Chapter 26#
Zhao Xing was woken up by the noise.
In his groggy state, he thought he heard two people arguing.
One said: “You stepped on my foot!”
The other retorted: “Are you blind? It wasn’t me!”
Fuck, what idiots? They came all the way to his doorstep to argue, disturbing his sleep—did they even care?!
Zhao Xing opened his eyes in a fury, slipped on his sandals, and yanked the door open, ready to vent his morning rage.
But the hallway was silent, empty, and still. Nothing.
Zhao Xing froze.
How was that possible? He had distinctly felt the voices were right next to him. If he hadn’t been rational enough, he would’ve sworn they were arguing right into his ear.
He rubbed his right ear, which inexplicably felt a bit hot.
Auditory hallucination? A dream?
Shaking his head, Zhao Xing decided not to dwell on it and started changing clothes to head out.
There was an Ideological Assessment this morning. Zhao Xing didn’t care much about it—he figured it didn’t matter whether he went or not—but he was curious about Luo Mingshan’s test results. After all, it was worth a cool fifty million.
Walking on the subsurface level, the broadcast at K13 District Sun Square suddenly rang out.
“The Ideological Assessment will begin in ten minutes. All personnel are required to arrive at the examination hall on time.”
The brief announcement was broadcast only once. After it ended, a few stragglers who had already resigned themselves to being late suddenly sprinted off.
Zhao Xing was an exception.
He didn’t head toward Seventh Academy. Instead, he casually strolled to Fatty Liang’s office.
Fatty Liang was an intern teacher. He could handle substituting for robots in ordinary classes, but things like the Ideological Assessment had nothing to do with him.
When Zhao Xing arrived, Fatty Liang was watching surveillance footage. The screen was split into five sections, showing the five “green channel candidates” who had paid.
As soon as Zhao Xing entered, Fatty Liang grinned and maximized Luo Mingshan’s feed, then vacated his seat for Zhao Xing. “He’s taking the written exam now. Don’t worry. As long as he doesn’t hand in a blank paper, we can manipulate the score to be high.”
The image was high-definition, clearly showing Luo Mingshan’s downcast eyes and pale lips.
Is he sick? Why are his lips and cheeks so white?
After getting the exam paper, Luo Mingshan first glanced around, then carefully wrote his name and ID number.
Luo Mingshan answered the written exam very well. Apart from his somewhat childish handwriting, the answers were nearly identical to the standard key.
Even Fatty Liang couldn’t help exclaiming, “Impressive! It feels like he doesn’t even need our manipulation to get a high score!”
He then glanced at Zhao Xing, cleared his throat, and cautiously added, “Uh, just a heads up—even if he scores high on his own, we won’t be refunding the money.”
Zhao Xing ignored him and continued watching Luo Mingshan on the monitor.
The written exam lasted two full hours, but Luo Mingshan finished the last question in just thirty minutes.
The final question was a freebie short-answer. It asked: “If you could do it over, would you still make the same mistake and come here? Answer yes or no, and briefly explain why.”
Luo Mingshan gripped his pen and wrote word by word.
“Yes. Because coming here lets me see Brother Ah Xing.”
Since early submission wasn’t allowed, he put down his pen after writing, rubbed his right ear, and, looking exhausted, rested his head on the desk and fell asleep.
Fatty Liang was stunned.
He turned to look at Zhao Xing, who was glaring at the line of text on the monitor, his expression dark and unreadable.
“It’s fine. Even if he wrote this, we can still manipulate it. Even if he rants nonsense, we can tweak it to a high score. And he did brilliantly on the earlier parts anyway.”
Fatty Liang glanced at Zhao Xing’s face and let out a dry laugh.
“Haha, Luo Mingshan is quite a hopeless romantic, huh? Risking his future to confess to you in a situation like this. Haha…”
After laughing twice, even Fatty Liang couldn’t keep it up. He touched his nose and fell silent.
Zhao Xing said nothing. He casually opened the drawer, pulled out cigarettes and a lighter, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the monitor. Luo Mingshan’s pale, beautiful sleeping face was half-hidden by black hair. Zhao Xing smoked one cigarette after another.
After the written exam came the interview.
Luo Mingshan was nudged awake by a robot, rubbed his eyes, and slowly made his way to the Ideological Assessment interview room.
