Chapter Nine: Freshmeat Town, Second Night

"Why... why are you reacting like this..." The bearded man stretched out his arms, gesturing wildly in the air as if his exaggerated pantomime could somehow elicit the shock and astonishment he expected from Zheng Nanfang. But Zheng Nanfang remained as indifferent as stone, unmoved by his efforts.

His interest in the bowl of mutton stew clearly surpassed any curiosity he might have had for beehives or fish farms. He nearly polished off the entire basin of meat by himself, and even the black pepper beer, which he’d found difficult to stomach at first, went down easily now. After the initial bitterness faded from his palate, he could taste a faint sweetness of herbs.

"The... the beehive..." The bearded man was relentless, still unwilling to give up. He stubbornly attributed Zheng Nanfang's coldness to the black pepper beer, convinced that intoxication had dulled his mind and prevented him from grasping the true meaning behind his words.

*Burp—*

Content and satiated, Zheng Nanfang slouched in his chair, letting out a hearty belch.

He couldn't remember the last time he’d eaten his fill—nutritional gels were always portioned for basic needs, just enough to keep hunger at bay and sustain the body, nothing more.

"Could you get me another serving of this mutton? And three portions of the rodent noodles, to go," Zheng Nanfang said, rubbing his rounded stomach with one hand and gesturing overhead with the other. "There are three girls up there who haven’t eaten yet."

The bearded man blinked, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "So... about the beehive... my son, and the car..."

"We'll talk upstairs," Zheng Nanfang said, sitting up and glancing around. "This isn’t the best place for that conversation. You understand, don’t you?"

A look of sudden realization dawned on the bearded man’s face, and he nearly burst into tears of joy, exclaiming, "Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right! I lost my composure. So you’re agreeing, then... oh, right, we’ll talk outside. Hahaha, I knew it! I trust my instincts—I knew you were different the moment you fought to protect those girls last night. You’re not like the others here, not like them at all!"

Zheng Nanfang shrugged noncommittally. "You might have me pegged wrong."

"Not a chance!" the bearded man replied, regaining his buoyant energy. He crossed one leg over the other and ordered two more beers, his eyes shining as if he’d found a priceless treasure. "When the world first fell apart, all my friends told me to stop being a mechanic, to toss my humanity in the trash and become a walking beast like everyone else. But I never wavered. Life’s been rough these years, but at least I haven’t lost who I am."

He took a long swig from his glass, then jabbed a finger at Zheng Nanfang with conviction. "You’re the same kind of man, aren’t you? I’m right, aren’t I? Don’t worry, I get it. In this world, sometimes we have to pretend to be beasts just to survive. I understand."

Zheng Nanfang let the man’s self-indulgent monologue wash over him and, almost casually, asked, "What about your wife?"

"Which one?" the bearded man quipped without missing a beat, then burst out laughing, slapping Zheng Nanfang on the shoulder. "Life’s tough, brother. I don’t have your skills, so sometimes you have to make hard choices to survive."

He went on, rambling about old times. Zheng Nanfang listened in silence, waiting until the dwarf of a proprietor handed him the packed food. Only then did he signal for the bearded man to leave.

It was high noon; the ground temperature soared to fifty or sixty degrees. Every breath was like inhaling fire.

Through his goggles, Zheng Nanfang gazed at the desolate streets, the houses and roads shimmering in the warped air, as if they might evaporate at any moment.

"Come with me to my shop—the basement has an ice machine," the bearded man offered generously, grimacing at the heat. "Once we’ve finished talking, you can bring your girls over, too. In this weather, even the bus-inn is a steam box. You can use my ice beds—though I’ll have to stay, too. It’s too hot outside, hahaha!"

Zheng Nanfang followed in silence, trailing after the bearded man. They passed the three massive oil drums from the previous night, wound their way through piles of car wrecks, and pulled open a metal hatch set into the ground, revealing a rough stairway leading down.

The basement was small, just as he’d said. A rusted ice machine still chugged along, freezing dirty water collected through a hose into grimy blocks of ice, which were dumped into a cement-lined reservoir.

It wasn’t pleasant to look at, and the air was tinged with a faint odor, but it was undeniably cool.

The so-called ice beds were planks laid over the reservoir. On a pillar beside the ice machine, Zheng Nanfang noticed several iron chains hanging down, each ending in a heavy collar.

He pointed at the chains, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

The bearded man picked up a chunk of ice and rubbed it over his body, leaving dirty streaks on his skin. With a sly grin, he said, "Men will be men, you know? Hahaha. But I’m nowhere near as lucky as you—never managed to land any real beauties, just scraps and leftovers."

"Find a spot to sit. I think I have some tobacco upstairs," he said, his spirits high as he headed for the ladder. "Wait here, we’ll relax and talk."

