Some Paths Are Doomed from the Start

Dilapidated high-rises stood amidst the desolate wilderness like battered, bloodied giants. Dense black smoke wheezed from walls riddled with holes, mirroring the shattered spirits of the citizens of the Bugra Free State. Nobody paid any mind to the occasional blast or two. After all, over the past year, the residents of this settlement had heard far too many sounds like that. This was Bugra. Rather than another Ideal City on the wasteland, it was more like a colossal prison. Though it sounded like dark humor, it still sounded somewhat cooler than calling it a zoo. Trailing pale-blue plasma plumes, four Viper light transport craft roared over the southern district of Bugra City. Sitting on the edge of the cabin, I'm the Darkest looked down at the ruined skyscrapers below and clicked his tongue involuntarily. "What a tragedy." Sitting across from him, Kakarot shrugged, having little sympathy for the people here. "Trouble they brought on themselves." The entire settlement was like a gargantuan vacuum cleaner, siphoning in trash from across the wasteland, churning it all together once full, and spitting it back out. Ninety-nine percent of marauders fenced their loot here, directly or indirectly, while also purchasing weapons from the city. Ideal City had at least exported some semblance of order to the wasteland, even if that order was not always benign. Bugra, on the other hand, exported only chaos—and was itself one of chaos's prime roots. The lowest corporate dogs lived in twenty-square-meter studio apartments, saddled with loans they could not pay off in a century, using super-AI refrigerators that required a thirty-second iris scan just to open. On the surface, they appeared not to exploit anyone, yet the twenty-square-meter units, the predatory loans, and the refrigerators were all designed with their own hands—and those contraptions obviously harmed far more than just themselves. After all, millions of unemployed souls lived in coffin cubicles under four square meters, contributing dirt-cheap, almost negligible lifespans and labor. Like decomposers in an ecosystem, they broke down the massive system's surplus production while serving as lubricant between the city of sin and the wasteland. The gangs outside Boulder City had actually originated here. What was more, the Flint Group's most lucrative businesses were weapons and addictive substances of every stripe, which ravaged far beyond the residents of the Bugra Free State. In this system of complicit crime, finding a truly innocent victim was difficult, and anyone who had come to their senses had long since departed. One shouldn't wait until the cage slammed shut before crying out. Where had they been before? At least, that was how he saw it. Rather than helping this band of scoundrels turn over a new leaf, he would much rather attend his good brother's wedding in Triumph City. The second weekend of every January was the Wilante Natal Day, and they had set the wedding for the third day after it. If he couldn't make it, he would just have to make that fellow hold another ceremony in Dawn City. "Let bygones be bygones. There's no point in rubbing salt in their wounds anyway. At least they've come to their senses." Patting Kakarot's shoulder, Commander Spring tapped the side of his helmet with his index finger, switching the comm channel to the entire squad, and shouted to the newbies aboard the other three transports. "Alright, rookies, we're almost there. Remember your mission: clear the path for the Refugee Home NPCs and relief supplies, establish a safe zone at the designated coordinates, minimize civilian casualties, and hold fire unless gang members—" Before Brother Spring could finish, a dense volley of gunfire echoed from a nearby high-rise. Bullets hissed through the sky, not even grazing the exhaust flames of the four Vipers. Those militants were neither Flint Group employees nor the City Hall-controlled Hound Special Forces, but marauders who had slipped into the city amidst the chaos. Calling it slipping in wasn't quite accurate either; many marauders in this area were themselves mercenaries or gang members from the Free State, with some notorious mercenary companies even going public on the stock exchange. A few thugs with cybernetic tattoos flipped the bird at the soaring transports. One mohawk-sporting degenerate even pinned his rifle between his legs, hooting and making a pissing motion. That was likely how cyber-psychos staked their claim, perhaps indicating that the building now belonged to them. Brother Spring hadn't expected them to be so disrespectful. His brow twitched violently. Dropping a "Don't waste ammo," he switched comms to rear command. "...Encountered a small situation here. Requesting a drone." "Copy that." In under a minute, a black speck plummeted from the sky. The moment it flew over the southern district of the Free State, its four folding rotors deployed to brake, humming as it darted toward the building that had fired on the Storm Squad. The gangsters on the roof had sensed no danger at all; seeing that the Alliance aircraft ignored them, they curled their lips and returned to