Jiangcheng’s desolate outskirts. Derelict chemical complex. Midnight’s deepest hour.
Wind, honed to razors, scoured flesh, biting marrow. Within the factory’s decaying heart, a rust-scabbed iron portal leaked jaundiced light. Two scar-faced sentinels flanked it, eyes predatory, radiating carnivorous intent.
*“Halt!”* Scarface Alpha blocked Qin Hao’s path, raking his faded work jacket and canvas sack with dripping disdain. *“Beggars unwelcome! This is ‘Penumbra’! Not your refuse heap! Depart!”*
Qin Hao’s gaze remained fixed ahead, glacial. *“Commerce.”*
*“Commerce?”* Scarface Beta sneered, spittle near-missing Qin Hao. *“You? Coin? Know Penumbra’s tariffs? Selling you wouldn’t fetch scrap! Vanish! Or limbs shatter!”* A shove followed—impotent against Qin Hao’s imm
