met free Chapter 200 Entering the Paper City
Chapter 200 Entering the Paper City
The face behind the door was so close that the tip of its nose was flattened.
Ah Chao took a step back, her heel hitting the corner of the table, and hersed in pain. Si Mo quickly pressed down the loose pages on the table to prevent them from being blown away by the gust of wind leaking from the painting.
Chen Fan didn't move, he just looked down at the person.
The face behind the door was very pale, not the pale of a living person, but more like paper long buried at the bottom of a box. Its eyes were jet black, first staring outside, then after a while, its lips moved as if asking a question. The crack in the door was too narrow, and the sound couldn't escape.
Xuanzang had already loosened his sleeves, took half a step forward, and whispered, "It's not a shadow."
"I know," Chen Fan replied, turning to look at Si Mo. "Bring me the opening page from the secondary box."
Si Mo immediately went to rummage through it. He untied the hemp rope, lifted the lid, and inside were several layers of old files, still carrying a musty smell. When he pulled out the thin sheet of paper, the edges were already brittle. It depicted a city, the lines very fine; only half of the city gate was drawn, the other half looking as if someone had torn it off.
The person behind the door seemed to recognize the picture, and suddenly raised his hand, tapping three times with his fingertips through the crack in the door.
Lightly, quickly, as if afraid of startling someone.
Si Mo paused for a moment, then subconsciously picked up his pen and resumed the previous rhythm.
It paused for a moment.
They knocked twice more from inside.
This time, we're not being made to wait.
After listening, Xuanzang said, "He's telling us to come in."
Ah Chao shrank his neck: "Really going in?"
Chen Fan took the paper, pressed his thumb against the city gate, and felt the paper's coolness, as if it had just been pulled from a well. The next moment, the half-door of the painting dented inward, and the crack in the door caused the entire painting on the table to bulge.
Gusts of wind blew out from inside.
The lights flickered. Everyone in the room squinted.
Wukong stood at the back. Seeing that the door was complete, he slung his golden cudgel over his shoulder and laughed, "You should have said you'd open the door earlier. You've been dawdling for so long."
Yang Jian had remained silent until now, then glanced at Chen Fan and said, "You guys go in, I'll cover your retreat."
"Come in, all of you." Chen Fan pressed the paper back onto the table. "Leaving someone at the door is useless. If it can close, guarding it from the outside is pointless."
Si Mo looked up: "Then I—"
"You and Ah Chao stay outside and keep track of the time," Chen Fan said. "If there's still no movement after an incense stick has burned, seal the main box. If anyone asks, just say the stall won't be open tonight."
Si Mo nodded, saying nothing more. He had already realized that this was not a place for someone who was copying texts.
Chen Fan rolled up his sleeves and was the first to step onto the table. When his foot landed on the drawing, the paper didn't collapse; instead, it felt like stepping on a taut layer of leather. The door crack widened in front of him, just enough for one person to squeeze through sideways.
The pale-faced man took a half step back, as if to make way for him.
Chen Fan ducked down and crawled inside.
His feet first felt like they were sinking into the ground, then landed firmly. Once he steadied himself, the first thing he smelled was paper ash. It wasn't ash from burning, but the smell of old paper that had been stored for a long time, absorbing moisture and repeatedly dried in the sun.
There is a street in front of me.
The street was narrow, and the houses on both sides were very close together. The eaves were thin, the walls were thin, and even the window frames looked like they were stacked. When the wind blew, the eaves trembled slightly, making a rustling sound. At the street entrance stood a memorial archway, with all four corners curled up, but the three characters on it were still relatively clear.
Enter the paper city.
Chen Fan turned around. The door was still there, like a piece of paper standing upright, its edges frayed. Xuanzang, Wukong, and Yang Jian stepped out one after another. The pale-faced man standing to the side was a middle-aged man, extremely thin, wearing a yellowed short jacket, with a small paper tag pinned to his chest that read: "Guide."
Xuanzang saw it first and pointed at it, asking, "What is that?"
