The Last Speech

It was a sleepless night. He rose from bed at the crack of dawn.

After a long night of contemplation, he had devised a strategy.

The plan was straightforward: if comrades in his party hesitated, he would turn to friends from other parties. He could reach out to members of the Democratic Socialist Party, the Young China Party, and garner all of their support. He didn’t believe that everyone would retreat in fear, especially those from the Communist Party of China (CPC). Nobody could be as fearless and committed as they were. He remembered an ancient poem, “Our life is fleeting and brief; A hundred years are hardly enough. What truly matters is a loyal heart, One that surpasses the hardest stone and gold.”

He strode out of the school gate and hurried in the direction of the east. There was a station where a large number of rickshaws gathered daily to pick up and drop off patrons.

Under the shade of a tree, about ten rickshaw pullers sat chatting. They were a mix of young and old, clad in tattered blue-black uniforms that bore faded numbers. A mass of deep wrinkles was etched into their sunburned, gaunt faces, like ravines mercilessly severed any dreams they might have harboured–not only for themselves but for their descendants as well.

Before getting too close, he was hit by the pungent stench of sweat and blood. Wen Yiduo approached a younger-looking puller, handed him fifty cents, and announced his destination.

The streets were teeming with armed police and security personnel. Wen Yiduo leaned slightly into the rickshaw, as if that small shift could keep him farther apart from their intimidating presence.

He was preparing to visit one of CPC’s secret contact points in Kunming, where the liaison was a friend he had known for over ten years. With CPC’s assistance, he felt that his chances of success would greatly improve.

Not only that, but he had also envisioned the detailed steps of the entire plan and even drafted a speech for the meeting. It felt as if he had suddenly returned to the year 1919, when his 20-year-old self hand-wrote Yue Fei’s Man Jiang Hong⁵ and pasted it at the entrance of the dining hall of his alma mater Tsinghua University before resolutely joining the May Fourth Movement.

A surge of youthful energy swept over him. He had a feeling that the current plan would also achieve great success, just like what he did 26 years ago.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m in a hurry, please go faster.”

“Sure thing, Dean Wen…” the rickshaw puller replied cheerfully. “Hold on tight!”

“You know me?”

“How could we not know you? You’re a big-name intellectual in Kunming!” The puller seemed in high spirits as the rickshaw sped up. He continued, “I have a six-year-old son. However tough things get, I want him to go to school. The more he learns, the less he’ll be bullied.”

Indeed, only by learning and understanding more can one avoid being bullied. This was exactly why he had dedicated himself to education for decades.

“Do you think China will get better?” the puller asked.

“Yes! We definitely will,” Wen replied without hesitation. He felt an inexplicable emotion welling up inside him.

“That’s great to hear. How I hope that one day my boy can be as knowledgeable as you…”

“He will! He definitely will!” Wen Yiduo wanted to encourage the rickshaw puller further, but suddenly the rickshaw came to a sharp stop, nearly throwing him out of the vehicle.

The rickshaw puller had his left foot oddly raised in the air, leaning forward, yet he didn’t fall; he simply held this posture without moving.

“Hi, why have you stopped?”

The puller didn’t speak； cicadas on the branches above chirped louder and louder.

“Could you please hurry? I’ll give you an extra thirty cents!”

The puller did not respond.

“Can you hear me?”

Still, the puller remained unmoved.

“You…” Wen Yiduo got a bit heated. He wanted to say something, yet the words slipped away from his lips.

Wen Yiduo sighed and exclaimed, “I’m getting off now.”

“Professor Wen…” the puller said slowly, still back-facing him, “Have you studied the records of dragons?”

Wen Yiduo didn’t quite catch what he was saying.

“The records are very important,” the puller continued. With his back to Wen Yiduo, he was oblivious to his customer’s loss of composure. “Don’t attend the speech on the fifteenth, or you will die. I don’t have much time, I’ll be brief.”

“By using the most basic principles of statistics, one can get a general idea of a dragon. It’s a four-legged giant serpent with the head of a bull, the face of a fish, horns on its forehead, whiskers on its cheeks, and its body covered in scales. It exudes thick mucus, giving off a strong foul odour. When a dragon stays out of water, its skin will crack from dryness. Don’t attend the speech on the fifteenth; you will die. Without the help from humans, it will only dry up and perish. But when it rains, it can again soar into the skies with the aid of the force of water.”

“May I ask who are you?” Wen Yiduo tried to maintain his scholarly composure. He noticed a group of secret agents across the street, including the snake-face from yesterday, whose attention had been drawn to them.

The rickshaw puller continued his monologue: “Since the time of Emperor Gaozu of Han⁶, dragons became the symbol of imperial power. Don’t attend the speech on the fifteenth; you will die. Anyhow, there’s no trace of romanticismo associated with dragon’s appearance in ancient records. The same question arises with the twelve zodiac animal signs: why did our ancients choose a mythical creature along with eleven real animals? And why didn’t this creature hold a special status in the zodiac order? We have every reason to believe that we overestimate the imagination of our ancients.”

After a moment’s thought, Wen Yiduo was convinced that the puller’s mention of “romanticismo” was a reference to the concept of romance. He struggled to remain calm and follow the puller’s line of thought, “Isn’t it a bit childish to claim that dragons exist based solely on ancient records and such doubts?”

“With a basic understanding of biology, you shall find a creature resembling dragon could very well exist.”

“Hello. Are you listening to me?”

“Don’t attend the speech on the fifteenth; you will die…The dragon’s scales can open and close…”

The agents began to close in on this side, one of them brandishing a handgun.

“Who exactly are you?” Wen Yiduo couldn’t help but shout.

“What are you doing?” the agent yelled back.

Bang! the rickshaw puller fell heavily to the ground.

Wen Yiduo looked up to see five or six agents blocking his way, including the short, plump one from earlier, who grinned at him as if he had stumbled upon a treasure.

“Oh, it’s you, Dean Wen.”

Wen Yiduo turned his face away, refusing to respond. Meanwhile, the snake-face crouched down to check the puller’s breathe and shook his head at the short one.

“Are you sure?” the short man pressed, furrowing his brow.

