In this neon city, where even souls have been quantified by code, God has long been dead. All that remains is the roar of rust and motor oil.
Wearing a stinking plastic raincoat, I press my pale fingertip against the metal-seamed forehead of a black-market fixer in a shadowy alley in the lower city.
At that moment, in this utterly material world, the laws of physics collapse.
“This is a miracle, and your down payment.”
And so, in the poorest slums of Xinhai City, a silver-haired, blue-eyed “Little Fu” appeared.
She works at a fast-food restaurant serving synthetic-meat burgers, yet holds the highest authority ruling this age.
It is a power known as “Miracles.”
