If one is already considered a hero by ordinary people, what kind of magnificent figure would the hero in their own eyes be?
After Ke Yiyi reported her itinerary to Lan Xifang, Lan Xifang remained silent. Even upon hearing that Ke Yiyi had publicly rebuked Man Huai Zhi, her expression remained utterly composed, as if she hadn’t heard a single word. Yet, the gravity in her gaze betrayed that she had absorbed every detail.
There were no warnings, no criticisms, and certainly no admonishments.
This left Ke Yiyi feeling quite unsettled, uncertain of Lan Xifang’s thoughts.
Ke Yiyi had initially believed that any verbal conflict with other observers would be detrimental to Vega. However, the current turn of events defied her expectations—though, upon reflection, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given she hadn’t even reported the incident to Lan Xifang immediately the previous day.
‘Perhaps my mind has simply grown accustomed to Lan Xifang’s unwavering acceptance of everything,’ she mused. ‘This won’t do. If I continue like this, I’ll become entirely reckless…’
After bidding farewell to Lan Xifang, Ke Yiyi decided against confining herself to the hotel as she had before; she desired to explore the surroundings.
As today was not designated for troop withdrawal, but rather an ‘intermission period,’ she was free to move about Sixty-One Workers City. However, to circumvent any unnecessary complications, she opted to find a companion, just as she would when overseeing troop withdrawals, ensuring they traveled together.
Unsure of whom to invite, as not everyone shared her penchant for wandering, she initially considered Li Yuyi. However, recalling his sleepless night, she abandoned the thought.
Ultimately, Liana, discerning Ke Yiyi’s unspoken desire, proactively invited her to join her for a walk.
They chose not to drive, instead setting out on foot immediately after leaving the hotel.
“You’re troubled?”
Liana inquired, glancing sideways at Ke Yiyi, who simply shook her head in response.
“No.”
“You are not adept at concealing your thoughts.”
Liana folded her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow at Ke Yiyi.
“Not suitable for being a police officer.”
“I adhere to objective facts; there is no need for me to dissemble.”
“Then why deny your distress?”
“…”
Ke Yiyi found herself momentarily speechless, resorting to silence.
“The police force serves as a violent apparatus for maintaining political power. Its foremost imperative is ‘to obey the directives issued by the ruling class,’ its second is ‘to safeguard the interests held by the ruling class,’ and its third is ‘to uphold the order established by the ruling class.’ Indeed, it would not be an exaggeration to label them as the ruling class’s enforcers. You, however, fall short on all three counts. Still, it can’t be helped; at this point, Vega is fortunate simply to recruit officers, and you, in particular, possess a remarkable capacity for surprise.”
As Ke Yiyi listened to Liana’s words, she recognized their truth, yet found their bluntness excessively jarring, imbued with what felt like a deep-seated prejudice against the police force.
Ke Yiyi was aware of Liana’s unfavorable view of the police, largely attributing it to Liana’s background in military intelligence. Her personal file, which Ke Yiyi had previously reviewed, contained details about Liana Winchester—such as her origins in a ‘Snooker Tabletop Game Training Class’—yet significant portions were redacted. Notably, these redactions weren’t confined to a single period; instead, specific nouns were blacked out throughout her entire life history.
This implied Liana was frequently involved in activities unsuitable for public disclosure. Ke Yiyi, however, had no interest in delving into Vega’s secrets or individual privacy, and thus paid these details no mind.
Liana observed the Xuanji Star soldiers who periodically appeared on the streets, patrolling in meticulously formed small teams. Ever since the Fifth Column’s near-assassination, Xuanji Star had significantly heightened its alert level. Previously, in Worldly Affairs City, streets like this merely featured fixed checkpoints staffed by a few individuals, much like traffic police. Now, however, the number of officers on duty had increased, and additional patrol teams had been deployed to prevent any recurrence of such incidents—a change that suggested Xuanji Star might have redeployed all troops withdrawn from Worldly Affairs City to Sixty-One Workers City.
“I heard about yesterday’s incident as well. You did nothing wrong. Such scoundrels from Xuanji Star’s Sun Column deserve precisely that treatment. If you don’t confront them vocally, they will only grow more insolent and overbearing. You handled it perfectly.”
“Hmm?”
Ke Yiyi was somewhat taken aback; she had fully expected Liana to voice an objection, given the military’s typical disdain for the police force. Yet, to her surprise, Liana had affirmed her actions.
‘I mustn’t become complacent because of this,’ she mused. ‘Next time I overstep, I won’t be so fortunate.’
“What is the Sun Column?”
“It’s Xuanji Star’s far-right organization, advocating ‘Black Sunism’—a doctrine even more radical than the current Xuanji Star right-wing ideology.”
Ke Yiyi struggled to comprehend. Xuanji Star’s rampant slaughter was already chilling to the bone; could there possibly exist an even more extreme faction within its ranks?
“You don’t understand?”
Observing Ke Yiyi’s bewildered expression, Liana realized her words had conveyed nothing. It was, of course, entirely normal for police officers to lack such understanding, as their jurisdiction was strictly confined to Vega’s internal affairs. Expecting them to grasp the nuances of the Great Yan National Unity Party and the Jing Party was one thing; to anticipate their comprehension of Xuanji Star’s internal factions would render intelligence agencies obsolete.
“Yes.”
