The top floor of the RZ Unit was an infrequently used activity space. It had been a very long time since anyone had been there. As soon as you opened the door, you could smell the dust inside. The arched ceiling hung high above, and at your feet was a scarlet carpet that was soft to step on. You could walk on it in silence. All around were enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. The somewhat old-fashioned pale gold curtains fluttered noisily in the wind blown in at this high altitude. 

When Hu Bugui walked in, General Xiong had his back to him, standing in front of an open window and looking out. He had no bodyguards with him. 

“Close the door,” General Xiong said. 

Hu Bugui subconsciously raised his head to look at the surveillance camera in a corner of the hall. General Xiong didn’t look back, but as if he had seen his movement, he quietly said, “It’s already off. Relax.” 

“It’s already off” was precisely what meant Hu Bugui couldn’t relax. He thought, what did General Xiong have to say that he couldn’t say in the conference room or his office but had to come here for? 

General Xiong turned his head and beckoned to him. “Come here and look.” 

Look at what?

Hu Bugui followed his gaze—the RZ Unit headquarters was at a certain distance from the city center. Its elevation was very high, and the place where they were standing was practically the tallest building around. Looking into the distance, the city, the roads, and the overpasses appeared in a nearly panoramic view. 

It was drawing near to twilight. The sun had already sunk below the horizon. The city lights were beginning to light up bit by bit. 

In heaven and on earth, all the colors faded, leaving only man-made lights. 

Hu Bugui glanced a little suspiciously at General Xiong. “General, what’s wrong?” 

“Sometimes, when you look out like this, you find that there is nothing in the world that can’t happen,” General Xiong said irrelevantly. “One man can at most lift something weighing a few hundred pounds and run a few dozen kilometers. He can’t live much more than a hundred years eating all the crops of the world. Looking from this far away, even an ant seems larger than a man.” 

The old general leaned against the railing, narrowing his eyes, pointing towards the distant city. “But, look, that’s all man-made. We all live like this, day after day. At a glance, decades and centuries all pass in the same way. There are so many people in the world, so many powers that are so mysterious that you can’t even imagine them. You think that there can’t be any hiccups.” 

Hu Bugui didn’t know why General Xiong suddenly tilted his head forty-five degrees up to look at the sky. He thought, Could it be that he’s feeling the melancholy of old age? 

General Xiong was silent for a long moment, then lowered his head, seeming to finally come around. He looked at him and asked, “How is it now?” 

“Each country and each region has established a link. All scientistic research institutions that can be utilized are being urgently brought in. Currently there are no places reporting continued explosions, but we still have no hold on the ‘sleeping sickness.’” Hu Bugui paused. “According to internal data, the number of people diagnosed worldwide has exceeded five-hundred cases. Our country currently has ninety-something cases. The patients are basically concentrated near Z City. With Z City as the center, it radiates out a hundred twenty kilometers, still expanding outwards.” 

General Xiong made no comment when he had heard this. He nodded. After a moment, he asked, “And the public opinion aspect?” 

Hu Bugui said, “It hasn’t gone out of control yet. Martial law has temporarily been imposed in Z City. They’ve announced that this is a highly infectious flu. The death toll and the true number of diagnosed individuals haven’t leaked out.” 

“And concerning the new terrorists and the rumors of war?” 

“It’s not bad. The mainstream media and the internet have all invited experts one after another to appear to deny the rumors. At present, we haven’t heard of any domestic incidents caused by runs on banks or panic buying.” 

General Xiong reached out and gripped the railing. Veins faintly rose on his aged skin. He softly said, “That’s good, that’s good.” 

Hu Bugui’s brows moved. “Sir, do you…want to tell me something?” 

General Xiong looked at him in silence for a long moment, then slowly said, “Twenty-five years ago, I was still a young man and had only recently enlisted. At the time, two scholars took the lead in setting up a research project. This was the Utopia Project. It was itemized as a military project. Funding was supplied by the government. When the first base was established, the person responsible for the base’s security was me.” 

Hu Bugui listened without a word. No one had systematically told him about Utopia’s dark history before. 

“I suppose you’re aware of who these two scholars were. One was Professor Cheng, who’s living on the sixth floor now, and the other was surnamed Zheng, full name Zheng Qinghua, a first-rate doctor of anthropology. From the beginning, this project was concerned with power and the limitless possibilities of human evolution.” General Xiong paused. “But the irony was that Professor Cheng had a son like Cheng Ge, and Dr. Zheng himself had albinism.” 

“And they were the ones who later made the blue seals?” Hu Bugui said. 

General Xiong nodded. “This project went on for a full ten years before the first blue seal in human history successfully emerged—Zheng Qinghua himself. The energy crystal system restored the deficiency in his genes. And his opposite grey seal was his own little sister. It was then that Professor Cheng and Dr. Zheng had a difference of opinion about the unnatural product of the ‘blue seals.’” 

“Zheng Qinghua used his own little sister…” When he had said this much, Hu Bugui suddenly came to a halt. He remembered that Xu Ruchong was supposedly Zheng Qinghua’s adopted son. Hadn’t he also been abandoned?

“Before they could resolve their difference of opinion, the Utopia Project was called to halt,” General Xiong said. “Zheng Wan, that grey seal, committed an intentional killing due to an emotional breakdown, then committed suicide to escape punishment.

