Chapter 1

[Earth Calendar Year 345 · C3 District, Class-D Train Waiting Hall]

"Zhao Xing really got kicked out?"

"I told you already. You were the ones who wouldn't believe me and insisted on coming to see for yourselves..."

"Shh! Keep it down!"

"What are you scared of? You think he's still the Zhao family's Third Young Master? He's been a homeless cur for ages. Besides, he's asleep right now, and he's even wearing headphones..." Despite his words, the speaker lowered his voice considerably.

"It's bad enough the Zhao family didn't see him off, but they actually bought him a ticket on a Class-D train? How pitiful. Tsk, tsk..."

"You honestly feel sorry for him?"

"...Not really. It's just... fortunes can change so fast, you know? And Zhao Xing isn't all that impressive after all. Strip away the Zhao family's halo, and he's just an ordinary person. No, worse than ordinary—just an ignorant, good-for-nothing thug..."

"I hear K3 District, where Zhao Xing's headed, is horribly underdeveloped. It's poor, it's chaotic—it's basically a dumping ground for thugs."

"Then he should fit right in..."

So noisy.

Buzzing on and on like flies.

How was anyone supposed to sleep through this?

The young man resting with his head tipped back against a chair in the waiting hall sighed despite himself and opened his eyes.

He was Zhao Xing.

The disgrace of City C's illustrious Zhao family. A gang leader in everyone's eyes, an ignorant, worthless second-generation playboy.

Among the "young masters" his age, he was both a laughingstock and a textbook case of failed parenting.

Now, because he had "made a mistake," the Zhao family had cast him out and exiled him to the remote, backward K3 District to fend for himself.

His new nickname was—the "homeless cur."

The group chattering behind a nearby pillar were all minor spoiled rich kids whose families had a little money but whose own status within those families was practically nonexistent.

Once, they had trailed at Zhao Xing's heels calling, "Brother Zhao, Brother Zhao." Now that he had fallen on hard times, they had come to laugh at him—and maybe kick him while he was down.

How could anyone be stupid enough to bad-mouth someone right in front of him?

Zhao Xing sighed, profoundly aware that he must have been blind before.

Had he really spent the past several years running around with a pack of fucking morons like these?

Then in everyone else's eyes, didn't that make him the head moron—the King of Fucking Morons?

The instant Zhao Xing opened his eyes, the little morons behind the pillar fell silent.

When his gaze swept over them, one was already preparing to sneak away.

How could they be this stupid and this spineless?!

Zhao Xing sighed again.

He took off his headphones and casually tossed them into a nearby trash can.

Then he crooked a finger at his former lackeys.

Their faces went white.

They looked at the trash can, then at Zhao Xing, whose posture was languid but whose gaze was clear and utterly wakeful, and finally understood one cruel fact—

Zhao Xing had not been asleep. His headphones had not been playing music. He had heard every last word of their mockery.

Their expressions changed abruptly. Two of them even stopped breathing, while the quickest-witted of the lot—a guy with dyed yellow hair—had already spun around to run!

But it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, the indolent, easygoing Zhao Xing snapped out of his slouch and charged like a leopard!

"Bam!"

Zhao Xing was tall, a full 187cm, and the legs encased in his black cargo pants were long and straight. In no more than a few strides, he caught up and launched a flying kick into the yellow-haired guy's back. A scream rang out as the man sailed ten or twelve feet through the air before slamming face-first onto the floor. Tears streamed from the pain, mingling with the blood pouring from his nose.

Perfect.

That move was pure art. Someone should have filmed it and played it in slow motion on a giant screen.

Zhao Xing silently praised himself.

The other three no longer dared to run. They hung their heads like criminals and picked nervously at their fingers, terror written all over their faces.

For several seconds, the busy underground train hall fell silent.

Then the crowd scattered as if the group were carrying a virus, putting thirty feet between themselves and the scene.

Those unwilling to invite trouble hurried away. Those with nothing better to do slowed down and stole covert glances, while someone quietly went to summon security.

Zhao Xing said, "Let's go. To the restroom."

The three still standing immediately followed him toward the restroom as obediently as baby chicks.

The one on the ground tried twice but could not get up. Tears kept spilling from his eyes.

Just as he was about to make it on his third attempt, Zhao Xing raised his right foot, planted it on the back of the man's head, and stamped him down again.

His black combat boot came to rest against the side of the man's face and ground back and forth twice—not too hard, not too gently.

