Chapter Eight: The Domed Fishery, Viper, and Beehive

At noon, the Lower District was desolate beyond measure. The whole town of Raw Meat seemed drained of vitality, last night’s raucous revelry nothing but a phantom dream. Only the scattered bottles and refuse on the streets bore witness to the fact that people had once breathed here.

Zheng Nanfang lay naked on the bed, his gaze hollow, staring in a daze at the bus’s ceiling. Two long, pale legs were still draped across his body; the red-haired girl and her companions lay sprawled beside him. The atmosphere inside the bus hostel was thick with ambiguity.

“Hey, get up,” someone said.

Zheng Nanfang struggled to pull his numb arm from beneath the red-haired girl. She mumbled something, turned over, and continued sleeping, sweet and undisturbed.

He sat up, stepping over the pale bodies to the window. Peering through the gap in the curtain, he saw the town outside—bleak, deserted, not a soul in sight.

Such was the Lower District during sandstorm season. If one could be active at night, it was best to avoid venturing out during the day.

Daytime temperatures were erratic, swinging up and down within minutes. The ultraviolet rays were strong enough to cause direct harm to the human body. Wrapped up, it was too hot; unprotected, too dangerous. Add to that unpredictable sandstorms and hail—altogether, the short days and long nights of sandstorm season had taught the inhabitants of the Lower District to sleep by day and roam by night.

A pair of soft hands wrapped around Zheng Nanfang’s waist. The red-haired girl had unknowingly sidled up to him, her smooth body pressed against his back, her warmth teasing and gentle.

Zheng Nanfang yawned. The room was stifling hot; the friendly hostel had no electric fan. The red-haired girl’s body was pleasantly cool, but if she clung to him much longer, he’d soon be drenched in sweat.

“What’s your name?” Zheng Nanfang asked, still doggedly obsessed with names. He squeezed her lush hip, grumbling, “I remember you were the most enthusiastic last night.”

“Don’t you like it?” The red-haired girl’s eyes were sultry as she twisted her slender waist in his arms, giggling, “Why are you so fixated on names?”

“Names are used to distinguish people,” Zheng Nanfang tapped his head, helpless. “I need names to concretize you as separate individuals. Otherwise, it gets confusing.”

“I don’t understand,” she replied, blinking. Sensing he wasn’t just rambling, she tentatively asked, “Is it... an illness of yours?”

“Sort of. I can’t explain it well.” Zheng Nanfang nodded, taking out his bottle of medicine from his backpack. He poured a few pills into his mouth, chewed them into powder, and swallowed with a grimace. “Too many voices in my head—it hurts.”

The red-haired girl considered this, hugging her knees at Zheng Nanfang’s feet. She spoke softly, “My name is Tang Garlic.”

“What?”

“The short-haired one is Li Green Pepper, and the one beside her is Shu Onion.” Tang Garlic pointed at the two women still sleeping soundly. She smiled, seeing his confusion, “Seems strange, doesn’t it?”

Zheng Nanfang shook his head, laughing, “Not really strange—actually, your names sound quite delicious.”

At the mention of food, his stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and after the blood-soaked exertions of last night, he was feeling truly depleted. He looked around, but the room was bare and poverty-stricken.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Do you have any currency?” Tang Garlic, the nurse, countered.

Zheng Nanfang pursed his lips, annoyed, “No. And there’s nowhere to eat in town during the day, it seems.”

“There is,” the red-haired girl rested her head on his thigh, grinning mischievously. “The well we passed yesterday—you can go down there. The cave restaurant is famous in these parts.”

Zheng Nanfang inhaled sharply, covering himself as he hurriedly put on his pants, and slapped the rounded backsides of Onion and Green Pepper. “Up, up, let’s eat.”

Tang Garlic watched his embarrassed behavior, her smile blossoming. This guy was odd, but somehow she liked him a little more.

The three women each donned their nurse uniforms, washed their faces with the filtered sand water provided by the bus, and waited by the door. But Zheng Nanfang did not appear.

Tang Garlic poked her head inside and saw Zheng Nanfang emptying his backpack, rummaging through a pile of odds and ends.

“What are you looking for, boss?” she asked, puzzled.

Zheng Nanfang’s expression was grim, his eyes fierce as he gritted his teeth, “My invitation is missing.”

Tang Garlic felt uneasy under his undisguised glare and hurried to explain, “It has nothing to do with us. We’ve got nothing on us except your semen.”

“I know.” Zheng Nanfang closed his eyes, suppressing his rising anger. Muttering, “Hu Bi wouldn’t have done this... so, it’s you.”

