“Alright,” Chen Ci agreed.

Originally, Fu Tianhe hadn’t wanted Chen Ci to join him in scavenging through trash. After all, Jiu Yue was such a lovely and delicate Omega—someone who should be sitting beneath the chandeliers of high-end restaurants, not wading through a filthy landfill.

However, there was no denying that the landfill was an excellent place to study various materials. Countless metal parts lay scattered about, and disassembling them provided valuable insights into their uses. For the sake of teaching—and to spend more time with Jiu Yue—Fu Tianhe ultimately decided to take Chen Ci along.

Fu Tianhe grabbed two burlap sacks, folded them neatly, and took a toolkit from his bedroom. The leather-wrapped toolkit was filled with various-sized pockets holding wrenches, electric drills, screwdrivers, and other sorted tools. With the toolkit slung over his shoulder, Fu Tianhe led Chen Ci towards the landfill.

Chen Ci put on his cap and mask again, covering himself thoroughly, leaving only his calm, amber eyes visible. Fu Tianhe’s humble dwelling didn’t need a lock; they simply lifted the curtain and stepped out.

They followed a narrow path toward the landfill, and as they drew closer, the stench of decay gradually thickened in the air. Fu Tianhe glanced back at Chen Ci with concern, but of course, he couldn’t detect any discomfort on the masked youth’s face.

The 13th Information Processing Zone, located inside Chensha, lacked the air circulation of the neighboring 12th Zone. Even with high-powered ventilation systems running day and night, the stench around the landfill lingered, refusing to dissipate immediately.

As they walked along the path, crushed woven and plastic bags began appearing, stuck to the ground, with various types of trash scattered around. The deeper they went, the mess grew worse—garbage mounds rose into sharp peaks, towering in jagged formations.

Beyond the landfill lay the commercial street Chen Ci had visited before.

Fu Tianhe stopped at the edge, not venturing too deep. He looked around, set down the sacks, and said, “This spot will do.” Nearby, there were some scrapped vehicles, appliances, and items like neural adapters.

Chen Ci stood beside Fu Tianhe, watching as he pulled a pair of thick, greyish gloves from the sack. Slipping them on, Fu Tianhe turned to him and said, “I’ll handle this. Just follow along and get to know the materials.”

Chen Ci nodded. He had no intention of picking through the garbage himself.

Fu Tianhe approached one side of a garbage mound, where the metal legs of a robot—connected by pipe-like structures—were sticking out. Rubbing his hands together, he grabbed the robot’s metallic ankles, braced a foot against the side, and, with a sudden flex of his arms, yanked it free.

Fu Tianhe’s strength was considerable; the small robot nearly flew out, triggering a minor avalanche of trash. He dodged to the side, even managing to snatch a neural adapter in the process.

Chen Ci stepped back as an empty soda can rolled to where he had just been standing.

Meanwhile, Fu Tianhe propped the small robot against a scrapped vehicle, quickly checked its model, and reached behind it. With a press of his fingers, the robot’s chest energy slot lit up—shifting from deep blue to flashing red, signaling a low battery.

“Come here,” Fu Tianhe beckoned.

Chen Ci approached, stepping around the can.

“This is an AZ-284 companion robot. Due to the uncanny valley effect, most are designed to resemble pet dogs or cats. Humanoid models like this are rare and probably won’t be in production much longer,” Fu Tianhe explained.

He tapped the central energy pod with his knuckles. “Normally, it’s blue and turns off after five seconds. If it’s running out of power, it’ll flash red continuously.”

All of this was entirely foreign to Chen Ci. Everything he used in the White Tower was the latest in high-tech innovation, while these were nothing more than outdated scraps discarded by the upper echelons of the Underground City.

Still, he listened attentively as Fu Tianhe detailed the materials used in different parts—highly durable ductile iron, indispensable solder for the electronics industry, Babbitt alloy for sliding bearings, and more. Fu Tianhe shared it all like a treasure trove of knowledge, each explanation carrying a sense of reverence for these discarded remnants.

After discussing the surface materials, Fu Tianhe picked up a screwdriver and began disassembling the little robot. The robot’s round eyes turned downwards, watching Fu Tianhe’s gloved hands as its mouth mechanically opened and closed, emitting a crying sound: “No… don’t.”

Fu Tianhe ignored it; a machine has no feelings, only pre-set programs. He quickly opened the robot’s chest panel, exposing a mass of pipes and circuits. Grabbing the central energy pod, the robot stared at him, its limp arm trying to struggle: “Please… no…”

With a click, Fu Tianhe removed the energy pod from its slot. The robot’s gaze went dull, and its arm dropped heavily.

Fu Tianhe looked back at Chen Ci, perhaps worried he might feel pity, and said, “It’s not alive, don’t be fooled.”

“I know,” Chen Ci responded.

Fu Tianhe opened the energy pod’s cover, revealing an empty chamber except for a bit of blue residue clinging to the interior. “Nowadays, machines generally run on duststone fluid. The energy pod must be made of a special titanium alloy—any other material would corrode.”

Chen Ci crouched beside Fu Tianhe, silently watching as he skillfully disassembled the parts. Before long, the small robot had been broken down into several components, each sorted and placed into one of the burlap sacks for transport. Parts that were too damaged were discarded, while those containing precious metals were set aside in a separate sack for potential refining.

