Chapter 18: Cake

A work group notice announced a meeting in three days at the Great Hall of the People in Jingcheng, the first nationwide congress of awakened individuals in Xia Country.

In addition to regional branches of the Awakening Bureau from every province, there were also representatives from civilian groups that had not joined the official awakened ranks. This was naturally a formidable force—if so many awakened individuals united, they could overthrow a small nation—but the fact that they were allowed to meet here also indirectly demonstrated the authorities’ trust and high regard for them.

Yang Yi had to go; it could be said that anyone else might skip it, but she absolutely had to attend.

Everyone knew she would go. Even Director Zhou joked with her that regional branches had complained to him—too many awakened individuals wanted to attend as delegates, mostly just to catch a glimpse of the “superhuman” and perhaps test her abilities firsthand.

Although awakened individuals are rare among the general population, with Xia Country’s world-leading population, even one in a hundred thousand awakening would still amount to over ten thousand awakened individuals.

How to manage over ten thousand extraordinary individuals, some of whom posed extreme dangers, was a serious and perilous problem.

As the world’s first S-class awakened individual, Yang Yi became the archetype. Her attitude could, in effect, set a direction.

If even this sole “superhuman” endorsed the Xia Country government, then the issue of how Xia Country handled awakened individuals would no longer be an issue—it would become a model others could never match.

After all, in many countries, awakened individuals do not obey official orders, especially in Western nations where individual heroism is rampant; they’ve grown accustomed to freedom, and now that they have superpowers, why should they obey ordinary people’s commands?

Some awakened individuals openly declare their intent to establish a nation of the awakened; others believe that awakened individuals, possessing superior abilities, represent the more perfect evolution of the human genome, and that unawakened ordinary people are genetically inferior.

Isn’t it only natural that those with abilities far beyond ordinary people should receive “above-human” treatment? And shouldn’t awakened individuals be exempt from ordinary laws, since the two groups no longer exist on the same evaluative level?

Since Vid Davies’ global live broadcast at the United Nations, this ideology has surged to the forefront—perhaps that was his goal all along.

When Yang Yi descended the stairs fully dressed, her assistant and driver Liu Siyuan was already waiting below.

“Is this outfit appropriate? Too casual?” Yang Yi asked as she got into the car.

Liu Siyuan, who had been about to start the engine, paused, turned back, and studied her attire carefully: a loose white shirt, black trousers, white sneakers, a simple ponytail, no makeup—refreshingly plain.

“I think it’s fine,” Liu Siyuan replied after a moment’s deliberation, his expression solemn.

Yang Yi was speechless but didn’t press him further; Liu Siyuan exhaled in relief and started the car, pulling out of the Bureau grounds.

They rode in a low-key black Hongqi. As the car passed through the dormitory district gate, a middle-aged woman in bulky clothing bent low, peering into the window.

The windows were tinted—impenetrable when closed—but Yang Yi had cracked hers slightly for air, exposing half her face.

“Hey! Yi Yi! Yi Yi! Stop the car! I’m your mother!”

Yang Yi was absorbed in her phone, ignoring the calls beside the car—after all, no one had ever called her “Yi Yi” since childhood; she didn’t realize it was her.

Liu Siyuan spotted the woman in the rearview mirror, glanced at Yang Yi’s impassive face, hesitated, then gently pressed the brake, slowing the car.

“Captain Yang, she seems to be looking for you.”

Yang Yi looked up in surprise—the woman had caught up, staring at her with desperate eyes, hands gripping the window: “Yi Yi, Yi Yi, I’m your mother!”

Yang Yi frowned, silent.

The woman’s face was dark and rough, marked by years of wind and sun; her hands were thick-jointed, nails stained with stubborn brown grime.

She wore a half-new, half-worn trench coat over a pilled brown sweater; fat bulged around her waist like a long balloon hidden beneath fabric.

Yet her facial structure bore a faint resemblance to Yang Yi’s—both had half-open fan-shaped double eyelids and straight, bony noses.

Yang Yi opened her mouth, her hand clutching the phone trembling slightly, then she heard her own calm, steady voice: “Get in.”

In that moment, Yang Yi felt split in two: one part of her churned with countless complex, unspoken emotions, questions pent up like a volcano ready to erupt; the other part remained expressionless, voice calm and cool.

Once the middle-aged woman was seated, Yang Yi asked coolly: “You say you’re my mother. What proof do you have?”

“Yi Yi, you…” The woman seemed ready to speak, but Yang Yi’s detached expression made her feel alienated—and remembering the woman’s power, she felt a flicker of fear and hesitation.

Yang Yi turned her head away, slightly irritated.

“You have two moles on your right hip—that’s been there since the day I gave birth to you.” She emphasized the words “gave birth.” “And on the sole of your right foot, there’s a scar—from when you were little, barefoot, running around, and stepped on a cigarette butt.”

Yang Yi finally turned back, studying her closely.

“My grandparents told me you abandoned me when I was three. Why show up now? Is your family in trouble?” Yang Yi glanced at the woman’s weathered face and worn clothes, her lips curling in a faint, humorless smile.

