Chapter 2

Five years later.

NSC 275, the Eighth Galaxy, Beijing-β.

Beijing-β was an exceedingly common name for a planet; there were dozens of "Beijing" planets, "London" planets, or "Zimbabwe" planets in each galaxy. They were quite similar to the Beijing or Nanjing streets in a country called China in the Ancient Earth Era.

Beijing-β really had an eastern atmosphere: Many citizens with Chinese heritage from the Earth Era lived there, probably attracted by the name— nevertheless, you couldn't live a comfortable life in the Eighth Galaxy even if you had the blood of ancient dragons. It was said that ten percent of the news in other galaxies was about their miserable lives.

The Eighth Galaxy had earned itself a nickname: the Wilderness.

The Interstellar Union consisted of eight galaxies. The capital planet Wotto in the First Galaxy was at the top of the pyramid. The further from Wotto, the more undeveloped the planet was— the Eighth Galaxy was already the sewers below the pyramid. The Eighth Galaxy had become the Wilderness for both natural and historical reasons. Lack of resources and inconvenient transportation were the primary causes. However, when it came to history, there was a long and complicated story.

In the old era, more than two hundred years ago, the IU and interstellar pirates were constantly fighting. The majority of the pirates were also descendants of Ancient Earth humans, not alien monsters. The villainous title "interstellar pirates" only caught on in the common vernacular because of the IU. Once the IU had gained control of the majority of the political powers, it labeled all other groups "interstellar pirates" for convenience.

The Eighth Galaxy was eternally isolated. It was a lonely islet set apart from the other seven galaxies. Anti-government groups had settled in the Eighth Galaxy to fight against the powerful IU long ago. During the beginning of the New Sidereal Era, the Eighth Galaxy remained under the control of interstellar pirates until NSC 136, when it was reclaimed by Commodore Xin Lu— a renowned commander of the IU— and finally recovered communication with the other galaxies.

While the IU developed at full speed under the light of science and civilization during those one hundred years, the people of the Eighth Galaxy were displaced as a result of the endless civil conflicts with the pirates. As time passed, the gap between the IU and the Eighth Galaxy grew and grew. Comparing the IU to the Eighth Galaxy was like comparing monkeys to men.

The IU evaluated the Eighth Galaxy when it was taken over by Xin Lu, only to decide it was not valuable at all. So the IU set up a local government there, a polite way of saying, "Go fuck yourselves."

When there are important events in the IU for which each chief officer from the major galaxies was required to attend, chief officers of the IU each had their own nameplate, except those of the Eighth Galaxy. The Eighth Galaxy went through chief officers so fast that it was difficult for anyone to remember their names, and for this reason, its chief officer's nameplate would just read "The Eighth Galaxy."

People would use any means possible to leave the Eighth Galaxy. Those who could not were left impoverished, suffering in the Wilderness.

Beijing-β was quite nice for its galaxy, being the most highly populated planet. It was messy and poverty-stricken for sure, but there were still a few lingering shipping and industrial routes in operation.

In the evening, an old shuttle ran slowly along a road carrying sleepy passengers. The name "Galaxy Transports" on its surface had worn away with time and now read "Gay sports," the artificial intelligence that had once been tasked with driving it was more like an artificial idiot, and the shuttle had sustained 95% damage. Only the "super-safe mode" was still working, so the shuttle crept slowly along in the night, chiming its bell every five minutes.

None of the shuttle's windows were intact, all had been broken by citizens who had been woken up by the bloody ringing. It was full of dust blown in by the wind, but nobody would maintain it because the Galaxy Transportations Company had been bankrupt for two hundred years. The only thing left was an urban public transport system, automatic and moribund.

It was deep winter here, and winter in Beijing-β was long because of the planet's rotation. It lasted for three sidereal years, but the temperature regulation system had stopped running a long time ago due to a lack of funding. The icy cold wind blew through the unprepared city, attacking its people. All of the poor passengers held their clothes tight against their bodies, like quails hiding their heads under their wings.

It was the poorest of the poor who used this free transportation. Most were beggars who were so filthy they couldn't be identified by age or sex. The one benefit of the open-air bus was that the passengers' stench wouldn't cause them to kill themselves.

A drunk girl, whose face was unrecognizable because of her messed-up makeup, sat in the back corner of the "Gay sports." She was not afraid of the cold, letting her jacket open and showing the strange bra and the skull tattoo on her waist — a delinquent, obviously.

A backpack more than a meter tall was placed beside her feet. She wore a headset, closing her eyes to get some rest. She seemed to be a bit grumpy, as she was drunk and some damn child was incessantly crying. The crying was so loud that the music playing in her headset could not drown it out. She tried to bear it for a few minutes, but ultimately failed, taking her headset off, ready to make some more noise.

Strangely though, as soon as she took off her headset, the annoying crying ceased.

