Echoes of that bygone era

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Bai Ling stood by the porthole, quietly watching the earth that had not yet fallen asleep.

He adjusted the flight path slightly, letting the luxury vessel fly over the square where the statue stood, over the slums where the lights were dim, and finally toward the wealthy Upper East Side.

In the northeast corner of the Upper East Side sat a landfill.

Every day at three in the morning, garbage trucks would file out of the heavily guarded rich districts to dump piles of domestic waste here.

Vagrants watched like hawks, and the poor picked through it carefully; a mountain of trash had become a famous “Free Luxury Mall.”

Bai Ling also had scavenged that trash mountain for years.

This is the first time he’s seen it from above.

From this height, the colors and shapes of the landfill were a mess, looking like a jagged scar. Only upon closer inspection did one realize that it wasn’t just trash, but a teeming crowd of people.

Bai Ling planned to hover here.

As a veteran, he considered his piloting skills decent. He couldn’t match the old-timers who controlled for wind speed down to the millisecond, but he was steady and precise in his descent.

The downdraft from the ship lightly ruffled the hair of the people below.

The crowd looked up in confusion and curiosity. Then, they saw the cargo bay doors swing open, and a deluge of items came tumbling out—

Expensive tables, chairs, stools, cabinets, watches, and even astronomically priced imported beef, milk, bread and sweets the poor could never afford; all of it was thrown down.

The crowd erupted in a frenzied cheer, excitedly scrambling up the mountain to grab what they could.

Bai Ling gave everything that could be moved to the poor. Then, he bound the half-dead Alphas with sturdy ropes and kicked them out one by one.

When it was Gram’s turn, he made a point of waking him up.

Bai Ling looked down into Gram’s stiff eyes and said nonchalantly:

“Welcome to the landfill. The graveyard of bedbugs.”

Thump.

A single kick sent him hurtling down, crashing into the trash mountain and splashing up two meters of landfill leachate.

The people, driven to a blind greed by hunger and cold, didn’t treat the alphas like humans. Their eyes saw only boots, clothes, and the rings on their fingers.

“This ring can sell for 500 credits!”

“This coat is nice, I’ll strip it off for my old man.”

“That boot is mine, don’t you dare fight me—”

The dying Gram stared wide-eyed as his body shook with the agony of his wounds. He could only manage a raspy “Hakh, hakh” sound. Cruelly, his mind remained clear, forced to witness his own humiliation.

He could feel the filthy, rough hands of the commoners pawing at his body, and the dust-covered soles of their shoes stepping across his face.

Disgusting! Such disgusting peasants!

Gram’s stomach churned; he wanted to vomit but couldn’t. Someone was stepping on his neck, yanking at his necklace.

He still held a sliver of hope.

He tried desperately to push his face toward the light, hoping someone would recognize him as the high-ranking Major General who was always by His Majesty Kaide’s side, and rescue him with the usual fear and trepidation.

However—

“Tsk, this guy is actually still alive. What’s he doing rubbing his face against my boot? Hahaha, you hungry? You want to lick my soles? I’ll satisfy you!”

In their eyes, the man known as Gram, this body, was less useful and valuable than a single button on his clothes.

Once they stripped him of everything, some spat on him in anger, only to reluctantly return to grab Gram by the hair and drag him along, grumbling:

“Sell this thing to the gangs. His organs and bones should be worth a bit of cash, right?”

It was the utmost denial and insult.

Gram’s entire body went rigid. Though his brain was still partially active, his body had begun to grow cold.

His bloodline, his glory, the prestige he had built within the aristocracy—all of it was worthless before the mob.

“AAAAAAAAAGH—” Gram’s eyes looked ready to burst. His dignity as anaAlpha was utterly destroyed, and horrific black blood leaked from the corners of his eyes.

“What are you screaming for?” An old woman picking through trash nearby impatiently hurled a shoe at him, hitting Gram square in the face.

Gram couldn’t catch his breath; his heart stopped beating entirely.

Bai Ling watched this scene from the ship with arms crossed and lips pressed into a cold line.

