Tucked into the documents was an official full-color brochure for that mechanical heart.
Its main body was silver-white, with a cross-sectional illustration showing intricate gears and interlocking parts. Tubes of red and blue synthetic biomaterial stood in for blood vessels, and components in other colors appeared here and there. But there was no picture of the thirty-million-unit gemstone.
[The pinnacle of Xili District’s mechanical engineering. No more worries about premature heartbeats or irregular heart rhythms. Adjustable power output. Ultra-long ninety-day standby…]
“Mechanical hearts are actually pretty good. A classmate of mine has one. He can pull three all-nighters in a row without going into cardiac arrest.” The young officer had also received a cup of instant noodles, and he picked up his fork and slurped a mouthful.
“Then why doesn’t that Qiaoqiao get a mechanical heart? Why insist on mine?” Ji Tan cradled his noodle cup and sipped some hot soup. The salty, savory broth awakened his numb tongue and warmed his empty stomach.
This body probably hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night because of the planned surgery. He’d been too tense to notice before, but now that he’d had some salty soup, he suddenly felt hungry. That made Ji Tan suspect that perhaps his trouble walking when he was fleeing for his life hadn’t been entirely due to the anesthetic. Maybe he’d simply been starving.
“Mm, maybe he doesn’t want to have to recharge.” The young officer stuffed a large mouthful of noodles into his mouth and chewed, urging Ji Tan to eat. These noodles were supplied exclusively to the Public Security Office, he said, and every citizen who’d come here had praised them to the skies. Seeing that Ji Tan had dropped his fork on the floor, he enthusiastically offered a fresh one. Then he paused, his gaze moving from the fork to the back of Ji Tan’s hand, where dense needle marks dotted the bruised, bluish-purple skin.
The young officer swallowed his noodles and smacked his lips. Inching subtly closer to Ji Tan, he said hesitantly, “I’ve heard… only heard, mind you. I heard that only people with real hearts can become Orderbearers.”
Ji Tan looked up sharply.
Smack! The older officer landed a solid slap on the back of the youngster’s head. “What nonsense are you spouting? That’s not something you’re supposed to know about!” Then he apologized to Ji Tan and told him not to take it seriously; it was nothing but hearsay picked up by an inexperienced kid.
Ji Tan nodded, lowered his eyes, and continued eating his noodles.
The older officer hauled the younger one some distance away to scold him. Ji Tan could only catch fragments, but the gist was that the less they asked about Orderbearers, the better. Knowing too much would only get them killed sooner.
Ji Tan drank the last mouthful of soup, then slowly smoothed down the sleeves of his hospital gown, concealing the back of his hand that he’d deliberately exposed earlier.
That was Director Ji’s accumulated experience of society: showing a little weakness and playing up your suffering in front of a young newcomer to the workforce could coax out information that wasn’t supposed to be shared.
If that was the reason, then Qiaoqiao would never give up on obtaining a new heart, and Huo Zhaixing would undoubtedly pursue Ji Tan to the bitter end. Ultimately, a world where extraordinary powers existed could never be completely fair. This place wasn’t a hell for ordinary people, but it certainly wasn’t a safe utopia either. Given the chance, anyone would want supernatural power.
He had to get out of this contractual marriage as soon as possible. As long as the marriage remained legally valid, the Huo fellow could lawfully take his heart. That was far too dangerous.
“I don’t want to donate my heart now. Is there any way to get out of it?” Ji Tan asked the experienced older officer.
“You need a lawyer, and not just any lawyer. A very good one,” the older policeman sighed. “Until then, you’d better leave Beichen District.”
The young officer explained that important people faced restrictions when crossing between districts, whereas ordinary citizens did not. Besides, the Huo family’s influence was concentrated in the north. In another district, it would be much easier to flee or seek protection.
Ji Tan looked down at his bare feet on the carpet. He really did need to think about where to go after leaving the Public Security Office. The original owner of this body had married Huo Zhaixing just two months earlier and had lived in the Huo family villa ever since. He certainly couldn’t go back there. His only choice was to return to his original home, but he had none of the body’s previous memories and didn’t know where that home was.
“Could you contact my family and ask them to pick me up?” Ji Tan asked tentatively. This novel world was not entirely the same as the story he’d read before transmigrating, and he didn’t even know whether he still had relatives here. He could only probe for information.
The young officer shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid not. Your parents are both currently registered as missing. Your older brother lives in the Western District, but he’s barred from crossing district boundaries, so he can’t come to the Northern District to pick you up.”
“He’s not allowed to cross districts? Is he someone important?”
“No. He owes money to loan sharks.”
“…”
So the characters’ backstories were broadly what A-Qiang had written: a gambling-addicted father, a missing mother, a sickly older brother, and a shattered Ji Tan. If this brother was in debt, perhaps he’d inherited the mess left by their gambler father, or perhaps he’d borrowed money for medical treatment. Worst of all would be if the brother was a gambler too. That would be disastrous.
At this point, Ji Tan really did feel a little shattered himself.
“Are you finished?”
