Chapter 1: The Waste Dump of the Dying Man's Universe_1

In the suburbs of Tan City, Ganzhou, in the Changrong Waste Disposal Plant, lay the exclusive office of the owner's son.

Collapsed in the desk chair was a young man of plain appearance, whose dispersed gaze and poor demeanor betrayed his physical suffering, his features distorted by pain.

Huang An seemed to have been enduring prolonged torment from illness, his face bearing abnormalities characteristic of his painful state. His high cheekbones, exposed gums, slightly blackened and deeply sunken eye sockets, and long bizarrely-yellow teeth were reminiscent of a vampire from a novel.

Long-term illness had rendered Huang An's once-proud glossy hair dry and withered.

A mere twenty-three-year-old in his prime now resembled a man on the brink of death in his twilight years.

"Why has Heaven forsaken me?"

Suddenly, from his pale lips, Huang An recited Prime Minister Zhuge's words of sorrow.

Upon closer inspection, at one corner of his mouth was a touch of crimson. Blood-stained tissues on the desk caught the eye as they reflected the sunset rays.

"Damn it!"

With a smack on the chaotic desk and a curse from his lips, all traces of literary atmosphere vanished in the room.

"Late-stage pancreatic cancer, I..."

Suddenly.

"Brother Huang, Brother Huang?"

All of a sudden, frantic shouting and confused footsteps emerged from outside the room.

It was Achang, an old staff member and driver in the disposal plant.

I mustn't let him see this.

Huang An quickly wiped the corner of his mouth, swiftly grabbing two blood-soaked tissues and stuffing them into the trash bin hidden under his desk.

He then kicked the bin deep under the table.

Next, Huang An composed himself, struggling to rise while bottling up most of his pain.

While wiping blood off the desk, feigning nonchalance, he raised his voice to ask:

"Have you finished loading? Have you calculated the weight accurately?"

"Yes, yes! We're finally done, hehe!"

Achang's voice was tinged with fatigue, but more so with joy, as they were about to knock off work.

Huang An still looked pale, but due to his long-term mastery of concealment, no ordinary person would ever guess that he's terminally ill, and likely wouldn't last half a year.

He walked to the door, rinsed the blood off his hands and rinsed his mouth with cold water. Watching the bloody water gushing down the drain, Huang An took a deep breath.

With a stuttering 'creak,' he pushed open the door. He wiped his hands at the hem of his coat and picked up the ledger by the door before stepping out.

He gently closed the door behind him, took a step forward, pretended to look at the sunlight outside, evaded Achang's direct scrutiny, and casually asked him:

"You got the weight right, right? Sorted everything properly?"

Achang smirked, not noticing anything unusual about Huang An, "Brother Huang, I've been here for seven years. When have I not been a model employee?"

"Trust me to get the job done!"

Achang patted his chest, the calculator in his hand thumping rhythmically against it, entirely oblivious.

Off they went, walking towards the work area two hundred meters away.

He indeed didn't notice anything strange about Huang An.

After all, ever since Brother Huang gave up graduate school to come home and take over the plant, he had always kept to himself.

At night, when they'd typically review accounts, he'd always be bustling about and couldn't notice Huang An's peculiarities.

The two chatted as they gradually moved further away.

What Huang An didn't notice was that the crystal ball he found a year and a half ago, just before his pancreatic cancer diagnosis, was now emitting a strange blue light.

An hour later, the disposal plant's workers, after finishing their meals at the small cafeteria, had all knocked off work.

Huang An sent Achang away and took some more time to go through the ledger.

Two hours later, an increasingly pale Huang An slowly dragged himself from the dining hall.

His appetite was, as usual, poor. Whenever food entered his esophagus, he would vomit it out. To keep others from noticing his condition, he often brought his meals back to his office.

In the chilly autumn breeze, under the steadily darkening twilight, a gust of cold wind swept over him. Huang An suddenly shivered, his body instantly stiffening. A blast of cold air seemed to emanate from all directions, threatening to freeze his very soul.

He instinctively tightened his clothes, crossed his arms and hunched his body as if intending to curl up. Yet his face didn't betray his discomfort, as if the sensory nerves on his face had lost their function in an instant.

The late-stage pancreatic cancer, moment after moment, subjected Huang An to torment akin to being pricked by countless needles.

People close to death were said to experience extreme cold.

Huang An knew he didn't have much time left.

He shakily opened his door, the force of the wind blew directly at the door. Simply opening the door drained him greatly.

Using his body weight, he closed the door and leaned against it to rest.

The little labor from just now left him with an insurmountable exhaustion.

A surge of excruciating pain traveled up both his arms. The food he was holding slipped out of his hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Fortunately, the food hadn't scattered. Huang An's packing was very secure.

Evidently, he had grown accustomed to this.

Huang An shut his eyes and labored to breathe. Judging from the subtle rise and fall of his chest, he seemed to lack the strength for even deep breaths.

All of a sudden, a bluish light streaked across his eyes and jolted Huang An awake.

