Chapter Nine: The Bar Street

The two patrolling officers in conversation were an odd pair. One was short and stout, his skin dark and his stubble unruly. He wore his uniform unbuttoned, letting it hang open carelessly. His thick fingers tapped a rhythm on the tabletop while his eyes, half-closed, fixed on the tavern across the street, mouth smacking from time to time.

The other was tall and thin, his demeanor meticulous, his face clean-shaven. His fitted uniform was immaculate, and even seated on a low stool, he kept his back straight as a rod.

“Isn’t it normal for cases to pop up in the outer city? Why act so surprised? I got home late driving back from the inner city last night, didn’t even check the group messages.” The short, stout officer was none other than Xu Fan, who had driven Captain Dai yesterday. Muttering to himself, he grabbed the communicator tossed on the table and began scrolling through the messages.

After a long while, he exclaimed in amazement, “Damn, Bingfeng, this case is insane! The perp was brutal!”

Chen Bingfeng, the tall officer, blew on the steam rising from his bowl as he warned, “Cases are assigned by jurisdiction, but this one happened not far from our market district. We all know the first squad’s record—useless, the whole lot. Wouldn’t be surprised if we get called in to help, so don’t mess up.”

“Bingfeng,” Xu Fan suddenly lowered his head and voice, prompting Chen Bingfeng to look over curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Last night, Captain Dai mentioned transferring me to the first squad. Do you think he sees me as just another useless cop?” Xu Fan asked.

Chen Bingfeng paused for a moment, then replied coolly, “Stop thinking the world’s abandoned you. Truth is, the world doesn’t have time to care.”

Xu Fan fell silent, stung.

Nearby, Ye Chen, lending a hand with chores, had been listening intently. Their conversation piqued his curiosity. He wondered if the case they discussed was the very incident that drew a crowd that morning.

“What are you spacing out for? Pack up, quick!” Ye Chen’s thoughts were interrupted by Ye Shan Shan, who nudged him sharply with her elbow.

Just then, both communicators on the table began to beep urgently.

The two officers, still eating their noodles, snatched them up and exchanged glances. “Let’s go, leave the food, Captain’s calling a meeting,” Chen Bingfeng said.

“Mmmph—” Xu Fan shoveled in a few more mouthfuls and then both rose swiftly from their seats. After walking a dozen paces, Xu Fan seemed to remember something and called back, “Auntie, put it on the tab!”

“Alright, take care!” the noodle vendor called after them, spitting on the ground as she watched the pair disappear down the street.

Dusk was settling in. Clouds drifted in from afar, darkening the blue expanse overhead, a silent summons for the townsfolk to head home. Stall owners gathered their pots and stools, shopkeepers shuttered their doors.

Ye Chen and Ye Shan Shan soon parted ways. Earlier that day, Ye Chen had mentioned he’d be treating Jin Yinghui to dinner and wouldn’t be coming home.

Just as Ye Chen was about to turn onto another street, a voice stopped him. “Wait!” It was Ye Shan Shan. She emerged from behind the cart, holding a battered tin box—their cashbox, which, for all its worn paint, Ye Chen knew the girl treasured deeply.

She picked out a few large-denomination bills and stuffed them into Ye Chen’s hand. “Order some good dishes. And thank Old Jin for me, too.”

Looking at her earnest expression, Ye Chen quietly accepted nearly all her day’s earnings. Over the years, most of his own income had ended up in her safekeeping; as he put it, he’d rather not die out in the wild and have his corpse looted, nor have his home ransacked after death. He felt more at ease leaving the money with her.

Ye Shan Shan, for her part, never squandered a coin, knowing each bill was hard-won and carried his trust.

Before leaving, she fixed him with a stern look. “Just dinner and drinks, nowhere shady. And come home early; it’s not safe out late!”

Ye Chen couldn’t help but grumble inwardly—what does a teenage girl know about ‘shady places’ anyway?

Later, as she passed a soon-to-close energy core shop, Ye Shan Shan stopped. Without leaving her cart, she called out to the shopkeeper, “One energy core, please.” But then she recalled Ye Chen’s room hadn’t been lit in ages. “Make it two!”

“Coming right up!” The shopkeeper hurried out, beaming, and handed her two standard-sized energy cores.

Here, energy cores were a household staple. Every building was constructed with a slot for one, and all devices and vehicles ran on these portable power cells. Home-use models were small, while vehicle cores were larger and more potent.

Throughout the whole city—inner or outer—there was only one place that produced energy cores: the factory in the inner city’s workshop district. In fact, the energy core factory was the defining landmark of the City of Energy. Even from the outer city, if you looked toward the inner city, the giant spear-like structure on the horizon was the factory itself.

Night fell swiftly in winter. Most of the outer city had no streetlights; if any remained, they’d been stripped to bare poles. Only the administrative district where the patrol office stood still gleamed with functioning lamps.

The market district, where Ye Shan Shan plied her trade, was a hub for merchants and vendors—a bustling exchange by day, filled with the cries of hawkers and the smells of countless food stalls. But that liveliness belonged to the daylight hours.

There was, however, one street that came alive at night: Bar Street. Neon signs of every kind hung outside the shops, all powered by energy cores, bathing the street in a blaze of artificial daylight. Here were taverns, late-night eateries, massage parlors, gambling dens, and even tea houses—though not all of them truly served tea.

Between the buildings, narrow alleys overflowed with filthy, reeking garbage bins. Men loitered there, smoking against the walls, some laughing raucously, others eyeing passersby with cold, predatory stares. Stray animals rummaged through the refuse, and in the shadows, couples found privacy for their illicit trysts.

It was along this very street that Ye Chen now walked, heading for his destination: a small tavern called “Bus No. 99.” But as he passed a side alley, a sudden, inexplicable sense of dread gripped him.