“Who?” Tang Garlic watched as he picked up his steel blade, backing away instinctively.

Wildland desperados were capricious; losing something as crucial as a Carnival invitation could easily send Zheng Nanfang into a rage, venting it on the three of them.

Fortunately, Zheng Nanfang’s mind was still sound. After a moment, he regained his composure, dressed, pulled up his hood, slid the steel blade into his belt, and glanced at the three women’s cool, alluring outfits. “You’ll get sunburned. Wait here; I’ll go buy food.”

“Thank you, boss.”

&&&&&&&

Zheng Nanfang made his way to the repair shop. Hu Bi’s heavy pickup truck was already being worked on. Even in the heat, not everyone lay in bed feigning death—outlaws and desperados had to rely on their skills to scrape a living.

“Brother Quickblade, your car won’t go much farther,” the bushy-bearded mechanic said, a wet towel draped over his head, bare torso glistening with sweat. He pointed to a pile of ammunition extracted from the truck. “It’s a miracle you made it here. The engine’s still sturdy, but there are no replacement parts. You might make it to the Orange Hall if you’ve got something valuable enough. There, you can trade for cars and guns.”

It was the second time Zheng Nanfang had heard of the Orange Hall. He asked, “What is that place? A trading post?”

“More or less. It’s the nearest Upper District landfill to Raw Meat Town, where you can find all sorts of good stuff.” The bearded man led Zheng Nanfang into the garage, pulled back a tarp, and revealed a brand-new black muscle car.

He was proud, patting the car as he boasted, “First-generation Viper. I’ve replaced everything inside and out—fitted it with a human oil filter, long-skirt cylinders, twin-disc clutch. Floor it, and you’ll know what a real man’s car is.”

Zheng Nanfang was unimpressed, shrugging, “I can’t afford it.”

“You can trade,” the bearded man grinned, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth. “Help me bring my son back, and I’ll give you this Viper. Deal?”

Zheng Nanfang glanced at Hu Bi’s battered truck, then at the gleaming Viper. He hesitated, “Let’s talk over food.”

&&&&&&&

The cave restaurant was packed. Restless men and women from town gathered here—drinking, brawling, taking drugs, indulging in wanton pleasures.

The owner was a dwarf, a muscular, knotted dwarf. The bearded man tossed him a bag of coins and a small hand-cranked generator. The dwarf snatched an oversized billiard cue, chased off a pair of lovers from a round table, and gestured for Zheng Nanfang and his companion to sit.

Zheng Nanfang eyed the sticky, unidentified mess on the seat, looked around, and pulled a leather jacket from the back of a bald woman’s chair to sit on.

“Two black pepper beers, two sand rat noodle bowls, and a platter of native lamb,” the bearded man ordered with practiced ease, stroking drool from his beard with a laugh. “Sand rats from Raw Meat Town are especially fat—you’ll want seconds after the first bite.”

Zheng Nanfang swallowed, not commenting. He sniffed the tall glass of black liquid the dwarf brought, skeptical, “Beer?”

The bearded man clinked glasses with him. “Only the northern Lower District has black pepper—it’s stronger than hops.”

Zheng Nanfang took a sip. The bitterness exploded on his tongue, and before it faded, a fiery line shot from his throat to his stomach, burning so fiercely it felt as if he’d inhaled smoke.

“How about it, ha ha ha!” The bearded man seemed blind to Zheng Nanfang’s grimace, gulped his drink, mixed the yellow sauce in the aluminum bowl, and called out, “Native lamb—delicious!”

“Eat, eat, eat...” Zheng Nanfang caught the scent, and this time didn’t resist. He grabbed a lamb leg and tore into it. The sauce was spicy and robust, the meat chewy and fragrant, filling his mouth with flavor.

“You mentioned your son...” Zheng Nanfang swallowed a huge mouthful, suddenly finding the black pepper beer a suitable match. He wolfed down more, then remembered the main issue, “What happened to your son?”

The bearded man sighed, smacking his lips, “My son’s trapped in the Domed Fishery. I can’t get in, and even if I did, neither of us could make it out alive.”

“Explain in detail—what is the Domed Fishery? What happened to your son?” Zheng Nanfang sensed trouble. The highway race was about to start. Not only did he need a car, he had to find Shaman and retrieve his invitation. If he got tangled in more mess over a car, he’d miss the chance to compete.

“You’re from the wilds—you must’ve heard of the Hive?” The bearded man lowered his voice, eyes shifting. “A Hive appeared in the Domed Fishery.”

“What’s that got to do with your son?”

“My son discovered the Hive, but the people at the Domed Fishery don’t know about it yet.”