The snake-face confirmed, “Damn it, he’s as dead as a rotten watermelon.”

The short man quickly instructed, “Hurry and report to the captain.” He then turned back to Wen Yiduo with a smile, “Dean Wen, this one is certainly dead.”

“Another one dead? It’s becoming a pattern. When will you put an end to it?” Wen Yiduo sneered, “You guys arranged this, didn’t you?”

“I swear to Generalissimo Chiang⁷, we have never seen this man before,” the short agent said with a grin, circling around the corpse. “There’s no one else here; if it wasn’t you, who else could it be?”

Wen Yiduo replied coolly, “He lay down by himself.”

“How interesting,” the short man looked up at Wen Yiduo, “On such a hot day, he just lies down on the burning ground and dies… Ah, Dean Wen, you intellectuals do have a way with jokes.”

“I never joke.”

The agent assumed an air of awkwardness, “Dean Wen, I genuinely want to believe what you’re saying, but if I report this, Commissioner Huo will have me executed. I’m really sorry, but I must insist that you come with me.”

“Go with you, again? Aren’t you afraid it’ll end in another blunder?”

The short man’s face darkened, “Mr. Wen, you can see for yourself whether he’s dead or not. I’ve said it before: China values the rule of law; whoever commits a crime must face the consequences.”

Wen Yiduo stopped self-defense; it would only deepen these agents’ disdain towards him. Before long, a sleek black sedan arrived, escorted by dozens of armed police.

An officer stepped out of the car, whom Wen Yiduo recognised him as Commissioner Huo Kuizhang, the head of the security command.

“Dean Wen, what a pleasure to meet you!” the officer gave him a blank stare.

Wen Yiduo couldn’t help allowing himself a wry smile; the likelihood was that there was no way to clear his name even if he were to dive into the Yellow River. He wondered how history would judge him in the years to come?

“Dean Wen, our commissioner is requesting your presence!” the short man urged, gesturing for him to get into the vehicle.

The pride of a scholar allowed him to be killed but never humiliated. Wen Yiduo prepared to enter the car, without any hesitation or fear.

“Ouch!” Just as he was about to climb in, the rickshaw puller lying on the ground suddenly shouted, “I’m burning up!”

Exactly before everybody’s eyes, the rickshaw puller sprang to his feet. One of his hands covered half of his face, which was bright red from the heat. He looked around – A group of military police were staring at him, as if he had just crawled out of a grave.

“Who… who are you?” the puller’s terror was extreme.

Commissioner Huo sized up the puller, then glanced at Wen Yiduo before fixing his gaze on the short agent.

“Commissioner, I’m not lying! He’s really dead!” the terrified short agent couldn’t stop trembling under Huo’s scrutiny.

With a slap across the short man’s face, the commissioner took off in his limousine.

Apparently, these bizarre events must be orchestrated by the reactionary forces as a deterrent. They threatened him in such a teasing way: it wasn’t fear of killing that held them back, but rather a disdain for such acts! From a student of science and engineering to a rickshaw puller who couldn’t even write his own name, the reactionary government recruited the ones lacking any academic background to challenge his research findings. Their singular aim was clear: to tarnish his reputation.

Wen Yiduo was all too familiar with the tactics by a dictatorial regime. Historically, nothing has proven more effective in dismantling an intellectual than discrediting his academic work. For the populace untrained in logic, if the research of an intellectual is invalidated, that person is likely to be regarded as morally suspect.

This explains why, during conversations, they would absurdly interject the remark, “Don’t attend the speech on the fifteenth.” Repeated words or phrases would create an incantation-like effect, subtly influencing public thought and ultimately filling their heads with all these lies.

As for why the rickshaw puller rose from the dead, Wen Yiduo speculated that they must have used some specially designed drug to induce a state of apparent death, such as the juice from black azalea leaves. While he had previously doubted the existence of such a substance, the fact that the puller had only been dead for a few minutes made it plausible.

Well, now that they aimed to undermine him by refuting his stance on the existence of dragons, he decided to play along and accept the challenge.

What began as a purely academic pursuit of dragons had now, in a profound way, evolved into a necessity for struggle – a necessity for revolution!

Xiaozhen was restless all morning. She was aware that her husband had left early to seek help from friends in other parties. However, the entire city was under the watch of secret police. Once found, he could be shot to death at any moment. She kept getting up and sitting down, even the sight of her favorite roses by the steps could not pacify her anxiousness.

Just as her anxiety peaked, Wen Yiduo pushed the door open.

“Back so soon?” she rushed over to greet him, beside herself with joy.

“Ran into a bit of trouble.”

“What happened?”

“Where is Fuxi-Kao?” Wen Yiduo asked.

Xiao Zhen was a sort of shocked, “Why do you need it?”

“For something important,” Wen Yiduo added, “the revolution needs it.”

Xiaozhen had read Fuxi-Kao before. It was a study of Chinese mythology written by her husband, incorporating the latest archaeological findings from the country along with theories from abroad. For instance, he argued that the prototypes of Fuxi and Nüwa⁸ were nothing more than a gourd, that the primary purpose of the Dragon Boat Festival was to worship dragon rather than the celebrated Chinese poet Qu Yuan, and, of course, his most famous conclusion: dragon is a composite of various animal totems that symbolise the great unity of the Chinese nation.

In his study, Wen Yiduo was flipping through ancient works. Thanks to his solid academic background in the field, he quickly sorted out dozens of records on dragon sightings. These accounts were found not only in unofficial histories but also in authoritative texts such as Records of the Grand Historian, The Commentary of Zuo, and Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government. Even those illustrious ancient scientific works like Dream Pool Essays and Commentary on the Water Classic contained similar records.

He paid particular attention to these accounts in local chronicles, whose scientific validity had been established – his friend, Zhu Kezhen, had mentioned using numerous climate records from local chronicles in his studies of climate change in China.

“I’ll reiterate the biological characteristics of dragons: a four-legged giant serpent, a fish’s face, horns on its forehead, whiskers on its cheeks, its body covered in scales.”

Over millennia, through the Xia, Jin, and Qing Dynasties, nearly all ethnic groups in China, including Han, Manchu, Mongolian, Hui, Tibetan, and Miao, have described this “fantastical creature” in strikingly similar terms.