"I help you get your son back, and you give me the car?" Zheng Nanfang suddenly asked.

"Yes, of course," the bearded man replied, pausing to grin. "Don’t worry, I’ll even cover your fuel for this race."

"But what I’m curious about..." Zheng Nanfang seemed to consider his words, then continued, "Is it worth it? I mean, you don’t seem especially well-off, and you’ve spent a lot today... As you said yourself, in this world, getting another son isn’t exactly hard, is it?"

"What if I throw in a beehive?" The bearded man’s expression shifted to sly amusement, and he lowered his voice. "Seems you don’t really understand the beehive."

Zheng Nanfang stepped closer and smiled. "Hard to say. I’ve been to several beehives, and they’re all different..."

The bearded man’s grin froze on his face.

"But one thing’s for sure: you won’t get the chance to find out."

Zheng Nanfang’s smile vanished. He drove the steel-toothed blade he’d been holding straight into the bearded man’s chest.

The man’s eyes bulged in disbelief as he stared at the stub of the handle protruding from his chest. His legs buckled and he collapsed to his knees before Zheng Nanfang, clutching desperately at his clothes like a drowning man grabbing a straw.

"Wh... y..."

Zheng Nanfang pried his fingers loose, bent down, and slowly withdrew the blade from his chest, its dull scrape against rib bone echoing as he answered softly, "I need a car. This way saves time. Besides, you don’t know me at all."

...

"I’m back," Zheng Nanfang announced as he swung open the door of the bus-inn, waving the food in his hand. "You have to try the mutton here—it’s amazing."

The three nurses, barely clinging to consciousness, sprawled across the beds and replied weakly, "Thank... you... boss..."

...

As night fell, Raw Meat Town burst back to life. The people who had hidden away during the day returned to the surface, finally able to breathe the not-so-fresh air freely.

The wreckage repair shop was quieter than usual. There were no bloody death matches tonight, and word had spread that the owner had come into a tidy sum and left town.

For the ever-growing number of race drivers, this was terrible news. The town only had one repair shop, and as the starting point for the End of the Line Carnival, all the drivers needed last-minute maintenance here. Now, they’d have to travel fifty kilometers to the hoarse-voiced Mountain Lodge for service, wasting precious fuel.

"We could band together and pressure the committee to provide maintenance for all our vehicles," suggested one driver, who had just enjoyed himself on the hillside and made a few like-minded friends in the process.

"No way," said another driver, who even at this late hour was still reluctant to remove his metal mask. He shook his head, muttering, "The committee has only one goal: to reduce the number of drivers. This is the End of the Line Carnival, not some childish, brainless F1 championship."

As soon as he finished speaking, his head exploded in a shower of gore.

The burly man behind him wiped brain matter off his hands and apologized to the others, "Sorry, got carried away. Schumacher is my idol."

The others were unfazed by the incident and kept talking as they walked.

"It’s odd, though. The first stop’s repair shop should be raking in cash," one driver complained from the edge of the group. "But surely there are other workers?"

"Let’s go check," the burly man replied, pausing to ask the busty female driver, "Wanna come along?"

"Eh?" she spat out her cigarette butt, confused. "Didn’t we just finish? Again?"

...

The wreckage repair shop.

Zheng Nanfang sat around a burning oil drum with his three new companions, a makeshift grill stretched across the top and fragrant chunks of meat sizzling away.

He licked his lips and signaled Tang Suan to stop fanning the flames, urging Shu Onion to sprinkle on more seasoning. The three seductive nurses, faces slick with sweat and oil, looked utterly defeated by the heat and smoke.

"Boss, didn’t you just finish off a whole bowl of mutton this afternoon..." Li Pepper protested, holding up her greasy hands. "There’s no soap here, and the mutton’s so gamey—how are we supposed to clean up?"

"Less talk, more chopping," Zheng Nanfang said, tossing a jingling bag of coins from his pocket to Tang Suan without turning around. "Go to the cave restaurant and tell the dwarf to bring up a few barrels of black pepper beer."

"Yes, boss," Tang Suan replied weakly, glancing at the growing crowd of drivers drawn by the aroma. "But I thought you wanted to keep a low profile?"

"Strategic adjustment. Go," Zheng Nanfang replied, clearly in high spirits. He waved to the onlookers. "Wasteland BBQ—anyone in?"

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, surging forward.

"Bring your own drinks—trade cash or guns for meat," Zheng Nanfang added.

At once, the hungry mob screeched to a halt, cursing as they scattered.

"Are they all broke?" Zheng Nanfang was dumbfounded.

"Boss..." Shu Onion leaned in, her breath warm on his ear. "You were the same this afternoon."