An Ning followed the scavenger mother and daughter to the so-called West District slum.
To call it a slum might not be entirely accurate, but the place was undeniably poor—the kind of poor you could see at a single glance.
All the houses were self-built shacks, the kind propped up by a few wooden planks and covered with a straw curtain.
Here, even a low-slung mud-brick house was considered a mark of wealth.
The people here had no light in their eyes, only a vast numbness. They worked numbly, lived numbly.
An Ning's arrival was completely out of place, and she drew stares from most of the residents. Some gazes were more brazen, the kind that felt like they were stripping you bare with their eyes.
An Ning had an effective counter for such gazes.
She casually picked up a rock from the ground, her eyes fixed on the man's... unmentionable region. With a squeeze of her hand, the rock crumbled to dust and drifted from her fingertips.
