The next day, Yun Chuji followed the tour guide to the vicinity of a chemical factory as planned. Unlike the previous factory located in the seventh ring, this one was in C-District’s tenth ring. While not exactly the bottom rung of the Empire, it was still a significant departure from what Yun Chuji had seen before.
For one, there were far fewer hovercars in the sky, and the maglev train didn’t extend this far. People mostly relied on ground and underground transportation for commuting and travel. The massive billboards ubiquitous in the Empire’s inner rings had shrunk here, replaced by decorative light signs hanging from the exterior walls of buildings, creating a cluttered impression.
Compared to the towns of her previous life, this was still a scene from a celestial palace. But compared to the inner ring, Yun Chuji suddenly understood how the violence against Winona could have happened.
It was because there were too many people loitering on the streets.
Most were alphas, a few were betas, and there was a scattering of omegas.
They didn’t look like they were on their way to work; they were simply wandering, aimless. This was clear from their lazy and latently irritable expressions. Many of them rode motorcycles, pushing them to top speed as they roared past with hollow cheers.
As Yun Chuji walked down the street, her demeanor was completely out of place. Her posture was too proper, her pace too unhurried, drawing the attention of some passersby. They glanced at her with curiosity before moving on, bored.
The tour guide explained at her side, “This is how the outer ring is. There are few jobs here, so a lot of people live on government subsidies.”
“However, the government is experimenting with a de-intelligentized society in the outermost ring. Maybe they’ll find a solution.”
“A de-intelligentized society?”
The guide scratched his head in confusion. “You don’t know? It’s been going on for almost seventy years. It’s even in the textbooks. But who knows if the Empire has forgotten about it; they still haven’t announced the results of the study.”
Yun Chuji decided she would look up information on this later. For now, she could only feign forgetfulness. “I forgot. Could you explain it to me?”
“It’s not a very important topic. I only paid special attention because I was born in the eighth ring.” The guide wasn’t suspicious and began to explain the background of the de-intelligentized society. “The Empire’s population is too large. Most production jobs are now handled by AI, and the same goes for most service jobs. Although the Empire is intentionally trying to preserve human jobs, the only fields where humans are truly competitive, or can at least hold their own against AI, are the creative and managerial sectors. Those jobs are all concentrated in the inner ring. People in the outer ring, unless they open their own shops, mostly have a hard time finding work.”
“Take me, for example. My company has an AI tour guide program. Human guides are only kept around to satisfy national policy.”
Hearing this, Yun Chuji finally understood why the guide had been so friendly to her the entire time.
She mused, “So, is the Empire promoting a de-intelligentized society to avoid repeating the Federation’s mistakes?”
“Probably, but it doesn’t seem to be very effective. In the outermost ring, aside from daily necessities being provided for free by the Empire, basically the entire tertiary industry is handled by humans themselves. But I’ve heard it’s extremely chaotic out there. Wasn’t there that recent scandal about human trafficking? Only people from the outermost ring would do something like that for money. Anyone in the twelfth ring just stays home or takes the free buses to go have fun all over the place. Who has the energy for that kind of thing?”
A scandal?
Yun Chuji’s expression faltered. To use a word like “scandal” to describe a disaster that could change a person’s entire life was far too dismissive. But looking at the guide’s still-enthusiastic and friendly face, Yun Chuji couldn’t bring herself to lecture him. She just gently corrected him, “That’s not just a scandal. It’s a tragedy.”
It took the guide a moment to realize what Yun Chuji was talking about. He was slightly surprised. As expected of the founder of A-Virtue, he thought. I thought she was just putting on an act to trick young omegas. He smiled and said, “Yes, yes, of course. I was just afraid of upsetting you. Right now on the StarNet, alphas are being cursed out by omegas as the ‘toxin of the Empire.’”
The factory was just ahead, so they didn’t delve deeper into the topic. After touring the chemical plant, Yun Chuji had essentially seen all of C-District’s reasonably intact industrial ruins. After settling the fee with the guide, Yun Chuji didn’t go home. Instead, she continued to walk the streets of the tenth ring.
She went into a few shops and found that ninety percent of them were self-service, staffed by a few employees who were mostly decorative. Whether it was renting a vehicle or getting a haircut, one only needed to place an order on the StarNet and use their light brain to receive the corresponding service at the storefront. It was certainly convenient, and also very cheap. Yun Chuji checked the Empire’s unemployment benefits; they were enough to allow a person to carry out daily economic activities without any burden.
The only expense that could be considered a burden was an omega’s inhibitors.
This was why the number of omegas on the street was far lower than that of alphas and betas. On one hand, it was a matter of safety. On the other, omegas were more desperate for work, and the few employers with openings would be inclined to hire omega employees for that reason.
However, looking at the people loitering on the streets, Yun Chuji felt a faint sense of unease.
She felt as if these people were being raised like livestock by the Empire.
To be sure, not having to worry about the necessities of life was a great blessing, but the Empire didn’t seem to have told its citizens what they should do once those needs were met.
