Bursting Tomato 2

The Holy Healing Church was a formidable opponent. The conglomerates poured vast sums of money and firepower into the organization, letting it sink its roots deep into society with alarming speed.

The more chaotic the soil, the easier it was for faith to sprout. People needed a spiritual anchor—when life was steeped in misery, pain, and despair, they craved a peaceful haven for a brief respite.

Even if that haven was a lie, artificially constructed, they would believe in it with all their hearts, convinced it was real.

In a sense, that was a form of self-rescue.

The Church's creed was simple: endure this life, find peace in the next.

They opened chapels far and wide, expanding their flock, preaching that though the world was full of suffering, the Mother Goddess Italu watched over them from the heavens. She would bestow her blessings upon the most devout, lifting them from their wretched existence in this very lifetime. Those who had yet to receive such favor need not despair, for so long as they believed faithfully and followed the teachings, the Goddess would remember their virtue and their name, granting them a blissful, beautiful afterlife.

It was a pure, barefaced lie.

The doctrine was man-made, the stories of the Goddess and her subordinate deities were cobbled together on the spot. The so-called blessings were nothing but expendable pawns given a superficial promotion—doling out a little money to transform someone's life, deepening their blind faith, and turning them into tools for the Church.

Everything was false, but the donations they swindled were real.

Donating was also a way to show devotion. With believers scattered everywhere, it was easy to imagine the staggering sums they'd amassed through such illicit means, and how much of that treasure had been spun into so-called "miracles" and "blessings."

No conglomerate family ever thought they had too much money.

They built the Church, and the Church paid them back.

Through the Church, they brainwashed the masses, making the lower classes more submissive, more accepting of their lot. After all, pleasure was the first step toward decadence—every soul was born to walk a thorn-strewn path of atonement.

So work harder, squeeze every last drop of your worth—that was the truest interpretation of the doctrine.

And the widespread believers served as the best, most inconspicuous spies. They reported anomalies, and the Church dispatched agents to deal with any thorn that dared challenge authority.

The conglomerates never stopped this practice; the Church just made it smoother.

The Church was the tip of the iceberg that the leviathan of power exposed to society—an extension of their will, their enforcers, their executioners, and a mountain that seemed impossible to climb.

The Resistance knew only that the Church had been founded by the conglomerate families, but who had created it, who had joined—they had no idea.

On the drive to the black market, Lu Mingqiu gave Yan Xianchuan a rough outline of what the Church was, giving her some context.

Yan Xianchuan was in the car eating a pineapple pie she'd brought from home, offering her own take: "Does the Resistance have sponsors too?"

Lu Mingqiu fell silent, like a machine with a broken part.

Yan Xianchuan licked the jam off her fingers, pulled out a wet wipe, and cleaned her hands. "Fine, can you tell me about esper powers then?"

The broken part suddenly fixed itself, and Lu Mingqiu spoke again: "With the current population boom, espers aren't actually that rare in absolute numbers. The Federation gives espers extra subsidies, and most of them either join the government or end up in underground organizations like ours, so you seldom see them out in the open."

"Espers are automatically second-class citizens—even if someone was a criminal, a fifth-class citizen before, becoming an esper bumps them up to second-class. They get recruited by the relevant authorities and serve the Federation under supervision."

Yan Xianchuan quipped, "Sounds like the Federation's got an even less picky stomach than mine."

Lu Mingqiu almost laughed but held it in, continuing, "Esper abilities vary widely and can't be categorized. Some can shapeshift, some turn invisible, some breathe fire, some teleport, some discharge electricity, some mimic others. Even abilities related to physical enhancement differ from person to person—so far, no two registered abilities have been identical."

"Your power has to do with the mind, right?" Yan Xianchuan stared at the back of her head. "Mind control? Hypnosis? Or altering perception?"

"I can do all of those," Lu Mingqiu said.

"So what exactly were you going to do to me that day?" Yan Xianchuan reached out, hooked a finger around the front seatback, and leaned her upper body forward, tilting her head to look at her.

A slight smile curled at her lips, curiosity flickering in her eyes. That expression would look perfectly natural on any child under four, but on her, it only sent a chill down the spine.

Yet with her eyes covered, she looked remarkably innocent.

Lu Mingqiu turned to look at her, involuntarily recalling the research she'd looked up earlier.

