At first light the next day, Yue Liuyi lifted a small basket and set out for the market. Dawn unspooled like a thin ribbon over smog-dulled roofs.

The weather looked a touch clearer. The smog still hung, but the sun showed like a blurred lantern behind gauze. It made it easier for her to follow the road in memory.

She walked on, skirting a toppled utility pole like a fallen mast on a gray sea.

She stepped over a crossroads filmed with oily water, a shallow, murky brook stitched into concrete.

She slipped through a dim alley, the throat of a cave breathing stale air.

She crossed a wide, empty avenue, a dry riverbed swept by wind that smelled of metal.

Her journey ended before a colossal, box-like building, mute as a warehouse of clouds.

It stood only three stories tall, yet rose about thirty meters, and spread more than a hundred meters long and wide.

From afar it looked like a stadium hiding in the smog, a whale asleep in gray water.

But Yue Liuyi, raised on Dreamwood Star, knew it wasn’t a sports hall. It was one of the largest markets in Linluo City: the Linluo Produce Market.

As she neared the Linluo Produce Market, foot traffic thickened like a tide around rocks.

Most wore masks and heavy coats, shells against a sour wind. Some even strapped on gas masks and oxygen tanks, extras from a biohazard flick.

Yet everyone moved on their own path, brushing past with the chill indifference of rain on eaves.

Yue Liuyi wore a small mask too and slipped inside. For the World Tree Maiden, the mask hid more than it filtered; a veil over a too-bright blossom.

Sometimes, hiding a little of her cuteness was necessary, like tucking a bud behind a sleeve.

She stepped into the big box, and the market’s noise rushed at her like warm steam from a crowded kitchen.

“Vegetables imported from Ceres! Fresh in yesterday!”

“Synthetic meat, cheap and plenty! Real beef, eighty yuan per half-kilo!”

Cries rose and fell like waves beating a pier.

Fly-chasing cloth strips spun in lazy spirals, tired dragonflies policing the air.

Cheap bulbs leaked a weak glow, fireflies trapped in jars.

Leaf-ends and smeared blood freckled the floor like rust after rain.

The ceiling’s dead pipes crossed like ribs under a chest.

Stalls were split by torn sheets, sails patched against a stale wind.

The air felt messy and thick, a hive buzzing too hot.

Relief loosened her chest; she let out a long breath.

“Here… it’s still the same as years ago.”

Dreamwood Star had sagged further into ruin, yet the market still beat like a stubborn heart.

There were still people here who worked hard, smoke rising from their small kitchens.

Everyone had a way to live. Those without the money to flee offworld still tended rice, oil, salt, and tea.

From plain chores, they dug out a true taste of happiness, like sweet water from a deep well.

Guided by the tracks in her memory, Yue Liuyi walked deeper into the market.

There lay the stall her family used to visit.

“CE-16… huh? That’s not right.”

She found the spot, but no familiar face lifted up. In its place stood a middle-aged man with a stubbled jaw, gravel shadowing his chin.

“Little miss, you look new. After eggs? My eggs have no added hormones.”

“Um… excuse me. The elderly lady who used to sell vegetables here—where did she go?”

“Old lady…?”

“She looked a bit up in years, always sat right here…”

“Oh, the previous stall owner.” He shook his head, regret a dull cloud in his eyes. “Her old illness flared. She’s gone.”

“G-gone…?”

“Back to the fields. At her age, it was about time.”

“Eh…?”

The words stunned Yue Liuyi; her thoughts paused like a bird hitting glass.

The old woman’s stall was known for fair prices and fresh greens, a place that grew a forest of regulars.

It was also the stall her family visited most.

And now—

“When did she… pass?”

“A year, maybe. I can’t recall.”

Yue Liuyi stood there in silence, rooted like a young tree in wind.

What stuck in the girl’s mind was an old incident.

The old woman’s memory slipped at times, like thread fraying on a sleeve.

Once, while making change, she miscounted and handed Dongfang Chen a few extra yuan.

Dongfang Chen never took advantage; he came back the next day to return it.

She didn’t remember the mistake at first, her gaze fogged like a pane in winter.

When she realized he’d come to return the extra change, she jolted up from her stool, joy rising like sunrise.

“Good child, good child!”

She pressed a bunch of celery and a fistful of cilantro on him, insisting he take them, generosity bright as new leaves.

That day carved itself into the young Dongfang Chen. Even on a poor and chaotic planet, there were still many kind people.

But life fades just like that, like dew on a leaf under a dirty sun.

An ache rose, and she didn’t know where it came from.

After all, she and that old woman were only passersby in each other’s rain.

She didn’t even know the old woman’s name, or the storms she’d weathered.

Yet someone who once brushed her life had died.

Died because of pollution.

On this planet, such things kept happening.

The young and the rich had already flown far, geese seeking bluer skies.

The old and the poor stayed behind, withered stalks abandoned to this soil.

What am I supposed to do?

She stared at the basket in her hands, as if it were a still pond, and sank into thought.