Chapter 13-I Clean Up Garbage in a Wasteland World
Chapter 13 The Man-Eating Hotpot Restaurant-2
[Mission accepted. Must complete before dawn.]
After reading the dead post, the page flashed once, displayed an address, then showed "burn after reading" and vanished completely—no matter how she refreshed.
Zhu Ning searched online for the restaurant—only one post from thirty-two years ago claiming it was delicious.
Too little info. Mission deadline: dawn. It was 12:06 AM; sunrise 6:02 AM. Roughly six hours.
She entered the address into navigation—thankfully it existed.
Before leaving, she stared at the weapon box. Question: what gear is appropriate for hotpot?
Final loadout: two guns, two combat knives, plus the building-leveling bomb already in her interface.
Compared to the fishman fight, she was now heavily armed. She put on the full protective suit to avoid spore parasitism, helmet last, then slung the one-meter cleaning kit backpack.
One glance in the mirror: a woman in black biker leathers, face hidden by a high-tech helmet that reflected cold light.
Perfect. Total criminal vibes.
The Hive was a slum for defectives—no ID checks. She probably had wanted criminals as neighbors; there was even a black-market shop right under her building.
Time was tight; walking wasn't an option. In this getup, taking public transport would get her reported instantly.
Parked in front of the black-market shop was a badass motorcycle—sleek lines, crouched like a panther. It had her name written all over it.
The owner was smoking outside: big wavy hair, exaggerated silver hoop earrings, red leather jacket, jeans, long boots—pure post-apocalyptic fashionista. She sized Zhu Ning up, calculating if she could afford it.
Zhu Ning had money now. Confidence maxed. "Boss, how much?"
Big-wave boss: "Four million NewCred."
Zhu Ning: "…"
Great. Deflated. Why couldn't all her life-risking garbage sweeping buy one damn bike?
Soft voice: "Rental?"
Boss flicked ash: "No rentals."
Even softer: "Then…"
"Where you headed? I'll give you a ride. Five hundred NewCred."
Acceptable. Zhu Ning’s swagger vanished; in front of the bike boss, even packing military weapons, she was a little sheep.
"Coming?" The boss stubbed out her cigarette.
"Coming."
This conversation was heading straight into shady late-night motorcycle territory.
The boss glanced at the address Zhu Ning gave—Zhu Ning was smart enough not to send her to the actual restaurant, but two streets away at another shop.
"Sure here?" the boss asked.
"Positive."
Bike boss: "Girl knows how to have fun."
Zhu Ning: "?"
She looked at the shop she'd randomly pinned: a host club. Minimum 8888 NewCred got you one of their "top host" for the night.
Zhu Ning: "…"
Thank god for the helmet. With the helmet on, nobody can touch her heart.
The bike boss was ruthless and terse—she dropped Zhu Ning right at the door and roared off, leaving only exhaust.
Zhu Ning stood beneath the neon pink "Dignified Queen" sign looking like a lost kid.
A man leaned against the railing outside—probably the boss. Slim, pale, stupidly good-looking like a celebrity, lazy aura like he was moon-bathing at 1 AM.
He brightened when he saw Zhu Ning. First words: "Wanna try?"
Two simple words destroyed her last shred of confidence. Tonight had been eventful enough.
She'd planned to casually ask about nearby hotpot places, but faced with this dark-purple turtleneck-wearing pretty boy, she chickened out.
Zhu Ning only had apocalypse survival skills, not host club negotiation skills. This guy was clearly a pro—she'd get conned.
"Thanks, just passing by." She forced the words through her throat.
Mission, she reminded herself. 12:56 AM—five hours left.
Man: "No worries, just asking."
His gaze landed on her huge backpack. Middle of the night, full biker gear, masked, giant bag—serial killer aesthetic.
He raised a brow and said lightly, "Where you headed? I can point you. Streets here are a maze."
Anyone running a shop here was bottom-tier; the roads twisted like a labyrinth. Lots of people got lost. So kind? He even gives directions?
Zhu Ning: "Looking for a hotpot place."
"Hotpot?" He narrowed his eyes. "Hao Zailai?"
"Yes."
He glanced at her and drawled, "We all stay away from there. Supposedly a ghost joint. Closed decades ago, yet every time I pass that street I still smell hotpot broth. Freaky."
Zhu Ning frowned. Records said it shut thirty years ago—still smelled like hotpot?
"Super creepy. There's this weird meat aroma too. Can't place the meat—definitely not pork, beef, or lamb. Plenty say it's human. Don't know if it's true."
Zhu Ning: "?"
Human-meat hotpot?
Zhu Ning: "Why did it close?"
"Just hearsay. This area has shops open and close all the time, but that one lasted longest. Used to be insanely popular—three-hour waits. Then the owner got sick, couldn't keep going, didn't want to sell, so he shut down to focus on treatment."
"Sick?" Zhu Ning asked. "What illness?"
"No idea. Shame though. One day it was booming, next day gone."
Zhu Ning pondered. Medical costs here were astronomical. If the owner needed money for treatment, why not sell a goldmine business?
