EDEH Chapter 50

The entire building in front of them was the Supervision Bureau.

 

People coming and going all wore supervisor uniforms, with only Sang Jue being an exception, wearing a military green jacket that fit him perfectly—prepared by Huo Yanji for him.

 

Sang Jue looked down at his work badge, took a light breath, and walked into the crowd.

 

He was now an evil dragon who had to hustle for a living.

 

“Excuse me, how do I get to the Relics Organization Center?”

 

“Go straight, turn right at the second intersection, then continue to the end.”

 

The supervision building was like other buildings, with no excessive color decoration inside, favoring gray tones. Sang Jue had just reached the second intersection when he heard a familiar tone.

 

“Morning, little sweetheart.”

 

“Morning.”

 

Shiwei was getting water at the drinking fountain around the corner, asking with a smile: “Have you eaten?”

 

Sang Jue nodded: “Yes.”

 

Shiwei hastily bit into a piece of bread and drank half a cup of water: “Then get ready, we’re about to leave.”

 

The office of the Relics Organization Center wasn’t large, but there were many people.

 

Sang Jue was an external hire, not a supervisor, so he didn’t have a desk.

 

The phones at the desks rang one after another, everyone was busy, either answering calls or on their way out.

 

“Ring ring…”

 

A short-haired woman nearby picked up the phone, speaking extremely fast but with clear pronunciation: “Hello, this is the Relics Organization Center. Are you calling to make a commission?”

 

The voice on the other end was a bit muffled: “Yes.”

 

“Commission for yourself or someone else’s posthumous affairs?”

 

“Myself. I’m going outside the city tomorrow, but my right eyelid keeps twitching. I feel something bad will happen, so I want to make a commission first.”

 

“Alright, what’s your address?”

 

“District A, Maple Avenue, 11th Street, No. 34, Room 618.”

 

“Alright, registered. What would you like to do with your belongings?”

 

“Leave them to Kate, Kate Daley.”

 

“Alright, registered.”

 

There were countless such calls. Most supervisors answering remained expressionless, handling everything officially and calmly regardless of the caller’s emotional state.

 

“Ring ring…”

 

The supervisor who had just hung up answered another call: “Hello, this is the Relics Organization Center…”

 

Sang Jue stood by Shiwei’s desk. With his excellent hearing, he could accurately catch every voice on the other end of the phone.

 

“My wife died, and I feel I’m about to die too. I want to make a commission first. Leave all my belongings to my brother Lao Ba, though the only valuable thing is the thousand-plus coins in my account.”

 

…

 

“My neighbor hasn’t come out for four days. I smell a stench and suspect he died at home. Please send someone quickly—this smell is ‘contaminating’ my nose…”

 

…

 

“I’ve already slit my wrists, cut the artery. I’ll probably die in about ten minutes. Don’t bother sending someone to save me… I’m calling just hoping someone can collect my body.”

 

After asking for the address, the supervisor calmly said as usual: “Alright, registered.”

 

As if he wasn’t facing someone committing suicide, but just an ordinary client.

 

Perhaps such incidents were so common that they were all used to it.

 

Shiwei finished her last sip of water and threw him a backpack: “Let’s go!”

 

The backpack was large and heavy, but Sang Jue caught it steadily.

 

Inside were masks, gloves, protective face shields, and decontamination equipment.

 

They walked out carrying their packs. Sang Jue asked: “Is it just us today?”

 

“Old He rarely does field work. It’s just that my usual partner… had some problems recently, so he’s been accompanying me.” Shiwei paused, then smiled suddenly, “Don’t worry, little sweetheart. This sister can take good care of you alone and won’t lose you.”

 

Sang Jue said seriously: “We’re not blood-related, so you can’t call yourself sister.”

 

Shiwei clicked her tongue: “Little sweetheart is quite old-fashioned.”

 

They came to the side alley of the supervision building, where motorcycles were parked.

 

“Can little sweetheart ride?”

 

“No.”

 

But Sang Jue had ridden on Huo Yanji’s motorcycle, on the first day they met.

 

Sang Jue still remembered that day’s heavy rain, warmth in front and cold behind, the off-road motorcycle fast and steady, the waist he embraced solid and strong.

