Not today, bird
by M1zushi
By the time Bai Ling left the exhibition hall, it was just past noon. He took a trip to the second-hand market.
However, the moment he pulled the radio out of his bag, the stall owners waved him away one after another.
“Go, go, get moving. We don’t sell parts for those things here.”
When asked why, the owners remained tight-lipped and evasive. While they claimed there was no longer a market for old-fashioned interstellar radios, they kept casting subtle, uneasy glances toward the market entrance.
Bai Ling followed their gaze and saw two plainclothes secret police standing there with casual, loitering airs.
Normally, a junk market full of scrap wouldn’t be worth the attention of undercover cops. However, when the Old Empire collapsed, it left behind a wealth of public property that had been sold off piece by piece over the years.
Things like free shuttle buses at the planet’s port, vast oceans of books, or… historical records left over from Izsu Paraiso’s administration.
The last category, in particular, was a primary target for the Tyrant’s current authorities to crack down on. Any positive writings regarding Izsu Paraiso, the “Dictator,” were strictly forbidden from appearing in the public domain.
By extension, the same applied to sound.
“Uh, you know… many families last century used these multi-functional radios to record things. There might be illegal content stored inside,” one owner whispered, forced to warn Bai Ling when he saw the boy wouldn’t leave. “That’s all I can say. Any more and I’ll be asking for trouble.”
Bai Ling asked coldly, “What if I pay a premium?”
A few owners clearly hesitated. Merchants prioritized profit, but thinking of how relentless the secret police could be, they ultimately didn’t dare cross the line, shaking their heads and stepping aside.
Bai Ling clutched the radio, his expression calm, though his fingertips secretly curled tight. As he passed the secret police, he was forced to lower his eyes and use his coat to hide the radio.
As if it were something shameful and terrifying.
Stepping onto the street, he saw many abandoned utility poles. He remembered a long, long time ago, when these poles were fitted with virtual screens and loudspeakers that broadcasted nearby pheromone concentrations at all times, reminding residents to stagger their travel times.
Every evening, the central station’s news anchors would report battle results with stirring passion. One day it was the Zergs retreating in defeat; the next, it was the Mammalian Federation being forced to sign an unequal import treaty.
The Empire’s glory scrolled across the bottom of the screens. Everyone passing by would stop to watch, filled with a spontaneous sense of pride and satisfaction.
Brilliance, victory, interstellar hegemony…
Similar words appeared repeatedly. Izsu Paraiso’s prestige reached its absolute zenith.
The people did not know his face or his voice; they only heard the mechanical AI voice reading his recent policies on his behalf, using that to form various associations in their minds. Sometimes it was admiration, but more often, it was a sense of mystery and dread toward the unknown, massive state machinery.
It was to the point where the older generation, upon hearing the news anchor’s opening lines, would drop whatever they were doing and instinctively stand in solemn respect.
The anchor would conclude with a perfectly trained, emotive broadcasting tone: “That is all for tonight’s news. I wish you health, longevity, and a pleasant mood…”
Whenever that happened, the young bird would rub his eyes, stand up from the television in the rescue center, stomp his numb legs, and get ready to brush his teeth and sleep.
Though the Empire and the Galaxy used the same official language, there were significant differences in accent.
When the young bird first arrived in the Empire, he would watch the programs and follow along, reading out loud syllable by syllable to correct his pronunciation.
He had even mimicked the broadcaster’s tone, muttering through toothbrush bubbles:
“I wish you health, longevity, and a pleasant mood.”
Bai Ling’s memories came to a sudden halt. That voice… that signature broadcaster’s cadence. He felt like he’d heard it somewhere recently.
He turned around. The north wind swirled, blurring his snow-white lashes. A colossal sculpture stood silently at the end of his vision against the backdrop of a grey sky.
The freezing wind blew open the scarf Yu Chen had personally tied for him.
Bai Ling clenched his palms, his heart gripped by a massive wave of loss and humiliation.
…It was that vagrant.
Back at the imperial palace, the entire afternoon of “Omega Etiquette and Virtue” was spent in a trance.
Bai Ling lay slumped on the desk, head resting on his forearm, absentmindedly scrolling through the maintenance list. The list was five pages long; he flipped back and forth, staring at the lone entry for [Old Thing] on the final page. Eventually, with trembling fingers, he dragged it to the very first slot on the first page.
Then he slammed his terminal face-down on the desk, not wanting to deal with it anymore.
