Chapter 106: Changchuan
The world was wrong.
At his father's funeral, nine-year-old came to that realization for the first time.
His father had done nothing wrong. He had been so clever, so gentle—he could turn dry math problems into amusing stories, and in winter he would build an enormous snowman with him.
And yet, struck down by a sudden terminal illness, he withered away in his hospital bed until he became a cold handful of ashes.
So the world must be wrong.
A good man's illness was a mistake the world had made.
And so, that very year, he chose his future university for himself— .
He would become a doctor—someone who could use his intelligence and his hands to correct the world's mistakes.
But as the years passed, he came to understand more.
He understood the greed and calculation hidden in the eyes of relatives who fussed over him with feigned concern. He understood the new "father"—the secret schemes the man believed were seamless, and the coldness and malice beneath that kindly face.
He understood, too, his mother's "love"—her effort never to "guess" the truth, to devote herself to being a good wife and a good mother.
After all, that "father" genuinely did love her. She had never been among those who would be hurt.
And so the teenage grew extreme and solitary.
The world's errors, it turned out, were not merely fatal illness.
There were also the wicked who delighted in harming others, and the accomplices who looked away.
Everyone was wrong. They were all disgusting.
Then one day, he began to lash out with venomous sarcasm at everyone who greeted him with a smile.
Why bother pretending to be so innocent? Wrapped in the skin of a good buddy or a kindly elder, weren't they all nursing the same ugly thoughts inside?
Inevitably, a person like that could never be popular.
At home, his mother would bewail with tears and sobs why he had become so disobedient, yet never once mentioned that "good little brother" who had nearly gotten him killed.
At school, he went from being the center around which everyone revolved to a marginal figure, besieged by endless slander and attacks.
But he didn't care, because he cursed even more foully and struck people's sore spots even more accurately.
And so, still seething with resentment, he managed to pass the entrance examination for . There he met .
The first person he could never out-argue—a truly formidable senior.
Gradually, he came to discover that really didn't seem to be a bad person.
And so, the two became friends.
But could never understand why could still show such a friendly face to a pack of selfish bastards.
"I won't deny that some people really are hopeless bastards," said that day outside the dissection lab, handing him a bottle of ice water with a smile. "But most people aren't as bad as you think.
"They may be petty, they may have selfish motives, but they all have their own bottom lines."
"Yes, there really are beasts lower than pigs and dogs. But you should also remember—you are never the only one who thinks they have a conscience."
"So what?" said with utter indifference.
" ," turned his head to look at him. "You love to say there are no good people in this world. But the fact that you can say that—doesn't it mean you know what a good person is?"
"Then it's possible for one to exist. Even if everyone lets you down—Changchuan, you've always forced yourself to despise them, always kept pushing them away. Isn't that exactly what a good person is?"
didn't answer.
"If you weren't one, with your intelligence, you'd have countless excuses to blend in with the crowd, wouldn't you?
"But you didn't. You simply kept showing your emotions, only because—to you—being taken for a cold, strange man by everyone was still better than being a hypocrite or an out-and-out scoundrel." said with a smile.
The corridor fell silent.
Then spoke again, suddenly:
"Humanity crawled up from the animals. Over that long road, the things we've truly created out of nothing are actually very few.
"Kindness is one of them. And it's the one I love most."
"Even if humanity originated in darkness, I've always believed that, at least at this moment, we are entirely capable of creating light with our own hands."
After that, died.
He died in a case involving "illegal organ trafficking."
Drawn into it by accident, he used his consummate acting and his cool head—with a scalpel, he took the lives of nearly half of that organization's "clients," and in the end he detonated a bomb, collapsing their altar.
The two had actually known each other for barely a year, but 's influence on went far beyond that.
From then on, began to patiently sort out the people around him. He learned to tolerate ordinary people who, in his view, weren't "good" enough but weren't bad either, and he learned to empathize with others' pain.
He no longer mistook sharp-tongued cruelty for depth; he simply focused more intently on doing what he could do.
