RNP Page 48
Page 48
That cold gaze, that authoritative warning, and that final, casual "goodbye"... all weighed heavily on his heart, as if the five solas weren't money, but something heavy pressing down on his hands.
On the other side, Zhang Su, who had rejoined the main street's flow of people, instantly lost his relaxed and casual demeanor.
"Yuan Shu," he calmly called in his mind, "test the beacon signal. Is it still tracking stably?"
[Command confirmed. Detecting 'ethereal aura' attached to the target currency...] Yuan Shu's inorganic voice responded immediately, [Detection complete. Signal clear, strength stable. Target location: approximately 157 meters from the main body, southwest-southeast orientation, slow movement. Positioning and tracking system operating normally.]
Zhang Su nodded slightly, his gaze seemingly casually sweeping over a stall selling gear parts on the street, but deep in his eyes was a calm demeanor.
The so-called "beacon of nothingness" were the Sorah he had just given to Terry.
When he stored this money in the void space, it inevitably became tainted by the extremely faint yet indelible "aura" of that special space.
This aura was as clear and distinct to Zhang Su, who possessed the foundation and the source core, as a lighthouse in the dark.
He wasn't tracking the group of teenagers for revenge, of course.
The real reason was the unusual, polluted aura he sensed from these teenagers when he was in close contact with them! It was like a maggot clinging to their bones, lingering around them.
This means that these teenagers may have come into contact with some kind of unusual item or phenomenon, or entered an area contaminated by an unusual force, without their knowledge.
They are like walking sources of pollution. Although they are harmless for the time being, if left unchecked, who knows what consequences they will cause?
As the director of the Curtain Foundation Administration, it is his duty to maintain the curtain, contain anomalies, and remove contamination!
...Although it was self-proclaimed.
But now that clues have been discovered, we can't just sit idly by.
Giving them money is an act of pity, a warning to change their ways, and also a way to subtly plant a tracking point.
Next, he needed to figure out where the unusual aura emanating from these teenagers came from.
In the shadow of the city of Miga, less than an hour after he disembarked, a new investigation had already begun.
Volume 2: Chapter 3: Pervasive Pollution
Zhang Su carried the inconspicuous suitcase and walked a while longer down the street, his gaze sweeping over the tall, gloomy buildings on both sides. He needed to settle down as soon as possible, to find an inconspicuous place to stay.
Soon, he found a hotel that seemed to meet his requirements – the “Cast Iron Inn”.
The storefront wasn't large, and the anchor pattern on the signboard was a bit chipped, but it was still fairly clean.
Pushing open the door, a stench of cheap tobacco, old wood, and cheap cleaning agents hit you.
The receptionist was an old man with gray hair and thick glasses, who was reading a crumpled newspaper under the dim gas light.
"Are there any rooms available? I'd like to stay one night," Zhang Su asked, his voice deliberately carrying a hint of travel fatigue.
The old man looked up and examined Zhang Su through his glasses, scrutinizing him, his overly formal coat (which seemed too respectable for the hotel), and his unusual appearance. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure: "Yes, a private room with a small fireplace and a shared bathroom. Three soras a night, sir."
He quoted a mid-to-low range price that met Zhang Su's expectations, equivalent to the wages of a skilled worker for one or two days, which was reasonable for this area.
“Okay, this is the one.” Zhang Su readily counted out 9 Solas. “Pay for three days first.” He didn’t want to show up frequently to renew the fee.
The old man took the money, registered it, and handed him a heavy brass key: "Second floor, at the end, on the left, sir. If you need hot water, please use it between 6:00 and 8:00 in the morning and between 6:00 and 9:00 in the evening. After these two time periods, the hot water pipe will not dispense hot water."
Zhang Su nodded and carried the suitcase upstairs. The room was small, simply furnished but fairly tidy, with a narrow bed, a table, a chair, and some unburnt coal ash in the fireplace.
He put down his luggage, looked around to make sure everything was alright, and then went downstairs again.
"Excuse me," he said as he approached the front desk, "are there any restaurants nearby that have decent food and reasonable prices? And a tailor shop, one with decent skills and fair pricing is fine too."
He had enough money to squander for a long time, but a "rare person" dressed in expensive clothes and spending lavishly was practically blating "Come and rob me!" on his forehead.
Blend into the environment, like an ordinary lower-middle-class citizen or a down-on-his-luck office worker, making it safer and easier to move around.
