The Rift Between Cities: The Uprisers

Lower City.

F32 District.

The massive display screen above the central square flickered intermittently due to insufficient power, its digits frozen at 23:59.

The square was packed to the brim, all eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for the next tick of time.

Ning Fan stood among the crowd, outwardly composed.

But his tightly clenched fists betrayed his inner turmoil.

Every year on January 1st, the Upper City would select the most outstanding individual from each district of the Lower City for ascension.

For every Lower City resident, this was the highest honor and the only chance to defy fate.

Legend had it that the Upper City basked in warm sunshine, boasted crystal-clear rivers, and enjoyed fresh air.

It was said that even the dogs in the Upper City dined on clean, healthy food.

Many scoffed at such tales.

How could dogs in the Upper City possibly live better than people in the Lower City?

Finally, the display screen flickered to life.

A name appeared.

[Sun Wenhui]

Ning Fan's fists unclenched, his eyes dimming slightly.

The scene instantly transformed from hushed anticipation to chaotic uproar.

"Damn it! Who the hell is this Sun Wenhui? What makes him so special?"

Beside him, a chubby boy about Ning Fan's age looked disgruntled, nudging him, "Big Fan, why wasn't it you?"

Why wasn't it me?

Heh.

I'd like to know too.

Ning Fan's gaze remained fixed on the screen.

A month ago, in the selection exam, Ning Fan had scored full marks in all nine assessments.

This meant that no one could have outperformed him.

At that moment, even Ning Fan himself believed that this year's chosen one for the Upper City could be none other than himself.

But the glaring name on the display screen seemed to mock his presumption, continuing to flash relentlessly.

"Big Fan, I've got some intel," a bespectacled boy squeezed through the crowd to Ning Fan's side, wiping sweat from his forehead and speaking indignantly, "Word is this Sun Wenhui apparently has one-thirty-second Upper City bloodline."

When Sun Wenhui's name appeared, Ning Fan's expression hadn't wavered.

But upon hearing the bespectacled boy's explanation for his rejection...

Ning Fan smiled.

A bit wryly, yet with a hint of resignation.

"Big Fan, you alright?" The chubby boy thought Ning Fan had been rattled.

"I'm fine," Ning Fan shrugged, "After all, we don't have blood ties with the Upper City folks. Can't fault them for favoring their own."

"Are those Upper City bigwigs out of their minds? Passing over a prodigy like you who aced all nine assessments, and picking some mutt with one-thirty-second bloodline instead?" The bespectacled boy also felt indignant on Ning Fan's behalf.

They knew how relentlessly Ning Fan had worked all his life.

Yet all that effort was trumped by a mere one-thirty-second Upper City bloodline.

If it were them, they'd be cursing up a storm by now.

"It's alright, Big Fan. If not this year, then next year. We're only eighteen, there's plenty of time," the chubby boy consoled, "I bet they can't dig up another mixed-blood mongrel to compete with you next year! Your abilities speak for themselves!"

"No," Ning Fan smiled, "I don't plan to take the exam next year."

The chubby boy and the bespectacled boy were stunned.

"My mom can't wait another year," Ning Fan mused, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm going to become a Marauder."

...

On the way home, Ning Fan's smile had vanished.

Discussions about the Upper City selection results filled the streets and alleys.

Sun Wenhui's name was the talk of F32 District today.

These voices grated on his nerves.

Arriving home, Ning Fan approached the bedside.

His mother lay still, unconscious.

In the Lower City, even breathing was a deadly affair.

The air in the Lower City was laced with a harmful substance called Miasma.

Long-term exposure to Miasma turned the human body into an unstable time bomb, liable to collapse at any moment.

His mother's body had already succumbed.

The reason Ning Fan participated in the Upper City selection was that once chosen, one would receive free Elixir distributed by the Upper City.

The Elixir that could treat Miasma poisoning.

"Mom, I'm sorry," Ning Fan held his mother's withered hand, "I wasn't selected."

"Mom, it seems the Upper City people prefer those who share their bloodline, even if it's just one-thirty-second."

"To be honest, I'm quite disappointed. In the entire F32 District, I was the only one who aced all nine assessments, yet I was still eliminated."

"I'm going to become a Marauder now. It's the only way to earn money to buy you the Elixir."

"I know becoming a Marauder means venturing into the wild, and it's... perilous out there."

"To tell the truth, I'm terrified. I'm afraid I might not return, and if I really perish out there, what will happen to you..."

"But, as long as there's hope for your recovery, even if it's a gamble, I have to try."

"Mom, I still long for... the touch of your hand on my head, praising me for being a good boy."

Ning Fan, red-eyed, poured his heart out to his mother for hours, until a ray of light pierced through the window.

Finally, he rubbed his eyes, stood up, and picked up the only gift his mother had ever given him when he was little.

It was a crude sword that resembled a fire poker, pitch-black and cheap-looking.

"Mom, I'm leaving," Although he knew his mother wouldn't respond, Ning Fan still bid farewell softly, "Wait for me to come back."

But just as he was about to leave, he suddenly noticed a corner of a paper peeking out from under his mother's bed.

Ning Fan approached curiously.

Could it be...

A letter his mother penned for him during a moment of consciousness?

After pulling out the paper, the title made him pause.

'Blood Lineage Test Report'

Ning Fan was puzzled; he had no recollection of ever having his bloodline tested.

Yet his name was indeed inscribed on it.

Test Subject: Ning Fan

Test Result: Non-Upper City Lineage

Seeing this, Ning Fan's smile turned bitter.

Of course, he knew he didn't possess Upper City bloodline, otherwise...

How could he have been rejected by the Upper City?

But just as he was about to put the paper away, he noticed a handwritten note on the back: Not of Lower City lineage either.

After this sentence was a large question mark drawn in red ink.

Ning Fan stared at the question mark, thunderstruck.

Not being of Upper City lineage didn't surprise him.

But not being of Lower City lineage either...

Then what...

Am I?