Jiangcheng’s desolate outskirts. A derelict chemical plant—a rusted behemoth beneath a starless vault. Midnight wind, razor-edged, scoured iron and frozen earth. Deep within its decaying heart, a corroded portal glowed—sickly yellow bleeding through grime-caked seams. Two scar-faced sentinels flanked it, leather-clad monoliths, eyes like shards of obsidian, radiating predatory menace.
*“Halt!”* Scarface Alpha blocked the path, raking Qin Hao’s threadbare jacket and canvas sack with contempt dripping like vitriol. *“Gutter rat! ‘Penumbra’ eats your kind for breakfast! Scram!”*
Qin Hao’s gaze remained fixed ahead, glacial. *“Commerce.”*
*“Commerce?”* Scarface Beta sneered, spittle near-missing Qin Hao’s cheek. *“You? Coin? Know the tariffs here? Selling you wouldn’t