The old man adjusted his glasses and thought seriously for a moment: "Restaurants... walk two blocks ahead and turn right, 'Old Stew Pot,' small storefront, but famous for its stew and black bread on this street, large portions and filling, a serving of stew with bread is only 15 pfennigs (about 1.25 solas). Tailor shops... diagonally across the alley, 'Honest Man's Sewing Shop,' Old Tom's skills are decent, can mend and alter or make ordinary work clothes or coats, the prices are reasonable, much cheaper than big shops."
"Thanks." Zhang Su noted the location, turned and went out, the cold wind making him tighten his collar again. His goal was clear: fill his stomach first, then solve the "packaging" problem.
Just as the old man had said, "Old Jack's Stew Pot" had a narrow storefront, was filled with smoke, and had a rich aroma of meat, beer, and sweat in the air.
The cramped space was crammed with dockworkers, vendors, and low-level employees dressed in worn-out overalls and jackets. Zhang Su pushed open the door and was instantly enveloped by the cacophony of voices and the clinking of cups and plates.
He sat down in the only remaining empty seat by the window, where a simple menu sat on the greasy wooden table:
Stew (beef/pork/offal) with black bread: 15 pfennigs
Bean soup with bread: 8 pfennigs
Two fried sausages with mashed potatoes: 10 pfennigs
Pale beer (1 liter): 5 pfennigs
Rye (a small glass): 8 pfennig
"A serving of stewed beef with bread and a glass of light beer," Zhang Su said to the busy waiter.
Soon, a rough earthenware bowl was served with a steaming stew of chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots, all simmered until tender; a large, heavy piece of dark bread with a hard crust; and a large glass of cloudy, pale beer. The flavor was indeed rich and robust, comforting with its oils and salt, well worth the 20 pfennigs price tag.
Zhang Su ate slowly and deliberately, observing the pedestrians on the street through the dirty glass window covered with condensation.
The city's unique gloomy atmosphere seemed to permeate everyone.
However, as he observed, an even more alarming scene was revealed:
Pollution! Almost every pedestrian passing by was surrounded by an unusual, distorted aura, whether strong or faint.
They are like an invisible, viscous layer of oil, adhering to the surface of people's souls, appearing in shades of gray-black, dark green, or rust, subtly distorting the surrounding light.
But Zhang Su quickly discovered the pattern:
The laborers, beggars, and homeless children, dressed in tattered clothes, hunched over, and with sallow complexions: the stench of pollution emanating from them was the strongest, almost like a thick fog enveloping them, their colors dark and their appearance even more distorted.
A dockworker dragging a heavy sack walked by, the stench of pollution behind him so thick it was almost tangible, like a damp, cold shroud.
Office workers, vendors, and housewives wearing faded but clean work clothes and carrying cheap briefcases: the smell of pollution on them was slightly fainter, like a thin veil, and the color was lighter, but it was still clearly visible.
Merchants and low-ranking officials dressed in decent woolen coats and top hats, with unhurried steps: the foul odor on them was much less noticeable, and paler in color, like faint traces of smoke, requiring more careful observation to detect.
Occasionally, a lavishly decorated private carriage would pass by, and through the windows, one could vaguely see ladies or gentlemen dressed in luxurious furs and with exquisite makeup: the pollutant aura emanating from them was almost imperceptible, like the faintest water vapor, and would be almost ignored if Zhang Su did not deliberately perceive it.
"Class...the degree of pollution is inversely proportional to class?" Zhang Su put down his fork and frowned slightly.
Why is it that the concentration of pollution in the poor and ordinary people is far higher than that in the wealthy?
As he chewed the last piece of bread soaked in meat juice, his mind raced, analyzing the situation:
1. Residential area: This is the most direct possibility.
The wealthy reside in upwind areas of the city, away from factories and slums, such as green areas and high-ground plazas.
The air there was relatively good and the environment was clean. The poor and ordinary people, on the other hand, were forced to live in places like the factory area (the area near the Cast Iron Corridor was obviously one of them), the dock area, and the downtown area.
These areas are heavily polluted—factories spew out thick smoke and steam day and night, mixed with unknown supernatural waste; mountains of industrial waste and household garbage rot in dark corners; dirty drains flow with colorful wastewater; not to mention the waste that may contain abnormal forces, which is carelessly buried or simply left unattended.
