Chapter 103: The World of the Wealthy [Third Update]

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Jiangcheng, Lower District.
A certain closed-off, abandoned street.
The layout here resembled that of large two- or three-story buildings, but… those were already cramped, and this place was even more so—each household only as big as a toilet stall.
There was no choice; after all, this was part of the original construction of the first hundred meters of the twenty-story buildings.
At the time of construction, the anticipated population was far greater than it is now, and with limited space and scarce materials, personal living areas were squeezed to the extreme…
It was common for a family of five or six to cram into just over ten square meters; having five square meters per person was considered a luxury, enough to turn over while sleeping. The legendary Kowloon Walled City was no different.
This was also the main reason why the city later expanded so aggressively upwards.
There was no electricity here, but the blue glowing mushrooms, green bioluminescent pollution sources, purple poisonous flowers and fruits, and a myriad of other indistinguishable light sources made the area surprisingly bright.
At least, it was enough for the vision of the new human beings.
Though the brightness was somewhat nauseating, as if one had walked into a room filled with suspicious fluorescent reactions under an ultraviolet flashlight.
Not only did it look claustrophobic, filthy, and eerie, it smelled that way too.
“Gurgle…” It was unclear which sewage pipe was leaking, but a murky, multi-colored bioluminescent liquid oozed slowly and slickly down from the street’s upper edge, emitting a stench a hundred times worse than a pile of household garbage.
Just a whiff was enough to cause chest tightness and difficulty breathing; two whiffs could induce vomiting of last night’s meal; three whiffs… could send one straight to blissful oblivion.
With such a strange environment and unbearable stench, there should have been no signs of human activity here, yet there were.
A green-haired youth roughly stuffed the hooded and covered Ye Chao into a neatly arranged cubicle, hanging him as if drying sausages, then reluctantly took off his own filter mask to put one on Ye Chao.
Though Ye Chao immediately pulled out a spare mask, even the few seconds before that had already turned the youth’s face greenish, as if he had lost both parents.
“Boss Qian, who is this guy? He’s neither a beauty nor a rare mutant, yet he gets the VIP room and has to wear a filter mask? Must be pretty special.” Switching to the spare filter, he took several deep breaths, but the nauseating smell persisted.
This spare, outdated model just wasn’t as effective as the new one.
The green-haired youth grumbled unhappily, “He’s just like the others. Why can’t he just squeeze in with them?”
He glanced at the unconscious Ye Chao, then at the other cubicles.
Though small, each cubicle housed two or three people at minimum, four or five at most—some normal humans, but mostly mutants: beast-people, those who had lost their minds, polluted species, radiation-affected species, genetically deformed mutants…
But none were afforded Ye Chao’s treatment; they all looked dazed—overcome by the fumes.
In theory, frequent exposure should allow people to adapt to even the worst odors, like the foot stench, spoiled food, and indescribable smells in college dorms, but if the stench was toxic, that was different.
Indeed, every meal served here was mixed with various experimental drugs that quietly took effect while keeping these creatures from being asphyxiated.
Only barely.
If they truly died from the fumes, there was nothing to be done; after all, these were experimental substances, and in this post-apocalyptic world of decline, evolution, mutation, and deformation, anything could happen—like a terminal illness of beastification or plantification, relying one part on medicine, three parts on the body, and nine parts on luck.
Wearing a fully enclosed astronaut-style helmet, Boss Qian, honest and unremarkable in appearance, strutted around his domain like a crowing rooster, inspecting the condition of his merchandise and instructing his underlings to keep records.

