Chapter 23: The Face of the Android

City of Redemption, Development Zone D.

Compared to the High-Precision District, where skyscrapers crowd the horizon, the infrastructure here is rudimentary at best. Roads are poorly maintained, public safety is tenuous, and healthcare and education lag far behind. The so-called “Development Zone” is merely an official euphemism; in reality, it’s nothing more than a slum.

Here, without the protection of cloud-piercing towers, the sky is shredded into jagged geometric shapes by a chaos of pipes and wires. The narrow alleys reek of dampness and mildew, while the mottled, peculiar graffiti on the walls serves as the district’s unique form of ornamentation.

In a small noodle shop at a street corner, Li Nanke was noisily slurping a bowl of beef noodles.

The broth billowed with fragrant steam, its rich aroma the result of long-simmered beef bones and spices. Crimson chili oil floated atop, flecked with emerald scallion, and a few thin slices of tender beef completed the scene.

He lifted a chopstick’s worth of noodles—fine, slick with chili oil and steeped in the savory broth. Their texture was both springy and soft, a pleasure to bite into. Each mouthful was followed by a generous gulp of the flavorful soup—a true delight on the tongue.

On the noodle shop’s television, a news report played about the recent disaster in Safe Zone A91, a current headline. After all, those who had secured residency in the City of Redemption always took a certain grim pleasure in hearing of disasters befalling the wilderness safe zones, even if they themselves lived in poverty, even if they too had once been outcasts from those very places.

The anchorwoman droned on in circles, offering little substance.

When the news segment ended, the screen shifted to a public service announcement from the Relief Foundation.

The Relief Foundation was a non-profit charity organization dedicated to funding disaster relief, reconstruction, and medical aid in the afflicted safe zones of the wilderness.

Whenever a safe zone in the wilds suffered a calamity, the Foundation would send teams of relief workers in waves.

This time, perhaps due to the severity of the disaster in A91, the Foundation seemed shorthanded and began airing recruitment ads, seeking volunteers from the public.

But in these times, few people were so flush with compassion as to work for free. The Foundation offered meager compensation for its rescuers, and when it came to taboo disasters—those things people shunned as if they were the plague—even high pay wasn’t always enough to tempt applicants.

Li Nanke glanced at the television, then fished out several pieces of white radish, swollen with beef broth, from the bottom of his bowl and chewed slowly.

Finally, he simply lifted the bowl and drank the remaining broth in one long draught.

“Delicious... Too bad there are no beef noodles in my dreams.”

He wiped his mouth and stood to leave.

Li Nanke slipped into a maze of crooked alleys, descending a set of steps into the underground.

This subterranean market sprawled beneath the city’s surface, a labyrinth of tunnels and abandoned subway stations, known only to those who skirted the edges of the law.

Dim yellow light bled through rusty metal grates, mingling with the smells of machine oil, cheap alcohol and tobacco, and stale sweat.

The market brimmed with all manner of stalls, peddling every kind of illicit good—smuggled wares, banned pharmaceuticals, hacked chips, illegal prosthetics.

A nondescript little shop hung with paper-thin, blurry facemasks—each one more grotesque than the last—caught the eye. In the glass display case sat boxes of contact lenses and bionic skin gloves.

A heap of cigarette butts littered the floor beside a recliner, while a lurid magazine was draped over a young man’s face, revealing only his garishly colored hair and the sharp tang of alcohol.

Li Nanke snatched away the magazine, rousing the hungover youth from his nap.

“Got a job for you.”

“Can’t you see I’m—oh, it’s you, Old Li,” the young man was about to curse but, recognizing his visitor, his expression brightened with surprise.

His name was Bai Yuefeng, an old friend of Li Nanke’s. Years ago, he too had escaped from a disaster-stricken safe zone as a pariah, earning his right to live in the City of Redemption after years of hustling.

His main business was forging identities and fake documents, along with selling adjustable bionic facemasks and gloves, synthetic irises, voice-changing larynxes, and electronic ID chips.

Li Nanke stated his purpose: “The full package. You know I haven’t had any implants.”

Most bionic faces required a trip to a prosthetics clinic or hospital, but Bai Yuefeng carried high-end goods that didn’t need a cortical interface—just like the legendary human-skin masks of martial arts tales, except these allowed fine-tuning of facial details.

Bai Yuefeng was momentarily stunned—he hadn’t expected his old friend to come as a customer.

Though his line of work was illegal, even if he were caught, a bail payment would usually see him released. Unlike the truly desperate criminals, Bai was not a wanted man.

Usually, his customers were those with little regard for their lives.

His expression turned curious, hesitant: “Old Li, by rights I shouldn’t ask, but we’ve known each other a long time. You haven’t come drinking with me or to any parties for months—not even when there were women around.”

“Tell me honestly, are you in some kind of trouble? I’ve got some savings—I know it’s not much, but…”

Li Nanke rolled his eyes. “Get lost. I just picked up some new high-precision clients and need to meet them face-to-face. A new face is just convenient, that’s all.”

Relieved, Bai Yuefeng packed up everything required for the “full package.”

“I’ll treat you to a drink next time,” Li Nanke said, making his exit. He slipped on the bionic face, then stopped by another shop to buy several forged electronic ID chips.

With his new identity in hand, all that remained was to plan his journey to A91 Safe Zone.

The reason they called it a “Safe Zone” was simple: the wilderness was far too perilous. Deadly sunlight, mutated beasts, roving marauders, and contaminated forbidden zones—all posed mortal threats.

According to the weather forecast, the next couple of days would be a rare spell of clear weather. The larger of the two suns overhead was nothing to fear, but the smaller one was lethal.

Without specialized transport and a professional guide, reaching A91 Safe Zone was nearly impossible.

Li Nanke pulled out his communicator and dialed.

“Beep... beep... Hello, this is the Relief Foundation.”

“Hello, I saw your ad recruiting relief workers for A91. I’d like to sign up and head to the disaster area as soon as possible.”

“Sir, there are a few things we need to clarify... Relief work requires certain professional skills and knowledge, and the pay is modest. You’ll need to submit your personal information and wait for staff approval before you can join a team.”

“Though the next group departs tomorrow afternoon, the review process takes at least three days. Please submit your information and wait patiently.”

“I don’t want any pay—volunteer, unpaid, charity, helping out of love... you understand?”

There was a pause on the other end, then a rapid reply: “Understood, sir! Please submit your information right away, and you can depart for the disaster area tomorrow afternoon!”

Li Nanke hung up, walking through the filthy streets, bathed in sunlight. “Everyone else runs from forbidden objects, but I have to rush toward them. Maybe I’ve lived too long.”

“But the feeling of breathing freely... it’s been so long.”

The Other Shore had given him a ninety-day deadline. It seemed generous, not strict at all.

But he mustn’t forget: in the first guided dream, there had been four other dreamers, and the competition was obvious.

Li Nanke didn’t know if there would be new competitors in the next dream, but if he grew complacent and delayed, waiting until the last days to enter the dreamscape, sooner or later even those who started alongside him would far surpass him.

He had tasted the fierce sweetness of being truly alive, and he had no intention of being eliminated. If anyone was to be eliminated, it would be by his hand.