 

Thinking of Huo Yanji, he couldn’t help but think of the mess he’d accidentally made at home this morning…

 

Sang Jue bit his lip, hoping Huo Yanji would go easy on the punishment when he found out.

 

Shiwei swung her long leg over: “Get on, I’ll take you.”

 

Normally, four-wheeled vehicles weren’t allowed in the city, so motorcycles were the only transportation besides trams, and ordinary people could hardly get riding permits.

 

The speed wasn’t fast because there were many pedestrians. Sang Jue only needed to hold the protective rail to sit steady.

 

Wind whistled in his ears as the motorcycle moved against the crowd.

 

They stopped at a place similar to where they’d gone to Yu Ren’s house yesterday, with the same endless stairs. Sunlight only lightly touched the upper levels; further down, only cold, wet streets shrouded in shadow.

 

“Today we’re going to the deeper lower district. Put on your protective mask first to cover your face.” Shiwei got off the bike, curving her lips, “Looking like this, you’re obviously easy to bully.”

 

Sang Jue retorted: “People who bullied me are all dead.”

 

Shiwei raised an eyebrow and asked back: “Didn’t Officer Huo bully you?”

 

“…”

 

Huo Yanji indeed often bullied him by taking advantage of his experience, had pinched his tail tip twice, and last night even made him read legal codes while he was in heat.

 

Very hateful.

 

Sang Jue put on his mask and said seriously: “He always bullies me, but I can’t bear for him to die.”

 

If Huo Yanji died, there would be no one to substitute for the doctor’s hands, and no fragrant pillow at night.

 

Shiwei slung her pack over her shoulder and started down the steps, asking in a teasing, ambiguous tone, “Is General Huo impressive at night?”

 

Sang Jue replied, “He’s impressive during the day—even more so at night.”

 

He wakes at the slightest disturbance, even if it’s just the wind rattling the window. Even after years in a high position, Huo Yanji never lost the vigilance he developed when he was young.

 

Shiwei let out a whistle.

 

She hadn’t expected that Sang Jue, who looked so fair and clean, would actually have such a bold side—he’d say anything, even to someone he’d only known for a day.

 

Sang Jue walked the stairs very carefully. The dividing line between sunlight and shadow slowly rose from his ankles to his nose; the sunlight made his eyes look bright and clear. On the side of his jaw, under his face shield, was a faint fingerprint—left last night when Huo Yanji pinched his chin to make him let go, a bit too hard; even though Sang Jue healed quickly, a mark remained.

 

“Looks like last night was pretty intense, too.” Shiwei gave a little laugh. “No wonder General Huo didn’t visit my dream last night—it’s because you’re too tempting.”

 

Sang Jue could understand every word individually, but when combined, he struggled to make sense of her meaning.

 

Maybe when the language of this planet is translated into his home planet’s words, some meaning gets lost or twisted.

 

“You could go after your number one dream lover instead,” he said.

 

Shiwei sighed dramatically, “Ah, that’s tough. All these years, he’s never once appeared in my dreams.” She squinted her eyes. “Maybe he runs off to his lover’s dreams instead.”

 

Sang Jue didn’t quite understand: “If he has a lover, why do you still make him your dream lover?”

 

Shiwei clicked her tongue: “The point about a dream lover is the dream. You get it? Dreams are fake, illusory, made up.”

 

They finally reached the bottom of the long staircase. Looking back, the ground floor of the mid-level was impossibly far away. The sunlight sliced through the stairwell, distant as a dream.

 

Damp, cold air blew in on both sides. Not far away, a neon sign flickered, with the words for “Tavern” glowing on it.

 

Sang Jue brushed past the sign, following Shiwei down the stairs to the right.

 

They made their way around for a full twenty minutes, most of it descending endless staircases. The buildings packed and jumbled together; wires overhead spread out like a spider web. Sunlight never reached down here.

 

This was truly the lower district.

 

Dim neon was the only scenery. The filthy, cramped streets and alleys stank with the scent of trash and castoffs. Odd-looking deviants loathed the endless dimness down here, but treated it as their den, watching any outsider with deep hostility. Occasionally, a glance even carried a nameless hate.

