The only choice remaining was between continuing her covert infiltration or leaving by force.
The 19th floor was filled with entertainment facilities for both adults and children: claw machines, whack-a-mole, kiddie rides, slot car racing… There were also dozens of large power generators in operation. The smell of cigarette smoke floating in the air was pungent.
Disgust clouded Shen Ruoran’s features. With every step, she seemed to tread on several discarded cigarette butts. This floor was distinctly different from the 13th and 14th floors. On the lower levels, the load-bearing walls had mostly been knocked through to create vast, open spaces. Here, however, the layout from before the apocalypse remained intact, with several storefronts converted into KTV rooms or private mahjong parlors.
“One Bamboo!”
“Hu! Eight hundred points! Give me the chips, quickly. I’ve earned quite a bit of grain again, hahahahaha!”
“Dammit! To hell with it! Hu Yitong, your father really gave you a ‘good’ name!”
The men’s coarse, loud voices were crystal clear to Shen Ruoran even without her getting closer. How ironic, she thought. Those on the lower floors lay on hard ground, forcing themselves to sleep, humble as beggars and starving for three meals a day, all while constantly exposed to the risk of drowning. Meanwhile, those on the high floors lived in luxury and debauchery, enjoying themselves even more than they had before the apocalypse.
In a shop about twenty meters diagonally across from the mahjong room, which had been converted into a KTV, light spilled from the window, casting silhouettes of men and women embracing. Shen Ruoran’s lips twitched. These people certainly knew how to enjoy themselves.
She took out the Inter-medium Displacement Device (Tile) again and teleported to the 20th floor. She didn’t stay on the 19th floor for long. For one thing, it was impossible for the thugs to keep a miraculous device like the inversion equipment here. Secondly, if her target, Lai Yecheng, was on the 19th floor indulging in such a decadent lifestyle, then her building was destined to have no place for him.
Of all the levels Shen Ruoran had visited, the 20th floor was the most crowded. The load-bearing walls removed from the lower floors had been brought here and rebuilt into rows of small bedrooms. Signs hung outside each room, listing strings of names.
As she shone her miniature flashlight over them one by one, Shen Ruoran felt a surge of disdain for the handwriting. The messy, wild cursive was difficult to decipher, likely written by a thug who lacked a proper education.
“What a terrible, damp smell,” Shen Ruoran whispered in disgust. She took off her ghost mask, put on a face mask, and then placed the ghost mask back over it. It was simply too foul.
Complaining internally, she carefully guided her flashlight. When she reached the innermost room, she saw a cluster of curved lines that looked like worms crawling. Shen Ruoran stood there studying it for a moment, sensing intuitively that one character looked like “Ye” (业). The surrounding characters seemed to piece together into something like “Shu,” “Qian,” “Ye,” and “Wu.”
It couldn’t be such a coincidence. With one character out of three matching, there was a high probability that this was the person she was looking for. Shen Ruoran pressed her ear to the door but heard no sound. According to the sign, which featured twenty-three characters in total, she estimated that at least eight people lived in this room. It was impossible for there to be no sound of breathing; even if they were asleep, at least one of the eight would be snoring.
In her past transmigration missions, Shen Ruoran had relied on her intuition to survive countless times. She trusted her sixth sense implicitly, and this time was no different. She quietly pushed the door open.
The 20th floor had many rooms, and while it looked like a better living environment than the 14th floor, it was effectively no different from a prison. The doors were closed but not locked; they opened with a firm push. In a space of only 20 square meters, eight or nine people were squeezed together. The air was foul and stagnant. A thick, revolting stench pervaded the cramped dormitory—a mixture of sweat, stinky feet, moldy walls, and dampness that made her want to gag.
Shen Ruoran clamped her hand over the mouth of her mask, crouching low as she quickly fled the room. She felt a surge of intense anger toward the person who designed this housing layout. If she ever met them, she would surely give them a beating they would never forget.
She wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but ever since she opened that door, the stench seemed to follow her wherever she went on the 20th floor. Unable to bear the nauseating odor any longer, she used the device to move up another level.
The rooms on the 21st floor were relatively spacious, though “spacious” was a relative term; each room still held five or six people. Shen Ruoran glanced at the 21st floor and then moved to the 22nd floor. This floor was much more luxurious, furnished with various pieces of furniture, while a large generator continuously stored energy.
In the main hall, a strikingly beautiful girl serving drinks knelt respectfully on the floor, her submissive posture enough to evoke pity. Her cheongsam was heavily wrinkled and the collar was disheveled, as if she had been forced into the garment.
A pot-bellied fat man and several thugs with bleached yellow and green hair and tattooed arms leaned lazily against the sofa, their smiles lewd. One of them vulgarly lifted the woman’s chin, his eyes signaling her to strip.
“Perform a spicy dance for us brothers.”
This time, Shen Ruoran had been deposited behind the sofa, in a dark corner where the light couldn’t reach. After several uses, she had figured out the hidden function of the Inter-medium Displacement Device. If no one was present, it moved along the same longitude; however, if people were present, it would automatically shift to the nearest unoccupied area.
In a world where social order had collapsed, human vices inevitably flourished. Even though it was late at night, the area was brightly lit, and the generator hummed loudly, its body growing hot. The electricity would eventually be squandered by these pleasure-seekers.
The yellow-haired man could no longer control himself and forced the drink girl closer. He loved seeing a woman’s resistance and helplessness; the more she struggled, the more excited he became. Shen Ruoran turned her head away, clenching her fists and taking a deep breath, reminding herself to focus on the bigger picture.
“Ah! No! You bastard, you animal, don’t touch me!”
A loud slap landed on the girl’s face, leaving a distinct red mark. “You bitch, if you don’t submit to me, I’ll find someone to take turns with your son.”
The girl’s eyes turned from fear to rage and shock as she began to curse desperately, “You monsters! You’re crazy, all of you! He’s only a five-year-old boy!”
The fat man’s movements as he unbuckled his belt were filled with provocation.
“Hu Zi, the Boss wants you all on the 27th floor.”
The “good time” about to be had was interrupted by a subordinate. Hu Zi—the yellow-haired man—glared dissatisfiedly at the lackey who had rushed down. He kicked the subordinate hard in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.
“Hiss… Hu Zi, have mercy! The Boss says this is urgent; he needs you up there right now.”
Hu Zi spat impatiently, “What could be so important? Isn’t the Boss usually lying in a den of women at this hour? I was waiting to taste the Boss’s leftovers in an hour.”
The messenger clutched his aching chest and gave a sheepish smile. “It seems that the farmer actually managed to grow something. The Boss has summoned all of you.”
A look of joy crossed the yellow-haired man’s face. He shoved the girl off him, pulled up his pants, and strode toward the stairwell.