Chapter 5#
No. 5 chapter#
Everyone knew the sun from books and films; no one had actually seen what the sun really looked like, so naturally no one cared whether this sun lamp resembled the actual sun or not.
According to history books, 389 years ago, Earth began to collapse, gradually becoming uninhabitable for humans. Earthlings ventured into space to find a new home.
372 years ago, humans discovered “Blue Star.”
Blue Star was very similar to Earth, except the surface was populated by dangerous indigenous creatures and toxic fog harmful to humans. However, scientists detected that Blue Star’s soil could block the toxic fog, allowing humans to survive underground.
362 years ago, humans began to gradually migrate to the underground of Blue Star.
344 years ago, 130 million surviving Earth humans completed the migration; at the same time, Earth became completely uninhabitable, officially marking the start of a new era for Earthlings underground on Blue Star.
Today, in the 345th year of the Underground Calendar, Earth humans had adapted well to life underground on Blue Star.
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After a short while, Zhao Xing and Luo Mingshan arrived at Academy No. 7.
Zhao Xing was all too familiar with this place.
The male and female prisons here had originally been separated far to the north and south, with a layer of electric grid in between. If any prisoner approached the grid, it would connect with their wristband and electrocute them unconscious.
But this rule did not apply to those holding green-light wristbands, the children of criminals.
Coincidentally, Zhao Xing had once discovered a small gap in the middle of this electric grid.
So Zhao Xing often brought Luo Mingshan here for “adventures.”
Academy No. 7, with its men’s sports field, became Zhao Xing’s primary playground.
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More than a decade had passed, and the large characters “Academy No. 7 for Criminal Behavior Correction” appeared even more weatherworn on the academy’s gate.
The red slogan above the gate, however, had been repainted, making it even more dazzling and harsh.
“—I violated the Earthling Code of Conduct; I repent, I acknowledge my wrongs.”
Zhao Xing squinted at it, then walked through the gate.
“Beep. New student check-in card, Zhao Xing.”
As the electronic sound rang out, the old prison guard in the gatehouse abruptly raised his head.
Zhao Xing saw him too.
Zhao Xing paused for a moment, then smiled and waved at him.
“Hey, Grandpa Zhou!”
So it was someone he knew.
This prison guard, Officer Zhou, used to really like Zhao Xing.
That was actually very unusual because most prison guards preferred Luo Mingshan; only Grandpa Zhou was an exception.
Most of little Zhao Xing’s “childhood toys” had been supplied by him, and Zhao Xing liked him a lot too.
The moment Grandpa Zhou saw Zhao Xing, he froze entirely, his expression turning somewhat strange.
The next second, he pursed his lips flat, a look of disappointment or disgust—it was hard to tell—appearing on his face.
He glanced at Zhao Xing, then lowered his head to read a book, his voice cold: “Call me Officer Zhou.”
The smile still lingering on Zhao Xing’s face stiffened. He awkwardly lowered his hand.
Well, it made sense. When a kid you used to like becomes a criminal, anyone would hate them.
Luo Mingshan cautiously tugged at Zhao Xing’s sleeve and whispered, “Bro Zhao, in the past couple of days, I’ve also met some uncles I knew. They ignored me too, wouldn’t talk to me. Grandpa Zhou has also come to hate me a lot… you… don’t be sad.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the Grandpa Zhou he mentioned poked his head out the window and shoved an expensive apple into Luo Mingshan’s hand. His expression shifted from cold to somewhat gentle: “Little Shan, I checked the files and know how you ended up here. Don’t be afraid, you did nothing wrong. That bastard who bullied you deserved to die. You’re different from others…”
Zhao Xing lowered his eyes and strode forward.
Luo Mingshan said goodbye to Grandpa Zhou and hurried after him: “Bro… Brother Zhao.”
At a corner, Luo Mingshan tugged Zhao Xing’s sleeve again, offering the fruit in his hand like an offering.
“Slap!”
Zhao Xing flung his hand, pulling his sleeve back and knocking the apple out of Luo Mingshan’s hand onto the ground.
“Luo Mingshan, you talk way too much.” Zhao Xing let out a scoff, his eyes and brows cold. “What do you think you are, trying to comfort me? From today on, if I don’t tell you to speak, then shut the fuck up. Quietly trail behind me like a dumb accessory. When I need you, come up and entertain me. Got it?”
Luo Mingshan’s face turned pale. He lowered his head, pursed his lips, and softly hummed in acknowledgment.
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Zhao Xing swiped his card at the underground entrance to the new student registration office, but Luo Mingshan was stopped by the machine. He stood still, opened his mouth as if to speak, but dared not say a word, only looking at Zhao Xing with a pitiful expression.
Zhao Xing: “Get lost. Go to your classes.”
With that, he headed underground without looking back.
Luo Mingshan stood there for a while before slowly turning and walking away.
The new student registration office was on the first basement level. New students were lined up at the entrance, including the familiar chatterbox Zhou Ming.
But this time, Zhou Ming didn’t come up to greet Zhao Xing; instead, he kept his distance, only occasionally sneaking glances at him.
The registration office had five rooms; five new students could be questioned and assigned classes simultaneously, so the line moved fairly quickly. Soon it was Zhao Xing’s turn.
Zhao Xing pushed open the door and walked in. Inside was a prison guard in a pure white uniform, a robot guard, and an iron chair.
Zhao Xing sat in the chair. The robot came over to correct his posture, making him place his arms on the armrests, press the back of his head against a ring on the chair’s back, and sit up straight.
