Chapter 12: Pingdu City

Chapter 12: Pingdu City

On the way to Pingdu City, I changed routes several times, ate and slept at temples along the way—didn’t want to leave a trail.

With the ordination certificate, everything went smoothly. Some temples even gave money to bhikkhus with certificates—amount depending on resources.

For the final stop before Pingdu City, I stayed and ate at Longxing Temple in Zhengding. There were many monks, pilgrims, and tourists.

That day the abbot had business in Pingdu City. I hitched a ride in his car.

Ordinarily, an abbot’s car wasn’t for bhikkhus to ride in, but he said I looked familiar—far too much like an acquaintance.

That acquaintance was also an abbot, Dharma name Xuanhong.

Once a top student at Pingdu University, worked in Silicon Valley as a core architect. At his career’s height, suddenly became a monk—caused much discussion.

This talented abbot was gifted, handsome, striking—often attracted crowds of female pilgrims.

I wasn’t interested in what the abbot was saying, but I kept nodding along anyway, hypocritically. In my heart, only finding Gu Qiutang mattered—asking about Grandma.

From the day I left Liutan Town, after eighteen days of twists and turns, I finally reached Pingdu City. Couldn’t help feeling excited.

Pingdu had been the capital. Later, during the Human–Machine War, the capital moved to Chang’an. Pingdu became the old capital. Still, many high-tech companies remained.

Gu Qiutang was the owner of a technology company.

I’d grown up in remote mountains, never seen such a huge city. Seeing it firsthand left me shaken.

In youth I’d read Yu Dafu’s “Autumn in the Old Capital”—mind full of carrier pigeons’ whistles. But standing on Pingdu’s streets, looking out—towers of high-rises, surging crowds. Truly deserved to be called a great metropolis. If war hadn’t damaged it, who knew how prosperous it would’ve been?

Following Grandma’s address, I checked a map, confirmed location, headed for the subway.

Hadn’t expected Pingdu to be absurdly large. A place looking close required three subway rides, two transfers. Transfer stations complicated—passageways left me dizzy. Could only follow signs.

In the second transfer passageway, the crowd packed tight. I followed the flow slowly. Suddenly someone coming opposite bumped me. I looked up.

That look startled me badly.

He looked far too much like me. Difference—he wore a blue-gray kasaya. Immediately remembered what the Longxing Temple abbot told me about his acquaintance Xuanhong.

But I didn’t care who he was.

Felt like a legitimate license plate running into a cloned one. Wanted to grab him.

Because Gao Minjun had been killed by a cloned-plate identity.

Could this be a second Gao Minjun?

I only wore the kasaya the Mumen Temple monk gave me when freeloading at temples. Most times, my own clothes. Also, I hadn’t undergone tonsure.

After the Human–Machine War, temples no longer strictly required tonsure—I still looked ordinary.

Seeing this cloned plate, I realized: if I shaved my head and put on a kasaya, I might become him.

So I turned sharply, followed that monk, wanting to catch up and ask. The Gao Minjun incident had scared me.

Just as I nearly caught up, a warning alarm blared through the passageway. A spotlight shone down on him from the ceiling.

Pedestrians scattered with a whoosh—as if trained, desperately squeezing aside, fearing involvement.

Among the pedestrians, four in ordinary clothes instantly turned into black-clad men.

CWP?

Their clothes could change too?

Last time I’d touched the black-clad man Liu Biao’s clothes—they were incredibly smooth, made of some unknown material. I hadn’t expected them to have this function too.

Everyone reacted too fast. I didn’t react at all, froze in place.

As the crowd scattered, black-clad men revealed, alarm blared—the monk moved with astonishing speed. After several bangs, black-clad men and nearby pedestrians dropped in a heap.

Then the monk straightened, shot toward the exit like wind.

Too fast. I didn’t even dodge. By sheer coincidence, blocked his escape route.

The monk reached out one large hand, grabbed me, flung me backward.

Wanted to curse, but—bang—crashed into a black-clad man just climbing up, slammed hard to the ground.

I had no words.

That bastard had used me as a human projectile. What a piece of work.

The man I’d knocked down got up, originally intending to chase. But my appearance stunned him. He grabbed me, scanned with his sunglasses. Reminded me of the first time I’d seen black-clad men in the school’s little black room.

