Chapter 44: Light and Darkness

7 p.m. The last afterglow of the setting sun reluctantly sank beyond the western skyline, staining the sky with a rusty dark red.

And then, the city’s millions of lights flickered on in succession.

Light streamed in through the new floor-to-ceiling window.

It wasn’t the broken, fragmented light pollution of the [Hive District], carved apart by chaotic buildings.

It was a vast, unbroken expanse—the magnificent night view of District C’s bustling center.

Lin Yu sat before the window, wearing a thirty-yuan cotton white T-shirt and loose beach shorts, his hair still damp from a shower.

But at this moment, he exuded an aura unlike any before.

Clean, relaxed—so relaxed his legs trembled.

“Mmm~ mmm~ o(￣▽￣)o so comfortable—”

He ate a slightly more expensive pig trotter rice while angling the [Contract Bracelet]’s holographic screen to capture the breathtaking view he could never tire of.

[Video call members: Mom, Younger Sister]

“Wow! Son! Your new place is really bright and spacious!”

Zhang Lihua, his mother, filled most of the screen. Her voice was as loud as always, but her tone carried unconcealed joy and relief.

“Look at that window! So big! Bigger than our living room window! Nice! Really nice!”

“Hehe… Mom, this is just the start.”

Lin Yu swallowed his food with a proud smile.

“Once I get confirmed next month, I’ll show you my real strength. Our old second-hand car’s been running nearly five years, right? Time to change it. Didn’t BYD just release a new MPV? Let Dad check it out! After a few months of saving, I’ll just buy it straight up!”

Confidence laced his words—the kind fed by money.

“Hmph, finally living like a decent person.”

His father, Lin Jianguo, squeezed into the frame from behind his mother. Adjusting his reading glasses, he said sternly:

“No rush on the car. Only five years, it’s running fine. Don’t waste money. But remember this, son—the apartment’s rented, but your life is yours. Don’t make the place a garbage heap again. No more sloppiness.”

“Got it, Dad.” Lin Yu replied with a grin.

“Yo, Bro, your balcony looks pretty big.”

His younger sister, Lin Xue, spoke coolly from the bracelet. She seemed to be lying in her dorm bed, chatting while wearing a face mask.

“Good sunlight. You could grow something. I saw small home hydroponic boxes in the [New Farm Union] store last time. Want me to bring you one on break? Grow your own cherry tomatoes—it’s safer than store-bought.”

“Yes! Yes please!” Lin Yu nodded like a chicken pecking rice.

For the first time, he could “show off” his life to his family with confidence.

No longer did he have to carefully adjust the camera to hide moldy corners.

No longer did he need lies to cover his poverty, forcing a “I’m doing fine.”

Now, he really was doing fine.

His family’s recognition and relief filled him with unprecedented satisfaction and achievement.

He felt he was no longer just the “child who never grows up” that worried them—he was a man they could finally be proud of.

(…This daily life…)

Looking at their smiling faces on the screen, warmth surged in Lin Yu’s chest.

His resolve to protect this hard-earned “dignity” became stronger than ever.

(…I must never lose this again.)

The family call ended with his mother’s reminder: “Rest early, don’t overwork.”

Lin Yu hung up, exhaling deeply, as if soaking in a warm spring that smoothed out every crease in his soul.

He cleaned up his meal box. Glancing at the half-unpacked moving cartons in the corner, a wave of motivation surged.

(Good! Let’s clean away these relics of the past in one go!)

Rolling up his sleeves, he opened a box.

Mostly junk. After sorting, the room looked more spacious.

But then, a strange brown cardboard box slipped out.

(…Hm?)

He froze.

(…What’s this? When did I… buy this?)

He frowned, lifting the box into the light of the living room.

A corrugated courier box, with a shoddy-looking delivery company logo.

(Looks like a parcel…)

(Maybe a friend mailed me something and I forgot to open it? But no one would. Wang Wei? That guy only ever borrows money online for game skins—I don’t even know his address.)

(Or… did the sketchy Haolala mover accidentally leave his stuff mixed in? Damn, that guy looked shady enough. Could it be contraband? No, no, what am I thinking? Xinhai’s security is airtight, cameras everywhere. Impossible…)

He shook the box by his ear—silent. Solid.

But heavier than expected.

(…No sound. Pretty heavy. Just what the hell is in here?)

The delivery slip was smudged beyond recognition, only faint barcodes of letters and numbers remained.

“Screw it, I’ll just open it.”

He grabbed a utility knife from the junk pile.

Just as the blade was about to slice the tape—his bracelet buzzed.

Manager Qian.

Lin Yu quickly set the knife aside and answered.

“Eh, Manager Qian? Huh? Now? Didn’t you say today was off? It’s after hours… Oh, related to my assessment? Ah… okay, okay. I’ll come by subway—what? No, take a cab? But… oh, reimbursed? Alright, alright, I’ll book a Didi now—”

At the mention of his promotion assessment, he forgot all about the parcel. He rushed out, shutting the door.

“Thunk—”

“Thunk—”

District E, [Shenkong Zone] outskirts. Giant machinery thundered as cargo ships’ deep, mournful horns echoed, like laments from another world.