The people of the Empire still had the fixed need to find a partner to get through their heats and ruts. What about the people of the Federation? Weren’t they even more empty?
No wonder the Federation’s birth rate had dropped to a level that would make a mad scientist anxious.
A lack of shared life experiences led to a lack of common topics for conversation. So far, based on the original owner’s memories, Yun Chuji had found that young people’s conversations were always based on games and a series of entertainment products. This had once led to a rapid boom in the celebrity-chasing industry, but after virtual stars became mainstream and all merchandise and fan meetings were held via the StarNet, the trend had died down.
Was this a good thing?
Yun Chuji was a little lost. It was certainly better than her era, where the common people were starving and cold, and better than the industrial age, where the lower classes were exploited for their labor.
But was it entirely good?
It seemed people hadn’t found true happiness either, and they were still committing ancient crimes for their own selfish desires.
Yun Chuji knew what she would write for her project report, but when it came to this new era, she found she was still completely bewildered.
At that moment, in C-District’s inner ring, Tang Jianxi stepped off her private ship.
She had arrived a day earlier than the time she had mentioned to Yun Chuji the night before.
She wanted to give Yun Chuji a surprise.
Opening her light brain, she saw Yun Chuji’s location. She had set up location sharing back on Cang Star to ensure Yun Chuji’s safety. A quick glance showed that Yun Chuji was wandering around the tenth ring.
She was probably still doing fieldwork for her project. Yun Chuji had told her about it, and Tang Jianxi hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should disturb her.
But she missed her terribly. She hadn’t felt it so acutely when they were together, but being apart, especially after spending the last few days dealing with people from the business world, made her miss her all the more.
She even began to regret giving in to temptation and kissing her, which had made her run away.
Tang Jianxi got into a hovercar, deciding to go take a look first. If Yun Chuji was very busy, she would just watch from a distance. If she wasn’t so busy, then she would properly soothe her longing.
When she found her, she realized Yun Chuji was far from busy. In fact, she was sitting on a bench by the side of the street, staring into space. Her hand propped up her chin as she gazed aimlessly at a circle of light in the middle of the street.
Very cute. Like the virtual kitten recently released by K Corp.
Tang Jianxi got out of the car and slowly walked over to her.
She had intended to startle her, but the daydreaming alpha suddenly turned toward her with sharp alertness, then broke into a smile of relief.
It was like a lost kitten finding its owner.
Tang Jianxi, however, felt a little angry—an anger born from a pang of pain. Is this a characteristic of ancient people? she thought. So prone to brooding, secretly getting depressed the moment I’m not watching. I’ve already caught her like this several times.
She was about to scold Yun Chuji, to tell her to speak her mind in the future instead of bottling things up and overthinking, but Yun Chuji suddenly stood up from the bench, walked over in a few steps, and pulled her into her arms.
She buried her head deep in the crook of Tang Jianxi’s neck, her slender body pressed tightly against hers.
“I missed you so much.”
The words reached her ears, but they weren’t her own.
Tang Jianxi felt as if she had fallen into a soft trap. She wrapped her arms gently around Yun Chuji’s waist. The hug seemed to have instantly extinguished her anger, and her mood became incredibly soft. “Why didn’t you say so when we called a couple of days ago? I could have come sooner.”
Yun Chuji’s voice was muffled. “I was afraid of bothering you.”
Ah, really, this is killing me.
Tang Jianxi sighed internally. Aloud, she said, “You’re not shy now?”
“Not shy anymore.”
As she spoke, Yun Chuji lifted her head slightly and secretly planted a kiss on Tang Jianxi’s cheek.
She was still holding back, afraid of being seen by passersby, even trying to shield the act with her hand in a futile attempt to be discreet.
Tang Jianxi’s eyelashes fluttered rapidly. A blush spread across her cheeks, her beautiful lips pursed slightly, and the grip of her hands tightened.
“Are you still my little antique?”
Has someone else taken over again? The thought sent a chill through Tang Jianxi’s heart.
Hearing this, Yun Chuji bit Tang Jianxi’s shoulder through her clothes in frustration, her voice aggrieved. “I didn’t say a word when you took liberties with me before, but I kiss you once and you say I’ve been replaced.”
Tang Jianxi was immediately relieved. It was the same familiar feeling.
She reassuringly kissed Yun Chuji’s jaw by way of apology.
Then, she eagerly asked the most important question. “So, have you decided you want to be in a relationship with me?”
Yun Chuji was silent for a long time. Tang Jianxi thought she was going to retreat again, but then she heard her say, awkwardly and plaintively, “We have to get married.”
A smile bloomed on Tang Jianxi’s face. “Married it is.”
Yun Chuji buried her head back in its original spot, almost greedily breathing in Tang Jianxi’s scent.
When she had been sitting there just now, she felt that the people of the Empire were lonely, too. Everyone was lonely. The people passing by, though walking together with their shadows overlapping, didn’t speak or look at each other, as if an insurmountable expanse of space and time separated each of them.
And just then, she had smelled a familiar scent.
The person she had been longing for had come to her side.
In that moment, Yun Chuji thought, I won’t be lonely.
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