Psychopaths often had attractive exteriors, behaving normally and politely. They excelled at controlling their emotions, masking a harmless facade to inspire trust.

Every psychopath was the most popular person in their social circle—always polished, able to chat with anyone.

If Lu Mingqiu's appeal came from her esper power, then Yan Xianchuan wielded her silver tongue.

In that instant, meeting the other's deep, dark gaze, a bolt of clarity struck Lu Mingqiu: everything the woman did was deliberate. Even without her memories, she could have pretended to be exactly the person she was before, but she didn't.

She could have hidden her abnormalities, but she didn't.

She could have communicated in a different way, but she insisted on flaunting her derangement.

Around Su Hong, she was perfectly normal. Around everyone else, even at a crowded film festival, she was flawlessly composed. Only with Lu Mingqiu did she let the neurotic side slip out.

Someone once said: when you start trying to figure out what a madman is thinking—and actually understand them—congratulations, it's time to book yourself a bed too.

With that thought, she immediately stopped pondering the reasons behind the woman's behavior. She had no interest in becoming a lunatic.

She'd been quiet too long, as if she were staring blankly at Yan Xianchuan's face.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Yan Xianchuan freed a hand to touch her own cheek. "Did that face mask from last night really work that well?"

She turned, twisting toward the other side, facing Su Hong in the driver's seat. The cold, sinister gleam in her eyes dissolved, leaving her looking no different from any girl fussing over her looks.

"Do you think I should learn how to do makeup?" Yan Xianchuan said with a semblance of concern. "I know it's already perfect and doesn't need any changes, but wouldn't it be fun to switch up styles occasionally?"

"You could give it a try," Su Hong replied.

"Good point."

Yan Xianchuan turned her head back, complaining, "This is kind of inconvenient, talking like this. Why don't you sit in the back with me?"

"Almost forgot the earlier question—you never answered, dear."

She dragged out the word "dear" with a wicked sense of delight.

"I wanted to look through your memories," Lu Mingqiu said.

A cargo truck rumbled past, blaring its horn and scattering her words. A few young men on motorcycles laughed loudly, engines roaring as they overtook the truck, flipping a middle finger before speeding off into the wind.

Night had long since fallen, and the ubiquitous neon lights painted the city in a dazzling, multicolored artificial daylight.

"There's nothing interesting in my memories. But if you wanted to know which dessert shop has the best treats, that might be worth a flip through."

But digging there would bring disaster—the Lord God wouldn't allow the existence of the escape game to be exposed, nor would It allow Its marked soul to face any risk of that sort.

With the Lord God's safeguard in place, Yan Xianchuan was essentially protected by a privacy layer, warding off mental dangers like brainwashing.

The car stopped, and Lu Mingqiu handed Yan Xianchuan a chip. "Insert this behind your ear—it's for internal communication, to keep signals from being intercepted."

Yan Xianchuan took the slim black chip, peeled back the synthetic skin behind her ear to reveal the port, and slid the chip in.

Honestly, she still wasn't used to this world's high-tech conveniences—like phone calls and texts that appeared as holographic projections on her retina, invisible to everyone else.

When a message came in, a translucent floating window would pop up before her eyes, very much like a game interface, complete with a frame around the screen.

But she did like being able to summon a floating screen anytime, anywhere. One, it was convenient; two, it was private. Only she could see the contents; others would only glimpse a see-through screen, their gaze passing right through to whatever was behind.

As for the two ports behind her ears, she felt like a robot with them, not quite human.

Yet in this society where nearly everyone had some cybernetic modification, if a real robot were pretending to be human, probably no one would ever notice.

Yan Xianchuan reattached the synthetic skin, touched her ear cuff, changed her face, and got out of the car with Lu Mingqiu.

Su Hong would stay behind as backup.

"What's the situation?" Lu Mingqiu asked through the internal comm, addressing Mirror, who had arrived earlier.

"This body-mod doctor is in surgery, left me cooling my heels in the outer room. So far, so good," Mirror replied in a voice indistinguishable from Stinger's.

"Stay alert," Lu Mingqiu said, ending the call. To Yan Xianchuan, she said, "We can't just stand here. We need to do something—look natural."

"Can I buy a roasted marshmallow?" Yan Xianchuan's gaze followed a red-haired woman passing by, who was holding one.

"...Fine," Lu Mingqiu said.