their stronghold on the top floor. The drone did not strike immediately. Instead, it circled the top floor, tagging the attackers' identities while confirming no civilians were present, before crashing through a window. With the loud shatter of glass, a five-kilogram fragmentation warhead detonated instantly, spraying thousands of steel ball bearings in scorching flash and thick smoke! The gangsters smoking on the sofa had no time to react. Amidst terrified stares, they, along with the sofa and walls behind them, were riddled into honeycomb briquettes by the storm of shrapnel. A targeted floor sweep. Only a thin wisp of smoke drifted from the shattered window. "Done." The Intelligence-type player sitting in the cabin opened his eyes and gave a thumbs-up gesture toward Brother Spring. The latter nodded and continued briefing the eager newbies in the squad on server rules. Though called newbies, these guys were actually over level twenty, lacking not in combat experience, but only in large-scale team battles. Then again, the game's barrier to entry was getting higher and higher. These days, without eight thousand hours of playtime, one was almost embarrassed to call themselves a veteran... *** Weaving through the dense concrete-and-steel jungle, the four Vipers soon reached their destination. The mission objective was situated in the ecological park in the southwestern district of the Free State. This domed landmark had once been the private backyard of Flint Group executives and magnates, with the nearby detached villas commanding astronomical prices easily tallied in trillions. All of that was in the past now. The entire area was currently controlled by the Hound Special Forces and police authorities loyal to Mayor Audo, functioning as a safe zone to shelter nearby civilians, and had been entrusted to the Alliance's Refugee Home for management. This was part of the cooperation between the local authorities and the Alliance. Although the local war was over, the restoration of order remained a long way off. The dense steel jungle concealed not only remnants of the Flint Group, but also marauder outfits looting amidst the chaos and gangs scheming to replace the Flint Group. Only after securing the safe zone could the local garrison free up their hands to clean up the mess. Truth be told, the Free State now resembled a whale beached upon the sand... and one countless times larger than Boulder City had been. If a whale explosion were to occur, the catastrophic devastation would dwarf the collapse of Boulder City's inner city. Fortunately, the Alliance had matured; its experience and capability far outstripped what it once had. What was more, Boulder City had emerged from its own shadow, growing stronger than ever before. Those already living in the New Era would not leave these survivors struggling in northern River Valley Province to fend for themselves. The officer sent to meet them was Lieutenant Colonel Edam, commander of the Hound Special Forces' 4th Regiment. Striding toward the helipad, he wore a cumbersome exoskeleton, looking just like one of the Jungle Corps' iron baboons. Commander Spring had looked over his file and discovered the fellow was actually an old acquaintance of the Alliance, having fought alongside several Alliance corps on Ten Peaks Mountain. Even the adjutant behind Edam, named Tang Feng, appeared to be a volunteer from Ideal City, another veteran from Ten Peaks Mountain. Beyond that, Spring was surprised to spot several Wilante interspersed among the volunteer ranks. "Thank you. You're finally here," Edam said gratefully, patting Spring's arm. Spring smiled faintly and bumped his fist against Edam's shoulder armor. "No need to be polite. Leave this place to us—go help your brothers." Edam nodded solemnly, placed his fist over his chest in a military salute, and without another word, strode off toward the entrance of the safe zone. After all, that was his duty. One he had to carry out himself. Spring watched him depart, then turned his gaze toward the nearby safe zone. After reporting the local situation to command, he prepared to help the Refugee Home NPCs hand over duties with the local security personnel. Bugra City was not an Alliance settlement after all, and its residents were not Alliance citizens. While Mayor Audo and his supporters were eager to latch onto the Alliance's coattails, the Alliance was not a place one could join or leave on a whim. Too many interests were entangled here to be settled with a slap on the forehead. In particular, the overwhelming majority of Alliance citizens did not hold a favorable view of Bugra's inhabitants. Nevertheless, though the Manager had not immediately approved Bugra City's application to join the Alliance, he had granted them the status of "Collaborator" and promised to hold referendums in both places when conditions were ripe. That could be in a year, or two; in any case, it wouldn't be too long. At that same moment, a dense crowd had gathered before a checkpoint not far from the helipad. They were Bugra residents, though not entirely... like Mr. House, who was jostling in the front row. When he saw the Alliance aircraft land on the