Fatty Liang switched the surveillance feed while talking. “The interviewer assigned to Luo Mingshan is one of our people. The questions are easy—no way they’ll make things hard for him…”
Zhao Xing squinted at the familiar man on the screen. “You’re saying he’s one of your people?”
Fatty Liang froze when he saw Captain Guan Pengcheng on the monitor.
He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed.
Two minutes later, wiping sweat from his forehead, he looked sheepishly at Zhao Xing. “Uh… there seems to be a mix-up. Captain Guan Pengcheng has the authority to serve as an Ideological Assessment interviewer. Every year, he can also designate one inmate. Originally, he designated you, but since you missed the exam, he switched to Luo Mingshan…”
Zhao Xing stubbed out his cigarette on the desk and stared coldly at him. “So? What’s your plan?”
Fatty Liang forced a smile. “It’s fine. We should be able to adjust it from the backend…”
Zhao Xing snorted. “Should?”
Fatty Liang silently walked out of the office, still on the phone.
Zhao Xing turned back to the monitor.
The interview had already started. Luo Mingshan sat in the lie-detector chair, his legs and waist locked by metal rings, looking at Guan Pengcheng behind the glass.
Guan Pengcheng: “Hello, Luo Mingshan.”
Luo Mingshan: “Captain Guan.”
Guan Pengcheng was surprised. “You remember me?”
They had briefly crossed paths at the restaurant during the Suge case, but Luo Mingshan hadn’t even glanced at him then, seemingly not recognizing him at all.
Luo Mingshan: “Yes. You praised Zhao Xing, saying he was brave, remarkable, and great. He was very happy.”
Little Luo Mingshan thought Zhao Xing liked that kind of praise, so he imitated Captain Guan and said the same thing. But Zhao Xing just laughed and tugged his cheek, telling him not to copy everything, that it was weird.
Guan Pengcheng hesitated, then asked an off-topic question. “Zhao Xing missed today’s Ideological Assessment. Do you know why?”
“Yes.” Luo Mingshan’s voice was flat. “But I can’t tell you.”
Guan Pengcheng: “…”
He took a deep breath. “The Ideological Assessment is very important, especially for pre-criminals. If Zhao Xing gets a high score, he could even leave immediately… I don’t understand what Zhao Xing is thinking. Did he make a mistake and give up on himself, or—”
“A mistake?” Luo Mingshan frowned, cutting him off. “He has never made any mistakes.”
He looked up at Guan Pengcheng, his tone calm. “Zhao Feiyu’s accidental drowning was a fitting end. His death is more valuable than his life would have been.”
It not only made Brother Ah Xing a little happier but also served as a stepping stone for Brother Ah Xing to get into this prison and eventually reach the surface.
Even though Luo Mingshan thought it was risky for Zhao Xing to use schemes to get into prison and be selected for the surface, he had to admit that Brother Ah Xing had executed it brilliantly.
Zhao Xing had done nothing wrong.
Guan Pengcheng stared at Luo Mingshan’s cold expression, momentarily stunned before asking, “…How can you say something like that? What have you been through all these years?”
How could he have become so cold and cruel, treating the death of a living person as something valuable?
Luo Mingshan suddenly smiled. His pale face made the smile carry a hint of mockery. “How strange. You and that old gatekeeper, Uncle Zhou, both say I’ve changed, as if you’re certain I used to be a good kid. Only Zhao Xing knows I was born a bad seed.”
He looked into Guan Pengcheng’s eyes, his smile fading little by little until his face was expressionless.
His voice was also flat and emotionless. “Captain Guan, did you know? Twelve years ago, I rolled down the stairs myself. Zhao Xing didn’t push me—I framed him.”
Guan Pengcheng was completely stunned. He looked at Luo Mingshan’s cold, delicate features, almost unable to believe his ears.
Luo Mingshan’s voice came through the speaker next to the computer, layered with an electronic effect.
But Zhao Xing eerily felt another voice echoing from afar, entering his right ear, carrying a low, lost, bewildered tone and emotion.
He spoke softly.
“I violated Zhao Xing’s law of the world, so he didn’t want me anymore. I repent. I know I was wrong.
“…But Captain Guan, tell me, what should I do to offset the evil I’ve done in the past?”
