Hong Van's arrival shattered the tension coiled across the courtyard—then let it settle back down in a way that was somehow worse.
Every figure lurking in the shadows held their breath without thinking.
Three-Notch's body went bowstring-tight. He recognized her. Out here in the ruins, anyone who'd survived long enough knew the name Hong Van.
A top-tier Awakened. Fire for a weapon. The whole broken city as her hunting ground.
What was she doing here?
Hong Van didn't bother acknowledging the stares—half terror, half greed—tracking her across the courtyard. She walked on high heels, each step deliberate, until she reached the invisible boundary of the store and stopped. Her presence alone was enough to steal a few degrees of heat from the simmering pot.
"You made quite a scene."
She looked at Zhang Jun, voice flat—impossible to tell if she was needling him or just stating a fact.
Zhang Jun shrugged and pointed his fork at the three attackers, who had gone rigid with fear.
"There's always someone who won't take good advice."
The corner of Hong Van's mouth curved slightly. She turned her gaze toward the dark edges of the courtyard.
"I'd strongly suggest dropping whatever you're thinking."
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
"Never mind the scrap metal you're carrying. Even I—"
She hadn't finished the sentence before a flame bloomed in her pale palm. Small, but the heat it threw off scorched the air dry. The temperature in the courtyard climbed fast. The figures hiding in the shadows flinched visibly.
That was what a top-tier Awakened felt like.
Then her next words turned them cold.
"Even I can't touch this store."
She closed her hand. The flame died like it had never existed.
The courtyard went silent.
If the invisible wall had made them wary, Hong Van's confirmation crushed whatever slim hope they'd been holding onto. If even she admitted she couldn't move against this place, what did that make them—people still fighting over their next meal?
The stocky man who'd fired the shotgun buckled. His knees hit the concrete with a heavy *thud*. The homemade weapon slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. His two partners folded beside him, faces stripped of everything but despair.
Setting aside the loss of trading rights—the fact that the shopkeeper had Hong Van's respect alone was proof enough. Dealing with them would probably be easier than stepping on ants.
They were finished.
Three-Notch drew a slow breath, forced the shock back down, and rose from behind the wall. He tucked his semi-automatic behind his back and opened both hands, showing he meant no trouble.
In the other shadows, the rest of the watchers began to surface.
A tall, lean man in a black jacket stayed behind an abandoned car, one hand pressed to his chest, face drained of color.
Lucky his ability had stayed hidden.
From what he could tell, the mysterious shopkeeper hadn't noticed what he'd done. Which meant he still had trading rights.
Hong Van ignored everyone else. She reached into the leather pouch at her hip and produced several items.
Not Deadwalker Cores.
Three gold bars. Each one stamped 100 grams.
"I'm not taking noodles."
Zhang Jun raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.
"I need crackers, canned goods, and water. Portable. Long shelf life."
She'd steadied herself after that first wave of hunger. Hot instant noodles were tempting, but for a hunter who kept moving, packaged food you could eat on the go made more sense.
"Works for me."
Zhang Jun smiled.
He liked doing business with people who thought things through.
He turned to the shelves and came back quickly with a bag: dried rations, canned meat, a few bottles of water.
"Consider yourself a regular. Three gold bars for this lot—sound fair?"
Hong Van looked over the contents and nodded.
Compared to their last transaction, this was a much better deal. That time, she'd traded two hundred grams of gold for a few servings of instant noodles, cold Coke, and spicy snack sticks.
Zhang Jun thought it, and the three gold bars vanished from Hong Van's hand. He passed the bag of food across at the same moment.
The transaction completed itself in front of everyone.
Hong Van took the bag and didn't linger for a second. She turned and walked back into the dark she'd come from, gone as cleanly as she'd arrived.
She'd appeared without warning and left without ceremony—but one appearance had completely changed the shape of the courtyard.
Now every eye turned back to Zhang Jun.
Only this time, the looks held no probing calculation, no killing intent. What replaced them was naked want, and a fear that couldn't quite be hidden.
Zhang Jun leaned against the doorframe and tapped the fork lightly against the rim of the pot. *Clang. Clang.*
"All right. Intermission's over."