pad, he rushed forward frantically like a drowning man clutching at a straw, only to be blocked by the Hound Special Forces soldiers. Looking at the arms and barricade blocking his way, House screeched in his raspy, drake-like voice as if possessed: "Get out of the way! You stray dogs, do you know who I am?! I'm from Boulder City! I'm an Alliance citizen too!" He desperately wanted to board a flight to Dawn City this very second. The two things he regretted most in his life were, first, failing to exchange his overnight-crashing Bugra dollars for silver coins before everyone else did, and second, failing to escape this rotting sewer before the war broke out. His claim caught the soldiers off guard, leaving them at a loss for a moment. There were indeed some Alliance citizens in the safe zone, and even quite a few among the volunteer ranks. Just as the soldiers were wavering, Commander Spring arrived with his squad. Catching sight of the familiar face in the crowd, I'm the Darkest beside him perked up, stepping forward with a cheeky grin. "Yo, Mr. House, long time no see! How are you still alive?" Hearing voices behind them, the on-duty soldiers turned and saluted immediately. Commander Spring nodded to them, signaling with his eyes to leave it to him, then stepped before the ashen-faced House and looked him in the eye. "Your ID number?" "..." House's lips quivered, unable to utter a sound, looking as miserable as if he were about to wet himself. How could he possibly have one? Though Boulder City had joined the Alliance, he had already fled to Garbage City back then, and moving to Bugra to resume his old trade had happened much later. Kakarot glanced at Catching Ghosts at Graves and quipped under his breath: "Actually, I don't think this guy is rotten to the core, just not very bright. At least he lived up to his word—he really isn't one of ours." Catching Ghosts at Graves curled his lips with a laugh. "Doesn't matter to me. I'm just here for the laughs." Seeing House struck dumb, Commander Spring shrugged. "Suit yourself. Impersonating an Alliance citizen isn't a crime, but you'd better not disrupt order here." With that, he looked at the crowd behind House, activated his loudspeaker, and announced: "Everyone, I don't care where you're from or where you plan to go after this. As long as you remain here, please abide by the rules of this camp. "Evacuation flights will arrive, but not these transports before you. What you need to do is register your names and tent numbers, wait patiently, and evacuate in an orderly sequence." Back when the war broke out, the Alliance had already evacuated the vast majority of its citizens operating in the area; even if there were a few exceptional cases, there couldn't possibly be this many at once. Without even asking, Commander Spring knew that most people gathered here were trying to fish in troubled waters. Wreck your own home, run away, and dump the mess on someone else—how could things ever be so easy? The Alliance could not absorb so many people all at once, nor could Ideal City. The people here had to stay put and take up the responsibilities they had once abandoned. Until the outside world was wealthy enough to shelter or sustain them without reservation, they could only save themselves. It was also their only chance at redemption. Hearing that these weren't evacuation flights, the refugees gathered before the checkpoint dispersed one after another. House tried to slip away with them, but a grinning I'm the Darkest clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "How about I point you in the right direction? Once this war is over, take a boat from Silver Moon Bay to Golden Gallon Port, follow the Everflowing River all the way west, and find a place called Tiandu... Maybe there's still room for your talents there. "While there's still a place for you in this world, seize the chance and get moving." With a chuckle, he patted House's shoulder and let the thoroughly spooked fellow scurry off. *** Meanwhile, elsewhere. At the entrance of a tent in the residential area, Weijia, owner of the Weijia Trading Firm, watched coldly as his disappointed fellow countrymen dispersed. Many among them had once been residents of Boulder City, having moved here after the collapse of its inner city. Though they seldom kept in touch ordinarily, faced with such a massive catastrophe, they had no choice but to huddle together, however begrudgingly. After all, had they not done so, they might not have lived to see this safe zone established, let alone made it here. Huddling together was one thing, but Weijia held nothing but contempt for these useless deadweights. Unlike those fools who were worthless once outside the inner city, he could muscle his way into local high society wherever he went—or upper-middle society at the very least. Before this war broke out, these wretches wouldn't even have had the chance to lay eyes on him. Had Sigma and the Flint Group executives not fallen from power, this priceless ecological park would have been where he walked his dog, while these nobodies wouldn't even have had the chance to beg here. Yet fortune was fickle; who could have imagined