Zhu Ning: "Anyone still inside?"
"Impossible," he laughed. "Thirty years. It's a dead shop. If someone's still living there…" He paused, eyes glinting as he stared at her. "Human or ghost?"
Good point. A shop closed thirty years ago, yet the system wanted her to rescue survivors. Could a person live thirty years in a contamination zone and still be human?
If not human, why rescue?
This system seemed benevolent—purify the land, save humanity. Unlikely to make her do dirty work.
Zhu Ning: "Do they still open?"
"You're kidding. I walked past once—the entrance was bricked up. Probably to keep people out."
Made sense. If it still opened, it would’ve been sealed by authorities long ago.
"What are you going there for?"
Zhu Ning: "Can't say."
Duck boss: "?"
He'd seen all kinds of pros. Zhu Ning could at least make up a lie. "Can't say"?
"Fine, I won't ask. Directions: from the intersection, three consecutive right turns. If you still can’t find it, just follow the smell."
"Hope I see you tomorrow."
Zhu Ning, still memorizing: "…"
Thanks for the blessing, I guess.
She left Dignified Queen and followed his directions. The street was deserted. A huge warning sign: "Contaminated zone ahead—detour."
Zhu Ning walked straight past the tape. Found the restaurant easily—the duck boss was right, the aroma was overwhelming.
Butter hotpot mixed with a bizarre meat scent. Brain registered "meat" but couldn't identify the animal.
Inappropriate, but at 1 AM, she was kinda hungry.
Half the shop was sunken underground—owner probably couldn't afford surface rent, went semi-basement instead.
But based on Zhu Ning's food-hunting experience, perfect hole-in-the-wall location. When it was running it must’ve been incredible.
The sign was still lit, flickering from short-circuiting. The characters for "hotpot" blinked on and off.
Small text beside: "24-hour service."
Before heading in to die, Zhu Ning wanted insurance.
She needed someone to know she'd entered a contamination zone. If she didn’t handle it properly, the Center had to respond fast enough to contain spores.
She found Li Nianchuan's contact. Employee wristbands showed status.
After his name: "Psychic contamination—hospitalized."
Colleagues now. Zhu Ning sent a check-in: "You okay?"
No reply for a long time. Probably couldn’t use comms during treatment. After a minute: "Big sis! Woof!"
Zhu Ning: "…"
Teenager, when you recover you're gonna regret that chat history.
Li Nianchuan, not receiving a reply, sent a sulky emoji.
Zhu Ning gritted her teeth and typed: "Contamination better?"
"They drew so much blood and poked me with so many needles." Crying emoji.
Seeking comfort?
Li Nianchuan: "Can you send me a gift?"
Zhu Ning: "What?"
Li Nianchuan: "I want flaming wings."
Zhu Ning closed the chat with a slam. Not normal. Definitely not normal!
Deep breath. She set delayed SOS messages to Xu Meng, Fang Ying, and technical support.
Time inside contamination zones flowed differently. If she was in over an hour without contact, assume KIA. The messages would auto-send so they'd know where she went.
Of course, she'd rather not need them.
After setting everything, Zhu Ning descended the stairs slowly, observing. Moss, dead leaves, trash everywhere.
Looked abandoned for ages.
The roll-up door was half down—couldn't see inside. No bricked wall like the duck boss said.
Warm red light leaked out, along with the aroma. A shop "dead" for thirty years looked very much alive.
She'd fought the fishman; this time she was calmer. Definitely a contamination zone. She'd skimmed some Demon Hunter crash courses today on fast contaminant killing.
Too bad the full course was massive—she'd only finished three lessons, the rest queued in her sub-brain.
The roll-up door was plastered with notices.
Job posting: Cashier wanted, room & board included, high school or above, under 35, 3500 NewCred/month.
Job posting: Prep cook, room & board, no education requirement, age open, 5+ years experience, 5000 NewCred/month.
Job posting: Acting manager, room & board, bachelor's or above, under 35, 10000 NewCred/month.
Ten different postings: dishwashers, cleaners, prep, servers, even garbage workers.
Next to the job ads, a plea for help.
Help: Family member has severe genetic defects, urgently needs Type-C bone marrow match. Generous reward.
Then the pleas turned into bounties.
Bounty: Seeking eyes, 300,000 NewCred.
Bounty: Seeking kidney, 800,000 NewCred.
Bounty: Seeking mutant genes, 1,500,000 NewCred.
Bounty: …
The more Zhu Ning read, the worse it got. Missing a couple organs was understandable, but this shop needed heart, liver, spleen, lungs—enough to build a whole new person.
Even mutant genes. Wasn't that the sixth-class citizen Fang Ying mentioned?
She'd reviewed lessons before leaving: one escaped spore could contaminate an entire zone. That's why Cleaners were critical.
From these postings you could piece together clues: a mutant once died here?
She was still thinking when—THUD.
The roll-up door was suddenly yanked up from inside.
A man stood there in butcher gear—black apron, cleaver in left hand, and above the neck… a pig's head.
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