The car slowed down to the pace of the flowing crowd.
No one blocked them. No sirens. No weapons pointed. But Thuong Sinh recognized very clearly that there was order. An order that didn't need to be spoken; one only needed to break it to be spotted immediately.
At the intersection ahead, someone sat on a three-story rooftop, not holding a gun, just leaning against the railing with old binoculars. Their gaze swept over the car exactly once, then moved on.
"There are guards," Lam Thanh Moc whispered very softly.
"Yeah," Thuong Sinh replied.
The car stopped at an empty plot of land right at the edge of the residential area. There were no "no parking" signs, but other cars also stopped there, lined up neatly. People got out, locked their doors, and then walked inside.
Thuong Sinh followed suit.
Stepping out of the car, he felt the difference very clearly. It wasn't mental pressure, but the rhythm of life—the people here were not living in a state of waiting for death. They had work to do, places to go, and rules to follow.
A woman around thirty years old passed by, carrying a water crate; she stopped for half a beat upon seeing them.
"Newcomers?" she asked.
"Passing through," Thuong Sinh replied.
The woman looked at the sword at his hip, then at Lam Thanh Moc, but only briefly.
"Staying overnight is fine," she said. "But don't cause trouble."
"Is there a place to exchange supplies?" Lam Thanh Moc asked.
"There is." The woman pointed toward the end of the street. "The old station area. But ask for the price first."
Having said that, she continued on without waiting for an answer. The two walked deeper into the city.
The further they went, the clearer the feeling of "deviation" became. It wasn't because it was too safe, but because everyone knew they were living on some kind of boundary. Smiles existed, but they never lasted too long. Conversations happened, but they were never loud—only loud enough to be heard.
In the small central square, there was a large wooden board with many handwritten slips of paper pinned to it: [Hiring generator repairmen] [Exchanging batteries for medicine]
Thuong Sinh stopped before the board for a moment.
"No manager's name," Lam Thanh Moc noted.
"Yeah," he said. "Because this place isn't held by one person."
They continued toward the old station—this time a real station, not a pile of ruins. The canopy was intact, and the tracks had been cleared. Under the roof, people sat exchanging goods, while some checked others' backpacks.
A man with graying hair raised his head as they approached.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"A map," Thuong Sinh replied.
Thuong Sinh took out a cleaned knife; the blade was still sharp, and the handle was wrapped in cloth. The man looked at the knife, his eyes brightening slightly.
"A hunter," he said. Not a question, just a conclusion. "Alright. But maps aren't free."
"The price?"
The man looked at him, then at Lam Thanh Moc. "How long are you staying?" he asked.
Thuong Sinh faltered for a beat. "Not sure yet," he replied.
The man chuckled slightly—not a friendly laugh. "Then this map is more than just paper."
He pulled a sheet of paper from under the counter; on it were not just streets, but various symbols drawn with different intensities of ink.
"Luc Thuy isn't a station," he said.
"It's a survivor city."
Thuong Sinh didn't speak, but his gaze stopped at the three largest symbols on the map.
The man tapped with his finger. "The east is the residential zone. Most populated. Gangs grow from there. The south is the industrial zone. Supplies, machinery, electricity. And the north…"
He paused. "The military."
Thuong Sinh narrowed his eyes and nodded.
"So what is the price?"
The man looked straight at him. "If you want to survive here, don't be stupid enough to stand on the wrong side."
He pushed the map over. "The knife is enough for the map. But this advice, I give for free."
Thuong Sinh took it.
When the two left the station, the atmosphere outside was such that every street was watched, every sector as if having its own laws. The streets weren't crowded, but they weren't empty either. A few old trucks drove slowly through intersections, wheels grinding over a thin layer of dust.
Pedestrians were scattered on both sides of the road, carrying backpacks and crude weapons; no one appeared panicked.
Every street had someone standing at the mouth of the turn. They didn't block the road or ask questions; they just stood there, leaning against walls or sitting on wooden crates, eyes scanning those who passed by.
Lam Thanh Moc glanced at a man with a handgun leaning against a lamppost.
They walked a bit further. A small market was open right in the middle of the old square. It wasn't noisy; there was no shouting of wares—just a few tarps spread on the ground. Ammunition for dry rations, batteries for medicine; someone even displayed motorcycle parts.
Some people looked at Thuong Sinh and Lam Thanh Moc a bit longer, especially when seeing the sword behind his back, but then they turned away.
"It doesn't look like a transit station," Lam Thanh Moc said.
"Yeah."
"It looks like a place people stay."
They found an old inn converted from a collective housing block. The room collector only asked one thing: how many people, and how many days to pay in advance. No background check.
Up in the room, Thuong Sinh opened the map and placed it on the table. He said nothing, only marking several large areas with his hand. His gaze lingered a beat longer on the northern part of the map, then moved away.
Lam Thanh Moc didn't ask; she stood by the window looking down at the street. Down there, two groups of people met, nodded, exchanged a few short words, and then split up.
"At least we can sleep tonight."
Thuong Sinh nodded. "Tomorrow we walk around," he said.
"No rush."
That afternoon, Lam Thanh Moc went downstairs alone.
It wasn't out of curiosity, but because she had such a habit. In places with many living people, she always wanted to hear how they talked first—see what they said and how they used words.