Immediately, iron rings extended, restraining Zhao Xing’s hands and waist.
The guard glanced at the data on his tablet and asked, “What are you here for?”
Zhao Xing narrated the entire “crime process” in a calm tone, including how he broke two of Zhao Feiyu’s ribs, slapped him twice, and kicked him once, without any self-defense.
This matched the information in the guard’s tablet.
The guard nodded and asked again, “What mistakes did you make in this incident?”
My biggest fucking mistake was pulling him out of the water. I should have just watched him drown.
Zhao Xing sneered inwardly, but his expression was very serious: “My mistake was in despising life, harming an Earthling compatriot, beating a drowning victim, and then leaving him alone knowing he needed follow-up treatment. Although the judge did not convict me of murder, I still bear some responsibility for Zhao Feiyu’s death.”
The guard said nothing, just looked at the robot.
“Beep.” The seat behind Zhao Xing let out a sound.
The robot spoke, its cold mechanical voice echoing in the room.
“Lie.”
The next instant, a surge of electricity flowed from the iron chair into Zhao Xing’s body. Even his bones ached and trembled; his fingers were forced apart, cramping in pain.
Caught off guard, Zhao Xing couldn’t help but cry out in agony.
But only once.
Almost immediately, he bit his lip hard, making no more sound, though his face turned pale and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
The guard looked at him and asked again in a flat tone, “What mistakes did you make in this incident?”
Zhao Xing closed his eyes, paused for two seconds, waiting until the pain subsided and his teeth stopped chattering, then opened his eyes and stared coldly at the guard. “I shouldn’t have saved him. Even worse, I shouldn’t have forgotten to destroy the surveillance footage after I left.”
The guard still said nothing and looked at the robot again.
The air stood still for almost a minute, and then—
“Beep—”
“Lie.”
A second wave of even harsher electric current surged. Zhao Xing bit his lip until it bled, his gaze becoming somewhat unfocused.
The guard asked for the third time: “In this incident, what mistakes did you make?”
This time, Zhao Xing took longer to recover. The extreme pain brought a numbness, making it less unbearable than the first time.
Zhao Xing smiled. He stretched his right leg forward, and though his upper body remained upright under the iron restraints, his demeanor became lazy and casual.
He looked the guard in the eye and said in a light, slow tone: “I made no mistake.”
The iron chair didn’t beep. Instead, with a click, the iron restraints released.
Robot: “No lie.”
The guard paused for two seconds, then lowered his head and operated his tablet. “Ideological reform level: Grade A. Class: 109. Please leave within five minutes.”
According to the academy handbook Zhao Xing had read, Grade A was the highest level, reserved for criminals who showed no remorse whatsoever. They had to score at least 90 on the final exam to pass.
For someone like Zhao Xing, whose wristband glowed white as a “pre-criminal,” there was no fixed sentence; only by passing the ideological assessment could they leave the prison.
Zhao Xing sat still for two minutes, recovered a bit, then left through another exit in the room.
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Class 109 was on the ninth underground floor of Academy No. 7’s Channel 1.
But Zhao Xing headed straight for the abandoned Channel 9.
The class bell rang. Predictably, Zhao Xing lost 0.5 repentance points for being late.
Zhao Xing glanced at his electronic card, put it back in his pocket, and pulled out a flashlight.
Channel 9 had been abandoned for so long that the elevator was out of service and the lights were off.
The faint beam of the flashlight lit the path ahead. Zhao Xing walked down step by step.
One floor, two floors, three floors…
Zhao Xing didn’t stop until he reached the eighteenth underground floor.
There was no road ahead; a pile of garbage blocked the stairway, thick with years of dust, almost burying him.
Zhao Xing put on gloves and a mask, pushed through the garbage and scrap metal, and finally found the ventilation shaft he remembered.
The shaft wasn’t big. A six-year-old Zhao Xing could have squeezed through easily, but a nineteen-year-old Zhao Xing couldn’t.
Zhao Xing shone the flashlight and stuck his head inside, but it was still pitch black; he could see nothing.
Though he had expected it, Zhao Xing was still a bit disappointed.
He leaned loosely against the wall, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.
The sensation of the electric shock still lingered in his bones.
Fuck, that hurt.
Zhao Xing laughed.
He had to admit, that lie detector was really something.
He truly had no remorse, because he believed he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Zhao Feiyu deserved to die.
And Zhao Xing had to come to this place.
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Two months ago, when Zhao Xing happened to see Zhao Feiyu thrashing in the water, he had already planned everything that would follow.
He would rescue Zhao Feiyu, then beat him, and finally walk away.
He didn’t let him drown because Zhao Xing didn’t want to become an actual “murderer.” Murderers received much higher levels of electric shock than “pre-criminals.”
He was afraid of pain.
And Zhao Xing’s ultimate goal was to end up here.
He had followed every step of his plan; how could he have any remorse?
It was absolutely perfect.
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Few people knew that within this prison city there was a passage leading to the “surface.”
“Surface” didn’t refer to the sub-surface where the sun square was located, but the actual ground.
Up there, there was a star similar to the sun, a blue sky beyond electronic screens, natural winds softer and more changeable than the airflow from fans, and a different kind of light—sunlight.
Zhao Xing closed his eyes, inhaled a breath of humid air mixed with dust and smoke.
He felt as if his soul had already drifted into that unknown, brilliant light.