4: Past bad habits (Please read on and bookmark this page)

Jiang Feng threw off the blanket, got out of bed, and slipped on his slippers.

He walked to the window, pulled back the heavy curtains, and looked out at the layered slum buildings. They clung to the surfaces of towering skyscrapers like rusted metal honeycombs.

Most of these skyscrapers were mottled, their exteriors scarred by the passage of time. Broken panes in the glass curtain walls were patched with temporary blue waterproof plastic sheets, as if the city's heart had long since failed, leaving only an empty shell clinging to life.

In the distance, the holographic logos of megacorporations hovered kilometers high, their projected ads as bright as the sky.

Farther out, a colony starship was piercing the stratosphere, its exhaust trail carving a faint purple arc through the morning haze.

Fragmented memories surfaced in Jiang Feng's mind—of regular flights bound for Proxima Centauri. A ticket cost as much as ten years' rent in the slums. His father always said the new colonies needed terraforming workers.

But everyone knew those jobs were already monopolized by robots and clones.

The streets were sparsely populated. Old hovercars, plastered with 'Goods Delivery' logos, flew recklessly close to the ground. Several Public Security Bureau-marked hovercars idled in a corner. The moment they spotted a speeder, they charged after it like provoked bulls.

Jiang Feng thought of that delivery rider again...

Boom...

A tremendous crash echoed through the sky. The small delivery van was rammed by a Public Security Bureau vehicle, sent flying, and smashed into a roadside store.

A chubby, big-headed officer put down his cream-filled donut, drew his pistol, and roared, ordering the driver to step out for inspection.

Jiang Feng saw it clearly. The cockpit was completely deformed. A shattered billboard had pierced the windshield, cleaving the driver in two.

"This isn't the world I know," Jiang Feng murmured to himself.

This world was too dangerous. A sense of dissonance washed over Jiang Feng—a rift in his identity growing ever more pronounced.

He couldn't bear to watch any longer. Turning, he headed for the bathroom. Pushing open the wooden door, he faced the mirror. The reflection was both familiar and strange: his skin was darker, heavy dark circles hung under his eyes, and a titanium alloy ring adorned his ring finger.

Jiang Feng took a deep breath, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. It cleared his head a little.

'If I can't find the money...' A thought, icy cold, flashed through his mind.

Just then, a series of knocks sounded at the door.

Jiang Feng started. Immediately, he felt it—that thing that made his blood race, that felt like an extension of his own body.

It was right outside the door!

"Who is it?"

From under the covers, Lin Xiaoyu rubbed her eyes and propped herself up on an elbow. The blanket slipped down. Jiang Feng glanced over, and his foul mood suddenly lifted, turning from overcast to clear. The muscles already thrumming with adrenaline now felt positively on fire.

"I'll handle it. Don't come out," Jiang Feng instructed. Still half-asleep, Lin Xiaoyu nodded obediently in understanding.

Throwing on a shirt and closing the bedroom door, Jiang Feng walked to the front door.

The smart lock's screen showed a scruffy, bearded face. Several boxes were piled at his feet.

Jiang Feng recognized him—Old Wang from the assembly line, his former subordinate. It seemed he was here to return personal belongings. Those boxes likely contained all the odds and ends from Jiang Feng's years at the factory.

Knock, knock, knock. The rapping grew more urgent.

"Coming!" Jiang Feng called out. The noise outside immediately stopped.

The moment he opened the door, a wave of cool air rushed in, followed by a torrent of complaints.

"Old Jiang! Our whole assembly line crew is finished... I heard the factory's restructuring. They're handing mineral crushing over to robot laborers. And they're answering the call, investing tens of billions to automate the whole plant."

Old Wang moved the boxes inside, his voice bordering on a wail.

Jiang Feng's face remained impassive. He was already unemployed; how could he spare concern for others? Besides, the one close to Old Wang was the original Jiang Feng, not him.

His eyes were locked on a black box at his feet. It looked like it was made of engineering plastic, with a faded galaxy spiral sticker on both sides. The sticker was worn, but the stars on it still gleamed.

Most importantly, in the memories he had absorbed, this box did not exist!

At that moment, he almost wanted to shove Old Wang out immediately to examine it.

Old Wang noticed Jiang Feng's gaze and looked at the box, puzzled. "Old Jiang, when did you get this box? It's heavy as hell. Did you fill it with lead blocks or something?"

Jiang Feng's eyes darted. Remembering the gruesome accident he'd just witnessed outside, he quickly devised a response.

He laughed. "This box? An old companion. Been with me for years. It's got ballistic steel plates inside. You know how it is..."

Old Wang's face lit with understanding. He gave Jiang Feng a thumbs-up. "Smart! Old Jiang, it's not safe walking the streets at night. Using this for protection is a great idea. And steel plates aren't expensive... Wait, I'll order some now!"

After a moment of impulsive excitement, Old Wang suddenly stared at his wristband and froze. "Oh right. Most of our consumer goods are imported from the Human Federation. I can't get this cheap anymore. The cheapest ones made by the Terran Union cost nine hundred bucks."

"Damn it!" Old Wang gritted his teeth in frustration. "What kind of Great Leader is this? More like a big stu— Mmmph!"

Jiang Feng clamped a hand over his mouth, speaking seriously. "Trouble comes from the mouth, understand?"

Old Wang nodded frantically. Only then did Jiang Feng release him.

Jiang Feng watched as Old Wang carried everything into the living room. Seeing no sign he intended to leave, Jiang Feng closed the door, poured him a glass of water, and they sat on the sofa. Old Wang looked anxious, as if he had something to say.

