Having Raul guide him was a spur-of-the-moment idea for Cheng Ye, but it unexpectedly brought plenty of surprises.

Take now, for instance. Raven’s explanation of the quarantine zone was practically an open book.

Not only did he lay out the inspector’s official powers in detail, but he also spilled the beans on the unspoken rules, the tricks for skimming profits, and the ways to squeeze out extra benefits, holding nothing back.

Beyond the usual tactics Cheng Ye already knew, one point stood out.

The “contraband” stored in Warehouse 3.

What qualified as contraband?

Not the three packs of PCB boards or electronic components seized from the driver earlier.

Those only fetched a few times their value when smuggled out to other sanctuary cities, settlements, or lone scavengers. Inside Happiness City, they were nearly worthless, hardly worth confiscating.

The real valuable stuff, the kind truly deserving of the “contraband” label?

Mutant beast cores, contained infection sources, extraordinary minerals, special plants, and other treasures that didn’t exist in the Old Era!

“Can you just seize them at will?”

“Of course not,” Raven said, shaking his head quickly. “Those items can be exchanged for heaps of contribution points. If an inspector arbitrarily confiscated them, people would probably fight to the death.”

“Then how?”

“Here’s the deal, sir,” Owl chimed in, speaking for the first time. “By the rules, these items aren’t allowed into the buffer zone due to contamination risks. Even if someone smuggles them past inspection and sells them at the resource exchange, they’d only get 70% of the standard price.”

“But if an inspector seizes them and takes them outside the buffer zone to the exchange, they get 100% of the standard price. That 30% difference is the inspector’s ‘reward’ for bearing the ‘material contamination risk.’”

What a “material contamination risk”!

Cheng Ye couldn’t help but marvel. Compared to this, Garcia’s entry taxes at the Central Checkpoint were downright restrained.

In contrast, the “contraband tax” at the rapid checkpoint, built on collusion between officials and merchants, was straight-up robbery.

“And they’re okay with that?”

Cheng Ye asked, realizing as soon as the words left his mouth how naive the question sounded.

What could they do if they weren’t okay?

Take on the entire checkpoint, or Happiness City itself, as individuals?

“They’re more than happy, sir,” Owl said with a smile, missing the subtext in Cheng Ye’s question. “Not only do you help them bring contraband into the buffer zone, but you also get them the same price they’d get selling it themselves. Why wouldn’t they be happy?”

“Is that so?”

Cheng Ye frowned, pondering, then it hit him.

The limitations of this era meant Luo Xiaoxue couldn’t grasp the checkpoint’s inner workings.

Likewise, he hadn’t immediately understood the logic built on the wasteland’s underbelly.

On closer thought, without this unwritten 30% tax, adventurers might see short-term gains, but it would only breed more conflict in the long run.

Inspectors couldn’t help but covet such items during checks.

Exchange offices would surely lowball prices.

It could even spawn new parasites, black markets, scalpers that driving up Happiness City’s acquisition costs.

The 30% tax protected adventurers’ fixed income while curbing greed across the entire process, from entry to sale.

That’s why Owl said, “Why wouldn’t they be happy?”

It looked like a 30% cut, but in reality, it traded rules for safer profits.

“What about charging here?”

Cheng Ye casually stepped into the garage, his eyes flicking to the fast charger’s nameplate.

As expected, it used three-phase AC input, max voltage 380V, max current 160A, a rapid charger.

At ideal resistive load, it could hit around 100kW efficiency.

But with heat dissipation protection, it couldn’t sustain full power long-term. Current would drop to about 110A, power settling at roughly 65kW, charging about 65 kWh per hour.

“You mean these, sir? Since Zone A handles vehicle and convoy inspections, some get quarantined, and their vehicles are stored here. Charging is an extra service, bringing the checkpoint a tidy operational income.”

“Not free?”

“How could it be free? Happiness City waives electricity fees for regular folks to support livelihoods. But these people drive out to make money. If we let them charge for free, that’d be unfair.”

Noticing Cheng Ye’s interest in charging, Raven added, “Our charging speed isn’t the fastest, and fees are triple the buffer zone’s, but people still flock to charge here.”

“Why’s that? In the city, charging requires fees and

a permit from the Works Department. Not every convoy qualifies to charge. Want to drive out? Gotta butter up the Works Department ‘big shots’ first.”

