Canned Souls 2

The next morning after breakfast, Yan Xianchuan planned to leave the hospital. She'd never liked hospitals.

The Yan family ruled Floating Terrace City, controlling the economic lifeline of an entire metropolis. As a conglomerate dealing in weapons and arms, they never lacked money.

And she, the disowned daughter who had brought shame to the family, still received tens of millions of credits as a monthly allowance.

To other family members, this was a negligible handout—less than a fraction of their monthly dividends.

But an ordinary person's base salary was only three to five thousand credits a month.

Even a formidable bounty hunter would consider a mission paying over five figures a rare big deal.

Yan Xianchuan had no interest in luxury and could endure hardship, but having money was certainly better than not.

Last night, before sleeping, she had browsed the galactic net for a long time and learned a lot of new things. At least she wasn't completely in the dark now.

The voice that had spoken in her head earlier was her smart butler, D. In this world, everyone had one—or rather, one in everyone's brain.

Each person had a receiver implanted in their skull, with two ports behind their ears. They could insert various chips—a cooking chip made you a master chef, a martial arts chip made you a fighting expert.

Different chips had different specifications and abilities.

Some who preferred a natural human state covered their ports with synthetic skin that opened with a press. Even when replacing their bodies, they would opt for more expensive synthetic ones.

Yan Xianchuan's ear ports were covered with synthetic skin. Her body was also an unmodified, natural one.

It wasn't just her—most first-class citizens had natural bodies and rarely underwent major modifications.

As the upper class, they naturally had to distinguish themselves from the lower classes, to remain aloof.

On one hand, they encouraged the public to replace their bodies and embrace diversity, with advertisements everywhere. On the other, they promoted the natural body as the highest form of beauty.

How to make money while standing upright—the conglomerates had figured that out completely.

The Yan family had a dedicated residence in Changqing City, but given her current awkward, neither-here-nor-there status, it was better not to go there. Too troublesome.

Housing prices were cheap now, with buildings reaching so high they seemed to pierce the clouds. Seventy or eighty floors above ground, twenty or thirty below. With fewer people around, there were plenty of vacant units.

For just a few tens of thousands of credits, one could rent a place long-term.

Yan Xianchuan chose a residential building not too far from the commercial district and bought an entire floor, finally having a place to stay.

The apartment came furnished, with a minimalist, flashy tech aesthetic. A tall plant in the corner had leaves of a blue-green hue. When her palm brushed past, the disturbed electronic field made it shimmer.

A projection plant, without breath.

Yan Xianchuan wouldn't call this place home. It was just somewhere to sleep and rest.

She threw herself onto the bed, feeling utterly exhausted.

This fatigue wasn't physical. Her body was healthy, strong enough to lift a car with her bare hands. But her spirit felt like a drowning wanderer in a thorny swamp, hands gripping vines covered in spikes, blood nearly spent, weary beyond measure, yet without a single kind passerby to pull her from the brink.

She was restless, broken, hateful. In the end, only numb.

Letting go might be a relief, but reason told her to hold on a little longer.

So Yan Xianchuan thought, I need to pull myself together. Unlike those who killed for pleasure, she tried to maintain the lowest moral baseline of humanity even in the harshest conditions, refusing to degenerate into a cold, cruel madman.

Thus, she had to find something to do, to keep herself moving.

Her face pressed into the soft pillow. She didn't move. The room was as silent as empty space. She could hear her heartbeat—steady, strong, even—like a never-stalling engine.

She fell asleep.

She woke at midnight.

She didn't know what she had dreamed, but Yan Xianchuan felt energized, as if she had taken a stimulant. Her usually half-lidded eyes were wide open. She washed her face in record time, took the elevator downstairs, and set out to experience the city's vibrant nightlife.

Aside from that, the pedestrians' attire could only be described as bold and avant-garde.

All sorts of colors appeared freely, not confined to one style or one design. Some people were wrapped from head to toe, while others wore mere scraps that barely covered them. No one cast a second glance—everyone was used to it.

Yan Xianchuan stepped into the crowd, blending in as naturally as a drop of water merging into the sea.

The atmosphere was clearly liberal. Almost everyone had a weapon at their waist—guns, knives. After passing two couples kissing in the street, three drunkards passed out on the curb, and four people brawling in an alley, her understanding of the city's openness deepened a notch.

It was one in the morning, and the streets showed no sign of clearing out—if anything, they were livelier.

After refusing the fifth hawker who called her uncultured, she finally made a purchase—a skewer of grilled squid from a roadside stall.

One skewer, though it smelled delicious, cost fifty credits. No wonder no one was queuing.

"Hey!"

Yan Xianchuan followed the voice. A short-haired man in a dark green jacket leaned against a graffiti wall and jerked his chin at her. "Want something exciting? I've got fresh goods in!"

Yan Xianchuan stepped closer. "Like what?"

The man in the green jacket lowered his voice mysteriously. "I can tell you're not like the others. You'll definitely like this."

"You know about the most famous incident a while back? This is firsthand, fresh out. A masterpiece by Master Victor! Just finished."

His mechanical eye gleamed even in the shadows.

Yan Xianchuan: "How much?"

The man in the green jacket held up two fingers, looking like she was getting a steal. "Only twenty thousand."

