Zhou Zhao successfully evaded all the Law Enforcers and arrived at Rust Zone L2 before the appointed time.

As soon as he stepped into L2, he felt many wary eyes sizing him up. The residents here were as thin as iron rods, their emaciated skin filthy and matted with dirt, their hair unkempt and brittle. Their gazes were either fixed and piercing or peering from some dark crevice.

People lived in cramped, crowded abandoned buildings, self-built structures haphazardly stacked together, appearing from afar like a haphazardly grown steel forest. The network of pipelines obscured the sky, and they had no steady source of water or food. Like woodpeckers in the ruins, they could only survive by scavenging, and if lucky, they might find something to eat in this forest.

This is the origin of the name 'Woodpecker's House'.

Occasionally, the people above sent hovercar convoys to distribute relief food, but most of that food was controlled by gangs on the ground. The gang leaders often became the controllers of a slum, establishing order through violence by controlling food and water sources.

Woodpecker's House lacked such a leader. It was mostly a gathering place for heavily wanted criminals or refugees exiled from their original settlements.

Clutching a metal can in his arms, Zhou Zhao walked into an abandoned building, traversing the crowded passageway. The air reeked with an unbearable stench, and occasionally a few stick-like hands would reach out to grab his neck, hoping to exchange for food this way, but he dodged them all.

He arrived before a threshold, where a young, thin child crouched on the ground watching him. The child's dark eyes darted around, propping his chin while glancing left and right. The child's mother, with messy long hair, emerged from a nearby room, cursing at the man's unreasonable behavior.

Before long, a man came out from the room, cursing loudly with a thick neck, pulling up his pants while noticing the boy squatting on the ground. Seeing only Zhou Zhao around, he walked up and stomped a shoe print on the boy's face before spitting on the ground and storming off.

The child was long accustomed to this, not crying or making a fuss. He got up, dusted himself off, and reached out to Zhou Zhao.

Zhou Zhao sighed and shook his head, retrieving a cookie wrapped in tin foil from his arms, broke off a small piece, and placed it in the boy's hand. He watched as the boy slowly licked the cookie clean before looking away, pretending not to notice.

The boy glanced at his mother, who was standing by the window smoking, ignoring him. Seeing this, he gave up, stood on tiptoe, and opened the iron door with a key.

Zhou Zhao walked through the door, the air filled with a pungent odor. Every windowsill was planted with 'tobacco', a name lacking elegance. It grew with long stalks, with two small buds branching from the top, having crescent-shaped petals that emitted a glow.

The stem could be chewed directly, its juice addictive, or dried with leaves, ground into fine bits, wrapped in cigarette paper, and smoked like women do.

This was one of the few plants that people on the ground could grow. Compared to currency, this tobacco was the hard currency circulating among the slums. Due to its short maturity period, almost every household grew it to exchange for food and other survival materials.

Noting the woman's thin, skin-covered, sore-ridden calves, Zhou Zhao shook his head and said nothing, burying his head and continuing forward.

Crude curses and dirty, filthy words continuously came from both sides. Some residents, upon seeing Zhou Zhao, wanted to provoke him but were intimidated by the 'Mayfly' emblem on his clothes. Even more, they were deterred by the gaze from his slightly narrow eyes.

The young man wasn't very old, just in his early twenties, yet his eyes were already so sharp. No doubt, if he were to fight, he wouldn't hold back. In such places, injuries could not be treated with painkillers; one either endured or faced a painful, worsening death.

Passing through the residential area, Zhou Zhao reached a balcony, where half the wall had already collapsed. A scrap hovercar was parked on the balcony. Dim light filtered through the gaps, revealing the interior of the hovercar.

A yellow-stained bulb hung from above, rainwater seeping through the outer armor of the hovercar, falling into the bathtub below. An obese man found time for a bath even in such times, while scrubbing his armpits, he reached for a magazine from a bygone era from a nearby bookshelf, reading with gusto.

With plush woolen red carpet, handicrafts on shelves, two pots of pink azaleas, and a small projection on a tapestry, if not for the shabby exterior, this decor in Woodpecker's House could only be described as opulent.

"Hank," Zhou Zhao spoke.

The man, biting a cigar, slowly removed his sunglasses, glanced at the young man who had come, then put the sunglasses back on:

"Where's the stuff?"

"And what about them?"

The man named Hank frowned slightly: "Now it's my turn to ask questions. There's been some trouble on their end. They'll be here later. Let's first see if the stuff is still here."

Suddenly, the man stood up, water splashing off his bulky frame.

"They didn't follow you, did they?"

"I've already shaken them off; they won't follow here."

Zhou Zhao said nothing and silently held the metal can, standing there without a word.

Hank glanced at him, chuckled softly twice, then sat back in the bathtub:

"Kid, as stubborn as a mule. The money has already been transferred to your account. Aren't you curious at all about what's inside?"

"I've already guessed," Zhou Zhao replied.

Hank was taken aback, focusing on the metal can in the young man's arms. Only then did he notice a small crack in the can, with black soil smeared around the crack.

"A key to the future."

Zhou Zhao shook his head, placed the metal can on the table, and lightly pressed twice at the rim of the can. The body of the can automatically opened flat, the rim lowered to the right and embedded into the inner groove, revealing its inner structure.

It was a small piece of substrate covered with a layer of black soil. Upon careful inspection, one could discern tiny and tenacious life growing in the soil, tender seedlings swaying in the wind.

These were seeds of a few plants.

"Has it sprouted...?"

Hank slowly opened his mouth, his breathing inadvertently quickening.

Like a child filled with curiosity, he hurriedly got out of the bathtub and rushed over, carefully cradling this precious treasure in his hands, scrutinizing it, wary of raindrops damaging it. His behavior sharply contrasted with his burly physique.

"Has it really sprouted?"

Zhou Zhao knew in his heart that the man's reaction wasn't deliberately exaggerated or affected.

In Alfas, almost all seeds were genetically locked by the upper echelons upon birth. They could automatically recognize environments, and regardless of how suitable the conditions were, they couldn't grow outside of Sky City.

And the goal of his mission,

was precisely such a genetically uncompromised rice seed capable of growing normally on the ground.

A key to the future for those at the bottom.