Gao Yuxuan said: “Earlier at Jiangbing’s place you also stopped me. Do you know what I was going to say?”
Zhao Yi came back to his senses: “I know. You wanted to give them money.”
Gao Yuxuan was happy: “Hey, you really do understand me.”
Being a few years older, Zhao Yi understood the ways of the world much better. He said: “Don’t give it to their faces. Wait until we leave here, then transfer the money.”
They’d already added each other’s personal smart brain contacts. Citizen accounts were full-function accounts, covering everything. You could directly transfer money to this account.
Gao Yuxuan agreed: “Okay.”
He said: “I originally wanted to save money to buy a new smart brain. But no rush—I’ll just work another job next holiday.”
Zhao Yi said: “When the time comes, we’ll both transfer together.”
—
Jiang Cheng pulled up “Zhou Wang’s” file.
During those 120 hours, Uncle Jiang had thoroughly investigated all key personnel.
Jiang Cheng frowned: “Beiyu Three Mining Star?”
Su Yu had suffered her radiation accident at Beiyu Three Mining Star.
Jiang Cheng searched further—it wasn’t just Su Yu.
Among the forty thousand participants, nearly three thousand were connected to Beiyu Three Mining Star.
“Zhou Wang” was a derelict supervisor.
“President Xu,” “Director Yu,” and their employees were all miners who’d run around raising money for their colleagues. Clearly “President Xu” and “Director Yu” were leaders who’d emerged from ordinary people during hardship.
The little kids were the miners’ children.
Even “Xiao Huang” was a miner.
“Zhao Yi” and “Gao Yuxuan” ran into “Xiao Huang.”
Unexpectedly, “Xiao Huang” was actually a bit older than “Gao Yuxuan,” but he’d stopped going to school very early and was already working and earning money.
Talking about the virtual world, he said: “You didn’t go get memory blocking either. I didn’t go either.”
He said: “It’s nice. It gave me a mom and dad to miss.”
Old Huang and Mama Huang in the “world” had been very good parents.
“Xiao Huang” wasn’t willing to forget them.
“I’m a natural human. My mom and dad died in the mine when I was very small.” He said. “I don’t remember them. I grew up on the mining star.”
Natural human children who lost their parents were pitiful—they’d become true orphans.
Especially in edge regions like mining stars, government welfare simply couldn’t reach them.
Unlike in prosperous star sectors, where if a gene-optimized child was abandoned by their guardian, the government would take over and raise them uniformly, and the treatment standard was usually not bad. How good exactly depended on that star sector’s fiscal level.
In core areas like the capital star circle, the fiscal allocation for foster institutions was very ample. You could see children there grow up healthy even without guardians.
You would deeply, sincerely praise the word “civilization.”
So people living in the capital star circle or prosperous star sectors often didn’t realize what kind of life the truly bottom-tier common people lived in star sectors outside these economically developed ones.
They naively thought the entire nation was this “civilized.”
And “Xiao Huang” had grown up in the true bottom tier from childhood.
He himself was a person of few words like in the “world,” always wary of others.
Childhood trauma so plentiful he didn’t even know it was called trauma.
To him, that was just life. That was all.
He also asked them: “Did you see Uncle Zhou?”
“Xiao Huang” and “Zhou Wang” in the “world” had been like father and son.
“Gao Yuxuan” had just heard “Zhao Yi” explain what “Zhou Wang” had done. The high school student was dumbfounded: “How could he be like that?”
He’d thought “Brother Zhou” was a good person.
Now hearing “Xiao Huang” ask about “Zhou Wang,” “Zhao Yi” hesitated, but “Gao Yuxuan” had already spoken quickly: “You’re looking for him? You want to recognize each other?”
He wanted to advise “Xiao Huang” against it. Someone who wasn’t a good person in the “world” probably wasn’t a good person in reality either.
But “Xiao Huang” said lightly: “No. I want to warn him to leave early. A lot of people want to beat him up.”
“Gao Yuxuan”: “Huh?”
“Xiao Huang” told him: “He’s one of the people responsible for the mining disaster. He was derelict in duty, but only received the punishment of being fired.”
The moment “Xiao Huang” woke up, he’d understood who “Zhou Wang” was.
But he and “Zhou Wang” in the “world” had depended on each other for survival—a deep bond. He wanted to give him a heads-up, let him leave early, so he wouldn’t get beaten.
It would count as honoring the bond between the two of them.
