Doomsday Wonderland

Ye De slowly and carefully sipped the now-cold coffee.

He waited until the tiny trickle of cool liquid slid deep into his stomach, and only after several seconds did a faint, misty energy seep into his body. It was subtle, like a wisp of cloud, but it indeed cleared his mind a little.

His heart finally settled. He'd guessed correctly; this method of drinking the coffee worked.

When Lin Sanjiu introduced the [Energizing Bulletproof Coffee], he had an idea: if drinking the coffee granted a corresponding amount of energy, and that energy came with an equal cost, why drink it all at once?

Drinking it all in one go would boost his energy dramatically, but the effect would be limited, and once it wore off, he'd be out cold, as useless as a corpse.

Medications came in extended-release forms, didn't they? If he drank small sips, getting just a bit of energy each time and dealing with the side effects gradually, the coffee could sustain him for a long while, allowing him to do much more.

1

At first, Ye De wasn't sure how much to drink or how often. After lying in the vessel, his mind heavy with exhaustion, it took him ages to activate his backup communication hub. Only after Lin Sanjiu entered Chimeric City alone did he finally connect with the flow of information and contact her. By then, he had figured out how much coffee to drink and when.

The theory was sound, but the execution had its inconveniences. If he waited too long between sips, he'd slip back into memories from thirty years ago. He'd find himself once again at the orphanage in Lane 97, bathed in the warm glow of childhood sunlight.

1

"You can just call me Ye Jing," he remembered Ye Jing shivering and saying, "I'm almost thirty. 'Big sister' sounds a bit cringey."

She was always like that; her thoughts changed quickly, and so did her decisions. One time, just when it was time for dinner, she took all eight kids from the orphanage on a trip to the outskirts.

The outing was to an empty lot where posthumans often trained their abilities. Normally, if adults lingered there, they'd get thrown off the hill. But a lazy woman with a bunch of ordinary kids apparently didn't seem threatening to the posthumans. No one drove them away all evening.

At first, the kids were scared and curious, craning their necks to watch. For most of them, it was the first time seeing such speed, power, and magic from posthumans. They gasped and giggled, too loud for Ye Jing's liking, and got scolded for it.

As they grew used to it, they pretended to fight like posthumans, copying their moves. They invented entire evolved abilities for themselves and argued over whose ability was stronger. Despite their hunger, Ah De had a great time that evening.

Later, he learned the orphanage had run out of food that day.

The orphanage was a charity project run by Chimeric City's management. If someone remembered them, they'd receive rare supplies: milk, vegetables, flour, and books. But when the orphanage was forgotten—and it often was—Ye Jing had to wrack her brain to feed eight mouths. When she couldn't, she'd find ways to distract them from their hunger.

Outings, classes, and errands always had an undertone of half-fed fatigue. But when Ye De thought back, he couldn't recall the discomfort of hunger.

1

"I'm telling you, changing diapers is a required skill for every posthuman," Ye Jing once said, handing him a wailing baby with a serious expression. "If you want to be a respected adult, learn to change a baby's diaper."

Even six-year-old Ah De knew she was joking. If diaper-changing determined respect, Ye Jing would be the least respected person ever.

She wasn't great at a lot of things: sewing clothes, washing laundry, cooking, or putting kids to bed. The older kids quickly took over some chores. Doing an extra diaper change didn't seem like much to Ah De.

No one in the orphanage complained about chores. Not because they were noble, but because being with Ye Jing was so fun. They learned new things, heard stories, played games, and watched her fight. She claimed most men lost to her. Ah De remembered a girl named Lan Tian, who was several years older, saying, "It's like we're taking care of Ye Jing."

But while they were changing diapers, sometimes the babies just disappeared.

"I'm done with this job."

One afternoon, after a baby went missing, Ah De saw Ye Jing arguing with a man on Lane 97. She was like a living flame, unafraid even if the man was a posthuman. "Find someone else to do this job," she snapped. "I'd rather haul water! Wasn't this supposed to be temporary? I didn't sign up for childcare; I signed up for patrol! I don't even know how to care for babies. How am I supposed to do this with nothing?"

"It's just one dead baby," the posthuman said, dismissing her anger. "The kid was sickly anyway. No one's blaming you. Next time, we'll give you more supplies. You're doing fine; the other kids are all okay."

