The next day, Jiang Chen checked out of the Paradise Island Hotel. After bidding farewell to Zhao Chenwu, he began his journey home.
The renovation of the sewer entrance was already underway. Several armed personnel, wearing uniforms emblazoned with the Zhao Corporation logo, had taken control of the site. The constant movement of construction vehicles and the workers assembling polyethylene panels highlighted Zhao Chenwu's determination to secure this trade route.
As Jiang Chen approached, a soldier clad in full combat gear raised a hand, signaling him to stop and present his genetic ID. After verifying that Jiang Chen's ID matched the one flagged as a VIP by his superior, the soldier snapped to attention, saluted, and stepped aside to allow Jiang Chen through.
Though it was a corporate operation, the professionalism of these private soldiers rivaled that of a trained military force. This realization gave Jiang Chen a new perspective on the power dynamics of Sixth Street. While the militia ostensibly maintained security, the true strength lay in the private armies of the wealthy industrialists. The militia seemed more akin to a police force than a genuine military.
If these soldiers had faced the flesh titan from before, Jiang Chen mused, they likely wouldn't have struggled as the militia did.
Inside the sewer, the renovations had yet to begin. When Jiang Chen dropped onto the moss-covered concrete, the darkness was almost absolute. Activating his tactical flashlight and referencing the holographic map on his computer, he confirmed his route and began the journey home.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
Since being brought into the isolation chamber by the militia, everyone had been gripped by a foreboding sense of doom. Their fears were confirmed when they were all diagnosed with the X1 strain of influenza. Soon after, individuals in lab coats, assisted by genetically enhanced soldiers, restrained them on fixed beds. When they regained consciousness, a dull ache radiated from the back of their necks.
"You've been injected with a slave chip. I don't think I need to explain further. Soon, you'll be taken to your new master. You... swine."
Cheng Weiguo would never forget the cold, disdainful eyes of the man who delivered this news. To Sixth Street, the unemployed were indeed little more than swine wasting precious resources.
This was a conspiracy.
But no one resisted.
They were no longer the naïve newcomers who had first arrived at the survivor base. Since accepting the so-called welfare benefits, freedom had become an alien concept. Without work, the single daily ration of nutrient solution barely kept them alive—though some still perished from starvation.
Now, they huddled together in a circle, surrounded by six black-clad soldiers. Some speculated that Zhao Corporation had purchased them, but the pile of supplies stacked nearby suggested they were merely commodities, sold from one owner to another.
"Did they do anything to you?" Cheng Weiguo anxiously grasped his wife's hand.
"No, I passed out after they injected me with a sedative. When I woke up, I felt the same ache in my neck as you," Zhou Jiexin replied softly, squeezing his hand to reassure him.
"Get your cuddling in while you can," a middle-aged man nearby sneered. "Who knows where they'll ship us off to—men for labor, women for... heh."
"You better shut your damn mouth!" Cheng Weiguo glared at him, enraged, as his wife's hand trembled in his grasp.
"What? Want to fight me?" The man yawned, pointing at the back of his own neck. "Go ahead. I won't fight back. Let's see who dies first—you or me."
Slaves were private property. If slaves fought among themselves, the punishment was typically a public execution for both parties.
The guards noticed the tension and subtly trained their weapons in their direction. These slaves were valuable to their employer; any mishap would result in punishment for the guards.
Clenching his fists, Cheng Weiguo forced himself to back down. The other slaves, seeing no further conflict, quickly lost interest.
Suddenly, the guards moved. Six of them stood in formation, saluted a young man who had just arrived, and then climbed onto a transport vehicle, leaving the scene.
What does it feel like to have thirty pairs of eyes fixed on you?
For Jiang Chen, it felt like nothing at all—especially when he knew he held their lives in his hands. This detachment was almost unnerving.
Shaking off the strange feeling, Jiang Chen exhaled deeply. He had no desire to become a cold-blooded politician. He just wanted to be a rich man indulging in life's pleasures.
It was a vulgar dream, but an undeniably satisfying one.
However, in this lawless land, wealth without power was meaningless. Without strength, a "rich man" was just a fat sheep waiting to be slaughtered by groups like the Gray Ant Mercenaries.
Force and intimidation were non-negotiable. Jiang Chen still had much to adapt to.
Steeling himself, he scanned the huddled, fearful figures before him and took a deep breath.
"All right, everyone, look here. I'm your new master," Jiang Chen announced, clapping his hands to draw their attention.
