“I don’t carry passengers.”

It sounded like a bad joke, but Shen Cong meant it completely. Great Vajra’s volume could carry hundreds of tons of cargo. There was space inside for gardens, ant colonies, beehives. Just not people.

The cab door had been sprayed in red paint, deliberately: MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY: 1.

He didn’t feel like explaining why. His vehicle, his rules, no negotiation.

Zhao Zilong asked anyway. “Why?”

He answered something entirely different. “The jin-crystals on the bodies are yours. Consider it part of the transaction.”

Jin-crystals were a strange product of the post-apocalyptic landscape — glass-like crystalline formations harvested from nuclear detonation sites, brought out by death-eaters who had risked radiation exposure at ground zero. The precise mechanism was unclear, but the result was a subtle one: worn on the body, jin-crystals mildly suppressed Activity dissipation. For individuals dependent on C1 Mutagen, whose Activity was in constant danger of draining away, this was enormously valuable.

So they functioned as currency.

He’d collected roughly thirty from the rat-catching unit he’d killed earlier. Useless to him.

Before the death-eaters had closed in and forced his hand, he’d actually been considering trading the crystals. Death-eaters were morally indefensible, but they hadn’t been his direct problem, and he wasn’t in the business of playing hero. He’d even started to think killing the rat-catching unit had been an error.

Then the whistle had blown. And here they were.

Since the death-eaters had chosen to make themselves his problem, trading was off the table. Direct action was the appropriate response.

The death-eater stronghold in Yizheng was still a different matter. The Beech weapons, the thousand-plus ordinary people, several hundred death-eaters — he couldn’t take that on yet. He needed to be stronger first. With his Talent ceiling, each evolutionary stage produced gains that dwarfed what ordinary jin people or iron people could achieve. The time would come.

Until then: accumulate. Prepare. Return.

He intended to recover everything lost from the death-eaters personally — and eliminate the Black Blood Group, Lost Paradise, and New Hope Laboratory, all three organizations that had participated in the ambush. The four special compounds — C1, the hypervisor agent, the divine drug, the stimulant — he wanted those too.

“I’ll leave the crystals,” Zhao Zilong said, pulling the conversation back. “But I need to reach the Eastern Theater Command.”

He found her persistence mildly irritating, though he kept that to himself. “Two options. First: I carry your message to the Command, or you record a video and I deliver it. Second: find somewhere to wait quietly for news that the death-eaters have been dealt with.”

Lu Hang stepped in. “Colonel Chen — you’re military. Do you have to be this absolute? Zilong just wants a ride. You’re clearly capable of handling anything that comes up. You’re really this cautious about one woman?”

The conversation had hit a wall.

Shen Cong looked at them for a moment, decided there was no productive direction in this exchange, and adjusted his position.

“My vehicle carries no passengers. That’s non-negotiable. But there’s a compromise available: you drive your own vehicles. I provide necessary protection en route.”

The same arrangement he’d used at New Hefei — escorting a convoy, riding alongside. He would never bring anyone aboard Great Vajra. If someone was inside, they were either a hostage or a prisoner, and they’d be restrained. Providing protection from outside the vehicle was a different matter — he could do that without concern, and it removed the threat of anyone being in a position to threaten the vehicle itself.

He’d already decided to route north through Chuzhou — straight through the worst ratman territory. Without vehicle protection, that route was impassable. The arrangement made practical sense for both parties.

After a brief discussion, Zhao Zilong’s group agreed.

Whatever connection existed between her and Home of the Fearless was apparently substantial enough that Lu Hang confirmed he could arrange a borrowed iron person and vehicle from the organization to escort her north.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Shen Cong said, checking his mechanical watch. “Six hours. Drive here and meet me. Can you manage? Yangzhou is a long way — I won’t wait past the deadline. The death-eaters could regroup at any time, and I need to move through the ratman territory carefully.”

Zhao Zilong nodded. “We can do it. When word came last night that an Eastern Theater Command iron person had arrived, I’d already brought people to make contact. Home of the Fearless had been preparing a migration anyway — we’ve been trying to relocate to Jiangning District for a while. Better conditions for growing potatoes.”

Lu Hang added: “Colonel Chen, take the time to rest at Qiaoling Town. I’ll cross the river immediately, find Old Wei — he’s been demanding to go back to the Command for months. On the way back, we’ll blow the cross-river tunnels between Yizheng and Yangzhou. Cut the death-eaters off north of the river.”

“Bring potatoes,” Shen Cong said. “And whatever other Activity fruit you have. I’ll pay thirty crystals.”

The crystals went across. Lu Hang took them and left with his people.

Shen Cong did not go to Qiaoling Town. He drove to the expressway stretch near Longfu Mountain Tea Farm and parked — positioned for immediate departure if needed. Zhao Zilong’s remaining people followed and settled nearby.

December 13th. Twentieth day of the eleventh lunar month. Early winter.

The abandoned landscape of Pukou District looked even more desolate in the season. The Laoshan Forest Farm trees were visible at a distance, leaves falling. Even evolved trees — the greening trees, in local terminology — couldn’t fully resist the seasons. Winter came, and they diminished, pulling their vitality down into the root system to wait.

He produced the welding equipment and spare steel stock, and began guiding Great Vajra through its own repairs. The photovoltaic panels were beyond field recovery — seven gone, and replacements didn’t exist. But the bumper system could be rebuilt. The High-Voltage Perimeter Grid was a critical weapon for ratman territory, and it needed to be functional.

Seven panels lost was a real cost. Not catastrophic — the Wings of Light remained intact and operational. Extended in the current sunlight, they were pulling in charge steadily. The storage level was recovering. The fractured bumper sections were being realloyed and extended back into position, gaps closing and solidifying.

In the sunlight, Great Vajra shone.

Several of the Home of the Fearless death-eaters had gathered nearby, talking quietly among themselves. Shen Cong wasn’t listening deliberately, but his hearing had long since stopped requiring effort. He caught fragments: impressive vehicle, what a presence, strong but doesn’t feel like a good person, wonder which provincial district he’s actually from, hope Zilong gets good news at the Command, worried about Black Blood Group retaliation.

After a while, Zhao Zilong drifted over.

“Colonel Chen. Could we talk?”

He didn’t answer. Continued working.

“Which provincial military district are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?” Her voice was clear and unhurried, entirely unaffected by his silence.

When he ignored her voice long enough, it was almost possible to forget she was a woman. Almost.

“Somewhere else,” he said eventually.

“Anhui Provincial District, I’d guess. Nanjing is close to Anhui. People in Jiangsu used to joke that Nanjing was really Anhui’s provincial capital.”

He gave nothing. Guessing Anhui was reasonable enough — many Anhui residents, especially from Wuhu and Maanshan, came to Nanjing for work rather than Hefei. The inference was logical.

“What about you,” he said. “Zhao Yang of New Hope Laboratory’s daughter. How did you end up with Home of the Fearless?”

(End of Chapter 235)