The air here was different from District C’s industrial zone—decayed, salty, foul.

An abandoned [Huaxia Heavy Industries] cannery loomed, like a beached whale carcass of steel, rust-eaten, its smokestacks silent tombstones pointing at the gray sky.

Inside, a graveyard silence. A few dim bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting pale light.

Outside, figures in identical work uniforms patrolled the gravel, boots crunching with eerie “shh-shh” sounds.

At the dead heart of this ruin, an interrogation steeped in violence and despair unfolded.

“Uhh… ahhh…”

A man lay curled like a dead dog on the cold floor, groaning in pain.

The Haolala driver—the same who rudely hurried Lin Yu on moving day.

Gone was his street-corner arrogance. His face was swollen, bloodied, trembling with fear.

Around him stood four men in dark-gray jackets, each stamped with a red flame crossed with iron hammers—a frightening sigil.

“Trash.”

One thin, snake-eyed man stomped on the driver’s face with his dirty steel-toe boot, grinding with cruel delight.

“One last time—”

His hoarse, emotionless voice cut cold.

“Where the hell is the shipment?”

“S-shipment?”

The driver’s cheekbones felt like they’d snap. He mumbled, weeping:

“Wh-what shipment? Bro, I… I really don’t know what you mean…”

“Still playing dumb?!”

The thin man pressed harder, grinding his face into concrete, the sound bone-grating.

“Let me remind you—this ain’t flour! It’s half a kilo of ‘Fairy Dust’! Enough to turn a hundred green ‘apprentices’ into hardened ‘veterans’ overnight!”

His voice burned with greed and fanaticism.

“I-I really don’t know!”

The driver sobbed, his cries thick with pain and terror.

“I only followed Wrench-ge’s order! I picked it up from that abandoned warehouse in District C! I never even touched the box! I didn’t even stop to piss—I drove straight here! How… how could it be gone?!”

“Hmph. Sounds convenient.”

A scarred, stocky thug stepped forward, eyes darker than the snake-eyed man’s.

Grabbing the driver’s hair, he forced up his bloody face.

“Quit spouting crap! Think harder! That day—did you take another private job?!”

His voice, quiet but crushing, clamped onto the driver’s nerves.

“Anyone suspicious get near that broken van of yours?!”

“P-private job… suspicious person…”

The driver’s mind, under agony, whirled faster than ever.

Flashes of scenes replayed like broken film reels.

The filthy B7 Hive streets…

A shabby kid in a cheap suit, bowing politely at the apartment entrance…

A pile of cheap cardboard boxes as luggage…

Himself, barking impatiently, watching the kid scurry like an ant with trips of junk…

Too ordinary. Too mundane. He never linked it to danger.

Just a moving job.

So what?

A broke kid haggling over fees couldn’t be tied to priceless Fairy Dust.

“N-no… just a… moving job… poor kid… couldn’t even hire movers… he… he couldn’t possibly—”

“Poor kid?”

Scarface’s eyes sharpened like knives. He’d seized the word.

“So someone did load their stuff in your van?”

“Y-yes…”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just… ordinary boxes…”

“Think harder!”

Scarface slapped him brutally, teeth loosening.

“Any box… that looked like ours?!”

“Box… like yours…”

The driver’s head rang, blood filling his mouth.

But that slap jolted his memories into clarity.

He remembered.

Finally, he remembered.

“Ahhh—!!!”

Like grasping a final lifeline, he screamed in anguish and twisted joy:

“I remember! I remember!!”

He babbled at Scarface:

“It was a moving kid! Yes! A broke kid moving! He had a box—exactly the same! I must’ve… I must’ve mixed them up while moving his stuff! Boss! That’s it! That has to be it!!!”

His hysterical voice echoed in the dead factory, absurd yet despairing.

Upstairs, the old manager’s office, now a command room.

The air heavier.

Dimmer light.

A single old desk lamp glowed dull yellow, barely illuminating a corner of the desk—and the massive silhouette in the leather chair.

Huge. Bear-like. Even silent, he radiated crushing pressure.

He said nothing.

Only the faint “clack-clack” of steel ball bearings rolled in his palm.

Like a metronome, striking every heartbeat in the room.

The sound stopped.

Slowly, the giant turned.

Lamp light revealed a scarred jaw, a black vest bearing the [Chicheng Gang] insignia.

Beast-like eyes gleamed in shadow.

His gravelly voice rumbled:

“Our next client—the [Gospel of the Abyss] lunatics—are they pressing us?”

The messenger froze, then stammered:

“R-reporting, Brother Long! Three days ago, the ‘Confessor’ himself sent word. Said they urgently need ‘offerings’ to prepare for a preaching assembly next month in [Ruikang]…”

“Hmph. Preaching…”

Brother Long snorted, disdain for those zealots dripping.

He fell silent, eyes drifting from the groaning driver downstairs to the dense Hive map on the desk—fixing on one insignificant corner.

After a pause, his voice fell heavy, cruel:

“Send Ah Que to investigate.”

“Drag that clueless brat who dared touch our cargo out of the millions of Hive rats.”

“Alive—we see the man.”

A pause. His eyes gleamed predatory.

“…Dead—we see the goods.”