Epilogue: Turning Himself In

May 1, afternoon. Tian Yi's bookshop.

He was sitting behind his desk, reading the final thoughts of some poor bastard from HL.

After a while, he sighed, closed the book, dismissed the screensaver on the computer in front of him, and tapped a few keys. Finally, he raised his index finger high and pressed Enter.

Less than ten seconds later, the phone on his desk rang. Tian Yi picked it up. “Who's this?”

“It's me.” The voice on the other end sounded like a little boy's.

“Oh, Marshal. Calling to report on the situation at the warehouse?” Tian Yi asked.

“Hmph… From the sound of that, I take it you've already set them off?” Marshal asked.

“No, I haven't. I was going to leave those bombs buried under the warehouse for eight or ten years and open a coal mine later.”

“Even if you are the boss, a joke that bad isn't going to make me laugh.” Marshal promptly returned to the matter at hand. “Since things here are more or less wrapped up, I'll leave for Gunsmith's place today and help speed up the work.”

“Fine,” Tian Yi said. “I'll have Accountant meet you shortly and bring you the Destiny prototype. We won't need it here for the time being. Take it with you, and have Gunsmith and Sorcerer find time to make a few improved portable versions. Keep the prototype intact.”

“That's settled, then.” With that, the caller hung up.

Tian Yi put down the receiver, stretched, and took another Book of the Heart from his desk drawer. He turned straight to the last page with writing on it and skimmed it. A smile of malicious amusement soon appeared on his lips.

He got up with the book, rummaged in the cupboard in the corner for an iron bucket, and left the shop.

Outside was a quiet little street. Tian Yi liked places like this because he enjoyed peace and solitude.

He set the bucket outside the shop, tossed Li Wei's Book of the Heart into it, then pulled a box of matches from a pocket of his shabby suit. He took one out, struck it, and casually dropped it into the bucket. Soon, a plume of brown smoke rose and dispersed in the wind.

The book burned to ashes, but he stood there for a long time.

A little over ten minutes later, a car pulled up outside the shop. The person Tian Yi was waiting for had finally arrived.

He walked over to the driver's window, which was already down.

Tian Yi rested his elbow on the window ledge, tilted his head, and leaned in a little to look at the back seat. Jiang Yun was sitting there, her expression cold and her eyes vacant. Her face, hands, and clothes were covered in blood, the stains all the more glaring against her fair skin.

“You certainly live up to the name Demon Doctor. I'm impressed.” Tian Yi gave the driver a satisfied smile.

Dr. Stranger wore a black suit and tie. He looked to be in his fifties, with gray at his temples and elaborately styled facial hair around his mouth, every inch the nineteenth-century British gentleman.

“Now that the Type 77 zombie serum experiment has succeeded and you've achieved your objective, you should let this child go.” Stranger ignored Tian Yi's praise.

“Are you sure you want to?” Tian Yi asked. “She's the first successful test subject. She's very valuable. Don't you want to see how long the serum takes to wear off, and what side effects follow?”

“The laboratory already has her serum samples and the experimental data,” Stranger said. “Give me your consent, and I'll inject the neutralizer and take her home.”

Tian Yi thought for a moment, then smiled. “But I think it would actually be better to let her die under the drug's influence. Even if you reverse the effects of the zombie serum, she'll still remember everything that happened during this time. This woman is quite an innocent. Once she regains self-awareness, the memory of brutally killing people with her bare hands could very well cause an immediate mental breakdown.

“Then she'll just be a madwoman of imperial blood with a pretty face. All she'll have left to look forward to is marrying some suitably well-born product of inbreeding one day, or killing herself with a pair of scissors in her room, something like that…

“I know you don't like killing people, Doctor, but sometimes sparing a life isn't the humane thing to do.”

When Tian Yi had finished, Stranger let out a long sigh. “I'm no executioner. I stopped killing people with my own hands many years ago.” He took a glass test tube from his jacket pocket. “This is the Type 77 neutralizer. You're the boss. What happens to this child is your decision.”

Tian Yi took the neutralizer and gave a noncommittal shrug, then told Jiang Yun in the back seat, “Get out.”

At the sound of Tian Yi's voice, a flicker of response appeared in Jiang Yun's vacant eyes. She opened the car door and stepped out.

“Hurry into the shop. Don't get blood everywhere,” Tian Yi instructed.

Like a voice-controlled robot, Jiang Yun stared straight ahead and hurried into the bookshop, obeying Tian Yi's every word to the letter.

“Ji Cheng is in the trunk.” Once Jiang Yun had entered the shop, Tian Yi turned back to Stranger. “Hand him over to Gu Wen and Darkwater. They'll deal with him.”

“Understood,” Stranger replied. He rolled up the window, and the car sped away.

For a moment, Tian Yi was once again alone on the deserted little street. He glanced at the test tube in his hand, smiled, and casually tossed it into a drain by the roadside.

…

May 13 was a Friday.

For Zuo Dao, it might well be a black Friday.

The weather was just starting to warm up, yet the fellow was wearing a long black trench coat over a crisp black suit, a black hat, a long white scarf, and sunglasses.

He had actually cut off his ponytail and gotten a crew cut. Looking every inch the dashing hero, he strode into the municipal police station lobby, chest out and head high, spread his arms, and bellowed, “I'm turning myself in!!!!!”

The cops were stunned. Was this guy nuts?

Just then, a smart surveillance camera in the lobby caught Zuo Dao's upturned face and began an automatic scan. The computer compared his facial features against its database. Two seconds later, an alarm worthy of an Angel attack on Tokyo-3 went off throughout the police station.

“High-priority wanted criminal detected. Target is extremely dangerous. Warning! Target is extremely dangerous!” the loudspeakers announced.

This time, our friendly neighborhood police officers reacted fast. Those nearby drew their guns and surrounded Zuo Dao. “Hands on your head! On your knees!” They were close enough to touch him, yet they screamed like pigs being slaughtered.

Zuo Dao had no desire to get shot, so he immediately complied. His knees had barely touched the floor when two burly men pounced on him from behind and had him cuffed in a flash.

When his sunglasses came off, everyone who saw Zuo Dao went crazy. He had changed his hairstyle, but there wasn't a soul who didn't recognize him.

To the people of the Dragon Commandery, Zuo Dao's face was now as familiar as Washington's on the dollar bill. They'd have recognized him even if he'd been burned to ashes. Over the past ten days, his photograph had appeared everywhere: in streets and alleys, in the corners of public toilets, in stations and supermarkets, on billboards and utility poles. TV dramas used to have commercial breaks. Now they had his wanted notice on a loop.

He'd barely been shoved into a cell and had time to warm his seat before people from HL arrived to take him away. Zuo Dao had a pretty good idea of how things stood. Given this reception, it went without saying that he wouldn't be getting anything resembling the normal procedures of interrogation, hearings, and trial. Just like those crazed terrorists, utterly twisted sociopaths, and dangerous ability users, he'd be sent to Hell Island the next time it surfaced.