Shared human joy and sorrow

The aurora⁠‌‌‌​‍‍‍⁠⁠​‌​‌‌⁠‍​‍⁠​‌​‍ filled the sky once again.

The halo poured down from the peak of the snow plains. Black feathers cut through the wind, gliding over the thousands of peaks and rivers of the Polar Region as the shifting aurora gathered within a pair of dark eyes.

Bo stood on the mountainside with his wings folded, as solitary and lofty as a crane. He used to think the Polar Region was vast, but having flown over it so many times, he now felt it was narrow. It was too small; he had searched back and forth countless times, yet he still could not find the Commander’s body.

But it was also beautiful.

The interweaving blue and purple aurora made the frozen land dazzling, making one involuntarily forget the bitter cold, forget that the sky here had, not long ago, churned with a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. If only the Commander could have seen more of it. Perhaps then, he wouldn’t have hated the cold so much.

By the time Miss finally found Bo, Bo was nearly frozen into an ice sculpture.

“Look at you. When the Spire is completely disbanded, you might as well go to an ice sculpture park as a performer. You’ve already got built-in realistic wings; let the people from the former Black Tower negotiate a high salary for you.” Miss had never been good at jokes; after finishing, he clicked his tongue and sighed. “Whether a dead person is found or not… is it really that important?”

As he spoke, he sat down beside Bo, gazing out at the glaciers with him. The distant residential areas looked like miniature toys accidentally dropped onto the world, tiny and inconspicuous.

Miss spoke as if to himself: “Many years ago, I thought that the acceleration of chaos and the collapse of the world might just be a certain inevitability under the universe’s unique workings. Humans are as small as ants to begin with. Since death and insignificance are long predestined, why care about what form it takes?”

Hearing this, Bo finally turned to look at him. “To think you would feel that way…”

Miss laughed, a thin layer of frost forming on his aged cheeks. “The first generation all personally witnessed the cruel truth, and therefore hold the greatest pessimism toward this world. We resist, but that doesn’t mean we have confidence.”

Bo was dazed for a moment. “The Commander actually had no expectations for the future of this world either, but he was different… He enjoyed aberration.”

In the Spire, Xi De was the only Protector who delighted in aberration, and he just happened to supervise Bo, who detested his own aberrant identity the most. Few people perceived Bo’s rebellion because he was silent and brave in battle. Only Xi De would walk up to the top of the tower in the deep of night, drape a coat over Bo’s shoulders, and forcibly take the unfinished iced cola from his hand, replacing it with a cup of hot milk tea.

Xi De once said to him with a click of his tongue: “I truly cannot understand why you crave returning to human society so much. I suppose it’s because you’ve been surrounded by warmth throughout your whole life.”

Bo was confused then. “Commander, what are you trying to say?”

“Nothing.” Xi De smiled as he looked out at the few glimmers of light in the Main City’s schools. “Just musing on how human joy and sorrow are truly not shared.”

The cola can tapped gently against the milk tea cup. Xi De’s smile was brilliant. “I don’t understand it, but I respect your bitterness and your joy.”

“Human joy and sorrow are not shared.”

Miss’s sudden mutter brought Bo back to reality. He stared at that aged face, speechless for a long time.

Miss’ voice was distant and peaceful. “I heard he tore apart his pair of golden wings to soothe the restless sky. That was likely more satisfying to him than the moment he spat fire and killed his stepfather at the start of his aberration.”

“But it must have hurt terribly.” Bo’s vision blurred for a second. “The golden phoenix wings were the Commander’s most important thing.”

“Child, you grieve for his death and the fact that his bones cannot be found, but perhaps he is quite proud of it.” Miss smiled faintly. “Go back. Many people are waiting for you.”

Before Miss left, he casually tossed Bo a supply pack, as Bo looked truly exhausted. It was the kind of supply the Equality Zone aberrants used to carry into battle; after the varying degrees of devolution, no one could stomach those super-serums anymore, but the energy bars inside were still edible. Though called energy bars, they were actually just ice cream with extra nuts and biscuit layers; good texture, but the effect couldn’t compare to Spire supplies. After all, things were truly tight there.

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Just as he was about to tuck the crumpled wrapper away, he saw it: the balled-up paper was very slowly unfolding itself.

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The anomaly of the wrapper lasted only a few seconds before it went completely still. Bo was staring at it with a furrowed brow, lost in thought, when he suddenly heard a muffled, light pop behind him, like a small pocket of air being squeezed and colliding. He turned his head just as a cluster of red fell from the sky out of thin air, plunging headfirst into the snowdrift behind him.

