Ning Zhuo wore a high-collared sweater to hide his neck, holding Shan Feibai’s steel spine in one hand as he walked into Min Min’s workshop, his expression cold as water.
Min Min was eating a bowl of homemade sweet soup. When she saw him come in, she stood up, bowl in hand. “You’re late. It’s all gone.”
Ning Zhuo gave a quiet “Mm,” looking somewhat absent-minded.
Min Min’s gaze dropped and noticed the spine in his hand. “…What’s that?”
Ning Zhuo said calmly, “Shan Feibai’s spine.”
Min Min froze for a moment. “You pulled out his spine? …Where is he?”
“Locked up,” Ning Zhuo replied.
The phoenix, who had been lying nearby with a book covering her face, suddenly sat up and looked at Ning Zhuo. “Why?”
Ning Zhuo fell silent.
He couldn’t very well tell them that Shan Feibai simply didn’t understand human words, insisted on doing it inside, so he’d grabbed him by the collar, tied him up, and struggled for ages against the bathroom wall to get everything cleaned up properly.
“He went crazy,” Ning Zhuo said coolly. “There was data intrusion. His spine was being controlled.”
Min Min’s expression turned grim. “He attacked you? Are you hurt?”
At the first sign of trouble, she instinctively bristled like a porcupine to protect Ning Zhuo.
“No,” Ning Zhuo replied crisply.
He pushed forward the section of spine that was still faintly warm from Shan Feibai’s body. “Clean out all the filth inside. Oh, and get Yu Shifei to help you. If this happens again, it’ll be both of your fault.”
Min Min straightened. “…Understood.”
As he turned to leave, Phoenix hurried two steps and grabbed his arm, pulling him back slightly. “Ning, how’s our boss?”
She sharply sensed the stiffening of the muscles in Ning Zhuo’s waist as he awkwardly turned halfway around, silently looking at her.
Phoenix felt a chill in her heart. Under his oppressive presence, she subconsciously let go.
“He won’t die. The one controlling him will,” Ning Zhuo said. “But he raised a hand against me. I don’t care if he was innocent or not—he must be punished. Do you understand me?”
Phoenix lowered her hand. “I understand.”
Ning Zhuo gave a faint “Oh.”
As he was about to walk out, Phoenix bit her lip, still unwilling to give up, and asked, “But where exactly is he locked up…”
A loud slam of the door answered her.
Phoenix turned to Min Min.
Min Min helplessly shrugged. “Don’t look at me. You’re half a doctor yourself—Shan Feibai must have hurt him. I fully support locking him up and giving him a good beating…”
Noticing Phoenix’s gaze, she swallowed her true feelings. “…Though that’d be a bit excessive. Locking him up for two days is reasonable.”
Phoenix said nothing.
Seeing the way Ning Zhuo walked, he’d definitely strained his waist.
With no other choice, she accepted reality. “I’ll go call Yu-ge.”
“Go ahead.” Min Min stretched her shoulders and neck, pressing a hand to the back of her neck. “I’ll call my sister out.”
…
Ning Zhuo returned to his room, ignoring the mess everywhere, and collapsed onto the bed, resting a hand over his forehead.
His forehead was cool and dry. The fever that had plagued him for days disappeared the moment that person was extracted.
Ning Zhuo thought to himself—it was a farce.
Shan Feibai liked him. Ning Zhuo was sure of it now.
But so what?
It was just one night together. They were from completely different worlds. Did they really think they could be together?
His hand lay across his forehead.
Because of this, he failed to notice the faint warmth on his cheeks.
After settling these thoughts, he sat up, enduring the dull pain in his waist, and picked up the intelligence box given to him by the “Harmonics Specialist.”
He took out the slips of paper and reviewed the place names written there, then casually tossed them into the wall-mounted trash processor.
As he was about to leave, his gaze caught on an orange that had rolled onto the floor.
A strange bitterness stirred in his heart. He couldn’t even describe how he felt at that moment. He picked up the orange, intending to throw it into the trash processor along with the slips of paper.
Five minutes later, Ning Zhuo was properly dressed and heading out the door.
On his bedside table, three perfect oranges were neatly lined up.
…
At the central district’s garbage crushing site, Liang Xinliang was following behind a group of homeless people, staring blankly at an unmanned garbage truck approaching in the distance.
The truck was about to dump a full load of kitchen waste into the massive automatic crusher in front of them—ten feet square.
After receiving the garbage, the crusher would preheat for one minute before starting up.
These dozens of people had to scramble during that one minute to grab anything remotely edible from the crusher.
Every day, fifteen large trucks arrived at this kitchen waste crushing point.
They had to gather enough food for an entire day within those fifteen minutes.
Liang Xinliang took off his glasses and wiped the filthy lenses with the corner of his dirt-stained shirt, managing to clear only a small patch.