He looked around.
"Your turn. Rules are clear?"
"Gold or Deadwalker Cores. Trade for food."
He pointed at the three men still kneeling on the ground.
"Those three don't count."
The disqualified trio became the focus of every stare. Especially the stocky man who'd fired the shot—his face had gone the color of ash.
The smell from the pot kept rising. Every second that passed was another cut into what was left of his will.
He broke.
The man shoved the homemade shotgun aside and practically crawled to the invisible boundary.
"Shopkeeper, I was wrong! I was dead wrong!"
He was crying—snot and tears, voice wrecked, every trace of aggression gone.
"I'm blind, I deserve to die! Just give me one chance—one bite, that's all!"
"Even a sip of the broth! I'll do whatever you say after this, my life is yours!"
The two behind him dropped to their knees and started kowtowing, foreheads hitting the concrete over and over.
Sobbing filled the quiet courtyard.
The survivors watching felt nothing but cold. No one pitied them. Everyone was just quietly grateful they hadn't been the ones to move first.
Zhang Jun looked down and stirred the sliced sausage in the pot with his fork. He didn't glance at the three men once.
"I already said it."
When he finally spoke, his voice was the same as always.
"Whoever makes the first move loses their trading rights."
The stocky man went rigid. His eyes went blank—like even now he couldn't understand how he'd ended up on his knees, dignity gone, and still walked away with nothing.
Zhang Jun stopped paying attention to him. He looked up at the people still standing in the courtyard.
"Anyone else want to trade?"
Three-Notch moved first.
He didn't go near the three men still pressing their heads to the ground. He circled wide, walked slowly toward the store entrance, and stopped at a respectful distance. Then he gave Zhang Jun a genuine, deliberate bow.
"Shopkeeper. We'd like to trade."
Three-Notch didn't reach for gold. He slipped his hand into a small pouch tucked flat against his chest and carefully produced a single Deadwalker Core.
Compared to the one Hong Van had offered, this one was smaller by a full size—duller in color, the light inside barely visible. But it was a real Deadwalker Core.
Zhang Jun's brow shifted slightly.
He thought it, and the Core vanished from Three-Notch's palm and dropped into his pocket.
"People who know how to behave tend to live a little longer."
Zhang Jun rarely added anything extra. He turned to the shelves, pulled out three large enamel bowls, and ladled them full—instant noodles, sliced sausage, hot broth.
When the three steaming bowls crossed the invisible boundary and were set in front of Three-Notch, Ledger and Tin behind him both went red-eyed.
Three-Notch's hands trembled slightly. He lifted a bowl and felt the warmth seep through the ceramic—a kind of heat they hadn't touched in a long time.
"Thank you."
He bowed once more, then led the other two back behind the low wall.
They didn't tear into the food like starving animals, but the speed was still startling. Heads bent close to the bowls, they slurped noodles and broth in sounds they tried and failed to muffle. Broth ran down the corners of their mouths and no one bothered to wipe it away.
That was what still being alive tasted like.
Once someone went first, the rest couldn't hold back.
"Shopkeeper! I'll trade! Me too!"
"I've got Deadwalker Cores!"
The crowd broke into noise.
The tall, lean man in the black jacket—still pale from the recoil he'd taken—pressed a hand to his chest and stepped forward. He didn't meet Zhang Jun's eyes, just bowed his head and shakily produced two Deadwalker Cores from his pocket. One was roughly the same size as Three-Notch's; the other was smaller, barely the size of a thumbnail.
Zhang Jun accepted them without changing expression and handed over a large bowl of noodles.
The man clutched the bowl and retreated into the shadows like he was fleeing.
Once the trading started, it didn't stop. Survivors came forward one after another. Some produced gold jewelry they'd been hoarding for a long time. Others brought Deadwalker Cores in mismatched sizes.
Zhang Jun took everything.
Gold went on a small digital scale—weighed first, then matched to a corresponding amount of food. Deadwalker Cores he collected directly, grading the goods by quality. Before long, a small pile had formed at the base of the counter: rings and bands of gold mixed with over a dozen Deadwalker Cores in varying colors.
