"Remember well: bravery, steadfastness, and self-sacrifice are the heroism in this age we are in, the heroism of humankind as a whole."
In the Garden of Eden, Tang Lan was reciting a lesson.
"What collective and individual heroism have in common are—"
Hubbard covered his face with an illustrated firearms manual. "You still aren't done reciting?"
"Just about." Tang Lan shut his book and looked up at the ceiling. "Hubbard."
"What is it?"
"Do you wish to be a hero?"
Hubbard pulled the manual down a little, revealing chestnut-colored eyes. He looked at the ceiling as well, and after three seconds, he said, "It doesn't matter to me."
After three more seconds, he asked, "What about you?"
Tang Lan said, "I don't know."
Their dormitory teacher at the Garden of Eden was a short-haired woman.
“Every boy wishes to be a hero." She put away their books, then added, “Girls, too."
Hubbard looked at her, seemingly discontent at the illustrated manuals being put away, but then the dormitory teacher said, “The assessment at the military base is the day after tomorrow. You two must take in extra nutrients, so hurry and go eat dinner."
Back then, the Garden of Eden's supplies were still very abundant, and it wasn't until children turned ten years old that they were divided into A, B, and C ranks and then sent away. Undoubtedly, Hubbard and Tang Lan would be taken in by the military.
After the Garden of Eden gave out detailed evaluation files, the field operations department had its eyes on them well in advance.
But just like all the unexpected accidents in human history, Tang Lan fell ill on the eve of the selection.
It was an unknown bacterial infection or some other untraceable disease. Whether he could be cured, whether it was contagious, and how to deal with it were all unknown.
As the final means of treatment, the Lighthouse provided all the basic drugs that it could and transferred him to a sealed-off floor so he could heal himself in isolation.
When the dormitory teacher told Hubbard this news, he was doing pull-ups in the training room in preparation for the military selection.
He got down from the horizontal bar and wiped his face with a towel. The expression in his eyes was heavy, and no emotion could be seen. He had always been cold and sparing with his words. The dormitory teacher anxiously looked at him.
“Can you pass on a message to him?" Hubbard asked. “Don't die."
When Tang Lan was confirmed to have healed, the military selection had already been over for two months.
The drugs brought damage to his body, and it was uncertain if it would be permanent. As a result, he lost his qualification to enter the military and was assigned to the Outer City.
Just before he left, the dormitory teacher packed his luggage for him—a simple box containing antibiotics, bandages, emergency medicine, half a box of multivitamins, a few books and illustrated manuals he often read, and a copy of The Principles of Heroism. He didn't ask who had put it all together.
“Hubbard went to the field operations department and is training in isolation."
He nodded, then picked up the suitcase and got on the train.
If a child of the Outer City was adopted, he'd live with his parents. Those who weren't would live in a collective, and they would not be allowed to leave the city before they came of age. They could take basic education courses that the base offered, do odd jobs, or join a mercenary team and receive training in advance. Having his own ideas, Tang Lan refused to be adopted. He began taking classes and training himself to regain his physical health that had been damaged by the drugs. As the intensity of his training broke through his limits time and again, his body miraculously recovered little by little.
Time passed very quickly, but life was not always smooth sailing.
Tang Lan was good-looking. With black hair and black eyes, his was a sharp-edged handsomeness, the most outstanding kind among Asians. In collective life, there was no shortage of thugs and troublemakers. Fistfights and bullying the weak were common occurrences. He had been beaten and experienced his share of suffering. At first, he didn't have the strength to hit back, but as time passed and his training continued, he could take on three by himself.
Last night, a mercenary from the team he wished to join came to find him and made trouble. He gained a new scar on his right wrist, while the mercenary lost both arms. Earlier today, he put the word out that he better watch himself.
He was not afraid. From a young age, he had never been afraid of much.
Of his own accord, he took up a defensive position at a winding alleyway and spread the news that he had come here to avoid fighting. This place consisted of the remains of unfinished buildings from when the Outer City was being built, so the surroundings were extremely complex. In a fight against many people in an open space, he had no chance of winning. Only in a place like this could he be confident in his success.
He waited on a rooftop around the entrance to the group of buildings and didn't see a soul from noon to midnight. That mercenary was ferocious, the type to get even for the smallest slight, so this was not his style.
