Yang Zicang didn’t bring bread but a real feast instead.
–So lavish, and there’s boiled pork slices and fried chicken?–
–Wow, beer—how long has it been since I last saw this stuff?–
Oil lamps cast a warm orange glow over a long table made of folding tables, brimming with ambiance in the night breeze.
–Hope this isn’t a goodbye dinner.– Shiu Siuchuan laughed as he voiced their shared worry. The others all shot him a knowing, slightly hostile glance.
Once the food was set, Lyu Zhi, starving, sighed: –So… can we start eating?–
Yang Zicang had just washed his hands and was about to nod when a line of light shot over—it was Zuo Feixian.
{Brother Jiazi, I tried contacting you several times this afternoon without success. That hand of mine said he’d come tell you personally—did you meet him?}
「……」
So it was that in the dream. Yang Zicang never expected that –hand– to even bother with such trifles.
He raised a hand to signal a stop to the few people watching from a distance.
–He said in your tone that you’d come. Where are you?–
{How should I describe where I am? Anyway, I’m about thirty or so li to the left and front of the settlement.}
Yang Zicang had already spotted the familiar terrain in his perception image.
Zuo Feixian’s stomach was growling, yet he kept forcing himself to hurry on. Those seven fellows had covered dozens of li in one afternoon—a distance that would take an ordinary person a full day to walk.
Luckily, Yang Zicang had started sleeping a few hours ago, or he felt his legs would have given out.
After severing the connection, he hadn’t been walking for more than a few minutes when a howling wind arose ahead. Zuo Feixian halted, scanned the surroundings with a grave expression. The wind sound suddenly closed in; a fierce gust abruptly swept through the air.
–What the hell!–
Zuo Feixian was startled, nearly turning to flee.
The shadow of a hovering train materialized in the empty space before him.
–Ah!– The door opened in front of him. Yang Zicang, with his right hand gripping the doorframe, extended his other arm and said, –Climb on in.–
Zuo Feixian looked as if he had just seen an immortal.
……
After the meal, several of them patted their full and satisfied bellies, when a thin, taciturn young man suddenly crouched down and began sobbing.
–What’s wrong, Chin Mong?–
–I… I haven’t felt such warmth in a long time,– he said, wiping his tears.
A heavy silence settled among the group.
A hair-thin streak of light shot from the void, landing on his chest.
{ZiCang, can you hear me?}
A girl’s voice sounded within his mind.
–Xiaoyu, aren’t you asleep yet?–
Yang Zicang thought silently to himself.
Though it was only a relay through Liang Xi, the familiarity they had built over these past two days meant they no longer treated the boy as an outsider.
After chatting for a while, Mu Xiaoyu disconnected the Syn-Link. Liang Xi popped her head in from outside and said, –Sister Xiaoyu, I’m off to bed.–
–Mm-hmm, goodnight.–
The room fell into silence.
Mu Xiaoyu sat quietly for a while, then lay on the bed and waited a moment longer before curling up sideways and pulling the blanket over herself.
A few minutes later, she whispered to herself, –Xiaoyu, do you really like him, or are you just afraid of this world?–
……
Out on the wilderness, Yang Zicang looked toward the several people wolfing down food around a small table a dozen or so meters away. Chin Mong, as if opening a floodgate of words, chatted with the rest; with the addition of Master Zuo, laughter and cheerful voices burst forth from the group from time to time.
–Hello there.–
A small orb of light suddenly appeared before him.
Yang Zicang waved his hand in front of it, sensing that the light orb had some solidity, something that could be pushed.
–Don’t push Lily, oh! Lily’s a reporter. What are you all eating?–
Within the light orb, the illusion of a little girl in a beautiful dress materialized.
Yang Zicang stared at the sudden sprite illusion before him, then looked up and said, –Hey, do you guys not see this?–
–See what?–
–A strange orb of light?–
Just as they finished speaking, a terrifying phantom massive insect emerged behind Yang Zicang.
……
In front of a small wooden door of a gray stone house.
A man clad in a dark cloak, wearing a black mask that exposed his chin and lips, flashed an iron pass token at the person before the door.
–Alright, go on in,– said the man, who served as both attendant and doorman, pushing the wooden door open for him.
A cacophony of noise instantly burst forth.
The man adjusted his patched gray cloth cap atop his head and stepped up the stairs, walking inside.
–Sell or buy?– Under the dim candlelight, a woman in an old red cashmere sweater approached with a registry book.
The man wearing an eye-covering mask unlatched a cloth bag from his waist and tossed it to her, shaking his iron badge: –Auctioning on someone’s behalf.–
The woman opened the bag and took a look.
She walked over to a small table behind her and handed it to a middle-aged man with a red armband, which bore the words –Carefree Cargo Crew.–
The man looked at it, let out a chuckle, and then stood up, rushing over.
–This engine’s not bad—Carefree can just buy it outright. Selling? We can trade right now: materials, goods, engines, or Chronos.–
–I told you, this one’s for auction.–
–Tsk, fine. Who’s the seller? Register it.–
–Jiazi Term, or… call him Yang Zicang.–
The man with a half-mask pointed at himself and smiled: –I’m his assistant.–
……
After working through the night, hauling back the tent prepared by headquarters and two more sets of engine-making materials, the morning light had already grown bright and distinct.
Everyone huddled together to sleep, except for Chin Mong and Lyu Zhi, who stood guard outside.
Seeing Yang Zicang had finally settled down, Chin Mong rose and walked over to the young man about to enter the tent and sleep.
–Brother ZiCang, good to see you.–
–You haven’t had a rest yet—wake two of them up to take your shift and go get some rest quick.–
–No need.– Chin Mong glanced at the few people inside the makeshift tent, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
–Thank you, Brother ZiCang. These past few days, I finally feel like I’m human again.–
–Look at you talking.–
–Seriously, it’s the same for everyone. To see Lyu Zhi, who wants to protect everyone; to see Fan Xiuyun, who dares to yell back even in front of a crowd; and Brother Fei Xian, who chose to join us—despite being basically useless with his hands, still forcing himself to toil for Pen Construction Zone. I know these last few months he’s endured way too much scorn.–
As he spoke, he slowly lowered his head.
Yang Zicang said: –Actually, everyone truly wants to contribute and make a difference.–
–Yeah, but we don’t really have much to call a strength.–
–Don’t overthink it. It’ll get better slowly. I know some experts, and I’ll ask them to come teach everyone later.–
A look of relief spread across Chin Mong’s face: –I hope that day comes soon. I believe you can do it.–
Yang Zicang noticed something off about his state.
–Chin Mong, is something wrong?–
The young man instinctively reached up toward his dry nose bridge, but there was nothing there—it seemed he used to wear glasses.
–Well, Brother Yang, I wanted to give you a gift. You’re the only one capable of receiving it, and the only one I’d trust with it.–
He glanced at his surroundings, took two steps back, and said, –Not a bad spot here, hey, Brother ZiCang, don’t give me that look. Just hear me out.–
A zigzag-shaped Moxel emerged on his chest—two lines, just like Liang Xi’s.
The ground around them trembled, like a mild earthquake.
Patches of golden wheat fields spread out from under Chin Mong’s feet like a tide, and he opened his arms, inhaling the drifting scent of grains.
Stretch after stretch of barren wheat fields rapidly expanded outward from the young man’s feet, covering over ten meters in an instant.
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