A sharp sting of heat hit his fingertips. Zhao Xing abruptly dropped the burnt-out cigarette and suddenly realized he had been lost in thought for a long time.
On the monitor, Guan Pengcheng was still in a daze.
“So annoying.” Luo Mingshan suddenly reached for the metal ring around his waist, weariness coloring his brows. “I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
“Don’t move!”
Guan Pengcheng suddenly jumped up from his seat and lunged for the button in front of him.
But it was too late.
The lie-detector chair, detecting resistance, issued a piercing warning and sent a jolt of electricity through Luo Mingshan’s entire body.
Luo Mingshan convulsed violently on the seat, then went completely still. He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and his hands fell limply to his sides.
Both Guan Pengcheng and Zhao Xing on the monitor reacted at once.
Guan Pengcheng threw open the glass door and rushed out.
Zhao Xing kicked open the office door and grabbed Fatty Liang, who was still on the phone outside. “What level of current is used in the Ideological Assessment interview chair?”
Fatty Liang answered instinctively: “It starts at the lowest level, Level 7, and increases with the depth of the questions…”
Zhao Xing’s voice was barely restrained in its fury: “How could a Level 7 current knock someone out?!”
On the monitor, Guan Pengcheng touched Luo Mingshan’s forehead and neck artery, his expression dark. He immediately grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Emergency situation! An inmate has gone into shock! Medical assistance required immediately! Send someone now!”
Zhao Xing saw this, kicked over a chair, cursed under his breath, and sprinted toward the medical station without looking back.
No matter how fast Zhao Xing ran, he couldn’t outrun the car Guan Pengcheng had. By the time he reached the medical station, Luo Mingshan had already been wheeled into the emergency room and was receiving electric shock treatment.
Guan Pengcheng stood at the door of the emergency room, looking dazed.
Zhao Xing grabbed him by the collar. “What level of current did you use?!”
“Level 7… It was the default minimum. I don’t know what happened.” Guan Pengcheng didn’t even mind Zhao Xing’s aggressive behavior, looking utterly bewildered.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor came out with a conflicted expression. He said to Guan Pengcheng: “Captain Guan, this inmate’s body is very strange. His temperature keeps fluctuating wildly—down to 31 degrees, then up to 43 degrees. He’s unconscious now. It seems like a rare condition.”
Zhao Xing asked urgently: “Is his life in danger?”
“We need to keep observing. But we don’t know how to treat this. We’ve just hooked him up to an IV drip of glucose and we’ll see how it goes.”
Zhao Xing slowly slid down the wall and crouched on the floor, covering his face. He didn’t speak anymore.
He should have noticed earlier.
During the written exam, Luo Mingshan’s face on the monitor was already unnaturally pale, but Zhao Xing hadn’t paid attention. Not until Luo Mingshan’s body could no longer hold up, and a mere Level 7 current sent him into shock…
The noisy medical station bustled with people coming and going.
Inmates yelled rudely, and doctors gave impatient instructions. But Zhao Xing felt as though, amid this chaos, he could capture Luo Mingshan’s breathing.
So weak, so weary, as if it didn’t matter whether he woke up or not.
That feeble breath seemed to turn into a string, gently tightening around Zhao Xing’s heart.
At the same time, that lost, bewildered voice echoed in his mind over and over.
—I violated Zhao Xing’s law of the world, so he didn’t want me anymore. I repent. I know I was wrong.
An hour later, the doctor informed them that Luo Mingshan’s body temperature had stabilized at around 40 degrees Celsius—a high fever within normal range. He was no longer in life-threatening danger, though he remained unconscious.
Zhao Xing finally let out a sigh of relief and found a place to sit down.
Guan Pengcheng also secretly relaxed.
He turned to look at Zhao Xing, his expression complicated. “Why did you miss the Ideological Assessment today?”
Zhao Xing didn’t want to lie to him, so he kept silent.
Guan Pengcheng sighed. “Today Luo Mingshan told me about what happened twelve years ago. He said you were framed. At the interrogation center earlier… why didn’t you say anything?”
Zhao Xing’s voice was hoarse. “…It’s in the past.”
Guan Pengcheng didn’t say anything more.
Until his phone rang and the person on the other end urged him to get back to work. He gave a few instructions to the doctor and prepared to leave.
