The gate opened slowly.
Nearly a thousand prisoners stood packed together under the watch of armed bailiffs, their expressions filled with fear, anger, or despair. In contrast, the shift workers gathered in one corner appeared completely indifferent—accustomed to the cycle.
Li Qinwu stepped onto the massive elevator alongside the workers, waiting as the bailiffs drove the prisoners aboard.
Shouting. Crying. Cursing.
It was routine.
After the loading was complete, the heavy doors shut with a grinding metallic echo. The elevator began to rise.
Li Qinwu felt a faint sense of dissonance.
This was his first time going up.
Previously, every descent into the underhive had been a one-way journey into brutality. Ascending felt… unnatural.
---
Demand for Medical Alcohol
The elevator doors opened.
Li Qinwu stepped into Zhongchao.
This time, he wasn't an outsider.
With a registered identity, he now had access—mobility, authority, and most importantly, opportunity.
He paused briefly, scanning the surroundings.
Then his eyes locked onto a red-marked sign:
Twin Serpent School
---
In Imperial terminology, most legitimate medicine fell under the jurisdiction of the Adeptus Mechanicus or the Ecclesiarchy's sanctioned medicae orders. Anything outside that structure—private clinics, independent practitioners—existed in a grey zone.
Unregulated.
Exploitative.
Dangerous.
Yet often necessary.
---
Li Qinwu walked straight toward the clinic.
Before entering, he stopped.
A notice was posted at the entrance:
> Warning:
Patients unable to pay after treatment will have their citizenship revoked and be exiled.
Debts are inherited by family members. Failure to repay will result in collective exile.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then pushed the door open.
---
The smell hit first.
Blood. Chemicals. Rot.
The clinic was barely thirty square meters. Shelves lined the walls, filled with mismatched medicines. Equipment lay scattered without order. At the center stood an operating table—stained, uncleaned.
This wasn't a clinic.
It was closer to a butcher's station.
Behind a desk sat a man in a filthy white coat, legs crossed, smoking, reading a newspaper as if nothing around him mattered.
He glanced up briefly.
"Got money? Or are you dying?"
Li Qinwu didn't answer directly.
Instead, he pointed at a machine in the corner—about the size of a rice cooker.
"How much for that?"
The doctor didn't even bother hiding his irritation.
"Here to waste my time? Get out."
---
Li Qinwu calmly pulled out a stack of fertilizer vouchers—100,000—and flicked them lightly.
The sound alone changed everything.
The doctor's expression shifted instantly.
He jumped up, dragged out a chair, smiling broadly.
"Ah! A distinguished guest! Please sit—what do you need that mixing-sedimentation unit for?"
Li Qinwu sat, expression flat.
"That's none of your concern. Sell it or not?"
The doctor's eyes gleamed.
Greed.
In the underhive economy, morality had long since been replaced by price.
"200,000."
---
Li Qinwu stood up immediately and walked out.
No hesitation.
The doctor panicked and rushed after him.
"Wait! We can negotiate!"
"190,000! 180,000! 170,000—final price!"
Li Qinwu didn't slow down.
"160,000! I'm losing money here!"
---
Outside, Li Qinwu stopped.
Turned.
"Are you trying to scam me?"
His voice was calm—but sharp.
"You doubled the price on a mass-produced Mechanicus civilian unit."
"If I wanted a new one, I'd buy it directly."
The doctor froze.
That single sentence exposed everything.
---
In reality, the machine was a low-grade civilian device manufactured under Adeptus Mechanicus oversight—common in mid-hive infrastructure. After taxation and distribution, its standard value barely exceeded 90,000.
This wasn't rare equipment.
Just underutilized.
---
Li Qinwu raised three fingers.
"30,000."
The doctor nearly choked.
"Impossible! Add at least 10,000!"
Now Li Qinwu knew.
He had already broken the man's psychological defense.
Negotiation began.
Back and forth. Threats to walk away. Reluctant concessions.
Finally—
"70,000."
Deal.
---
They returned inside.
The doctor dragged the machine out reluctantly, as if parting with something precious.
Li Qinwu inspected it thoroughly—structure intact, no visible damage—then stored it.
Final upgrade component secured.
---
He glanced around the clinic again.
"What else do you sell?"
The doctor, already counting money, pointed lazily at the shelves.
"See for yourself."
---
The prices were absurd.
Small medical kit – 300
Tourniquet – 150
Disinfectant – 50
For a Zhongchao citizen earning roughly 2,000 monthly, a single serious injury could collapse an entire household.
System notification triggered:
Contact unlocked: Doctor Twin Snakes
Affection Level: 0
Items available:
Hemostatic bandage
Medical kits
Painkillers
Surgical kits
Antidotes
Synthetic medical materials
---
Then—
Mission triggered.
Medical alcohol shortage.
---
Li Qinwu's gaze shifted to a half-empty bottle on the shelf.
"Alcohol supply is gone, isn't it?"
The doctor sighed.
"Last bottle."
"People here can't afford real treatment. I just use alcohol to clean wounds."
"But now even that is expensive."
He leaned back.
"40 per use now."
---
Li Qinwu stepped closer.
Lowered his voice.
"If I could supply medical alcohol… would you take it?"
The reaction was immediate.
"I'll take it!"
The doctor leaned forward, eyes bright.
"500ml medical-grade—50 vouchers per bottle. Unlimited quantity."
---
Li Qinwu narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Unlimited?"
He glanced around the tiny, filthy clinic.
"You can handle 50 tons?"
The doctor slammed the table.
"Don't underestimate us!"
Then leaned in, whispering:
"I can't handle it alone. But the Twin Serpent network can."
"Every block. Every district."
"500 tons? 5,000 tons? We'll absorb it."
---
Li Qinwu understood immediately.
This wasn't a clinic.
It was a distribution node.
---
Demand was real.
Because supply had collapsed.
Due to planetary unrest, agricultural zones were lost. The governor had initiated extreme measures—rationing, industrial conversion, even the deployment of corpse-starch production systems.
Grain was no longer available.
And without grain—
No alcohol.
No disinfectant.
No supply chain.
---
Which meant one thing:
A monopoly opportunity.