that the Flint Group would actually collapse? He had once stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Far Wind Hotel, quietly watching Boulder City rise and fall. Now, he was the one being looked down upon. Fortunately, he hadn't put all his eggs in one basket. He had deposited funds in banks across both the Alliance and Ideal City to serve as seed capital for his next venture. Hardships were only ever temporary. Once he made it through today, he would still have the chance to rise again. At worst, he would just keep his head down and play by the rules from now on. "My dear Lord Xide... your servant has failed you. I am truly sorry for not looking after your wife and son properly. If your spirit is watching from heaven, please do not blame me..." Weijia, who had been sneering just a moment earlier, suddenly put on an expression of pious grief. A pity, really. He had completely made Bonnie his property, body and soul, yet he had been forced to dispose of such a perfect work of art. There was no other way. She knew far too much that she shouldn't, and that pitch-black filth could easily become an obstacle to securing legitimate status. After all, the Alliance opposed slavery and condemned all atrocities against humanity. In severe cases, one might even be branded a marauder—even if what he had done to that lady wouldn't have been considered an offense at all in the old Bugra. Regardless, he detested risk, so in the end, he had given her a swift end. Though it had only been swift in its final outcome. Just as Weijia was contemplating his future plans and how to leverage his resources to seize opportunities in Bugra City's reconstruction, Lord Xide's younger son, Kermit, walked up to him. The young master who had once cowered behind his parents while acting arrogant seemed far more subdued now. Owing to the insurmountable debt of gratitude he claimed to owe Lord Xide, Weijia always addressed the boy as "my dear Young Master Kermit," yet never coddled him, readily turning on him without warning to dish out a loving slap across the face. During those days of living under someone else's roof, let alone clothes and daily necessities, even Kermit's meals were the leftovers of his former lackey Pilu—Weijia's son. It had gotten to the point where Pilu sometimes couldn't bear to watch, secretly slipping him money and comforting him behind his father's back. As part of indulging his own twisted desires, Weijia hadn't disposed of the boy as he had the mother. For one, he didn't believe the timid child posed any threat to him; for another, he had never let the boy learn of the wicked things he had done. He was playing a long game. He intended to raise the child into something just as warped as Lord Xide had been, thereby compensating for everything he himself had lacked in his childhood. Looking at Weijia's face, Kermit felt an instinctive dread, yet unlike in the past, he did not run away. Instead, he stared fixedly at the man's forehead. "Mr. Weijia." Hearing the voice, Weijia squeezed a warm, genial smile onto his impatient face and spoke with refined politeness. "What is it, my dear Young Master Kermit? Do you have instructions for me?" Normally, if Kermit dared to take him at his word and voice any request, no matter how humble, it would inevitably earn him a savage beating. This time, however, Kermit showed little fear, staring back with vacant eyes. "Where is my mother? You said you would take me to see her once we reached the safe zone." A flicker of annoyance crossed Weijia's face. He had brushed off this question long ago. Why was this brat still harping on it? With patrol guards nearby, he didn't strike or curse at him immediately, merely replying with a grin: "Ah... Lady Bonnie, you mean? I've already sent her to Ideal City. After all, as you can see, this settlement suddenly became dangerous—very, very dangerous." Ah... Poor Lord Xide. His son would never know what price his gentle mother had paid to protect him. Then again, who was to blame? Was this boy some saintly innocent? Whatever vile deeds that fool from the Malvin family had committed, Xide's younger son had matched them deed for deed, always finding someone else to take the blame. Even if Weijia had done something terrible, it could be considered acting as heaven's retribution. Looking at his smiling "Uncle" Weijia, Kermit parted his parched lips and whispered: "You're lying..." Weijia's smile froze for an instant before quickly smoothing over. "How could I lie to you? You are the son of my dearest friend. I treat you like my very own son—" Kermit said nothing, standing there with dead eyes as he dropped a holographic computer pen onto the ground. Weijia froze, frowning in confusion, until a pale-blue holographic frustum projected sickening visuals accompanied by unbearable sounds. A buzz rang in his ears. Staring at the lurid imagery and the face that should never have appeared here, Weijia felt as though his head were about to explode, rooted to the spot in shock. The surrounding refugees were equally stunned, baffled by this impromptu adult broadcast. Weijia was the first to snap back to reality. And the moment he did, cold sweat