Why exactly did our ancestors want to perpetuate this “great deception”? Whilst some records of dragon sightings were crafted to align with the political climate of their time, others seemed completely unconventional. For instance, during the Song, a farmer in Zhejiang Province discovered a little dragon but killed it with a single stroke of his hoe. In another case, a dragon that fell from the sky was entirely consumed by the locals who found it.

Given the supreme authority of imperial power in ancient China, the tragic fates of dragons recorded in history left Wen Yiduo feeling even more disconnected with common sense.

Unless, these accounts were genuine observations of nature made by the ancients.

Wen Yiduo felt as if his heart was trapped in a tight iron ring, suffocating him to the point where he could hardly speak.

Room 003, Faculty of History, Humanities Division, Hangzhou East Asian History Revision Centre.

It was three years ago that the Humanities Division was re-designated from Room 009 to Room 003, signalling a shift in the International Historical Revision Committee’s perception of humanities scholars. Rooms 001 and 002 remain dedicated to Philosophy and Physics, respectively. Like other divisions, this one occupies less than one hundred square metres of concrete space, yet extends an astonishing depth of 1,500 metres. The walls are reinforced with thick lead blocks that measure 100 centimetres, theoretically sufficient enough to shield against all particles except neutrinos. The design ensures the information stability as quantum thoughts traverse wormholes in a synchronised space-time continuum.

The lighting casts a dim green hue throughout the room, and the floor is covered with honeycomb alloy panels. Due to the strong electric field, the air carries a faintly charred scent. While the room itself appears unremarkable at first glance, visitors would inevitably be drawn to the couple of blue and green massive glass pillars that stand right at the centre.

Each pillar towers around six metres tall and spans two metres in diameter. Their immense forms nearly fill the entire space. The interiors are charged with a transparent liquid rich in oxygen. At this moment, the right pillar is unmanned, while the left pillar houses a floating man.

To be precise, a naked man.

The man has a very pale complexion, and to maximise contact with the liquid, all the hair on his body has been completely shaved. Part of his skin wrinkled like prunes due to prolonged immersion in the liquid, giving him the overall appearance that resembled some unknown albino creature. Being suspended in the glass tube, his limbs are relaxed and swaying gently with the currents. Only the large bubbles continuously escaping from his mouth and nostrils indicate the constant rhythm of his breathing.

Before long, the glass pillar began to transform. The liquid inside turned from blue-green to orange-red, and then almost instantly became crystal clear. The level of liquid started to fall slowly at a steady pace, until the fluid was completely drained after a few minutes. The glass pillars on either side retracted and opened at the same time.

Fang Qiu was half crouching on the ground; his body coated in a viscous fluid. He coughed repeatedly; the strong electric field in the room made his throat uncomfortable, and his skin itched all over. After a while, six showerheads emerged around him to rinse him clean. Shortly after, two mechanical arms moved in from a distance, helping him into a blue-green sanitary suit while offering him a cup of hot milk.

He gulped down the milk in one go, staring blankly ahead with a look of dejection on his face.

“Wen Yiduo” is the eighth target Fang Qiu had taken on since joining the faculty. So far, he had conducted five rounds of operations on him, totaling 1.5 hours – longer than the combined time spent on his previous seven targets.

This was a real knock to Fang Qiu. Since graduation from the sports department, he had consistently ranked as the top performer in the entire East China region. His supervisor assigned him this task one week ago, precisely because of his past efficiency and high completion rate.

The committee had assigned an overall difficulty rating for revising “Wen Yiduo,” to fall between an “A” and an “A-.” However, the higher-ups at the Hangzhou Centre believed that if they could crack this tough nut, they would have enough capital to bid for high-profile targets like “Qin Shi Huang”⁹ or “Confucius.”

It is critical the centre in the long run, as it would not only enhance their reputation but also bring in substantial funding.

A woman’s voice echoed through the room, commanding Fang Qiu to report to the control console within five minutes.

The control console is an old-fashioned office, its pale green walls amplifying the emptiness of this space. The room is sparsely furnished, with only a brown wooden desk and a few simple chairs.

Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man in a dark green uniform who kept his head bowed. Opposite him lounged a young girl of about seventeen or eighteen. Despite her fair, freckled skin, her scalp was very clean and had a translucent texture reminiscent of lambskin. She wore a red and black jacket, her long legs draped casually over the back of another chair as she chewed gum in a rhythmical way.

She showed no intention of offering up her seat.

Fang Qiu recognised her as Hua Yingzi, a mathematics junior from his university. Her large eyes, accented with deep red eyeshadow, were locked onto Fang Qiu with a predatory gaze, as if he were her prey.

Yet it wasn’t until Fang Qiu reached the front of the desk that the middle-aged man looked up. His face was thin, with sunken cheeks, while his sharp eyes conveyed a keen intelligence.

“You failed again,” he said in a low voice.

“I’m sorry, Major. Please give me another chance.”

“I’ve reviewed the communication log this time; it’s all about rookie errors.” The major tapped the desk. A sky-blue UI materialised on the surface, somewhat brightening the room. On the UI, a torrent of numbers scrolled rapidly down the screen.

“The total data volume is 0.6K, five times the average. Do you really know what that means?” The major said sulkily, “Excessive data will cause the recipient’s nerves to block, and it takes them over 15 minutes to revive, enough to trigger panic among the public.”

“I understand.”

“You understand? A sudden increase in stories of people coming back to life across history. A temporal chain reaction could even bring about a figure like Jesus in China!” The major struggled to contain his anger, “Only the slightest traces could be left during historical revision.

“I’m sorry!” Fang Qiu apologised repeatedly.

“The revision took 90 minutes, and the accumulated costs in materials, energy, and management reached $43.8 million,” the major said coldly, “At this rate, the Hangzhou Centre won’t make it past mid-next month.”

“I’m sorry! Please give me another chance.” Fang Qiu bowed deeply, “I promise I’ll succeed the next time; I swear!”

“I see nothing to trust.”

“I’ll adjust the code algorithm for a quicker search for the target’s coordinates, and I’ll activate more neurons to shorten the communication time… Anyway, please believe me! I will succeed, no matter what, I will get Wen Yiduo done!”

