The Creatures that We Are

Midsummer, the cicadas sang an aggressive chorus, and the sun was blinding to the eyes.

In the living room, the square black and white TV was playing Jerry and Tom, accompanied by the clacking sounds of the rotating standing fan. Warm currents hit Orange’s face intermittently. Her sweat dried before she sweated more, her skin getting sticky.

She was five. Dressed in an airy tank top and a pair of shorts, she lay on a rattan chair, barefooted and knees bent. In her mouth was a small wooden popsicle stick. Five minutes ago, it had been a mung bean popsicle.

Holding a black and white handheld console with both hands, she played Tetris with full concentration.

Blocks after blocks quickly filled the screen, about to reach the top. She spat out the popsicle stick in her mouth and called out, “Dad! Dad, come here! I’m dying! Save me…”

Every time she did that, her dad would immediately come out of the study room and take the console from her to turn the tide. Then he would ruffle her hair proudly and say, “Your dad’s great, isn’t he?”

But this time, there was no response.

Orange couldn’t wait. She paused the game and hopped off the rattan chair, running into the study room barefooted.

The room wasn’t big. The small bookshelf was lined with professional books on architectural designs. Before the window was a tall, sturdy working table. Blueprints neatly covered the surface, along with all kinds of rulers and drawing instruments. Her dad had been designing a library recently, and the blueprint was half-finished.

Her dad wasn’t in the room. Strange. She swore he had been here a moment ago. Why was he suddenly gone?

She felt panic rising in her chest. She cried out urgently, “Dad! Where are you, Dad?”

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the door.

She turned around to see her dad standing there, dressed in a white shirt, black pants, and sandals, covered in injuries and blood. The webs of cracks on his glasses obscured his eyes.

“Dad!” She was shocked and scared. “You…you’re bleeding…”

“Orange.” The man had a blank look on his face, and his tone was chilling. “Dad’s going.”

“Where to?”

“Dad’s going.” The man repeated once more and turned around.

“No! Don’t go! Don’t leave me, Dad…”

She dropped the handheld console and rushed to the man to grab his hand.

…

“Don’t go!”

Can woke up with a shout, grasping something without realizing it.

She panted. Her blurry vision slowly came into focus. It was morning. Gao Yang knelt beside her bed in the bright bedroom. His hand was in her tight grip.

“Ah!”

Can quickly let go, feeling awkward. “Cap-captain, why are you here?”

“I was going to wake you up, but you started shouting all of a sudden and grabbed me.” Gao Yang felt a little awkward too, so he made a joke. “Nice. You’re alerted.”

“Ha, haha.” Can ruffled her hair, sitting up on her bed. She kept her head low since her face was puffy when she just woke up, her eyes never meeting Gao Yang’s. “Captain, is there a mission?”

“Yeah, I need a favor.” Gao Yang hesitated. “But…”

“It’s okay,” Can cut in. “Leave it to me, Captain. I’ll finish the mission.”

“I believe you.” Gao Yang nodded with a smile. “You won’t fail.”

…

Autumn Hill Community, Dongyu District, three o’clock in the afternoon.

The Autumn Hill was also known as the Li City New Cemetery. The community was divided from the wide short hill by a road and a creek, and dense orderly lines of tombs covered the hill area.

The residents of other communities got to look at the prosperous Li City every day they parted the curtains after waking up, or they would be treated to the beautiful view of the river. Those living in the Autumn Hill Community, however, were greeted with the view of a cemetery first thing every morning. Hardly anyone would find that appealing, and thus the price of real estate in the community rarely saw an increase.

The property owners regretted their purchases one after another, but the properties simply didn’t sell. They could only lease their places out.

Over time, the Autumn Hill Community became a community for cheap rentals, and those with lower incomes flocked to the place.

That was why the black car worth a million drew a lot of attention when it stopped at the gates of the community.

The car door opened, and a man walked out. He was wearing a black suit, black dress hat, black gloves, black sunglasses, and white mask, covering himself so thoroughly that it gave him a mysterious air.

Zong He then followed, looking like a model at 1.9 meters. He wore a warm-colored sweater, casual khaki pants, white skate shoes, and a baseball cap. With his shoulders tilted to one side, he had a hand in his pocket while he held a bag of gifts in his other hand.

The last to get out of the car was a man in a blue suit.

He was in his thirties, about 1.7 meters tall. He was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, ugly nor handsome. While he was mediocre in every aspect, though, he gave off a harmonious impression.

He wore dark brown glasses, and somehow, he seemed friendly and dependable. He was also carrying a packed gift.

He was Lying Wood, a member of Team Goldthread. His Talent was Negotiation Expert, serial number 174, Knowledge-type.

There were three of them, and they didn’t have the impression of wanderers to disguise themselves. They thus didn’t dare to stand around, but quickly entered a building of the community, taking an elevator.

As the elevator ascended slowly, Goldthread asked, “Have you all brought greeting gifts?”

Zhong He leaned against the elevator wall with a shoulder pressed to it, appreciating his handsome face in the mirror. Stroking his chin with one hand, he said casually, “A pack of cigarettes and a bottle of wine. One can never go wrong with those.”

“I bought a book.” Lying Wood’s voice didn’t have any noteworthy features, either, but it eased the mind. “He should like it since he’s a writer.”

“Ha, do you really believe that?” Zhong He responded flippantly. “He’s an unemployed man in his thirties. Of course he’d call himself a writer.”

“Zhong He.” Goldthread was exasperated. “We’re here to recruit him, not to antagonize him. When we meet him, leave all the talking to Lying Wood.”

Zhong He smirked and gave him an OK sign.

Ding. They reached the 18th floor. Walking out of the elevator, they found 1801.

Goldthread pressed the doorbell, but it was broken. He then tried knocking, but there was no response.

He patiently tried a few more times.

Finally, the door opened. A middle-aged man stood on the other side, wearing a blue T-shirt that had become discolored from repeated washing and a pair of pants. His beer belly was in stark contrast with his long, slim limbs.

His hair was oily and messy like a chicken nest, and his face was dark, sickly, and covered in acne scars. While his eyes were deepset, his bloodshot eyeballs popped out so much it looked like they were going to explode.

“Is this Mr. Gregor?” Goldthread asked politely.

The man answered impatiently, “And which organization do you belong to?”

“I’m Goldthread, sixth team leader of the Hundred Rivers Union.”

“Haven’t your people come already?” Gregor got even more irritated. “You keep visiting. Aren’t you tired of it yet?”

“Hello, Mr. Gregor.” Lying Wood smiled. “I heard that you’re a well-known author. Fictional writing was a hobby of mine too, but I gave up since I didn’t have a talent for it.”

Gregor’s mood improved a little.

“I’ll hazard a guess that the name Gregor is based on the protagonist of Kakaka’s Transfiguration[1].” Lying Wood handed out the gift as he spoke. “This is the latest edition of Kakaka: A Biography. Please accept it as a show of our goodwill.”

Gregor still had an unwelcoming look on his face, but he accepted Lying Wood’s gift. “Let’s talk inside. No need to change out of your shoes.”

1. A reference to Kafka’s Metamorphosis ☜

Houseau3's Thoughts

Every time we get someone's backstory, I get nervous.

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