Cooperation
Cheng Tianliang pushed Cen Xie inside, across the courtyard and into the house.
Cen Xie propped up his leg and slowly unwound the layers of gauze himself. He stared at his half-missing foot for a long time, clicking his tongue. Truly ugly.
It was black and blue, a jarring cross-section that made his flesh ache just by looking at it.
After a while, he looked up and asked Cheng Tianliang, “Anything happen these last few days?”
Cheng Tianliang replied, “You’ve only been gone for two or three days. Nothing major could happen; all the venues are running as normal.”
He spoke while keeping his eyes on Cen Xie’s feet. “Ying Zhu did this?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Cen Xie replied. “He and Zheng Yun get half the credit each. I’ll collect that debt sooner or later.”
With that, he tossed the gauze aside and let his foot rest casually on the floor. In just two days, the wound at the cross-section had already knitted shut.
Cheng Tianliang said nothing but turned to hand him a sheet of paper. “The list.”
It was the updated roster for the Canaan Society. The names of the deceased had been crossed out. Ying Zhu’s missile had taken out several high-ranking cadres; in a twisted way, it had done Cen Xie a massive favor.
For years, there had been restless elements within the Canaan Society. As far as Cen Xie knew, several senior members had been looking for an opportunity to ambush him and take his place. Cen Xie’s own rise to power hadn’t been “clean”—the predecessor of the Canaan Society was the Lotus Society, led by an Alpha. Cen Xie had worked under him until he found the perfect moment to kill him and seize the throne.
People generally care about legitimacy, so it was expected that Cen Xie’s seat as Chairman was never fully stable. Put simply: if he could do it to the last guy, someone else could do it to him.
Ying Zhu’s missile came at the perfect time. It wiped out the senior cadres from his own generation. The remaining middle-management and subordinates were all promoted by him, making them his people.
It was time to regroup and reclaim his territory.
…..
A few days later, at the Usher Prison office.
Secretary Chen knocked and entered. “Councilor.”
Ying Zhu hummed. “What is it?”
Chen placed a file on the desk. “This is the first round of public opinion polls.”
Ying Zhu set aside his work and picked up the documents. Chen briefed him on the upcoming schedule: “It’s a bit early for full-scale publicity. We should start accepting interviews in a few months.”
After the discussion, Chen left, leaving Ying Zhu alone in the office. His gaze lingered on the poll results.
A few months…
In a few months, to build momentum for the election, he would start appearing frequently on social media and major television stations in Star County. He had to recover every single memory card before then. The current method of seeking them out on the dark web was too passive and inefficient; he was just waiting for people to contact him.
Ying Zhu stood up and walked to the window, watching the rain streaks meandering down the glass.
Actually, there was another way.
…..
The rain had cleared, and the East District felt scrubbed clean, the air a bit fresher.
Ying Zhu stood at the gate of the courtyard where he had dropped off Cen Xie last time. Inside the walls stood a locust tree, its thick branches reaching over the perimeter. Among the layers of green, clusters of white flowers peeked through, elegant and serene. He stood under the tree, mentally rehearsing how to start the conversation.
Just as he was about to knock, he heard movement above him.
With a rustle of leaves, a flurry of green fell like a localized storm. With a thud, a figure leaped down from the tree. It looked as if he had torn himself away from the tree’s embrace; he was covered in tiny leaves and blossoms. He landed in a cool, steady crouch, one hand bracing against the ground while the other cradled a small calico kitten.
Looking up, Cen Xie froze for a second when he saw Ying Zhu. He stood up and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Ying Zhu didn’t speak. He looked down at Cen Xie’s feet.
Alphas and Omegas begin to awaken psychic abilities at S-rank. Before the war, these gifted individuals were gathered by the government into special schools for training. In school, they were taught never to let others know the nature of their ability; a trump card can also be a weakness.
Clearly, Cen Xie’s ability was “Regeneration.” In just a few days, his foot had actually grown back. No wonder he refused to stay in the hospital; with so many eyes watching, his ability would have been exposed.
Cen Xie held the kitten in the crook of his arm, following Ying Zhu’s gaze down to his feet. After a moment, he looked up at Ying Zhu and smiled.
