Final Civilization

Chapter 41: Butterfly

Late at night, in the apartment, the coffee on the desk had gone cold.

Han Ming, however, felt more alert than ever, even a prickling sensation on his scalp.

"Yan Jing, chairwoman of Tianzhou International, born April 1992, from Taiping Town, Luochuan, An Province…"

After checking Yan Jing's information again, Han Ming felt his head grow heavy for a moment.

How could these details so strangely correspond to the content of his dream?

Han Ming took a deep breath and made up his mind.

Everything had to be searched for within the dream.

Shower, sleep.

…

Damp and cold.The musty smell of old wooden furniture crept into Han Ming's nostrils. When he opened his eyes, he realized this dream was completely different.

It was a cramped rural bungalow. The first thing Han Ming's gaze landed on was a pair of yellowed, emaciated little hands slowly turning the old door latch, twisting it until it finally came free.

To avoid making a sound, the girl lowered the metal latch with one hand, her hand trembling slightly, but her movement was resolute.

The girl turned her head, and her eyes met Han Ming's. Under the yellowed glow of an old incandescent bulb, he saw eyes filled with coldness and indifference, carrying a disquieting determination, utterly unlike the gaze of a girl who looked no more than eight or nine years old.

The room smelled of cheap liquor, and from the inner room came a man's thunderous snoring and slurred curses.

"Who are you?"

Han Ming asked, but strangely, the girl did not seem to hear him.

Her gaze swept past him, then she quickly returned to a small alcove, drew a cloth curtain shut, opened a large wooden cabinet and revealed a hidden compartment underneath. She crawled in and lay there quietly.

Han Ming watched in astonishment as if viewing some memory on film. He walked over; on the battered wooden table in that small room was a neatly written math exercise book, arranged tidily, beside a desk lamp emitting a dim yellow halo—the lamp was on.

He picked up the math exercise book and, flipping it open, the name written on it made his face change color.

Yan Jing!

What was going on? How had the dream's details turned into Yan Jing?

The police station, the interrogation, the woman in red—none of that was here, and most bizarre of all, the girl seemed not to see him.

Before long, chaos erupted: outside came the sound of hurried footsteps, men's curses, dull impacts from blunt objects, and a short, sharp wail, followed by the ransacking of the place.

Someone had broken into the house!

Han Ming instinctively hid, but soon the shrill sound of a siren approached from afar, and the noisy commotion outside abruptly stopped.

Throughout it all, the little girl remained lying in the dark compartment beneath the cabinet, her breathing barely audible, save for her fists clutching so tightly that her knuckles turned white when the wailing erupted outside.

Outside, silence slowly settled, leaving only a hollow, deathlike stillness.

Time seemed to speed by like a montage of fleeting images.

When daylight broke, many police officers came into the house, and loud discussions filled the yard. Little Yan Jing was covered with a blanket by the police and led out; the living room was in shambles. Han Ming's gaze involuntarily fell to the bedroom floor in the side room, where bright red blood flowed into a grotesque pattern.

"Oh my, poor kid. Her real mother was sold by her father as gambling collateral and died miserably, and now the father is gone too."

"I heard the people she owed money to came and beat him to death."

"That Wang fellow had it coming. I heard he was going to sell his daughter, stumbling home drunk and leaving the door open, the house was turned over multiple times."

"God, what about Jingjing?"

"That girl is clever. When the thieves came in, she crawled into the cabinet and escaped…"

"Tsk tsk… terrifying, otherwise she would have been done for."

"Yeah, now she has no parents. Does she have other relatives?"

"A distant relative stepped up. The police caught someone. Some accomplices paid money and the town applied for relief, paid a sum."

…

In the scene, Han Ming watched the little girl bowing her head obediently as some relative lectured her,

"I'll save the money for you, it will be your dowry…"

She nodded obediently, but then she was sent to the town's welfare home.

Late at night, Han Ming's perspective followed her light figure again as she slipped away.

She skillfully pulled from an iron box deep in a wardrobe a thick stack of cash, wrapped some small bills and a brick in cloth, and put them back.

She did not hesitate. Slinging on an old backpack already packed, she carefully sewed the money into a lining within her undergarment and disappeared into the deepest darkness before dawn, walking quickly and steadily without looking back.

She walked for a long time until she reached a desolate hillside, where a solitary grave stood.

The girl knelt before the grave, pressing her forehead gently against the cold mound of earth.

"Mom, this place can't hold me. I’m going to the big city. When I earn money, I’ll come back to see you."

She leaned against that little dirt mound and closed her eyes, as if asleep.

Mist drifted in the morning air, and a rare pure white swallowtail butterfly quietly settled on a dew-damp lock of her hair, fluttering its wings.

…

An old ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, the motor's hum blended with the tinnitus in Han Ming's ears, stretching into a long, shrill roar.

"So you say the world is about to be destroyed, and you were chosen as a Wallfacer to save humanity, that strange events have appeared around you, you can live forever, and you could command the world's wealth?"

In the police station's report hall, the duty officer spoke in a dull tone, half-smirking after hearing Han Ming's account.

Han Ming pressed his knuckles to his temple. The dream's sounds approached from afar and then receded quickly.

He opened his eyes and once again saw the shadowed policeman.

"I had a dream," Han Ming said.

…

The policeman snapped the report ledger shut and scolded sharply, "Then get out of here. Don't make trouble in the station if nothing's wrong. Coming here to report a dream—let me tell you, if it weren't almost New Year, I could detain you for a few days and I wouldn't be wrong!"

"Okay, thank you officer."

Han Ming rose and walked out. The cacophony of voices around him began to clarify.

"These little 'mudskippers' have been prowling markets and cinema entrances for days, specifically targeting single women and mothers selling things, selling hairpins and buttons. The girl in charge comes up with the schemes and decides how to split the money."

For the first time, Han Ming heard clear dialogue from his dream's environment. He turned and noticed several children standing not far away, all about ten years old. The leader, a girl, kept her gaze down at her worn shoe tips, lips pressed thin, saying nothing.

She looked about eleven or twelve, and even with her head bowed, Han Ming immediately recognized her: this was Yan Jing!

Thud thud thud—the old policeman rapped the table.

"Kid, what's your name? Where's your home? Where are your parents?"

The girl remained silent.

"Hey! You're a bold one! If you don't speak, I'll—"

"Xiao Zhang." The old policeman raised his hand to cut off the threat and sighed, softening his tone, "Are you hungry? Our canteen has buns and noodles. Talk to us, we'll let you eat your fill, then I'll send you back home."

The girl still did not speak, not even moving her eyes, as if none of it concerned her.