Chapter 0002: Hound Shelter

Carrying a heart full of doubts, Ning Fan pushed open his front door with a heavy mind.

"Ning Fan! You're really going through with it?"

At the doorway, Fatty and Little Glasses were already waiting for him.

Seeing these two friends he had grown up with, Ning Fan set aside his thoughts about the bloodline test report for now.

"I need to ask you both a favor."

Ning Fan licked his lips and said with an apologetic tone: "For the time being, please look after my mom..."

"Are you serious? Why are you being so formal with us?"

Little Glasses punched Ning Fan in the chest. "We're two kids who grew up without parents. Aunt Fang treated us like her own flesh and blood. Isn't it only natural that we look after her?"

"Ning Fan, you stubborn guy — once you've made up your mind, nobody can stop you!"

Fatty wore a look of worry. "But even for Aunt Fang's sake, you have to come back alive."

"Mm."

Ning Fan nodded firmly.

Fatty shook a bag in his hand, from which wafted a tempting aroma. "Don't worry about Aunt Fang! We'll make sure she's well fed and taken care of!"

Food in the Lower City generally fell into two categories.

The first was locally sourced food — hunted or gathered from the wild.

It was filling and cheap, but carried extremely high levels of Miasma.

The second kind was food "sent down" from the Upper City.

Every day, the Upper City would discard its leftover food and scraps into a pipeline called the Path of Grace.

Each district in the Lower City had one of these pipelines.

The irony was that the food sent down through the Path of Grace — half-eaten leftovers, reprocessed and resold — cost three times more than locally produced food.

The reason was simple.

Upper City food, even the scraps, was cleaner and healthier than anything grown locally.

This kind of food was called Refined Cuisine.

And what Fatty was carrying in that bag was exactly that — Refined Cuisine.

"I won't bother saying thanks."

Ning Fan said with genuine gratitude: "Once I've earned some money..."

"Alright, alright! Enough with the words — now get lost!"

Fatty gave Ning Fan's shoulder a shove. "Stay alive. That's all that matters!"

"Got it. I'm going."

Ning Fan gave a sincere nod, then turned and walked toward the Zone Wall.

He didn't look back.

He was afraid he'd lose his nerve. Afraid he'd hesitate.

He was only eighteen. He was allowed to be scared.

Scared of death. Scared of losing the people he loved.

***

Half an hour later, as Ning Fan reached the edge of the Zone Wall, the storm of emotions inside him gradually began to settle.

Compared to the inner district, this area was noticeably louder and more chaotic.

Groups of people clustered together, shouting and arguing at the top of their lungs. Every now and then, two factions would come to blows for reasons no one could explain.

These were Walkers.

Ning Fan scanned his surroundings and eventually fixed his gaze on a rotting wooden sign.

Two words were carved into it with a knife.

[Hound Shelter]

Ning Fan walked over.

Sitting beside the sign was a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. Fairly good-looking.

Though three deep scratch marks that ran from his neck up to his earlobe did take a bit of the edge off his appearance.

Noticing Ning Fan approach, the young man raised an eyebrow.

"Hiring or joining?"

Hiring meant you wanted them to complete a job for you — you were the client.

Joining meant you wanted to sign up and make a living with them.

"Joining."

Ning Fan said calmly, "The kind where I can actually eat well."

"Oh?"

The young man grew a little interested and looked Ning Fan up and down. "What've you got that makes you talk so big?"

"Is Lin Chuan around?"

"You know Brother Chuan?"

"Don't know him. Heard of him."

Whatever he set out to do, Ning Fan always prepared in advance.

A month ago, after attending the Upper City selection, he had begun researching the Walker teams in District F32.

If he was rejected, becoming a Walker was his last option.

Among the many teams in the mixed and murky scene, he had chosen the Hound Shelter.

Good reputation, plenty of work, no payment withheld.

He had also gathered basic information on everyone in the Hound Shelter, and knew that the team's leader was named Lin Chuan.

At that moment, a large hand came down hard on Ning Fan's shoulder from behind.

"Looking to join up, are you?"

The slap nearly knocked him a head shorter.