Zhao Xing rested his right arm on his bent knee and leaned over the yellow-haired man, whose tears were mixing with his nosebleed beneath the sole of Zhao Xing's boot. His tone was tender. "Be good. You don't need to come. Go keep an eye on my luggage for me."

"Th-thank you, Brother Zhao."

When Zhao Xing withdrew his leg, he seemed displeased to find blood on his sole. He wiped it off with two steps on the man's shoulder, then strode away on his long legs.

Only after Zhao Xing led the other three into the restroom did a young woman passing by approach cautiously. "Um... are you and your friends okay? Do you want me to call the police for you?"

"No, no..." The yellow-haired man hastily shook his head and gave her an awkward smile. "You don't need to call the police. We... we were just fooling around. Nobody bullied us. Really."

Yet the way his face twisted in pain when he stood and the panic and fear filling his eyes could not be faked.

But since he had said that much, it was hardly anyone else's place to interfere.

The young woman watched him limp over to guard Zhao Xing's luggage, then pulled out her phone in frustration.

In the picture, a young man in a plain black hoodie, cargo pants, and combat boots slept sprawled against the back of a chair. His posture was a little rakish, yet his thin lips were gently pressed together, his nose was high and straight, and his features held an almost cutting handsomeness. His sharp, untamed youthful spirit seemed ready to burst from the crowd and break through the screen, making the heart tremble.

He was like an unsheathed black blade, conspicuous and sleeping amid a crowded exhibition hall.

—This was the "sleeping" Zhao Xing she had secretly photographed not long before.

The young woman stared blankly at the picture for a moment. Then she gritted her teeth, ruthlessly deleted it, and muttered under her breath, still torn:

"He's just a piece of shit. What does he have to be so handsome for...? Handsome or not, he's still trash. Delete it, delete it..."

When Zhao Xing brought the men out of the restroom, the yellow-haired one was standing stiffly beside his luggage, waiting. At the sight of Zhao Xing, his body tensed again and he called out, "Brother Zhao."

Zhao Xing had not hit any faces this time, so the three men behind him still looked presentable enough. They were just all limping, and the bruises visible on their wrists were rather horrifying.

Zhao Xing gave the yellow-haired man a casual nod, then picked up the ticket lying on top of his suitcase and glanced at it.

"Ah." Regret abruptly colored his voice. "...My train left while I was saying goodbye to you. What am I going to do now?"

The four men froze. The yellow-haired one was the first to catch on. "Brother Zhao, this is all our fault. We'll go buy you a new ticket right away."

"Right, right."

The four of them carried Zhao Xing's luggage to the nearest ticket counter.

Zhao Xing handed over his original ticket. "Book me on the next one."

The employee looked at the ticket, then at Zhao Xing. She said nothing, merely nodded and began processing the request.

"Brother Zhao, why don't we upgrade you to a Class-A train? Class D is far beneath you," the yellow-haired man said obsequiously.

"That's right, that's right..." the others chorused.

The employee's hands paused. "There are no Class-A trains to that destina—"

"No." Zhao Xing cut her off. He turned to glance at the yellow-haired man and said idly, "Class A, huh... You guys are so rich. Certainly much richer than a homeless cur."

Everyone stiffened. They hurriedly emptied all the money left in their wallets and offered it up with rigid smiles. "Brother Zhao... Brother Zhao, this is a token of our respect. We came in such a hurry that we didn't bring you any farewell gifts. Please accept it."

Zhao Xing took the money and counted it, his voice languid. "That wouldn't be right, would it? It makes me look like I'm robbing you."

"Not at all, of course not. It's only right. Bro—Brother Zhao, you used to spend plenty of money on us."

"That's right, that's right. Whenever we went out, you always paid, Brother Zhao."

"This little bit of money wouldn't even have covered one of the meals you used to take us out for."

Zhao Xing tucked the money into his wallet and said mildly, "Oh, really? So this little bit of money isn't even enough to cover one of the meals I used to buy you."

The group froze again.

The yellow-haired man wet his lips. "I... I..." he said hoarsely.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled out his phone and transferred all his savings to Zhao Xing. His smile looked uglier than a sob. "Bro... Brother Zhao, I also felt this little bit of money wasn't nearly enough, so I transferred you everything in my account too. It isn't much. Remember to accept it."

The others hastened to follow suit.

Zhao Xing accepted every transfer without the slightest courtesy.

It truly was not much. Altogether, it came to only a million and change.

Not even enough to cover what Zhao Xing had spent taking them to Simulated Earth City last year.