Just as he was about to walk past Zhao Xing, he suddenly stopped.
He hesitated, then reached out and gently patted Zhao Xing’s shoulder. In a low voice, he said—
“I’m sorry.”
After that, he awkwardly withdrew his hand and walked away.
Zhao Xing didn’t look up, but his nose stung a little.
Luo Mingshan was unconscious for a long time. Even when the Ideological Assessment results came out, he still hadn’t woken up.
Fatty Liang tiptoed over and poked Zhao Xing’s shoulder with his index finger. “Um, since Luo Mingshan passed out during the interview, that counts as an absence. The system automatically flagged it as a fail. We couldn’t do anything to change the score…”
Zhao Xing knew he couldn’t blame Fatty Liang for this.
Fatty Liang gathered his courage and said, “I talked to the higher-ups. We can still refund your five thousand repentance points. Do you want to refund? If not, I can guarantee that as long as Luo Mingshan doesn’t miss the next two assessments, he’ll definitely get a high score. At most, he’ll be out within a year.”
Zhao Xing didn’t say much. He simply transferred the remaining repentance points to Fatty Liang.
After watching Luo Mingshan’s entire written and oral exam today, he understood.
Luo Mingshan seemed serious enough—going to school every morning and working in the afternoons—but he wasn’t actively trying to pass the exam.
If Zhao Xing didn’t pull strings for him, who knew when he would ever get out.
“Sorry for the trouble.” Zhao Xing spoke to Fatty Liang with such amiability for the first time.
Fatty Liang’s eyes widened, and he nodded repeatedly, saying it was no trouble and his duty, then left flattered.
Shortly after Fatty Liang left, Zhao Xing’s electronic card reminded him that it was time for the top-tier factory.
Zhao Xing glanced at Luo Mingshan through the glass window for a moment, then turned and hurried away.
Zhao Xing arrived relatively late. By the time he got there, the other hundred people were already present. The robot from yesterday was standing properly on the stage.
Robot: “I assume you’ve all experienced the Ideological Assessment by now. Among the 101 of you, did anyone pass?”
The crowd exchanged glances. No one spoke.
Robot: “It seems not. I can tell you with certainty that even if you go through five, ten, or a hundred more assessments, it will still be extremely difficult for you to pass. Your most likely ending is to die of old age in this prison.”
The robot’s words were harsh.
But no one refuted them.
Perhaps the day’s Ideological Assessment had dealt them a huge blow and sense of defeat. They even felt that their fate was indeed to die in the K13 District.
The robot asked again: “Then, would you rather be trapped here for a lifetime like caged beasts, or would you like to participate in a three-month mission and gain light, hope, immense wealth, and power?”
The robot scanned the crowd with its red eyes and said solemnly, “Those who choose to give up on the mission, please step to the far left.”
This question was posed with strategic skill. It didn’t ask those accepting the mission to step forward; instead, it required those choosing to give up to act.
As a result, most people chose to stay where they were and observe what others did.
After two minutes, no one had stepped out.
“What happens to those who choose to give up?”
A voice, distant yet clear, suddenly rang out in Zhao Xing’s right ear.
Zhao Xing looked around, but no one had spoken.
“They’ll be disposed of and replaced by newcomers who volunteer for the mission,” a strange, flippant female voice replied. “After all, the surface is a very human-rights-conscious world. No one will force others to participate in that kind of mission.”
Zhao Xing’s heart shuddered violently.
Because of this abrupt female voice that didn’t belong in a male prison.
Because of this eerie conversation that only he could hear.
Because of the content in the conversation—about the surface world.
Despite the shock, Zhao Xing silently looked around, searching for the source of the voices.
Male voice: “Do these scum and dregs from underground even deserve human rights?”
The female voice let out a silvery laugh: “Even if they’re rats from beneath the earth, they’re still wearing a layer of human skin.”
Found it.
The source of the voice.
Behind the mirror of the washbasin.
Having pinpointed the source, Zhao Xing soon caught a glimpse of a rainbow-colored glint in the crevice of a wall lamp next to the mirror.
It was the same kind of clothing he had seen on the “higher humans” of the surface when he was six years old.
Those people were observing them from behind the mirror.
—Just like buyers inspecting their goods in advance.