 

Shiwei said quietly, “Don’t look around too much, don’t size them up—even if you’re only curious, they’ll think you’re mocking them.”

 

Sang Jue took her advice to heart.

 

He’d just been taken home by Huo Yanji for fighting last night; he didn’t want a repeat.

 

He whispered, “If it’s so dangerous, why do we come down here?”

 

“If even supervisors treat them differently, then they really have been abandoned—” Shiwei’s tone turned serious for a second. “That’s what Old He says. And anyway, our main purpose isn’t just sorting out relics. We’re here to prevent safety hazards, disinfect and decontaminate in a timely manner, and routinely monitor the state of this area so a major outbreak doesn’t happen.”

 

The first place they had to go today was also in a dark little alley, but fortunately was up on the second floor—no need to climb too much.

 

The owner here was named Bobby, who’d died suddenly three days earlier.

 

Compared to Yu Ren’s home, this place was not nearly as tidy—small and dirty, the walls covered with stains, the bedsheets covered in spotted gray to white marks any adult could recognize—

 

Except Sang Jue, newly come of age.

 

But he had a good nose—even through the face shield he could tell those patches were human semen. Unable to afford tissues, Bobby had wiped everything on his sheets.

 

Shiwei, used to this by now, put on gloves—just as Old He had yesterday—and pressed the recorder on her wrist: “Collapse Calendar Year 325, December 20, 10:22 a.m. Supervisor Shiwei serving as relic organizer in the lower district…”

 

Sang Jue examined his surroundings.

 

When the deceased were tidy and clean, they were relic organizers; when they were filthy and messy, they were basically garbage collectors.

 

Still, there weren’t many things to sort, so it didn’t take too long.

 

Dirty clothes and shoes were thrown straight in the recycling bin downstairs; clean up the oily, greasy drawers, and that was it.

 

Shiwei opened the drawers layer by layer. “Boxing gloves… did underground fighting?”

 

Sang Jue checked another side and found a book about boxing, a vial of pills used for excitement in matches, and a packet—never opened—of tissues buried in dust.

 

There was a lock on the bottom drawer, but Sang Jue simply pulled out the middle drawer, then reached in to the locked part below.

 

Shiwei glanced over, “Find something?”

 

Sang Jue came up with a silver necklace.

 

He handed it to Shiwei, whose face suddenly turned grim and whose hand trembled violently.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“This is…” Shiwei bit her lip tight, closing her eyes, “…my ex-partner’s necklace. I gave it to him.”

 

Sang Jue’s nose was always sensitive. “You liked him.”

 

Shiwei took the necklace, seeming to lose all her strength, and sat right down on a creaky stool, muttering, “How did the necklace end up here…”

 

Sang Jue was still confused. “If you liked him, why do you have other dream lovers?”

 

Shiwei’s voice went a tone huskier. She squeezed the necklace, palm turning deep red; her eyes glistened but she still smiled. “Those are dream lovers, they’re fake. He was my man—the real thing.”

 

Sang Jue pursed his lips. “Is he dead?”

 

Shiwei took a long breath. “Died a little over ten days ago. Jumped off the Supervision Building late at night—they called it suicide, but I don’t believe it.”

 

Just days before, she’d heard him say, “Let’s go register for marriage.” How could he suddenly kill himself?

 

The body was quickly processed, and Shiwei couldn’t even see him one last time. She rushed to the crematorium, grabbing the worker by the collar and asking about the necklace on the body, but the other party insisted there was no necklace.

 

It wasn’t unusual for crematorium workers to pocket jewelry from corpses, but this necklace was just ordinary silver—not valuable.

 

She concluded that the killer must have taken the necklace, but surveillance hadn’t captured any suspicious individuals. The surveillance covering the only route to the rooftop only showed her partner alone.

 

Nearly half a month had passed, and she kept telling herself that death was perfectly normal in this world, nothing strange about it—she needed to be calm, think positively…

 

But all her pretenses collapsed the moment she saw her partner’s necklace.

 

Sang Jue said: “My condolences.”

