Key to the Future

Zhou Zuo successfully shook off all the law enforcers and arrived at Rust Sector 12 before the appointed time.

Upon stepping into Sector 12, he immediately felt many wary and appraising gazes; the residents here were as thin as iron bars, their dry skin caked with filth, their hair matted and dry, their eyes either staring directly or peering from dark crevices.

People lived in cramped and crowded abandoned buildings, with self-built structures stacked haphazardly like a chaotically growing iron forest. Pipes and wiring networks shielded the sky. They had no fixed source of water or food, staying in these ruins like woodpeckers, only surviving by scavenging; with luck, they might peck at 'insects' in this forest to fill their bellies.

This was the origin of Woodpecker's Home.

The people above occasionally sent float-car convoys to distribute relief food, but most of it was controlled by ground gangs. Gang leaders often became the controllers of a slum, managing people by controlling food and water and establishing order through violence.

Woodpecker's Home did not have such a leader; it was mostly a gathering place for major wanted criminals or refugees exiled from their original settlements.

Zhou Zuo walked into an abandoned building holding the iron canister in his arms, passing through crowded corridors where an unbearable stench wafted through the air. Occasionally, a few twig-like hands reached out to clasp his neck, hoping to exchange favors for food, but he avoided them all.

He arrived at a doorway where a small, thin child squatted on the ground, watching him. Dark eyes darted around as the boy propped up his chin, looking left and right. His mother, her long hair matted, walked out of a nearby room, cursing at a man's unreasonableness.

Before long, a man walked out of the room, his neck thick with rage as he shouted. While pulling up his pants, he noticed the boy on the ground and, seeing only Zhou Zuo around, stepped forward to press a boot print into the child's face, spat on the ground, and swaggered away.

The child was long accustomed to this; he did not cry or fuss, but simply climbed up, patted his hands, and reached out to Zhou Zuo.

Zhou Zuo sighed and shook his head, taking a biscuit wrapped in tinfoil from his chest. He pinched off a small piece and placed it in the boy's hand.

Watching the boy slowly lick the biscuit clean and look up again, Zhou Zuo pretended not to see.

The boy looked at his mother. She stood by the window smoking and ignored him. Seeing this, he gave up and used a key to open the iron door.

Zhou Zuo walked in. A pungent and unpleasant smell filled the air. Tobacco was planted on every windowsill—not a very fancy name, just tobacco. It consisted of a long stem with two small sprouts at the tip, bearing crescent-shaped petals that glowed with a faint light.

This stem could be chewed directly, the juice within proving addictive; or the leaves could be dried, ground, and rolled in paper to be smoked like the woman was doing.

This was one of the few plants people on the ground could grow. More than currency, this tobacco was the hard legal tender circulating between slums. Due to its short maturation cycle, almost every household grew it to exchange for food and other survival supplies.

Gazing at the woman's skeletal legs covered in sores, Zhou Zuo shook his head and said nothing, continuing forward. Coarse curses and filthy words echoed from both sides. Some residents saw Zhou Zuo and wanted to provoke him, but they were intimidated by the mark on his clothes. What they feared even more was the gaze from his slightly narrow eyes.

The youth was not very old, just over twenty, yet his gaze was so sharp. He surely would not be gentle in a fight. In a place like this, there were no painkillers for scrapes or bruises; one either endured it or the wound would fester and lead to a painful death.

Crossing the residential area, Zhou Zuo reached a balcony. Half the wall had collapsed, and a scrapped float-car was parked there. Dim light filtered through the gaps, vaguely illuminating the interior of the float-car.

A bulb covered in yellow grime hung from above. Rainwater leaked from the float-car's outer armor, dripping right into a bathtub below. A corpulent man actually had the leisure to soak in a bath in such times, scrubbing his armpits while picking up an old-era magazine from a nearby shelf and reading with great interest.

Red velvet wool carpets, handmade crafts on the shelves, two pots of pink azaleas, and a small curtain projected onto a tapestry. If not for the shell being so dilapidated, such decor in Woodpecker's Home could be described as luxurious.

"Hank," Zhou Zuo said.

The man, biting a cigar, slowly took off his sunglasses. He glanced at the youth and put the glasses back on: "Where is the stuff?"

"Where are they?"

The man named Hank frowned slightly. "I am the one asking the questions. Something came up on their end, they will be late. Let's see if the stuff is still there first."

Suddenly, the man stood up, large splashes of water falling from his fat body.

"They did not follow you, did they?"

"I have already shaken them off. They will not catch up."

Zhou Zuo did not speak; he silently held the iron canister, standing in place without a word.

Hank glanced at him, chuckled twice, and sat back in the tub: "Kid, you are as stubborn as a donkey. The money is already in your account. Aren't you at least a little curious what is inside?"

"I have already guessed," Zhou Zuo replied.

Hank paused, staring at the canister in the youth's arms, only then noticing a small crack in it, with black soil clinging to the opening.

"A key to the future."

Zhou Zuo shook his head, placed the iron canister on the table, and pressed twice on the lid. The canister automatically flattened out and opened, the mouth descending to the right and nesting into an inner groove, revealing its internal structure.

It was a small culture medium layered with black soil. Upon closer inspection, one could see tiny and tenacious lives growing in this ring of soil; tender seedlings swayed in the breeze.

These were seeds of several plants.

"Sprouted...?"

Hank's mouth slowly drifted open, his breathing quickening.

Like a curious child, he hurriedly got out of the tub and rushed over. He carefully shielded the seedling with his hands, appraising the precious treasure from top to bottom, fearing raindrops might damage it. This sight formed a stark contrast with the man's hulking, bear-like physique.

"It really sprouted?"

Zhou Zuo knew that the man's reaction was not an exaggeration.

In Alphas, almost all seeds were fitted with genetic locks by the people above the moment they were born. They could automatically recognize the environment; regardless of whether conditions were suitable, they could not grow anywhere outside of Sky City.

And the target of his mission,

Was exactly such a rice seed that had no genetic lock and could grow normally on the ground.

A key to the future for the underclass.