Chapter One

[Page 1/3]

[Logistics Officer No. 03, Youxing, your resignation request has been approved.]

A new email popped up on Youxing’s interface. She read the first sentence, shut down the system she’d been working on, and stood up to gather her things.

A month ago, Youxing had filed her resignation, and today, it was finally approved.

She had already calculated the likely date of approval and had gradually cleared out all non-work-related items. All she had to do on her last day was hand in the data drive containing her work files to the data room.

No handover was necessary. The data room would directly reclaim all her work content and reassign it to other logistics staff.

It was not yet three in the afternoon when Youxing left the data room, returned to her office to take her personal belongings, and turned to leave.

A colleague asked in surprise, “Heading out for fieldwork?”

Youxing glanced back at her, her expression calm and her tone as composed as ever: “I’ve quit.”

The colleague was astonished and fell silent for a moment.

Though the White Iris Paranormal Research Institute was only a Class C institution, it was, after all, located in the Second Star District. In the last two years, the minimum requirement to hire logistics staff had already risen to mental strength grade A.

It was rumored that when Youxing joined, she had only grade C mental strength and grade D physical ability.

She was still an unmutated original human—her body fragile, her mental power average, and she didn’t have the means to replace her body with a mechanical one, which made it almost impossible for her to take on any other job.

Recalling Youxing’s usual performance at work, the colleague noted she rarely made mistakes but was never outstanding either.

And yet, Youxing actually dared to resign.

By the time the colleague recovered and wanted to say something, Youxing was already gone.

A newly arrived archivist recalled something and whispered, “About half a month ago, I ran into her in the medical bay. I heard her mental strength was upgraded.”

Curious, the colleague asked, “Is that so? Upgraded by much?”

The archivist thought for a moment, unsure, “I think it’s now grade B.”

Unable to hold back, the colleague snorted, “Still a loser, isn’t she?”

It had been a hundred years since humanity first quantified mental strength. Research in this field had advanced rapidly in that time. Now, a citizen’s mental strength is directly tied to their career prospects. The higher the grade, the broader the job options.

Initially, grades ranged from S, A, B, C, D, E, to F. Grade S was the pinnacle, reserved for rare talents monopolized by the upper echelons.

But in the last twenty years, a breakthrough had allowed for artificial enhancement of mental strength, with the highest known grade now being SSS.

Of course, a place like White Iris, a Class C research institute, would never see such super talents.

A former colleague’s mental strength rising from C to B could only serve as office banter, a way to pass the monotonous hours.

That mental strength could improve was proven two decades ago, but significant leaps usually happened before adulthood.

For someone like Youxing, who only advanced from C to B at thirty, it was rather pitiable.

Now, even logistics positions at Class C institutes required at least grade A mental strength; leaving White Iris, Youxing could hardly hope for a better job.

After some laughter, the archivist whispered again, “I heard she’d been in the logistics department for five years without a promotion. Baiyin, who joined only six months ago, is already a team leader and gets to join the strategy group’s explorations. Maybe Youxing quit because of this?”

The colleague replied, “Baiyin has grade S mental strength and grade A physical ability. What right does an unmutated original human with grade C mental strength and grade D physical ability have to be dissatisfied?”

Someone else added, “After so many years, she should be used to it. Everyone who joined with her or in the next few years has been promoted or transferred, only she’s still in logistics with the same rank. If it were me, I’d have quit out of shame ages ago—no way I’d stick around so long.”

Du Min, who had not participated in the office chatter, sat in the corner, seemingly absorbed in work. But at this, she couldn’t help herself: “That’s enough from you all.”

The lively atmosphere in the office burst like a soap bubble, drenching everyone in silence.

Du Min took a deep breath. “You’ve all said plenty, so let me add this: at the very least, none of you sitting here are better at their job than Youxing. And Baiyin, whom you all mention—before joining the strategy group, she went to Youxing for the full set of data on the target case.”

Du Min had joined at the same time as Youxing, with S-grade mental strength and S-grade physical ability, and had often entered paranormal cases with the strategy group. Recently, due to injury, she needed half a year of rest and had returned to the logistics department for a desk job.

Her words carried weight; the office fell so silent that a pin drop could be heard.

But it wasn’t agreement—rather, a silent resistance.

They did not agree with Du Min’s assessment of Youxing.

Nowadays, high mental strength and physical ability earned you respect, and anyone below your own level, regardless of experience, was seen as worthless.