The light was stunningly dazzling and pure, unlike any Huang An had ever seen before.

Perhaps not even the myriad colors found deep within the cosmos could adequately describe it.

Huang An freshly opened his eyes, ready to react, but he suddenly felt dizzy. When he had finally stabilized himself, he realized his surroundings had changed dramatically.

He stood upon a grayish-black square, the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet bringing a sense of relief to Huang An. Even the relentless, piercing pain that gnawed at his body was momentarily forgotten.

However, his attention was now completely captivated by the scene unfolding before his eyes.

A thunderous echo emanated from the seemingly endless expanse of sky above him.

Following that was a "whoosh."

An avalanche of colorful, mostly grayish-black miscellanea rained down before him.

After about half a minute, the debris accumulated into a conical pile—like a small mountain, about seven or eight meters high.

Throughout this process, a unique and nauseating stench lingered around his nostrils, enough to make one retch.

At the scent of this stench, Huang An's complexion turned abruptly pale, and he collapsed onto the ground.

The king of all cancers—pancreatic cancer—tortured him relentlessly. Even a whiff of unpleasant smell could trigger a violent reaction in his body.

Suddenly.

[Intern staff member is experiencing viral bacterial erosion, olfactory sense being shielded!]

[The balance of internal and external microbiome has been achieved, allowing direct contact with the trash from all the worlds!]

Two consecutive, emotionless voices appeared abruptly in his mind.

Even before the voices echoing in his mind could finish, a foul smell disappeared from Huang An's nostrils, as if everything that happened before was just an illusion.

He even felt a slight sense of comfort in his body.

Was it an illusion?

Probably not.

Under the torment of sickness, Huang An's senses had become more receptive than before. After all, being a disaster-stricken individual, his imagination was richer than anyone else's.

Furthermore, having grown up in other people's care, Huang An had a strong ability to adapt and think creatively.

Huang An quickly acclimated to his surroundings.

At least it feels like a peculiar hallucination just before dying.

Huang An set his eyes on the small mountain before him; through his experience growing up in a waste disposal factory, he deduced this to be a heap of trash.

Although he could not recognize many items on the heap, it was undeniably trash.

Its weight, he estimated, should exceed a hundred tons.

The square was silent. The only sound Huang An could hear was his own breath, which was oddly unsettling at present.

He did not approach the trash heap, instead, he turned his body to survey his surroundings, assessing the environment where he found himself.

The square was circular, and he stood in its middle. The square was not particularly big, but not small either, roughly around 3000 square meters.

Looking down, there were complex yet deep patterns inscribed on the grayish, hard ground beneath his feet.

The patterns seemed like a blend of text and graphics, somewhat similar to oracle bone script, possessing an inexplicable sense of beauty.

Lifting his gaze, Huang An looked upward into the dark void, it was somehow chillingly eerie.

Huang An couldn't locate the hole from where the trash had fallen earlier.

He slowly turned around to look behind him and his eyes froze instantly.

About seven or eight meters behind him were two portals.

Two circular passages, each about feet high, one black and one white, with clear demarcations. The portals seemed to be filled with rotating airflow, appearing extraordinarily mysterious.

The distance between the two portals was roughly around ten meters.

Huang An dared not act rashly. Although he was dying, he did not want to die here, or die now.

Especially since he hadn't fully prepared for his departure yet. Even his suicide note was only halfway done.

If misfortune befell him here, his foster parents would assume that he had disappeared without a trace. If they underwent the hardship of searching for him all around the world, and then discovered he had died, how would the old folks bear that pain?

Huang An wished to find a way back.

Could it be through one of those two doors?

Huang An could not be certain.

From the time the trash fell from the sky to the time Huang An finished inspecting the square, less than two minutes had elapsed.

Just as Huang An was about to take action, the voice that had earlier surfaced in his mind spoke once again.

[Welcome here, intern of the garbage field!]

Huang An halted his steps, attentively listening to the voice in his head. His mind raced as he tried to absorb all the information contained in the voice to the best of his ability.

He had the confidence to do that. After all, having read countless mind-bending novels, his imagination and acceptance were both extremely strong.

[Abide by the following agreements, and you will earn true freedom!]

[During your internship, trash from all worlds will fall from the void every natural month. Your task is simple: sort the trash and throw it into the black garbage entrance behind you. You must clean up at least one ton of garbage daily. This task is mandatory!]

[Internship duration: One natural month! Completing the internship will earn you a reward: the use of the world traversal door.]

World traversal door?

Huang An quickly made a note of the key term.

This was related to whether he could survive or not.

After all, having been picked up from a heap of trash, he never gave up hope for life.

[Friendly reminder, there is no such thing as true garbage, only garbage people who do not know how to utilize trash properly! You can find "trash" useful to yourself from the garbage. This is a benefit as a worker in the garbage field. Of course, you would need to spend a tiny amount of gold to acquire the benefits you want.]

Exchanging gold for trash?

Huang An pondered over this for a moment. He remembered the information that could possibly contribute to his survival!

[Please note, you will have the following rights in this square.]