Being torn apart by the common people was the fate these men deserved most.

But before closing the hatch, there was one more thing he wanted to do.

Standing at the doorway, Bai Ling suddenly grabbed the safety strap and leaned half his body out of the cabin.

His small dandelion-white hair fluttered fiercely in the updraft of the propellers. He shouted down with arrogant passion:

“HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! I WISH YOU ALL GOOD HEALTH!”

The crowd cheered back: “We wish you peace and health too, kind soul!”

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In addition to the furniture and supplies he had thrown down, the luxury ship also hid some expensive jewelry.

Bai Ling searched the place clean and packed them into a separate plastic bag.

He still has a use for these things.

After re-confirming the trajected destination, Bai Ling used a rope ladder to descend onto a nearby deserted sea reef. He watched coldly as the massive behemoth glided overhead, advancing toward the Tyrant’s interstellar “playground.”

According to his settings, in about an hour, the sky will explode with brilliant fireworks, providing a perfect end to the holiday.

However, Bai Ling didn’t hold too much hope.

He had tried this in his past life, but his luck hadn’t been great. The ship’s course had been discovered mid-way by the Tyrant’s patrol ships and forcibly stopped midway…

Bai Ling pulled back his thoughts and sent his coordinates to Rattlesnake. The mecha arrived to pick him up, spewing exhaust fumes.

“Master, where are we going?”

Bai Ling: “To the Sculpture Square.”

Carrying a bag of jewelry of questionable origin, Bai Ling navigated familiar paths to a gang-run underground pawn shop and exchanged them for cash.

He placed a thick stack of interstellar credits next to the medals and kept a smaller stack to buy a tent, food, and coffee at a private trading post before heading out to find the vagrant.

One thought had been circling in Bai Ling’s mind for days, and he wanted to settle it as soon as possible while he was out.

However, after asking around the square, the other homeless people all said:

“The guy who talks with that fancy accent? Haven’t seen him for days.”

“You mean the beta who reads tarot cards? I saw him handing out leaflets in the square that day; the secret police caught him red-handed.”

Bai Ling’s voice tightened. “Was he thrown in prison?”

“Not quite. The secret police grab so many people every day; if they all went to prison, there wouldn’t be enough room. He’s likely like the others, locked in a basement at the intersection, waiting for someone to send ransom.”

Following the directions from the other vagrants, Bai Ling quickly found the secret police’s basement.

These “secret police” weren’t civil servants who entered through normal judicial exams, but temporary workers recruited from the private sector.

Their composition was complex. Many were thugs and hooligans tasked with monitoring the streets and cracking down on any activity with “restorationist” intent.

Bai Ling knew this lot was habitually corrupt; most of their arrests were simply excuses for extortion.

Sure enough, the guard was lounging with his legs swinging and a slouched posture. As soon as he saw Bai Ling, he bared a mouthful of yellow teeth and rubbed his fingers together suggestively.

Bai Ling handed him a 500 Interstellar note.

The guard pinched it, looking dissatisfied, but let the homeless man out anyway.

Back under the square sculpture, the vagrant ravenously ate the bread Bai Ling had bought. He hadn’t eaten much in three days and ate so fast he nearly choked. “Cough, cough, cough—”

Bai Ling handed him a bottle of water.

The vagrant took it. His temples were slightly gray and he kept his head lowered in a mix of gratitude and shame. “…Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you, my friend.”

Bai Ling looked at the man’s sunken cheeks and said flatly, “I want to ask you for a favor.”

The vagrant struggled to swallow the bread stuck in his throat and adopted a warm tone: “What kind of favor? As long as I can do it, just say the word!”

Bai Ling paused, and there was a trace of sincerity in his eyes that was hard to detect. “I have a job here. I feel that no one is better suited for it than you.”

The vagrant suddenly lifted his clouded eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Bai Ling said solemnly and firmly: “A job as a broadcaster.”

Uriel had asked him to find a commentator earlier; it just so happened there was a perfect candidate right here.