“He went to do it already.” Learning that “Zhou Wang” had gone for memory blocking, “Xiao Huang” said lightly. “Good. Then I definitely don’t need to.”
One person forgets, the other lets go.
The feelings and bonds in the “world” ended here.
—
After reading the search results, Jiang Cheng asked: “Why are there so many people from Beiyu Three Mining Star?”
The little kids and the middle school students were almost all orphans. Or their parents were in “Su Yu’s” condition—barely hanging onto a breath.
Worse still, the mining star’s children were all natural humans. The government had no welfare at all for natural humans.
This country’s class stratification was solidified to an unimaginable degree. The bottom and the upper-middle were physically segregated.
People in the capital star circle and prosperous star sectors would never in their lives see the poverty of the bottom. The mining star’s children would never in their lives save up enough for a ticket to the capital star circle.
Uncle Jiang answered: “First, of course, because Beiyu Three is very close to here. Then, because the miners still haven’t received compensation. They need money.”
They couldn’t get compensation, and the mining star had stopped production.
The dead had no pensions. The living couldn’t make a living.
“President Xu” and “Director Yu” led their brothers running around everywhere—advocating for their rights while raising money to support the miners’ orphans.
Jiang Cheng sneered.
Just what capitalists often did.
Cold and ruthless, greedy and bloodthirsty.
Before, she would only look down from a high vantage point, evaluating whether these methods were brilliant or clumsy.
Now, she was looking up from a completely different angle.
And looking this way, all she saw was fangs and blood.
—
The first spacecraft was about to launch.
The pharmaceutical company provided free spacecraft to the nearest spaceport, where they could transfer to public spacecraft to go anywhere.
“Li Jiangbing” said goodbye to “Song Jingshuo”: “I’m not leaving. Su Yu has a room here. I’ll go to hers.”
“Song Jingshuo” nodded, prepared to set off: “Alright, then I’ll go first…”
But several people in formal suits appeared in the rest hall, footsteps ringing as they walked this way.
The sound of their leather shoes on the floor was too loud. That superior air made everyone instinctively step aside.
“Song Jingshuo” and “Li Jiangbing” both couldn’t help looking over, their conversation interrupted.
“Song Jingshuo” recognized at a glance: “Lawyers.”
Capitalists’ running dogs.
“Li Jiangbing” sighed: “Did someone die?”
Being an experimental subject came with death risks.
Whenever someone died, these brightly-dressed lawyers would appear. Exhausting every means of suppression, intimidation, and deception to get signatures, minimizing losses for their employer—best if they could completely absolve their employer of responsibility.
“Song Jingshuo” had trusted lawyers too much, and that was how he’d suffered a bloody loss.
His lawyer had told him it was fine, told him to sign, and he signed.
It turned out that lawyer had long been bought by financial capital.
So now he was extremely wary whenever he saw a lawyer.
They both watched those lawyer-looking people. Unexpectedly, those people walked straight toward them.
Accurately calling out “Song Jingshuo’s” real name, they said: “Please come with us.”
“Song Jingshuo” and “Li Jiangbing” exchanged a glance. “Li Jiangbing” was a bit nervous.
“Song Jingshuo” told him “I’ll contact you later,” and rose to follow the lawyers.
After a few steps, he sensed something was off and looked back.
Only half the people were following him. The other few were still in place, talking to “Li Jiangbing” and “Su Yu.”
“Song Jingshuo’s” heart stirred.
—
The spacecraft left in several trips, and the people were split into several batches.
Not everyone was leaving either. Some had booked other pharmaceutical experiments and wanted to continue earning this money.
“Gao Yuxuan” accompanied “Zhao Yi” and simply stood guard at the passage to the spacecraft, afraid of missing “Zhang Lesi.”
“Zhao Yi’s” anxiety was growing more obvious. Even “Gao Yuxuan,” a kid, could sense it.
He comforted him: “Don’t be afraid. If she twists your ear, I’ll block for you.”
After all, in the “world” he was often twisted by “Zhang Lesi.”
“Zhao Yi” couldn’t explain to “Gao Yuxuan” what exactly he was afraid of.
He could only force a nod.
His eyes fixed on the women passing by—young ones, even slightly older or younger ones.
He firmly believed that as long as “Zhang Lesi” appeared, he would definitely spot her immediately.
“Gao Yuxuan” saw quite a few acquaintances.
Some still remembered him and greeted him.