Living in such an environment long-term is like being immersed in a polluted vat; the continuous erosion of body and soul is an inevitable result. The environment of affluent areas, on the other hand, is like a relatively clean protective shield.
II. Water and Food: The city's massive industrial system inevitably consumes huge amounts of water and discharges wastewater into rivers or seeps into the ground.
Wealthy neighborhoods may have independent, filtered water supply systems, even if they are just simple sand and gravel filters, and may even drink bottled mineral water from “clean” sources.
Their food sources are also more diverse and "high-end," possibly consisting of fresh ingredients transported from estates outside the city or imported goods that have undergone more rigorous selection.
And what about the lower classes? They can only drink surface water or shallow well water that may be contaminated by industrial wastewater and domestic sewage, and eat the cheapest grains and roots that may come from contaminated soil, as well as meat offal of unknown origin and poorly processed, such as the "chop shreds" option in Old Jack's Stew.
Contaminated water and food are direct pathways to the ingestion of harmful toxins, with effects that are more direct and penetrating than air pollution. Wealthy individuals can avoid this primary source of pollution.
III. Possible Protection? Do the wealthy possess some kind of low-cost talisman that can weakly resist or purify this widespread environmental pollution, or do they frequently perform purification rituals?
Although the effect may not be obvious, it may widen the gap over time, but this requires further investigation.
“The root cause lies in the city itself… in its industrial heart and drainage system,” Zhang Su concluded initially.
This means that the sources of pollution may be extremely large, dispersed, and deeply rooted, and are by no means as simple as one or two anomalies.
After paying 20 pfennigs for the meal, Zhang Su walked out of the restaurant and, following the directions from the front desk, turned into the alley diagonally opposite.
The alley was darker, and the air was more murky. The sign for "Honest Man's Needle and Thread Shop" hung crookedly.
Pushing open the door, you're greeted by the smell of old fabric and loose threads.
The shop was small and filled with rolls of fabric and half-finished clothes. The shop owner, Old Tom, was a thin, hunched old man wearing a thimble, mending a coat by the light from the window.
When he saw Zhang Su come in, he habitually put on a smile, but when his gaze swept over Zhang Su's well-tailored, high-quality fabric (although it was covered in some port dust), his smile clearly carried a hint of surprise and a barely perceptible sigh.
“Sir, what do you need? Repairs or…” Old Tom put down his needle and thread and asked politely.
"Make me some new clothes." Zhang Su got straight to the point, pointing to himself. "No to this kind of material and style. I want something sturdy and durable, that looks clean and presentable, but that's... um... the kind of everyday clothes that middle-class people wear." He deliberately emphasized the word "middle class."
Old Tom's eyes flickered, the initial sigh turning into understanding and a barely perceptible hint of sympathy. He thought, 'This rare person must have encountered some misfortune, fallen from grace, unable to afford fine clothes, and forced to come to my little shop to have a few ordinary outfits made to maintain appearances. Sigh, the world…'
Zhang Su understood the meaning in his eyes, but he didn't care. This was exactly the effect he wanted—the image of a down-on-his-luck but still respectable outsider.
“Understood, understood.” Old Tom nodded repeatedly, his attitude becoming even more enthusiastic, with a sense of kinship as if they were “fellow sufferers.” “What style do you want? A coat? A vest? Pants? We have some good quality thick wool fabric, durable and windproof, in stable colors like dark gray, navy blue, and dark green, and the prices are reasonable. We also have sturdy khaki and twill cotton fabric for shirts and work pants.”
“Okay.” Zhang Su nodded. “Make me two thick wool coats, one navy blue and one dark gray, in the most common business style, without any eye-catching decorations. Also, make two pairs of thick wool trousers in the same color. In addition, make three plain cotton shirts, one white, one light gray, and one light blue. Also, make two thick work vests, in dark brown.”
He listed only the most basic, inconspicuous, practical middle-class and commoner models; these were all things he had hastily learned from Yuan Shu.
"Alright! Sir, you really know your stuff. These fabrics are the most practical!" Old Tom said, taking notes as he deftly pulled out a measuring tape. "Here, let me take your measurements. I guarantee they'll fit perfectly, the stitching is fine, and you'll be able to wear them out in public!"
During the measurement process, Old Tom's fingers occasionally touched the fabric of Zhang Su's high-end coat, and he couldn't help but reveal his envy of the excellent quality in his eyes, but his movements remained professional and efficient.
