The sun gradually sank westward. Just as the last ray of dusk was swallowed by the horizon, his defense comm vibrated.
[Liu Bi: Usual spot. Got a surprise for you.]
"Big B's calling for me. Uncle Dong, I'm heading out."
"Take care."
Cheng Ye pulled the pendant out, secured it around his neck, and left briskly. Crossing two blocks to reach the main road, he boarded the buffer zone's only bus route.
This line connected the eastern and western ends, spanning the entire buffer zone.
Because it was electric, the bus ran free of charge during the flood season, carrying quite a heavy flow of passengers.
He boarded at the Electronics Factory Staff Compound stop and got off at the Training Ground stop.
Cheng Ye stepped down and planted his feet firmly.
The air was thick with the sharp scent of gunpowder. Lights were already blazing at the distant training ground, which was shaped like a giant greenhouse.
Not far from the bus stop, a stubble-faced man shaped like an iron tower, clad in a tactical vest, waved his hand.
Cheng Ye couldn't help but smile.
If there was anyone in Happiness City he could truly trust, it was "Big Brother B," Liu Bi, right before him.
As a brother-in-arms who had shared life and death with Cheng Long, Cheng Long had fought desperately on their final field mission to get Liu Bi out alive, entrusting his only son to this rough-hewn man.
"I haven't even told you what the surprise is yet, and you're already grinning ear to ear?"
When they met, Liu Bi asked with a touch of curiosity.
"Did somebody tip you off?"
"Huh?"
"So you don't know? Then what are you smiling about?"
Liu Bi smacked his lips, fished a small, half-filled pouch of blackened jerky from his pocket, and waved it in front of Cheng Ye. "Synthetic meat smuggled out of the Inner City. Figured you couldn't stomach chunky meat, so I snagged it specially for you."
"Don't get polite with me. I'm not about to go tell Old Cheng his boy starved to death."
"Thanks, Brother B." Cheng Ye didn't stand on ceremony. If he made it back alive from his field mission, he'd have plenty of chances to repay favors like this. And if he had the bad luck to die out there, debts died with the dead—consider it paid out of Cheng Long's tab.
He took the jerky cleanly, pulled out a strip, and chewed it slowly, catching a faint, lingering hint of beef on his tongue.
Though synthetic meat had "meat" in its name, it was actually plant protein seasoned with a dash of beef powder.
The rich folk in the Inner City wouldn't touch it, but out in the buffer zone, it was a top-tier delicacy.
"Also, starting today until your field mission, you get a hundred free rounds of ammo every day."
"How come?"
"Don't look so shocked. Old Ding approved it. Those bastards on Harlin's side have been getting more and more arrogant lately—they've started taking bribes out in the open before letting survivors through. Old Ding is holding in a bellyful of rage. Next field mission, gloves are coming off, and a lot of folks are bound to end up dead."
Liu Bi's expression darkened as he brought up the factional struggle between East and West.
Except when uniting to defend the interests of the inspectors, the Eastern and Western factions fought almost constantly.
This was precisely what Happiness City's upper echelon preferred to see. After all, the checkpoint held a fair amount of authority, and having only a single unified voice would make governance troublesome.
This status quo suited them fine: the Easterners led by Ding Yishan and the Westerners led by Harlin were locked in endless rivalry, treating any offhand remark from the high brass like an imperial edict from the old era.
"If they're raising the stakes of the mission, aren't I screwed?" Cheng Ye turned pale.
Regular field missions were deadly enough. If the scale escalated and he got caught in the crossfire of factional fighting...
"Relax. With me covering you, I'll make sure you die after everyone else."
The promise sounded reassuring enough on paper, but it only chipped away at whatever little security Cheng Ye had left.
Consequently, once he stepped into the training ground, he quickly locked into a state of hyper-focused practice.
Draw, aim, fire.
He burned through the hundred rounds in no time. Compared to before, his performance on the twenty-five-meter pistol target had improved: in a ten-round rapid fire, his shot spread measured about fifteen centimeters across, consistently hitting the six-to-eight-ring range.
Back in the modern world, that score was by no means bad; it was enough to qualify as a proficient amateur shooter.
In the wasteland, however, it earned him nothing more than a casual "Not bad" from Liu Bi.