"Old Jiang, look, we're both fired now. We need to find a way out, right?"

"Mhm," Jiang Feng responded absently.

His mind was entirely on that black box. But Jiang Feng also understood that if he didn't placate Old Wang, given his current situation, he lacked the capacity to handle any additional risks.

"I have a relative who got me a night shift inspection job at the cargo port. They need exactly two people."

"Listen..." Seeing Jiang Feng's indifference, Old Wang pressed on, explaining eagerly. With his shifty eyes, he actually looked somewhat endearingly earnest.

Jiang Feng listened, growing increasingly skeptical of Old Wang's prospects.

The Terran Union and the Human Federation were in a trade war. The cargo port was bound to face a series of problems soon: goods missing deadlines couldn't clear customs and would pile up; fewer new shipments would arrive; outgoing cargo would dwindle.

Once the port's operations were impacted, layoffs to survive would be inevitable.

Jiang Feng understood this logic. Just hearing the proposal, he knew it was likely a scam.

"Old Wang, let me ask you, what's the union's stance on all this?" Jiang Feng waited for Old Wang to finish, then deftly changed the subject.

Old Wang felt like he'd punched cotton, nearly choking on his own breath. After a pause, he downed the glass of water and spat out a few words through gritted teeth: "Organizing a strike. Says it's a protest."

"Are you going?" Jiang Feng asked flatly.

Old Wang's face shifted through several expressions before he finally said, "They pay fifty bucks per protest. Doesn't take much time..."

Jiang Feng nodded. Based on his memories, Old Wang was the type to chase petty gains and forget loyalty—a classic fair-weather friend. Best not to offend such a person. Just humor him and move on. Don't waste energy.

"What about you, Old Jiang? What are your plans?" Old Wang looked at him eagerly, hoping for guidance.

"Me?" Jiang Feng sneered. "What can I do? I almost killed myself for efficiency. I thought about it all last night. I'm never doing that again. To hell with it all!"

"Yeah! To hell with it all!" Old Wang echoed excitedly, then blinked, waiting.

'Great, ran into someone who won't act without seeing the rabbit first,' Jiang Feng cursed inwardly. Sifting through his memories, he actually found a viable path. He pondered for a moment.

"Old Wang, I won't hide it from you. I graduated in mechanical engineering. You know I usually handle machine issues when they come up."

"I know!" Old Wang nodded vigorously.

"With the economy like this, new machines are getting more expensive by the day. I figure the market for used machines will boom. So, the demand for mechanical maintenance jobs is bound to increase."

Jiang Feng smiled slightly. "I plan to look into that."

"Brilliant!" Old Wang's eyes lit up, then dimmed just as quickly. "I'm a vocational school grad. I only know how to operate machines. Not like you, a top student who can find work anywhere."

Jiang Feng was speechless inside. He'd pointed the way, yet Old Wang was still finding excuses. Couldn't blame him for that.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you further. You know I'm saddled with loans. I haven't even figured out this month's payment yet."

Old Wang's face darkened at these words. He hesitated for a long moment, seeming on the verge of saying something.

Jiang Feng deliberately checked the time. "Oh, it's getting late. I need to wash up and head out. Here, let me see you off."

Old Wang fidgeted for half a minute before finally standing up. "Alright then, I'll be going."

As they stepped outside, Old Wang suddenly pulled Jiang Feng aside mysteriously and whispered, "Remember last time we went to the bar to bet on fights? We made good money. There are a few matches tonight. You going?"

Jiang Feng froze. Instantly, a flood of related memories rushed in.

His past self had a gambling problem. Not other forms, just a love for betting on fights.

Though he had a good eye and often won, he'd leave the bar penniless every time. In those matches, fighters who seemed sure bets would suddenly lose, costing him large stacks of chips.

So, no matter how sharp his eye, it was all for nothing.

To the present Jiang Feng, it was obvious he'd been scammed by the house.

In his memories, he had never told Lin Xiaoyu about this money or this habit.

A wave of alarm hit him. It seemed his troubles extended beyond just external debt. In a fragile household, the appearance of a gambler meant ruin was never far away.

'Damn, spoke too soon. The original Jiang Feng was a spendthrift too...'

Having worked in international trade for so long, Jiang Feng had seen plenty of big shots in finance.

Those who could invest steadily were mostly the house, making less but ensuring a steady stream. Those who bet everything on one shot were mostly beggars—rolling in riches one day, handing out business cards begging for loans the next, dignity in tatters.

Thinking this, Jiang Feng refused firmly. "I'm not going."

"Not going?" Old Wang was stunned. In his memory, Jiang Feng never refused a fight night.

His expression turned serious as he scrutinized Jiang Feng. "Old Jiang, what's wrong with you? You seem like a different person."

Jiang Feng's heart skipped a beat, but on the surface, he feigned irritation. "My heart fucking stopped! Of course I've changed!"

"Uh..." Old Wang was taken aback by the outburst.

"If I go through those highs and lows again, my heart can't take it. What if I really die?" Jiang Feng gave him a shove, annoyed. "Go on, get out of here. Always bringing up sore subjects..."

With that, Jiang Feng slammed the door shut with a 'bang.' His gaze turned fervently toward the black box.

Outside, Old Wang scratched his head, thought for a moment, then snorted softly, muttering to himself.

"Hmph, coward. Can't even handle cold water... Screw you! If you won't go, I will!"