He would consider it repayment.

Only after Zhao Xing left did the four men find a bench, sit down clutching their injuries, and hiss in pain.

"It hurts so bad. I think my ribs might be b-broken."

"What am I supposed to do? I-I don't have the fare to get home anymore. Do I have to walk?"

"I'll die from the pain on the way. Brother Zhao broke my leg."

"I spent three years saving that money. I... I really want to cry."

"Wait, could we sue him for extortion over this later?"

"...Probably not. When I made the transfer, I put a note on it wishing Brother Zhao a safe journey and saying it was a small token of my regard."

"I added a note too."

"I also... wrote a few auspicious wishes."

"...Fuck, you've got servility bred into your bones. Are you really that afraid of him?!"

"You aren't? You were the fastest one to empty your wallet just now. You practically dug out every coin from the hidden compartment to give to Brother Zhao."

"..."

"Wait. He isn't the Zhao family's Third Young Master anymore. Why are we still so afraid of him?"

Silence fell.

Someone finally broke it. "We can't beat him. And if we fight back, he'll only hit us harder."

"Would he really dare beat us to death?"

Another long silence followed.

At last, a quiet voice said:

"But... beating someone to death is why the Zhao family kicked him out in the first place."

"Ticket inspection for Class-D Train 578 bound for K3 District will begin in ten minutes. Passengers, please proceed to Entrance 44 to board."

The mechanical electronic announcement sounded, and Zhao Xing followed the flow of people toward Entrance 44.

Entrance 44 was the most remote entrance in the entire waiting hall.

Zhao Xing walked all the way to the far left of the hall, entered a dim underground passage, and descended another 578 steps before finally seeing an enormous red warning light. It read:

"Entrance 44."

Huge scarlet numerals were emblazoned above the mottled, bare train-tunnel entrance. Like a beast, the entrance swallowed one numb-faced passenger after another.

Zhao Xing pulled his suitcase inside.

At this hour, Train 578 was the only train departing from Entrance 44.

Four mechanical arms took the place of conductors and began inspecting tickets.

Zhao Xing held out his left hand, allowing a mechanical arm to scan his ticket and wristband.

"Zhao Xing, cleared. Please board the train and carefully read the passenger guide. We accept no liability in the event of an accident."

Zhao Xing entered the car.

Ordinarily, Zhao Xing traveled only on Class-A trains or special Class-S trains. Though those were also underground trains, they had spacious, comfortable seats, brightly lit interiors, and warm, friendly human attendants. Look up, and an electronic ceiling simulated blue skies and white clouds. Turn your head, and scenic vistas drifted past simulated windows. They offered passengers the most comfortable travel experience possible.

The Class-D train he was riding now cost one-tenth the price of a Class-A train, yet offered less than one-hundredth the comfort.

There were no conductors here. Not even the lowest-grade robotic attendants.

There was no simulated-sky ceiling and no electronic windows.

It was crowded, noisy, and dark.

There were no seats, only standing-room tickets.

People were packed shoulder to shoulder.

"The train is about to depart. All passengers, please grip an overhead strap securely."

Following the instruction, Zhao Xing took hold of a strap.

A child beside him refused to cooperate. The child's guardian pried open his hand and pressed it around a strap, and he opened his mouth wide and began to wail. His drool seemed to get on Zhao Xing, who irritably closed his eyes.

It was not that Zhao Xing could not afford a Class-A ticket.

This was simply the only train that reached his destination.

He had no choice.

"Three, two, one. Train departing. Good night."

As the mechanical electronic voice sounded, the train doors closed one after another, and the indicator lights went dark in succession.

"Click."

At almost the same moment, a fine chain extended from inside every overhead strap. It slid down each passenger's arm to their waist, then snapped shut—this was the standing passenger's seat belt.

"Hiss—"

Mist began spraying from the ceiling.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

The crying child fell asleep first, followed by the girls and the elderly. Young and middle-aged adults went last.

Everyone fell asleep.

—Everyone except Zhao Xing.

His constitution was unusual. Every sedative and anesthetic was useless on him.

This meant that while everyone else could sleep until they arrived, he alone had to stand for four hours in this dark, silent place.

The train started moving, and Zhao Xing quietly surveyed his surroundings.

Every indicator light was off. Everyone was asleep.

The place was as silent as a grave.

When Zhao Xing's eyes fully adjusted to the dark, he made out the faint glow of different colors on everyone's wristbands.