Liana watched the retreating figures of the patrolling Xuanji Star soldiers, then gestured towards the path ahead, beginning to explain to Ke Yiyi as they continued their walk.
“While Xuanji Star might appear unified, its internal structure is, in truth, no different from any other academy—rife with factions. Wherever people gather, politics inevitably emerge, and wherever politics exist, struggles for power and profit are sure to follow.”
“Black Sunism is a radical offshoot of Great Yan nationalism, a prime example of ‘igniting a fire that cannot be controlled.'”
Observing Ke Yiyi’s continued bewilderment, Liana let out an involuntary sigh. The police force, it seemed, was truly beyond salvation; constantly at odds with the military, they remained almost entirely ignorant of their own latent dangers. Liana had initially harbored no illusions about the supposed ‘collaborative efforts of the three major councils’ behind the formation of The Robin Club. Now, however, it seemed prudent to entertain a modicum of hope, lest Xuanji Star’s next southward advance result in something far more devastating than a mere rout.
“How much do you know about Xuanji Star?”
“They are our adversaries, advocating Blaze Clan supremacy and responsible for the slaughter of other ethnic groups.”
“Those are merely superficialities. Xuanji Star’s Great Yan nationalism isn’t an end in itself; it is, in essence, a ‘means to an end’—a strategy to seize influence and rally support from pan-Blaze Clan nationalists. However, some individuals have erroneously elevated these ‘means’ into ‘goals pursued for their own sake.'”
Liana reached out to wipe clean a roadside marker, and after discerning the inscribed text, she resumed their journey.
“Political rhetoric is invariably grandiloquent. To achieve their ends, they readily declare black to be white, or a deer to be a horse, speaking one way while acting entirely differently. No one is exempt from this.”
She fixed her gaze on Ke Yiyi, noting that she still seemed to struggle with comprehension. The police force’s political obtuseness, Liana mused, was hardly a recent development; they were much like the politically ailing figures of Polaris. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that their political sensibilities were so dull, for if they were acutely aware, it would be the three major councils grappling with headaches.
“Including Vega?”
Ke Yiyi’s abrupt question made Liana falter, her gaze instinctively darting to her companion. She scrutinized Ke Yiyi’s earnest expression, curious as to the underlying motivation behind such a query.
“Including Vega.”
“I… don’t understand…”
Liana observed Ke Yiyi’s gaze flit away almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand; rather, she understood all too well.
“Consider, for instance, the issue of the ‘Changming Nü.'”
“Regarding these victims of Xuanji Star’s sexual atrocities, Vega interviewed them and produced numerous documentaries, yet failed to provide them with any tangible assistance.”
“As victims of Xuanji Star’s sexual violence, these women returned to their hometowns not to find solace or sympathy, but rather to face abuse, ostracism, and maltreatment—identical to the atrocities committed by Xuanji Star’s thugs. Not only did their communities treat them this way, but even their own relatives participated in their suffering. Many consequently took their own lives, and their ‘fatherless descendants’ endured the same deplorable treatment. Where, then, was the Vega government during all of this? Why did it not champion justice for these severely bullied women? Why did it fail to report their tragic circumstances upon their return to Vega? Why were these individuals actively downplayed and concealed in daily life, only to be remembered and brought to light when filming documentaries to expose Xuanji Star’s misdeeds?”
“Even the term ‘Changming Nü’ used by Vega was coined by Xuanji Star. What a deeply ironic appellation. ‘Long-lived’? How many of these women survived the war? How many are still alive today? Their miserable fates could more accurately be described as ‘ill-fated.’ This term serves as a whitewashing and concealment of Xuanji Star’s atrocities. They should be called ‘s*x slaves,’ for only such a brutal, visceral term can force all Vega citizens to confront the suffering and history they endured.”
Ke Yiyi remained silent, her face exceptionally grim.
These were not things she was unaware of… it was just that… they were too tragic… so much so that even when confronted with them in life, she never delved deeper… or perhaps, she feared delving deeper…
Any related literature, upon seeing the term ‘Changming Nü’ on the cover, would make her instinctively pull her hand away, afraid to look inside…
Liana merely recounted what she knew with calm detachment, bearing no animosity towards Ke Yiyi. Ke Yiyi, for her part, had never imagined her own weakness would be exposed so starkly in this moment.
Because she resided within Vega, she had always been somewhat lenient towards Vega’s actions. Liana was right; despite their many differences, Vega and Xuanji Star were, in some respects, alike. They indeed said one thing and did another. She felt quite ashamed.
However, Liana’s dissatisfaction seemed to stem solely from certain actions of Vega, without any other underlying motive—such as wanting to be an enemy of Vega.
Her words also implied that, in her view, some actions of Vega and Xuanji Star were indistinguishable; both involved concealment and evasion—Xuanji Star concealed the issue of massacres, while Vega evaded the ‘Changming Nü’ issue.
Suddenly… the pressure mounted.
Though, perhaps the pressure had never truly receded.
“Liana… what is Vega like in your heart? Is it… like Xuanji Star?”
Ke Yiyi felt the latter part of the question was poorly phrased, but the words had already escaped, impossible to retract.
“Vega is not the developed, prosperous, stable, peaceful, disaster-free utopia that people speak of. Instead, it is a scarred, devastated land, brimming with blood and tears.”
“I do not care for the Vega that exists in propaganda. I only care for this Vega, standing in the Eastern Hemisphere—heavy and real, yet still worth defending and fighting for.”