With permission granted, Yan Xianchuan immediately crossed the street, walked briskly up to the red-haired woman, and asked bluntly under her bewildered stare, "Good evening, where did you get that roasted marshmallow?"

"I thought you were coming to ask for my contact info," the red-haired woman said, flicking her hair and pointing behind her. "See that one with the blue sign and a bee painted on it? That's the place. Oh, and avoid the skunk-honey flavor—I think it's made from actual skunk. Ugh, it's disgustingly bad. Everything else is decent, though."

"Thanks," Yan Xianchuan said politely, then looked at Lu Mingqiu, who had caught up. "Shall we go?"

Lu Mingqiu let out a soft breath, mentally repeating: relax, relax, relax—she's crazy, not stupid.

There's a bomb in her head, after all; she wouldn't cause trouble.

With her mental reassurances in place, Lu Mingqiu finally said, "Let's go."

A moment later, she couldn't help but say, "Next time you want to do something, tell me in advance. Don't act on your own."

Yan Xianchuan frowned, looking troubled. "Do I have to report everything?"

Lu Mingqiu nodded. "Yes."

Yan Xianchuan: "Fine, I understand."

A little while later, they stood in front of the shop, and Yan Xianchuan studied the menu of flavors. "I want the matcha and white peach one, okay, dear?"

Lu Mingqiu: ...?

Lu Mingqiu: "Okay."

Under the shopkeeper's not-so-subtle gaze, Yan Xianchuan paid, got her pink-and-green roasted marshmallow, and took a bite on the spot.

"Delicious."

"The black market doesn't seem all that special," Yan Xianchuan said, her mood rising as she chewed the sweet treat.

"The special stuff is where you can't see it," Lu Mingqiu said, watching her eat while mentally rehearsing evacuation routes. Given the potential risks during the operation, she decided to walk the routes in person.

Yan Xianchuan naturally tagged along, chewing all the while.

The roasted marshmallows here were odd—chewy like taffy, lasting a long time, yet with the same melt-in-your-mouth texture she remembered.

One cost fifteen credits, much more reasonable than the fifty-credit grilled squid she'd had earlier.

There were three evacuation routes, each tailored for different scenarios. Of course, meticulous planning was Hei Ge's doing.

Ever since he'd transformed from a man of flesh and blood into a pure data consciousness, Hei Ge's workload had multiplied.

A person had limited energy—they needed sleep, food. No matter how well-trained or capable of multitasking, no one could handle dozens or hundreds of tasks simultaneously. But as a data entity, Hei Ge could.

He could assist the Doctor with research, process different documents, and keep his twin brother company twenty-four seven.

Bai Ge had woken from his coma, but his state was worse than when he was unconscious and sustained by IV drips.

Hei Ge's death had hit him hard. People at the base took turns comforting him. Everyone had lost someone precious; they knew he'd have to rely on himself and time to slowly move forward.

By comparison, Bai Ge was still relatively lucky—at least his brother could be with him, albeit in a different form.

After walking all three routes, Mirror radioed in: the body-mod doctor had finally finished.

Few knew the doctor's real name; everyone called him Black Heart because his fees were exorbitant. But in exchange, his skills were the best in the district.

Black Heart specialized in all sorts of cosmetic surgery—transforming appearances was his forte—and he knew people who forged identities. It was a full-service operation.

So many people resented his stingy personality, yet they had no choice but to risk emptying their wallets, baring their necks for the knife.

He looked like a withered, skinny old man, wearing a white coat with bloodstains on the cuffs and a gleaming set of porcelain teeth.

"You didn't just stand there waiting all this time, did you? Sit, sit!"

Black Heart dragged over two iron chairs, casually rolled up his coat, and sat on it.

"How can I not be anxious?" Mirror didn't sit; she mimicked Stinger's tone flawlessly, enough to fool even his own mother. "The masked man won't contact me! Are you people even good for your word, or are you going to sell me out?!"

"Take it easy, why are you so fired up?" Black Heart pulled out an iron box, opened it, and offered a cigarette. "Have one to calm your nerves—got some good stuff fresh in."

"I don't have the mind for that." Mirror paced around like a caged beast. "You people pull a bombing—with all that noise! That was downtown, for fuck's sake! The whole place was scared shitless, then they ran two more security checks. I could've blown my cover, you know that?!"

