The Round Table
In truth, the government didn’t care one bit about their “roles” in the bedroom. However, names have to be ordered; if written horizontally, there’s a front and back; if vertically, a top and bottom. There was no way around it. Unless specifically requested otherwise, the order followed the standard 21-category chart. Because Cen Xie and Ying Zhu were both male Omegas, the clerk had to ask.
Legally, their rights and obligations were identical, so the name placement was purely for psychological comfort.
Cen Xie and Ying Zhu locked eyes. Cen Xie reacted first, turning to the clerk: “Cen Xie on top.”
“Understood,” the clerk replied.
Ying Zhu’s mouth quirked open, but since he was wearing a mask, no one saw it.
Once the certificates were printed, the clerk asked, “Who are the witnesses?”
This was another Star County regulation: a marriage required witnesses to be valid. Witness certification was easy to obtain—one simply applied online and answered a questionnaire. Many chose family or important friends as a tradition, while those who didn’t care used the free witnessing service provided by the Bureau.
Ying Zhu asked, “Is that service available now?”
“I am a certified witness,” the clerk offered.
“Then you’ll do,” Ying Zhu said.
The clerk rummaged under the counter, pulled out a slightly crumpled robe, and stood up to put it on. “First, congratulations to you both. Please stand and hold each other’s hands.”
Ying Zhu and Cen Xie stood, their hands clasped together, facing her across the counter. The clerk placed a copy of the Star County Constitution on the desk, resting her hand on the cover. Her tone became formal.
“You have come here because of love, and you are about to enter into marriage, completing a life contract. I, along with the Star County Constitution, witness this moment.”
The ambient noise of the room seemed to fade, leaving only her voice echoing in their ears.
“Before this, the Lord has words to say.
You should know what marriage is: that it is solemn and sacred, to be cherished and honored.
You should know what love is: that true love only occurs between two independent and mature souls.
You should know what a contract is: that freedom is found only in obeying a voluntary agreement.
I declare that from this day forward, you shall live as one, companions forever.”
After reciting the vows, the clerk shed her robe and sat back down. She stamped the witness section of the certificates. Witness: Shi Balu.
The two stepped out of the Civil Affairs Bureau holding their certificates. Standing at the entrance, they felt a brief sense of aimlessness. A dry summer wind, carrying the scent of parched plants, swirled around them. They turned to face each other.
Cen Xie: “What are you doing later?”
Ying Zhu: “Going to Usher.”
Cen Xie let out an “oh.” Silence followed.
Ying Zhu: “And you?”
Cen Xie: “I have a meeting.”
Ying Zhu thought he had misheard, assuming the other was using the wrong word. “You mean a ‘lecture,’ right?” What kind of “meetings” did gangs hold? It felt like a desecration of the word.
Cen Xie felt offended by his expression. He frowned and emphasized, “It’s a meeting. The Round Table of the Three Great Gangs.”
Ying Zhu was even more surprised. “You guys have a Round Table too?”
The concept originated from medieval knight culture—a circular table meant no hierarchy, stripping away status and power to allow for equal negotiation. The City Councilors often held Round Tables to discuss municipal affairs.
You guys have a Round Table too?
The words stung Cen Xie’s ears. He smirked. “What? Did your people buy the copyright to the concept?”
The three gangs held a Round Table every quarter to discuss recent disputes and conflicts. They negotiated what they could; what they couldn’t, they settled privately later. Generally, if they could manage to sit down calmly at the table, most issues ended in a peaceful resolution. This rule had existed for ages, likely because the “triangular” balance of power made everyone cautious of tipping the scales.
Cen Xie thought it was a good system; it helped build a “civilized” underworld.
Sensing Cen Xie’s annoyance, Ying Zhu dropped the subject.
Cen Xie asked, “You’re not in contact with Zheng Yun right now, are you?”
Ying Zhu shook his head. “No.”
Ever since he took Cen Xie from Zheng Yun’s place, he hadn’t reached out. Furthermore, because of Cen Xie, he was re-evaluating the entire cooperation.
Cen Xie snorted. “Good. Then I’m going to settle the score with him.”
Ying Zhu knew what he meant. Cen Xie’s foot had grown back, but the pain of it being severed was very real. Technically, Ying Zhu was the one who told Zheng Yun to “do something harsh.” Was Zheng Yun taking the fall for him? Well, whatever.
They fell back into silence, both a bit dazed by the marriage they had just entered. Finally, Cen Xie spoke: “Should I come find you tonight?”
