Iron Fist and Loyal Heart

Chapter 1 Xiao Su from the Subdistrict Office

One of the fluorescent lights in the Beihe Subdistrict Office is always flashing.

Su Xinpei stared at the light tube for seven seconds, his stamp hovering in mid-air, but he didn't press it down. The older woman opposite him tapped on the table: "Little Su, are my low-income assistance application materials even acceptable?"

"Okay, okay." Su Xinpei stamped the document and pushed it back. "Aunt Zhang, next time don't write the bank account number in the third column. That's where you fill in your ID card."

Aunt Zhang took the materials, flipped through them, muttered something, and left. Su Xinpei leaned back in his chair and stretched his stiff neck. Outside the window was the eternal gray-white sky of the lower district of Ironthorn City, indistinguishable between fog and industrial emissions. In the distance, a neon sign on a building was half broken, flashing even during the day, forming a perfect pair with the fluorescent light tubes inside the room.

He cursed inwardly, but his expression remained unchanged.

This is Su Xinpei's third year at the Beihe Subdistrict Office. Although called a subdistrict office, it's really just the community affairs coordination office for the Beihe area of ​​Xiacheng District. The office, less than 40 square meters, is crammed with six desks, three of which are always empty. A banner on the wall reads "Serving the People," but the inscription is from five years ago. The printer jams four times a month, and the water dispenser's red light is always on—no one changes the bottle.

His full title is "Community Affairs Coordinator," which is basically a contract worker, not a permanent employee. His monthly salary is 2,300 Southern Alliance currency. After deducting social security and rent, he can save about 600 currency each month. 600 currency is just enough to live on in the lower city of Ironthorn City, not enough to cover medical expenses.

"Xiao Su, you'll be going with me to the safety inspection this afternoon." Aunt He poked her head out from the inner room, holding a stack of documents in her hand. "The engineering department people will be there at two o'clock in the old Beihe area."

Aunt He's full name is He Meiqing. She's a veteran clerk at the neighborhood office, having worked there for thirty years. Her hair is completely white, but she always combs it meticulously, and she speaks in a calm and unhurried manner. When Su Xinpei first arrived at the neighborhood office, it was Aunt He who mentored him.

"A security check?" Su Xinpei took the document and flipped through it. "Wasn't a check just done last month?"

"This time it's different. It's a notice from above, something about a 'special inspection of urban infrastructure safety,' requiring the subdistrict office to cooperate." Aunt He pointed to the red stamp at the bottom of the document, "See for yourself."

Su Xinpei looked down at the document. The bottom of the document was stamped with the seal of the Tieji City Municipal Administration Office, and next to it was a line of small print: This investigation was technically supported by the Nanmeng Special Phenomena Administration Bureau.

Special Phenomena Management Bureau.

Su Xinpei knew about this department. Its full name was too long for anyone to remember, so people commonly called it the "Special Phenomena Bureau." The official explanation was that it was responsible for "the research and management of urban anomalies," but its specific duties were never clearly stated in any official announcement. He had only seen the department's name in the news, usually in notices announcing that a building had been "closed due to structural safety hazards."

"Will the Special Affairs Bureau come?" Su Xinpei asked.

"It wasn't mentioned in the document, it only said technical support would be provided." Aunt He turned and went back into the inner room, her voice coming from behind the door, "Don't ask too many questions, I'll be there on time this afternoon."

Su Xinpei placed the document on the table and tapped his fingers twice on the surface. He was twenty-two years old, 1.78 meters tall, and weighed 67 kilograms. His maximum number of pull-ups was nine—a barely passing grade in the Southern Alliance, where the rate of biochemistry classes exceeded 90%.

Biochemistry class, officially called the "Life Force Development Course," is a mandatory course for every citizen of the Southern Alliance, from elementary school to university. Official propaganda touts it as a "scientific and healthy lifestyle," claiming it enhances physical fitness, boosts immunity, and slows aging. But Su Xinpei knew perfectly well that it was just a physical enhancement program developed by the military research institute, rebranded and stuffed into compulsory education. His high school biochemistry teacher was a retired biochemical engineer; his thighs were thicker than Su Xinpei's waist, and he could lift Su Xinpei with one hand.

Su Xinpei's biology grades were always "meeting the standard," never "excellent." His physical fitness test report stated: Strength C, Endurance C, Coordination B-, Overall Assessment: Suitable for non-physical labor.

In layman's terms: You're no good at fighting, so just be a good civilian.

He barely passed the pull-up test. He thought to himself, "What a disgrace to the Southern Alliance."

During his lunch break, Su Xinpei didn't go to the cafeteria with his colleagues. Instead, he took a lunchbox from his drawer and opened the lid. Inside were leftover rice from yesterday and a spoonful of pickled vegetables. He microwaved it for two minutes; it was barely edible. He chewed the rice while scrolling through the news on his phone.