In the end, he went downstairs, and the faint sounds of fighting traveled over from afar. He casually hefted a steel bar and cautiously walked toward the end of the alleyway.
By the time he walked over, the sounds of fighting had already stopped.
Outside the alleyway, there was a wall encircling a patch of open space where three people were currently lying flat. Tang Lan jerked his head upward. Within the brief silence, he saw the moonlight and the buildings' shadows cast on the wall, and where black and gray shared a border, someone was leaning against the wall.
Hubbard had a chiseled face, chestnut-colored eyes, and slightly curly black hair. He seldom spoke and was usually expressionless, and combined with the fact that he was taller than other youths his age, people often gave him a wide berth.
He was also very easy to recognize.
Upon seeing Tang Lan arrive, Hubbard lifted his chin, gesturing toward the three people.
Without even looking at them, Tang Lan walked right up to him. “Did you sneak out?"
“No." Hubbard took out a blue ID from his pocket. Using the moonlight, Tang Lan saw that it was the Outer City's type.
“What's going on?" Tang Lan asked.
“I was disciplined," Hubbard said. “I'll be living in the Outer City from now on."
Tang Lan stared at him. “Don't lie to me."
Hubbard put away his ID card, saying nothing.
“What is happening?" Tang Lan did not let him dodge the question at all. “Tell me the truth."
In the distance, ear-piercing sirens cut through the night.
Hubbard asked, “What's wrong?"
Tang Lan was silent for a moment.
“Run," he said.
Afterward, because of that savage fight, the two of them spent a month in the City Defense Agency's jail.
As to exactly why Hubbard had come to the Outer City, Tang Lan did not ask again. Not until many years later, when he and Hubbard were drinking.
As a first-class mercenary, the boss of mercenary team AR137 rarely got drunk. Of course, his vice-captain always had some special tricks to get him drunk.
After several rounds, the man was so drunk that he pitched forward toward the table, and Tang Lan nearly failed to steady him.
“I got to know a field operations department officer at the supply depot,” Tang Lan said in a mild tone as he poured Hubbard another brimming cup of liquor. “Said he was a roommate who had trained with you. He asked me if Hubbard had some political bias, otherwise why would he voluntarily put himself in the Outer City, sacrificing an excellent future? What do you think, Boss?"
“What did I sacrifice?" Hubbard replied only after a long time had passed. “Things are pretty good right now."
“Captain, you're insightful and always victorious.” Tang Lan began knocking back his own drink. “Ten years later, you're humankind's number one frontline commander in the fight against monsters. If you aren't careful, you can still save the world and be a hero."
The alcohol burned so much that his vision went blurry. Upon recalling his recitation of "bravery, steadfastness, self-sacrifice, heroism,” he said to himself, “It seems that you don't particularly yearn to be a hero either."
A breathy sound seemed to come from Hubbard's chest. He was laughing.
“I have been one," he suddenly said.
“Been a what?"
“Sacrificed to…”
They were both equally drunk. One could not speak clearly, while the other could not hear clearly. Tang Lan tried hard to get closer to Hubbard, and he finally caught a few syllables.
“To the vice-captain… himself," Hubbard said.
“You've gone nuts," Tang Lan said.
Then he heard Hubbard say, “It's… individual… heroism."
“Motherfucker." With his breath stuck in his chest, Tang Lan gave him a kick. Afterward, he swigged a mouthful of alcohol and smiled.
“Have you read any books before, Hubbard?” he asked. “Can this phrase be used in this way?"
“Welcome to the Highland Research Institute, child."
“Hello, sir."
“Could you describe the process by which you changed into your current form?"
“Let me think."
“Okay."
At night at the research institute, a bonfire was lit on the terrace, illuminating Tang Lan's face. On his left cheek was a line of blue-black scales that had not yet completely receded.
“Around here”—he pointed to an area on a map of the Abyss—“I had an argument with… our captain, regarding whether or not to go deeper."
“I was on the night watch, and my mood was poor. I drove near the perimeter and stayed there.” Recalling the initial scene, Tang Lan's eyes went slightly out of focus. “Then I discovered that monster. It was clearly a large flying-class one, but it was moving close to the ground. Its wingspan was over ten meters wide. As it ran along the ground, slowly climbing up the mountain slope, it made no noise whatsoever, just like a ghost. I almost assumed it was a shadow."