After class ended, Bai Ling grabbed his bag strap and headed out.
“Hey, you stinky little bird, what’s wrong with you now?” Sava caught up to him, nudging him with a knee. He grabbed Bai Ling’s shoulder and poked his head around to look at the cold face, gossiping:
“What’s the deal? Did that guardian of yours not satisfy you?”
Bai Ling: “……”
Sometimes he really wanted to shove this damn chicken’s head into a toilet to see what kind of filth was packed inside.
Like a curious child, Sava wouldn’t stop pestering him: “Holy crap, those clothes don’t look like yours. How far did you two actually go? Has there been any movement in your belly lately? What’s your guardian actually like?”
Bai Ling finally stopped in his tracks and said to him impatiently, “Big 1.”
Sava: “????”
“You’re just patronizing me, you stinky bird!”
Sava forced his way into walking back arm-in-arm. Tonight, the stinky little bird was surprisingly well-behaved— eating quietly, doing his damn homework quietly, his expression as watertight and steady as a newly cemented water tower.
Sava couldn’t squeeze a single drop of truth out of him, so he gave up huffily, cursing: “You aren’t sincere toward your brother at all.”
Bai Ling walked over and clapped an empty plastic basin against Sava’s head, saying grumpily, “I already told you.”
Sava looked skeptical: “Is he really a ‘Big 1’?”
“So what?”
“With that stinky temper of yours, always pushing your luck, what top-tier alpha could possibly put up with you?” Sava crossed his arms and concluded: “I don’t believe it.”
“Don’t believe it then.” Bai Ling felt a sudden spark of anger; it was rare for him to tell the truth.
The two were so annoyed that they ignored each other, and the atmosphere in the dorm immediately became stifling.
Bai Ling had originally intended to go find Yu Chen tonight, but after the events of the afternoon, he felt too mentally exhausted to go. He hid the radio under the bed and lay down, staring in a daze at the low, grey ceiling, unable to fall asleep.
Perhaps the curse of emotional sensitivity during an omega’s differentiation period had been triggered by the merman’s gentle catalysis. Closing his eyes, chaotic images flashed through his mind like a broken television skipping channels: from the voice-distorted radio to the bitter smile on the vagrant’s lips, passing through a national will that shifted from omnipotent power to a decadent decline…
Finally, there was only a void.
Something invisible was pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Panic, loss, insecurity…
The unconscious Izsu Paraiso, the merman saying “I’m sorry” to him…
Every time Bai Ling closed his eyes, he saw that statue, blown up beyond recognition.
He abruptly sat up in bed with a short breath. Looking around at the darkness in a panic, he suddenly threw back the covers, grabbed Yu Chen’s coat, draped it over his shoulders, and marched out.
The dorm door slammed shut. Sava sat up in his top bunk and pulled back the curtain, staring at the empty bed. He immediately felt that something was wrong.
This stinky bird’s running out way too frequently!
So frequent that it feels like he’s… unable to endure it? Just like back when he used to be in a rush to brood over his eggs.
In the palace—
The little robot’s camera lit up when it saw the mechanical bird, and it informed him:
“Master is busy in the study. It might be a while before he comes out. Do you want to wash up and wait for him in the bedroom?”
“No need. I’ll wait here,” Bai Ling refused curtly.
But the colder his tone became, the less he could suppress the panic in his heart. With his arms crossed, he anxiously bit his nails, pacing back and forth by the long sofa until he finally stopped at the study door.
At this moment, he desperately wanted to kick the door open, hug that merman from behind, grip his waist, and then have the other man’s bulging veins grip his neck and slam him hard onto the desk.
He needed that to soothe his unease. To prove…
To prove that this guy still had the strength to fight back.
Half an hour later, the door finally opened.
Yu Chen had just hung up the call. His eyes were half-closed as he rubbed his temples with weary tension. On his pale, well-proportioned fingers, the gemstone signet ring shimmered darkly.
His state tonight wasn’t good; he couldn’t suppress a surge of manic agitation in his heart. Several times he had licked his sharp teeth, wanting to bite through something.
He was likely in no condition to receive guests.
However, the moment the door opened, a wave of restless, humid heat hit him.
The bird was standing there alone, gripping the doorframe, every nerve in his body taut. His gaze was frozen coldly on Yu Chen. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse:
“Sleep with me.”
Yu Chen turned around in his chair, suppressing the dark, simmering fire in his eyes, and said:
Author’s note: What’s with this weird excitement?
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