The Speaking Pork Trotter

In the neon of blue and purple, under the thick steel sky, at the forefront of this surge of data, lies the world post-tech revolution.
It's also the dividing line between reality and illusion.
Steel and flesh, past and future.
In this place, the world outside and inside coexist. Everything in front of us feels like a wall of time within reach.
The darkness is slowly creeping in.
But hey, my friend, you gotta know, we can't just counter darkness with softness.
Gotta use fire.

Naming Technique of the Night

Lordbluefire

King crabs thrive in the ice-cold seas 270 meters deep, and after this season, fully grown King crabs will head to even deeper waters, making them harder to catch.


At this moment, the Walnut Bar was permeated with a distinct damp odor, the salty fishiness of the sea brought in by sailors and captains, as if a group of marine creatures had gained sentience and gathered in the world of humans.


The sailors were quietly drinking beer while stealthily eyeing the table in the middle, where three burly Nordic men and one Asian youth sat, creating a tense atmosphere.


They were four captains in negotiation.


A burly white captain looked at the Asian youth and said coldly, "Zhang, your boat is too small. Over the years, everyone else has switched to 147-foot crabbing vessels, and only you are still using a 120-foot crabbing boat from over twenty years ago. This year, you spent four hundred thousand euros on repairs alone, not to mention the crab pots are all rented."


401, Arctic_4