In the 70s, when Zhuo Liangmu first began his career as an imperial physician, he, like all other close officials, received the secret emergency contingency plan regarding potential attacks on Izu Paraiso.

Within that 30-page document, they were mandated to execute a casualty evacuation with the utmost speed and the most rigorous caution. Based on the severity of the Emperor’s injuries, the plan categorized scenarios into three distinct levels: minor injury, severe injury, and death. Aside from these, there was one singular, exceptional condition—

[Degeneration]: To ensure public safety, please execute terminal elimination.

It was difficult to imagine that such rational, ice-cold words had been penned by Izu Paraiso himself.

As the reigning Emperor, he had predetermined his own end long ago, remaining constantly prepared for that day to arrive, and fully intending to execute these meticulous, seamless clauses down to the letter.

Yet when the moment finally came, the old Emperor’s life encountered a wild variable.

The merman opened his eyes, his vision blank and indistinct. A nictitating membrane blanketed his pupils in a hazy film; it was the first time Bai Ling felt the man truly resembled a blind person.

Lying on the emergency stretcher, the merman’s knuckles were terrifyingly pale, twitching slightly as if desperate to grasp onto something.

Bai Ling covered the distance in two strides, locking his hand into the man’s grasp. He caught a low murmur from his lips; unable to comprehend it, he guessed it was merfolk language, yet he still listened with profound earnestness, not letting a single syllable slip by.

Following that, the bird offered a very soft reply: “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Mgh. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight to you too.”

Within Izu Paraiso’s long-standing contingency plan, this farewell sequence did not exist.

The personnel present turned their heads away, unable to bear the sight. With the bird’s arrest this time, there was absolutely no coming back. In their eyes, this was a final parting in death.

“Bai Ling, run! I’ll block them for you!” The Captain broke through the blockade line, charging straight into this scene. He threw his gun up, aiming it directly at Lu Hang’s temple. They were separated by a distance of five meters, and his hand was steady enough; the moment Lu Hang showed any intent to resist, his skull would be pierced clean through.

Lu Hang, however, merely turned his torso around. The cigarette clamped between his fingers tapped lightly, shaking off a smattering of dark red embers. Stepping over those ashes, he advanced step by step, pressing his own forehead directly against the muzzle of the gun.

The Captain stood almost exactly as tall as Lu Hang. To maintain his aiming posture, he had to hoist his hand high into the air; within a few seconds, his wrist began to thrum with a sharp ache.

A silent madness diffused through the air.

The Captain had never seen Lu Hang look so utterly detached. The light seemed to have vanished entirely from the man’s eyes as he spoke:

“Fire.”

The Captain’s muzzle underwent a microscopic, almost imperceptible tremor.

This minuscule shudder was more than enough for Lu Hang to make an instantaneous judgment, snapping his hand out to wrench the weapon from the Captain’s grip. He felt no surprise, nor did he exhibit much emotional ripple; his subconscious informed him this was a matter of course. A subordinate one had personally trained would always manifest a microscopic delay when confronting his mentor.

This was a Pavlovian reflex. The Captain possessed it, and so did he. There was no deceiving it.

Lu Hang stared at the other’s black faceguard; it was a void of absolute darkness, offering no glimpse of anything within. This time, the roles reversed, and he held the gun in deterrence: “You are obstructing official business.”

“And so what?” Shielding Bai Ling with his body, the Captain let out a cold sneer, not forgetting to mock him: “Doesn’t Captain Lu always pride himself on fairness and justice? If you have the guts, open fire and shoot me dead as an accessory.”

Lu Hang’s tone remained serene: “I am wondering what kind of face lies beneath your mask.”

“A face of pure loathing.”

“Excellent. Bear that hatred closely; only it can keep a person clear-headed, and only it can be profoundly thought-provoking.”

Bai Ling watched the evacuation team depart. Turning his head back, he caught a subtle scent of an unspoken bond between the two men.

“Why haven’t you left?” The Captain and Lu Hang blurted out almost in perfect unison.

“I won’t be leaving.” Bai Ling scooped up the bandage from the floor, a long, rolling spool left over from the Old Woodpecker’s bandaging routine, one end heavily stained with Yu Chen’s blood.

He understood perfectly clearly that the moment he resisted before the arrest squad, it would inevitably bring peril to Yu Chen. He could by no means gamble on that risk.

