“Beautiful things are always accompanied by harm, just as new worlds are always built upon ruins.”
People commonly referred to it as ‘The Great Shell,’ a moniker it earned from its distinctive appearance.
The architectural style of Vega Star was, in some respects, truly unparalleled, and the Shell City Police Department’s building stood as a prime example. Viewed from afar, it strikingly resembled a clam shell, half-buried in the earth. The upper curve of the shell served as a colossal sunshade, while its exposed lower half formed an arc-shaped wall. Between these two, like a pearl cradled within a clam, rested the main police station building. Though this particular ‘pearl’ was neither perfectly spherical nor delicately small, the structure as a whole retained a captivating beauty.
This design had been crowdsourced from the populace many years prior, yet the onset of war had prevented its realization according to the original plans. Following the conclusion of the World War, when the Shell City Police Department building underwent reconstruction, this very design was revisited and adopted anew. The original designer ought to have been invited to partake in its realization, but fatefully, they had perished on the battlefields of the World War, never to witness their vision brought to fruition.
Such poignant regrets were numerous, and this was merely one among the most commonplace – an irrecoverable sorrow, impossible to fully reconcile.
After parking her car in the underground garage, Ke Yiyi submitted the recovered boxes to the storage department in accordance with regulations, then headed to the cafeteria for her meal – fully half of the Shell City Police Department’s thousand-plus personnel dined there.
Ke Yiyi’s lunch was simple: a small portion of beef curry rice and a single sausage. She wasn’t particular about food, usually just following the cafeteria’s daily rotating menu.
Due to Vega Star’s complex ethnic composition, which included descendants of refugees who fled during the dynastic changes of the Eastern Continent, descendants of colonists from trade ports in the late feudal era, local indigenous descendants, and people who gathered there for various other reasons, everyone’s cultural habits and dietary preferences differed greatly. Although long periods of historical integration and the adoption of national dissolution policies had minimized these differences, the distinct culinary characteristics of each ethnic group were still preserved. However, the serving demographic was no longer limited to a single ethnicity – after all, the goal was to dissolve ethnic divisions among humans, not human civilizations.
For instance, Eastern Continental dishes were once only eaten and prepared by Eastern Continental people. Now, people of any ethnicity would eat and prepare them – here, one could savor cuisines from all over the world, provided they practiced moderation.
When the concept of ethnicity ceased to exist, all people would be equal, free from self-proclaimed nobility and superiority, and devoid of conflict, alienation, and vendettas. On this arduous path, Morning Star had paid a heavy price, and now Vega Star was merely following in its footsteps.
“La la la! Section Chief Ke, how about a couple of dumplings?”
Bianca approached, carrying two small plates, and quickly sat opposite Ke Yiyi. Each plate held four dumplings.
“You’ve taken more food than you can eat again.”
“The cafeteria plates are just that small; each one only holds four. If I want six, I have to take two plates! It’s fine, the extra two dumplings are for you, as usual.”
Bianca grumbled as she ate, handling her chopsticks with practiced ease, just as Ke Yiyi deftly used her knife and fork.
“Sometimes I think it’s too much trouble. Large plates would be so much better.”
“Then people would pile too much food and waste it.”
Ke Yiyi was accustomed to the cafeteria’s small plates and rather supported the policy – after all, wasting food was certainly wrong. Her own meal, the beef curry rice and sausage, was also served on a small plate.
Many of Vega Star’s rules were not its own traditions but borrowed from Morning Star on the other side of the continent. To those unfamiliar with these rules, they seemed very strange, but for those living by them, they had long become common sense.
Bianca shrugged helplessly, then gestured towards the west.
“You’re the center of attention today.”
Puzzled, Ke Yiyi looked in the direction Bianca indicated, seeing four people at a table talking and occasionally glancing their way.
Ke Yiyi knew all four of them. The woman intently sipping soup with a spoon, eyes narrowed, was Section Chief Ding Xiang of the Archives Department, a legendary figure with an astonishing appetite who could work seven days and six nights straight without sleep after a full meal…
The woman engrossed in eating noodles was Section Chief Pu Kui of the Special Operations Department, a taciturn and decisive individual. Beside her, observing Ke Yiyi, was Section Chief Bo He of the Intelligence Department; Ke Yiyi’s knowledge of her was limited to just that.
Finally, the short girl in the black jacket, who glanced at her most frequently, was Section Chief Aiye of her own Investigation Department. She was someone so driven that she once got lost and ended up swimming with heavy gear to Southern Dipper Star – fortunately, this navigational mishap didn’t escalate into a diplomatic incident, and Southern Dipper Star even helped search for her for several days.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why am I the center of attention?” Ke Yiyi asked, bewildered.
