Chapter 6: Brave New World (Part Five)
Crow called out "Mom," intending it as an expression of admiration, but the other party obviously didn't receive the message.
The Countess paused at the door for a moment, saying nothing, but Crow lost his canned food for dinner as a result.
He was as fragile as a paper-thin toad, needing to rest after every small effort. Not daring to protest against the fierce nurse, he swallowed half a bowl of dog food tastelessly, fuming inwardly.
In the underground city, day and night were indistinguishable, and the biological clock was guided solely by the lights. Berry Circle had scheduled blackouts, and the laughter and chatter upstairs and downstairs gradually faded away.
A happy day had passed.
The berries here had a high happiness index. According to Crow's observations, apart from the demented stud that everyone despised, the Countess was the only one who didn't sing or laugh… probably because she had to work.
The hardworking laboring women gave up their single beds to their fragile, foolish sons, and instead spread an old blanket on the floor to sleep, exactly where the previous nurse had breathed her last.
In the darkness, Crow lay still, pretending not to know that the insomniac Countess was staring at him.
Perhaps because she spent so much time reading newspapers in the dimly lit room, the Countess had some trouble seeing in the dark. Unable to see clearly herself, and not really considering Crow a living being, she couldn't help but relax her facial expression management. Observing secretly, Crow saw her expression change unpredictably, sometimes as if she wanted to smash his head to the ground, and other times gently, as if she just wanted to wipe his face.
Really absurd, how did a meek and simple-minded person like him attract such a mix of love and hate?
This unexpected murder case explained some things, like why the "nurse" insisted on the Countess—because she was fierce.
For the rat owners, the former nurse's death was no big deal; she was old anyway. But if a new nurse was assigned and clashed with the rebellious Countess, the economic loss could be significant. One stud killing another wasn't a big deal, as long as no one set anything on fire. The rat owners just needed to ensure the Countess wasn't crazy and wouldn't massacre other stud animals. Whether the bloodshed was premeditated murder or self-defense didn't matter; whoever survived was considered just… if anyone cared about the "justice" of stud animals.
However, Crow had new questions: why did the Countess kill the former nurse?
The former nurse didn't wish the Countess well, but she had no murderous intent when delivering babies. Otherwise, someone with murderous intent would see knives in everything, and she shouldn't have been completely unprepared against the younger and stronger Countess.
So this was entirely premeditated by the Countess.
But the "nurse" role, like a shepherd dog, was unlikely to be new, usually being a breeding female past childbearing age. The Countess had already given birth to so many children in Berry Circle, and these two had been together for so long. No matter what grudge they had, couldn't they have resolved it at another time?
Whether the Countess's difficult birth was real or fake, giving birth in such a hellish place wasn't a joke. Why did she combine two dangerous tasks, birth and death?
Even if the child in her belly was "Little Eight" at the time of the murder, nine to ten months had passed by now. What had she been doing for the past half year?
Was she in such a hurry to move up to become a nurse and work for the rats?
The Countess was full of mysteries.
And even more intriguing, just now Crow had shouted "Mom." It was a term Little Six wouldn't understand, and although the Countess had emotional fluctuations, she wasn't surprised.
Crow let these questions simmer in his mind, waiting patiently as they gnawed at him. When the Countess on the floor turned over, the unsettling gaze left. He estimated that at least for tonight, the Countess had no intention of smashing his head, so he stretched out his limbs, performing the trick of falling asleep in three seconds.
Perhaps because the Countess's bed was harder than a hospital bed and creaked with every move, Crow slept uneasily and vaguely dreamed.
In his dream, he was free of pain and could finish a box of fried chicken in five minutes, spitting bones out more skillfully than a dog.
A figure sat beside him, blurry but comforting, like a blend of both a father and a mother.
Instinctively, he wanted to move away, his shoulders stiffened, and he forcibly suppressed the urge to resist.
"This is terrible," he threw away the last bone, deliberately wiping his hands with indifference, complaining, "Your cafeteria put bulletproof vests on the chickens, right? Wrapped in so much breadcrumbs, it wore down my upper palate."
"Ah, I'm very sorry," the person said with a warm smile, "Inviting you here without proper hospitality. Next time, I'll order takeout for you. You can order whatever you want."