“This research was too dangerous in itself. Orders came down from above, requesting that all research material be destroyed and the base sealed. But the day before the materials were destroyed, Zheng Qinghua disappeared.” General Xiong paused, then added, “He was a blue seal. At the time, no one but him understood how great the difference between a blue seal and an ordinary person actually was. Later, as you know, having received some unknown aid, Zheng Qinghua didn’t abandon his experiments while he was on the run. I received a secret order and established the RZ Unit, specially responsible for dealing with blue seals. But apart from that, no one knew whom Zheng Qinghua was collaborating with that allowed him to make such a big stir, nor where his armed power came from. How large the Utopia organization is now, what stage Zheng Qinghua’s research has reached after so many years of lying low…” 

General Xiong shook his head. “There’s only one thing I can understand. For over a decade, this mysterious Utopia organization always kept itself hidden, but now it’s tantamount to loudly announcing itself in front of the whole world. This is a declaration of war. It means that they finally have enough bargaining chips.” 

Hu Bugui looked at him, frowning. 

“Never mind the blue seals…who are countless times more powerful than an ordinary person in terms of physical constitution and agility. The threat we can’t ignore is the technology these people possess that we don’t have.” General Xiong’s words paused. He became serious. “Have you ever thought that there would be a day when everyone would bend their heads to these so-called ‘scientific terrorists,’ and what would become of this world?” 

Hu Bugui wanted to blurt out “there won’t be such a day,” but the words stuck in his throat. Looking at General Xiong’s face, for once grave, he couldn’t get them out. 

“You come from the regular army. You’re one of the country’s elites, upholding the safety of society, with the authority to punish terrorists at any time.” General Xiong smiled. “But, Xiao Hu, if one day, your position switches with that of the blues seals, what will you do?” 

“What’s happened?” 

But General Xiong didn’t respond. He only stared fixedly into his eyes. “Tell me. If there really is such a day, what will you do?” 

“What I believe to be right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong,” Hu Bugui said after considering for a while. “I’m not one of those particularly astute, calculating people who can hear one thing and know ten. If I don’t know something, then never mind, but if I do know, then I won’t act against my convictions to do something I’m unwilling to do.” 

General Xiong looked at him with a burning gaze for a moment. Then he fished out a ring of keys and put it into his hand. 

Hu Bugui stared. “This is…” 

“Remember what you’ve said today. There will come a day when you’ll have a use for this thing.” General Xiong wasn’t planning to say any more to him. He waved a hand. “Go, get to work.” 

Hu Bugui thought that perhaps he really wasn’t one of those astute people. He had many questions, but he didn’t know where to start asking. General Xiong turned around, leaving him with only a rear view. He seemed not to want to reveal anything else. Hu Bugui hesitated for a moment, said “Yes, sir,” and left the eighth floor hall, closing the door on his way out. 

About an hour after he left, a bodyguard came over, carrying General Xiong’s phone. General Xiong took the phone, looked at the “bodyguard” whose face was obviously a stranger’s, picked up the call, and put the phone by his ear, listening without saying a word. 

It was already completely dark. Looking into the distance, the city’s neon lights were like a Milky Way that had descended to earth. If you closed your eyes, you could still hear the racket and clamor of voices. 

The flickering lights were reflected in General Xiong’s eyes, which seemed murky from age, as if there was a membrane of light and color covering them. His face was no longer full of smiles. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened, and his lips were tightly pursed, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down. He looked like a statue carved out of marble. 

At last, General Xiong spoke. He quietly said, “I know… Yes, I’ve been ready for this day.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if a smile were flashing across them. He hung up the phone and gave it to the strange “bodyguard.” 

“Let’s go.” Then he turned easily and walked on ahead in large strides, not looking back, like a duty-bound hero, like…a martyr. 

That night, unusually, General Xiong suddenly left the RZ Unit headquarters without a word. Hu Bugui clutched the ring of keys and felt that something was off, but he couldn’t say where the problem lay. 

Three days later, Fang Xiu, holding a newspaper, charged into Hu Bugui’s office without even knocking. “Captain Hu, take a look at this.” 

Hu Bugui glanced at the headline—“Launching the God-making Plan.” 

He nodded. He had clearly already seen it. He didn’t have any major reaction. Fang Xiu lowered his voice. “Read this. ‘Thirteen countries have united to launch the Utopia Research Project. The world is entering an age of miracles.’ Isn’t this the various nations’ governments making a joint statement acknowledging the legitimacy of Utopia? I’ve looked, and our country hasn’t signed on, but from the media’s attitude, it seems that the countries that haven’t signed are only ambivalent, not opposed.” 

Hu Bugui took a document out of a drawer and pushed it in front of Fang Xiu. “I was just about to tell you. People are coming from above tomorrow to conduct a political investigation of headquarters. There’s a political investigation each year, but it’s usually at the end or the beginning of the year. No one ever comes at such an irregular time. Pass on the notice so everyone knows where we stand.” 

Fang Xiu held his breath, looking at him. “This is…this is…but what about General Xiong? Why isn’t General Xiong standing up to say something? What the hell is going on up above? Why would they suddenly…” 

“I’ve attempted to contact General Xiong. All of his numbers have been disconnected overnight.” Hu Bugui tapped on the keyboard on his desk a few times, then turned the monitor to let him see. 

He had searched for “Xiong Maolin,” General Xiong’s full name. The search engine turned up a blank page, with the suggestion: “Did you mean: Linlin the panda?” 

Fang Xiu instantly felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head. He stared blankly. After a long time, he finally lowered his head slightly and met Hu Bugui’s deep gaze. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t say a single word. 

Hu Bugui softly said, “Go ahead. There’s no need to worry. The sky won’t fall, and if it does fall, I’ll be here to hold it up.” 

The darkest age had descended at last.