April 20th marked the official launch of the cross-border tour buses. Wen Du ventured out now and then to wander the streets, taking in the bustling spectacle of the city.
Relations between Bailunting and the Kangman People had been frozen for years. The Kangman locals had protested loudly, boycotting department stores and vowing never to set foot here again while staunchly supporting the rights and freedoms of the Sern People. Yet after just three years, as soon as the tourist routes reopened, those same protesters came flocking to North County City. They traveled in high spirits, laughing and chatting all the way, colorful flags waving in the breeze.
The Kangman visitors were thrilled. Part of it was the simple joy of travel, revisiting old favorite sights. But mostly, it was sheer curiosity—they wanted to see just how miserably the Sern People of North County City were living.
Were they starving, half-naked, rummaging through garbage heaps for scraps?
These days, however, Bailunting excelled at two things: interpreting genetic reports and masterful image management.
Society might be rigidly stratified, but on the surface, everything appeared harmonious and prosperous. In restaurants, patrons thanked Sern servers everywhere you looked. On the streets, passersby patronized Sern vendors’ stalls. Even the public facilities designated for Sern use were kept spotlessly clean, no worse than the exclusive sections for Homer People nearby.
There were clear hierarchies, yet equality seemed to permeate every corner. Bailunting didn’t feel nearly as terrifying as imagined.
The first wave of tourists, those bold souls testing the waters, raved about it upon their return, spreading the word far and wide. Soon, more followed in droves, pouring into Bailunting to check in at every landmark. In fits of whimsy, some even pulled roadside Sern flower sellers into selfies, then bought bouquets on the spot and tipped extravagantly.
Watching the influx of tourists filled Wen Du with quiet joy. They were the perfect cover. Giel Bridge had grown to this point, and now the moment had arrived. She hoped the tour buses would run smoothly, expanding routes farther and wider, prying open the borders of Bailunting.
By the fountain, Wen Du finished a cup of hot milk and climbed into the Wei Investigation Institute’s official car. This time, though, she wasn’t heading home. Instead, they were off to pick up Sha Jiali after his shift, pressing on with the mission to poach him.
He had brushed off her previous house call, refusing to join the Guard Institute, so the effort continued. This time, Wen Du went alone—it made executing her plan easier.
Last time had been a formal visit to Sha Jiali’s home. This time, she took a different tack: surprising him by picking him up from work.
“Teacher Wen, you’re too kind. If you had questions, you could’ve just called. No need to drive all the way here.”
“I know what the market rate is for Professor Sha’s time. If I’d settled for a phone call, wouldn’t that seem like I was making a mountain out of a molehill?”
Sha Jiali set down his briefcase and chuckled good-naturedly. He had a soft spot for young, attractive women, and Wen Du was more than that—she brought cutting-edge knowledge and innovative thinking that he truly admired. He didn’t mind meeting her at all; he saw it as a “free date” with a beautiful woman, courtesy of the public purse.
“So, is Teacher Wen planning to pay a consultation fee?”
“Exactly.” Wen Du hadn’t driven in ages, but she handled the BMW smoothly enough to keep chatting. “Not in cash, though—with a gourmet meal instead. What does Professor Sha feel like eating tonight? My treat.”
“Oh, too good to be true?” Sha Jiali’s face lit up, his glasses tilting upward with his grin. “Should I even pretend to protest?”
Wen Du glanced at the rearview mirror, her lips curving into a smile. “Don’t you dare be polite with me. Once we start on those questions, I won’t hold back either.”
“Fair enough—I’ll go big. But before dinner, I need to pick up Duo Er from school.”
“Duo Er—she’s in school?”
So Professor Sha was no slouch on legal rights; he knew minors deserved an education.
…
The Sern school looked much the same as before the Daisy Transformation. During class time, the grounds were nearly deserted. Privet hedges grew thick and dense, sea holly bloomed vigorously, and the teaching building’s plain paint job was topped with a layer of flexible porcelain tiles. The whole scene exuded a serene calm, untouched by upheaval.
