Cheng Ye knew his sewing skills well.

Back when cheap online shopping wasn’t a thing, he’d often mend his torn jeans. But once jeans dropped to 20 bucks a pair, why bother sewing? Toss the worn ones at a recycling station for 4 bucks, grab a coupon, and buy a new pair for just 10. Over time, he’d mostly forgotten the skill, barely retaining the basics.

“So, action points must tap into my peak ability.”

Cheng Ye pondered, then sighed at himself for worrying about it.

There was no need to obsess over how action points determined standards. Complex actions would surely require specific skills, while simple tasks wouldn’t demand much.

Even if he couldn’t execute a task, learning on the fly wouldn’t take long.

The wasteland wasn’t a zombie apocalypse, and Happiness City wasn’t a city overrun with undead. It still carried the torch of human civilization. As an inspector, accessing high-tech data might be tough, but common knowledge was within reach.

Also, Cheng Ye pulled open the desk drawer and stuffed the backpack inside.

While the Collector could mask biological perception during actions, the finished product couldn’t be hidden.

He’d need to be careful, using actions only when alone.

Stuck in the quarantine zone with nowhere to go, the morning’s four-plus hours passed in a flash.

As the saying goes: heavy rain doesn’t last, but drizzle soaks you through.

Last night’s storm had been fierce but had eased to a drizzle by morning and cleared up entirely by now.

The temperature soared, the sun baking everything in a dizzying haze.

At first, Cheng Ye worried about infected entities, vigilantly scanning the corridor outside, occasionally standing to stretch and stay ready.

But the entire morning, while Zone B processed over a hundred people, Zone A remained dead quiet.

“Could last night’s rain have collapsed the road outside?”

“No way. People driving out wouldn’t anticipate rain?”

Cheng Ye was surprised.

If his first day passed this peacefully, it’d be a win.

But Murphy’s Law is a funny thing.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than the shadow of an approaching vehicle appeared in the distance.

Here we go!

Cheng Ye perked up, instinctively checking the Collector’s panel in the top right corner.

Nearly five hours had passed, and the charge had climbed from 0% to 18%—impressive efficiency.

At this rate, he’d have enough for another search by the end of his shift tomorrow.

Plus, he no longer worried about failed searches. Failure meant action points, so he couldn’t lose either way.

The vehicle drew closer, and as expected, it was the buffer zone’s ubiquitous Jinbei van.

Cheng Ye noticed that as it rolled onto the hard road through Passage 1, the front tires were visibly flattened, suggesting a heavy load of cargo.

“Halt and await instructions!”

Cheng Ye sprang up, grabbing a megaphone from the desk frame and shouting at the approaching van.

Though it was his first shift at the rapid inspection station, he’d observed Zone B’s process all morning and had a decent grasp of the routine.

It boiled down to: divert, inspect, probe with questions, and verify results.

Zone B’s Western inspector seemed allergic to using instruments, often slapping the “infected” label on scavengers who didn’t answer to his satisfaction, locking them in isolation for a minimum of seven days.

Whether this was right or wrong aside, it was wildly inefficient.

As a textbook academic, Cheng Ye had developed his own methodology over two months, bolstered by Luo Xiaoxue’s tips. He was confident he wouldn’t be outdone by the brute next door.

The Jinbei van passed the corridor, slowly stopping in front of the isolation gate.

Seeing an Eastern inspector inside, the Western driver paused, startled.

“Get out and report your numbers. Don’t understand?”

Cheng Ye shouted, snapping the van’s occupants out of their daze. They quickly opened the doors and stepped out.

Four people total.

Two in the front, two in the back, all Westerners.

“Show me your exit papers through the window.”

“Got them, got them!”

The driver nodded hurriedly, retrieving an envelope from the storage compartment beside his seat.

“Please review, sir.”

A palm-sized window on the outer isolation gate was designed for passing documents.

Cheng Ye took it, returned to the alloy desk, and opened it.

To his surprise, six coins spilled out first, engraved with Happiness City’s giant wall on one side and the number “100” on the other.

600?

Overkill, much?

Trying to crash Happiness City’s economy or what?