She looked around, suspicious, finding no one but adults who were more dead than alive, shielding themselves from the fierce wind. There was no child. She hiccupped, wondering if she was hearing things. Putting the headset back on, she wearily closed her eyes again.

Just as she was about to fall asleep, a sharp cry woke her up like a needle stabbing her eardrum.

"Mommy!"

She hurriedly opened her eyes. The "Gay sports" stopped.

When she turned off the music this time, she could clearly hear the miserable crying nearby.

But...where the hell was the child?

The station display screen had been stolen years ago, and the street lamps were all burnt out too; there was only darkness. The shuttle neared a road leading to a sketchy area. The artificial idiot driver glitched again, beeped "Final station," too soon, and went to sleep before the passengers could argue. They had no choice but to get off the shuttle, cursing and swearing.

The girl frowned, grabbing her luggage and getting off after the exhausted passengers. In front of her, a middle-aged man in thick clothes was pulling a frail old man by the hand, smashing into her by accident.

The delinquent girl didn't even have a chance to be irritated; instead, she started getting dizzy. She rubbed her mascara-smudged eyes, only to see the old guy transform into a little boy.

Am I too drunk? Bootleg liquor maybe? She tried to sober herself up.

As her vision cleared, she saw that he really was only a child, about three years old, hardly even able to walk by himself yet. Although he was in a shabby jacket, the clothes underneath implied that he was born into a wealthy family.

That vagrant was holding the boy by his neck and wrist, and despite his constant struggling and crying, no one paid attention to him. No one even reacted like there was anything wrong— it seemed like they only saw a crazy old guy like she had before.

It was a collective illusion!

Her pupils shrank. Suspicious that the vagrant man was a human trafficker, she followed them.

The vagrant did not pay attention to her, heading straight down a narrow path between dilapidated buildings. The path was dimly lit from the light of the back door of a speakeasy tucked away in a dark corner of the road. The crying reverberated throughout the area, but no one seemed to care.

It couldn't be a hallucinogenic drug— either in the bus or the path, as the wind would quickly blow away any chemicals dispersed in the air.

The girl adjusted her backpack, put up her hood, and then stopped the man.

"Hey, you, stay where you are."

He paused, tightening his grip on the boy's neck. He smiled innocently, shrugging slightly.

"A...are you... talking to me?" He stammered.

The girl squinted warily and clenched her jaw. She pointed at the boy.

"Is that your child?"

The vagrant's expression shifted, forcing a smile.

"Wh-what? You...you- you must be misunderstanding. What child? This- this old geezer is like...like an old monkey. He, he's small, but he's not a kid, see? "

He yanked the man toward her. Immediately, the space in front of her seemed to distort like a glitching monitor. The boy, who was choking on his own tears at this point, kept shifting between an old man and a crying kid.

She frowned, stepping closer.

"That's weird."

The man smirked, sensing her doubt.

"See? What- what did I te-tell yo-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the girl pulled a bottle out of her bag, smashing it into his face; it shattered on impact, and the smell of alcohol filled the air. The fierce girl held the broken neck of the bottle, wiping off her fading lipstick, and spat.

"You son of bitch! Who do you think you're fooling?"

Alcohol dripped down the vagrant's face. He stopped smiling as his expression grew cold. Setting the boy aside, his body stretched and expanded until he was nearly two meters tall!

That tough girl was quite shocked this time, shrinking back a few steps.

"You...."

The man grinned, his smile stretching the length of a palm across his face.

"I see. An empty-brain idiot."

When she heard that, confusion quickly turned to anger. She attacked his crotch and grabbed his hair when he tried to evade. She used the jagged bottleneck to cut his face again— each vicious move was exact. An experienced delinquent for sure.

Nevertheless, the bottle did not hurt him at all. The man's face was hard and pallid, like some kind of metal. He rolled his neck left and right and back again, holding the girl as if she were a kitten.

The bottle fell to the ground and the girl struggled in mid-air. She looked at the reflective face, astonished.

"You...you're not human. "

The vagrant smiled strangely. His giant hand on her head squeezed—

A brilliant light flashed across the ground. Three or four high-speed motors followed after, flagrantly violating the ban on high-speed motors within 100 meters of the ground. The sound came shortly after the light, then a strong wind swept past.

The vagrant seemed to realize something and immediately turned to flee. The wind slammed into the girl; she toppled over her luggage, trying to catch herself. The boy was blown into the blast of wind, still screaming. That vagrant got up and ran like a beast into the night, disappearing into the darkness in a flash. The boy, flailing helplessly in mid-air, flew straight towards the speakeasy. The backdoor opened just in time; a man stepped out and caught him by the neck. As the motors came to a stop, their engines quieted. The girl looked through her tangled hair and saw a tall man standing in the shadows, his face hidden from the light. He bent over and sat the child on the ground, flicking a cigarette with his other hand.

"No need to pursue him, he's already gone. We won't find him." The man said leisurely, "If you guys just make your next appearance a little more flashy, you'll be able to scare off anyone within a lightyear."