Red, yellow, green, and white.

Everyone had to wear an identity wristband from the moment they were born, but fluorescent markings appeared on them only under special circumstances.

Clearly, everyone in Car 578 fell under such circumstances.

Red fluorescence—serious offense, imprisonment for more than ten years.

Yellow fluorescence—minor offense, imprisonment for less than ten years.

Green fluorescence—innocent, a criminal's family member traveling with the offender voluntarily or because they had no choice, usually a child under eight.

The glow on Zhao Xing's wrist was the fourth color.

White fluorescence—Pre-criminal, an antisocial element judged highly likely to commit a crime.

Many people believed that Zhao Xing, the laughable Third Young Master of the Zhao family, had been exiled to the remote, backward K3 District to fend for himself because he had beaten someone to death.

But that story actually contained two mistakes.

The first mistake: Zhao Xing had not been left in K3 District to fend for himself. He had been arrested and sent to K13 District, otherwise known as Prison City.

The second mistake: Zhao Xing had not beaten anyone to death. He had been terribly wronged.

This was what had happened. One day, he had chanced upon someone who had fallen into the water. His benevolent instincts had immediately surged, and he pulled the man out.

He even performed CPR on him.

Although Zhao Xing was not particularly skilled and broke two of the man's ribs with the chest compressions, the man regained consciousness, at least.

As chance would have it, this man was a relative from a collateral branch of the Zhao family—technically an older cousin of Zhao Xing's—and he and Zhao Xing bore an old grudge.

The man's first words upon waking were, "Zhao Xing... It's you! You're the one who pushed me in, you murderer!"

Zhao Xing: "..."

At that point, Zhao Xing was no longer capable of saving him.

He suppressed the urge to throw the man back into the water, merely slapped him twice, kicked him once, and walked away.

But as luck would have it, the man died shortly afterward because he never received further treatment.

In the end, the spectacularly unlucky and unjustly accused Zhao Xing was not deemed a murderer. Instead, he was classified as a Pre-criminal in urgent need of ideological reform.

By the time the train reached its destination, Zhao Xing's arm was almost frozen stiff.

The darkness, the silence, and the long hours spent standing had put him in an exceptionally foul mood, leaving him consumed by an indescribable irritability.

In stark contrast, the others all seemed to have just woken from pleasant dreams. Their gazes were dazed and tranquil as they independently chose subsurface railcars to carry them to their destinations, like puppets under someone else's control.

Even without supervision, no one tried to escape. If they did, their wristbands would instantly release a powerful current and subject them to a punishing electric shock.

After swaying aboard a subsurface railcar for an hour, Zhao Xing finally arrived at his destination—the entrance to Underground Building No. 8.

A prison guard at the entrance scanned the information on Zhao Xing's wristband, then handed him an electronic card.

The information on its face was perfectly clear.

Residence: Underground Building No. 8, Room 1502.

School: Academy No. 7.

Factory: Factory No. 5.

Balance: 0 Repentance Points.

To protect personal privacy, the card did not display an individual's offender classification. The different-colored fluorescence on the wristbands appeared only in total darkness and was very easy to conceal.

This was all because of the two sentences printed on the back of the card.

"All Earth humans are born equal."

"Even if we have committed crimes, we can still repent and begin anew."

"Your luggage has passed inspection." The prison guard returned Zhao Xing's suitcase. "Everything you brought complies with regulations."

Zhao Xing had not even brought a phone. He had been unable to listen to music throughout the entire trip. Of course everything complied.

Zhao Xing nodded and handed the guard the bank card from his wallet. "Convert all the money in this account into Repentance Points."

Repentance Points could buy nearly anything here and were even more useful than money.

Money had only two uses in this place.

The first was to freeze it and take it with you when you got out.

The second was to exchange it for Repentance Points at the extortionate rate of ten thousand to one.

The guard swiped the bank card. "There's one million three hundred twenty thousand in this account. All of it?"

A young man standing behind Zhao Xing could not resist warning him. "Dude, ten thousand only gets you one Repentance Point, and you can't change Repentance Points back into money. I hear a regular day's work earns you one point. That exchange is a total rip-off. You've got so much money, you might as well save it and live it up after you get out."

Zhao Xing ignored him and repeated to the guard, "All of it."

Once the guard completed the transaction, he handed the card to Zhao Xing and casually remarked, "This isn't your first time here, is it?"

Zhao Xing gave a grunt of acknowledgment, turned, and left.