Find me for what? The words almost escaped Ying Zhu’s lips, but he paused and simply grunted an “Mhm.”
Cen Xie added, “The seller who conspired with Zhou Nan, Li Qingchang—I had Chen Jiu lock him up in the Chairman’s building a few days ago. I haven’t had time to interrogate him yet. I’ll go back after the meeting, see what he says, and come find you tonight to discuss it.”
“Alright,” Ying Zhu said.
With nothing left to say, Cen Xie handed his car keys to Ying Zhu. “Take my car to work. I’ll grab a taxi.”
“I can just take a taxi,” Ying Zhu countered. “I’m closer.”
Cen Xie pressed the keys into his hand. “I woke up too early today. I don’t feel like driving.” Only then did Ying Zhu accept them.
As Ying Zhu drove away, Cen Xie hailed a cab.
“Hello, passenger,” the driver’s numb voice sounded from the front. Cen Xie grunted from the back and leaned his head back, intending to catch up on sleep.
The taxi companies had long ago implemented self-driving tech, but they still staffed cars with “drivers.” Their job wasn’t to drive, but to take the blame. If an accident occurred, the company could blame “human error” rather than admit a fault in their AI, which would carry much higher liability. In the post-war economy, these cheap laborers were more cost-effective than high insurance premiums.
The Round Table was held on a boat on the Star River. When Cen Xie arrived at the pier, he ran into Tong Nan, one of the other gang leaders. Tong Nan, a male Beta, always wore a polite smile and gold-rimmed glasses that hid a pair of calculating “fox eyes.”
Cen Xie noted that while Ying Zhu looked like an elite gentleman in gold-rimmed glasses, Tong Nan just looked like a “refined scoundrel.”
Tong Nan greeted him, “Why the taxi?”
Cen Xie replied casually, “Lent my car to someone.”
Tong Nan looked him up and down. “Rare to see you dressed like this.” Cen Xie smiled but said nothing. Tong Nan kept his eyes on him. “It looks good.”
They reached the boarding area, where two staff members approached to frisk them. No weapons were allowed—one of the Round Table’s strict rules. Since Zheng Yun and Cen Xie were ability users, they also had to wear “Gland Locks” to suppress their powers.
Once the locks were on, they boarded the ship. Zheng Yun was already there. He stood to greet Cen Xie, his eyes dropping to his feet. “Your foot…?”
Cen Xie smiled cheerfully. “Bionic prosthetic. Quite convenient, can’t even tell, right?”
Zheng Yun nodded in agreement. “You really can’t tell at all.”
After a few moments of polite small talk, the three of them sat down at the round table. The table’s smooth, edgeless curves and the way their seats formed a stable triangle served as a physical manifestation of the relationship between the three great gangs.
Once they were seated, tea was served. Cen Xie took a sip, set it down, and asked, “Why the boat this time?”
“The heat is on lately,” Tong Nan replied. “It’s safer on the water.”
Zheng Yun chimed in, “I hear Boss Tong recently added an ‘electronic cannabis’ line to his business. This ship must be a new purchase. Looks like business is booming.”
Electronic cannabis involved extracting the memories of addicts and turning them into memory cards to sell. It allowed users to enjoy the euphoric high without the physical addiction or bodily damage. Consequently, the price was astronomical, targeting the upper class. As for the addicts providing the “raw material”—when the withdrawal hit, they’d sell their own flesh, let alone their memories.
If one thought about it deeply, it was clear: where did all those addicts come from? An industrialized sales model requires steady production. Could the existing population of addicts sustain it? How many people were being coerced or lured into addiction just to harvest them?
The advent of the artificial hippocampus had brought convenience, but in the shadows where the sun didn’t shine, it had also bred a great deal of rot.
Cen Xie looked at Tong Nan. The midday sun reflected off Tong Nan’s glasses, turning them into opaque white shields that hid his eyes. Tong Nan looked like a refined, scholarly gentleman, but in reality, his mind was the most poisonous of the three. He had endless ways to make money, and no idea was too dark for him to exploit.
The Round Table began with some idle chatter. There hadn’t been any major incidents lately—just small territorial skirmishes that were settled in a few sentences. Once the fluff was out of the way, they reached the main event.
Cen Xie slid back in his swivel chair and kicked his long legs up. Thump, thump. He slammed his feet onto the round table, tilted his head at Zheng Yun, and asked, “About my feet. What’s the compensation?”