The evening wind billowed Ji Tan’s loose hospital gown, exposing his smooth lower belly. With only a proposal to cover himself, he couldn’t shield both his crotch and his chest, so he settled for hiding his face. He elbowed Xie Zhi. “Why are you lying on my back? Were you planning to use me as a cushion when we hit the ground?”
Xie Zhi sounded helpless. “My prohibitions only work on other people.”
His speed limit didn’t apply to himself. That left him two options: lie across Ji Tan’s back and pretend to be a skydiving instructor, or hang from Ji Tan’s waist and turn them into a human bamboo-copter. Lying on his back was at least the more dignified choice.
When they were still two meters above the ground, Xie Zhi flipped over gracefully, landed first, and caught Ji Tan securely. Fortunately, Huo Zhaixing and his bodyguards, who had been escorted down by the silver-clad police, were also bound by the speed limit. By the time they came outside, all they saw was the governor’s dashing landing.
Xie Zhi bounced the man still covering his face a little in his arms. “It’s over.”
Ji Tan refused to uncover his face. “Some people are alive, but they’re already socially dead.” On his very first day in City A, he’d used up an entire lifetime’s worth of humiliation.
“What’s there to be embarrassed about? I’m the only person you know in all of City A.” Xie Zhi raised his chin slightly, for reasons no one could fathom.
There was a certain logic to Boss Xie’s words. In a place where nobody knew you, there was much less shame in making a fool of yourself. Some people would wear a thong on a beach abroad but be too embarrassed to do it back home. Still, Ji Tan couldn’t resist contradicting him. “What if I become famous one day?”
Then the citizens would say, “Right, Celebrity Ji! The young man in a hospital gown who floated across the sky.”
While they were exchanging this pointless nonsense, President Huo suddenly let out a theatrical battle cry. “Ji Tan! How dare you let another man hold you! Have you forgotten you’re already married?”
Huo Zhaixing tried to charge toward them, shouting all the while, but the silver-clad police stopped him. A silver cordon crackling with electric arcs appeared out of thin air, separating the Huo entourage from Ji Tan and warning them not to threaten ordinary citizens. One bodyguard was moving too fast to stop and crashed straight into it.
Crackle, pop! As soon as the cordon touched his body, it coiled around him as if alive, bound him up like a rice dumpling, and continued discharging electricity. The guard, built as solidly as an adult rhinoceros, fell flat on the ground and convulsed, occasionally making strange “uh, uh” noises.
At that sight, even President Huo quieted down, not just his bodyguards. Huo Zhaixing stopped charging forward and confined himself to standing there and talking incessantly.
Ji Tan rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to talk to someone apparently missing his frontal lobes, but Huo was so noisy that he finally answered, “Then give me my shoes.”
Huo Zhaixing, in the middle of a lecture about family reputation and propriety, faltered. He ignored that particular request and resumed his speech. “We signed an agreement! You have to remain faithful throughout our marriage, or the amount I promised to pay you will be cut in half!”
Ji Tan: “…” So after all that, the man still wasn’t going to give him his shoes.
Qiaoqiao, looking exceedingly frail, came after them, stopping to pant with almost every step. He opened his mouth and immediately began accusing Ji Tan. “Ji Tan, come down here. The Huo family is a respected household in the Beichen District, with very strict rules. You’re making things difficult for Brother Huo. If you’re upset about my presence and want to make Brother Huo jealous too, there’s no need for this. I-I could…” Before finishing, he began sniffling.
Ji Tan said, “Then give me your shoes.”
“Huh?” Tears clung to the white moonlight youth’s eyelashes, trembling on the verge of falling. He stared open-mouthed for quite a while before stammering, “My shoes are too small. You couldn’t wear them.”
As expected of a white moonlight, at least he hadn’t let the conversation drop.
Xie Zhi nodded in agreement. “Right, his shoes wouldn’t fit you. He’s short.”
Qiaoqiao immediately regretted answering. That Xie fellow had actually gone on to insult him! Flushing with humiliation and anger, he pointed at Xie Zhi and told the silver-clad officer beside him, “Mr. T Police Officer, that man is pretending to be the governor and swindling people. He’s at least a C-rank Orderbearer. Arrest him!”
The official title for employees of the Order Administration Bureau, including members of the TS Task Force, was Order Officer. People tended to single out the silver-clad members of the TS Task Force, however, and residents of the Northern District called them T Police. Sweet-tongued Qiaoqiao naturally wouldn’t address someone so bluntly; following custom, he upgraded the title to “Mr. Police Officer.”
“Qiaoqiao, don’t talk nonsense!” Huo Zhaixing warned at once.
“I’m not making things up. He’s covering his face with a mask because he has something to hide.”
Ji Tan had been perfectly confident until Qiaoqiao said that with such certainty. Now he was a little less sure himself. He turned toward Xie Zhi, whose face was still thoroughly concealed.
Xie Zhi looked back, his visible eyes narrowing slightly. In a low voice, he said, “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m actually not the governor.”
Ji Tan’s eyes widened, and he glanced around in a panic without making any large movements. The area was surrounded, with a full eight silver-clad T Police officers nearby. If they all hit Xie Zhi with restraints as powerful as the one that had bound the bodyguard, how could he survive? Ji Tan swallowed and whispered, “Then what’s the charge for impersonating the governor?”
“No one’s ever done it before. Probably a capital offense,” Xie Zhi replied with a straight face.
“Then run!” Ji Tan struggled to get down.