Fang Qiu bowed again deeply to the major.

His promise was followed by an embarrassed silence. When the clock struck 6:20, the major finally spoke.

“Last chance.”

“Understood!” Fang Qiu quickly left the room. The young girl watched him go, and the bubble of gum she had just blown popped in response.

Wen Yiduo locked himself in the study all night. At four in the morning, Xiaozhen pushed the door open and was startled by the scene inside.

The study was a whirlwind of chaos, as if a fierce battle had just taken place.

Copious books lay strewn across the floor like fallen soldiers, and the sole survivor sat amid the wreckage, lost in thought.

“What… happened to you?” Xiaozhen asked.

Wen Yiduo looked up at his wife. He wanted to say something to her but struggled to find the words.

“Let’s eat first,” she suggested.

“Do you think,” Wen Yiduo said, barely able to believe his own words, “Do you think dragons exist?”

Xiaozhen hadn’t expected this question, “What… are you talking about?”

“Could there really be dragons?”

She replied, “I’ve studied Fuxi-Kao carefully; your conclusions are well-founded.”

“Being well-founded doesn’t mean they’re correct,” Wen Yiduo countered, “What if I’m mistaken?”

“Are they planning to target your book?” Xiaozhen suddenly realised.

“That’s not the point,” Wen Yiduo said, “If I’m truly mistaken, then I’m spreading falsehoods.”

“There’s no absolute theory; only temporary truths,” Xiaozhen reassured him, “Isn’t Jianxiong always saying that? Perhaps even the theory of relativity will one day be disproven.”

“It’s different, it’s different…” Wen Yiduo thought. This was tied to the symbolism of a nation; if it truly exists, how could it be dismissed as a fabrication?

“I have to go out for a while,” Wen Yiduo announced.

“It’s all agents out there.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to Chen Zhen.”

“Why do you want to see him?” Xiaozhen felt all the more puzzled. “He’s the head of the biology department… are you going to research dragons from a biological angle?”

“Hard to say.” Wen Yiduo splashed water on his face; sometimes he was so proud of his wife’s sharp intellect.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Xiaozhen shook her head. “But at least it’s better than you going for the CPC.”

“When the time is right, I’ll go for them too.” With that, Wen Yiduo pushed the door open.

“Come back early.”

But Wen Yiduo didn’t catch this last sentence by his wife; his mind was filled with the rickshaw puller’s words, “With a basic understanding of biology you shall find a creature resembling dragon could very well exist.”

He never anticipated that his research on dragons would take such an unexpected turn from the humanities to the natural sciences. Yet he was very conscious that without expertise in certain fields, it would be nearly impossible to continue his studies.

Around seven o’clock, Wen Yiduo knocked on Chen Zhen’s door. Chen carried a scent reminiscent of formaldehyde, as if he were a specimen just taken out of a biology jar.

“May I solicit your advice on some matter?” Wen Yiduo came straight to the point.

The biologist gave him a sheepish smile, looking even more distressed than if he were crying, “You flatter me; please, go ahead.”

“Is there any organism that combines features of reptiles, amphibians, mammals, and fish?” Wen Yiduo asked frankly.

“Are you asking about mixed traits from multiple species?” Chen Zhen was a bit surprised at the question, but almost instinctively replied, “Many.”

“Many?” The answer took Wen Yiduo by surprise.

“Yes. No two species are exactly alike, yet each retains a series of ancestral traits. This is a fundamental concept in taxonomy.”

At the sight of Wen’s puzzled look, Chen Zhen smiled apologetically and clarified, “Higher organisms possess traits of lower ones. For instance, birds exhibit traits of both reptiles and fish, but only mammals exhibit traits of birds.”

“Understood,” Wen Yiduo nodded. “The more advanced an organism is, the more traits it inherits from other species.”

“Exactly.”

“But why can’t we observe that in humans?”

“To be precise, it has diminished. Compared to other organisms, human evolution has been more comprehensive,” the dean of the School of Biology explained slowly to the dean of the School of Arts, “We humans lack tails, yet still have tailbones. Our body hair is fine and sparse, but some individuals are born with tails or excessive hair. This is what we refer to as atavism.”

“So, the traits of species have merely diminished, not disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“Then is it possible for an organism to clearly exhibit traits from multiple species? For example, a creature with a mammal’s head, a reptile’s body, fish scales, amphibious legs, and even the ability to fly like a bird?”

“Hahaha,” Chen Zhen laughed heartily, seemed entertained by Wen Yiduo’s wild imagination. “Isn’t that essentially a dragon? You yourself believe it doesn’t exist.”

Wen Yiduo chuckled.

The biologist sensed Wen’s discomfort, so he softened his tone, “The question of whether species are constantly evolving or if they would stay largely the same has long been a central issue in the debate between evolution and creationism. If a creature like dragon were to actually exist, it would contradict the theory of evolution and directly suggest the existence of a Creator.”

“Why is that so?”

“A fundamental change in evolution requires an average of twenty thousand years. The process is very complex and slow,” Chen Zhen remarked with a sigh, “The external features of living beings evolve step by step and over a prolonged period of time. Take the human tailbone for instance, it has endured for two million years despite its reduced function.”

Wen Yiduo let out a sigh of relief. At least from a scientific perspective, dragons could not possibly exist. He smiled genuinely and expressed his gratitude to Chen Zhen for his assistance.

Curiously, he asked, “As you said, advanced organisms exhibit traits from multiple species, but those traits aren’t always obvious. Then how do you define the categories of living organisms?”

“Haha, you’ve stumped me there! Not to mention the classification among animals, even distinguishing between plants and animals can be quite challenging. Over eighty years ago, someone proposed setting up a third kingdom for lower organisms, calling it the Protista, but that didn’t really solve the problem…” As if struck by a sudden idea, Chen Zhen exclaimed, “Ah, Dean Wen, your words inspired me! I think I could write a book on the history of biology, focusing specifically on this topic.”

“Oh no, I should be the one thanking you,” Wen Yiduo said as he stood up to take his leave. “Natural sciences and the humanities are two distinct disciplines; in a way, you pursue quantitative analysis while we seek qualitative understanding.”

