She adjusted the strap of her bag as she rose, eyes flicking once more over the dining room.
A couple of businessn scrolled through their phones at the next table. A kid whined about wanting more buns. A server moved past with a polite smile and a pot of tea.
It was the kind of quiet that ca before sothing snapped.
Haoyu stood as well, pocketing his phone. "We’ll blend in better if we don’t look like we’re looking."
Qingran gave him a sideways look. "Good thing I always look like trouble."
He snorted. "That’s not what I— actually, never mind. Fair enough."
She tugged her gloves tighter, letting her usual calm settle over her features. "We walk like we’re actual buyers. Ask the right people, keep our ears open, and keep our backs to the wall."
Haoyu gave a short nod and followed her as they moved through the hotel, stepping back into the city’s haze.
The mont the doors slid shut behind them, the noise changed. The hotel had filtered it, making them unaware of the chaos for a brief second. Out here, the tension buzzed just beneath the surface.
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Sirens sowhere distant. The buzz of drones overhead. A dog barking, cut off mid-sound.
Qingran slipped her hands into her pockets. "Let’s find soone who knows how to keep secrets."
"And hope they’re willing to sell them."
She glanced sideways at him. "Everyone sells eventually."
[You two are going to get into trouble if you’re not careful. It’s not child play this ti]
Lingquan muttered.
"Relax, when it cos to fighting I can’t be beat." she murmured.
Qingran and Haoyu left the hotel just after 9:30, slipping into the quieter alleys behind the main road. The air grew heavier with each step—less sunlight, more smoke, more eyes watching from half-shuttered windows. Qingran pulled her hood up.
The black market weren’t advertised. There were no signs, no maps. But anyone who needed sothing badly enough would find them eventually.
It began at the edge of a derelict freight station, where rusted tracks split into the underground loading tunnels.
A tal gate, half-buried behind stacks of old crates, marked the unspoken threshold.
There were no guards, just a shift in atmosphere—as if the city above had vanished, replaced by sothing older, quieter, and far less forgiving.
Inside, it was dark and cramped.
The air reeked of oil, mold, sweat, and spice. Smoke drifted in lazy trails from braziers and cooking fires tucked behind makeshift stalls.
Naked bulbs flickered overhead, casting long, twitching shadows against damp concrete walls.
The tunnel snaked downward, alive with noise and movent, but sohow still tense—like everyone was waiting for the next fight to break out.
Vendors lined the corridor—so sitting behind crates stacked with counterfeit dicine, old world currency, scavenged electronics, hacked ID chips, and other things no one was supposed to have.
Others just leaned against the walls, arms folded, watching.
Eyes tracked them as they passed. No one spoke unless spoken to. No one smiled.
Haoyu stayed half a step behind Qingran, his gaze sharp, hands loose at his sides. "You sure we won’t have to fight our way out?"
"Not if we don’t do anything stupid."
They turned a corner into a slightly wider tunnel. Here, the market opened up into what used to be a cargo holding bay, now transford into a maze of shadowy stalls and temporary shops.
There were children selling pickpocketed goods out of backpacks.
A man offered questionable tattoos and forged passes in the sa breath.
A woman in a long red coat called after them, offering instant gene edits for the right price.
Sowhere further in, Qingran caught the tallic tang of blood and disinfectant.
There was a makeshift clinic hidden behind a curtain—surgeons who wouldn’t ask questions, for a fee.
[Lingquan’s voice flickered quietly.]
[Charming. I can practically sll the tetanus all the way from here.]
Qingran didn’t respond. Her eyes were already on the next stall, where a hunched man with a milky eye was selling encrypted drives.
She kept walking, making to check if Haoyu was behind her.
Further in, the crowd thickened. People didn’t just walk here—they drifted, they hovered, they leaned into conversations and faded just as quickly.
There were whispers, trades done with a look, a nod, a flash of tal or cloth or a barcode on soone’s wrist.
They got to a much quieter side of the market after asking for directions, this was the informant district.
A wiry man with a crooked smile waved them over first, his stall a ss of old newspapers and outdated surveillance devices.
"Got tapes from military frequencies," he said. "Last week’s drone feeds. Two hundred for a preview."
Qingran barely glanced at them. "Too old."
The second one, a woman with slicked-back hair and gold-plated implants, tapped her tal fingers on a scanner. "Nas, routes, corpsn who looked the other way last month. Take it or leave it."
"Leave it," Haoyu said before Qingran could. "That’s worth nothing if they’re already dead."
The third leaned forward from the shadows, breath thick with fernted liquor. "You want gossip? I got plenty. People disappearing off the grid. Strange activity near the ports. Body bags going in and nothing coming out."
"We’re not looking for ghost stories," Qingran said dryly, brushing past him.
The fourth—a pair of twins sitting cross-legged on a tattered rug—muttered in tandem about movent near the power plants and strange shipnts guarded by n in suits. Their words were rehearsed, prices too neat.
"Too clean," Qingran murmured as they walked past. "They’re plants."
Haoyu gave a small grunt. "So that leaves—"
", sweetheart."
They turned.
A man sat in the shadows of a crooked scaffold, chewing slowly on a strip of dried at. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, dark circles under his eyes, one boot untied. A lazy smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back against the stacked crates behind him.
He didn’t stand. Didn’t try to wave them in like the others. That alone set him apart.
Qingran narrowed her eyes. "You selling sothing?"
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