Yan Xianchuan: "Goodbye."

With that, she turned and walked away.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't go!" The green jacket hurriedly blocked her path. "We were talking fine—why leave?"

"If you think it's too expensive, we can negotiate."

Yan Xianchuan raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like an easy mark?"

Where the average salary was three to five thousand, asking for twenty thousand outright—he was trying to fleece her.

"Of course not." The green jacket gave a sheepish smile. "You make an offer, I make a counter. That's how business works."

"The price is a bit high. Let's say forty percent off—eight thousand! I'm not lying about anything else. Master's work, guaranteed worth it."

"Fine." Yan Xianchuan extended a hand. "I'll take it."

"Our rule is payment first, goods after." The green jacket licked his lips, his lip ring glinting in the light. "How about we add each other as friends? I've got plenty of firsthand sources. If you want more black dream, I'm your guy."

"Sure," Yan Xianchuan said.

The green jacket stared at her without blinking. After two seconds, he scratched his head. "Your system rejected my request automatically."

At the same time, Yan Xianchuan received a notification from her smart butler D: "A friend request from a fourth-class citizen was just rejected. It has been processed."

She had forgotten about the class restrictions. Yan Xianchuan instructed the system to accept the request and transferred the money.

"Name's Jerace. Friends call me Jay." The green jacket pulled a small box from an inner pocket and tossed it over. "Remember to hit me up if you need anything."

The black flat box contained a chip. Yan Xianchuan pocketed it and continued aimlessly down the street.

Yan Xianchuan: 【D, what's black dream?】

D: "An illegal dream without Newji Corporation authorization, recorded privately for profit. Such dreams are mostly filled with gore, violence, and pornography."

She knew about dreams—a hyper-virtual reality technology that could fully reproduce a recorded experience. Though you couldn't move freely, you could experience all the sensory states of the recorder, feeling their joy and anger.

It was called a false yet real dream.

Maybe this could help her find some excitement again?

At that thought, Yan Xianchuan turned around and headed back, intending to see if the black dream was as thrilling as the man had claimed.

She inserted the chip into the dream glasses, lay on the bed, and put them on. With a momentary haze, the scene before her changed.

Two people were fighting in a ring enclosed by chain-link fencing, cheers crashing against her eardrums like waves. "She" raised her hands and shouted, "Drey, you piece of trash!"

Blood surged, heart pounded, excitement was the facade, and beneath it lurked a hidden impulse.

Yan Xianchuan heard her own heavy breathing. Someone patted "her" shoulder. "Bichang, time to go."

"Alright, coming."

"She" spoke, pushed through the crowd, and the next moment, "she" and several others got out of a car. "Winnie, are the cameras under control?"

"Almost... done!" A female voice sounded inside her head. "Now!"

"Go!"

"She" grabbed a gun, adrenaline surging, the thrill of killing taking root in her bones, bursting out in exaggerated laughter. "Let's fuck up these bastards!"

Gunfire was as dense as thunder, screams and explosions filled the entire building. Blood and limbs flew everywhere. Smoke and the stench of gore filled her nostrils—this was the smell of slaughter.

"She" reaped lives one after another like the Grim Reaper walking among mortals.

This should have been the highlight of the dream, yet Yan Xianchuan only felt bored and restless.

That's it? Killing, chaos—she felt no thrill at all. Even experiencing another's senses completely, it was like watching through glass, unable to empathize.

It was like a dish she had tasted thousands of times; even if her tongue told her it was the same, her mind still recoiled.

The progress bar was halfway, but she had already killed everyone. Was there more?

Just as she hesitated, the scene shifted. A mature woman in a sexy outfit walked over, black jacket open, revealing a strap underneath.

She sat down, her voice hoarse and wild. "How'd you get hurt like this?"

"Even like this, it can get you off."

"She" gave a snorting laugh, raised a hand, and touched the woman's thigh, leaning in.

Yan Xianchuan immediately exited the dream, strode to the bathroom in a few big steps, and turned on the tap to wash her hands.

She had been quick, but she never expected the latter half of the dream to be that kind of content. By the time she realized something was wrong, her fingers had already touched the person's body.

Through the thin fabric, the sensation of warm skin was unmistakable.

Bad luck! Utterly bad luck!

Yan Xianchuan washed her hands eight times before she stopped, then walked out with a dark expression. She grabbed the dream glasses from the bed and snapped them in two with a crack, tossing them into the trash.

After such an incident, she had no interest in sleeping. As dawn broke, her stomach growled—she hadn't eaten dinner. How could she sleep like this?

Yan Xianchuan had her system butler D order a breakfast delivery. She didn't specify anything, just said "whatever," so of course, the food came according to the original owner's tastes.

Yan Xianchuan stared at the egg pancake in front of her and closed her eyes.

【Order again: no eggs, no spice, no Western food, no fatty meat.】

More than ten minutes later, a few side dishes and a bowl of congee arrived. As she finally managed to get some breakfast down, a message suddenly popped up.

A contact labeled "Father" sent a message.

【The family has arranged a marriage partner for you—the Borov family. It's already registered. No need for a wedding; our Yan family can't afford that shame.】

Yan Xianchuan: ?

She read the message again. So it turns out marriage could happen without the person involved knowing until the very end?