Du Min frowned slightly and returned to her work, unable to help feeling sorry for Youxing.

She was rare in her diligence and reliability. Though she’d never entered a case herself, she could analyze data and predict the internal ecology and rules of paranormal cases with remarkable accuracy.

In fact, in the early days of White Iris, most members of the strategy group had benefited from Youxing’s outstanding information analysis and predictions.

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But barely reaching grade B mental strength and her fragile original human body had kept her from advancing further.

If she had been exceptional in even one of those two areas, she wouldn’t have spent years as a low-level logistics clerk.

***

Youxing walked out of the White Iris Research Institute, expecting to be in high spirits, but instead felt as calm as ever—just as she had for years upon completing a set task. Her emotions were as still as a dead sea, and the exhilaration she’d expected never came.

Seven years in the paranormal field had tempered her from eager beginner to practiced hand, and now to numb automaton.

She’d considered resignation for a long time; with grade C mental strength and as an unmutated original human, it was indeed hard to find suitable work. She’d stumbled into White Iris by sheer luck.

Youxing had once cherished this job, fearing being cast out of the team.

When she first joined, she slept only three hours a night, devoting all her time to learning and adapting, familiarizing herself with the logistics role as quickly as possible: investigating and cataloguing paranormal data; preparing supplies and tools for the team; maintaining intelligence channels and seeking rare case information; arranging care for injured teammates and consoling their families.

This lasted about three years before Youxing could handle everything with ease.

Her work was closely linked to the strategy group, but as an unmutated original human with only moderate mental strength, she’d never have the chance to explore a case herself.

To outsiders, it seemed she had a respectable job.

In reality, she was no more than a minuscule, replaceable screw in a giant machine.

But Youxing was philosophical, even laid-back about it.

She’d done everything to the best of her ability.

Only sometimes, late at night, leaving the institute alone, she’d look up and see the sky fragmented into small, shattered blocks by towering buildings, each block intertwined with its neighbors, forming an impenetrable net—or a deep, endless, hopeless sea. At such times, she felt as if she might drown.

Checking her accumulated savings in her StarRing account, the urge to come up for air grew ever stronger.

She began her plan a month before turning thirty, and on her thirtieth birthday, she resigned as planned.

The hover car she’d ordered waited by the roadside; she was heading to a hard-to-book flower shop.

Three months earlier, Youxing had ordered herself a bouquet from this shop.

Because it carried rare Old Blue Planet varieties, the shop was famous in the Second Star District, and far from cheap.

Youxing left the shop hugging a large bouquet of beautiful white Austin roses. At the fountain plaza, she ordered a sparkling water at an outdoor bar and called Huoyuandu by video.

Huoyuandu had been her boyfriend for three years—an original human with mutations, S-grade mental strength, SS-grade physical ability.

“Mutation” meant the potential to develop supernatural abilities.

Youxing was an unmutated original human: incapable of evolving.

Huoyuandu was three years younger and worked as a professional case hunter at the Blood Rose, an A-class paranormal institute.

The last time they’d met was five months ago.

He’d been injured during a case and needed a week to recover.

They’d spent four days together; once he healed, he returned to the field, and they went back to seeing each other only once every month or two.

This time, they’d barely even video-called during their separation.

Three months ago, because she’d managed to order a birthday bouquet at Flower Encounter, Youxing felt a rare urge to confide and called Huoyuandu.

His colleague answered, telling Youxing that Huoyuandu had just come out of a case, was badly hurt in body and mind, and was resting in a treatment pod.

Youxing hesitated briefly, but didn’t ask why his colleague was answering his StarRing call.

Arguments accumulate experience, too. Youxing and Huoyuandu had been through passionate love, quarrels, disputes, and entanglements; she knew well that if the person involved wasn't present, fighting was pointless and ugly.

Besides, she no longer had the energy for arguments. Weariness seemed to seep into her bones, pressing down so heavily that she couldn’t even feel wronged anymore. Everything was stiff and numb.

She asked which hospital he was in, only to be told it was a private facility that didn’t allow visitors.

Over the following week, Youxing tried to call twice more—neither time did he answer.

Three months passed. Huoyuandu never reached out, as if he’d forgotten she existed.

As expected, this call went unanswered as well.

Youxing sipped her sparkling water, the faint fizz biting at her tongue.

At last, she left a video message: “This is Youxing. I wanted to talk to you in person, but I haven’t been able to reach you, so I’ll just say it here. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I’ve thought about it many times—maybe you were waiting for me to say it first? But now I really mean it: let’s break up.”