 

Though meaningless, humans always said this formal phrase to relatives after someone died.

 

Shiwei put the necklace around her neck, suppressing her emotions: “You should go back. You can handle one cardboard box, and the 34-2 tram goes directly to the relic management warehouse—you remember the way back, right?”

 

“I remember.” Sang Jue asked, “Where are you going?”

 

Shiwei left quickly and urgently, slamming the door and heading down the stairs: “My partner’s necklace appeared here. Bobby and his death must be related. I’m going to check out the underground boxing ring.”

 

A low-level deviant who obviously made his living from underground fighting had no reason to go to great lengths to infiltrate the Supervision Bureau and kill an ordinary supervisor.

 

Shiwei’s emotions were suppressed to the extreme, memories of their time together flashing through her mind like scenes from a movie.

 

Sang Jue followed behind her: “Do you know where the underground boxing ring is?”

 

Shiwei took a deep breath: “I don’t know the exact location, but it should be nearby.”

 

The underground boxing ring was a special place.

 

People today lived under great survival pressure, with few activities to enrich their barren spiritual world. Boxing became a means of venting suppressed emotions, and the safe zone’s higher-ups had always turned a blind eye, making boxing the only violent entertainment left in the city.

 

Sang Jue said: “I know where it is.”

 

Shiwei was stunned: “How do you know?”

 

Sang Jue didn’t answer.

 

He had heard it on the way here—when turning at a certain alley, he had inadvertently heard some noisy cheering and the sound of fists hitting flesh.

 

This was very similar to the atmosphere of the arena in the city ruins’ sewers where he’d been taken on his first day after landing. This should be the underground boxing ring.

 

He led Shiwei to that alley: “The entrance should be nearby.”

 

Actually, he had already identified the source of the sound—the entrance was right under their feet. There was a row of stairs leading down beside them, and behind the stairs should be hollow space, very likely with another internal staircase going down.

 

But he couldn’t be too obvious, or it would arouse suspicion.

 

Before, he never concealed anything, which made Ji Ji constantly suspicious of him.

 

But Shiwei was clever and found the entrance soon enough. She opened the cellar door that had been blocked by debris and turned back to advise: “It’s dangerous down there. You should go back.”

 

Sang Jue said seriously: “Without me, you’re in more danger.”

 

“…”

 

The underground passage was dark, but the noise was becoming increasingly obvious.

 

Sang Jue rubbed his ears and asked: “How do we find clues? We don’t know anyone.”

 

Shiwei’s voice sounded relatively calm: “The supervision center shows Bobby died accidentally three days ago—my partner supposedly committed suicide over ten days ago. Bobby, who had my partner’s necklace, didn’t last a week before dying. Don’t you think that’s too much of a coincidence?”

 

“I want to confirm whether Bobby died in the ring.”

 

Quite a few people died in the ring from boxing. Since this cause of death wasn’t presentable, it was often reported as ‘sudden death.’

 

In the darkness, Sang Jue’s sharp nose detected a scent from the side.

 

With a “sizzle,” before Shiwei could react, there was a bang as Sang Jue threw the burly man to the ground, then grabbed the electric baton and struck the man’s neck.

 

The man convulsed briefly, then went still.

 

Shiwei was surprised by Sang Jue’s reaction speed and sighed in relief: “He should be security for the boxing ring, there to tip them off in case supervisors suddenly come looking for performance credits. But usually they just turn a blind eye.”

 

The two walked forward. There wasn’t just one ring—the underground passage spread in four directions. After hesitating, they chose the leftmost path.

 

Gradually, deafening cheers echoed in their ears, colorful neon lights flickered and danced in the darkness, the view opened up, and densely packed heads came into view.

 

There were guards at the tunnel entrance. The moment they spotted them, Sang Jue electrocuted one in the kidney with the baton.

 

The guard fell stiffly to the ground. Everyone was attracted to the fighters in the ring, so no one noticed.

 

The electric baton was really useful.

 

He could keep it to deal with Ji Ji—when it was time to return to his home planet.