“Charging needs a permit?”

Cheng Ye blinked, his mind flashing to the bus driver, Master Tian, who’d mentioned needing charging clearance from the Works Department to leave the city. He’d assumed it was just vehicle usage rights.

“Of course. Batteries are one of Happiness City’s most tightly controlled resources. The vehicles and buses in the buffer zone are essentially Works Department assets, a Happiness City’s assets.”

“Batteries have a limited lifespan. The more fast charges and cycles, the faster they degrade. How could such a strategic resource be freely accessible?”

So it wasn’t charging restrictions but battery restrictions!

Cheng Ye had an epiphany.

Since arriving in this world, he’d rarely seen private cars or trucks, only buses.

The reason was clear now.

With free electricity in the buffer zone, vehicles would be everywhere if charging were unrestricted.

But batteries, as a heavily controlled strategic resource, were tightly gripped by the Works Department from production to depletion, naturally limiting fast charging access.

“If it’s paid, there’ll be records. That’s a bit tricky…”

Cheng Ye frowned, asking about the fee.

Raven’s answer was jaw-dropping.

Good grief, it wasn’t cheap, and they didn’t take Happiness Coins, only contribution points!

In the buffer zone, 100 kWh cost 5 contribution points. At triple the price, the isolation zone charged 15 points, effectively passing battery degradation costs onto the fee.

“What about these slow chargers?”

Cheng Ye moved to the other side of the warehouse, eyeing three ordinary slow chargers, the kind he’d seen in apartment garages before crossing over.

Eighty years and several apocalyptic disasters later, these basic, low-tech devices hadn’t evolved much.

They still used 220V standard voltage, 30A current, hitting 6-7kW.

“Those are the checkpoint’s private chargers, for station vehicles only.”

Raven gave a knowing, subtle smile. “Using these slow chargers doesn’t cost contribution points or Happiness Coins, but you need the checkpoint’s permission.”

“The first one’s permission lies with the station chief.”

“The second is approved by the deputy station chief.”

“The third, in the corner, is for the current duty inspector. Since you’re in Zone A, you can use it. When your shift changes, the next inspector takes over.”

What the hell?

Cheng Ye froze, his brows twitching, realizing his level was still too low.

No wonder they say power is a man’s best cosmetic.

Whoever set up this system was a genius, sneaky as hell.

First, they set a “legit” target with triple-priced fast charging, leaving the Works Department no room to complain.

Then, they added slow chargers to quietly trade favors and rake in benefits.

The station chief got a piece, the deputy got a piece, the duty inspector got a piece, and everyone was happy.

And those needing to charge? They were thrilled too. Instead of groveling to inspectors, they could “play dog” and get free charging. What’s there to complain about?

“Eye-opening. I thought wasteland folks only knew how to fight and kill. Didn’t expect the checkpoint to have such clever players pulling these tricks!”

Cheng Ye did some mental math.

Only Zone A offered charging among the four zones, A, B, C, and D, which seemed unfair.

But inspectors rotated zones weekly. Cheng Ye was in Zone A this week, B next, then C and D, completing a cycle to return to A.

This way, every inspector got a shot at Zone A, sharing in the hidden profits.

An eight-hour shift with a slow charger could yield about 50 kWh daily, worth roughly 3 contribution points at the buffer zone’s official rate.

Not a lot, but not nothing.

It was a small bonus, about 20 extra points a month. Three months of duty could buy 1g of extraordinary mineral.

“Can’t use the fast chargers to top up yet, but a slow charger’s decent enough. Fifty kWh a day means I can hit a full charge every two days…”

Cheng Ye mused.

He’d already decided to avoid paid charging in the buffer zone early on, lacking a solid foundation.

If someone tracking power usage noticed anything odd, he’d have no way to explain.

Free charging was different.

First, no matter how detailed the records, unused resources didn’t matter if they caused no trouble.

Second, these warehouse chargers were already a shady deal. Recording them too clearly risked leaving evidence.

“Start charging. Fast chargers might get tracked, so I won’t touch them until I know the lay of the land.”

“Fifteen contribution points? Plenty of ways to earn that. The problem’s finding the channel.”

“But since these slow chargers are the rapid checkpoint’s hidden perk, why the hell shouldn’t I get in on it?”