The air outside the Auction Hall stung with soot and rotten essence. Hao Wei wiped his hands on his pants, feeling the faint pulse of the Heart-Seed in his bag. The Glutton-Leech inside him whimpered softly, its body writhing with the faint taste of something unfamiliar and alive. Survival in the Scar was about feeding it just enough to stay sharp but not strong enough to revolt.
Feng Zhen was crouched over his calculations again, muttering numbers under his breath. "At this extraction rate… if we push any harder, our Apertures degrade faster than the gain from that Heart-Seed. We should stop now."
Hao Wei didn't reply. He could hear the soft sucking sound of the Scar settling around them—tiny dust clouds spiraling into the dark. Every breath was an investment, every step a potential loss. Lu Di mirrored his motions as always, the perfect shadow of obedience.
They didn't speak as they navigated through the narrow alleys of the lower layers. The market extended like a labyrinth of desperation. Sifters bartered with bodies, organs, and broken artifacts. Some sold scraps of Rank 1 Primeval Essence, others traded memories trapped in Soul-Silk. Every transaction was calculated; every price was paid in blood, sweat, or time.
A vendor caught Hao Wei's eye. He was old, scarred, with a missing right arm replaced by a crude mechanical graft. His table displayed fragments of Aperture Shards, each glowing faintly like dying embers. "Freshly harvested," he said, voice rasping. "Only Rank 1 or Rank 2 bodies. Guaranteed—prime material."
Hao Wei leaned in. He knew the value of Aperture Shards—they were essence condensed into something physical, a way for the weak to trade up without relying on luck or tribulation. He could sell scraps of their previous "Exhale survival" if he wanted—but he didn't. Survival first. Profit second.
"Heart-Seed integration, Glutton-Leech management, and Atmosphere filtration. That's all that matters here," he muttered to himself. Lu Di nodded silently beside him, as though the words were law. Feng Zhen's voice hesitated behind him, trembling: "You really aren't going to bargain for the Aperture shards?"
Hao Wei's eyes flicked over him. "Why? We don't need them yet. Every second we spend counting what we don't need is a second the Scar can take from us. We're not here to be smart. We're here to survive."
Ahead, a commotion broke out. A young Sifter had collapsed mid-auction, body convulsing as the World's Breath cracked the market air. The Exhale was partial this time, but enough to twist limbs, burst lungs, and crystallize lower-tier essence into jagged shards. Merchants stepped over the fallen as if nothing had happened, shouting for more bids. Survival wasn't heroic here. It was transactional.
Hao Wei's eyes caught a small pouch tumbling from the fallen Sifter's bag—a single Year-Stone rolling toward him. He crouched, scooped it up, and kept walking. No hesitation. No pity. Every stone mattered. Every second counted.
Feng Zhen groaned. "You—he's still alive… you just—"
Hao Wei waved him off. "Better he survives with fewer stones than we die with none. That's the Greater Result. Always think in results."
Lu Di picked up a dropped pickaxe from the floor, mirroring Hao Wei's grip perfectly. Hao Wei noted it silently—another advantage. Tools, weapons, and even allies were only as good as their predictability. Lu Di was perfect.
They exited the market into a narrow tunnel. The air shifted, faintly radioactive with residual Essence from past calamities. The lower layers were alive in their own way—breathing, pulsing, testing the weak. Hao Wei could feel the pull in his Aperture, faint but persistent. The Heart-Seed's pulse kept the Glutton-Leech alive, but just barely.
"The next layer," Hao Wei said simply. "Shallow enough to farm, deep enough no one else bothers. There's a vein of Dusk-Silt I spotted yesterday. Ten Year-Stones at least."
Feng Zhen's face paled. "And the partial Exhale risk?"
"Acceptable," Hao Wei said. He crouched low as the tunnel narrowed. "Any higher, and we die. Any lower, and we starve. This is the Scar. Nothing else matters."
Lu Di followed silently. He adjusted the Heart-Seed pouch inside Hao Wei's bag, careful not to disturb its pulse. Hao Wei's eyes scanned the ceiling, watching the faint veins of Dusk-Dew. Every blackening line was a countdown, every shadow a potential Exhale.
They reached the shallow vein Hao Wei had marked. The sludge here was thicker, the Essence dirtier. Every strike of the pickaxe sent vibrations through the cave, each one a whisper of danger. The Glutton-Leech shrieked faintly in his stomach, demanding sustenance. Hao Wei ignored it. Efficiency came first. Hunger came second. Death was always a third option, though never welcome.
By the time the first stone dropped into their pouch, the Scar exhaled softly—a warning, a taste of the full collapse waiting in the depths. Hao Wei felt it tug at his Aperture. He adjusted, grounding himself in the rhythm of survival, in the calculus of debt, in the simple arithmetic of life and death.
One Year-Stone at a time, one heartbeat at a time. That was all the Scar allowed.
And Hao Wei was patient.