“Actually,” Chen Zhen reflected for a moment, “natural sciences also begin with qualitative observation. Take the biological classification for example. Ancient Chinese scholars had developed a system based on external appearance. While it may be flawed by modern standards, its historical significance is undeniable.”

“Appearance-based classification?”

“In simple terms, organisms with similar external features are grouped together in the same category.”

Wen Yiduo unconsciously recalled something.

The Compendium of Materia Medica (Bencao Gangmu)¹⁰ divides animals with scales into four groups: dragon, snake, fish, and fish without scales. Further, both The Commentary of Zuo and Dream Pool Essays clearly state that a dragon is a dragon and a snake is a snake. Until now, he had taken these references as mere figments of ancient imagination or simple errors. However, after Chen Zhen’s explanation, he felt a kind of deep resonance.

Bencao Gangmu was completed during the Ming Dynasty when dragons were already identified as an embodiment of the emperor. The image of dragon, revered and majestic, was largely solidified in art. But why did Li Shizhen still classify dragons alongside crocodiles and geckos in this book?

Could it be that ancient scholars viewed dragons as reptiles?

Archaeological evidence reveals that during the Xia, Shang, and Zhou Dynasties, dragon motifs were rather simple; they all looked like, at best, giant lizards. It was only with the passage of time that the image of dragon evolved into what we recognise today. Yet, in stark contrast to the artistic images, the ancient descriptions of dragons remained consistent over thousands of years.

“I see!” Wen Yiduo shouted and dashed away. The dean of the School of Biology was left in shock.

There is only one explanation!

Out of political needs, the “biological dragon” in texts diverges from the “artistic dragon” in imagery. Court painters, in order to illustrate the supreme authority of the emperor, purposefully stylised their creations.

However, no embellished records shall be in historical texts and local chronicles.

The five-clawed divine dragon seen in New Year pictures could not possibly exist, but behind it lies a biological prototype.

That is the real Chinese dragon!

Wen Yiduo’s footsteps slowed down, and he suddenly felt lost and disheartened.

He had a hunch that if he continued his research, the real dragon would soon get out of its “chrysalis.”

At the moment he hated himself for concluding that “artistic dragon” was nothing like “biological dragon.” How he wished it had never happened.

It was this conclusion that rendered his painstakingly composed work, Fuxi-Kao a worthless pile of paper. Worse still, the reactionary government was given the chance to attack him.

But what truly terrified him was more than this. He had always prided himself on being a disseminator of “truth” and “knowledge.” This faith-like pride sustained him through life’s perilous paths to survive untold ordeals. Yet now, the very theory he had cherished for long was fundamentally flawed, but universities continued to use it as an authoritative explanation to young minds. The more it spread, the more it was taught, and the more flowers of error blossom forth.

A strange thought hit Wen Yiduo.

At first, he dismissed it as fanciful thinking, but upon further reflection, he felt a powerful logical force. All the grand theories and countless volumes of books coalesced into one word.

Error.

From the moment humanity branched off on the evolutionary tree towards homo sapiens, the seeds of error began to take root and sprout. Our brave ancestors were, in fact, ignorant infants. Who knows how many errors they have made before reaching the threshold of civilisation? And the geniuses and elites of later generations were, at best, following their footsteps while groping their own way forward in the dark. Some errors have been corrected, but many more persist – they take on new forms and parade under the guise of truth in this so-called civilised world.

The world is built on error, and what we are doing now is repeating or deepening these errors. While some achievements arise from errors, their negative consequences were much greater. Advances in cognition, technology, and information dissemination have not eliminated errors; rather, they have intensified them on a broader scale.

The relentless march of human civilisation seems like nothing but a cart that veers off the road to truth.

The ten-thousand-year history of human civilisation is, at its core, a chronicle of accumulated errors. The magnitude of these errors, compounded over time, has reached staggering levels! The atomic bomb dropped on Japan last year is compelling evidence. It was initially created to stop aggression, whereas its devastating power makes a higher level of error! One can envision that the footprints of error permeate every aspect of civilisation: politics, economics, science, arts…, filling every crevice like a torrent of water, leaving no gap untouched. He fell ill.

When Fang Qiu stepped out of the Hangzhou Centre, it was already 2 a.m.

In this broken world where everything seems to be falling apart, almost everyone is indulging their desire without restraint.

But Fang Qiu is an exception.

He doesn’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. The eighteen-year-old is 1.85 metre tall and weighs 173 jin¹¹, his body in its prime.

At the same time, Fang Qiu earned a master’s degree in psychology, with grades above those of many psychology majors.

For these reasons, the examiners from Historical Revision Committee singled him out during his first interview.

The term ‘Historical Revision’ was first introduced 85 years ago.

By that time, the global population has ballooned to an unsustainable 15 billion – far beyond what the Earth could support. Only then did the sluggish governments across the world realise that humanity was on the brink of extinction. All the brightest minds began urgently working on ways to save the planet as well as preserve the fragile human species.

Diverse solutions were proposed, which included restricting childbirth, slowing the economy, and even migrating to space. But the most radical idea was to use viruses to systematically reduce the population. After decades of heated debates, protests, and discussions involving governments, civil organisations, independent academic societies, and university research institutes, the idea stalled due to legal, ethical, and technological concerna.

In the end, someone proposed a different solution: revising history.

This theory was far from new. As early as the first half of the 20th century, some had proposed that human history was built on countless errors. But if there wwa a way to revise history, the number of errors could be greatly reduced, and the world might be made a better place.

In this universe, there are manifold black holes the size of the Planck constant – remnants of the Big Bang. Due to their extreme density, the space-time around black holes is warped, allowing matter to travel back in time when it passes through them.

However, sending a living person back to the past via black hole is something that only God could accomplish.

The breakthrough came 30 years ago. A biologist-physicist madman discovered that human thought process could be quantised. This discovery won him a Nobel Prize the following year.

Now that the theory was proven, the once-dismissed idea of “revising history” was brought back to the table.

Soon after, another group of lunatics devised a model to turn the idea a reality.

