Chapter 75: The Lower Class

Fang Nian was rather composed; she had shared meals and shelter with beggars during her days on the run, so nothing surprised her now. Duan Rui, however, was utterly overwhelmed. Raised in comfort and indulgence, she had never witnessed such scenes. Nausea overtook her, and she dry-heaved, secretly thankful she hadn’t eaten recently, else she surely would have vomited.

As the two stood frozen, a low, rumbling voice sounded behind them.

“Are you two newly demoted?”

Fang Nian and Duan Rui turned to see a burly, long-haired man. Beneath the grime and tatters, his handsome features were still discernible, though his beggarly attire stripped him of any distinguishing marks.

“Yes… yes, we are,” Fang Nian replied.

The man approached, sizing them up with a sigh. “Looking at your soft skin and delicate hands, it’s obvious enough. Well, don’t worry too much. The conditions here aren’t great, and the work is hard, but at least you have freedom. As long as you finish your tasks, you eat. It’s a lot better than bowing and scraping for the wealthy up front.”

“By the way, my name’s Luo Li. I’m the supervisor of this carriage. What are your names?”

They had already learned from Brian’s journal that the apocalypse train was structured by classes—the further forward the carriage, the higher the standard of living, wealth, and power. Luo Li’s words confirmed that he took them for servants demoted from the wealthier carriages. So Fang Nian went along with it.

“Hello, Brother Luo. I’m Fang Nian, and she’s Duan Rui.”

Luo Li nodded, then explained their daily tasks and assigned them a place to sleep.

Their carriage was number 23, the labor dormitory of the train. Everyone here performed heavy physical work, and this group was the poorest and most destitute aboard.

After about half an hour, it was time to eat. Fang Nian saw large crates being delivered from what looked like a ventilation shaft. Inside were things resembling steamed buns; the locals called them fruit cakes.

Fang Nian and Duan Rui queued up and each received one. She took a bite—there was almost no flavor. On the surface were bits that looked like fruit, but they were not; they seemed synthesized from something else.

Duan Rui bit into hers and immediately spat it out, then tossed the rest onto the ground.

“This stuff is awful,” she complained.

An older man, perhaps in his fifties, saw her discard the fruit cake and quickly squatted to retrieve it, devouring it hungrily.

Fang Nian, seeing the man’s desperation, handed him hers as well. The man looked up, nodded in gratitude, and ate Fang Nian’s fruit cake too.

Within a minute or two, the man had finished all three cakes. Straightening, he said, “Thank you both. I haven’t felt this full in ages.”

Fang Nian was surprised and asked, “Is this all we get to eat? I saw plenty of ingredients in the cold storage of the rear carriages.”

The man nodded, sighing. “Yes, all we have are these fruit cakes, and even those require work credits. Chicken, duck, fish, seafood, vegetables—they’re luxuries reserved for the wealthy up front. We can’t afford any of it.”

Fang Nian and Duan Rui felt not only sadness but a profound realization. This class divide was a near-perfect reflection of the outside world.

On Earth, the concept of class was deeply rooted—catastrophe had not erased it. This was reality, the law by which humanity survived.

Time passed slowly. The people in the carriage seemed unaware of the approaching cold snap, nor did they know that in a few hours, everything here would succumb to the frost.

Fang Nian knew they couldn’t linger. There were many carriages ahead; they had to keep moving. But from her observations, the entrance to the foremost carriage was heavily guarded.

Armed soldiers stood watch, ready to shoot anyone who crossed the line.

Duan Rui noticed as well, sidling up to Fang Nian to whisper, “What do we do next? This isn’t like the secret room—there are no hidden passages.”

Fang Nian surveyed their surroundings, her expression grim, but she spoke. “If we want to get out of here, we can’t rely on just the two of us. We’d be shot before we even made it. So…”

She glanced at Luo Li, who was busy distributing fruit cakes to the others. Duan Rui immediately understood.

“You want to use Luo Li’s influence to break out? But does he have that kind of power?”

Fang Nian nodded, then asked Duan Rui, “You think we’re trapped in a controlled carriage, but to me, it’s just another secret room.”

Duan Rui was taken aback. “A secret room? You mean this carriage is a secret room too?”

Fang Nian smiled, spreading her hands. “It sounds absurd, but it’s true. Everything here fits the criteria perfectly. If you think of the soldiers at the door as a combination lock, and the people here as keys, then the puzzle we face is figuring out how to use these keys to unlock the door.”

Duan Rui was speechless. Fang Nian’s imagination was indeed unusual, and though his logic seemed far-fetched, upon closer thought, it made sense.

Duan Rui had no better ideas. She could only place her hopes in Fang Nian.

“So what do we do? Talk to Luo Li?”

Fang Nian looked around and nodded. “Absolutely. We need to talk to him. I’ve observed that there are about 1,200 people in this carriage. There are a few small gangs, but most follow Luo Li’s lead.”

“There are roughly twenty guards outside. If we want to break through, we’ll need a thousand people to charge at once. So we have to stir things up, provoke conflict, incite rebellion.”

Duan Rui nodded in agreement, but then hesitated, troubled by a thought.

“If we charge, there will be casualties. Using their lives to clear our path—isn’t that…”

Fang Nian smiled helplessly. “If we stay here, we only have seven hours left to live. Why not take a chance?”