“Why, it’s obvious! The tireless Light of Shell City is about to get promoted!”
Bianca chuckled, as if she saw right through everything.
“Promoted? Me?”
Ke Yiyi was surprised. She hadn’t received any notification about a promotion assessment. How could she be promoted?
“What else? The Shell City Four-Leaf Clover is all looking this way, and there’s only you and me here. If it’s not you getting promoted, then is it me?”
Bianca was well aware of her own standing. She had been a mischievous troublemaker in police academy; there was no way her name would appear on a promotion list. If it appeared on any list, it would probably be a resignation list.
“It might not be about a promotion. It could be something else.”
“You figured that out! Not bad!”
Bianca gave a thumbs-up while eating her dumplings.
“It’s not about a promotion?”
“Of course not. Although Section Chief Aiye keeps looking over here, as if introducing you to others, promotion matters are always handled by the Human Resources Department, not introduced to people from Archives or anything. I was just saying it to test if you were hoping for a promotion.”
“I haven’t hoped for a promotion. I’m not sure if I can handle more responsibility.”
“What an un-ambitious answer!”
“Is it un-ambitious? We didn’t join the police force to seek positions in the first place.”
“Yes, very un-ambitious. Fortunately, you’re on Vega Star. If you were on Xuanji Star, your personality would cause you a lot of trouble.”
Bianca chuckled, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“If you had been a step slower in escaping back then, you’d most likely be a Xuanji Star person now… and we would have become enemies.”
‘Enemies?’ she wondered.
“Not necessarily. Maybe if I was slow in escaping, I would have been killed directly on the way.”
“Uh… isn’t being alive better?”
Bianca stuck out her tongue, sidestepping the topic – she knew full well that the ‘big brother’ Ke Yiyi spoke of had most likely met such an end.
****
In the afternoon, Ke Yiyi received a notification – Section Chief Aiye wanted to see her.
Such a notification was typically a simple, verbal matter, not even requiring an intermediary. Section Chief Aiye’s large office was separated from Ke Yiyi’s by only a single wall, so Section Chief Aiye simply poked her head through the doorway and called her name, which served as the ‘notification’.
Ke Yiyi put down her work and followed Section Chief Aiye down the corridor to its end, where a chat room, or rather, a reception room, was located. Normally, anyone could use it.
The Investigation Department’s working environment was always like this; there were no private offices. Even Section Chief Aiye shared a large office with others. Therefore, to speak with someone privately, they had to use this transparent chat room – surveillance cameras were pointed directly at her and Section Chief Aiye.
As for why there were surveillance cameras here… it was simply an old tradition borrowed from Morning Star…
“Ah… ah… ah, Section Chief Ke Yiyi, there’s something I need to give you.”
This was an old habit of Section Chief Aiye’s; she would utter “ah, ah, ah” when she didn’t quite know how to phrase something but was eager to speak.
“To put it simply… you’re free!”
Facing Section Chief Aiye’s exultation, a look of confusion spread across Ke Yiyi’s face – Section Chief Aiye’s way of expressing herself was as peculiar as ever.
“What? Not happy? You can leave the police force now. Report to the designated location within ten days. Look! Here’s the transfer order. You can report on the tenth day, so you get nine days to play!”
Ke Yiyi still didn’t understand the full implications, but she grasped the most crucial part – she was no longer a member of the police force.
She took the transfer order, which stated the reporting address.
‘Somehow, a sudden wave of melancholy washed over her – as if something had departed, yet she couldn’t quite name what it was.’
Upon questioning Section Chief Aiye, she vaguely understood that she had been chosen from among millions of police officers under the Vega Star Police Department to work in a new, entirely unknown department. As for why she was chosen, Section Chief Aiye explained that each city’s police force had to recommend personnel, and she had simply seen Ke Yiyi passing by the office door and filled in her name on a whim… never expecting it would actually be selected after multiple rounds of screening.
‘Truly… an answer perfectly in line with her character, as always,’ she thought with a wry smile.
When Ke Yiyi left the chat room, she suddenly felt a pang of reluctance for everything around her. The interval from entering to leaving was less than fifteen minutes, yet to her, it felt like an eternity.
‘Leaving her familiar environment for an unfamiliar place – it felt like fleeing for her life all over again, moving from one place to another… This was far from the first time, and she knew, it wouldn’t be the last.’