That was the last summer Cóng Bō would spend at his uncle's stand.

His older brother, Cóng Jīnjiàng, landed a job with Dragon City Bank and determined to put their humble beginnings behind them, moved his siblings to a different part of the city and to a different way of life.

That same year, Cóng Bō's uncle left, placing the stand and storefront into the care of a distant cousin Niè Lǎng. The elder's goal was to retire to his ancestral home in Wújí, a quaint county with a long history of cultivation in the Hebei Province. Yet he managed to remain a part of Cóng Bo's life.

Sāng shū continued to be there for the important events; high school graduation, then college, and his first Golden Rooster nod for an expose on Sāng shū's hometown. Cong Bo got the idea for the piece from the stories his uncle told him as a child.

The piece shed light on the seemingly negative cultural changes that took the regions commerce as it evolved from meat and butchery to cultivation and military warfare, then blossomed on calligraphy and music. The catalyst was an abandoned child who rose to fame, becoming Chief Cultivator and ruling briefly during the Jin Dynasty.

Legend stated that he had deep dimples and an innocent smile that never faltered as he manipulated the courts, tortured then murdered an entire generation of heirs, including his own child, on his way to the top.

Known as the Cultured Pearl, the man was the bastard child of a rapist war lord and a self-educated woman trafficked into the region as a young girl and forced into prostitution. Determined to rise above his traumatic beginnings and make even the decedents of those who had wronged his mother pay, the Cultured Pearl ruled with dual iron fists.

And his dual fists, swayed from one extreme to another.

He expanded the reach of the cultivators in his region and beyond, increasing the safety of the citizens. Yet he smote those that fought his progressive vision and tortured those who stood against him because of his lineage.

He tortured many for their political ties, their opposition, or even just for a snide remark made in confidence to a loyalist. At night their screams could be heard for miles from the dungeons beneath his private chambers.

And finally, he used his silver tongue to negotiate impossible deals and treaties between clans warring for centuries. Although it was said, that like his mother, his tongue worked wonders with and without the use of the spoken word.

Several historical texts noted his alternative tastes but more obscurely, his leporiphobia. In fact, both were so well known that the bound mermaid became the symbol of deviant pleasure chambers that cropped up around the region and the bunny became the symbol of his enemies. Both were often placed outside the doors of safe havens for people fleeing from social constraint or the sect leader's wrath.

Some of this was part of the story that Cóng Bō did not find out until he was much older. While doing his own research, he came across some old Niè family journals written by his uncle's namesake, Niè Huáisāng. While his uncle was not a prude, he found it hard to imagine the man being able to read some of the things written by his predecessor without hiding behind his fan.

Cóng Bō stared at the family of bunnies on the lantern hanging outside the door of his uncle's shop. It was newer than the one he remembered from his last visit, but the scene was similar to those from his childhood. The differences were this new one was trimmed with gold foil and along with the bunny family, there was also a canary perched on a branch of Mulberry, in the scene. It was almost identical to the image on one of Sāng shū's metal fans.

He missed his uncle but with everything going on this last year, he hadn't had time to schedule a visit.

Uncle Sāng sometimes wrote Cóng Bō and asked him to befriend his cousin when he got lonely. His cousin was also a bit of a loner. And he had made an attempt a few times, but other being close to the same age, he and Niè Lǎng had very little in common. Cóng Bō suspected that his uncle really just wanted him to check and make sure Niè Lǎng hadn't burned the place down.

Although, ofttimes, his cousin seemed more concerned about his calligraphy, his DǒuYīn or Insta followers, and/or the sharpening of his appearance rather than his blades, he appeared to be running the business well. But because the place looked fine from the outside, Cóng Bō made a mental promise to his uncle to stop by the shop sooner rather than later, and make sure things were okay on the inside.

~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the market was mostly quiet. Many businesses remained shuttered: unable or unwilling to reopen because the local economy was unable to support them. Travel off the main strip and anyone could see why.

The community that once thrived in the area was almost all gone. Without the money to repair the damage from the quakes, modest houses quickly eroded under the elements. Generations of memories crumbled into piles and was then loaded and trucked away to trash and recycling plants.

Spaces were cleared and ancestral homes were replaced by tents and other makeshift shelters. Instead of stone or picket-fencing, wood from storm-felled trees, lined property divides. Their ancient stumps finding use as communal fire pits for large families and close neighbors.

Most could only hope to stave off land foreclosure or seizure long enough to receive the government assistance they were promised, but they weren't holding their breath. The antiquated infrastructure, responsible for providing those funds had been in desperate need of an upgrade prior to the disasters.

When people had come in droves, applying for aid that should have been readily available, the wave overloaded the current system to the point of standstill. Families lost their already precarious financial footing and neighborhoods, such as this, sank quickly into an abyss of debt and poverty.

Cóng Bō's skin bristled at the stark contrast between the 'return to normalcy' spoken of in some circles and what was actually taking place on the ground.

People cloistered themselves, traumatized and still frightened by the possibility of more apocalyptic-level events. No one had completely recovered, and the stalled government response gave Cóng Bō the feeling that some people in power didn't want them to.

He was usually never wrong, that was his superpower.

Cóng Bō was not like most of the members of SID. He was not extremely brave or exceptionally moral. He was just a whistleblower whom at one point, suffered from a painfully distended ego. He once believed that the only way people could live freely, was if they knew the whole truth of the world. Not the truth corporations and big government wanted people to know, but all the truth.

