Widow

The first ray of artificial daylight spilled onto the ground at dawn.

In the office area of Building Alpha in the city center, a silver-white, streamlined structure gleamed brilliantly. This was the Gene Matching Inquiry Center of Huimin City’s Government Administration.

The doors were already wide open, and the spacious lobby was as lively as ever, with groups of residents from across the Federal planets scattered about. Their appearances and attire varied—there were elegant nobles with refined manners, as well as locals dressed in ordinary clothes; some conversed in the Federation’s common tongue, others in their own thick regional dialects.

Upon entering, Bu Hui immediately drew the attention of those nearby.

Black hair, black eyes, slender limbs, a beautiful yet pallid face. Compared to the carefully dressed others, she wore only a simple, loose, ocean-blue classic work uniform—anyone could tell at a glance she was an outsourced worker from the city government’s logistics department.

—She might as well have “honest country bumpkin” written on her face.

Bu Hui was the only obvious outsider in the entire hall. Bearing the various gazes with composure, she found a seat in a corner.

She crossed her arms and sat quietly in the inconspicuous corner, lost in thought. In her hurry to leave that morning, she’d forgotten she had a day off and brought no nutrient supplements. Her empty, aching stomach throbbed—another reminder of her unhealthy, impoverished routine.

But days like these would soon be over.

Bu Hui comforted herself: once the matching results were out, she’d qualify to move out of the garbage district, live in a regular residential complex with proper water and electricity, apply for more specialized jobs, earn more money, and finally fill her long-empty stomach.

Snatches of whispered conversation drifted into her ears.

“Another low-grade pauper… How many is that in Huimin City this year?”

“It’s all the Federation’s fault for issuing the new decree—every year they have to give a certain number of slots, letting these country folk dream they can leap up the social ladder.”

“What’s there to worry about? As usual, the low-level civilizations only match with each other. The unions of the underclass have nothing to do with us.”

They made no effort to lower their voices; the surrounding Federation residents responded with a round of mocking chuckles—such was the reality in the interstellar era. Even the most basic rights of ordinary citizens here were things that these outsiders might never earn after a lifetime of struggle, let alone the privileges reserved for the powerful elite.

Just last month, the mayor’s son had become engaged to a noble lady, holding a lavish celebration in the Firlo Sky Garden Banquet Hall, even dropping vouchers from airships for the crowd to scramble for.

The young men and women still spoke with envy of that wedding.

Only Bu Hui, staring out the window, remained lost in thought. The emptiness in her stomach from skipping breakfast made her mind go blank.

What should she eat for lunch?

Sweet nutrient liquid, or the less appetizing canned supplement?

...

“Silence!”

The synchronized sound of marching boots cut through their bragging over the vouchers. A squad of tall, fit guards in black uniforms strode in, electronic pulse rifles in hand, silver-red helmets gleaming, their eyes severe.

The captain nodded to several staff at their desks, and the squad lined up along the wall to maintain order.

It was time to begin.

Sure enough, the holographic screen above the staff lit up with numbers.

“Number 1, please step forward.”

“Number 2…”

With each name and photo that appeared on the holoscreen, bursts of excited cheers and disappointed sighs echoed through the orderly office.

At the end of each month, before initiating the matching process, all data in the matching pool was automatically updated.

All residents on the planet were evaluated by grade. The match quota was set at a ratio of 10,000 Federation citizens to 1 from a lower civilization. Those selected from the lower civilizations were provided free housing and various benefits, and after two years would gain official Federation citizenship, opening up more opportunities for advancement.

Bu Hui’s three consecutive years of straight A+ performance had earned her the logistics department’s sole spot, allowing her to submit her genes for matching.

For someone like Bu Hui—a rootless drifter from a non-evolved, non-grouped, homeless planet, with poor genes—the chances of being selected were virtually nil.

Who would have thought that, as soon as the pool was updated at month’s end, she’d been matched!

Even Bu Hui herself felt as if she were dreaming.

“Number 11, please step forward.”

A half-human-height electronic eye fixed on her, its gentle voice saying, “Miss, please follow me.”

Bu Hui came back to herself, stood up under the various stares—she was the last number today, and the first lower-civilization citizen in Huimin City to be selected this year, making her, in a sense, the center of attention. Though not in a positive way.

“I remember three years ago an alien resident matched with a noble and went mad with joy, then a month later had a breakdown and killed their partner’s family. The police had to put them down on the spot—ended up all over Federation news. Everyone was terrified! For a while, people avoided them on sight!”

“It’s no wonder they’re rated as a lower civilization.

Low intelligence, inferior genes, unstable mental state, prone to losing control…”

“They’ve watched too many holo-dramas and dream of climbing the social ladder. Tch.”

The most popular holo-dramas in the Federation now were all about love and hate after cross-class matches.

In any era, selling dreams is always the most beautiful and lucrative business.

The more virtual the age, the sweeter the dreams.

