Chapter 511 - 351: Iron Monk

Chapter 511: Chapter 351: Iron Monk

Hive Apartment, Old K’s room.

Only after that cold, immense will had completely receded did Old K abruptly relax. The light in his electronic eye dimmed considerably, and even the hum of the servers seemed to soften.

"Whew... Shit, that scared the hell out of me..."

He gasped for breath, raising his one remaining mechanical hand—caked in grease and solder—to wipe away sweat that wasn’t there.

"This Butterfly... she’s getting harder and harder to deal with..."

His electronic eye then turned to a corner of the room, where the lingering presence of Wu Liangchen’s departure still hung in the air.

"Wu Liangchen... You bastard, you’re a real trouble magnet!" Old K’s voice was clearly irritated. "You could have searched for anything, but you just had to go poking at *that*! You nearly dragged me down with you!"

He knew Wu Liangchen was strong; completing the dangerous missions he posted was proof enough. But he’d never imagined the guy had this much nerve, daring to directly query the greatest taboo right in the heart of the Alliance’s territory!

Although Wu Liangchen hadn’t said it, Old K had spotted the search term moments earlier, which was what had sent a cold sweat down his back.

He might have gotten away with it by a fluke this time, but there was no doubt that Butterfly had been alerted. Once that madwoman took an interest in something—or someone—she would never let it go.

Old K felt a headache coming on. ’All I wanted was to live a quiet life as an information broker, and now one job has me tangled up with the Alliance’s head of network security.’

"Trouble... This is huge trouble..."

"I won’t be able to get you dark web access anytime soon. That woman has a nose for this sort of thing; she’s definitely got her eyes on this place now."

Wu Liangchen nodded in understanding.

"Then when?"

Old K’s electronic eye flickered a few times as if calculating the risk. "A week, at least. I need to wait for the heat to die down and reset a few things. Come back then."

"Alright."

Wu Liangchen didn’t haggle, accepting the terms decisively.

Although he hadn’t managed to find any specific information on Yan Shu this time, just confirming the taboo nature of the name and the man-made element behind the "Sea of Fog" was a significant gain. At the very least, he now had a clearer direction.

Leaving the oppressive top floor of the Hive Apartment, Wu Liangchen once again blended into the chaotic streets of the West Ninth District.

The neon lights still flickered, and the mixed odors in the air somehow felt much more familiar.

When he pushed open the creaking door of the Black Tile Inn, the mountain of flesh behind the counter—the owner, Liangzi—was listlessly poking at an old tablet terminal with a greasy finger.

Seeing Wu Liangchen walk in, travel-worn and dusty, Liangzi’s small eyes—squeezed into slits by his fat cheeks—suddenly widened. An exaggerated smile immediately spread across his face, revealing a few yellowed teeth.

"Yo! You’re back? I was starting to think you’d kicked the bucket in some back alley. Was just debating whether I should rent out your ’safe room’ to the next sucker!" Liangzi chortled, his voice loud and carrying a sort of vulgar yet strangely familiar warmth.

Though the words weren’t pleasant, Wu Liangchen could sense the faint, underlying note of relief in the fat man’s tone, and... concern?

’Maybe it’s just my imagination,’ he thought. But in a place like the West Ninth District, where life is cheap, any expression that wasn’t outright malicious felt exceptionally rare.

Wu Liangchen gave a slight smirk in response. "I’m tough to kill. The King of the Underworld doesn’t want me just yet."

"Damn right! Who isn’t tough to kill, trying to make it in the West Ninth District?"

Liangzi slapped his barrel-like stomach, which produced a dull THUD THUD. "So? That Old K guy didn’t give you a hard time, did he? The old coot’s notoriously difficult."

"It was fine. We made a deal," Wu Liangchen said evasively, not wanting to reveal too many details.

"Good, good." Liangzi nodded, seeming genuinely relieved. "Hurry up and get some rest. You look like you’ve been through the wringer all night."

Wu Liangchen grunted in acknowledgment. Deep down, he felt an imperceptible warmth toward this crude, vulgar fat boss.

In this cold, chaotic land, Liangzi’s brand of earthy "realness" was more comforting than any phony pleasantries.

He pushed open his room door and was greeted by a faint, sweet fragrance. Song Ling’Er was sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping down her beloved gun. Hearing the door, she snapped her head up. When she saw it was Wu Liangchen, her tense shoulders instantly relaxed, and a flicker of immense relief was visible in her bright eyes.

"Big Brother Wu, you’re back." Her voice was soft, but it held an unconcealable note of concern.

"Yeah, something held me up. Sorry to make you worry."

Song Ling’Er didn’t press for details. She simply rose in silence to prepare some hot water for him to wash up. No words were needed between them; a look, a gesture, was enough.

「A silent night passed.」

The next day, sunlight streamed through the window, casting patches of light across the room.

Wu Liangchen woke up full of energy. His "imperishable spirit" physique allowed him to recover quickly even after a sleepless night. Song Ling’Er was still sound asleep, her breathing even, a look of peace on her face.