Sha Jiali muttered about the classroom as he led Wen Du through the campus. “Second-grade Class A, Second-grade Class A—it’s in Building F, near the stairs, the ones leading to the teachers’ office…”
Wen Du followed his rambling directions like a voice-guided GPS. It was a bit wordy, but they arrived without issue.
Second-grade Class A sat on the ground floor in the far corner. The room was spacious and bright, its outer wall plastered with the children’s watercolor paintings. Sha Jiali scanned them, spotted Duo Er’s “masterpiece,” and pointed it out with a guffaw. But mindful of the class inside, he silenced himself, mouth agape in a silent laugh.
“Hahaha, that has to be hers. That’s her cake—I’d know it anywhere.”
A normal cake was round, but hers looked like it’d been gnawed by a toothless dog, leaving jagged edges more convoluted than the borderlines between Kangman and Bailunting.
Wen Du wanted to compliment it but couldn’t decide whether to praise the girl’s free-spirited artistry or her bold baking style.
From inside came the rhythmic drone of reading voices, clear and sonorous, drawing their attention. They peered through the glass in the back door.
“‘Finally, the man couldn’t hold back any longer. “Kid, there are hundreds, thousands of little fish in that puddle—you can’t save them all.”
“‘I know,’ the boy replied without looking up.
“‘Then why keep throwing? Who cares?’
“‘This little fish cares!’ The boy picked up another fish and tossed it into the sea. ‘This one cares, this one cares too! And this one, this one, this one…'”
Wen Du recognized it midway through: a language arts lesson on “This Little Fish Cares.”
“Who can tell us what this story teaches?”
A boy in the front row piped up bravely. “It shows we should value life and help others, even if they’re small and insignificant.”
The teacher gave him a thumbs-up. “I can see you’re a kind soul—surely a warm-hearted little angel who helps people every day. But that’s not the main lesson here. The deeper meaning is more nuanced. Let me explain.
“Look at the setting: right after a storm, when rain and wind have wrought havoc. Besides the fish, wouldn’t many people be suffering too? Homes flooded, belongings swept away, that sort of thing. Compared to the fish, whose life matters more—the fish’s or the disaster victims’?”
The children’s voices rang out in unison: “Human life!”
“Right!” The teacher pressed on vividly. “Now, what is this boy doing? He’s picking up fish one by one, knowing he can’t save them all, yet he keeps at it. Doesn’t that take a lot of time? Imagine if he used that time to help disaster victims instead—delivering food and water, clearing debris. Wouldn’t that help far more people? Which is more valuable: saving fish at the beach or aiding those in need?”
The teacher led them gently, and the children grew bolder: “Helping those in need!”
“Exactly, you’re all so smart. Now, let’s extend this further: among humans, aren’t some lives more important than others?”
The room fell quiet, with only scattered responses. The children stared blankly at their beloved teacher, not quite grasping the deeper twist.
But the teacher had endless patience. “See, we have Homer People around us—their genes are naturally perfect. They grow into brilliant minds with noble character, making huge contributions to society.
“But we have genetic flaws, so we’re not suited for many jobs or tasks. Our contributions to society and Bangdu are much smaller. So, whose life is more important: the Homer People’s or ours?”
The teacher explained meticulously, and the children’s not-so-sharp minds caught on. They answered boldly: “The Homer People’s!”
“Yes, but that’s okay. Even if our lives aren’t as important, we can still do plenty—like being helpers and assistants to Homer People. We can serve them, offer what aid we can, and contribute to society that way!”
With the lesson wrapped up, the teacher’s face beamed with satisfaction. She raised a hand grandly. “Now, who wants to share how you’ll serve the Homer People?”
Hands shot up instantly. Little minds buzzed with ideas, eager to outdo one another in making society “better.”