He spent the majority of his successful career exposing the secret behaviors of the morally corrupt. Unfortunately, some powerful people took notice and decided to weaponize his skills. Before he realized it, Cóng Bō found himself walking a one-way path of good intentions.

The marginalized and the unseen became acceptable collateral damage, and somehow, SID, their protectors, were forced into the crosshairs.

Cóng Bō was tasked to place Zhào Yúnlán and his dealings under a microscope. Just watching the man for a few weeks and it was obvious that he and SID were hiding a treasure trove of information from the public, and he became hyper-focused on exposing their corruption.

Zhào Yúnlán, never one to hastily convict without evidence, challenged the accuracy of the Whistleblower's moral compass by showing him the hidden world. Cóng Bō stood in the place where the lives of the Hǎixīngrén, Dìxīngrén, and Yàshòu overlapped and saw how some truths could change nothing of a person's situation. And how others only served to make matters worse.

Zhào Yúnlán also reminded Cóng Bō of how, historically, entire communities had been pillaged and whole cultures eradicated, all based upon a single individual's interpretation of truth. He showed him how it was still happening through systemic oppression and government corruption. Treaties made millennia ago were never truly honoured and outdated and antiquated laws, some still on the books, unfairly and un-justly demonized entire populations.

To make matters worse, this was only what Zhào Yúnlán had shown him of Haixing. This is what was going on in his world and did not take into account anything else. If Haixing was still treating its own people this way, he could only imagine how they would react once they learned of Dìxīng.

When faced with this undeniable truth, Cóng Bō was forced to reconsider his life's work for his own sanity and all he had to do was reset his moral compass... with a lie.

As a consultant, he was tasked with protecting the work and identities of the SID members. He scrubbed CCT images, wiped databases, and shut down any expository online chatter that landed to close to the truth.

He became a stalwart to the Dìxīng, combating digital threat and creating plausible media content to logically explain the inexplicable. Situational morality became less of an abstract theory and more of a daily mantra. Sometimes good people suffered, while bad guys got away, and it was a challenge keeping it all up and staying sane.

"Who planned this construction?" Lin Jing muttered, his frustration pulling Cóng Bō out of his reverie. "Why would they do so much at once and route so many people through these small neighborhoods? Are we taking local roads the whole way there? How is that even logical to funnel all of this here during rush hour?"

Not getting a response, he sucks his teeth and sighs while he switches on the radio.

"...most cannot live on just the Social Welfare allowance. And many don't want to. They want to go back to work, they want to feed their families and provide shelter. They... they... want to be independent and feel normal and not feel that they are a burden to their love ones..."

A familiar voice comes in over the radio; it is soft-spoken but notably more confident than usual.

"Is that Xiao Guō?" Lin Jing asked in surprise.

Cóng Bō nodded, reaching for the volume.

"Some may think that those citizens are simply not working hard enough to recover..." the interviewer began.

"Not working hard enough?" Guō Chángchéng's voice rose slightly. "These people work the hardest jobs in every company yet receive the lowest percentage of pay. They don't spend their money on brand-name clothes and flashy cars, they spend it on rent and property taxes, electricity, transportation, running water, and food. The people in these neighborhoods don't have the resources that can be bought by the more affluent." He cleared his throat, continuing, his tone softer.

"Most lost everything, so they have nothing to fall back on. No stocks to sell or savings accounts to liquidate. Yet, over the past year, they have tried to make their spaces livable again. Some converting the vacant lots where their homes used to stand into small vegetable plots, sharing their harvests with their neighbors, for little and at most times, no cost. And do you know how the government helped them?" Without waiting for a response Guō Chángchéng continued.

"The local council members ordered most of the plots burned because the people weren't paying taxes on their gross profits. How could they pay the taxes when there are barely people among them who could afford to buy their products? Besides, how are they to sell their food and pay proper taxes when Dragon City Public Utilities has yet to fix the water and electrical lines that run into the market areas?

"People from this side of Dragon City complain because the on-going construction forces them to drive by Tent City to get to work or drop their kids at school or to be entertained. They are disgusted by the eyesore of it all. But, let me ask you, how many of them have ever thought to stop and lend a hand in the rebuild? Yes, the government has money for the infrastructure, but government is slow to dole out those funds. And any charity will tell you that it is people's time and expertise is needed more often than the money they are so quick to donate.

"Zai YiQi" 'In This Together.' But 'WE' are not in this together. We cannot honestly say that we are when we continue to treat our most essential workers, the very gears and cogs of our society, as second-class citizens.

"If we are truly in this together, then our elected officials should keep those promises made of protecting our most vulnerable populations. It shouldn't be left up to the memories and legacies of the few who gave their lives, never to enjoy the spoils."

A/N:

Dàjiā hǎo!

Hope you all are safe and well. I had a hard time waiting to publish this... but here we are... two chapters in less than a week. I am proud of myself. *Selfie high-five*

Any who Chapter 1 has been edited. There have been no major changes, so there is no need for a re-read unless you are willing to help me search for typos and such.

That being said, on to the next! I lurve you all bunches and bunches!

Links to Author's stories that make me rethink publishing my own works:

Vocabulary can be found here:

*New* Links to Mythos: (for the seekers and the learners among us!):

Love letters may or may not be found here: