Chapter 7: Sparkfire Town

On the road ahead, Ren Zhong had little appetite for conversation. He feigned exhaustion, closed his eyes as if dozing, but in truth, he was quietly analyzing the situation in his mind.

One point after another surfaced in his thoughts.

The wristwatch was essentially an identity card. With it, one possessed an identity. Those without a wristwatch who encountered a Hunter would be killed without so much as an argument, their brains extracted. If one had a wristwatch, they were considered a person, qualified to live.

His own wristwatch bore the prefix “temporary,” meaning it was valid for a limited time, much like insurance, which needed renewal once expired. The way wastelanders obtained temporary wristwatches was by submitting chips taken from Ruin Beasts to the Hunters. Renewal likely followed a similar process.

By extension, if temporary wristwatches existed, permanent ones surely did as well—though that was a distant prospect, not worth pondering for now.

Earlier, during his near-death experience, Ou Youning, sharp-faced and narrow-eyed, had mentioned a key term: “wastelander.”

Combining this information, Ren Zhong arrived at an answer.

In this world, people could be broadly classified into three categories.

Those with permanent wristwatches formed the highest class. Those with temporary wristwatches and those without were both wastelanders, but the former held slightly higher status—barely counted as people. The latter, if caught by Hunters, were “brain breeders,” doomed to die.

The Hunter hadn’t attacked Ren Zhong immediately because he was with five others who possessed identities; they had, in effect, provided him protection and promptly submitted the chip.

Ou Youning had also said that the quota for wastelanders in Spark Town was full. Even if Ren Zhong were rescued, he’d face death in a few months.

Judging by what Ren Zhong had observed, the wilderness teemed with not only Hunters but also Ruin Beasts like the Crystal Wing Dragonfly, making survival for ordinary people exceedingly harsh.

Thus, the town was a safe zone, but its capacity was limited. At times, it could be overfilled, but there must be a mechanism for periodic review, and those in excess would be eliminated in some fashion—likely expelled or subjected to some other fate, which could only end badly.

The wristwatches worn by Zheng Tian and her companions were identical in style to Ren Zhong's own, suggesting they too were “quota-holding wastelanders.”

From their confident tone when discussing all this, Ren Zhong surmised they were veterans of Spark Town, enjoying social standing and free from anxiety about elimination.

Suddenly, Ren Zhong glimpsed the essence of the planet through these small clues.

He felt an inexplicable fear, mixed with anger and a trace of unspeakable sorrow.

This world was full of malice toward those without combat ability.

In front of Hunters, wastelanders truly weren’t considered human; they were tools, driven forward like swine.

The value of a wastelander lay in either being forced to hunt Ruin Beasts and supply chips, or to provide “brains.”

In essence, they were tools, their lives at the mercy of others.

Even if one managed to enter a town’s safe zone, there was still another periodic culling mechanism.

Yet Ren Zhong found a loophole in his reasoning.

What about newborn children? Other than their brains, what could they possibly provide?

If these rules were enforced strictly, humanity would have perished long ago.

With these doubts in mind, Ren Zhong sat in the floating truck as it entered Spark Town, surrounded by towering metal walls.

The vehicle stopped at the town’s entrance.

Chen Hanyu, Bai Feng, and Ou Youning disembarked first.

As Ren Zhong hesitated about where to go, Zheng Tian called out, “Brother Ren Zhong, don’t go yet. Let’s head to Spark Resource Recycling Company to sell today’s haul, then I’ll take you to the town hall. New wastelanders must register with the mayor before they can spend the night here.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“Hey, no need to be so formal. Sure, you could go yourself, but having me as your introducer will make things smoother.”

Ren Zhong merely smiled and nodded.

He felt a genuine discomfort at Zheng Tian’s warmth.

She was a master of disguise.

Had he not been discarded like so much refuse before, he might have been moved by her friendliness, believing in the existence of true human kindness.

Unfortunately…

No matter how skilled an actor, time reveals all.

With several people gone, the rear of the vehicle felt spacious again. Ren Zhong moved to the window, observing the outside world.

At first glance, he almost thought he was hallucinating.

A future town? This?

He had seen anti-gravity vehicles and aircraft, Chen Hanyu’s technologically advanced gloves whose principles he couldn’t fathom, and Wen Lei’s full-body armor that made him both envious and curious.

Ren Zhong had already formed a rough idea of the era’s technological backdrop.

Yet the first sight upon entering the town was a scene reminiscent of the slums of Mumbai.