"I'm out! I'm leaving right now! If it happens again, I'm done for. What hope is there then? You promised a fresh start—screw that!"

"This is not what we agreed on. I can't make that call," Black Heart said, looking troubled. "I'm just a low-level guy doing errands. How about this—I'll ask my superiors and get back to you, alright?"

"Calm down a bit. If you're not anxious, nothing'll happen, but if you're fidgety, they'll catch you in a heartbeat."

Black Heart offered the cigarette again. "Have one? Afterwards I'll find you a woman, guaranteed to knock your socks off!"

"I'll smoke my own," Mirror said irritably, pulling out the brand Stinger usually smoked and plopping onto the stool, puffing away. His large frame made the chair creak loudly, like an old man groaning under his own weight.

"Give me a straight answer." After finishing the cigarette, he seemed more relaxed—perhaps because he felt safer now, away from the blade at his neck.

Mirror exhaled one last smoke ring. "Two days. I want an answer within two days—whether it's the next job or something else."

He tossed the butt to the ground, stood, and ground it out with his toe. "Don't treat me like a fool. If you sell me out, I'll sell you out too. We're in the same boat."

"The Resistance might not be able to take on the Church, but taking you down would be a walk in the park. If I die, you're not walking away clean either."

After delivering his threat and snorting in contempt, Mirror turned and left Black Heart's underground clinic.

Yan Xianchuan had heard the whole exchange and remarked admiringly, "I think your people would make great actors."

Her comment earned her a warning glare from Lu Mingqiu. Yan Xianchuan drew a finger across her lips from left to right, zipping them shut.

"Retreat via Route One," Lu Mingqiu said, then cut off the comm. She shot Yan Xianchuan, who was pretending to look innocent, a disapproving look. "During a mission with the comms open, don't say anything unrelated to the task."

Yan Xianchuan looked apologetic. "First time. I don't know the ropes."

Nonsense. Lu Mingqiu didn't believe a word.

She was certain this woman was deliberately stirring trouble, testing her, making things difficult.

So far, Yan Xianchuan had been cooperative enough, and her ability was quite bizarre. Lu Mingqiu was curious to figure out what it was.

If she killed her, Yan Xianchuan, being an omega, would just have to marry another alpha—so she might as well keep the status quo.

"Don't let it happen again," Lu Mingqiu said.

"So, can we grab another bite?" Given an inch, Yan Xianchuan took a mile. "While we were checking the routes, I saw a place selling skewers. Smelled incredible."

Lu Mingqiu instantly caught the implication: look how obedient I am—I wanted to eat but didn't ask once during the operation.

"Okay."

"You're the best, dear." Yan Xianchuan spun on her left heel, tilting her head with a low laugh. "I'm starting to like you more and more."

Route One was the withdrawal plan for when everything went smoothly—Mirror would head back to Stinger's place alone, and Hei Ge would monitor the security cameras the whole time to see if anyone was tailing.

Yan Xianchuan and the others were free to do as they pleased, which was why Lu Mingqiu had agreed to her request.

But she also had her own motives. Just as Yan Xianchuan kept testing her, she was equally engaged in a tug-of-war.

The black-market contact wasn't the only thing they'd gotten from Stinger's memories—there was also a bar, a small base. Lu Mingqiu had sent two non-esper members to scope it out.

Since Stinger hadn't been exposed, they should refrain from stirring the pot and see if they could figure out what the base was for.

Nanjin City had, of course, its public churches for tourists and worshippers alike. These were transparent, devoid of secrets.

The Church's illicit operations all happened in the shadows, never here.

"If there's nothing on the schedule tomorrow, I'd like to visit the cathedral," Yan Xianchuan said.

The car came to a stop in the underground parking garage; Su Hong had already left.

The cavernous space was empty, filled only with rows of neatly parked vehicles. Cold air poured down from the vents overhead, making the whole garage feel like a refrigerator's chiller drawer.

Yan Xianchuan swayed as she walked, like a solo waltz. Her heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor. After two twirls with arms outstretched, she stopped. "You know, I've been in Nanjin City this long and haven't even gone sightseeing the local attractions."

"A person should enjoy life—how can you stay cooped up at home without getting out and about?"

Laughter bubbled in her throat. To be fair, her voice was pleasant, but when she deliberately put on airs, it grated.

Light danced in her eyes like twin wisps of will-o'-the-wisp.