“Zhao Yi” looked absent-minded—anyone could tell he was looking for “Zhang Lesi.” Everyone tactfully didn’t disturb him.
“Gao Yuxuan” helped ask around: “Anyone seen Lesi?”
Everyone said no.
Some people, however, had already done memory blocking. When they walked past “Gao Yuxuan,” there wasn’t a ripple of emotion—even though they’d been so familiar before.
“Gao Yuxuan” had opened his mouth to greet them, realized the other party no longer had those memories, and closed his mouth dejectedly.
A young kid’s capacity to accept human partings wasn’t that strong yet.
Especially since he’d also seen several little kids he knew.
He’d thought they were virtual data—because the “world” necessarily couldn’t be all real people; there had to be some data filling.
He hadn’t expected these little kids to actually be real people. He was a bit stunned.
The people carrying the little kids, he knew very well—it was “President Xu” and “Director Yu.”
Among them, “Director Yu” was also an electric-type like him—even more familiar.
But the little kids no longer remembered this big brother.
“We had them blocked,” “President Xu” said. “They’re still young after all. Afraid they can’t tell the difference.”
“Director Yu” explained: “It’s not about using them to make money. These are all our coworkers’ children. They’re all orphans now. They need to eat and survive.”
“President Xu” was a burly man.
“Director Yu” was a thin man—the kind of thin that looked like a hard life.
Very different from his portly, clearly-tired-of-delicacies image in the “world”—at a glance, you could tell he was worry-worn and burdened, looking much older.
Both of them looked much older than in the “world.”
“Gao Yuxuan” remembered hearing about the Beiyu Three mining disaster quite a while ago. But the media had barely reported it—just a light, perfunctory headline and it was over.
He’d only heard a bit in passing when he happened to meet someone others said was from Beiyu Three.
The kid hadn’t taken it to heart.
Only now did he learn how hard things were for the people on the mining star.
Mining stars were all natural humans. In theory, their citizenship was higher than sub-humans’. In reality, it wasn’t much better.
Government welfare always tilted toward gene-optimized individuals, never reaching natural humans.
“Gao Yuxuan” himself was a natural human too. He could empathize quite well.
He said goodbye to them, patted each little kid’s head, then walked back.
From afar he saw “Zhao Yi’s” back, craning his neck and looking around—a bit pitiful and a bit funny.
Experiment participants were of all ages—men and women, old and young.
He saw a white-haired old granny with a cane walk past “Zhao Yi.”
She turned her head, he craned his neck. Neither looked at the other, passing each other like parallel worlds.
“Gao Yuxuan” walked toward “Zhao Yi.”
The old granny approached him, then suddenly turned and glanced at him.
“Gao Yuxuan” also instinctively glanced at her, then kept walking.
One step.
Two steps.
“Gao Yuxuan” turned back in shock!
The old granny saw him turn back and smiled at him.
“Gao Yuxuan” looked at Zhao Yi’s back, then at the old granny, mouth wide open.
The old granny playfully winked at him, raised a finger to her lips in a “shh—”
Shh—
Don’t tell him.
The old lady hummed a little tune, turned, and left, boarding the departing ship.
Leaving “Gao Yuxuan” standing in place, at a loss.
After a long while, he walked to “Zhao Yi’s” side and stammered: “Maybe… maybe stop looking for her. She might not be good-looking, so she doesn’t dare come find you.”
“Impossible.” “Zhao Yi” shook his head. “Everyone used their original faces. Look at Jing… Uncle Jingshuo.”
“Song Jingshuo” only looked more mature, but his looks hadn’t diminished.
“Gao Yuxuan” tried to persuade him: “Look at Brother Yu. Brother Yu isn’t as good-looking as in the virtual world.”
“Zhao Yi” said: “He’s just too thin, lived too hard. He doesn’t look bad.”
“Gao Yuxuan” scratched his head, thought of another excuse: “Maybe she’s a playgirl. Reality is different from the virtual world after all—that was ancient Earth. Reality isn’t that conservative.”
In this era, marriage wasn’t a necessity. Reproduction was decoupled from sex and marriage. Unless two people agreed to a one-on-one relationship, multi-partner dating was the default.
So this was quite possible.
But “Zhao Yi” couldn’t forget “Zhang Lesi’s” leap.
“No.” He said. “She said I can’t escape her palm.”
“She said she’d find me at the ends of the earth.”
“Zhao Yi’s” eyes were bright, a smile on his lips.
“Even if I can’t find her, she’ll definitely find me.”
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