Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

Sun Xiuying's finger hovered over the confirmation button, but she didn't press it. The system console screen was lit up, and the command line had already loaded—the gene lock was unlocked, the calibration sequence was written to the database, and the global public health information platform synchronization interface was ready. The genetic profiles of all Japanese-American individuals had been matched at the runtime level; only her confirmation was needed.

Her hand hovered over the keyboard for three seconds. Three seconds wasn't long, but it was enough for her to recall the smile she had practiced in front of the mirror on her first day wearing a white coat. Back then, she thought medicine was a door to healing, not a key shoved into her hand to lock away the fate of an entire nation. He Yuzhu stood about two steps behind her, without urging her. He left those three steps for her to walk across on her own, instead of pushing her over that hurdle. Her breathing echoed in the control room for a while before finally landing on the confirmation button, which she pressed. The system prompts on the screen scrolled slowly, like a line being stretched taut.

"Completion rate of germline markers: 100%. The calibrated sequence has been written into the germ cell genome and will be passed on to the next generation along with the genetic material. All interfaces of the global public health platform have been synchronized. The neural link crystal sheet calibration database has been closed. The servers at all seven backup sites have been connected and completed data transmission." Sun Xiuying's voice sounded like she was reading a report she had silently read many times, but she couldn't remain calm when she read the words "germ cells." "The markers have been written into the gene sequence. After this generation, the genetic lock and slave mark will no longer be inherited, nor will they be forgotten."

He Yuzhu stood behind her, his gaze fixed on her slightly trembling fingertips. He waited a moment. "That's enough."

The press conference was held the following morning in the multi-functional hall of Chengshan Research Institute. Sun Xiuying stood in front of the control room window, watching the sunlight outside the multi-functional hall cut the outline of the door out of the shadows, then turned around, placed the report on the edge of the table, and walked away.

The reporters were already seated, microphones lined up, the lights blindingly bright. As He Yuzhu entered the venue, the sound of camera shutters suddenly intensified, like someone hammering a row of nails in the distance. A blond reporter in the front row raised his hand, fingertips on the microphone switch, lips already parted, but in the instant he turned his head, he saw eyes like a closed door, not a sliver of light letting through. He lowered his hand, clenched it on his knee, and didn't ask the question.

He Yuzhu stood behind the podium, with no notes or folder in front of him. "China doesn't need others to teach us how to deal with defeated nations."

That afternoon, several diplomatic telegrams were placed unopened on the edge of He Yuzhu's desk. Old Sun saw the telegrams but neither questioned them nor moved them. He stood in front of the desk, about two meters away, paused for a moment, then turned and left the room.

Sun Xiuying returned to the control room in the evening and saw He Yuzhu still standing by the window. She didn't knock, but simply went in, placed the report on the table, her fingertips lingering on the edge of the cover for a moment before she withdrew them. "Director He, the data has been archived. All three backup nodes have been confirmed to be complete."

He Yuzhu didn't turn around. "After the marking is complete, will their offspring still be identified at birth?"

"The genetic lock is not inherited. Neither is the slave mark. After this generation, they will no longer be recognized."

"But they will know," He Yuzhu said.

"Yes." Sun Xiuying's hands hung at her sides, neither clenched nor unclenched. "They will know that their parents were marked, and they will also know that they will never be marked again. That knowledge will be passed down, longer than the genetic sequence. It will become family history, the creases on the edge of the genealogy that are repeatedly turned over, the taste left in the mouths of the previous generation. We lock this generation away, but every generation after that will know."

He Yuzhu turned around and looked at the unopened telegrams on the edge of the table, without touching them. He recalled the last moment before the press conference ended, when the blond reporter, as he sat down, gently pushed the microphone back into place, making a very slight clinking sound, like something being put back in its original position, no longer needing to be touched, nor easily taken out again. He thought of those telegrams, those unopened paper documents, those words written on paper but never read aloud; they had been delivered, waiting for him to open them. He reached out and pushed the telegrams further off the edge of the table, then turned off the light, like someone closing a book without blank pages.

At the end of the corridor, Sun Xiuying stood by the door where the control room met the corridor, her back to the Gobi Desert outside the window. The door wasn't fully closed; the light filtering through the crack was like a healing line, slowly thinning but not yet completely gone. She hadn't left, nor had she looked back. She simply stood between the door and the light, her fingers lightly resting on the doorframe, neither pushing nor pulling, waiting for the person inside to emerge. She waited a long time, so long that the light almost completely disappeared, but there was no sound. She lowered her arms, turned, and walked into the corridor; the light behind her extinguished the instant she passed.