"You're smart, and you pick things up way faster than other people. You can copy my stance and get fifty or sixty percent of the way there in no time. But shooting doesn't require a lot of brains. In fact, being a bit dumber makes it easier to pull off. Take recoil control—you're always instinctively anticipating it, thinking you can calculate the ballistic arc..."
"Take a blunt instrument like me, though..." Liu Bi suddenly drew his handgun and emptied ten rounds in a rapid, crackling burst. "The instant my finger bottoms out on the trigger, I slam every ounce of my weight into the grip, hammering the recoil straight into the dirt like a tamper."
Cheng Ye stared at the bullet holes on the target, his pupils narrowing slightly. The ten rounds formed a group no wider than five centimeters across—virtually a clean sheet of tens. In modern times, that was pure Olympic material.
And yet, when he had clearly copied Liu Bi's stance and trigger technique, why was the gap so massive?
"Know why Old Ding never gives the big, high-merit jobs to those smart guys on Harlin's side?"
Liu Bi lowered his voice. "Two months ago in the old city district, three young bucks all had their skulls cracked open by an acid-spewing tentacle monstrosity. That goddamned thing didn't develop its attack patterns according to any rules they'd theorized."
Then he abruptly yanked open his tactical vest, revealing a gruesome claw scar across his chest. "And this scar—I took it for your old man. We'd both calculated that the infected wouldn't hear gunfire, but that bastard happened to have sharp ears. So tell me, do you think the rules of this wasteland were written for folks who solve formulas?"
"What should I do then?"
"Forget technique. Leave your brain out of it. Having your muscles memorize the slamming shock of the recoil is ten thousand times more useful than remembering parabolic curves in your head."
Easier said than done.
Cheng Ye nodded numbly. He had no idea whether he would ever master Liu Bi's method.
Yet one thing was clear: until he completed a field mission, survived, and dispelled his terror of the wasteland, he could never abandon his rationality to become a mindless brute.
Because the only thing he could rely on was his mind.
"Shooting's done. Next up: close-quarters combat."
A flurry of thuds and slaps echoed as Cheng Ye attacked and Liu Bi defended.
Nursing a fire in his chest, Cheng Ye punched and kicked like a madman, but unfortunately, he couldn't even break Liu Bi's guard.
If not for the risk of wounding his pride, Cheng Ye suspected Liu Bi could have easily deflected every single strike with one hand.
This damned brute. This damned wasteland!
Before long, Cheng Ye was panting heavily, his strength thoroughly spent. Only then did Liu Bi shout for a halt.
"Progress! I felt your rage. That's it—let anger take the wheel in combat, not useless reason!"
"Treat me like an enemy! Tear into me, put me down—that's how you improve!"
Every problem had a brute's solution.
Cheng Ye didn't argue. He had already recognized the genetic gap: modern people and wasteland dwellers had developed their genetic potential in two completely opposite directions.
The former excelled at thinking and dealing with people.
The latter excelled at fighting and "communing" intimately with the infected.
For instance, interrogating survivors in the quarantine zone had taken Cheng Ye only two months to get the hang of, whereas Liu Bi still couldn't do it skillfully after over a decade.
To bridge this genetic gap, there was nothing for it but effort—and more effort!
"Training's done for today. Get some proper rest tonight. I'll call in sick for your morning shift tomorrow."
Taking time off whenever one pleased was another perk of an iron rice bowl.
Liu Bi's home was farther east at the Fertilizer Factory Staff Compound. The two parted ways at the bus stop, boarding buses heading in opposite directions.
Outside the window, the street view began racing backward, but Cheng Ye felt that nameless fire in his chest still burning—and burning hotter with every passing second!
The helplessness of having two hands fail against one made him dread the thought: what if the infected possessed combat prowess like Liu Bi's?
Surrender and wait for death?
No. I'm going to survive. I'm going home. I refuse to die nameless in this wasteland!
Grow stronger.
I want to grow stronger!
I must grow stronger!
Countless voices screamed in Cheng Ye's heart, driving him to instinctively clench the pendant around his neck.
After tonight, the collector would finally activate.
You useless piece of junk, since you brought me to this wasteland, you'd better show me what you're good for!
Chapter 3