The young man behind him heard that and immediately followed. "Dude, so this isn't your first time here? Then you must know the place pretty well... You look pretty young. We're probably about the same age. I'm Zhou Ming, and I'm nineteen. What about you?"

Four former lackeys had already subjected Zhao Xing to enough stupidity for one day. He had no desire to acquire another.

So he said impatiently, "Fuck off."

Zhou Ming froze.

Perhaps Zhao Xing's exhaustion weakened his powers of intimidation, or perhaps Zhou Ming was simply desperate to find someone experienced to show him the ropes. He stopped for two or three seconds, then ran after Zhao Xing, dragging his suitcase behind him. "Bro, can I call you Bro? What crime got you sent here? How did you end up here last time? Can you tell me what Repentance Points are for...?"

Noisy.

Zhao Xing stopped.

Overjoyed, Zhou Ming immediately crowded up to him. "Come on, Bro, tell me. What's so special about these Repentance Points that it was worth exchanging all that money for them?"

Zhao Xing abruptly kicked Zhou Ming in the shin.

Unable to control himself, Zhou Ming stumbled and dropped to his knees. He tipped his head back to look at Zhao Xing, his face filled with shock and pain.

Zhao Xing gave a cold laugh. "I told you to fuck off. Was that too hard to understand?"

No one had imagined someone would dare hit another person on his very first day here.

Almost everyone nearby turned to look.

Even the prison guards glanced over.

Zhou Ming's leg trembled from the pain. He struggled to his feet and stared blankly at the guards.

To his disappointment, none of them came over to punish Zhao Xing for his "evil deed."

At the same moment, a chime rang out.

A mechanical electronic voice issued from Zhao Xing's electronic card—

"Zhao Xing, two points deducted. Remaining balance: 130 Repentance Points."

Zhao Xing patted Zhou Ming's face with the electronic card, his tone vicious and his demeanor supremely arrogant. "See that, moron? That's what Repentance Points are for."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the stunned crowd behind.

This truly was not Zhao Xing's first time here.

Many years ago, he had been the child of a criminal, with green fluorescence branded on his wristband.

His mother had been sentenced to nine years in prison and had given birth to him here.

Zhao Xing had lived here for eight years and had once believed this place was his home.

Zhao Xing's assigned room was 1502, meaning Room 2 on the fifteenth underground level. It was a cramped room shared by eight people.

Only enough Repentance Points could buy more comfortable living quarters.

Zhao Xing had spent five hours standing on the train. He was exhausted and in desperate need of sleep.

But when he reached his room, he found crowd after crowd gathered outside 1502, clamoring noisily.

Zhao Xing raked a hand through his hair.

What the hell was wrong with today? Why did so much annoying shit keep happening?

He shoved somewhat roughly through the crowd. It did not take long for him to reach the center of the disturbance.

The one making trouble was a heavily muscled man in a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos. Leaning against the doorframe, he said in a coarse voice, "Fuck, you should be honored I've taken a liking to you. I don't care what you think—you're fucking coming with me today."

Zhao Xing: "..."

So it was a gay man causing trouble.

Zhao Xing decided that starting today, he would go back to disliking the entire demographic.

He turned his head, ready to take a good look at the "fatal beauty" attracting all this unwanted attention.

He froze the moment he saw the person.

A woman?

No.

Although the person had long, jet-black hair, the contours of his face and the structure of his frame clearly belonged to a boy.

He looked sixteen or seventeen. He was not short, but his skin was as pale as snow and his body was so slender that he appeared rather frail.

Now his pale, long-fingered right hand—pink even at the fingertips and knuckles—trembled as it clutched a shard of glass, holding the man opposite him at bay.

He raised his head, revealing a snow-white face stuck with a few wisps of loose hair, vivid red lips bitten bloody, and cool, limpid eyes.

It was difficult even to describe him as pretty.

He could only be called beautiful.

Like a white rose in the snow, stained red with blood and tempting someone to pluck it.

The moment Zhao Xing saw that face, his mind exploded with a buzz.

He slowly set down his suitcase and walked over step by step. Then, without warning, he kicked the boy in the stomach and sent him crashing to the floor. Immediately afterward, he straddled the boy's waist and drove punch after punch into that beautiful face.

One. Two. Three.

Slow, but utterly vicious.

With a blood-soaked hand, he gripped the boy's pale throat and leaned down beside his ear.

His voice was sinister, yet tender.

"Luoluo, it's been a long time."

"Did you miss your gege?"