Resignation. Breakup.

On her thirtieth birthday, she completed two major milestones.

Her mood was flat as ever, a hopeless numbness.

She inhaled the bouquet’s rich scent, let out a long breath, and prepared to head home.

Her next plan was in two days: to visit the artificial sea in the Sixth Star District.

In recent years, mutated creatures had multiplied, and the sea was their cradle. Natural coastlines were extremely dangerous, and with her mental strength grade, Youxing couldn’t get a travel permit for the real shore.

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So before looking for a new job, she wanted to see the man-made sea, created from data on the Old Blue Planet’s oceans.

Back in the hover car, her white bouquet was now adorned with a few pale purple bellflowers and misty green eucalyptus leaves.

While waiting for a ride at the curb, she encountered a peculiar young man.

He was in his twenties, with shoulder-length silver hair, the tips dyed a hazy green, carelessly tied in a low ponytail. His clear gray-green eyes were strikingly beautiful, almost transcending gender, with a gentle smile and a hint of languor deep in his gaze.

Tall and slender as a graceful tree, he wore black ripped jeans and a leather jacket. Around his slender neck was a black choker studded with silver, and a metal-chain bracelet coiled around his wrist.

Despite all this, he gave Youxing a sense of purity and clarity.

She couldn’t help glancing at him again.

Sensing her gaze, he smiled warmly at her.

Youxing’s expression remained unchanged; she nodded slightly and looked away.

Moments later, fresh bellflowers and eucalyptus drifted into her vision.

She looked up.

The youth’s smile deepened as he tilted his lips. “Sorry, I have good hearing. I accidentally overheard your video message over there.”

Youxing was surprised and glanced back at the booth where she’d been sitting.

She’d activated a privacy screen when leaving her message; it shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to eavesdrop.

Had he followed her on purpose?

Why?

The youth, a full head taller than Youxing, leaned down and tucked the bellflowers among the Austin roses, quickly adding the long-stemmed eucalyptus. His smile was gentle and sincere. “Happy breakup!”

Youxing’s numb heart gave a sudden jolt, and she looked up.

The young man had already turned and strode away, waving back at her after a few steps.

Lowering her gaze, Youxing saw that the pure white Austins, now adorned with purple bellflowers and eucalyptus, no longer looked so pristine—some warmth and liveliness had crept into the quiet stillness.

Youth was a wonderful thing.

Bellflowers and eucalyptus were both rare imports from the Old Blue Planet and expensive at Flower Encounter.

So, cradling her bouquet, its space overtaken by bellflowers and eucalyptus, Youxing boarded another hover car.

***

Two days later, at the famous artificial sea in the Sixth Star District.

Youxing rose early to watch the sunrise.

She laid her sandals on the sand, sat hugging her knees, and watched as a thin line of gold crept over the horizon, scattering scales of shimmering light across the sea, dazzling her eyes.

The sea in the Sixth Star District was artificial, as was its sun.

Perhaps for this reason, when she finally saw the long-anticipated sea and sunrise, her emotions were as subdued as on the day she resigned and broke up. Everything felt faint and muted; there was no excitement or joy.

Numbness wrapped around her—she found it hard to feel the ardor and easy happiness she’d known in her twenties.

She’d planned to stay a week, but by the third day, she was already restless and browsing job listings on the StarNet.

After two days of filtering and online interviews, Youxing received a job offer.

The position: apartment manager. Monthly salary: ten thousand Five Star credits.

The job was in the Thirteenth Star District.

Youxing had wanted to move to a new district, but the Thirteenth was far from her ideal.

Apart from the Central District, the First through Fifth were the elite districts—most advanced in technology and economy, with the best public order but high living costs.

She knew that, with her current grade B mental strength and unmutated human status, she’d never find another respectable job in the high districts. She’d planned to leave the Second District and look for work in a middle district.

The Sixth through Fifteenth districts were the middle tier, home to most ordinary citizens, but far less developed in every respect.

The Thirteenth sat at the tail end of the middle districts, and its development and safety almost didn’t bear thinking about.

But the job offered similar pay to her last logistics post, with full basic benefits, housing, and meal subsidies.

Dormitory manager—a job that sounded like a shortcut through thirty years of hardship, radiating tranquility.

A well-paid, low-stress job where she could finally take it easy; it seemed perfect for recuperating both body and mind.

So Youxing decided to cut her vacation short and head to the Thirteenth District to see for herself.