Outside, Wen Du felt knowledge crash into her brain like a bandit raid, threatening to overwrite everything she knew. She even grew dizzy, wondering if the story from her own childhood matched this one’s words exactly—yet meant something entirely different.
If it wasn’t the same story, why did every word align?
If it was, how could the interpretation vary so wildly?
After a whirl of confusion, she accepted the truth: the times were “advancing,” civilization “progressing.” She was the backward one. This was her baptism in new wisdom, to be etched in her heart.
Beside her, Sha Jiali listened with relish, eyes on Duo Er. Seeing her raise her hand high and speak eagerly seemed to comfort him. He grinned with boyish liveliness beyond his years.
“Man, that kid really gets into class. Guess no spankings tonight!”
…
Duo Er took to school life well. From classroom to gate, she bounced along happily, and Sha Jiali might as well have bought a rabbit at the poultry market.
Her feet weren’t the only thing lively—her mouth ran nonstop too. After greeting Wen Du, she launched into a recap of her lesson, reciting a “reflection essay” that blew past the 800-word minimum.
Sha Jiali had overheard the class, so he knew the material cold. He hummed along half-heartedly, clearly eager to drop her off at home.
But Duo Er was bursting with energy. Passing a crepe stand, she halted and pointed firmly. “I want one of those.”
Sha Jiali checked his watch. “Dinner first at home. Your big sisters should have it ready.”
“No, I want a crepe today!” Her little finger stayed locked on target, unyielding, as if charting his life path.
Wen Du watched from the side, stunned. It had been ages since she’d seen a Sern person so boldly state a desire. Most had grown taciturn, afraid North County City’s winds would snap their tongues.
In this era, a free-spirited, chatty Sern child like Duo Er was rare—a candidate for endangered species protection, if such lists didn’t discriminate against Sern.
Wen Du held her breath, curious about Sha Jiali’s response, fading into the background.
His face had been kindly, paternal, but at this open defiance from his “daughter,” his mouth tightened. The stern air of a veteran scholar emerged.
“Duo Er, no crepe tonight. Home for dinner.”
“Then crepe first, dinner after! It satisfies you and fulfills me—the best deal ever!”
Wen Du stifled a laugh. The girl didn’t just defy outright; she haggled with logic.
But before she could chuckle, Sha Jiali yanked Duo Er’s arm, grabbed her collar, and hoisted her half off the ground.
“Forgot your lesson already? Nothing sink in? Let me review: what’s the best deal? Whatever I want! You exist to serve me, so no more demands. Your wants are just puddle fish—nobody cares!”
In the blink of an eye, Duo Er went from feisty challenger to helpless chick dangling in his grip.
Sha Jiali’s voice stayed low, but each word hammered home. Duo Er took the blow without retort. Eyes wide, she stared blankly upward, struggling to process, then finally dropped her gaze and fell silent.
The virtue of “holding one’s tongue” had taken root. Bailunting’s winds were fierce; even kids learned to seal their lips.
…
After parting with Sha Jiali, Wen Du drove back to the institute. The smile faded from her face like shedding rouge, leaving her pallid and somber, heaviness etching her brow.
She had already added Duo Er to her Bridge Crossing List, but after that one lesson, she realized it wasn’t nearly enough. Every child in that class—every child in that school, every child in the city—needed to be added.
They faced no mortal peril. They went to school daily, ate well, guided by caring teachers. They bloomed like sturdy flowers.
But they had no true season to flower. The longer they stayed here, the sooner it withered. Their vitality would be siphoned off to feed other blooms.
Grown, they wouldn’t be flowers anymore—but fertilizer, squeezed dry to nourish the “real” ones.
The car crossed Taina Bridge, city lights warming behind, the institute’s cold glare ahead. Light and shadow danced across Wen Du’s form and face, flickering in the gloom, but her thoughts sharpened to a piercing glint in her eyes.
She would get as many Sern children out as possible.
Because this little fish—she cared too.
