Chapter 20: The Third Shadow

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That morning, four zombies were burned, but no merchandise was found.

The atmosphere while burning the corpses was heavier than usual; both men said little, each seemingly harboring some secret.

Wang Jian’s lips moved hesitantly several times, as if he wanted to say something, but the words never left his mouth. Instead, he went to the door to smoke, silently fiddling with his phone.

Feng Mu cast a dark glance at Wang Jian’s back, his doubts unspoken and unanswered.

Who was Wang Jian betraying? Could it be me?

The punch that day made a sharp sound—I’d been careless. And lately, I’d been doing body conditioning exercises in the incineration room. Did that seem unusual to him?

Luo Ji, Tao Fei, Sun Yi, and Wang Jian—we all had one thing in common: we had dropped out of school. I just couldn’t understand what grounds the Qinglang Gang had for suspicion.

But in any case, I was under suspicion.

Feng Mu looked at the zombies engulfed in flames, suddenly sneering and muttering under his breath, “If only living people could open their chests like zombies, exposing the secrets hidden in their hearts.”

Under the gaze of the zombies, Feng Mu’s mind calmed, and he began his physical exercises.

In the afternoon, with rare free time—no zombies, no human corpses—Feng Mu practiced his exercises alone, while Wang Jian went to the contaminated zone to be with his father.

Workday ended.

Passing by Middle School No. 47.

Just like the past two days, Feng Mu paused briefly and saw a yellow-haired kid smoking, holding a list and comparing it to him before quickly approaching.

“Wang Jian didn’t lie; I’m on the list.”

Without waiting for the kid to get closer, Feng Mu quickly kicked his bike, skidding into a nearby alley.

The yellow-haired kid cursed and spat thick phlegm on the ground but didn’t give chase—perhaps deciding it wasn’t urgent to pursue him today.

Feng Mu emerged from the other end of the alley but didn’t rush home. Instead, he rode for twenty minutes until he reached 978 Street.

The street was named after the 978th Reconnaissance Corps, once stationed here.

Now, the 978th had moved to a new base, and this area lay abandoned for a time before squatters and scavengers moved in.

More and more people gathered, building shantytowns, attracting small vendors and merchants. Over several years, the street developed.

Low iron-sheet buildings, chaotic shacks, wild-growing shops, and hair salons scattered through the alleys, beckoning customers.

Like scenes from a gangster movie, each gang claimed turf, not legally protected nor registered in property deeds but enforced by knives and fists, coercing merchants to pay rent—commonly called protection fees.

What did protection fees mean?

It meant pay me, and I’ll protect you from harm—from me.

798 Street was controlled by the Qinglang Gang.

Feng Mu rode into the area, neither fast nor slow, eyes casually scanning the street.

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Eateries, convenience stores, hair salons, video rental shops, bars, dance halls—no planning, just haphazard placement.

The Qinglang Gang’s headquarters was a bar occupying prime real estate, its walls adorned with gaudy, colorful lightboxes. The aesthetic and name were tacky but eye-catching—it was called the Blood Rose.

Feng Mu didn’t dare approach. From a distance, he glanced once, then rode away.

His sense of direction was excellent; he didn’t retrace his steps but cut through the shantytown, exiting from another way.

With no planning, the shantytown was labyrinthine—but that also meant exits were everywhere.

He went home, ate, and did his exercises.

At 2 a.m.

He finished two hours earlier than usual; the retinal display froze on the results.

[Eater of Iron: Tier One]

[Edible Iron Types: 1]

[Absorbable Metal Traits: 1]

[Currently detected edible iron—common pig iron, edibility 38.2%.]

[Traits absorbed: ??]

“It’s grown by 4.1%, not fully covering the left arm. Oh, not the left arm, but…”

Feng Mu murmured in surprise. The left arm felt no fresh chill. Instead, the coolness crept quietly along his tailbone toward the root of his right thigh.

He reached down, feeling the icy sensation through the skin, causing an involuntary shiver.

In his bedroom, Feng Mu took a few steps and noticed his right leg felt solid on the floor, while the left felt light, his weight shifting instinctively to the right, as if limping.

After adjusting for a while, he barely regained his balance.

Dressed in black clothes and pants, wearing a mask and a baseball cap, with a folding knife tucked in his pocket, Feng Mu slowly pushed open his bedroom door, closed it behind him with a flip of his hand, and tiptoed out.

The stairwell was pitch-black. Feng Mu descended the stairs unevenly, his movements awkward.

Late at night, almost no streetlights were working in the old, dilapidated neighborhood. The city’s outskirts were pitch dark. Clad in black and limping, Feng Mu blended into the shadows.

He didn’t ride his bike; the noise from the wheels would be too loud, less stealthy than his footsteps.

The streets were nearly empty. Occasionally, he caught sight of figures in the distance and deliberately avoided them.

At 3:14 a.m., Feng Mu stood behind a trash bin at the entrance of 798 Street.

Half the street was shrouded in darkness, but every so often, neon signs flickered—red, blue, green—breathing desire into the night.

Hiding in the shadows, Feng Mu coldly watched women posing seductively under the lights.

A woman was struggling with a burly man, dragging him toward a hair salon. The man’s head was buried in her chest; her eyes fixed greedily on his wallet. Their desires intertwined.

The salon seemed to come alive at night, transformed into a demoness in heavy makeup, swallowing the two reeking of lust into its belly.

The window curtains were drawn. Two burly men emerged, squatting at the door to smoke, occasionally laughing lecherously.

They watched the curtains; Feng Mu watched them.

At 4:41 a.m.

The lights went out; cigarette butts littered the ground. Among two shadows with arms slung over each other, a third shadow flickered faintly.

…

My name is Ma Wei, 24 years old.

I hardly remember much from my childhood, only that when I was seven, that bitch left me and my dad and ran off with someone else.

My dad was a street sweeper, useless and bad-tempered. When he drank, he beat me; when sober, he held me and cried.

I didn’t blame him because he gave me food. I only hated that bitch. I wanted to find her when I grew up and cut off her head to bring home.

When I was ten, my dad died.

The police said it happened early one morning while he was sweeping the street. He got into a fight with two drunks smashing bottles and was stabbed to death.

I wasn’t sad, just thought he died ignominiously, and now no one would feed me.

Poor people can’t buy graves, and I had no money. I didn’t claim his body. I guess it was burned with the trash.

At eleven, I stopped going to school and started scavenging.

One person couldn’t find much saleable trash. Organized scavengers ruled the piles, and wild dogs snarled fiercely at me.

I was alone and couldn’t compete.

At twelve, I met Tong Ge, two years older. We scavenged together.

At thirteen, two were better than one. We killed a wild dog with bricks and ate its meat—it was delicious.

But we still couldn’t beat the other scavengers. Most days, we went hungry. Once, a cleanly dressed kid gave me a piece of bread.

Tong Ge and I split it, and after eating, we were even hungrier.

The next day, we ambushed that kid on the road and stole his backpack. Haha, we ate well that day.

We robbed a few more times, but eventually, the kid disappeared. Tong Ge and I were angry.

At fourteen, Tong Ge brought in two more kids.

We weren’t as strong as the scavengers, but we were fierce enough. We took over a trash bin and sometimes managed to eat well.

At fifteen, Tong Ge said he didn’t want to scavenge all his life...

P.S.: Ma Wei is an important NPC.