Wu Liangchen got up quietly, washed his face, and prepared to go downstairs to talk with Liangzi.

’Can’t count on Old K for now,’ he thought. ’But as a local boss in the West Ninth District, Liangzi’s information might not be on Old K’s level, but he should know a lot about the local situation.’

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, he heard an unusual sound from downstairs. It wasn’t the usual clamor and noise, but a... peculiar humming, mixed with Liangzi’s surprisingly respectful voice.

Wu Liangchen descended the stairs quietly. In the inn’s lobby stood two "Monks" dressed in tattered, patched-up robes, but large parts of their bodies had been replaced with an assortment of old, mismatched mechanical prosthetics.

One Monk’s arm was a crude mechanical limb with exposed hydraulic lines. The other Monk’s cheek was half-covered by an electronic eye and a metal endoskeleton that glowed with a faint red light.

In their hands, they held an alms bowl, also cobbled together from scrap parts, and were bowing slightly to Liangzi.

What surprised Wu Liangchen was that the chubby boss showed no hint of his usual stinginess. Instead, he looked quite solemn.

He pulled a bulging coin purse from under the counter, counted out several large-denomination Alliance currency notes, and carefully placed them into the mechanical Monk’s alms bowl.

"Thanks for your hard work. Business has been slow lately. This is all I can spare."

The Monk with the mechanical arm nodded slightly, his synthetic voice glitching a little. "The benefactor is merciful."

The other Monk with the electronic eye followed suit with a somewhat awkward gassho salute, the red light flickering once.

Then, the two mechanical Monks turned and left the inn.

Wu Liangchen walked up to the counter, watching thoughtfully as the two Monks disappeared around the street corner.

"Boss Liang, what’s with the generosity today?" he asked casually.

Liangzi shot him a glance, grunted, and put the coin purse away, his usual greedy expression returning. "What? You feel bad about me spending my own money?"

He paused, the teasing look on his face fading as he spoke with rare seriousness. "Those guys... they’re different."

"Oh? How are they different?"

Liangzi lit a cheap cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a ring of acrid smoke.

"This godforsaken West Ninth District is full of scumbags, and even more animals. But these ’Iron Monks,’ they’re some of the few people here worthy of respect."

"They usually just stay in that rundown temple, getting by on scavenging junk and fixing broken stuff. But whenever someone in the district hits a wall they can’t get past—like a serious illness with no money for treatment, getting bullied too hard by a gang, or some unlucky bastard getting targeted by the night patrol—they’ll step in to help."

"Most of the time it’s just a drop in the ocean, but they really are willing to risk their lives. A few times, to snatch someone back from the night patrol, these Iron Monks have used their own junk-heap bodies to block bullets and stun batons. They get knocked around ’til parts go flying, but they don’t back down. And after they rescue someone, they still have to figure out how to treat their wounds and get them fed."

Liangzi flicked the ash from his cigarette, his tone tinged with emotion. "There aren’t many ’fools’ like them left in this world. I might be a greedy bastard, but I know what’s right. They’re not begging for themselves; it’s to save more people who can’t survive on their own."

"I help where I can. If people’s hearts grow completely cold, then this world is truly beyond saving."

Wu Liangchen listened in silence, his mind replaying the image of the strange Cyber Temple he had seen in the ruins yesterday, and the Buddha statue made of mechanical parts. Before, he had only found it bizarre. But now, after hearing Liangzi’s words, a genuine curiosity about these "Iron Monks" began to bloom within him.

He spent the day at the inn. Dinner was, once again, Liangzi’s homemade flatbread-wrapped meat with a side of garlic.

When night had completely fallen and the neon lights painted the West Ninth District in a bizarre palette of colors, Wu Liangchen went out alone again.

This time, his objective was clear: the Cyber Temple on the edge of the ruins.

After crossing several filthy, chaotic streets and avoiding a few roving gangs, he soon arrived in front of the temple.

At night, set against the surrounding ruins, the temple exuded an even more eerie and solemn air. A swastika symbol (卍), made from old neon tubes, hung over the entrance, flickering erratically.

Without hesitation, Wu Liangchen walked straight in.

The temple’s interior was larger than he had expected, but just as simple. A strange, mixed scent of sandalwood, machine oil, and disinfectant hung in the air.

Many poor people, dressed in rags with sorrowful faces, were sitting or kneeling on the floor, praying devoutly to the giant mechanical Buddha statue.

Their eyes were strange—a mixture of infinite piety and the despair of a life of hardship.

Somehow, the two blended together harmoniously.

But Wu Liangchen’s gaze was drawn to a scene in the corner.

An ascetic Monk whose body was relatively "intact"—with only a single forearm replaced by a sophisticated mechanical limb that glowed blue—was sitting cross-legged on a worn-out blanket.

Lying in front of him was a child, no older than eleven or twelve.

The child’s face was ashen, their breathing faint. A pair of equally gaunt parents knelt beside them, their faces filled with anxiety and pleading.

The ascetic Monk extended his good, flesh-and-blood hand and gently placed it on the patient’s forehead. His expression was focused and serene, his eyes lightly closed.