A cool breeze slipped into the lobby as the glass doors closed. The corridor lights came on automatically, piercing the gathering dusk and spilling across the dull gray carpet of the Public Security Office. Ji Tan looked up to find Xie Zhi, who had come in at some point without his noticing.
He stood right in front of Ji Tan, one hand in his pocket, his jacket draped over his shoulders, and a large paper shopping bag dangling from his other hand.
Ji Tan stared at the little mole in the center of Xie Zhi’s nose until his eyes practically crossed. Only then did he come back to himself and realize that the man wasn’t wearing a mask.
“Little friend, you’ve gone cross-eyed.” Xie Zhi waved a hand in front of his face.
“Why aren’t you wearing your mask?” Ji Tan blinked.
Only the officials of Beichen District and the T Police of the Order Administration Bureau recognized the masked identity. The unmasked face, however, was famous throughout City A.
“What, afraid an adoring crowd will mob me? Don’t worry. People who saw me on television will soon forget what I look like.” Xie Zhi dismissed the concern and took a pair of shoes from the bag to put on Ji Tan.
Ji Tan looked from side to side. Neither the young nor the older officer had recognized the governor. That made sense. It was difficult to remember someone who had flashed across the television news only once. Ji Tan had been working for years and couldn’t even have told you what the mayor of the city where his company was located looked like.
When Ji Tan turned back, he nearly jumped out of his skin. At some point, Xie Zhi had knelt on one knee before him. Holding Ji Tan’s ankle in one hand, he was slipping a shoe onto his foot with the other, like a prince fitting Cinderella with her glass slipper… if that slipper had been a blue-and-white-striped padded house shoe.
“Why did you buy this style…” Ji Tan stopped himself mid-sentence.
“It’s from the same collection as your clothes.” Xie Zhi seemed to be fishing for praise. With such a rare pattern, he must have searched the mall for ages to find it.
Ji Tan looked down at his blue-and-white-striped hospital gown, then at the padded house shoes, and said irritably, “Well, thank you so much.”
Ji Tan thought that would be the end of it. He figured the man was so thrilled to see someone else from Earth that he couldn’t resist teasing him. But Xie Zhi’s next move made him genuinely question the state of his mental health.
Xie Zhi, his robot of a boss who’d only ever cared about work, money, and efficiency, pulled a blue-and-white-striped wool coat out of the bag.
Ji Tan was genuinely afraid the next thing he’d hear would be, “Put on this coat, and you’ll turn into the wise Afanti.”
The old society turned people into ghosts, the new society turned ghosts into people¹, and this other world turned people into lunatics.
His boss clearly hadn’t had an easy time in City A over the years. Ji Tan decided to forgive him temporarily and accepted the coat with great generosity. Looking at the matching outfit reflected in the glass doors of the Public Security Office, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
For the first time since transmigrating, Ji Tan finally saw his own face. It was almost exactly like his original one, just a little thinner and weaker. Apparently, he hadn’t been eating especially well during his time in the Huo household.
“Let’s go.” Xie Zhi handed Ji Tan the paper bag, and they left the Public Security Office together.
Ji Tan examined its contents: bread, drinks, identification papers, a bank card, and a mobile phone. The ID was brand-new, still covered in freshly applied plastic lamination. Its photograph must have been an older image stored in the system. A boy with half-long hair brushed back from his forehead looked stiffly into the camera.
“Don’t be surprised. A district dictator still gets a few privileges here in the Northern District.” Xie Zhi took the phone and entered his own number.
“Xie Zhi, thank you.” Ji Tan put the proposal into the bag as well, sincerely grateful to his former boss.
“Why so formal? Helping an employee settle into life in a new city is part of a boss’s duty,” Xie Zhi said with a smile. “But if you’re determined to thank me, perhaps you could…”
Before he could finish, a wide-bodied black Maybach screeched to a stop nearby. The rear window slowly descended, revealing the sharp, sculpted line of Huo Zhaixing’s jaw.
President Huo didn’t turn his head. He merely glanced sideways at them and ordered imperiously, “Ji Tan, get in.”
Was this guy out of his mind?
Ji Tan couldn’t be bothered with him. He said to Xie Zhi, “Let’s go.”
“Heh.” Huo Zhaixing snorted and looked at Xie Zhi. “Don’t think that Xie fellow can protect you. I’ve already asked my grandfather. Mr. Xie, here in Beichen District, your strength is at most lower B-rank. Are you really going to set yourself against the Huo family?”
“Is that so?” Xie Zhi snapped his fingers with a smile. “Getting out of cars is forbidden here.”
President Huo, who had reached for the door to get out and grab Ji Tan himself, pulled at it so hard that it rattled and banged.
“You’re middle C-rank, so what gives you the right to look down on B-rank? Your grandfather is B-rank too. By Lagrange’s theorem and a little rounding, that makes me your grandfather as well!” Xie Zhi regarded President Huo with the disappointed expression of someone whose grandson had failed to live up to his expectations.
Author’s Note ①:
“The old society turned people into ghosts; the new society turned ghosts into people.” From the opera The White-Haired Girl.