Chen Ci turned to look at Fu Tianhe. The Alpha’s intact left eye met his gaze—his pupil dark and glossy, his eyebrows bold, and his profile ruggedly handsome. The deep amber wood scent he exuded subtly masked the landfill’s foul odors, making the air a little easier to breathe.

If one didn’t know about his prosthetic eye, who would ever think Fu Tianhe was disabled?

“That’s about it,” Fu Tianhe moved to the side where the neural adapter he had found lay, “This thing is worth a bit more. The parts I usually make are mostly related to it.” “Have you used a neural adapter before?”

“I have.”

The first and only time Chen Ci had ever used a neural adapter was when he was ten. Sixteen-year-old Shavri Vitaljevich had visited the White Tower and, upon seeing the young boy sitting alone on a piano bench, asked if he wanted to play a game together.

Chen Ci agreed, and the intelligent housekeeper promptly brought out the latest model of the neural adapter. Under Shavri’s guidance, Chen Ci carefully put it on.

However, the moment the neural adapter was activated, something went wrong. A sharp, unbearable pain surged through Chen Ci, forcing a scream from his throat.

Startled, Shavri hurriedly shut off the power and clumsily yanked the adapter from Chen Ci’s head—only to be vomited on immediately.

The White Tower was thrown into chaos. Maids and butlers rushed about in a frenzy, while researchers from the XII Base arrived without delay, conducting a thorough diagnosis and treatment for Chen Ci.

He didn’t remember much after that. From then on, he remained wary of neural adapters.

“Nowadays, many people are addicted to them—wearing them all day, spending fortunes in-game on houses and land rather than indulging in real-world pleasures like good food.”

“But you can understand it, right? If life isn’t going well, at least they can enjoy themselves in the game world.”

Fu Tianhe casually mentioned this as he swiftly disassembled the neural adapter. Chen Ci silently watched, and when he removed the faceplate, he handed over a wrench.

Fu Tianhe was about to grab it when he saw Chen Ci handing it to him, pleasantly surprised, “How did you know I needed this?”

“I saw a similar step when you were disassembling the robot.”

Fu Tianhe grinned, impressed by Jiu Yue’s learning ability.

In just an hour and a half, Fu Tianhe had dismantled seven or eight pieces of old machinery, filling half of each sack. He slung the sacks over his shoulder, and as his body tilted, the tool bag hanging from his side dropped heavily to one side, causing an unsecured screwdriver to slide out and fall to the ground.

Fu Tianhe was about to pick it up, but Chen Ci was quicker. The Omega youth bent down to pick up the screwdriver and reinserted it into the tool bag’s pocket.

“Thanks,” Fu Tianhe said, clearly touched. Usually, he came here alone and had never enjoyed such consideration.

“It’s nothing.”

The two retraced their steps and returned to the makeshift home. With suitable teaching materials in hand, Fu Tianhe began instructing Chen Ci on how to judge the properties of different materials by touch.

Time passed quickly—especially in the Underground City, where night never turned to day. Chen Ci didn’t even realize it was nighttime until drowsiness crept up on him, and he let out a silent yawn.

It was already half-past ten. “It’s gotten so late,” Fu Tianhe put down what he was holding, “I can’t let you go home alone this late; it might not be safe.”

Chen Ci hummed in agreement, then heard Fu Tianhe say, “Change your clothes and take a bath when you get home; the landfill smell is pretty strong.”

“Okay.”

Fu Tianhe put on his coat and escorted Chen Ci to the bus station. When they reached the station, Fu Tianhe changed his mind: “Maybe I should take you home.”

As if anticipating Chen Ci’s refusal, Fu Tianhe blinked preemptively and added, somewhat overcompensating, “I am your master, after all. It shouldn’t be too strange for a master to send his apprentice home, right?”

Chen Ci looked steadily at Fu Tianhe, fully aware that the Alpha’s intentions weren’t so simple. Yet, it didn’t seem to matter. Given Fu Tianhe’s character and integrity, even if he knew Chen Ci’s exact address, he wouldn’t do anything inappropriate.

Perhaps the trust that had formed in just a week was proof of Fu Tianhe’s character—one that had already been tested by Chen Nian.

Chen Ci remained silent, his gaze unwavering. Under his stare, Fu Tianhe’s face slowly flushed red.

Fortunately, the bus arrived just then, and Fu Tianhe quickly looked away, breaking eye contact with the Omega youth. “The bus is here; let’s go.”

Chen Ci didn’t refuse.

The bus was empty at this hour. Chen Ci sat at the back near the window, and Fu Tianhe followed, sitting next to him. The bus started slowly, its gentle jolts rocking their bodies.

It was past Chen Ci’s usual rest time, and the fatigue hit hard, especially now in the quiet, making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open.

Fu Tianhe watched Chen Ci closely, noticing the youth’s eyes silently closing and his head beginning to droop in the bus’s rhythmic rumble.

The moment Chen Ci seemed unsteady, Fu Tianhe quickly extended his hand, cushioning it against the bus window glass. Seconds later, Chen Ci’s head slowly leaned over, resting in the palm of his hand.