Looking back, Ah De realized Ye Jing probably didn't like the orphanage job.

1

When adults talked about patrol duty—moving through Cloudwalk Heights, adventuring, working with posthumans—Ye Jing's face lit up like the kids' faces did when she told stories.

Adults always thought children knew nothing, but in reality, children were constantly searching, observing, and memorizing every detail of words, expressions, and actions, always trying to solve the great mystery of the adult world.

"If I were dipped into the smog, I'd definitely evolve," Ye Jing once said while drinking with the neighbors. She probably thought the children at the orphanage were asleep. "I'm not bragging. I know I have Potential Growth Value."

"How do you know that?" a neighbor asked.

"A posthuman checked for me," Ye Jing replied. "I helped her with something, and she returned the favor by checking. She even said that if I evolved, I might develop a Higher Consciousness. Not all posthumans get that."

There was a restrained pride in her voice, but it was met with playful teasing from the neighbors. "Amazing, our Ye Jing! Why don't you go evolve then? Just head down the mountain."

"If I evolve, I'll be teleported away," Ye Jing muttered. "Wandering the world... that's no good either."

If she became a posthuman, she'd surely be happier than she was now. But she never mentioned to the orphanage children that she had the potential to become one.

Ah De didn't know if Ye Jing ever tried to change jobs again. When he left the orphanage at fourteen, the bunk beds were cracked, the milk cabinet by the door was gone, and Chimeric City's management organization had changed twice. Yet Ye Jing was still there, welcoming new crying babies and sending off the older kids who could work for themselves.

In hindsight, if she had really wanted to be reassigned, it would have been so easy: she only needed to ignore the children in the orphanage.

No one would harshly punish a strong, healthy young woman over the fate of children who might not even survive to adulthood.

In the years after Ye De left the orphanage, Ye Jing never made it into the patrol squad, nor did she evolve. Her sharp tongue remained the same. Miraculously, despite her attitude, she convinced two successive management organizations to keep funding the orphanage, but just two.

"You need to pick a real name," she told him when he came back to visit. "You can't go around being called 'Ah De' forever. One listen, and people will know you're from an orphanage. They'll look down on you."

Ye De didn't have the heart to tell her he was already using the name Ye De outside.

1

"Why are you still running the orphanage?" Ye De scolded her instead. "Didn't the new Noble Accord refuse to give funding? No one's forcing you to keep looking after kids. You can finally do what you want."

Ye Jing was around forty-seven then. Most posthumans born in the Twelve Worlds Centrum, having evolved early, looked as youthful as someone in their twenties. But she looked worn down, soaked through with years of labor and fatigue.

"My strength isn't what it used to be," Ye Jing said with a brief, bewildered look, then smiled. "Besides looking after kids, there's nothing else I know how to do."

Ye De looked around the orphanage.

Thankfully, Lane 97 wasn't on the mountain's edge. Otherwise, a single gust of wind could've turned it to dust. There were no supplies, no inspections, and everything—food, clothes, shelter, education—was left to Ye Jing to figure out. Yet more and more children arrived because everyone in Chimeric City knew about the orphanage. They knew there was a place that would take in the crying, abandoned children who blocked their paths and begged for food.

He hadn't thought much of it as a child. But as an adult, Ye De realized raising a group of children was far more than just sewing clothes, cooking, and doing laundry.

He left with a decision made.

For four or five months, he fought to secure a job, so he didn't visit her. When he finally got the job, he saved supplies for her. Not enough to return just yet.

By the time he returned to the crumbling, precarious orphanage on Lane 97, more than a year had passed.

Ye Jing sat quietly in a broken chair, her long legs stretched into the sunlight. Her worn-out pants were illuminated down to every thread and stain. He knew that back then, she enjoyed the sunlight. Now, if she didn't warm her joints, they would ache all night. A group of children shrieked and ran around, the noise so piercing that Ye De's head felt like it would explode. He couldn't imagine how Ye Jing endured it.

Ye De crouched by her legs. Her eyes were still bright and strong, though not as sharp. She still seemed lazy, but now it was because she tired easily.

She was the closest thing he had to a mother, even if she'd been reluctantly shoved into that role for twenty years.

"Ye Jing," he said softly, pulling a bottle from his backpack. The liquid inside sloshed. "Do you still want to evolve? I finally gathered enough smog water."

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