Civilian Commerce Association: Newbies Can't Handle It

Gan Ming put away the guide slip and stood on the steps, looking toward the roadside.

The Eastern Suburbs Ruins Zone lay on the outskirts east of the city. Unlike the West City Outskirts Woodland, there was no fixed bus route that went directly there.

To get there, he either needed his own transportation or had to take a taxi.

Gan Ming raised a hand and hailed a cab.

"Eastern Suburbs Ruins Zone."

The male driver was in his early thirties, with a buzz cut.

He glanced at Gan Ming through the rearview mirror, then looked at the patched, ragged clothes he wore.

"Going to the Ruins Zone, sir..."

The driver asked as he shifted into gear and pulled away.

"There aren't any designated stopping points over there. I can only take you to outside the Vigilance line. You'll still have to walk another four or five hundred meters yourself."

"Fine."

The car merged onto the main road.

Gan Ming leaned against the back seat, his gaze sweeping over the driver's profile.

The Soul-Stealing Panel did not appear.

As Gan Ming watched the scenery outside, he suddenly spoke.

"Driver, how long have you been driving a taxi?"

"Not long. Just three years," the driver answered readily.

"Then you should know this area pretty well."

"More or less. I've driven to the entrances of the Fallen Zones in every direction."

Gan Ming nodded.

After waiting two seconds, he changed the subject. "A driver mentioned a place to me before. What was it called... the Civilian Commerce Association?"

"He said they bought materials at higher prices than the association? Are you familiar with it, driver?"

But the driver did not answer immediately.

A full five or six seconds passed before he replied.

"Oh, I know the place. But whether their buyback prices are higher than the association's, I wouldn't know. I'm just an ordinary guy."

Gan Ming waited for a while and found that the man truly had no intention of continuing the topic.

The previous driver had taken the initiative to recommend it, practically wanting to drive him there himself.

This one had clammed up the instant he heard the words "Civilian Commerce Association."

Two drivers, two completely different attitudes.

Interesting.

Gan Ming did not press further.

Since the other person did not want to talk,

the more he asked, the less likely he was to get anything useful.

The car fell silent again.

The buildings outside grew increasingly run-down.

The signs of commercial streets were gradually replaced by gray walls and barbed wire.

Twenty-five minutes later,

the car stopped at the end of a gravel road.

Five hundred meters ahead,

he could see a low barbed-wire fence stretched across the road.

Temporary guard posts stood on either side of the fence.

The Security Bureau's flag fluttered above the guard posts.

The driver pulled the handbrake and turned around.

"Sir, that's the Ruins Zone's Vigilance line ahead. I can't drive any farther."

"How much?"

"One hundred and fifty."

Gan Ming took out his ID card from his ring and handed it over.

The driver looked at the card, then at the card terminal in the front passenger seat.

After hesitating, he picked up the terminal and asked carefully,

"Sir, would it... be convenient for you to pay in Contribution Points?"

There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

Gan Ming looked at him.

What did an ordinary person need Contribution Points for?

They could not exchange them at the association themselves.

But then again, Contribution Points were hard currency in this world.

One Contribution Point equaled 135 in cash.

For an ordinary taxi driver, though, he might be able to sell it elsewhere for even more.

"How many?"

"One is enough." The driver's tone immediately turned humble.

Gan Ming swiped his ID card across the terminal.

Beep.

[Contribution Points Balance: 5→4]

The driver's shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw the number on the terminal, and he hurriedly thanked him again and again.

"Thank you, sir. Thank you."

Gan Ming nodded.

He pushed open the car door, and one foot had just stepped onto the gravel.

Then the driver's voice came from behind him.

"Sir."

Gan Ming turned back.

The driver's expression suggested he was carefully choosing his words.

Several seconds passed before he finally spoke.

"If your level is low, you'd better stay away from the Civilian Commerce Association."

After saying that, he stopped looking at Gan Ming and lowered his head to put away the terminal.

Gan Ming watched the driver's profile.

Earlier, when the man had mentioned the Civilian Commerce Association, he had refused to say a word.

Yet now, after receiving a Contribution Point, he had taken the initiative to offer a warning.

He did not want to discuss it, but could not help reminding him anyway.

What did that mean?

It meant there really was something wrong with the Civilian Commerce Association.

And the problem was not as simple as getting cheated out of money.

If it were merely unfair prices, the driver would not have been so wary.

What he cared about were the words "low level."

Those with low levels could not go, while those with high levels could.

Then the problem with that place had to do with strength.

Gan Ming gave a quiet hum, said nothing more, and casually shut the car door.

The taxi immediately made a U-turn and drove away.

Gan Ming walked forward along the gravel road.

The farther he went, the stronger the familiar bloody stench in the air became.

It was different from the Woodland's smell.

In the Woodland, the stench was mixed with the damp scent of decaying soil.

Here, it was dry, carrying the smell of dust and rusty iron.

Before long, Gan Ming saw layer upon layer of barbed-wire fencing.

The setup here was far more complicated than the one at the Woodland.

On both sides stood steel-framed guard posts.

A three-meter-tall iron gate stretched between the guard posts.

Roadblocks had been placed at the entrance.

Concrete barriers and steel anti-vehicle barricades alternated,

compressing the passage until it was only wide enough for one person to pass through.

Ten fully armed Security Bureau officers stood in two groups.

One group of five guarded either side of the iron gate, while the other five slowly patrolled along the barbed-wire fence.

Every one of them wore standard-issue dark-gray armor, clearly newer in color than what the two officers at the Woodland entrance had worn.

At the same time, their armor covered far more of their bodies.

Shoulder guards, arm guards, and leg armor were all present. Standard-issue longswords or war hammers hung at their waists, and two of them even carried shields on their backs.

If the two at the Woodland had been in a "leaning against the fence and sunbathing" state,

then these ten were in a "ready to fight at any moment" state.

As Gan Ming approached, a Security Bureau officer beside the iron gate had already turned sideways to face him.

The Soul-Stealing Panel popped up repeatedly at the edge of Gan Ming's vision.

He did not deliberately examine everyone's detailed skill lists. He only checked their tiers and talents.

All ten were Second Tier.

Their innate talents varied widely.

There was "Vigilance," "Hold Fast," one with "Battlefield Perception," and another with "Command."

The fewest specialized skills anyone had was four, while the most was seven.

Every one of them had more than fifteen ordinary skills.

Any one of them, taken alone, was stronger than the two at the Woodland entrance.

This was the kind of Security Bureau deployment a proper Fallen Zone should have.

Those two slackers at the Woodland could only be considered gatekeepers.

The approaching Security Bureau officer stopped three meters away and held out his hand.

"ID card."

Gan Ming took the card from his ring and handed it over.

The other man accepted it and inserted it into the portable terminal at his waist. Beep. The terminal lit up and began reading the data.