“Yi Yi, I had no choice—it was your grandparents who forced me…” Tears welled in her eyes. “Yi Yi, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you all these years… I finally found this place—people said anyone with superpowers is managed here…”

“I truly had no choice back then. Your grandmother’s treatment of daughters-in-law… no one could endure it. And your father died when you were one. She called me a curse, said I’d killed her youngest son, came every day to curse and beat me…”

“Especially after you were born—you were different from other children. They said you were autistic—couldn’t understand anything, never spoke to anyone…”

“So you left me at my grandparents’ and my uncle’s doorstep, then sold the house and vanished?” Yang Yi’s tone was flat, devoid of inflection.

The woman stammered, then insisted: “It was all your grandparents’ doing…”

Yang Yi said nothing, only twitched the corner of her right mouth.

“Yi Yi, how have you been all these years? Your mother has thought of you constantly…”

“Once, I couldn’t bear it—I sneaked back to see you. Your grandparents and uncle were heartless—they chained you in the doghouse, made you eat from the same bowl as the dog…”

Liu, who had been driving silently, shuddered involuntarily, stealing a quick glance at Yang Yi through the rearview mirror.

Yang Yi kept her eyes lowered, expressionless, her right hand scrolling endlessly across her phone screen, icons flipping rapidly.

“I wanted to take you away, but your grandparents and uncle spotted me—they shouted they’d kill me, and I… I… ran away in terror…”

“If not for your grandparents and uncle, we could’ve lived together happily…”

If the full score was 100, Yang Yi had still held onto five points of hope, wondering what new things she might say—perhaps confessing how heartbroken she had been, how powerless, or even admitting she had simply grown weary of her autistic daughter and her in-laws’ cruelty, seeing no future for herself and choosing to live for her own sake—such honest, unfiltered words might have helped Yang Yi understand her a little better.

Her lips moved, white saliva clinging to her dry mouth, rising and falling with each word. Unconsciously, she spat droplets into the air, making Yang Yi feel the cabin was tighter, more suffocating.

Yang Yi was disappointed. She regretted letting her in. Everything felt pointless, utterly tedious.

What had she expected just now? That this woman would suddenly realize her mistake, beg forgiveness, and give Yang Yi the sweet satisfaction of revenge?

The scene unfolded exactly as predicted—but Yang Yi felt no pleasure, no joy, only weariness.

Liu Siyuan drove in silence, wishing he were a lifeless stone, so they could ignore him.

Yang Yi’s mind wandered, thoughts rising and fading like bubbles in sparkling water.

After the woman chattered on for who knew how long, Yang Yi finally interrupted: “You said you remarried and have a son and daughter. That’s good—so you don’t need a daughter you abandoned since infancy. So why travel all this way? What do you want from me? Money? Power? Benefits? Just say it. In consideration of your ten months of pregnancy and raising me until three, I’ll grant it all.”

The woman froze.

She opened her mouth, futilely protesting: “Yi Yi, you misunderstand me… I only came to see you… all these years, I’ve missed you so much…”

Too late, Yang Yi thought.

All her explanations and complaints were just feeble attempts to re-cover the shame already exposed—trying to hide what everyone already knew.

That had been her last chance.

Yang Yi stared blankly out the window at the endless flow of cars and pedestrians.

If she had honestly admitted her need—confessed she was short on money or wanted something from Yang Yi—Yang Yi wouldn’t have refused, because she didn’t care about such things.

But now, the woman’s false pretenses had made Yang Yi unbearably impatient. Her right hand flicked irritably across the screen; the time and weather data bounced up and down with her touch.

“Liu Siyuan, drive faster!” she said coldly.

Liu, who had just felt invisible, suddenly remembered he existed. Catching her gesture out of the corner of his eye, he quietly accelerated. The car soon reached the parking lot near the Great Hall of the People.

As soon as the car stopped, Yang Yi bolted out, slamming the door shut to block the woman’s attempt to follow.

Liu Siyuan, ever perceptive, got out and joined her side.

After breathing in two deep lungfuls of exhaust-laced air, Yang Yi’s suffocating feeling eased slightly. She absently smoothed the wrinkles on her clothes: “Handle this for me.”

“This…?” Liu hesitated, cautiously.

Yang Yi knew his hesitation was deliberate.

“I don’t care about this matter. I don’t care about this woman or her so-called ‘forced circumstances.’ She has nothing to do with me. I won’t tolerate any further trouble from her. I never want to see her face again. That’s my stance. Understood?”

She knew Liu wanted exactly this.

Liu nodded immediately, signaling full comprehension.

Yang Yi cast one final glance at the woman inside the car, trembling with anxious hope—her cloudy eyes fixed on Yang Yi like a defendant awaiting verdict, or like someone waiting for some unknown miracle to fall into her lap.

But all Yang Yi saw in her mind was one image: a pile of ancient feces smeared with a thick layer of frosting.

That image instantly killed her appetite for cake—she doubted she’d want to eat cake again for at least three months.