cascaded down his brow like a waterfall. Especially as pairs of astounded eyes turned his way, he felt as if he were standing naked in the middle of the street. "Are you crazy?! She... she's your mother!" Panicking, Weijia lunged forward, careless of the dirt staining his knees, using his flabby belly to smother the holographic pen and his twisted, perverted desires—just as he had pinned down Lord Xide's wife. Kermit watched that face contort in rage with neither fear nor despair, not even sadness. He simply reached calmly into his pocket, and under the astounded gaze of onlookers, pulled out a pistol. Bang—! A bloody hole opened in Weijia's forehead, and he collapsed into a pool of blood, his face frozen in disbelief. The whole world fell silent. He could never have imagined. After all his meticulous scheming, he had fallen just before the dawn—and met such a shoddy, ignominious death. No—! How could he possibly accept such an end?! He had clawed his way here through so much! Why?! His spasming hands instinctively clawed at the earth, leaving faint scratch marks in the dirt. He didn't want to die! Yet. It was no longer up to him... "Hey!!" "What are you doing! Drop the gun!" Seeing the boy who had just killed someone, soldiers shouted and rushed over at the sound of the gunshot. Had it not been for his age, they might have opened fire already. Yet Kermit paid no heed to the adults' roars. With an expression of utter weariness, he pressed the smoking muzzle against his thin chin. Too noisy... Utterly boring. Bang—! As the second shot rang out, he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with cut strings, looking as though he had finally found relief. Everyone froze in place, from the refugees in the camp to the soldiers who had hurried toward the gunfire. All that remained echoing across the scene were those vile, indecent sounds... The disturbance in the residential area caught the Alliance soldiers' attention, and Brother Spring and his team quickly rushed over from the helipad. It was confirmed that the deceased was Weijia himself, owner of the Weijia Trading Firm, while the killer was his adopted son, Kermit. The killer had taken his own life on the spot, showing no signs of life. Further background investigation revealed that the former had once served as a white glove for Lord Xide, an inner-city noble of Boulder City. He had managed to walk away unscathed when the inner city collapsed, bringing massive wealth to the Bugra Free State to continue running the Weijia Trading Firm while taking in Lord Xide's helpless widow and child. As for Kermit's motive, it had been preserved in its entirety at the crime scene. "Utterly twisted..." Back at the security office, I'm the Darkest inserted the holographic pen's chip into a terminal, glanced at it twice, and couldn't help muttering. None of the others spoke; only Brother Spring quietly hit pause. "Enough." There was nothing more to see. It was simply a recording of one deceased abusing another. The fellow named Weijia had a habit of recording his exploits. He had filmed the entire process of Bonnie's mental breakdown, only for her son, Kermit, to discover it somehow. Perhaps it was part of his perverse hobby, perhaps a careless slip, or perhaps the scheming of an enemy—after all, how Kermit had obtained a pistol inside the safe zone remained suspicious... but these trivial details no longer mattered. The settlement already had more dead locals than crematoriums could burn, while outsiders were still queuing up. Merely maintaining basic order in the safe zone was enough to exhaust the new administration's security personnel. With troubles piling high at such a critical juncture, no one had the spare energy to pursue justice for a beast. Better to let it end here. *** At the crime scene. The crowd lingered for a long time, chattering animatedly about the two dead. Especially the onlookers from other residential zones who had come to watch the commotion. Baffled by the tragedy, they questioned nearby refugees who had lived in Boulder City about the pair's identities and the feud behind it. Others were inquiring about "resources"—the recording. In a place so bereft of diversion, anything remotely entertaining became amusement. Not far off, a chubby, fair-skinned youth stood in the crowd, watching his father's corpse being lifted onto a stretcher after dying in the street. He let out a sigh, putting on a mournful expression, his fleshy lips murmuring: "Dad, don't you feel exhausted? We fled from Boulder City to the Free State, and who knows where we'd have to run next..." His hypocritical grief was carved from the very same mold as his father's. "I was pretty much tired of Kermit as a toy anyway. Couldn't find any new ways to play with him... In that regard, I still can't match you. You trained Auntie Bonnie so obediently that she did whatever she was told. "Still, don't you think it was a waste to kill someone so compliant? You were done with her anyway, so why couldn't you have left her to me?" Pilu suddenly sighed with a tinge of loneliness, shaking his head without much interest. "Oh well, you can't hear me anymore... At any rate, I'll take