Even after being expelled, he’d brought some savings with him.
He thought, with his abilities, it wouldn’t be hard to find another job and make a comeback.
But Liang Xinliang had lived the pampered life of the upper city for too long. He didn’t realize that climbing up from the lower city was as hard as reaching the sky.
He couldn’t even get close to anyone with decent resources, only to be violently driven off by security guards.
His calls never went through—many people had their phones set to block all lower city numbers, and the system automatically flagged such calls as scams.
The retirement money he’d saved was half stolen by thugs and half picked clean by thieves. Even the box with his dozens of expensive glasses, which he slept with under his head, disappeared overnight without a trace.
Liang Xinliang had watched himself sink to this state with his own eyes.
But he no longer had any choices.
In the lower city, what people lacked most was “the right to choose.”
Helpless, Liang Xinliang could only resign himself to fate.
At least there were others who would die before him. That was some small comfort.
The truck bed tilted, pouring out heaps of slightly sour-smelling food scraps.
As Liang Xinliang eagerly prepared to rush forward, someone grabbed his shoulder from behind and shoved him to the ground.
Startled, the others began to curse, but fell silent when Ning Zhuo’s icy gaze swept over them. “Personal grudge. Don’t interfere. Go fight for your food.”
These people knew how to read the situation.
He hurriedly turned away from Motobu Ryo and leapt into the crushing pit without hesitation, picking up a piece of bread that was still somewhat intact and stuffing it fully into his mouth.
Meanwhile, Ning Zhuo dragged the dazed Motobu Ryo across the ground to another deserted garbage heap and flung him onto it.
Motobu Ryo fell headfirst into the trash, not resisting at all. He simply stared blankly at Ning Zhuo, as if he had already accepted his fate.
…Ning Zhuo wasn’t dead.
Good. At least his own suffering could finally end.
With a hoarse throat, Motobu Ryo asked, “You came to kill me, didn’t you?”
“Before I came, I really wanted to kill you,” Ning Zhuo said, looking straight at him. “But after seeing what you’ve become, I think it’s better to let you live.”
After a pause, Ning Zhuo added flatly, “But not too comfortably.”
Before Motobu Ryo could even grasp what he meant, a bone-piercing pain shot through him, twisting his face in agony as he let out a sharp scream: “Ah—!”
Ning Zhuo had stepped down hard, shattering his ankle.
Motobu Ryo rolled on the ground like a dog, howling in pain, tears streaming down his face. The glasses he had painstakingly wiped clean now hung askew on the bridge of his nose, smudged again with filth from the trash.
Ning Zhuo knew well that this single stomp was enough to cripple him—he would no longer be able to run or walk far. Motobu Ryo was destined to become the most pitiful and lowly vagabond in the lower city, unable to even afford the cheapest mechanical ankle replacements.
After this thorough beating, Ning Zhuo turned to leave.
“W-Wait…” Motobu Ryo gasped, struggling to breathe, grabbing desperately at the hem of Ning Zhuo’s pants. “My son… where is he?”
He lifted his head slightly, his voice trembling with a pathetic hope. “Is he… dead? Please… just tell me…”
His expression, his tone, his wretched state—anyone with the faintest shred of pity would have softened at the sight.
But not Ning Zhuo.
“Who knows? He could’ve stayed nice and safe in prison, but no… he had to run,” Ning Zhuo said coldly.
As he spoke, he bent down and reached into Motobu Ryo’s chest pocket, pulling out a button-shaped recording device that was still faintly blinking. With a flick of his hand, he tossed it perfectly into the crushing pit’s spinning gears, where it was instantly ground to pieces.
Returning his gaze to the ashen-faced Motobu Ryo, Ning Zhuo continued, “Look on the bright side. Maybe he’s still alive.”
Motobu Ryo’s plot had been completely exposed, but in his despair, a faint glimmer of hope sparked within him.
Forcing himself to endure the pain, he raised his bloodshot eyes and asked, “…You mean… Takeshi is still alive?”
Ning Zhuo crouched down, resting his hands on his knees, and softly said, “I don’t know. But you can wait and see.”
Motobu Ryo began trembling all over.
If Takeshi was still alive… what kind of condition was he in? Was he still whole? Was his mind still sound?
And if he did return to his side… could he even afford to feed him anymore?
But Ning Zhuo gave him no real answers—only an ambiguous, tormenting possibility that he might live. Just enough hope to keep him suffering.
Sometimes, the line between hope and despair is thinner than a hair.
Supporting his lower back, Ning Zhuo stood and walked away under Motobu Ryo’s wavering, broken gaze.
Motobu Ryo trembled harder and harder as he was overwhelmed by endless thoughts.
Burying his face in his hands, he let out a low moan: “Just kill me already…”
But Ning Zhuo didn’t even look back.