The large pot out front was visibly emptying.
The courtyard that had been one wrong move from a firefight had turned into an open-air diner in the ruins, thick with the smell of instant noodles and the sounds of hunger barely kept in check.
Only the three men still kneeling on the ground had been forgotten.
Every hot bowl that passed them swallowed another piece of their hope.
The stocky man watched the others receive their food, watched the relief spread across their faces—the look of people pulled back from the edge—and felt something inside him collapse.
*Why them?*
*Why did they get to eat?*
*Just because he'd moved first?*
Resentment and something close to madness rose in his eyes. He snapped his head up, gaze locking onto a thin survivor who'd just finished trading and was turning away with a bowl of noodles.
"If I don't get to eat, none of you do either!"
He lunged like something had broken loose in him, launching off the ground and throwing himself at the other man.
It happened too fast. The thin survivor didn't have time to react before he was shoved down, the bowl flying from his hands.
*Splash.*
Hot noodles and broth hit the ground. The smell that had just risen was swallowed by dust.
"No—my food!"
The survivor cried out—not from the fall, but from the bowl.
The stocky man didn't care. He dropped to the ground like a starving animal, scooping up noodles mixed with grit and gravel and shoving them into his mouth.
"Stop."
The shout came from Three-Notch. He set his bowl down, eyes going hard. The survivors eating nearby all stopped at once, watching the rule-breaker with cold, furious stares.
Zhang Jun stopped ladling.
He leaned against the doorframe and watched the scene in front of him without expression.
Then a streak of fire flared from a dark corner of the street.
*Fwump.*
A low, soft sound.
The stocky man on the ground, still swallowing dirty noodles, went rigid. A small flame caught on his back and spread with terrifying speed.
He didn't even manage a scream. The orange fire swallowed him whole, burned him to char, and scattered him into a handful of ash.
The two partners who'd already been frozen with fear caught the trailing sparks. In an instant, they followed him.
Start to finish: under three seconds.
Three living people had been erased from the world.
The courtyard went silent again.
Everyone turned toward the dark corner of the street. Hong Van was there—no one could say when she'd reappeared.
Stares locked up, moving between the figure burning at the edge of the dark and the three small piles of ash on the ground.
"I hate people who break the rules."
Hong Van's voice was flat. She wasn't talking to Zhang Jun—it was a final warning for everyone still breathing in the courtyard.
Zhang Jun reached into the cooler and pulled out a cold can of Coke.
He didn't open it. He just tossed it toward Hong Van.
The can traced an arc through the air and crossed the invisible boundary. Hong Van caught it on instinct. The cold hit her palm and she went still for a moment.
She looked toward Zhang Jun.
Zhang Jun said nothing. He picked up the ladle and stirred what was left in the pot, gesturing that trading could continue.
Hong Van held the cold can without opening it. She turned and leaned against the wall beside her, sharp eyes sweeping the courtyard.
This time, no one let themselves think anything extra.
Three-Notch let out a long, slow breath.
This place might actually be safer than anywhere else in the ruins—as long as you knew how to behave.
In the shadows, the tall lean man in the black jacket felt cold sweat soaking through his shirt. He'd used his Psychic Thorn to attack the shopkeeper from behind. The recoil had hit him hard, but the shopkeeper still didn't seem to have noticed.
Even so, he wasn't willing to gamble anymore.
Hong Van moved too cleanly. Her eyes were too sharp. If she picked up on anything—
He didn't let himself finish the thought. He clutched his bowl of noodles, still untouched, and quietly backed deeper into the dark.
Trading resumed in perfect order.
*Thud.*
A group of survivors dropped a heavy bag onto the ground. The mouth of it fell open, and the warm gleam of gold bars spilled out.
They'd risked their lives to pull this from an abandoned bank, working from memory—roughly three kilograms total. They weren't just trading for instant noodles; they wanted portable food and bottled water too.
Zhang Jun looked at the bag of gold in front of him, deeply satisfied.
This one transaction alone was enough to clear every debt he had—and leave a very comfortable amount left over.