good care of your inheritance. I won't let your life's hard work go to waste. "Rest in peace now." Like a portly phantom, he clumsily turned and slipped into the crowd that looked nothing like him, vanishing completely as if he knew no one there... *** In the wilderness roughly fifty kilometers south of Bugra City lay the Refugee Home's largest local outpost. Though the overwhelming majority of refugees remained trapped in the urban core, a sizable number of survivors had fled. The Alliance would not prevent those refugees from leaving, wherever they chose to wander next. However, for survivors willing to stay and rebuild their homes, the Refugee Home provided food, fresh water, essential supplies, and medicine. In truth, once basic survival needs were met, most people preferred to remain. After all, for those whose perception was still anchored in Year 215 of the Wasteland Era, the outside world was still a man-eating wilderness. No matter how fierce Bugra's civil war had been, plenty of high-rises still stood. Though ruins were not rare on the wasteland, survivors born in this settlement had never seen what lay beyond. Many had never left their own streets in their entire lives, let alone the world outside the city. People who roved about everywhere like the players were, after all, a vanishing minority on the wasteland. In the center of the camp, Chu Guang met with Mayor Audo of Bugra once again. Unlike their previous meeting in the Great Rift Valley, the man had changed significantly, transforming from a cautious, steady bureaucrat into a leader in the truest sense. The fellow was quite capable. After exchanging pleasantries, the two fell into conversation as they looked out over the camp. "...There are still so many people in this world who have to fight with all their might just to stay alive." "Yes." Hearing that unflinching answer, Audo couldn't help thinking of those who had perished in the war, and ventured a rather pointed question: "Even so, can this truly be called a 'New Era'?" He had no intention of blaming the Alliance, the Enterprise, or the Academy. After all, helping them was a courtesy, not an obligation; neither in reason nor sentiment did he have any standing to complain. Moreover, while Bugra fought its civil war, other powers on the wasteland had been contending with far graver threats. Bugra hadn't caused trouble for others, but it hadn't contributed anything useful either. Even so. The Mutual Aid Community announcing the arrival of the "New Era" and its resolution regarding Alpha Centauri at such a time had somewhat bruised the sentiments of Bugra's citizens. It felt as though they had been left behind. Yet during the earlier War of the Torch, they had contributed their share of effort as well... Reading the look in Audo's eyes, Chu Guang's expression showed little change. He simply nodded as calmly as before. "Yes." Audo's composure faltered slightly, and he asked: "Why...?" Chu Guang turned his gaze toward the distant camp, his tone gentle. "The New Era initiative we proposed at the Mutual Aid Community was never a claim that we have built a utopia on earth. It means we no longer wait for a savior to arrive, no longer cling to the illusion that the Era of Prosperity can be restored, but will save ourselves and become our own light. "If you truly grasp the weight of those words, then you too are part of the New Era, and we will never abandon you—just as we stand here today. If you cannot understand it yet, then it simply means you need a little more time." This settlement was not without hope. Aside from the mounds of body bags, he had also seen one person supporting another by the shoulder. No one had ever abandoned them. Even though many had long loathed this sinful place, wishing they could obliterate it with a nuke. Once people saw their resolve to resist, hands were still extended to help them. Audo fell silent for a long time. In eyes that had carried confusion, a glimmer of comprehension finally dawned. "...I see. I understand." A smile returned to his face. Looking at Chu Guang beside him, he extended his right hand sincerely. "Thank you. And... please, grant us, grant the people of Bugra, a chance to march forward alongside everyone else in this New Era." "We've actually been doing that for a long time." Chu Guang smiled and took his hand. "Welcome aboard." A look of relief washed over Audo's face as he cast his haggard, weary gaze toward the distant city and wilderness. "I wonder how future generations will judge us... and this New Era they are about to live in." They were not as prosperous as the Era of Prosperity, nor as utterly desolate as the Wasteland Era. It truly was hard to define. He racked his brain for a long time, unable to find the words to sum up how today differed from yesterday. And yet— Perhaps, near the end of the Era of Prosperity, people had puzzled over similar questions: how were they to explain to their children that the world they had once known had not always been like this? Watching Audo lost in thought, Chu Guang did not dwell on such distant quandaries, merely offering a light shrug. "Better to leave that for them to figure out themselves."