The Other Side of the Mountain

The two quickened their pace and left, making it down the mountain before nightfall and reporting back to the border defense station. Along the way, Liu Qiang was as inquisitive as ever, asking questions left and right. "Brother Lu, are there still living people on the other side of the mountain?" "After the Cataclysm, the countries south of Nanhai were mostly wiped out, but that doesn't mean humanity went extinct. Where do you think narcotics come from? You think the Federation would let people grow them privately on a massive scale?" Over the years, Lu Zhao had dealt with numerous smugglers, whether in firefights or interrogations. Just last year, he had frequently spotted armed militants across the mountains. In practice, they had secured a foothold in Miye Sanjiang and gathered remnants of the southern Nanhai nations, but the Federation refused to recognize them as legitimate states. First, they had no organized military forces; second, their forms of governance were an absurd throwback, having even restored slavery; and third, their lands served as sanctuaries for terrorist organizations like Greenwood. According to rough aerial estimates, a conservative count put two hundred million people in Miye Sanjiang, five million north of North Mountain, a hundred million in the Luzon Archipelago, and ten million around Central Asia. They existed as scattered city-states, religions, factions, and even tribes, clinging to the wreckage of the old era and scraping by as they awaited destruction in the next cataclysm. Certain scholars had proposed that the beast tides and cataclysms were the result of a single living entity being excessively developed, its power swelling beyond control. Just as every dynasty's eventual collapse gave birth to a supreme powerhouse, modern times called them Ancient Gods. "...Essentially, all the factions ringing the Federation are private reserves for terror groups." Once Lu Zhao finished explaining, Liu Qiang asked again, "Why doesn't the military wipe them out?" "You can't kill them all, and you can't purge them clean. Besides, plenty of ordinary people live there who just want to survive." Lu Zhao paused before answering, "At the same time, nobody wants to see a second Cangwu City. The outsiders taken in back then are still causing endless problems today." It was a tangled mess; even now, the two hundred million outsiders in Cangwu City lacked household registration. Just then, an urgent transmission came through their police walkie-talkie. [Sector 3 of Ant Ridge reports two colleagues out of contact. Proceed immediately to investigate and provide backup.] The police pickup swung around and turned onto another road. Lu Zhao checked the navigation on his phone. "Less than five kilometers away. Right in the neighboring sector." "First time in two years someone's gone missing," Liu Qiang said. "Could it be a large demon beast?" "Most likely not. Otherwise, they would have called for help. If it is a demon beast, it's probably a specialized one with abilities. Neither scenario is easy to handle." As Lu Zhao spoke, he dialed Zhang Like's number and explained the situation. "Old Zhang, bring me a sniper rifle. An assault rifle won't be enough to hold the line." "Just don't go running off with the gun afterward," the voice on the other end replied. Fifteen minutes later, Lu Zhao and Liu Qiang arrived at the foot of a mountain. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and a misty drizzle fell over the peaks like dirty, lead-soaked cotton batting, smothering the primeval border forest. It was bitterly cold, like a warning. "Stay in the truck. Don't turn off the engine." Lu Zhao stepped out with his rifle, spreading his psychic power into the surroundings. Soon, he locked onto a target not far ahead—a pickup truck bearing border defense insignia, parked at the end of a forest trail. The driver's door hung open. Even before reaching it, Lu Zhao smelled the scent of blood. Within a fifty-meter radius of his psychic perception, there were no medium or large living organisms. "Command, vehicle located," Lu Zhao reported further, raising his rifle as he approached at a slow, measured pace. Inside the cabin sat two corpses, heads slumped forward. Their throats had been slashed open by a sharp weapon, and blood seeped down from the cab. "Badges 8955 and 8933. Confirmed deceased," Lu Zhao reported into the walkie-talkie, his voice heavy. He then circled the vehicle. The wheels were entirely sunken into the ground, and the surrounding dirt was compacted in an unnatural manner. Not far from the pickup lay a pool of blood, likely the primary crime scene. Approaching to inspect it, Lu Zhao noticed two severely deformed bullet heads. They bore none of the typical shattering caused by impact; instead, they looked as if they had been instantly melted by high heat and then rapidly cooled. Evidently, it was the work of a divine power. After observing the area, Lu Zhao was careful not to disturb the scene and slowly withdrew. Another twenty minutes passed, and armed border defense officers arrived in steady succession. A police helicopter circled overhead. Zhang Like led the contingent. When he saw his two dead colleagues inside the truck, a shadow crossed his brow. A death was never a small matter, much less the murder of two police officers. *** "What do you have?" he asked, turning toward Lu Zhao, who was checking over the sniper rifle beside him. A 7.62mm high-precision sniper rifle—the Federation's current mainstream police sniper rifle—allowed Lu Zhao to maximize his capabilities. Lu Zhao kept it brief. "Three sets of footprints. I can confirm two superhumans—one earth-affinity, one metal-affinity." Feeling the pressure, Zhang Like couldn't resist lighting a cigarette. Puffing smoke, he said, "Likely Greenwood. Only those lunatics would dare be this brazen. Two of our own are dead; if we don't bring them in, this won't blow over." "This morning, I saw an overloaded vehicle. Plate number 7105..." Lu Zhao's sudden comment drew a puzzled look from Zhang Like, so he explained, "Five Elements divine powers often affect the physical body. For instance, fire-affinity superhumans generally run a body temperature of forty degrees Celsius, while a metal-affinity's blood is heavy as liquid lead." He had merely caught a passing glance at the oncoming vehicle, yet seven or eight hours later, the image remained crystal clear in his mind. The model, the license plate, the tires... That was one of the perks of a psychic divine power: a photographic memory. "You're sure they're the culprits based just on that?" Zhang Like asked. Lu Zhao continued recalling, "The vast majority of freight on the Ant Ridge national highway is long-haul. Vans are only suited for short distances and rarely appear out here. "And through the windows, I could see three people inside. They weren't hauling any cargo." Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. But with two officers dead, that vehicle became deeply suspicious. Listening to Lu Zhao's analysis, Zhang Like remarked in admiration, "With observation skills like that, you should have gone into narcotics instead of staying in border defense." Lu Zhao smiled. "What I've been doing these past four years isn't any different from narcotics work." "Fair point." Zhang Like's phone rang. Lu Zhao stood to the side, watching as Zhang Like answered one call after another—from Lü Jinshan, then up to the prefecture level, and on to the circuit level. Numerous superiors who were normally out of sight called to ask about the situation. In this era, death was commonplace and violent crime occurred daily; at the estuary of Cangwu City, at least ten bodies were dumped into the river every day. Even so, Federation authorities refused to let such violence become normalized, especially when crimes were open provocations against the state; those were met with swift, ruthless crackdowns. Of course, that applied only to those with household registration. Those without fell under the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Foreign Vassal Affairs, which frequently closed cases haphazardly in the name of efficiency. When unregistered people died, they were treated no differently from stray dogs by the roadside. Having lived in Cangwu City for six years, Lu Zhao understood the administration's policy of segregation. In the end, it was simply a matter of numbers: the Nanhai East Circuit now held three hundred million people, and only two-fifths were ethnic Hua. As time passed, their numbers would only grow. In response, the Federation—retaining traces of a classical empire—relied on ancient methods of governance, withholding household registration from non-Hua populations. Without registration, one was naturally not counted as a person. Their cheap labor was needed, but the state had no intention of shouldering the cost of their governance. In common parlance, they were expendables. Humanity had to yield to the pressure of survival, and truth lay solely in the hands of the superhuman.