Izu Paraiso only possessed one condition under which he would abandon all evasion and confront the artillery head-on: the exact moments he desired to grant and to protect.

Beneath their stares, that bird fell silent for a fraction of a second before stating, “At a time like this, I could naturally pilot a mecha and depart. I could completely disregard everything and execute a total retreat. And then what?”

“With so many lenses and so many pairs of eyes outside, all they would witness is a coward fleeing the scene.”

The falcon’s features were fierce and unyielding. Lifting his slender neck, he paid absolutely no heed to the exposure of his wound. From that deep tooth mark, scalding blood welled out slowly, cascading along the pathways of his veins, a sight both shocking to the core and mesmerizingly alluring.

He stated proudly, “They are the rats crawling through the gutters; I am not. I intend to stand beneath the light, walking out with total dignity. I want them to lose their wits from sheer terror the moment they behold my face, striking dread deep into their hearts, rendering it an unerasable nightmare that plagues their minds even when they wake up at midnight.”

He wound the gauze around his neck, executing two crude loops to tie a hurried knot. The remaining length drifted down weightlessly, draped against his bare spine.

Wake up at midnight, unerasable.

Lu Hang’s expression turned blank with astonishment, his mind momentarily flashing to someone. Yet when he strained to map it out, he discovered it wasn’t a specific individual, but rather… the glory of the Old Empire, a shred of dignity they had long since gradually lost.

The arrest squad escorted Bai Ling outward.

A light snow began to fall outside, and the sky rapidly turned deep and gloomy. The freezing wind raged through the dark night; his back felt incredibly cold, but there was no one left to drape a coat over his shoulders.

For a split second, he felt as if he had reverted to that blizzard-laden night of his childhood. Walking along the curb, he spread his tiny arms, advancing entirely alone against the wind and snow. The scarf given by his mother would get whipped by the gale, trailing long behind him, exactly like this very moment, where the blood-stained gauze trailed behind his frame, stretching long like a literal banner for summoning souls.

“He’s out!” The crowd packed around the entrance began to riot.

They scrambled forward, craning their necks in a desperate bid to capture the “criminal’s” expression. Yet the absolute instant the young man lifted his face, a collective tremor rippled through every single person’s heart.

So magnificent, so utterly fearless.

He confronted the countless pairs of eyes without a shred of evasion, facing a literal wall of long lenses and cameras stacked line upon line, forming a reflective black barrier before him.

Within the live stream channels, someone screamed out in utter shock: “I remember him! He’s the one who rescued the little girl on the day of the protest!”

“His tournament ID is still ‘Down with ****ism.’ Huh? Why is it censored by the system?”

“So, this is the fall of a hero.”

…

The populace waited for him to plead guilty, expecting him to weep bitter tears of remorse or display the terror appropriate for confronting death. But he did none of it. His composure was absurdly absolute, looking as though he had long since prepared himself to await his demise.

A reporter seized an open gap, voicing the bewilderment shared by the crowd: “You possessed the absolute strength to claim the championship; why did you attack the Sovereign? Are you not terrified of being condemned by thousands?”

His wrists bound in heavy shackles, Bai Ling turned his cold grey pupils toward the speaker. “Terrified? Why should I be terrified?”

The reporter dazed for a second, supplementing: “You will be hanged.”

Bai Ling lifted his chin, staring directly into the lenses that linked him to 30 billion viewers across the stars, and declared:

“I am not afraid. The people shouldn’t be afraid of their government.”

At that exact fraction of a second, the contradiction and obstinacy radiating from his frame, the broken leg juxtaposed against those unyielding words, instantly found their answer. Though this response morphed into diverse iterations within the hearts of every viewer, they all converged into one shared emotional state:

Intense restlessness.

Rescuing a child from beneath mecha treads, possessing supreme strength, harboring absolute grit, executing an act countless individuals desired yet never dared to perform… Only to meet his execution with total equanimity.

In front of their screens, countless people instinctively left their chairs, a single voice echoing simultaneously within their minds: We have to do something…

We must do something!

Shifting from a collective, stifled silence into scattered, rising voices, it ultimately built into a thunderous, mountain-collapsing roar that chanted his ID name.

The name that had been reduced to asterisks could be censored on the networks, but it could by no means censor the voices of the people.

An unprecedented, colossal uprising was on the absolute verge of erupting.

The Wild Planet, also known as the “Gold Planet.” This was by no means due to it being carpeted in gold; the endless shifting sands and barren vegetation had left the very first explorer who stepped onto its surface profoundly disappointed. In a fit of pure rage, he had named it the exact opposite, tricking generation after generation of successors into plunging onto its shores one after another.

Upon this distant planet, a small convenience store stood nestled within the desert sands.

 

“Hal, Captain Hal! There is an interstellar express delivery for you.” A cloud of sand kicked up along the narrow path as a short, stout, sun-darkened man trotted all the way over, panting heavily by the time he came to a halt.

In front of the small shop, a man currently wiping down a table lifted his head with distinct displeasure. “I told you, don’t call me that.”

“Alright… Xiao Hal,” the postman conceded under duress.

“How could there be a letter for me?” Hal wore shorts, but his upper body was clad in a long-sleeved tunic, the fabric beneath one sleeve hanging entirely empty. He was currently cradling someone’s discarded ice-cola bottle with his lone hand.

Selling cold drinks, collecting empty bottles, cleaning tables, and returning the bottles to the supplier to restock, this was the livelihood he currently relied upon to survive. For every bottle sold, he could earn fifty star cents. Earning around 1,500 credits a month, once living expenses were subtracted, it was barely enough to pay his taxes to the landlord.

“Why would I lie to you? Here.” The postman wiped his sweat with a grimy greyish-black towel, carefully fishing out a high-quality envelope from his bag, and noted with a smile: “It was actually mailed from the Capital.”

Hearing the words Capital, Hal instinctively gazed toward the far horizon. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but shimmering heatwaves, the air vibrating in transparent ripples while massive thickets of cacti grew savagely.

Who would mail him a letter?

With a bewildered mindset, he tore open the envelope. A stack of crisp, brand-new banknotes unexpectedly fell straight into his coarse palm; a rough count revealed a staggering 20,000 credits. This was an absolute fortune on the Wild Planet.

Hal’s first reaction was that someone had filled out the address incorrectly. But when he reached deeper into the envelope, his fingers brushed against a heavy, handwritten letter. Unfolding it, he caught sight of an emblem so intimately familiar that it caused his pupils to vibrate, and he immediately began to read the contents of that paper like a man possessed:

 

 

The postman sat down on his own accord like an old acquaintance and activated the virtual television. Stealing a glance at Hal, he noted in astonishment:

“Is that financial aid from a friend? That’s amazing, you can finally clear your debts!”

Hal gripped the currency tightly, remaining silent for a time. Right then, the solemn broadcast of a news anchor echoed from the television. The postman watched for a spell and evaluated:

“Oh, they’ve apprehended a new rebel.”

The postman turned up the volume, and a clear, resonant voice, imbued with absolute power, pierced through tens of thousands of electromagnetic waves to arrive right beside them:

“I am not afraid. The people shouldn’t be afraid of their government.”

Within the desert, a wave of heat swept over, lifting the stray hairs on Hal’s forehead. He felt as if he had just snapped awake from a massive dream, taking quick, urgent strides forward. Clang! He accidentally kicked over a glass cola bottle.

The postman caught a fright, hurriedly turning his head to ask: “Hey, where are you going?”

Without looking back, Hal walked straight into the deep recesses of the thatched shop, waving the envelope in his hand. “To write a reply.”

Author’s Note:

“The people shouldn’t be afraid of their government”:  a classic quote from V for Vendetta.

Today is the Little Bird’s absolute highlight moment, hehe~

(Ambulance sirens: Weewoo-weewoo-weewoo)

Old Merman: (Deliriously savoring the memory) (Tasted something exceptionally delicious) (Assuming it’s a little bird rice ball) “…Add more seaweed.”

Little Bird: ? Eating good food without inviting me? (Kicks open the door) Hand over the Merman sashimi!

That night—

Little Bird: I’m not eating anymore, damn it! Is there anyone who shoves food down someone’s throat like you do?!

Old Merman: (Leisured) Today is an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Little Bird: ? What is that supposed to mean? (Vigilant)

Old Merman: (Points at the menu) The moment you walked in just now, you said you wanted to order the entire menu. The dishes are already prepared: Merman sashimi plus chochin yakitori. Don’t even think of leaving until you finish eating them all.

Little Bird: This is a scam merchant shop!