In simple terms, human thought process is but microscopic particles vibrating at a chemistry level. Hence by transmitting the frequency of vibration through a space-time black hole and synchronising them with the brains of ancients, one could theoretically communicate with them.

One by one, these increasingly outlandish ideas were made possible as technology advanced.

A new profession, unheard of in human history, was born: Historical Revisers.

Fang Qiu was one of over three hundred registered historical revisers worldwide. While the specific requirements for the position varied by region and culture, there were three universally accepted conditions.

First, an exceptional physical condition, comparable to that of an astronaut.

Second, a super-high IQ of 130 or above.

Third, an extraordinary ability to concentrate.

Whereas many candidates met the first two criteria, the vast majority failed at the third. “Extraordinary concentration” was an abstract concept, one that was difficult for people to define clearly.

In the end, Eastern scholars excavated an ancient term from classical texts – Wu Wo – which is loosely translated to a state of “no self,” as a rough explanation.

A maglev taxi stopped in front of Fang Qiu. The door opened, and he stepped into the backseat by the window, his eyes closed.

The previous day, he had spent hours submerged inside a glass pillar, that even the skin on his lower abdomen became terribly wrinkled. He applied everything he knew, and even defied his supervisor’s strong objections to expand the search parameters. Yet, despite his efforts, quantum thought processing failed to find anyone close to the target. In other words, he burned through roughly 30 million dollars’ worth of resources, only to come back empty-handed.

The supervisor had already assigned Hua Yingzi to start a test match, while Fang Qiu was unceremoniously dumped, with only a meagre severance offered. He left the Historical Revision Centre, along with a stern warning: he was barred from working at any company for the next five years, unless the Committee confirmed that his memory was completely erased.

To put it plainly, he had been forced into unemployment.

Wen Yiduo was taken to the city hospital early in the morning.

His friends visited one by one, with a flood of seemingly hopeful news. They urged him not to be overly pessimistic about the situation in the country. There was a possibility of cooperation between the two parties after the Chongqing Negotiations. Besides, the government was reconsidering the wheat flour aid from the Americans.

But Wen Yiduo didn’t share this opinion. His thoughts were simple: humanity was fundamentally flawed; how could anything improve under such conditions? Whether the KMT and CPC fought or not, whether foreign aids arrived or not, it was all just patching up a broken system, with no real effect.

The golden pothos outside the window seemed to almost drip with water under the sunlight. Their green leaves were bathed in several beams of light, as if an angel’s hand were gently caressing them.

Xiaozhen stayed at Wen’s bedside. She was watching her husband, who looked as though had aged ten years in just half a day.

“It’s a good thing,” Xiaozhen said, “You should lie down and rest properly.”

“Dragons exist,” Wen Yiduo muttered to himself.

“Do you remember the last time you got sick? It was the same – too caught up in your research,” Xiaozhen said with a smile.

“You know nothing about it.” Wen Yiduo thought.

The door opened, and a nurse entered.

“Professor Wen,” she said sweetly, “it’s time for your medication.”

She took a blister pack of pills from the cabinet. “One tablet at a time, take one more after lunch. Oh, and here’s today’s newspaper.”

“Thank you.” Xiaozhen took the paper, glanced at it, and put it down, as the nurse wheeled the cart out of the room.

Wen Yiduo observed quietly and asked, “Is there news?”

“No.”

“What does the newspaper say?”

“It says the war can’t happen.”

“You are lying to me.”

“Oh, Yousan…”

“I know you’re deliberately not showing me the paper, but I can still guess what’s going on outside,” Wen Yiduo said. His tone softened as he saw the uneasy look on his wife’s face. “Tell me, what really happened?”

“Someone…” Xiaozhen whispered, “Someone took to the streets, and their numbers were quite significant.”

“Oh,” Wen Yiduo frowned. He struggled to sit up, “Where did they go?”

“Yousan,” Xiaozhen hastened to comfort him, “Your body is still very weak. Don’t get too worked up. You don’t always need to be at the forefront.”

“I’m not worked up, I just…” Wen Yiduo sighed, “I just feel sorry for them.”

“Sorry for them?”

Xiaozhen could hardly believe her ears. Could her husband really be saying such things?

“Exactly. It’s of no account at all; they are committing suicide.” Wen Yiduo coughed, “Xiaozhen, go tell the comrades, to not make any more pointless sacrifices… It’s futile, you don’t see any hope…”

“Yousan, is this really how you feel?”

“Hurry up, go tell them not to go on with these pointless protests!”

Yet Xiaozhen just stood there, staring at her husband. She was suddenly struck by the feeling that this man, whom she had once known so well, had become a stranger to her. Then a blaze of emotions, unlike anything she had ever experienced before, welled up from deep within her chest.

“This isn’t like you! The people out there on the streets – they are your comrades! Your closest friends! Your students! And all along, it’s been you leading them forward. Yes, I urged you not to go out, to cherish your life, but now that they’ve bravely taken that step, you shouldn’t denounce them! You shouldn’t be calling their efforts pointless, you…” Xiaozhen’s words came like a barrage of cannon fire: faster, fiercer, more intense than ever before. She paused, and then asked, “Do you believe in dragons now?”

Until the very end, Wen Yiduo couldn’t grasp how everything shifted so suddenly. It was as if a colossal hand wielded its otherworldly power to transform his wife into a completely different person and placed her before him.

“Professor Wen, it’s truly not easy to find you.”

Her voice was still gentle, but Wen Yiduo could tell – ‘she’ was by no means his wife.

He realised ‘someone else’ must be speaking through her, but had no idea who he or she was, or where they came from.

He laboured to rise from the bed and locked the hospital room door tightly behind him.

He didn’t want anyone to interrupt him. He needed to concentrate fully on every word ‘his wife’ was saying.

Xiaozhen’s gaze remained fixed on the bed. In contrast to the college student and the rickshaw puller, her tone was calm and unhurried, her words clear and precise, and her sentences easy and smooth.

“Please make sure to revise your academic conclusions as soon as possible.”

“You must have realised by now,” her voice became lighter, “that I can only narrate; I can neither receive information nor respond to it. In short, I come from the future.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Wen Yiduo, and he sank into a chair, determined to sit and listen.