Ning Fan frowned slightly and turned around.

The man behind him was only about 1.7 meters tall, but built like a coiled spring — lean and powerful. He wore long hair and a thick beard, with a casually unfocused look in his eyes.

"Can you take me?" Ning Fan asked.

"Brother Chuan, this kid walked in saying he wants to eat well. Quite the appetite!" the young man laughed.

"Ha!"

Lin Chuan chuckled and stepped around from behind Ning Fan, settling himself onto a nearby oil drum. "Little bro, every year I run into eighty or a hundred guys like you — all money, no fear of death. But never mind eating well; most of them can't even stay alive."

Ning Fan didn't bother explaining. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper, handing it over.

Lin Chuan snatched it up. The moment he read what was on it, that lazily unfocused look in his eyes sharpened with a flicker of genuine interest.

"Holy shit! A top student?"

The paper was Ning Fan's assessment results.

Nine categories. Full marks across the board.

In all of District F32, he was the only one.

"No wonder you've got such nerve. Quite the talent, huh?"

Lin Chuan said it with a smile, but Ning Fan could see a trace of disdain in his eyes.

The kind of disdain that only comes from someone who has truly walked the line between life and death — directed at a so-called genius who thought a report card was enough to prove himself.

"Huizi, didn't you take the assessment a few years back? What score did you get?"

Lin Chuan glanced at the young man.

The one called Huizi snorted with a laugh. "Didn't pass a single category. Nearly scored lower than some idiot from the same year."

From the way Huizi said it, this was apparently not something to be embarrassed about — if anything, he sounded proud.

Lin Chuan grinned and looked back at Ning Fan.

"He's my deputy now."

"And?"

"And nothing."

Lin Chuan tilted his head. "I just wanted you to know — whether you can eat well here has nothing to do with that piece of paper."

"Then what does it have to do with?" Ning Fan said evenly.

"Can you read?" Lin Chuan knocked hard on the rotting wooden sign. "I want wild dogs who can tear into prey — not top-scoring little rabbits."

"How do you know I'm a little rabbit?"

Ning Fan's persistence made Lin Chuan furrow his brow, clearly starting to lose patience.

"Huizi, how many days left on Yang Beihai's commission?"

Lin Chuan looked toward Huizi.

Huizi answered, "Five days."

"Kid."

Lin Chuan raised an eyebrow at Ning Fan. "We won't be leaving the district for these five days. If you want to join us, it's simple — before we head out, draw some blood from him using that thing on your back, and I'll take you in."

"Damn it, why am I always the target?" Huizi grumbled.

"What? Scared of getting hurt by some green kid?"

Lin Chuan laughed, stood up, and walked over to face Ning Fan. "But if you can't even scratch a single hair off him before we leave, don't bother coming back. The Walker life isn't for you."

"Fine. It's a deal."

Ning Fan gave a quiet nod.

Huizi was still muttering complaints under his breath, working up to another argument with Lin Chuan.

But the next second, Ning Fan suddenly drew the Black Sword from his back and slashed down toward Huizi's left arm!

Clang!

The sharp ring of metal on metal.

Somehow, a dagger had appeared in Huizi's hand at some point — just barely catching the Black Sword.

Ning Fan's eyes shifted slightly.

He had struck with what he considered to be speed and decisiveness — a genuine surprise attack.

Swordsmanship was one of the nine assessment categories.

He had scored full marks.

And yet Huizi had clearly been caught completely off guard, reacting on pure instinct alone.

Thud!

Ning Fan felt a sharp impact in his stomach, and his entire body was sent flying.

The Walkers nearby glanced over at the scene, then turned back to whatever they were doing without a second thought.

Conflicts here were nothing new.

Huizi tucked the dagger back at his waist, strolled over to Ning Fan lying on the ground with a grin, rolled up his trouser leg, crouched down, and looked at him from above.

"If you'd aimed for my head just now, your odds of success would've been at least thirty percent higher. From the moment you accepted Brother Chuan's bet, you and I... are enemies."

Huizi smiled, his expression full of mockery. "Against an enemy — and you still held back?"

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Proofreader & Editor: Fat Goose 🪶