Chapter Four: A Seventy-One-Hour Run

If every merchant withdrew at once, every hollow beneath the surface would appear. At eight, Lu's car collected them—not for headquarters, but for Farland's largest sorting center in the eastern suburbs. The conveyor belts were silent. Hundreds of drivers crowded the settlement windows, all holding the same screenshot: Farland had stopped paying freight, the banks were taking control, and withdrawals would close forever at ten. Lu Congshan stood in the glass office above them, looking ten years older. “The rumor began at four. Withdrawals at seven were twenty-three times normal. Two banks suspended every settlement interface we use.” “Why?” Lin Yan asked.