Lu Mingqiu couldn't refuse her request—not when she was clearly losing her grip.

"It wouldn't hurt to take a look," she said in a measured tone, like discussing the weather with a friend. "Nanjin's cathedral is one of the city's landmarks. The official cost was eighty million credits, not counting the voluntary donations. The architecture is magnificent, and inside there's a statue of the Mother Goddess Italu, crafted by the renowned master Michel. Quite worth seeing."

"We'll go together."

"Fine. I have no work tomorrow."

By "work," she meant her work as the movie queen. She had nothing major for the rest of the year—the film festival was over, leaving only a few magazine shoots that would wrap up quickly.

Nothing this month, indeed.

Besides, even if Yan Xianchuan hadn't invited her, she would have accompanied her anyway. There was no way she'd let that woman wander the streets alone.

"Dear, you're so good to me," Yan Xianchuan said again, in a tone so languid it was infuriating.

Lu Mingqiu would rather rip that word out of her vocabulary entirely.

Sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting irregular patches of light and shadow on the ground. A flock of white doves gathered in the plaza before the cathedral. A milky-white stone maiden with a plump, graceful figure had her skirts spilling into a pool, water streaming from the long-spouted jug she held. The stream fractured into countless droplets as it fell, tiny rainbows rising and fading with every splash. When doves' wings grazed the water, the rainbows clung briefly to their feathers, cloaking their immaculate bodies in a riot of color.

Those taking photos here were tourists. The ones with hands clasped to their chests, murmuring to themselves, were the devout.

Stained glass, gilded reliefs, soaring vaults, solemn frescoes—all these ornaments that drew gasps and lingering stares became forgettable extras once you laid eyes on the statue of Italu.

Motherly beauty flowed from her forehead, her brows, her lips, her outstretched arms, her bountiful form. Her eyes held compassion, her expression gentle and magnanimous. One hand held a holy text, another cradled a cluster of stars, one hand raised a flower toward the heavens, another pointed downward to the earth. Her remaining two hands were pressed together at her chest in a gesture of prayer.

Thick hair cascaded loosely, veiling her body, leaving it otherwise bare. Shimmering gold patterns were etched into her skin, tracing motifs of eyes, vines, and celestial bodies—dazzling, resplendent, stunningly beautiful.

The moment you saw it, you'd think: this is how the Mother Goddess should look—this is the solemn, magnificent beauty befitting a deity.

Many believers made special pilgrimages to Nanjin City just to behold the Mother Goddess statue in person.

Beautiful—that was Yan Xianchuan's immediate impression. And then, nothing more.

It was lovely, and Master Michel certainly had skill, but she couldn't muster gasps of awe or silent tears like the faithful.

If judged by sheer sensory impact, she'd say the Lord God was the true paragon of beauty—everyone who saw It went cross-eyed.

Two missionaries in gray robes stood there keeping order, each wearing a silver pendant. Their lashes—or rather, their lack thereof—left their eyes eerily vacant. A stalk of wheat pierced through each eye from back to front, filling the socket.

What was that? Eyes blinded by the bounty of the harvest?

Just as Yan Xianchuan was silently snarking, a message arrived from a contact labeled "Rattler."

【How's married life? I saw you on that variety show—looks like you're doing well. We only caught Dr. Morian last time thanks to you. Don't worry, the organization won't forget your contribution.】

【The research division just developed a little gadget that simulates consciousness upload. I haven't even used it myself—sent it off to our star contributor, so you can get a taste of what it's like to cruise freely through the data ocean in the future. Let me know how it feels when you try it!】

Yan Xianchuan was dumbfounded.

Here we go again—the same feeling as when Yan Family's head, her cheap father, had informed her of the arranged marriage.

The other side kept sending messages.

【There's a new task from the higher-ups. The Dongye family's banquet is coming up, right? You probably know about that—it's all over the net. The organization wants you to bring two people in.】

Dr. Morian... Yan Xianchuan scrambled to recall—she felt like she'd heard that name somewhere.

Wait, wasn't that the person from the news she'd seen in the elevator, the passenger on the same airship as her?

The report had briefly covered Dr. Morian's achievements. He'd worked at Arc Light Technology, and the Changping-1 and Changping-2 prosthetic series, the most common on the market, were his creations.

And the ones who'd kidnapped him were the Mechanical Pure Land.