Cheng Ye froze. Sure, inspectors had plenty of ways to rake in cash, and earning a thousand Happiness Coins a month wasn’t hard.

But his official trainee salary was only 500 coins, and even a veteran fourth-stage inspector like Liu Bi got just 950.

Now some random guy was offering a 600-coin bribe? Ridiculous!

Sweeping the coins aside, Cheng Ye glanced up, studying the four outside the gate.

He quickly spotted something off.

The driver and front passenger seemed fine, but the two from the back were injured.

The one on the left had an arm injury, slightly bent unconsciously. The one on the right had a leg injury, needing to lean on the tailgate to stand.

“No wonder the heavy bribe.”

“If they were in Zone B, they’d probably be tossed into isolation for ten days or half a month without a word. By the end of quarantine, the arm-injured guy might pull through, but the leg-injured one likely wouldn’t.”

It clicked for Cheng Ye.

As Raven had mentioned, four-seater Jinbei vans typically offered modest bribes, local specialties from nearby settlements or sanctuary cities, worth about 50 Happiness Coins.

After all, they’d already paid a “toll” at the checkpoint before leaving.

Only large transport convoys would slip in one or two hundred coins during entry inspections for a smooth pass.

“Six hundred coins to buy a life. Big spender.”

Cheng Ye flipped through the exit papers.

Nothing special: standard trade approvals, cargo listed as tools like wrenches, screwdrivers, and hammers, plus small industrial items like radios, tape, and wires, all within Happiness City’s export permissions.

Wait, their van was loaded to the brim.

Recalling the flattened tires when the van entered, Cheng Ye realized the issue was with the cargo.

“Who’s the leader?”

“Sir, that’s me!” The driver raised his hand.

“Name?”

“Cole Waters.”

“I’m opening the gate. Drive the van in alone. I need to inspect the cargo. The rest wait outside, got it?”

Cheng Ye’s tone was crisp.

Cole’s heart sank, not expecting this Eastern inspector to zero in on the cargo without asking anything.

But at the same time, he realized Cheng Ye hadn’t outright refused, meaning there was still room to negotiate.

The isolation gate slowly rose.

Zone A’s gate was much wider than Zone B’s, easily accommodating the Jinbei van.

As the tailgate’s support was removed, the leg-injured man staggered, showing distress, and collapsed before his teammate could help.

Cole glimpsed this in the rearview mirror, his face twitching, but he could only drive into the inspection zone, park, and exit.

In front of Cheng Ye, he stripped to his underwear without a word and stepped into the square inspection area.

This was standard procedure at the rapid inspection station, proving no obvious infection symptoms or hidden weapons.

“Report your numbers first.”

Cheng Ye glanced over. Though Cole had several scabbed scratches and a swollen calf, none qualified as infected wounds.

Only scratches, bites, or stabs larger than 10x10 cm matched infected entity attack patterns.

“37.1 (temperature), 66 (heart rate), 18 (respiratory rate).”

“You seem pretty relaxed, huh?”

Cheng Ye flashed a slight smile, startling Cole into a shiver. He quickly replied, “Sir, I’ve always had a steady heart. Even fighting infected entities, my heart rate never tops 130.”

“You think that’s what I meant?”

Cheng Ye tapped the desk, making the five coins tremble on the alloy surface.

“You’ve got three sentences to say something I want to hear.”

“Yes, sir!”

Cole’s throat bobbed. Though facing a kid a decade younger, the pressure was immense.

It wasn’t just the authority in Cheng Ye’s hands but the unshakable confidence and dominance in his eyes.

“We delivered goods to Qingstone Settlement. On the return, a scavenger offered a trade: information for two weeks’ food. I agreed.”

“The info was about an undeveloped mineral deposit’s location.”

“We found it, but the scavenger had set a trap. Luckily, we won and brought back plenty of samples.”

Cole spoke rapidly, fearing interruption if his sentences weren’t concise enough.

“Mineral deposit?”

Cheng Ye raised an eyebrow. “Transcendent minerals?”

“Sir, no way we’d find something that rare. It’s a small pegmatite lithium deposit.”

“What, lithium?!”