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Hearing the green-haired youth’s complaints, he grinned, “Of course he’s precious! If I sold you off, I wouldn’t get even a pinky finger in return.”
“No way!” The green-haired youth was shocked and turned to scrutinize Ye Chao carefully. “He’s just an ordinary student, not very handsome, not very capable… Five hundred tons would be a good price, right?”
A “ton” was the underground currency unit in this disaster-ravaged world.
Defined as the amount of food an average adult male barely needs to survive.
Really a “ton.”
About four to five hundred calories—half a pound of beef, three ounces of rice or wheat…
But don’t forget, there were no cows here, only terror cows; no edible rice or wheat, only various dried fruits, insect paste, tasteless artificial meat, and strange synthetic eggs…
So this was actually a significant unit of measure, more valuable than dollars or pounds, and barely subject to inflation.
In Jiangcheng, there was no such currency because meals were provided, along with a performance-based system similar to work points.
But in the underground world, goods needed price tags to indicate their worth and status.
Gold, silver, copper, and iron meant nothing at death; jewelry was worthless; bottle caps and crystal cores were purely fictional concepts…
Only food was real and reliable, even past its shelf life it could be repaired and eaten, making it a natural unit of value.
Five hundred tons—about half a year’s provisions for one person.
“Five hundred tons?” Boss Qian chuckled, clearly the green-haired youth had underestimated.
“Then… a thousand, two thousand tons?” The green-haired youth guessed higher—two years’ worth of rations.
“Guess again!”
The green-haired youth’s expression changed. “Could it be worth tens of thousands of tons?”
Enough to last a lifetime?
“Guess again!”
The green-haired youth didn’t dare. “Boss, I know selling me wouldn’t cover it…”
The world of the rich was beyond his imagination.
The green-haired youth wasn’t very useful, nor strong in combat—just knowledgeable and tactful.
Boss Qian nodded approvingly and continued his rooster-like patrol.
He came to the next cubicle.
“Help, help me…”
“Can you give her some water? She looks like she’s dying…”
Some moaned, some pleaded.

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Boss Qian, the green-haired youth, and other subordinates showed no expression.
Even the most dramatic lines, heard every day, grew tiresome—let alone these dull, hateful, dying groans.
The green-haired youth poked the cubicle with a short-handled hook, dragging the dying woman to the door, rolling her eyes, feeling her pulse, then activating a purple light scanner to scan her thoroughly.
“Level three pigmentation, one-millimeter pupil, level two eye rotation, pulse 280 and strong, level one fluorescence in hair, nails, and blood…” He evaluated her like weighing pork and concluded, “She’s fine, won’t die, lucky one—she’s mutating.”
Then he lifted her face shield, “Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey…” spitting to wipe the woman’s filthy face, then gave an annoyed “ptooey” again.
“Make sure you mutate into something prettier, or with this face there’s no way you’ll sell for any price…”
Irritated, he gave the hook a vicious beating on the pleading woman, “Learn from others—mutate early and settle down, stop wasting feed! Pet feed costs money too!”
The woman, battered until bleeding and bruised, said nothing, even seemed excited, her eyes sparkling as she stared at the green-haired youth, or perhaps beyond him—an eerie sight.
“Damn, she’s a Lost Mind.” The green-haired youth suddenly realized.
A Lost Mind was a special kind of failed awakening.
Basically akin to a pre-apocalypse madman, occasionally seeing bizarre visions or hearing strange voices…
Some seemingly prophetic and terrifyingly accurate, others pure nonsense, absurd and incoherent.
It was pointless to take them seriously. The green-haired youth withdrew his weapon and hurried after Boss Qian.
“Hahaha, you’re finished! You’re all finished!” The Lost Mind woman laughed wildly.
The green-haired youth’s hair stood on end, and he quickened his pace.
Suddenly Boss Qian stopped, sensing something, and looked back.
“Boss, I’ll deal with that crazy woman right away!” the green-haired youth obediently said.
Boss Qian waved him off; it wasn’t a problem.
There were eight or nine madmen here for every ten people—some born this way, some confined here—and he didn’t care.
“Has that kid woken up? So soon?” He frowned, glancing at the green-haired youth.
Still shaken, the green-haired youth shuddered as if hollowed out. “Boss Qian, the sedative was definitely injected, I did it personally, not a drop missed, Third Brother saw too, didn’t you?”
The burly Third Brother nodded.
“Maybe… he mutated again?”
A comms expert worth a hundred thousand tons mutating again? Double awakening? Thinking that kid was the protagonist…
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