"Like there's ever going to be a 'next time'!" he said like a rebellious teenager.
"I was just about to tell you," the person said without a hint of offense, still speaking with gentle kindness, "I have many tasks here that require your help. The Union has decided to transfer you from the Special Zone and make me your guardian."
"Guardian."
"You prefer that term? Fine, or you can also call me 'old thing.'"
Crow felt a bit uneasy and blurted out, "If you need what's inside me, why don't you just take it out?"
The other party fell silent.
So, he continued recklessly, "The Union must be eager by now, right? Anyway, I..."
"Child," the other interrupted, "don't you want to come to my side?"
He became even more uneasy and slipped into a rebellious tone, "Of course, following you is such an honor. My ancestors, wherever they are, must be exploding with pride..."
"But I feel that from the moment I sat down, you've been wanting to jump out the window."
"..."
The kind-hearted person stood up, pushed the window open, glanced outside, and turned back to him, "This is the second floor. There's a thick mat below. You can jump if you want."
The person stood there, backlit, still unclear to see. Only the word "jump" echoed, hitting his eardrums, waking him up.
Crow opened his eyes. The sunlight... or rather, the bright lights were already on.
He dazed for a moment, realizing where he was.
The berry circle was already buzzing with noise. The Countess had gone out to work a long time ago—despite her killings, she didn't deprive the kids of sleep. Just for that, she'd earn a five-star rating as a mom.
The dream, like a midnight visitor, slipped away from his memory, leaving no trace behind. Crow sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the dizziness from low blood pressure to pass, hearing the broadcast start in the berry circle.
Over the cheerful music, a soft, mouse-like voice lectured that the greatest blessings in the world were the ability to eat and sleep. Be grateful for life and always stay alert to any unusual thoughts, because "overthinking" was a symptom of brain cancer with an extremely high fatality rate.
Crow: "..."
Really, don't fool the illiterate and the mentally challenged. Does brain cancer have these symptoms?
There was a crude water tap in the Countess's room. He sat for a while, gathered enough strength to get up, and washed up briefly. He used the chip around his neck to unlock the stairwell door and went downstairs.
Downstairs, the girls were already up, and the little fatties waiting to receive their food had formed a long line.
Broadcast: "Sing more, talk less, and avoid asking questions—singing nourishes the spirit, talking too much harms the energy, and questions are dangerous!"
The adults and kids in the yard nodded their heads, chanting in unison, "Singing nourishes the spirit, talking too much harms the energy, and questions are dangerous!"
Crow: "Ha—"
Then he got hit for blocking the way while giggling like an idiot.
With one whip, the Countess didn't hit Crow much, but the little fatties waiting for food were terrified. The line immediately fell silent, and even the kids didn't dare to echo the broadcast.
After receiving their food in pin-drop silence, the kids sat in a circle, supervising each other's meals and eating. If someone left food uneaten, they'd report it to the matron for a whip. Curious about what kind of food made the kids so fat, Crow grabbed a piece from a child's bowl. Before he could put it in his mouth, he got ratted out. He didn't get to eat the fatty's food and received another whipping.
After beating her foolish son, the Countess drove this batch of fatties back and organized another batch to line up. Crow then noticed that next to the feeding machine, there was a very advanced scale. Kids had to weigh themselves first, and the scale would indicate how much food they should receive.
Crow went over to observe for a moment and, when the Countess wasn't paying attention, crouched down to sneak into the line of fatties, performing a magic trick at the scale.
Scale: "Warning, your height exceeds the standard limit. Immediate action required!"
Crow: "Hey."
Pretty smart.
Countess turned her head, and without missing a beat, Crow bolted, only to overestimate his lungs. After just a few steps, he became short of breath, his face turning pale. He was caught by Countess at the entrance of the male dormitory and beaten again.
Chaos erupted all around, but the guy in the dorm just lay there, unmoving, his bony, emaciated butt seemingly having taken root in the broken lounge chair.
Countess grabbed Crow's ear and eyed him suspiciously. "What's gotten into you today?"
Crow remained silent, his clear and innocent eyes meeting hers.