His voice echoed eerily in the dim sewer.
"I know you have questions—like whether you'll be sent somewhere as cannon fodder or used as bait. Lucky for you, I can guarantee that won't happen!"
The palpable tension in the room eased. Jiang Chen's EP displayed a drop in the heart rate indicators of all thirty individuals.
Smiling faintly, he continued, "You're fortunate because I'm your master. Soon, you'll see what that means. Work for me, and you won't go hungry. I'll even ensure you live a life you never dared to dream of. But..."
He slowed his speech, lowering his voice to add an icy undertone.
"I'm a tolerant and merciful man. But betrayal? That's where I draw the line. You should know what the chip in your neck is capable of. To me, you have no privacy. For traitors, there's only one punishment: death. That's all."
The sound of Jiang Chen's voice echoed sharply in the oppressive silence of the sewer, the weight of his words pressing down on the thirty pairs of frightened and uncertain eyes staring back at him. The air felt heavy, their shallow breaths barely audible.
Fear? Suspicion? Perfect—that was exactly the reaction he wanted.
Jiang Chen knew that after the metaphorical "stick," it was time for the "carrot." He was confident that as soon as these people tasted their first bowl of hot porridge, topped with bits of vegetables, in what must have been years, their fear and doubt would dissolve into gratitude. Soon enough, they'd be treating him like a god.
"What are you all waiting for? Get those supplies loaded and let's head home!" Jiang Chen commanded with a sweeping gesture. Slowly, the group began to rise, their movements stiff and hesitant, as they picked up the nearest cargo.
Leading the way, Jiang Chen climbed up to the sewer's exit and secured a rope ladder he'd prepared earlier. Below, the refugees worked to tie the cargo onto the rope, hauling everything up one by one. The dismantled machine tools were boxed up neatly, ready to be transported to the villa for reassembly.
Carefully navigating the wreckage-strewn streets and avoiding the lifeless stares of the zombies, Jiang Chen finally caught sight of his villa—or rather, his fortress.
Pressing the doorbell, he didn't have to wait long before a warm, familiar figure threw herself into his arms, her hands wrapping around his neck.
"Did you behave yourself while you were out?" Sun Jiao teased, her cat-like eyes narrowing playfully as she looked him up and down.
"Shouldn't your first words be, 'I missed you'?" Jiang Chen replied with a wry smile, patting her back. This girl was getting bolder, transitioning from her wild, combative personality to a mischievous but affectionate partner.
"You haven't answered my question," Sun Jiao pressed, drawing lazy circles on his back with her finger.
"I swear on my life, I was an absolute gentleman!" Jiang Chen quickly raised his index finger in a mock solemn oath, though inwardly he added a quiet disclaimer: Robots don't count as people.
Despite her keen intuition, Sun Jiao found no incriminating traces on him. Deciding not to push the issue further, she smiled and moved on. After another kiss, she turned to the group of refugees, who had been awkwardly standing aside with their loads, and began directing them to bring the supplies inside.
The rest of the day was spent planning their accommodation.
Jiang Chen designated the front lawn of the villa's main building as a campsite for the refugees. Temporary tents, compact two-person setups included in the supplies from his earlier trade with Zhao Chenwu, were pitched across the lawn. Though cramped, they were still far better than sleeping outside the villa's fortified walls.
As for the main villa itself, Jiang Chen had no intention of letting these strangers inside. No matter how powerless or law-abiding they seemed, Jiang Chen wouldn't let his guard down until their loyalty and sense of belonging were firmly established. Until then, they would remain outsiders.
Following Jiang Chen's instructions, Yao Yao cheerfully set to work preparing a meal. She filled a large pot with water and added a generous scoop of rice, followed by chopped greens, minced pork, and a couple of spoonfuls of salt and MSG. After lighting the gas stove, she stirred the mixture diligently with a long wooden spoon before covering the pot with its heavy lid.
The scent of the simmering congee soon filled the air.
Yao Yao adjusted the flame carefully, her small nose twitching at the aroma, and stood by patiently as the pot cooked. Though she didn't fully understand why Jiang Chen was being so generous to these newly acquired slaves, she trusted his decisions unconditionally.
Besides, Jiang Chen's gentle and thoughtful demeanor only made him more charming in her eyes.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, perhaps from the heat of the stove—or perhaps from something else entirely.
Unbeknownst to her, Yao Yao was at the age where her thoughts began to wander in ways they never had before.