The headline was "Northern Fleet conducts routine exercises in international waters," and the comments section was a chaotic mess. Some said a third continental war was about to break out, others said it wouldn't happen, and still others said it didn't matter if it did, they'd had enough of living anyway. Su Xinpei scrolled past the news and saw another one: "Tianheng Heavy Industry announces new generation of civilian prosthetics to be released next month." He clicked on it to check the price; the cheapest left arm model cost 160,000 South African dollars, equivalent to five years of his salary.

He placed his phone face down on the table and focused on eating.

At 2 PM, Su Xinpei arrived at the Beihe Old District on time. This is one of the oldest residential areas in the Lower City, with most of the buildings constructed around 2100 in the Union calendar. The exterior walls are peeling like snake skin, and the stairwells are plastered with small cards advertising "drain cleaning" and "high-price buyback of old prosthetic parts." Wires are strung haphazardly between the buildings, and the base of the Central City can be seen overhead, darkly blocking out half the sky.

The engineering department staff had arrived; two men, wearing orange safety vests, were talking to community members while holding blueprints. Su Xinpei walked over, and the lead engineer glanced at him: "From the neighborhood committee?"

"Yes, Su Xinpei." He nodded. "How many buildings are we checking today?"

"There are four buildings in this area. Let's start with the oldest one." The engineer pointed to a six-story old apartment building next door. "The residents don't need to be evacuated for now. We're just doing a preliminary check. You're in charge of communicating with the residents. If anyone asks, just say it's a safety inspection. Don't mention anything about 'abnormal' or not."

Su Xinpei noticed that he deliberately lowered his voice when he spoke the word "abnormal". He didn't ask any further questions, but simply nodded: "Understood."

The inspection began. Su Xinpei followed the engineering department staff, going from floor to floor, mainly checking for routine items such as wall cracks, aging electrical circuits, and rusted pipes. While the engineers scanned the hallways with their instruments, Su Xinpei was responsible for knocking on doors and explaining the purpose of their visit to the residents.

Most residents were cooperative, but a few did not answer the door. When they reached the fourth floor, Su Xinpei knocked on the door of 401. There was a rustling sound inside, and then the door opened a crack, revealing the face of a gaunt old woman.

"What is it?" The old lady looked at him warily.

"Hello, Auntie. We're here from the neighborhood committee to conduct a housing safety inspection. We need to check your home's electrical circuits." Su Xinpei handed over his work ID.

The old woman stared at the work badge for a long time before opening the door. The room was dark, with all the curtains drawn, and only an old-fashioned television in the corner was lit, playing some kind of opera program. Su Xinpei let the engineer go in to check the circuit, while he stood at the door waiting.

His gaze swept across the living room and suddenly stopped.

Next to the TV cabinet was a small altar with an incense burner on it. In front of the burner was a yellow talisman with incomprehensible symbols drawn in red ink. Above the altar hung a black-and-white photograph; the image was blurred, and only the outline of an elderly man could be barely discerned.

Talismans.

Su Xinpei felt a chill. In the years he had worked at the subdistrict office, it was not uncommon for residents of the Xiacheng District to have shrines and burn talismans at home. But the symbols on that talisman were very similar to the description he had seen in a resident complaint document before—that person complained that their neighbor was "engaging in superstitious activities" and attached a photo, in which the talisman was almost identical to this one.

"Auntie, what is this talisman?" Su Xinpei tried to keep his tone casual.

"My son got it for me, to bless me with peace." The old lady waved her hand, clearly not wanting to say more.

Su Xinpei didn't press the matter. After the engineer finished checking the circuit and said everything was normal, the two left. As they walked out the door, Su Xinpei glanced back at the altar and silently memorized the location of the talisman.

When they reached the fifth floor, two lights in the corridor were out, making it very dim. Su Xinpei was walking ahead when he suddenly kicked something. Looking down, he saw a dark ring embedded in the grout between the floor tiles. He bent down, picked it up, wiped away the dust, and realized it wasn't a ring—at least not an ordinary one. It had been lying on the floor for who knows how long, covered in a layer of gray grime, unlike copper or iron, or plastic. The material was a matte metal, its surface as cool as if it had just been taken out of the refrigerator. A very fine pattern was engraved around the inside of the band, resembling some kind of writing, or perhaps just pure decoration.

For some reason, he didn't throw it away, but put it in his coat pocket.

The engineer's voice came from the end of the corridor: "This wall isn't right, come and take a look."

Su Xinpei walked over and saw the engineer holding a testing instrument, pointing it at the wall at the end of the corridor. The instrument's screen displayed data he couldn't understand. The engineer frowned, staring at it for a long time, before finally saying, "Nothing serious. Make a note of it; we'll focus on that next time."

