Chapter 138: Payday

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For the next stretch of time, Ye Chen’s life returned to its usual calm.

Aside from cultivating diligently, he spent his days improving his proficiency in various skills.

His Inner Essence Value was fast approaching the 800 mark, and reaching 996 was now only a matter of time.

As for the major task of furnishing their new home, Ye Shanshan took it entirely upon herself, not even wanting Ye Chen to interfere.

She claimed that her taste was better than someone’s and that she understood the meaning of “value for money.”

Watching Ye Shanshan bustle about while temporarily putting her street stall on hold, Ye Chen was more than happy to let her handle everything.

During this period, Ye Chen also went to the Supernatural Prefecture to ask You Ya whether the spoils he had taken that night—the sugar jar—was an autonomously awakened artifact.

If the sugar jar really was an autonomously awakened artifact, he sincerely hoped it would not fall into the hands of evildoers again.

Especially if it were wielded by a high-level Awakened. Such a weapon could control even adults.

Just thinking about it was so tempting—ah... bah, so dangerous.

Let this righteous and kind exemplary young man bear the risk of possessing a treasure that invited calamity.

In any case, he already had three awakened artifacts. One more would hardly matter... Ye Chen wove together an excuse even he himself did not believe.

Unfortunately, this time Ye Chen was disappointed.

In the Supernatural Prefecture’s research laboratory, You Ya replied succinctly:

“No. Throw it away.

“Do you think autonomously awakened artifacts are cabbages, growing everywhere in the streets?!”

Ye Chen’s face darkened, and he felt utterly miserable... He had worked so hard to find the missing children and had nearly died in the process, only to come away with nothing. What a disastrous loss!

Still, his consultation could not be called entirely fruitless. At the very least, Teacher You gave him a more professional explanation of artificial awakening:

“Artificial awakening merely grants you a certain ability. It does not provide the foundation needed to sustain the consumption of awakened skills.

“Your Inner Essence Value is hollow. Your level is hollow. Everything you possess is no more than a castle in the air.

“To sustain the continued use of your skills, all you can burn is your vital essence and life force.

“Among the three types of Awakened, no matter which type they belong to, those who awaken naturally possess abilities and inner essence that support and complement each other. Talent merely determines where their peak lies.”

After listening to You Ya’s explanation, Ye Chen summarized it in his heart:

Cultivating Breath Control allowed an Awakened to nurture an inexhaustible aura, replenishing what was lost while leaving room for further growth.

By comparison, I should not simply be classified as an Awakened.

I ought to be called a cultivator.

...

One day, in the outer city’s industrial district.

The outer city’s factories and workshops, both large and small, were concentrated in this area.

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At a glance, chimneys of varying heights belched pillars of white smoke.

The roar of machinery, the pounding of metal, the rumble of wheels as heavily loaded carts rolled over the road—all of it blended into one.

Amid the deafening din, the sound of metal being cut and polished was particularly grating.

The workshops were equally busy. Steam discharged by the machines made the air inside hot and damp.

Even in winter, many burly men worked bare-chested, sweating profusely.

At last, the workers endured until lunchtime. Ravenous, they set down their tools and either streamed toward the shabby cafeteria or headed arm in arm toward the little restaurants outside the workshops.

This particular workshop specialized in making agricultural tools. Its size was neither large nor small, and it had operated respectably in the area for many years.

Most of its workers were old employees. As they put it, “The boss is a decent man. Whether the pay is high or not is secondary. At least he never withholds our wages!”

Braised Egg’s Father picked up the clothes folded to one side and used them as a towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Then he removed the wooden prosthetic attached to his severed arm and leaned it against a pillar before sitting down to rest.

Braised Egg’s Father wore the prosthetic only while working. In daily life, he was perfectly content to play the one-armed man.

Once he wore it for too long, however, his arm would grow sore, swollen, and painfully tight.

The overcast weather made matters worse. Every so often, the stump would tingle and itch, as though insects were crawling over it and scratching at the skin.

Under ordinary circumstances, Braised Egg’s Father would already have been cursing loudly. But today, in an unusual display of enthusiasm, he called out to several close coworkers:

“Come on, let’s eat out for lunch. I’ll treat you all to a few dishes.”

One of his coworkers teased him:

“What’s gotten into you? Old Dog Egg, did you find a fortune? Oh, wait. Isn’t today payday?”

Another joked:

“Payday doesn’t count for much. I reckon he got thoroughly pampered last night!”

Old Dog Egg spat at them.

“Eat if you want. If not, get lost and chew rough flour cakes in the cafeteria.”

Amid everyone’s laughter, several coworkers pushed him out the door. Who would refuse a free meal?

Of course, the one-armed man had been in high spirits for more than just today.

There was only one reason: his precious daughter had been found and brought home.

As for why he had only now thought of treating everyone to a meal—well, he simply had not had enough money in his pocket over the past few days.

...

When they passed a particular shop, Old Dog Egg stopped and said somewhat awkwardly to his coworkers:

“You go on ahead. Yes... head to the place we usually eat.

“I need to go in and withdraw some money. I don’t have a single coin in my pocket right now. It’s cleaner than my face.”

His coworkers did not mock him. They were hardly better off themselves. They merely joked that they would eat him out of house and home.

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The shop Old Dog Egg was entering was officially called the Stored-Value Card Management Office.

It was directly administered by the Inner City Government and was one of the few places besides the gates leading into the inner city to have armed guards on duty.

For one thing, the door alone looked far sturdier than those of ordinary shops.

There were several such management offices in the outer city.

After pushing open the door, Old Dog Egg happened to encounter the owner of his workshop, who had just finished handling his business and was getting ready to leave.

Seeing a worker from his own workshop, the boss ribbed him:

“Well, Old Dog Egg, I only just paid your wages, and they haven’t even warmed my hands yet. In such a hurry to withdraw them?”

Old Dog Egg spread his one hand and gave an embarrassed smile.

“What can I do? The wife controls all my money. I’m poor, that’s all.”

The boss laughed and cursed him good-naturedly.

“Every one of you puts on this act of being poor and pitiful in front of me. Do you realize that after paying your wages, my own pockets are cleaner than yours? I’m practically working for all of you.”

As he spoke, he poked the grinning one-armed man with the blue card in his hand.

The counter where the boss had just conducted his business was fitted with thick bulletproof glass.

Below it was a bizarrely designed recess—too narrow for a hand to fit through, yet large enough to pass small objects.

The clerk had just finished serving one customer and was now quite idle, since they only handled large transactions.

Here, “large” specifically meant sums exceeding fifty thousand.

This showed just how little money the people of the outer city had on hand. Only a handful could afford to conduct such transactions.

The boss had just handed a payroll list to the staff behind the glass. They would deduct the wages from his stored-value card and transfer them to the workers’ white cards.

The workers used white cards because even an old hand like Old Dog Egg, after laboring in the workshop for an entire month, received only a little over three thousand.

For most workers, a white card was more than sufficient.

Old Dog Egg naturally chose not to trouble the staff. With practiced ease, he headed toward a corner of the office, where a row of self-service machines stood.

He always kept his stored-value card close to his body, warming it with his own heat. It was one of his most precious possessions.

After all, most of his household expenses depended on that unremarkable little card.

Yet he only used it once a month.

He reached inside and fumbled around. The next second, another object came out with his hand.

It dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter.

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