Gaowu Border Territory: I Trade My Quota for My Life

I have wanted to change the fate of my family on my own countless times. Every time I started a business, traded in stocks, or borrowed money to make money, I thought I was trying my best to support the family, but the end result was that the days when I could still breathe were dragged into the mud step by step. It wasn't until my parents got older and were still filling holes and taking care of bad debts for me that I finally understood that the most terrifying thing about some people is not that they don't work hard, but that they simply don't know what to do and what to stop. But before I could really make amends, an earthquake buried me in another world. This is a cruel era where high martial arts and technology coexist. Resources are exhausted, hierarchies are solidified, and all living people are tied to quotas, points, and credits. You need points to eat, you need points to heal, and you need points to stay alive. Outside the city, there are abandoned old cities, out-of-control frontiers, and dangerous areas where countless resources and bones are buried. And I became the lowest-level border preparatory recycler. Here, fists determine qualifications, and judgment determines life and death. How many resources you get back determines how long you can survive. What you give up determines whether you can come back. I thought that as long as I was calm enough and able to settle accounts in this life, I would not mess up everything again. But later I realized that the real difficulty is never what to give up. It's about whether you can stop when it's time to stop, and when you must never let go, grit your teeth and hold on to that life, that line, and that tone. Under the quota, all living beings struggle to survive. And this time, I don't want to lose things that really can't be lost with my own hands.