But it was already too late. All the silver-clad T Police officers had turned to look at them. Perhaps because of their unusual abilities, silver-white glints appeared intermittently in their black pupils as they moved, like especially fine silver obsidian. It was beautiful, but the inorganic sheen also made them seem less than human.
When two rows of them looked over, the combined impression of inhumanity and overwhelming supernatural power was enough to strike fear into anyone’s heart.
After a moment’s silent scrutiny, they all snapped to attention and saluted in unison. “Sir!”
Xie Zhi returned the salute with a nod. “I was only passing by and rescued an innocent citizen. Just follow standard procedure.”
Qiaoqiao produced the most stereotypical villain’s refrain imaginable. “How is that possible?!”
Huo Zhaixing, meanwhile, studied Xie Zhi, who had yet to remove his mask, with an increasingly thoughtful expression. He signaled his bodyguards to drag away Qiaoqiao, who was still putting on his entire theatrical performance, then picked up his phone and dialed the chairman of Huo Group.
Ignoring the noisy lot, Xie Zhi placed “innocent citizen Mr. Ji” into a police car whose red and blue lights were flashing, fully fulfilling the duty of a government official to aid an ordinary member of the public.
“Is this really the time to mess with me?” Ji Tan punched him.
“I didn’t lie.” Xie Zhi took the punch without concern, then put one finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. All the surrounding noise vanished instantly, as though the two of them were enclosed in a vacuum.
“What?” Ji Tan was captivated by this marvel. What an excellent ability! He would never have to worry about noisy neighbors again.
“One more secret.” Resting one hand on the car doorframe, Xie Zhi pulled down his mask and smiled. “Without the mask, I’m the governor. With it, I’m the Northern District’s dictator.”
The districts of City A operated with relative independence, each handling its own local administrative affairs. The highest-ranking official of a district was called its dictator, meaning that the official could independently decide ordinary district matters without reporting to the Central District.
After this lesson in common knowledge about City A, Ji Tan’s brain stalled for a moment. So this was a man who had become mayor of the city without resigning from his old post as district head. How deranged did someone have to be to do that?
“You’re working two jobs!” Ji Tan exclaimed in shock.
Was the cost of living in City A really that high?
“…”
Several minutes later, Ji Tan sat inside a bright, spotless Public Security Office, still wearing his hospital gown and sporting a thick stack of A4 pages tucked into his waistband.
Police stations here were called Public Security Offices. They only dealt with ordinary public-order matters, and their officers were regular people in blue uniforms. Huo Zhaixing and his bodyguards, meanwhile, had been taken to the Order Administration Bureau in the distance.
Xie Zhi had tossed him into the police car and disappeared to who knew where. Worse, he’d taken back the jacket he’d lent him before leaving. What a cheapskate.
Fortunately, the Public Security Office was comfortably warm. Ji Tan sat in a soft office chair with a cup of warm water pressed into his hands.
A young officer carefully recorded the entire incident. After exchanging a look with a colleague, he explained apologetically, “Mrs. Huo, oh no, Mr. Ji, we’re very sympathetic to what you’ve experienced. But under the prenuptial agreement between you and Huo Zhaixing, he does indeed have the right to sign an organ-donation consent form on your behalf.”
The helpful young officer turned the monitor toward Ji Tan to show him the electronic records. They contained a marriage certificate, a scanned copy of the prenuptial agreement, and the declaration of intent to donate and surgical disclosure form signed on his behalf by Huo Zhaixing.
According to the documents, the two had entered into a contractual marriage for three years, for which Huo Zhaixing would pay Ji Tan one million units of City A currency. Two hundred thousand was due as a deposit before the marriage, and the remaining eight hundred thousand would be paid in installments after they registered the marriage.
Eight hundred thousand, and even that in installments.
Didn’t CEOs in novels routinely conduct deals worth tens of billions?
Ji Tan began to seriously doubt this domineering CEO’s financial clout. What had the original owner of this body seen in the Huo fellow? Why insist on boarding this pirate ship? If he’d simply kept selling liquor in the karaoke club for three years, he could have made that million himself without risking the loss of his heart, liver, or kidneys.
“What living person would agree to donate their heart?” Ji Tan pointed speechlessly at the supplementary clause in the letter of intent that presumed he had consented.
“Maybe out of kindness?” The young officer scratched his head. The office had records of many such cases, with all kinds of reasons. He’d racked his brains before coming up with that one.
“Doesn’t that count as murder?” Ji Tan couldn’t understand it. A heart wasn’t like a kidney. People could survive with one kidney missing, but without a heart, they’d die.
The young officer brought up a purchase record. “The filing shows that Huo Zhaixing really did buy a mechanical heart manufactured in Xili District, with a precious sapphire embedded in it and an estimated value of at least thirty million. So it doesn’t qualify as murder.”
Ji Tan fell silent.
He realized he couldn’t keep asking questions. Clearly there were some basic facts about this world that he didn’t know. For example, the mechanical heart worth more than thirty million that Huo Zhaixing had boasted about really could be used. Before leaving, Xie Zhi had warned him not to let anyone know he was a transmigrator.
An older policeman passing by with a bowl of instant noodles glanced over and exclaimed, “Whoa, isn’t that the good stuff they had at the auction? Whoever gets one of those implanted could always swap it for a cheaper model and sell this one if money gets tight. Young man, want some instant noodles?”
“…Yes.” Ji Tan asked the younger officer to print out all the agreements, then carefully went through them again. When the kind officer brought over the freshly prepared noodles, he’d finally discovered what didn’t add up.
Would a miser who insisted on paying eight hundred thousand in installments really spend thirty million on a heart for him?