A breeze blew, and the old locust tree swayed gently above them. Ying Zhu said nothing about the feet, letting the matter slide. “I have something to discuss with you.”
Cen Xie shared the unspoken understanding and didn’t elaborate either. He turned to open the courtyard gate. “Come in.” Once inside, he set the kitten on the ground. “Don’t go climbing trees again.”
Inside the house, Cen Xie was surprisingly hospitable, pouring tea before sitting across from him. “Go ahead. What’s on your mind?”
Through the rising steam of the tea, Ying Zhu explained his purpose.
Memory cards are an experiential commodity; both parties have concerns during the trade. Buyers fear being scammed, and sellers fear being “robbed” for free—especially with restricted memories. Almost all transactions are done face-to-face offline. Sellers like that male Beta set a “trial mode,” and the deal only goes through if the buyer is satisfied.
This meant that if he had one seller, he could follow the trail to find others, eventually reaching the source of the leak. It was viable but incredibly tedious because he didn’t know how many hands these cards had passed through.
But there was no better way.
The main reason Ying Zhu hadn’t done this himself was that his face was visible in the memories. Even with a disguise, the more sellers he met, the higher the risk of his identity being exposed. Cen Xie didn’t have this problem; since the memories were from his perspective, his face didn’t appear. Furthermore, he was just as involved.
Ying Zhu carefully told Cen Xie that he had discovered their shared memory cards, but he didn’t describe the content, using the phrase “had contact” instead.
As expected, Cen Xie asked: “We’ve had contact? What kind of contact?”
Ying Zhu remained silent.
Cen Xie held out his hand. “Did you bring the card? Let me see.”
“I didn’t bring it.”
Cen Xie withdrew his hand, looking at him suspiciously. “You won’t say, and you won’t show me. Is it a memory of me beating you up? Do you find it embarrassing?”
Ying Zhu was expressionless. “No.”
Cen Xie guessed again: “Then is it something you did to me? Is it worse than cutting off my foot?”
Ying Zhu watched him for a while, took a deep breath, and said, “You don’t need to know right now. Just know that we are both involved in this.”
“Heh. Who knows if you’re setting a trap for me? Since you won’t say anything specific, for all I know you’re making it up.”
“If I had made that call a few minutes later the other day, you would have been mincemeat in a shredder,” Ying Zhu countered. “Would I go through the trouble of saving your life just to set such a complicated trap?”
The logic held some weight, but Cen Xie didn’t drop his guard so easily. “I still don’t trust you.”
“Right now, you hold my erotic photos and the secrets of Usher Prison. I have absolutely nothing to leverage against you. What exactly are you afraid of?”
“Maybe you’re worried that even if I die, the photos will leak, so you had Zheng Yun help you put on this play?”
Ying Zhu hadn’t expected Cen Xie to be such a tough nut to crack. He went silent for a moment. “Fine. What will it take for you to trust me?”
Cen Xie thought for a bit. “In the next few days, I’m going to send someone to Usher Prison. Rest assured, as long as I’m fine, he will serve his sentence quietly. But if anything happens to me, the secrets of the prison’s loophole will spread among all the inmates.”
Ying Zhu realized he couldn’t refuse. The prison has no right to refuse inmates; Cen Xie could do this whether he agreed or not. “Fine. I agree.”
Ying Zhu prepared to leave. But before he could stand up, a massive explosion thundered from outside, followed immediately by a wailing alarm.
Cen Xie lunged to his feet, glancing at the smoke outside before looking at Ying Zhu.
“Terrorist attack.” He grabbed Ying Zhu, dragging him toward the back of the house to the innermost bedroom. Once inside, he shoved him onto the bed.
Ying Zhu propped himself up. “What are you doing?”
Cen Xie didn’t have time for a slow explanation. He lay down on the bed himself and commanded, “Stay still!”
He pressed a button hidden on the side of the bed. Suddenly, the large mattress split in the middle and flipped. The two of them rolled together, clinging to each other as they plummeted downward.
