64. The Demolitionist of the Underground District

The "Underground District" was originally built as a subterranean shelter during the nuclear war by Night Pivot City, connected through a network of sewers and covering nearly half of the city’s underground area.

After the war ended, these shelters were not abandoned but instead found a new lease on life: the homeless made them their refuge, shady dealers turned them into shops for illegal trades, and criminals and gangs used them as breeding grounds. Because of this, the enforcers of Night Pivot City were forced to treat the Underground District as part of their jurisdiction, though they had no real intention of managing it.

The two entered the district through a hidden door in a bar and simultaneously wrinkled their noses. Rather than a district, it felt like a series of caves linked by iron tunnels. The walls all around were supported by rusted metal sheets, and the feeble glow from aging lamps barely illuminated the surroundings. An indescribable moldy stench, mingled with an odd tobacco smell, assaulted their nostrils, forcing them to don masks.

The damp passageways, barely wide enough for three or four people, teemed with ragged vagrants and menacing thugs. Sensing the two unfamiliar faces, the district’s natives began to eye them like predators sizing up prey.

Fortunately, the two seemed no easy targets; after glaring at them for a moment, the local hoodlums turned away with sullen expressions.

They stopped before a battered iron door. The middle-aged man asked, “Is the person you’re looking for in here?”

“Yes, let me get in touch with her.” Chen Shang pulled out his phone and tapped open a yellow app named “Sour Fish.”

“Wait—who exactly are you looking for?” the man asked, baffled. “Isn’t that just a second-hand trading app?”

“Sour Fish” was the hottest second-hand trading platform in Night Pivot City, known as the virtual flea market. Its greatest advantage was its utter lack of barriers; anyone could sell their used items without a business license.

The app’s main interface was tinged yellow, its home page cluttered with a dazzling array of goods, mostly from individual sellers.

Most items were decent used furniture or weapons, but there were also bizarre listings like “used X protection,” “second-hand toilet paper,” and some even used it as a casual hookup platform.

Yet most users didn’t realize that, through special channels, one could unlock a “Private VIP” membership, which added a “Late Night Community” button to the main interface.

Checking this button turned the whole page black, and its content changed dramatically.

On the surface, “Sour Fish” was a legitimate online company running a second-hand marketplace, but beneath that facade, it operated the city’s largest mercenary platform. Users could negotiate and commission assassins or mercenary organizations, all officially certified and legally registered.

The platform operated under a strict membership review system: registration required an invitation and multiple verifications. The aim wasn’t so much to keep out the police; after all, the police were nothing more than the lapdogs of the Oligarchs’ Union, who themselves used the platform.

The real purpose was to prevent reckless thrill-seekers or clueless children from entering and disrupting the business of life and death with actions like extreme haggling, frequent cancellations, malicious reviews, online hookups, or baseless complaints.

Therefore, just a few days prior, Chen Shang had sought out a priest in White Chapel District to purchase a Private VIP account.

He tapped into the “Late Night Community” homepage, and the screen was instantly flooded with ads for mercenaries and assassins. Flashy titles paired with striking rectangular posters dazzled the eye.

“Most Beautiful Girl Assassin Online!” “Fifteen-Year-Old Soft Boy Ready to Become a Demon for You!” “Twenty-Four Years As a Killer, Searching for My Inner Masculinity!”—absurd, cringe-worthy headlines abounded.

Despite their efforts, the click-through rates weren’t high; most ads barely broke triple digits.

The assassin and mercenary business in Night Pivot City was bleak—there were simply too many skilled desperados. It was much like how university graduates in Chen Shang’s previous life had become worthless weeds.

Ignoring the enticing ads, Chen Shang typed a name into the search bar: “Demolitionist.”

The page popped up with this mercenary’s profile. Front and center was a photo of a woman with short white hair.

In the picture, the young woman wore a sleek black full-body catsuit, her head clad in a gas mask, every inch of skin covered.

Notably, atop her white head were a pair of furry fox ears—a clear sign of radiation mutation, and rather charming as mutations went.

Yet, beneath her cute and mysterious exterior, the two lines of gold official certification were unsettling:

“Demolitionist ‘White Fox,’ registered for three years, 100% mission completion rate, ranked 18th in assassin strength, 78th in assassin idol rankings.

Warning: This individual has caused several indiscriminate explosions during missions, killing at least a hundred victims unrelated to the target. The platform has issued multiple warnings; please choose carefully.”

Assassins were supposed to kill with precision; harming anyone other than the target was considered a grave professional taboo. This “Demolitionist” was less a killer and more an explosion-crazed murderer with the title of assassin.

Chen Shang ignored the warning and opened a private chat with her:

“Are you there?”

Ten seconds later, she replied: “What do you want to hire me for?”

Chen Shang thought for a moment and typed, “I’m right outside your door. Want to talk face-to-face?”

“...” She replied with three ellipses.

Soon after, a new message arrived: “Who are you?”

“I’m your client,” Chen Shang answered, still enigmatic.

She didn’t respond further, apparently at a loss for words.

But not long after, the iron door before them slowly opened.

“This…” The old hunter beside Chen Shang was uneasy.

“It’s fine, let’s go in.” Chen Shang led the way, pushing the door open.

Behind it lay a small abandoned underground factory. Rusted machinery groaned, mountains of shipping containers threatened to collapse, and a sharp dust smell filled the air.

“White Fox, are you here?” Chen Shang called out loudly. “I’d like to talk.”

As he spoke, he quietly drew a crowbar from his backpack.

In the next instant, a shadowy figure dropped from above and rushed toward Chen Shang like a cloud of mist.

His [Danger Sense] triggered immediately, slowing time around him to near stillness.

He saw his assailant clearly—a woman identical to the phone photo, clad head-to-toe in black leather with white hair.

Her gas mask and signature fox ears left no doubt—she was the White Fox he sought.

But now was not the time to be distracted. The activation of his Danger Sense meant she intended to kill him with this attack.

Without hesitation, Chen Shang swung the crowbar at her head.

Time resumed.

The crowbar struck hard against her gas mask, but a powerful shock reverberated through Chen Shang’s wrist, nearly dislocating it.

After a brief exchange, they both retreated a few steps, eyeing each other warily.

Chen Shang’s heavy blow seemed to have done nothing to White Fox; instead, his own palm had split open.

The old hunter, seeing this, drew a forearm-length dagger from his boot, his eyes flashing with murderous intent.

“Wait a moment, everyone.” Seeing the fight about to erupt, Chen Shang shook his aching hand and spoke:

“I’m here to discuss a commission. Before we continue fighting, why don’t we talk first?”