Outside the Low-rise District, atop the ’hill’ stacked out of cement concrete, a thinly clad little boy watched as figures disappeared among the buildings in the crowd. At that moment, with the sound of a vehicle moving, a black off-road car that looked very luxurious and heavy parked by the roadside, turned off its headlights, but no one got out, seemingly waiting for someone. The little boy pondered and furrowed his brow, then scratched his head and turned to continue his climb up the makeshift hill. But he had only walked a few meters up the path made of haphazardly stacked concrete blocks when he saw a modified sedan covered in rust patches coming from a distance. The sedan sped past the black off-road car, and from the boy’s vantage point, in the dim streetlight, he could just make out a person inside the car glancing at the parked off-road vehicle before moving on. The boy climbed another section and glanced into the distance along the pitch-black streetlights. A somewhat dilapidated gate, flickering with light and guarded by armed gang members, came into his view. There were four gates in the Low-rise District, each located in the northeast, southwest, and northwest directions; the gate near this hill was the East Gate. Although the gate was wide, not many people normally passed through it aside from those transporting goods. The residents of the Low-rise District, under normal circumstances, preferred not to deal with the Prisoners’ Gang. They usually took a shortcut through a breach in the fence when commuting, which was closer and simpler. Just as the boy was about to shift his gaze away from the gate, he suddenly noticed that the modified sedan was now parked at the gate guarded by the armed sentries. A gaunt man stepped out from the sedan, spoke to the guards at the door for a few moments, then entered a small cabin by the gate. The cabins near the gates of the Low-rise District were the garrison of the Prisoners’ Gang’s sentries. Watching this scene, the boy’s gaze flickered but he was not surprised. The gaunt man’s movements suggested he was no ordinary civilian. Those mixed up in the Southern District, to some extent, would have some connections to the Prisoners’ Gang. Watching the gaunt man fully enter the garrison of the Prisoners’ Gang, the boy withdrew his gaze, looked towards the sharp steel rods and broken concrete in the night ahead, and slowly stretched out his hand to continue climbing cautiously. Inside the Low-rise District "No company or store wants to hire a woman who has lost a leg," The woman on crutches invited He Ao to sit on the sofa, then, with the help of her husband, retrieved a folding chair from the corner, sat down opposite He Ao, and said with some restraint, "So I can only do some manual work at home. Doctor Kewis from the Low-rise District occasionally has some drug sorting work, he would recruit nearby, and Doctor Kewis doesn’t mind me, so I often work there, that’s why you see more of your flyers." A little girl had by then dug out a flyer from the bedroom, while another little girl approached, her head close to the cake they were holding. They looked at the cartoon character on the flyer, then at He Ao sitting on the sofa, raised the flyer, compared it to He Ao and the cartoon character, and then their eyes widened slightly. "This cartoon character really looks a lot like you." Watching their daughters’ actions, the man next to them also lowered his head, took the flyer from his daughter’s hand, glanced at the cartoon character and said with some surprise. He handed the flyer to He Ao. He Ao reached out and took the flyer, looking at the ink of the cartoon portrait which was not very dark, his tone paused a moment, "This was drawn by my wife when she was alive." He lowered his gaze as if reminiscing about something, and said softly, "Her paintings were very vivid." Seeing the elderly man’s expression, the man quickly said. He Ao shook his head, then turned back to look at the woman and quietly asked, "Are there many of my flyers at that Doctor Kewis’ place?" Linen’s last free clinic had been several years ago, and he hadn’t printed any more of these flyers since then. The quality of these flyers was different from the printing factory he initially signed the contract with—evidently, they were produced by a print workshop on their own. "It was Doctor Kewis who copied them," the woman hesitated for a moment, then whispered by way of explanation, "He had gotten your flyer before and thought the flyers promoting basic health care knowledge were very useful, so he photocopied many and distributed one to every patient who came for treatment in the Low-rise District." She paused, then continued to explain, "He didn’t copy your work for his own—" "There’s no need to explain. This is good," He Ao said with a smile, shaking his head, "I’m glad my flyers can help more people." When Linen first printed these flyers, he directly published the electronic version online for anyone to share. Linen very much hoped his flyers would be widely disseminated. These flyers were a sort of simple summary of Linen’s years of volunteer medical experience, but this summary wasn’t some sort of medical book—rather, it was the most basic health care knowledge. After years of volunteering and traveling, having seen different cityscapes and a great number of impoverished patients, Linen’s views deviated significantly