The drop wasn’t high, and they were cushioned by the bedding, so it didn’t hurt. As soon as they landed, Ying Zhu heard several sharp clicks around his ears. He and Cen Xie were now sealed in a small, airtight space.
An emergency bunker.
Explosions continued to thunder outside. Through the muffled booms, they could feel slight vibrations like a minor earthquake. In this cramped space, they were pressed tightly against each other—breath hitting breath, heartbeats overlapping heartbeats.
“What’s happening?” Ying Zhu whispered.
“The Free Army.”
Ying Zhu frowned. “Those traitors. Bastards.”
The Free Army was an anti-government militant group. They used the slogan “Fighting for Freedom,” but they were mostly composed of rebels and deserters from the war.
Cen Xie let out a scoff. “Yeah, I agree. They want to be anti-government, but they don’t dare attack the West District. They just love to throw their weight around in the East District.”
Ying Zhu lifted his eyelids to look at Cen Xie, who was inches away. They were too close.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Eventually, Cen Xie asked, “You hungry?”
He struggled to reach up, his arm brushing past Ying Zhu’s waist to retrieve a pouch of nutrient solution from the bunker’s storage. He handed one to Ying Zhu.
Ying Zhu opened it, took a sip, and frowned. “Sweet?”
He checked the packaging; it had a pink, cute peach pattern on it—clearly the kind of nutrient solution meant for children.
Cen Xie hummed. “This one tastes good.”
Ying Zhu was baffled. “You’re drinking a nutrient solution and you actually care about the flavor?”
Cen Xie looked genuinely surprised. “You don’t seriously drink the original flavor, do you?”
Original flavor nutrient solutions had zero additives; they tasted as bland as plain water, yet with a lingering, metallic bitterness.
Cen Xie took a long draw of his peach-flavored pouch. “I drank the original stuff once. It was so depressing it made me feel like life was utterly hopeless.”
Ying Zhu’s brow twitched. “Did you drink it while you were in the military?”
Cen Xie hummed in affirmation.
Military supplies prioritized quality and functionality; they didn’t waste resources on fancy flavors. With so many soldiers and varying tastes, it was easier to cater to no one than to try and please everyone. You just ate it and moved on. Thus, all military-grade solutions were flavorless.
Ying Zhu looked at him, a strange sensation stirring in his chest. There is a unique, transcendent bond between fellow soldiers—a connection forged from having once risked their lives for the same victory.
After a moment, Cen Xie spoke up again. “What exactly is in that memory card?”
Ying Zhu snapped out of his thoughts but didn’t answer.
Cen Xie frowned. “It’s my memory too. Is there some reason you can’t tell me?”
“You wouldn’t believe anything I say right now anyway,” Ying Zhu replied. “Wait until we find a new card, then you can see for yourself.”
He wasn’t joking. They had no idea how much longer they’d be squeezed together in this tiny space; if he spoke the truth now, the awkwardness would be unbearable.
Seeing how tight-lipped Ying Zhu was, Cen Xie lost interest and stopped pestering him.
A few minutes passed before Cen Xie spoke again. “Uh… hey. I need to pee.”
Ying Zhu turned his head. The Warden, usually so stoic and expressionless, had a look of visible horror in his eyes.
Cen Xie hissed. “Damn it, so I don’t have your level of endurance, okay? It’s been ages. You don’t feel the urge at all?”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t dare drink too much of the nutrient solution!” Ying Zhu snapped back.
The subtext was clear: Why are you such a glutton? Couldn’t you have held back?
“You were a soldier too,” Cen Xie countered. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to keep yourself in peak condition at all times? We have no idea what it’s like out there or how long this attack will last. If I don’t top off my energy, how am I supposed to fight back?”
Ying Zhu remained silent.
“Say something,” Cen Xie prodded.
Ying Zhu was on the verge of a breakdown. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Look, we’re packed in here so tight that if I just go, it’s definitely getting on you. Out of politeness, I’m asking for your consent. Don’t you ‘upper-class’ elites and gentlemen love all that etiquette? How should I phrase it in your language?”
He even adopted a ridiculous, mock-refined accent: “Ohhh… Dear sir, I find myself in a bit of a predicament. Might I have your permission to urinate upon your person?”