A flash of annoyance crossed Countess's face as she unceremoniously handed him a bowl of food. "Give this to him, and scram," she said, pointing at the stud in the small yard.
Crow swiped his chip to unlock the iron gate and slipped into the male dormitory. As he approached the stud, he was nearly knocked over by the stench—the guy had been lying still for so long he had developed bedsores, with maggots crawling in and out of his festering flesh. Upon closer inspection, Crow realized that the mottled stains on the man's clothes were not fabric designs but excrement. The poor soul had become incontinent.
No wonder Countess hadn't come herself.
Crow tiptoed up to his fellow inmate, took a sniff, and felt a little lightheaded. The stud didn't just smell bad; there was also the odor of impending death. Great Mr. Charles had judged correctly; he was as good as dead.
Crow placed the food bowl in front of the man with a somber expression and plugged the spoon handle-first into the food, bowing as if in mourning.
The man ignored both Crow and the food, his eyes fixed on the iron fence nearby.
Following his gaze, Crow saw a small flower basket hanging on the fence, intricately made, filled with straw rope dolls and paper-folded flowers.
A few garbled words slipped from the man's mouth, and Crow leaned in to listen closely. He heard, "Wind chime... chime... chime..."
Wind chime?
Crow stood under the small flower basket and looked for a long time but couldn't find any bell. Just as he reached out to take the basket down, someone slapped his hand away.
Countess had appeared from nowhere and shoved a can of meat into his hands. "Go eat somewhere else, and if you cause more trouble, I'll beat you to death."
With that, she hurried off.
Crow looked down at the can in his hands, puzzled—the can had already been opened and stirred.
How thoughtful?
Just then, a head popped over his shoulder. "Crow, I'm here!"
A milky scent wafted over him as Pearl affectionately wrapped her arms around his arm and dragged Crow to sit down beside her. "What did you do this time? I heard a loud smack!"
Crow pointed to the flower basket on the fence.
"Ah," Pearl's smile faded. "Do you miss Bread too?"
"I do, desperately," Crow thought. "Give me a white toast, and I'll sell myself into slavery."
Swallowing his drool, his rationality returned, realizing that "Bread" might be a person's name, so he repeated slowly, "Bread—?"
No one in the yard responded, except for Countess, who was sweeping the yard with her back to them. She paused.
"Have you forgotten her already, silly Crow? Bread was also born of the nanny. She was my best friend," she said, her voice softening.
Crow gently lowered his head, gazing at the girl's crown.
"The flower basket was made by Bread. She was wonderful, the best berry in the world, but she had 'too many thoughts' and died of brain cancer," Pearl muttered to herself again in a low, chanting voice, "Sing more, talk less... Sing more, talk less..."
Crow sensed something and looked again at the small flower basket on the iron railing.
In the shaded spot, his left eye silently recognized the second death in the berry circle.
A plump, young girl emerged from the basket and reappeared before him. She wasn’t tall, with a round face, her whole body resembling cotton candy, except for her eyes, which were exactly like the Earl’s.
In an instant, Crow witnessed every detail of her final moments: from the backlight, it must have been late at night when the girl named “Bread” left the female dormitory alone, dragging a rope woven from five or six strands of grass. Awkwardly, she tied a noose to the iron railing, stood on a stool, and put her head through it.
Crow’s breath caught in his throat. Unlike the murder from the day before, this suffocation felt gentle, prolonged… and desperate.
He sat there quietly, not letting the little girl beside him sense any abnormality.
This time, there were others in the scene of death. In the small yard of the male dormitory, two men—including Crow himself—were awake. These two men, who seemed mentally impaired, were like wooden carvings, one sitting in the yard and the other by the window, staring blankly at the suicide on the other side of the iron railing.
As Bread kicked away the stool, her wobbling body hit the iron railing with a hoarse “creak.” When the Earl rushed out and hugged the girl’s body, the two men in the male dormitory didn’t move or make a sound.
For a brief moment, a light flickered from somewhere in the darkness, and the middle-aged man’s eyes briefly lit up, then faded like a spark in the wind.
Crow saw his mouth move slightly, as if murmuring: “Wind chime…”
Bread died of what they called “brain cancer.”
It turned out that here, dying in despair was referred to as “brain cancer.”