But he quickly relaxed, pushed me aside.

Apparently I wasn’t what he was after.

During that brief tangle, the monk and three black-clad pursuers had vanished from sight.

I climbed up, ran toward pursuit and fighting sounds. Wanted to know how it ended.

By the time I ran out the subway exit, panting, onlookers had gathered roadside. A black official vehicle parked beside them.

I squeezed into the crowd.

The monk, covered in blood, pinned to the ground by several black-clad men.

A young man from the official vehicle was using a special device to clamp a caterpillar-like thing out of the back of the monk’s neck.

The crowd kept sighing.

Some discussions I couldn’t understand. But certain words caught my ear. Someone said:

“It’s the Sweepers.”

“Ah, what a shame. Master Xuanhong was such a fine man.”

Sweepers?

Wasn’t that the name Grandma once mentioned?

Black-clad men, or the monk? If the monk was Xuanhong, then Sweepers meant those black-clad men.

Was the CWP international purge organization the Sweepers?

Judging from anger and regret on faces around me, Xuanhong really was famous.

But I didn’t know him—didn’t much mind that one cloned plate had been taken out of circulation.

Black-clad men carried the monk into the vehicle. Those from the car and those who’d arrested him whispered together.

Ordinary people couldn’t hear, but I had sensing superpower—could catch some. Just didn’t quite understand what they discussed.

For example: fiber intelligence, neural networks, the Eradication Department, the Cultural Intelligence Department, female fans, bonuses. I didn’t understand any of it.

However, I knew “Wisdom Capsule.” Meng Ran died because that thing exploded. Could it be that little caterpillar-like thing?

I had seen enough and wanted to leave. Only felt regret—failed to ask Xuanhong why he looked so much like me.

Xuanhong’s fate drained all excitement from first seeing the city’s prosperity. Felt Pingdu City more dangerous than Liutan Town.

From here, not far to Lanqi Garden where I needed to go. So I hailed a taxi, told the driver my destination.

The taxi twisted left and right. I was no longer interested in scenery, but still fairly clear about direction.

Before long, the taxi slipped into a gloomy abandoned street—broken buildings, loose frames around us. Many rooms had shattered doors and windows, trash scattered everywhere.

Didn’t know if these were postwar ruins or unfinished buildings. In any case, felt wrong. Asked the driver, “Sir, feels like you’re detouring. Why not use main streets?”

“Main streets jammed. Side roads aren’t.”

Made sense. Didn’t think much of it.

Soon after, the taxi stopped in front of quiet, low, run-down houses. Wouldn’t move.

What was this supposed to mean?

About to ask—

But the driver jumped out and ran.

No words.

Seriously.

I opened the door, got out, wanting to see what was going on.

Strange people began emerging continuously from inside and around those low, dilapidated houses.

Most wore disheveled clothes, moved stiffly. Some disabled, leaning on crutches. Felt like I’d walked onto a zombie movie set.

Sensed something bad, hurried back in the car. Shut the door, pressed every window button up.

Then a yellow-haired man ran to the window, roughly slapped the glass with a dirty hand, muttered something.

I called the police immediately.

More people surrounded the car, pulling at all four doors. Couldn’t open them—I’d locked everything.

Then the yellow-haired man tried smashing the window. The driver hurriedly ran back to stop him. He worked the remote controls outside the car for a while, trying to lower the windows. Wouldn’t open.

Because I held down the master lock.

Driver had no choice but to take out the key, try the mechanical lock. I kept pressing the master lock button. Still no way in.

The yellow-haired man and driver began arguing. Too lazy to use sensing superpower to mind their business. Just wanted away.

After being stuck like that a while, police siren suddenly came from the air.

Through the window, saw a police drone hovering overhead, broadcasting warnings around the taxi.

Driver and people around scattered, fled immediately.

I sat in the car, didn’t dare move, waiting for police. Couldn’t help sighing inwardly—Pingdu City truly deserved to be called a metropolis. Even the police used drones to respond to calls. But it also felt truly unsafe.

After waiting over ten minutes, police finally arrived.

After that came questions and a statement. I gave my Dharma name for everything.

Hadn’t expected: when police heard I was going to Lanqi Garden to find the Gu Group, they actually gave me a ride there in a police car since it was on their way.