Zhang Su, like a customer who really needs to be shrewd, carefully confirmed the unit price of each piece of fabric and the labor cost, totaling about 12 soras, which was a big deal for Old Tom, and prepaid a deposit of 5 soras.
"Come back in three days to pick up the coat and trousers, and the shirt and vest in five days. Is that alright?" Old Tom asked.
"Okay." Zhang Su noted the time and left the sewing shop. With the clothing issue resolved, the next step was shoes.
He also needs to replace those shiny, high-end leather shoes.
He remembered catching a glimpse of a small shop selling secondhand and cheap new shoes on his way there, and headed there with a clear purpose.
His ideal disguise right now is to appear as a down-on-his-luck nobody dressed in middle-class clothes and wearing old leather shoes.
After leaving "Honest Man's Needle and Thread Shop", he found "Iron Palm Shoe Shop" with a faded boot sign hanging on it.
The storefront was also small, with a few pairs of repaired old shoes and a few clumsy-looking but sturdy new shoes displayed in the window.
Pushing open the door, a strong smell of leather, glue, and shoe polish hit me.
The shop owner was a sturdy, middle-aged man with large hands, who was engrossed in tapping the sole of a shoe under an oil lamp.
Hearing the doorbell ring, he looked up, his gaze habitually sweeping over the customer's feet—then settling on Zhang Su's pair of leather shoes, which, though dusty, still clearly showed superior leather and exquisite craftsmanship.
Further up, upon seeing Zhang Su's old, high-end coat that seemed out of place with its surroundings, the shop owner's eyes immediately revealed the same knowing look and a hint of barely perceptible sigh as the tailor, Old Tom.
"Sir, what do you need? Repair or buy shoes?" The shopkeeper put down his hammer, wiped his hands on his apron, and spoke politely with a subtle sympathy for the "down-on-his-luck" man.
"Make two new pairs of shoes," Zhang Su pointed to his feet, "the sturdiest and most durable ones, boots or thick-soled lace-up leather shoes are fine, for everyday walking and working."
He further reinforced his image as someone who "needs practicality and no longer cares about appearances."
"I understand! You've come to the right place!" The shop owner patted his chest enthusiastically. "Our leather isn't top-grade, but it's all treated, thick cowhide, very durable! The soles are made of oil-soaked, thickened hardwood, with anti-slip iron cleats nailed on. They'll last three to five years without any problem!"
He deftly took out a measuring tape. "Come, sit down. Let me measure your foot shape. For two pairs... well, it'll be 4 Sola, including labor and materials. Come back in three days to pick them up."
Zhang Su was very satisfied with the price and readily paid a deposit of 2 Sola.
After taking the measurements and selecting the most common style—dark brown thick cowhide and square-toed thick wooden sole—he prepared to leave.
Just as he turned and pushed open the shop door, one foot having just stepped out of the threshold—
"Ouch!"
A small, thin figure, head down, carrying a large basket full of scrap leather, rushed in headfirst and crashed solidly into Zhang Su's chest, but Zhang Su remained unmoved.
The figure was knocked back two steps by the reaction force, almost falling, and the scraps of leather in his arms scattered all over the ground.
"Damn it! Karl!" The shop owner rushed over immediately upon hearing the noise, slapping the boy who bumped into him on the head. His voice was filled with exasperation, "How many times have I told you! Don't always look at your toes when you walk, look ahead! You bumped into a customer! Apologize now!"
The boy named Karl rubbed his head, which had been slapped, and subconsciously looked up. He was about to apologize when his eyes met Zhang Su's calm face!
In an instant, Karl's face turned deathly pale, as if he had seen a ghost!
He recognized him! Wasn't this the terrifying, powerful figure who had beaten his brothers to a pulp in the dead end and then mysteriously handed them a sum of "medical expenses"?!
'It's over, it's over, it's over! He's coming! He must regret giving us the money, or he thinks we're too slow to change our ways and wants to kill us!' Carl's mind was instantly filled with immense fear. His teeth chattered, his legs went weak, and he couldn't even utter a complete sentence, let alone apologize: 'I...I...I...'
Seeing his utterly dejected and incoherent state, the shop owner was even more enraged. He raised his hand to strike him on the back of the head again: "You idiot! Didn't you hear me say apology...?"
However, as his hand rose halfway into the air, the shopkeeper's gaze suddenly fell on Karl's noticeably swollen left cheek.
Those clear handprints and bruises could not have been caused by just one blow from him!