He remained cynical and never thought of compromise, but he no longer deliberately performed it.
Then he became a doctor of consummate skill, and saved countless lives.
Later, amid everyone's incomprehension, he became one of the most radical volunteers.
He went to the poorest corners of the world to provide whatever medical relief he could.
He went to the most dangerous battlefields in the world, using his and his actions to protest against naked malice.
He knew it was a drop in the bucket. But he could do it, so he went.
Farther away, there was even worse incomprehension—even more unbridled malice. But fortunately, he was no longer that boy who knew only how to sneer.
Fortunately, in his maneuvering against ignorance and malice, he still saved many people. That was enough.
Then, people began to habitually add a word of praise whenever they mentioned him. But that only meant he had become a backdrop to them.
That was all. After all, having chosen that road, his expectancy was basically anyone's guess.
Not paying attention to people outside one's own is human nature. It's the same for everyone.
When the apocalypse came, he had just returned to the country and was still jet-lagged. From his hotel, he saw a living hell on earth outside the window.
Without the slightest hesitation, he hastily rigged up makeshift protective gear and was about to rush to the hospital to help.
But when he realized that the scale of the disaster was far beyond imagination—and that the military had not appeared—he immediately changed his strategy. He began gathering survivors and organizing a convoy to flee.
And then...
[And then, you ended up on my side.]
, dormitory.
's voice interrupted 's memories.
sat on the edge of the bed, and smiled. "Right. When I first arrived, it sure gave me one hell of a scare."
"All this cutting-edge technology—even the equipment in the alone is already unbelievable, let alone the and the ."
[But now, you're proposing to leave this place?] 's electronic voice was impossible to read.
"Yeah." took a deep breath, the wry smile on his face fading into pure resolve. "Earlier, on our way here, we actually ran into several survivor camps.
"Their situation was terrible too, but they chose to hold their ground instead of risking an escape like we did. That's understandable.
"If you can spare me some drones and Robots, maybe we can go back and bring them in."
[Just us?]
"Right. Just you and me."
fell silent.
Through the cameras, he quietly "observed" the man before him.
His posture was relaxed, his gaze resolute. Clearly, he was not a man adrift, but a clear-eyed warrior.
[Can you tell me the reason? About why you once walked the path of .]
"It's simple. Because I'm a gambler." A familiar, faintly melancholy smile curled at the corner of 's mouth. "We were lucky—we were born in a powerful country.
"But in places far away, there are many people struggling in harsh environments.
"If I go to help, maybe someone among them who deserves to be saved will be saved.
"But if I don't go, that person will surely die."
[That sounds... somewhat biased?]
"I don't mean everyone should follow my example." shook his head and explained. "It's precisely because most people are advancing along the most rational path, making our civilization ever more prosperous, that people like me have the capital to take risks."
"If everyone did what I do, then I'd be the one who has to stay behind and do the things that are more important, more proper.
"Like now—if you said we should launch an all-out strike and carry out long-range rescue, I'd be the first to disagree.
"We have to advance steadily and preserve the spark of hope."
[Then what do you mean?]
"But I can be that lottery ticket." laughed, a nearly fanatical light flickering in his eyes.
[What?]
"There will always be people that a steady, methodical plan can never save. I want to be their faint, slender hope."
"In short, I want to be a hero—or a dead man too stupid for words.
"Once I've decided to set out, who can be certain that I don't have that infinitesimal chance—that, by some twist of fate, I'll fight my way through the entire southwest and save everyone?"
As he spoke, this perpetually melancholy middle-aged man's cheeks flushed faintly, as excited as a youth.
"Come to think of it, people like me are pretty cunning.
"While everyone else holds down the base, I slip off on my own to gamble on a dazzling opportunity."
[If that dazzling opportunity comes at the price of seeking death, I imagine no one will envy you.]
"True enough."
[But I think that going alone would be far too difficult. Maybe you should find some teammates.]
"No." shook his head at once. "Like I said, it's a death-seeking mission. How could I ask anyone to come with me?"