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It was very small, his palm couldn’t even close around it, but its wings were broad and long, spreading arrogantly and elegantly at its sides, making it look visually two or three times larger than its actual size. It used its beak to quickly preen its feathers. Soon, the pair of crimson-gold wings became sleek again, flapping lightly in the air with an inherent, almost holy halo.

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That was the first thought that crashed into Bo’s mind. He stared blankly at the little red bird in his palm.

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The third… he didn’t dare think about it.

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The little red bird lunged up, arched its back, and flapped its wings hard. The wings actually struck a small cluster of sparks in the air. The firelight was gone in an instant, only melting a tiny notch into the ice cream.

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“Bad news first,” the researcher reported briskly. “Genetic entropy is 9.7. A purebred, steady-state organism with no trace of aberrant features. No language ability shared with humans. IQ test results are good, but only for a bird. Yes, it is just a bird; there is no human soul in its body, nor does it have the ability to express human genes.”

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“There are also some interesting findings. For instance, while it lacks human consciousness, every creature has its own temper and habits. We tested several foods it likes, but the moment we put those things in a cooler, it immediately turns its head away and won’t spare them a second glance. No matter how many times we place ice cream or ice cubes in front of it, it instinctively flaps its wings, trying to melt them.”

Bo’s eyes reddened, his voice choked. “He hates cold things.”

The researcher nodded slightly. “But it doesn’t fear the cold. If forcibly placed in a cold room, its posture becomes even more defiant and arrogant.”

“All the test processes and data are here; you may review them at will. Rest assured, the entire experiment was conducted under mild conditions; we used no methods that could cause it pain.”

“The essence of its ability to strike sparks is the high-frequency vibration of its wings. The vibration exceeds the frequency of ultrasound, so humans cannot hear the sound and it’s hard to catch with the naked eye. But the fire is indeed generated purely by air friction and compression. It’s very weak, at most useful as a lighter.”

“According to skeletal evaluation, it is now in its mature stage. Its size and flight ability will remain at current levels; there won’t be any further breakthrough development.”

“According to personality evaluation, it has a certain tendence of sociality; it will likely get along well with you.”

“That is all. Although it is an unrecorded organism, the former Black Tower has decided to waive its containment protection. You are free to take it anywhere, so long as you keep it restrained and don’t let it harm anyone.”

Bo listened to the report in silence, then scrutinized the stack of experimental data page by page. He spent over an hour processing everything, until the technician brought the little red bird out and placed it back in his palm.

The little red bird took flight, landing directly on his shoulder with an overbearing air.

“Give it a name,” the researcher hesitated. “The former Black Tower suggests calling it Xi—”

“Call it Wushuang,” Bo interrupted him.

“But… Bai Wushuang was that person’s original name before aberration. I heard he hated his life before the change.”

Bo nodded, lightly touching the little red bird’s feathers with his finger. The plumage was smooth, stiff, and scorching hot. Despite being so small, it gave him a sense of security that made his nose sting.

“But, that is what he always taught us.”

He might have detested it, but he never feared it. Bai Wushuang didn’t mean there was no frost; it meant he was fearless of the frost. He and the things he disliked would never coexist.

…

Black feathers once again cut through the cold wind beneath the polar dome. The little red bird stood on Bo’s wing, squinting slightly in the howling gale. Its originally lazy gaze gradually became sharp. Finally, it took flight from Bo’s wing into the polar heights, soaring alongside the full-plumaged black-necked crane over the thousands of mountains and peaks beneath the aurora.

“Bo still isn’t back,” Zhu Tao sighed. “He wouldn’t come back before he found it, and now that he’s found it, he’s gone again. If that little bird really inherited Xi De’s temperament, it should hate cold places the most, yet Bo always takes it there to fly.”

Chao Wu toyed with her newly purchased speakers. “Bo likes forcing his Commander to do things he’s reluctant to do, always hoping that by doing them, the Commander will stop hating them so much.”

“You’re talking about Bo?” Zhu Tao frowned. “Since when was he that willful?”

Chao Wu smiled and didn’t say a word, but An Ning, who was nearby, gave an “mhm.” “Bo is indeed like that.”

Though human joy and sorrow are not shared, Bo simply hoped that in his Commander’s life, there would only be joy and no sorrow.