“The ancients have recorded the dragon’s traits in great detail.” This ‘Xiaozhen’ began to get to the heart of the matter, “The fact that a dragon’s scales could open and close sets them apart from the bony plates on reptiles. Dragon scales are iridescent like those of fish. You see, of all creatures, fish are the most vibrant and colourful in appearance.”

“The strong odour of dragon flesh indicates that they possess fairly well-developed mucous glands. When a dragon falls to the ground, its skin rapidly cracks and dries, and it breathes weakly. This suggests that dragons are primarily aquatic creatures. Their heart and lung functions are not as robust as those of land animals, and they rely on their skin for respiration.”

“When a dragon hits the ground, its barbels twitch from time to time, because it is sensing the environment. Creatures with barbels typically inhabit deep waters or low-light areas.”

“What exactly is a dragon?”

Emotions kicked in, and Wen Yiduo for a moment forgot that the speaker was not physically present.

“On an evolutionary tree, dragons are likely to belong to the branch where ancient amphibians evolve into ancient reptiles. But they still retain many traits of ancient fish. Due to their concealed habitat, they managed to survive numerous geological upheavals, clinging to existence until their eventual extinction in modern times.”

“Extinct ancient creatures?” Wen Yiduo repeated. He burst into hearty laughter, as if a heavy weight had been lifted, “Dragons are real? Ha ha ha, dragons really existed!”

“I’ve told you all the truth,” “Xiaozhen” said. “You must revise your research so that future generations won’t perpetuate the fallacy…”

“Wait a minute,” Wen Yiduo called out. “I still have questions…”

“Goodbye, Professor Wen,” “Xiaozhen” suddenly smiled, “Your errors end here. Adieu…”

Xiaozhen collapsed. Wen Yiduo had already prepared himself. He rushed forward and caught his wife in his arms.

The secret of dragons was revealed, and now he would have to revise Fuxi-Kao and reframe the truth about dragons.

But there was one thing he couldn’t quite figure out.

If future generations already knew that dragons exist, why did they devote energy to correcting his errors?

Soon he had the answer.

Errors themselves are not to be feared; it is the dogmatic thought that is humanity’s greatest enemy. Bruno was burned alive at the stake for advocating heliocentric theory. Soviet scientists were framed and persecuted to death for accepting genetic frameworks of Mendel and Mogan. Van Gogh was ridiculed, Nietzsche was deemed insane, and Schiller’s works were censored as immoral, leading to his imprisonment. In the East, a single mistake in writing a character could result in the execution of nine generations… Tragedies of these kinds are pervasive in this world, too numerous to count.

But things are different now. Historical revision made him, Wen Yiduo, ruthlessly dethroned as an authority on dragon culture. Future generations would no longer hold his theories as a model. They would step over his body on their way towards truth. He could just imagine that, in every field, the errors by either sages, leaders, or heroes are being systematically corrected by the posterity. The more errors get revised, the more perfect the path of civilisation becomes. This power of revision is not the work of one individual, but collective effort of millions of people. Drawing on the shared strength, will, and resolution of humanity, they carry out the greatest and most monumental task in history!

Fang Qiu had always sensed that some unseen forces guided him to stand in front of this strange building. It wasn’t tall – about 10 metres high – and had three floors in total. The facade was decorated by three large blue letters: HRC (Historical Revision Centre).

He had come across mentions of this institution on social media from time to time, but its exact purpose had always been a mystery to him. Now that he was standing before it, he felt a vague, unsettling sensation, as if something in his mind was trying to surface – something he almost remembered, but failed to grasp no matter how hard he tried.

Fang Qiu had been job hunting recently, but much to his chagrin, he received no responses from government agencies, universities, and research institutions where he had submitted his resumés. Meanwhile, several entertainment clubs contacted him for interviews. Just yesterday, on a whim, he visited a nightclub designed around an ancient Roman aristocratic theme, only to be horrified by the sight of a room full of naked men and women.

Fang Qiu wandered in front of the building for about twenty minutes. His stomach growled from hunger. That was when he realised, he had never actually been here before. Just as he was about to leave, a man with deep blue hair approached him.

“Reviser?” the man asked, eyeing him up and down.

“Sorry?” Fang Qiu didn’t catch what the man meant. The man looked to be in his thirties, with stubble on his chin. He gave off the air of a work-shy layabout.

“Are you a reviser?” the man repeated.

Fang Qiu shook his head.

The man grinned, before suddenly lunging forward, seizing Fang Qiu at an incredible speed while pressing his neck down. Fang Qiu struggled in vain, as the man’s grip was like iron, unyielding and unbreakable.

“I’m right,” the man saw a small hole in the side of Fang Qiu’s neck. He released his hold, glanced around, and gave Fang Qiu a cheerful look, “Oh, Relax. I mean you no harm. I just want to help you make some money.”

“Make money?” Fang Qiu stared at him in disbelief.

“We may need to talk in the car.” The man looked cautious as he called for a flying vehicle, “Get in.”

The car was far larger than a typical taxi, with obviously posh interiors including a wooden trim, something Fang Qiu had only ever read about in books. In the back seat sat a blonde dressed in form-fitting light beige dress, who gave him a warm, broad smile.

“Level-one revisor, Fang Qiu,” the smiling girl raised a glass, “Cheers.”

But before Fang Qiu could react, the man quickly injected something into his neck, and everything went black.

When Fang Qiu woke up, he found himself lying on a white porcelain bed. A semi-circular metal ring glowing brilliant blue was right above him.

A man and a woman came over. The girl was chewing gum, “You woke up so soon. Strong body.”

“It’s you.” Fang Qiu recognised her. She was Hua Yingzi.

“Your memory’s coming back quickly,” the blonde remarked, glancing at the metal ring overhead, “This degausser is much better than the last one.”

“Especially useful for revising Ferrari and Tesla,” the man added, “The electrical resistance of the new material is almost zero at room temperature.”

Fang Qiu sat up and looked around.

The room was painted in a dull green hue. Directly in front of him was a glass wall, beyond which stood a massive glass pillar, misty and damp inside.