from the Federation’s many medical schools’ concept of "curing" diseases. In Linen’s opinion, for the poor, the importance of "preventing" diseases far outweighed that of "treating" diseases. The best treatment was to ensure patients didn’t get sick in the first place. Most of the people treated at Linen’s free clinics suffered from minor ailments such as colds, diarrhea, and various parasitic infectious diseases. However, these minor ailments could take away many lives when the patients couldn’t afford medical treatment or access a good medical environment. Yet, these minor diseases could be prevented with simple and effective methods such as daily health care and killing the pests that spread infection, significantly reducing the rates of illness. Hence, the flyers came into being. In fact, Linen’s own travel memoirs included a special Chapter detailing various prevention methods and experiences he gained from the Wilderness Wanderers during his travels. However, later on, because of his wife’s death, running for Mayor, among other things, he could no longer continue this work in depth. Theoretically, if Linen continued down this path, he might have created a whole new school of thought, leaving his mark in the annals of the Federation’s history. But Linen was also well aware that doing so wouldn’t change or save the city. The medical technology of the Federation was actually not bad; the directors of the Consortium could often live into their eighties or nineties, even extending their lives to over a hundred years through special means. It was just that these advanced medical technologies were not accessible to ordinary people. Moreover, many occupational diseases could simply not be "prevented" by the patients alone. For example, no matter how the miners in the mines cared for themselves, their lungs would still be affected, and they would still die in agony in their forties or fifties. Of course, this didn’t mean that the path of preventive health care shouldn’t be followed—it was still a road that could save and influence countless lives. He Ao raised his hand to glance at a message on his bracelet, which was just sent to him by Sena. Sena was already outside at the broken fence entrance as he came in, but He Ao had not let him come in; instead, he had him park on the side of the road. Taking his gaze off the bracelet, he looked down at the flyer in his hand. After a moment of reflection, he looked at the woman in front of him, "It sounds like your Doctor Kewis is a very good person?" the woman nodded eagerly, "He’s very kind. He tries to hire people who are struggling, and his medicine and consultation fees are the lowest in the Low-rise District. When he meets someone who can’t pay at all, he even provides medicine on credit without interest." "In the Low-rise District, this kind of credit is basically uncollectable. Some debtors might borrow one day and be killed on the streets the next," the man beside them also spoke softly, "Then there are those who can’t come up with any money at all. They are burdened with a massive amount of loans and can’t spare a penny. These ’credits’ are essentially the same as giving it away for free." "Can I meet this Doctor Kewis?" He Ao looked up at the middle-aged couple in front of him and slowly began to speak. "Of course, of course," The woman hurriedly picked up the walking stick beside her, "Doctor Kewis will be very pleased to know you’re here. His clinic is nearby, I’ll take you there." Outside the Low-rise District After climbing over the blocks of concrete on the ground, the boy finally reached the summit of the ’hill’. This place was a whole ’cement platform’, which still felt a bit damp at the moment. Parts of the cement had cracked, and most of the platform was covered with a thin layer of soil. A few scattered green weeds were sprouting from the platform’s gaps and the shallow soil, swaying weakly in the cool evening breeze. The boy stood atop the platform, stretched lazily, looked at the path ahead, then subconsciously turned his head to look in the direction of the gate below. At the end of his field of view, in the distant light, the gaunt man who had initially walked into the Prisoners’ Gang’s garrison was slowly walking out. Beside the gaunt man was a figure in a black T-shirt, stocky with a cigarette in his mouth. The gaunt man seemed to be fawningly telling the man in the T-shirt something, but the man in the T-shirt just calmly followed, occasionally responding in a low voice. The two continued forward for a while, but before they had gone far, the man in the T-shirt looked up, seemingly spotting something, his expression changed, and then he whispered something to the gaunt man. Then, the two turned and headed back to the Prisoners’ Gang’s garrison. The boy saw all that happened from his vantage point, his gaze following where the man in the black T-shirt had just been looking. A concrete block slightly obstructed his view, so he couldn’t see what was behind it. But he had a good guess of what the man in the black T-shirt had seen. The boy looked once more at the path ahead, hesitated, then decided not to go on. Instead, he stayed on the platform, watching the movements below. Low-rise District·East Gate "Crimson Claw boss, you must believe me," The gaunt man stood beside the stocky man in the black T-shirt, moving forward while hurriedly explaining, "I was waiting