 

The ring was hexagonal, surrounded by wire mesh. Two fighters were currently engaged in heated combat, their muscular thighs wrapped around each other’s heads, elbows frantically pummeling skulls—cruel and violent.

 

One fighter was gradually losing strength, his leg grip loosening slightly.

 

“Get up!!”

 

“Useless! Fight back!!”

 

“Damn it, don’t make me lose this match again! I bet my entire fortune on this!”

 

“Bastard!”

 

Sang Jue mixed into the crowd and asked quietly: “When you strangle someone’s head with your legs, won’t you hit their balls?”

 

Shiwei laughed despite herself, her suppressed mood lightening somewhat: “Some people do get hard while fighting. If the opponent is straight, they’ll feel insulted and fight back more fiercely. If they’re gay, well… the boxing match gradually changes flavor.”

 

But the two on stage were clearly straight men. As their stamina depleted, victory became clear.

 

Sang Jue said: “Scarface is going to win.”

 

—That’s what the surrounding audience called him.

 

Shiwei listened to the surrounding chatter, her eyes flickering: “Scarface seems to be a regular ring fighter. When he comes down, we’ll corner him and just ask how Bobby died.”

 

The host raised the winner’s arm: “The victor of this match—Scarface!!”

 

Applause, cheers, whistles, and angry curses all blended together, creating a buzzing din.

 

Scarface spat out blood from the corner of his mouth, wearing the triumphant smile of a winner as he stepped down from the stage, pumping his fists: “Victory!”

 

“Victory!!!”

 

“Stop fucking celebrating and run! The supervisors are here!!!!”

 

A completely out-of-place roar exploded in everyone’s ears. Everyone was stunned, and before they could react, the surrounding colored lights suddenly went out, plunging the entire arena into darkness.

 

They immediately scattered like headless flies, hugging their heads and running frantically in chaos. Curses and screams from being trampled continued endlessly.

 

Sang Jue blinked… had he and Shiwei been exposed?

 

Something seemed off.

 

Until he caught a familiar scent.

 

Damn.

 

Sang Jue tried to bolt, but was silently handcuffed and had his chin grabbed.

 

The dim colored lights came back on.

 

Not a single fighter or spectator had escaped—they were all surrounded by supervisors.

 

“Everyone present is under arrest for violating Article 57 of the Supervision Code—the crime of organized gambling boxing—and will be sent to supervision court shortly.”

 

Huo Yanji, who had personally handcuffed Sang Jue, spoke in a flat tone. Though he was addressing the others, his eyes never left Sang Jue: “You retain the right to appeal.”

 

Sang Jue whispered defensively: “We weren’t gambling or participating in boxing…”

 

Huo Yanji said flatly: “I know.”

 

That’s why he hadn’t arrested Shiwei beside him.

 

Shiwei gave a dry laugh: “Sir, we only came here because we discovered something suspicious.”

 

She cursed their bad luck internally. Huo Yanji couldn’t have come specifically to catch his little lover and take him home, could he? But they’d only been here for ten minutes—wasn’t Huo Yanji’s response time a bit too fast?

 

Sang Jue blinked: “Then why did you handcuff me?”

 

Huo Yanji asked back: “Why did you try to run?”

 

Sang Jue: “…”

 

He thought to himself: Because I accidentally wrecked your house today, damaged your sofa, and instinctively wanted to run.

 

Huo Yanji curved his lips slightly: “You broke the law.”

 

Sang Jue looked puzzled: “What law?”

 

“—My personal law.” Huo Yanji tightened the handcuffs to their smallest setting, speaking deliberately: “Didn’t I say not to run around and not to go to dangerous places?”

 

Sang Jue: “Yes…”

 

Huo Yanji continued: “When I left this morning, didn’t I also say the band-aid was punishment and not to remove it?”

 

Sang Jue: “Yes…”

 

Huo Yanji asked: “Where’s the band-aid?”

 

“…”

 

Sang Jue touched his forehead.

 

He’d been too happy when he transformed into an evil dragon to eat the gemstone and forgot about it—who knows where it ended up.

 

Huo Yanji asked flatly: “So, did you break the law?”

 

Sang Jue: “Seems like… I did?”

 

Something felt off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

 

**

 

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