“You’re involved in underground historical revision!” Fang Qiu realised at once, “That’s a crime against humanity! You’re gonna go to jail!”

“Who in this world isn’t breaking the law?” Hua Yingzi snatched her golden wig off to reveal a smooth, pale scalp. She laughed at him, “Are you willing to waste your unique gift and live a mediocre life?”

“The errors of history are being corrected. Gifted ones will always get their due.”

“You really believe that?” Hua Yingzi chortled, “Do you honestly think civilisation is like a machine that can be endlessly fixed until it’s perfect?”

“That’s your view.” Fang Qiu clapped back.

“Exactly,” Hua Yingzi’s voice dripped with disdain, “That’s why you failed with Wen Yiduo, idealist! I succeeded on my first try, because I’m more rational than you.”

“You told him the answer directly?” Fang Qiu pieced the things together, “That’s a violation of the revision law!”

“Oh, please!” Hua Yingzi scoffed, “Telling someone the answer directly may cause severe space-time effects. And the butterfly effect would destabilise civilisation, or even destroy humanity. I’m tired of all the excuses by those old devils!” She grinned weirdly then, “You, too, had personal motives. You warned Wen Yiduo not to attend the speech on the fifteenth.”

“I… I was trying to save a noble soul.”

Hua Yingzi waved her hand, “Morality is always about self-interest. I don’t waste time discussing it.”

“Now that you both know about my conversation, why haven’t you punished me?” Fang Qiu suddenly asked.

“Simple. You’re highly skilled, but your emotional intelligence is zero.”

It took just a while that Fang Qiu cottoned on. Major covered up for me? Why would he do that?”

“Because we’re all human beings. We are born evil.” Hua Yingzi said impatiently. “Anyway, I succeeded, and you were cast aside.”

Fang Qiu opened and shut his mouth, unspeaking.

“Enough small talk,” the girl said coldly. “Agree, and you’ll get 30 million dollars. Refuse, and we’ll erase your memory completely. That means for five years, you’ll be a poor homeless person, and after five years, the situation won’t be much better either.”

“Who do you want me to revise?” Fang Qiu’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Genghis Khan,” she murmured, leaning in close to his ear.

Fang Qiu was taken aback.

“He’s an A+ level target! The consequences of revising him are still unknown to the Committee. You are not unaware of the chaos produced by those lunatics in North America earlier this year with their attempt to revise Alexander the Great. The space-time chain reaction nearly destroyed the whole West Asia and North Africa, and even the pyramids collapsed!” Fang Qiu almost shouted, “The space-time effect of Genghis Khan must be much greater than that of Alexander. Who knows? We might end up losing hundreds of millions of lives!”

“Isn’t that why the payment is that high?” The young girl smiled, “Besides, we’re only running a brief test. We can always revise it back later.”

“So, what are you trying to revise?” Fang Qiu wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“All you need to do is to tell him not to invade the West,” Hua Yingzi sensed his hesitation, “Simple enough, right?”

“The history of Europe will be completely rewritten. The Northern Song Dynasty will fall ahead of schedule, and this could prevent Zhu Yuanzhang¹²from being born. It means no Ming or Qing Dynasties, and we may even cease to exist,” Fang Qiu made a rough estimate.

“How exhilarating it would be!” Hua Yingzi’s large eyes sparkled, “I really want to experience the feeling of death.”

“You’re mad!”

“In a mad world, it’s the mad who are the normal.” The girl laughed out.

Fang Qiu’s stomach rumbled again. He hadn’t eaten for two days.

“I can pay half in advance, and the rest once the job’s done. There will also be an additional 20% bonus when the results come out.” The girl chuckled, clearly confident of success.

Fang Qiu made his choice.

“Nobody can escape the allure of money.” As Fang Qiu walked away, the man’s lips curved in a smile, revealing a mouthful of yellowish teeth.

“Major was right, that old fox.” The bubble gum in the girl’s mouth popped with a faint sound.

Wen Yiduo was clear that he was walking to his death in this afternoon’s speech, yet he felt the slightest fear. As he made his way to the hall, a thought kept echoing in his mind:

“Reform has never come about in any country without the flow of blood. No one in China in modern times has sacrificed himself for the cause of reform, and because of this China is still a poor and backward country. Therefore, I request that the sacrifices begin with myself.”

Above all, he believed that even if he died ‘this time,’ future generations would still find ‘another time’ for ‘him’ to carry the torch and continue the fight for change through revision.

‘This time,’ I must die with a clear conscience! Die for a righteous cause! Die a martyr’s death!

The assembly hall was surrounded by armed agents, their weapons ready, but Wen Yiduo didn’t so much as give them a passing glance. He was standing onstage, with his wife Xiaozhen by his side. His gaze swept over the sea of passionate, determined young faces before him. An unprecedented rush of strength filled him.

“In these past few days,” Wen Yiduo began his speech, “everyone is aware that the most despicable and brazen thing in history has happened in Kunming! What crime exactly did Mr. Li commit to deserve such a cruel fate?”

Truly, this country needs anger, dissent, and above all, reform.

“Now, Mr. Li, in his quest for democracy and peace, was assassinated by the reactionaries. Let us say it with a bit of pride as it would be considered as one fella of the older generation, my generation, and our old comrade-in-arms in sacrificing his most precious life!”

This Great Ancient Civilisation, with its three thousand years of history, has accumulated too many wrongs.

“You kill one Li Gongpu, and there will be thousands of millions of other Li Gongpu standing up! You will lose the support of thousands of millions of people! Let’s look. Brightness is in front of our eyes. This is the darkest moment just before dawn. We have the strength to break through this darkness and acquire light! Our light is the doomsday for the reactionaries!”

A reform is quietly gathering strength in the future. Until then technology will, in miraculous ways, revise the errors of humanity’s past.

“Reactionaries, you may see one go down, but you will also see a thousand more rise to take their place! Justice can never be exterminated, for truth always prevails! History has charged Kunming with the task of fighting for democracy and peace, and our youths in Kunming must fulfil this mission! We fear no death. We have the spirit of sacrifice! We are ready, like Mr. Li, to step out that door, to never return!”

The crowd erupted in applause.

Then, a gunshot rang out.