85: Chapter 85 Rules of the Extreme Cold Train

"Please, this way."

Lin Muran smiled and made an inviting gesture, his movements perfectly measured, as if he were truly a diligent and well-mannered host.

He led Chu Yunting and Ye Nanxing through the core control corridor, stepping into the sunken passage leading to the Verta District.

"Very few people are allowed in this area."

Lin Muran said casually, his tone unhurried.

"But as for Yunting... after all, you are an old friend of ours."

He turned back and smiled, his tone half-genuine and half-feigned.

"I'm also curious about what you've actually seen out there during this time."

Chu Yunting glanced at him, the corners of his lips hooking up slightly, but he did not respond.

Ye Nanxing followed silently behind, her expression devoid of ripples, her pace steady, her breathing even, as if she were merely an indifferent companion.

But her peripheral vision was constantly scanning.

On the walls, those black dots that appeared to be decorations flickered with a hint of red light in the gaps between shifting light—the frequency was extremely slight, almost imperceptible, yet it had a distinct rhythm.

It was not lighting, nor was it ordinary surveillance.

It was a scanner.

And one that was a dual array of high-frequency infrared and micro-vibration sensors.

She recognized it.

This was a military-grade detection system, specifically designed to track special individuals: Awakeners, spatial ability users, nuclear radiation variants, and—experimental subjects.

It did not target ordinary people.

It was locking onto her.

Ye Nanxing’s eyes remained calm, her pace still fluid, but her heart quietly sank a fraction.

Had she been discovered?

Not sure. But something had definitely been exposed.

She did not remember releasing a spatial field, and even if there had been a weak reaction, it should have been suppressed within a reasonable range. Yet, the equipment inside Zero Point... clearly did not rely on "reasonable" judgment.

She secretly clenched her palm, her thumb pressing against the pad of her index finger—a small habit she had long maintained to keep her "emotions locked" while on alert.

Calm down.

This was someone else’s territory; the internal structure was unknown, the personnel’s armaments were unknown, and the system control rate was over 90%. Given her current abilities and the resources she carried, any rash move now would be tantamount to suicide.

"It is not yet time to act."

She reined in her thoughts, lowered her eyes, and silently followed the two men ahead.

Lin Muran maintained a polite and appropriate smile throughout, but Ye Nanxing could feel it—his gaze landed on her more than once, staying on her even longer than it did on Chu Yunting.

That kind of gaze was not "admiration," nor was it "curiosity."

It was assessment, it was screening, it was a precise calculation before logging in the chips.

"Interesting."

Lin Muran suddenly turned back and smiled at her.

"You don't look like someone who could just casually sneak into this passage."

"The temperament is different."

"Is that so?"

Ye Nanxing’s voice was calm; she did not answer the question, merely responding to the statement.

She neither denied it nor admitted it.

She said nothing at all.

Because the more one says, the more one reveals.

She was not sure now if the choice to come here was right or wrong, but one thing was certain: she had to keep going.

She just needed to follow along, watch how big a show they were going to put on—and then, wait for an opportunity to act.

The elevator descended smoothly.

The light lines reflecting on the metal walls flowed slowly and precisely, as if even time had become orderly and obedient within this underground fortress.

Ye Nanxing stood at the back of the elevator, her hands hanging naturally at her sides, her body slightly tilted; she appeared relaxed, but in reality, her entire perception was maintained in a state of high alert.

She could feel it—the descent was going down more than one floor.

"Target floor: Verta District, Reception Level."

A mechanical female voice sounded gently, like an overly refined hostess.

But the next second, the elevator did not stop directly; instead, it paused briefly in a gray section where the floor number was obscured.

The doors opened slowly.

It was the logistics level.

What appeared in her field of vision was not the glamorous banquet hall, the aroma of coffee, or the elegantly dressed men and women of the front hall, but an entire expanse of gray assembly line workspace.

The temperature plummeted, and the air was filled with a pungent metallic stench, as well as the unique sour, rotten smell of sweat mixed with freezing machine oil.

Mechanical arms swung at high speeds, conveyor tracks ran incessantly, and workers swarmed through the space, wearing uniform coarse cloth work clothes, their movements stiff and their rhythms identical, looking exactly like bionic robots with programs forcibly injected into their bodies.

Ye Nanxing stood inside the elevator door, her gaze scanning every spot sharply.

She saw a worker stumble, his shoulder gashed by the edge of a conveyor track, blood seeping out, but he did not cry out, nor did he stop; he simply continued to push the cargo forward.

If he were to stop, he would be identified by the system behind him as a "lag factor."

Further ahead, she saw—

A boy of about eight or nine years old struggling to carry a box of frozen goods.

He was too small, unable to lift it, his eyes full of struggle.

His shoes were torn, his toes frozen purple on the cold floor.

"Hurry up."

A voice urged him, but it was not human; it was the system voice.

The next moment, the boy slipped, fell hard to the ground, the packing box rolled away, and he lunged to pick it up.

A red light lit up, and a piercing, buzzing warning sound rang out.

The system determined—low efficiency.

A mechanical arm extended within half a second, lifted the boy directly from the ground, and tossed him into an "efficiency recovery chamber" to the side.

He did not even have a chance to scream; the moment the chamber door closed, only a bit of his shoelace remained exposed, and in the next second, that too was dragged away by an internal device, returning to darkness.

"Efficiency restored."

The system prompt broadcasted indifferently.

Everything returned to silence.

"If efficiency is the primary directive, then why use humans here?"

She spoke suddenly, her tone so flat it was almost devoid of emotion, yet it cut into this dead-silent space like a blade.

Lin Muran heard her voice and smiled, as if he had long anticipated this sentence.

"Good question."

He said.

"The answer is actually quite simple—machines cannot 'bear the cost'."

He raised his finger and pointed at the workers:

"Maintenance robots require expensive parts, stable energy, and high-strength lubrication systems, and they lack 'flexibility.' Once the program fails, they shut down entirely."

"But humans are different—they can be frozen, hungry, injured, and burdened, yet they won't report errors."

"More importantly—they can be 'infinitely replaced'."

"And there is almost no cost involved."

Lin Muran’s tone was calm, as if he were explaining the most ordinary production model.

"This batch of workers were never 'residents' to begin with; they are 'labor units' automatically converted after signing 'labor protection agreements' during the evacuation phase. The system only provides basic caloric intake; everything else... is up to them to manage."

"You can't stand it?"

He turned back and looked at Ye Nanxing, his gaze carrying a kind of almost teasing gentleness: "That is because you still have a choice."

"But here—those who have no choice are left with nothing but their utility value."