In front of the inn was a small tea stall, crudely built of tin and wood. A middle-aged woman was boiling water, beside her were two teenagers about fourteen or fifteen years old, wiping cups with familiar movements.
"Want a drink?" the woman asked, her voice calm.
"Yes, please," Lam Thanh Moc replied.
She set down a packet of pure, filtered salt. The woman glanced at it, nodded, and poured her a bowl of warm water.
"From outside?" she asked further.
"Yes."
"Must be tired from the road."
Lam Thanh Moc sat on a low wooden stool. A while later, two other men arrived, talking about exchanging batteries for gasoline; their voices weren't low, and they didn't avoid her.
"...the eastern sector is quieter this week."
"Because the military just did a sweep."
The way they spoke was very different. Not out of fear, but out of familiarity with living with danger. Lam Thanh Moc finished her water, stood up to say thanks, and headed back toward the inn.
At the same time, on the other side of the road.
Thuong Sinh was leaning against the second-floor railing, his gaze watching the sparse flow of people. He wasn't looking for anything, just the habit of observation.
Then he froze. Amidst the crowd crossing the intersection, a silhouette glided past very quickly, face unclear. It was just the slightly hunched gait, the right hand always pressed close to the body.
A familiar feeling, very vague, like a piece of an old memory being pulled from underwater.
Thuong Sinh narrowed his eyes. That person turned into an alley, vanishing behind a fractured cement wall.
In that instant, a very old image appeared in his mind: a school hallway, the lingering smell of blood, chaotic screams, and the gazes of several people standing afar, looking at him as if he were something that shouldn't exist.
Thuong Sinh reached up to lightly rub his right shoulder—where he had been bitten then. Although it had completely recovered, the scar remained.
Lam Thanh Moc had just reached the stairs.
"Aren't you going down?" she asked.
"No need," he replied, his gaze having left the alley.
He turned into the room and closed the door, but in his head, that silhouette had not yet faded. In a place like Luc Thuy, where too many survivors congregated, meeting an acquaintance was perhaps just a coincidence.
The next morning, the mist had not yet fully cleared.
Lam Thanh Moc had just opened the door when she stopped mid-step.
Three men stood at the foot of the stairs. They didn't cover their faces or carry weapons overtly; their clothes were neat, cleaner than necessary. The way they stood fanned out was very natural, but just enough to block the path.
"Good morning," the one in the middle spoke first, his voice mild. "Sorry for disturbing you so early."
Thuong Sinh was already standing behind her. He scanned the three of them, his gaze stopping at their wrists and boots—no mud, no blood, light footsteps.
"Something the matter?" he asked.
"Yes," the man nodded.
"You two are newcomers. Entered the city yesterday, resting at the northern inn, hanging no gang signs, and not registered in a protected zone."
"Information is quite thorough," Thuong Sinh said.
The man smiled lightly. "In Luc Thuy, many ears and eyes are normal."
One man on the left stepped forward half a pace. "And you two... are not simple."
Not a question or a suspicion, but an assertion.
Thuong Sinh did not deny it, nor did he nod. "What do you want?" he asked directly.
"To make an offer," the man in the middle replied.
"To join."
The air went silent for a beat.
"We are from the Ding Stone Society," the man continued, as if he had been waiting for this question. "One of the three major organizations in Luc Thuy."
Thuong Sinh narrowed his eyes slightly. "Three?" he asked.
"Yes." The man held up three fingers without exaggeration. "The Ding Stone Society controls transport, supplies, and city entrance routes. The Qing Line Alliance gathers Ability users and manages the southern residential area. And Luc Thuy Post."
The man paused for half a beat. "The military."
Thuong Sinh tilted his head slightly. Not surprised, but attentive.
"Three powers," Thuong Sinh repeated.
"No open fighting. No absolute harmony. But it keeps this city alive." He looked straight at Thuong Sinh. "Outsiders wanting to stay long-term must stand on one side."
"And if not?" Thuong Sinh asked.
The smile left the man's face, his voice lowering a bit, though not threatening: "Then you can still go, stay, and trade. It's just…" He stopped, looking straight into Thuong Sinh's eyes. "No one guarantees that when something happens, someone will step up to claim you as their own."
A heavy silence fell.
Thuong Sinh did not respond. He only looked at the man, his gaze calm, appearing unhurried.
"Sounds like coercion," Lam Thanh Moc said.
"No," the man shook his head.
"It's the rule of survival."
He looked at Thuong Sinh, speaking very clearly: "You don't have to choose. But don't expect to be treated as someone within the city."
Thuong Sinh gave a very slight nod. "I understand."
The answer was too short, causing the man to frown slightly. "And your decision?"
"Not yet," Thuong Sinh said.
"I just arrived. Many things yet to see."
The man looked at him for a few seconds, as if wanting to read more behind that composure, then slowly nodded.
"Three days."
"In three days, no one will trouble you."
He turned to leave, leaving behind one final sentence: "But in Luc Thuy, there are things that will find you on their own, whether you pick a side or not."
The three merged into the morning crowd, vanishing among the unusually orderly streets.
Lam Thanh Moc let out a soft breath.
Thuong Sinh looked toward another direction of the city, where flags of different colors hung from distant rooftops, each color representing a sector.
He turned around. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"To go see," he replied,
"what kind of city Luc Thuy truly is."