The images, games, and lines projected on the screens were just the most alluring fantasies for them to imagine.

In contrast, gene matching was the harshest reality.

People could pretend, but genes were unavoidably ranked and sorted.

The real power-holders and nobles had their own higher-level matching pools, strictly to avoid intermixing with outsiders—matches only made within their own circles.

For example, the mayor’s son was engaged to his childhood friend from birth, so nothing unexpected could ever occur.

Out of curiosity, the crowd waited for Bu Hui’s result, eager for fresh gossip for the evening’s parties.

The previously still guards suddenly turned and, through their silver-red helmets, issued a cold warning: “Silence! Do not interfere with official business!”

Chastened, the bystanders fell silent.

Bu Hui ignored their gossip, sitting by the window as the blue-eyed workbot scanned her irises.

“Identity confirmation in progress…

Name: Bu Hui

Household registration: Blue Star, Milky Way

Gender: Female

Age: 18

Current residence: Huimin City, Stan Star

Please confirm—”

To ensure fairness and transparency, matching results were fully publicized and displayed on the official website. This had spawned all sorts of side industries—some people camped out watching live broadcasts, betting on outcomes. If a rare, mismatched pairing occurred—say, a pauper matched with a noble—their story would be bought and quickly turned into a holo-romance drama.

Of course, after the new regulations two years ago, such cases were eliminated.

Amid heavy negative public opinion, even ordinary citizens dreaded matching with lower civilizations. In recent years, complaints to cancel results had increased, prompting officials to reconsider the policy.

Those still lingering at the center were just there for the spectacle.

Some were already whispering bets on what kind of “defective stock” she’d be matched with.

Bu Hui felt perfectly calm. She was prepared for the worst.

Once she confirmed, the two-meter-tall holographic screen began to flash with a dizzying array of data.

“Which poor soul will it be this time…”

“Hey, she’s not that bad-looking. Pretty women are rare resources, too.”

“Sleeping in the garbage district is enough—who’d dare take her home? The prettier, the dirtier. You have no idea what she’s been through.”

The rebuked man fell silent.

For a moment, mocking jokes and contemptuous insults fluttered back and forth, their voices low, buzzing incessantly like flies.

[Match successful]

[Result announcement]

The screen above the hall suddenly lit up. As the workbot’s gentle voice sounded, everyone looked up with schadenfreude.

Unexpectedly, the photo field was blank.

...

Name: Xin Chi

Current residence: Abyss Star (Sixth Star)

All other information was blank.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“Warning! Warning!” The information on the screen twisted and vanished, replaced by a red alert flashing wildly throughout the hall. “SSS-class criminal detected!”

...

The alarm symbols flashed relentlessly, plunging the noisy office into dead silence. Eyes wide with terror or stiffness stared at the screen, as if invisible hands had seized their throats.

People gaped, speechless, a nameless fear rising on their faces.

Heavens!

Could they be mistaken?

It was actually that person!

Even Bu Hui, who kept her nose out of other people’s business, sensed the strange atmosphere.

The Sixth Star?! Wasn’t that a prison?

Abyss Star, also known as the Sixth Star—the Wasteland Planet.

It was desolate, harsh, nothing but endless red earth and ruins, a place forbidden to all but those with special permits.

Why was it so famous?

Because Abyss Star housed the Federation’s largest and most brutal death prison.

Only the most heinous and dangerous criminals were held there, isolated to prevent any chance of escape.

On that planet, only wardens, prisoners, and elite soldiers stationed around the clock remained.

With an impenetrable web of electronic surveillance, countless monitoring satellites, not even a fly could hope to escape—it was truly the criminals’ ultimate nightmare.

Bu Hui’s eyelid twitched.

Wait, Xin Chi… that name sounded familiar…

Then she remembered the news that had flooded the interstellar networks a month ago:

“Breaking News! The notorious pirate leader Xin Chi, who eluded capture across the galaxy with countless spies and henchmen, has finally been apprehended. Now held in the deepest prison on the Sixth Star, sentenced to twenty thousand years—life or death unknown.”

Bu Hui’s mind went blank.

Notorious? Pirate leader? Twenty thousand years’ sentence? Wait, that meant…

The workbot offered a silicon-based lifeform’s attempt at a joke:

“Congratulations—you’re about to become a widow.”

Bu Hui: …

It took a while for the citizens inside the Matching Center to find their voices—some screamed, some were stunned.

The number of viewers for the Matching Center’s live broadcast, previously just a handful, was now skyrocketing by the second; more media and reporters were streaming the scene as they rushed over.

Hidden cameras flashed wildly, the crowd surged forward, trapping Bu Hui in a sea of bodies.

—It was as if fate had played a cruel joke on her.

A nondescript migrant worker, in her third year of diligent labor—in the 223rd year of the Federation Calendar, May 1st, 10:30 a.m. Capital Time—was about to shock the entire world as the galaxy’s number one widow and dominate every headline.

Bu Hui: “…Damn!”