Mounting Abu, Ning Zhuo winced softly as pain bloomed in his waist again. Gripping the handles tightly, he rode it out until the ache faded.
Abu, sensing his unusual state, asked politely, “Is my seat cushion too hard?”
Ning Zhuo adjusted his position slightly. “Drive.”
Abu offered again with concern, “Do you need to purchase some medicine?”
“…Start the engine,” Ning Zhuo said.
Abu: “Understood. The nearest pharmacy is 1.2 kilometers away.”
Ning Zhuo: “…”
In the end, he did buy a tube of ointment before heading home.
For now, he wasn’t planning to visit the “Tuner.”
To the Tuner, trading with him had been business—and so was trading with Motobu Ryo. These were equal transactions, without favor or obligation.
But to Ning Zhuo, this was a personal debt the Tuner owed him.
Trying to settle that debt with Motobu Ryo’s information? Not nearly enough.
Third Brother had subtly warned him before: “Be careful of Shan Feibai.” Now, Ning Zhuo finally understood what those words meant.
He also knew that according to the Tuner’s rules, Third Brother had surely paid some price for it.
Ning Zhuo intended to use this debt to bring Third Brother back.
But this time, he couldn’t make the first move.
He wanted the Tuner to come to him.
When Ning Zhuo returned to “Haina,” Yu Shifei had already been waiting for a long time.
He and Phoenix had concealed the matter together, deliberately keeping it from the people of “Panqiao” to avoid causing unnecessary unrest.
He returned the cleaned steel spine to Ning Zhuo.
Ning Zhuo didn’t talk to him much.
He wasn’t feeling well—standing too long made his back ache and his legs go weak.
Watching Ning Zhuo leave, Yu Shifei stood in silence for a while before turning and heading back to his own room.
Phoenix was waiting for him inside.
As soon as she saw Yu Shifei, she came forward eagerly. “Well? Did you find out where the boss is being held?”
Yu Shifei answered honestly, “No. …I didn’t ask.”
Phoenix frowned. “Why not?”
Yu Shifei replied plainly, “He’s angry.”
Phoenix: “……”
She was boiling with frustration but managed to keep it in, saying nothing as she grabbed a glass of water and gulped it down, trying to cool the fire in her chest.
In a flat, matter-of-fact tone, Yu Shifei said calmly, “He and Feibai slept together. Right now, his se-x hormones must be extremely unstable.”
Phoenix choked, spraying every drop of water she had just drunk.
She stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. “Who? Him?!”
Yu Shifei nodded.
“Ning Zhuo and the boss?!”
Another nod.
“Those two?!”
Yu Shifei: “Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s obvious.”
Phoenix was laughing so hard she nearly blacked out, forgetting to even put her cup down.
Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she teased, “Yu-ge, even if you used to work in that line of business, do you have that kind of experience yourself?”
Yu Shifei paused to think carefully, then replied, “No.”
“Then that’s that!” Phoenix poked him in the chest. “You’re a newbie who’s never even set foot on the path. What would you know? I’ve got way more experience than you—why didn’t I notice anything?”
Yu Shifei thought for a moment, then countered, “But you’ve only ever slept with girls.”
Phoenix chased after him, pounding on him with her fists. “You wanna die, you brat?!”
……
Back in his room, Ning Zhuo laid the steel spine that belonged to Shan Feibai neatly on the other side of the double bed, letting it rest there in its slender form, before tossing himself onto the bed as well.
He forced himself to empty his mind, to think of nothing.
Before long, even Ning Zhuo himself felt as if he truly was thinking of nothing.
His arms stretched out to the sides, fingers absently rubbing against the empty sheets.
His long legs curled inward, slowly and unconsciously rubbing against each other—recreating, without meaning to, a scene from the night before.
With his eyes shut, Ning Zhuo drifted into an uneasy, unsteady dream.
When he woke, he lay dazed for a moment, then glanced at the clock.
It was already the next morning.
…Almost time for breakfast.
Bringing the steel spine with him, Ning Zhuo made his way to the little dark room where Shan Feibai was being kept.
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a dark room—it was a sunken storage area connected to the cafeteria.
When the place was lively, people came and went outside, and the door was left slightly ajar.
Anyone passing by could easily push it open to see Shan Feibai’s sorry state—barely covered, with only the barest cloth for modesty, one wrist shackled by a long chain.
And now, as Ning Zhuo stepped into the empty cafeteria, gently pushed the door open, and descended three or four steps, he was met with the sight of Shan Feibai, leaning against the wall, unable to move.
Ning Zhuo crossed his arms, watching Shan Feibai’s every move.
Shan Feibai blinked, gave a lazy yawn, and said softly in a teasing voice, “Ning-ge, I just dreamed of you, you know.”