Shacks built from asbestos sheets, battered metal, wood, and dry yellow straw were jumbled together in a chaotic sprawl.

Beneath the snarling eaves, clotheslines of twisted wire were hung with colorful garments, fluttering in the wind.

The streets were crowded with poorly dressed, expressionless people, shuffling zombie-like in the same direction: men and women, old and young, much like the corpse-drivers of Xiangxi at midnight.

Many looked sickly, clearly malnourished.

Ren Zhong was perplexed.

The town’s environment, the residents’ mental and material conditions, clashed violently with his imagined technological era—utterly discordant.

The floating truck continued for about a kilometer.

The “scenery” along the way hardly changed.

He couldn't comment. If this was the future of humanity, he’d rather rewind to 2020.

That year, a nation of 1.4 billion had, through three generations’ efforts, finally banished poverty, eradicating extreme deprivation across its vast territory.

Yet now, after untold years, both spiritual and material scarcity shrouded the town.

Suddenly, the scene outside changed dramatically.

The slum vanished, replaced by neat rows of white walls lining the road.

The walls blocked his view.

Another minute forward, he saw a tall, integrated alloy building.

Its streamlined form lay across the ground, seamless, with a transparent upper dome and a lower section of dark metal.

The metal showed no trace of rivets or welding; every few meters was a floor-to-ceiling window.

At first glance, the building resembled a massive submarine resting on land, exuding a sense of high technology, like a set piece from a science fiction film.

The stark contrast made Ren Zhong feel as though he’d traversed centuries.

The vehicle slowed and stopped.

“We’re here,” Zheng Tian called, jumping out first.

Ren Zhong followed, surveying his surroundings.

They stood in a spacious plaza.

The floating truck was parked about ten meters in front of the submarine-like building, beside a dozen other vehicles, large and small.

These vehicles looked far more proper than Zheng Tian’s battered truck.

Directly behind the truck’s rear, three large platforms stood.

Each platform was manned by two workers in dark blue tight-fitting uniforms.

At one platform, dozens of people were queued, each carrying boxes or bags.

At the front of the line was a muscular woman, lightly dressed, dumping items from her bag onto the platform with loud clunks—bits and pieces of Ruin Beast remains.

As soon as she finished, four snake-like mechanical arms, flexible as shower hoses, extended from both sides of the platform, swiftly sorting and disassembling the pile.

Once done, she settled her account and left. Next in line. Efficient and brisk.

Meanwhile, parts were automatically moved onto side conveyors, rapidly transported through window slots in the submarine building, disappearing inside.

The other two platforms had no queues; instead, trucks were called up one by one, reversing into place while mechanical arms danced wildly, pulling items from their cargo beds, then sorting and conveying them.

The entire process was highly efficient, with almost no human involvement.

The blue-uniformed workers barely moved, seemingly present only to maintain order.

Watching this, Ren Zhong couldn’t help but admit he was deeply impressed.

Just one street separated two worlds, as if a knife had split the world into two distinct realms.

On one side, the wildness of the nineteenth century; on the other, the civilization of the twenty-second.

Soon it was Zheng Tian’s team’s turn. After their goods were counted, Ren Zhong copied Zheng Tian’s action, gently touching his wristwatch to a platform marked with a WIFI symbol.

A bone-conduction voice sounded from his wristwatch, audible only to him.

“Sold one intact Crystal Wing Dragonfly corpse, condition 80%, gained 0.8 contribution points.”

Ren Zhong understood.

Contribution points were money in this world.

He had transformed from a penniless pauper into a wealthy man with eighty cents.

Excellent, his first bucket of gold in this new life.

He wondered about the purchasing power of eighty cents.

He also learned something else.

Though Zheng Tian’s team’s vehicle looked shabby among those with trucks, compared to the destitute scavengers without transport, forced to walk upright in the wild, the “car-owning” Zheng Tian team were indisputably elite.

Those scavengers, queueing behind one platform with boxes and backpacks like migrating ants, were the true ragtag army.

“No one in that queue is a disassembler. They can’t properly extract and preserve special materials like chips. These ragtag groups are really squandering resources,” Zheng Tian remarked disdainfully as they left.

She seemed to be mocking those scavengers, but also boasting to Ren Zhong.

Ren Zhong learned something else: the tall, voluptuous Chen Hanyu was a so-called Disassembler.

He had acquired a new occupational term.

The worldview, one step closer to completion.