for the bus with that old man, and he even had an expensive-looking SUV for escort. They’re definitely wealthy people from Saint Yilan, just the two of them, an old man, and a bodyguard who looks inexperienced. If we tie them up, we’ll make a fortune." "A big shot from Saint Yilan carries only a young, inexperienced lad with him in an expensive car, with no precautions, coming to the Southern District," The man in the black T-shirt walked slowly with his cigarette, the bright ember flickering in the darkness, "And this big shot was squeezing into a bus with you? Either you’re out of your mind, or I am." "Crimson Claw boss, you have to trust me, I saw it with my own eyes," The gaunt man widened his eyes, "That old man knows martial arts, easily throwing me to the ground. He probably has confidence in his own skill, which is why he dared to venture deep into the Southern District." "Heh, every year there are fools who think they’re tough enough to venture into the Southern District, and end up with no one to claim their bodies. There are at least dozens, if not hundreds, but those are young lads, hot-headed and rash," The man in the black T-shirt chuckled lowly, "Are you saying we’ve got a foolish old man this time? Do you really think I’d believe that?" "Crimson Claw boss, all kinds of people exist in this world, and you know the old gents of the Saint Ilan District all too well. They’re used to luxury and safety, thinking everywhere is as safe as Saint Yilan, so it’s normal for them not to realize the danger," The gaunt man hastily spoke, "Besides, now you’re a big shot in the Prisoners’ Gang, and all the subordinates listen to you. If we pull this off, it would be a big win for the gang, and maybe you’ll rise even higher, like the blooming of sesame seeds." "Looks like you really want to kill that old man, huh." The man in the black short-sleeved shirt glanced at the gaunt man and let out a cold laugh. "That old man indeed made a fool of me in public," the gaunt man’s body trembled as he hastily explained, "but this is really a good deal, too big for me to handle alone, so I came to seek out the Crimson Claw boss. "Even if you don’t want to offend the people from Saint Ilan, we can still abduct and kill them in secret, split their money, and sell their stuff for a huge profit. If I could get a taste of the Crimson Claw boss’s soup, that would be just perfect." "You’re quite honest, kid," the man in the black short-sleeved shirt removed his cigarette butt and continued walking, blowing out a puff of smoke, "from now on, don’t call me some big shot in the Prisoners’ Gang. I’m just a pawn running errands for the real big shots." "In the Southern District, who doesn’t know the fame of Crimson Claw boss, this is just your modesty," the gaunt man quickly said. "Let’s go and check out that car you mentioned that comes with the old man." The man in the black short-sleeved shirt, with a cigarette in his mouth, continued talking. The gaunt man’s face lit up with joy, and he nodded quickly, "The car is just ahead, it’s an off-road vehicle. That old man should be near the Low-rise District by now, the young chick driving the car, waiting for him at the broken fence’s gate." The man in the black short-sleeved shirt lifted his head, looking forward. Under the pitch-black night sky, a bulky black off-road vehicle was faintly visible in the darkness. At the sight of the off-road vehicle, the man in the black short-sleeved shirt’s expression changed, and he quickly placed a hand on the gaunt man’s shoulder, his voice ice-cold, "Don’t talk. Turn around as if nothing happened and walk back." The gaunt man, initially with a look of joy, froze, but before he could say anything, he was turned around by the hand on his shoulder by the man in the black short-sleeved shirt. The two walked side by side; the atmosphere of their earlier conversation gone, silent all the way until they returned to the entrance of the East Gate garrison, where the man in the black short-sleeved shirt finally released his grip from the gaunt man’s shoulder. "Crimson Claw boss, what is..." The gaunt man lifted his head, about to utter his confusion when a massive slap flew towards his cheek. With a ’thud,’ his figure was sent flying against the wall. He opened his mouth but hadn’t spoken when the man in the black short-sleeved shirt approached and landed another kick in his stomach, "Damn it, if your eyes are useless I can help you sell them. That’s a military vehicle, damn it. Are you trying to get me killed?" Curled up, the gaunt man spat out a mouthful of fresh blood. His mouth agape, he wanted to say something but could only watch the man in the black short-sleeved shirt’s silhouette rush into the garrison. Of course, at this time, the man in the black short-sleeved shirt didn’t have time to care about these matters. He charged into the garrison, passing through three or four rooms in succession, then descended a staircase leading down into a deep, dark basement. Skinny figures sat in the darkness on both sides of the basement, heads lifted, watching him in silence without a word. Grinding teeth noises echoed through the dark. The man in the black short-sleeved shirt paused, his movements unnaturally slowing down somewhat, but he quickly reached the far end of the basement. There stood a pitch-black iron door. Trembling, he reached out his hand and knocked on that iron door.