Besides…

Having that voice, the one that once passionately cried out for “Izsu Paraiso’s victory”, echo across this land once more would likely be the most terrifying weapon imaginable!

The vagrant blinked in shock. He wanted to say something, but before the words could leave his mouth, his weather-beaten eyes were already brimming with tears.

“Ah… I’m so sorry…”

He laughed awkwardly and deeply lowered his head, raising a dirty hand to quickly wipe his eyes. He wiped them once more, dampening the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, before standing up, taking off his hat, and bowing solemnly. Then, he rubbed his hands clean against the inner lining of his clothes and humbly bowed again, offering a handshake to Bai Ling.

Bai Ling grasped it without hesitation.

The vagrant squeezed his hand tightly. “It is an honor to serve you, my friend. Please believe me, I am more than willing to accept this job. This is the best Thanksgiving gift I have received in my entire life. Thank you, thank you!”

Unable to contain his emotion, he repeated his thanks several times.

Bai Ling’s expression remained cold, but a fire seemed to be smoldering in his eyes. “You may not know this, but I grew up listening to your voice.”

“Perhaps this time it won’t be in a format as formal as a news broadcast.”

“But I have always hoped that the echoes of that bygone era could once again reach the world through electromagnetic waves.”

The vagrant couldn’t help but cover his face with his hat, hiding his expression as he laughed through his tears.

The echoes of that bygone era…

After all these years, someone actually remembered his voice.

“Yes, yes…” The vagrant’s voice, which had sounded like wet sand earlier, became sonorous and powerful once more. He said excitedly:

“As long as there is even one person who remembers ‘it,’ then… that era has never truly ended!”

They both knew that “it” referred to their fallen homeland.

Afterward, Bai Ling gave the supplies he had bought to the broadcaster, along with a sum of money, telling him to take a good bath, buy a decent suit, and report to Uriel’s place tomorrow.

The vagrant truly felt he didn’t deserve such kindness and asked repeatedly with anxiety:

“Truly, is there anything I can do for you? No matter what it is, please tell me!”

Looking at this gentleman of a broadcaster, Bai Ling involuntarily thought of that unfixable radio.

He pondered for a moment, pulled up an image, and told him, “If you see something like this at the landfill, please contact me. I have a broken radio that I want to fix.”

Bai Ling didn’t actually expect to find the radio parts through him. In his mind, this was just a polite request to prevent the man from feeling uneasy about owing him too great a favor.

The vagrant agreed immediately. “Rest assured, I will definitely ask around for you.”

He suddenly lowered his voice, adopting a deeper tone. “I’ve made some friends around here recently. You know, not the ‘respectable’ kind but the kind that the secret police chase after. They have channels to get their hands on these old artifacts.”

Bai Ling arched his eyebrows slightly.

He had always known that restorationists operated near the square.

But those people were incredibly elusive and tight-lipped; they wouldn’t easily reveal a word of information to anyone.

Since the vagrant dared to hint at it, it meant he truly considered Bai Ling a friend.

Bai Ling nodded slightly. “Then I’ll leave it to you and your friends.”

The vagrant gave him a gentlemanly, proper smile. Then, remembering something, he rummaged through his clothes, pulled out a coupon, and insisted on thrusting it into Bai Ling’s hand.

“I am so terribly sorry for today, having you spend so much money to save me. This pastry coupon was given to me by a mother with a child while I was reading fortunes in the square. She didn’t have enough money, so she used this as payment. I was happy to accept it, and now I want to give it to you as a small Thanksgiving gift.”

The vagrant was penniless and this was the most valuable thing he could offer. For the sake of this sincerity, Bai Ling had to accept it.

Feeling somewhat relieved, the vagrant enthusiastically pointed out the way:

“The little pastry shop is right near the square; you’ll see it as soon as you walk down. They close at eleven, so you still have time if you go now. Oh, and you must buy the Thanksgiving specialty cupcakes—the box with two cream and four frosting ones. Those taste best with black tea.”

It was truly an offer too kind to refuse.

Bai Ling let out a soft smile. “Alright.”