Su Xinpei glanced at the wall. It was just an ordinary wall, with some peeling paint revealing the red bricks underneath. He reached out and touched it; the wall was icy cold, about the same cold as the unidentified object he had just encountered.

He didn't think much of it.

The investigation ended around 5 p.m. When Su Xinpei returned to the subdistrict office, the office was empty. Aunt He left a note on the table: "The investigation report is due tomorrow, don't stay up late."

Su Xinpei turned the note over and wrote a few words on the back: 401, talisman paper, be careful.

Then he tore the note into pieces and threw it into the shredder.

On his way home from get off work, Su Xinpei passed by the Beihe Secondhand Market. It was the largest secondhand market in the Xiacheng District, selling everything imaginable—old appliances, old clothes, old furniture, and even stalls selling "family heirlooms" of bottles and jars, their authenticity uncertain. Su Xinpei didn't usually shop there, but for some reason, he went inside today.

The market wasn't crowded; the stall owners sat lazily, some scrolling through their phones, others dozing off. Su Xinpei walked around, looking at the stalls, and stopped when he passed one selling secondhand jewelry.

The stall was filled with various old rings, necklaces, and pocket watches—mostly worthless old items. The stall owner was an elderly man with gray hair. When he stopped, he didn't greet him but just glanced at him.

Su Xinpei picked up a silver bracelet, examined it, and put it down. He then picked up a ring, looked at the inside—no patterns. He put the ring down and casually asked, "Where do you get all these things?"

"They're everywhere," the old man said slowly. "Some I found in demolished buildings, some were sold to me by people who didn't want them anymore. What do you want?"

"Just browsing." Su Xinpei was about to leave when a thought suddenly flashed through his mind. He pulled the unidentified object from his pocket. "Have you seen this before? What's it made of?"

The old man took it, examined it from all angles, and then scratched the surface with his fingernail. "I don't know, it doesn't look like metal, and it doesn't look like plastic. Where did you get it?"

"I found it."

The old man returned the items to him, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes: "Don't take things you find carelessly, it might bring bad luck."

Su Xinpei paused for a moment, then chuckled, "I just happened to find it." He put the item back in his pocket and didn't say anything more.

It was already 7 p.m. when Su Xinpei returned to his apartment. He lived on the sixth floor of an old-style tenement building, in a one-bedroom apartment, for a monthly rent of 800 South Mongolian dollars. The room wasn't big, but it was very clean. This was a habit he had developed during his three years at the neighborhood office—someone who helped others organize their low-income assistance documents couldn't possibly have a mess in his own room.

He took off his coat, emptied his pockets and placed them on the table, then went to the kitchen to cook a pot of noodles. While cracking the eggs, his wrist jerked, and a piece of eggshell fell into the pot. He scooped it out with chopsticks, thinking to himself: I'm not in the zone today.

The noodles were cooked and placed on the table. As Su Xinpei ate, he was thinking about something—

A semi-transparent panel appeared in my mind, on which was written:

[Experience Points System Activated – Host Confirmation: Su Xinpei. Skill List: Pending Entry.]

This "panel" appeared just after he got home this evening, as he was turning the newly made key into the lock for the second time. It felt neither painful nor itchy, only a strange coolness, exactly the same sensation he felt when he picked up the unidentified object. He immediately went back outside and looked around again—no projection, no camera, no heat, and it remained there even after he closed his eyes.

My first reaction wasn't surprise.

Is it heatstroke?

He forced himself to calm down and tested it with a few familiar actions—turning on the tap and washing his face with cold water. The panel didn't disappear; instead, a new line of text appeared in the skill bar at the bottom.

[Cleaning Experience +1]

He stared at that line of text for a long time.

Out of caution (and a kind of gaming compulsion he didn't even want to admit), he began testing whether it would react to other actions. Cooking, typing, running, doing push-ups—he gained a little experience points for each activity. The panel didn't disappear, no sound came out, and there was no sign of any AI connection—most of the actions were simply performed the number of times he repeated them.

It won't increase attributes either. He could clearly feel that after an hour of push-ups, his arms were still sore, and the number of reps in each set depended entirely on his physical strength, not on virtual points.

So, this thing called a panel is just a counter.

As Su Xinpei chewed on his noodles, he couldn't help but think to himself: This cheat system is too much for a corporate slave.

He ate a few bites of noodles, then suddenly remembered something. He stood up, walked to the table, and turned the thing he had found over. The patterns on the inside now looked clearer, like some kind of extremely fine engraving. As he reached out to touch those patterns, a new line of characters silently appeared on the panel.

[A usable skill detected – Iron Bones Body Forging Technique (Fragment). Record it?]

Su Xinpei put down his chopsticks and stared at the line of text.

After about ten seconds, he picked up the bowl and silently drank the noodle soup.

Then he silently chose "yes" in his heart.