Upon hearing the question, the man hurriedly covered his chest, his movements tense, as if afraid of dropping the paper. He didn't answer, but instead bowed to the group, then pointed to the street corner, and then to his own chest.
Chen Fan understood: "No label, no talking?"
The man nodded immediately, very quickly.
Wukong glanced at him: "This place is so shabby, you even have to borrow a note to speak."
The man gave a wry smile, as if he wanted to say something, but his mouth opened and no sound came out. He could only pat the paper slip again. Only then did Chen Fan notice that there was a thin rope tied around his neck, with several old slips strung on it, bearing the words "move," "guard," "guide," and "report," the edges of which were worn and frayed.
Yang Jian scanned the street and whispered, "The people sitting in front of the doors—the doormen, the vendors, the water carriers—all have tags on their bodies."
Yes, they all exist.
The woman selling pancakes on the street had the character "灶" (stove) pasted on her waist, and the handle of the frying pan behind her had "甲灶一" (Jia Zao Yi) pasted on it. The man driving the cart had the character "运" (transport) pasted on his back, and there was another sign on the cart that read "西街公车" (West Street Bus). Even the child squatting by the roadside had a "学" (study) pasted on his sleeve.
Chen Fan walked toward the nearest shop. A long red label was pasted next to the door frame, which read "Public shop in East Fourth Alley, temporarily used by household B". The door was half open, and inside there were rice bags, wooden cabinets, and low stools, each with a small label on it. The rice bag was labeled "One peck for official use", the wooden cabinet was labeled "For Zhang Niangzi", and even the rough porcelain bowls in the cabinet had their owners' names on them.
When the woman inside saw the strangers enter, she first pressed down on the long slip of paper by the door, her palm flat as if afraid the corners would warp. When she realized that the people hadn't brought any slips, she panicked for a moment and quickly dragged the stools inside.
Halfway through, the stool leg hit the threshold, and the small tag stuck to the stool leg rubbed off.
*Smack*
The stick fell to the ground, and the stool immediately crumbled into a stack of cardboard, collapsing at the woman's feet.
The room fell silent for a moment.
The woman's face turned pale instantly. She knelt down and went to pick up the slip of paper. Her hands trembled violently, and the slip, covered in dust, wouldn't stick properly after two attempts. On the third try, the pile of cardboard slowly bulged back into the shape of a stool, but one corner was crooked and could no longer be straightened.
Xuanzang's eyelids twitched, and he bent down to smooth the edge of the slip of paper for her.
The woman looked up at him, her lips trembling. She quickly hugged the stool to her arms and refused to put it back on the ground.
Chen Fan asked, "If it's lost, it's no longer yours?"
The woman's chest tag read "Housewife of Household A," suggesting she could speak. She first looked at the man who was leading the way, and when he nodded, she lowered her voice and said, "It's not my own; it belongs to the public. No one can take it. You have to go to the street office to get it again, you have to verify the old tag, you have to queue, and you have to wait for it to be stamped."
Wukong reached out to pick up the rice bag, and the woman was so frightened that she took half a step forward.
"Don't touch it." Her voice was shrill. "It doesn't have your name on it. If you mention it, it will be debited."
"Accounting?" Wukong chuckled. "Even carrying a bag of rice is recorded in the books?"
"Everything in the city is recorded." The woman wiped her forehead. "Beds, pots, door latches, needles and thread, lamps, even the cotton wadding in the bedding is recorded. If it's not signed, it's not yours. If it's signed off, it's still not yours. If anyone takes an extra item, the person in charge of the record-keeping will come and tear it off at night."
Chen Fan looked at the bed.
Sure enough, there was a sign above the headboard that read "For use by the Yi household at night," and a smaller sign was pressed against the edge of the bedding: "Four catties of cotton, one piece of linen." He took two steps closer and reached out to press the bed board. The bed board was solid, not a paper dollop, but each corner was clipped with thin strips of paper, as if these strips were used to forcibly tie things to their respective positions.
Yang Jian suddenly spoke up: "Where is that person?"
Everyone in the room was looking at him.
"If the token on someone is removed," Yang Jian said, "would it also belong to the public?"
The woman paused, her eyes flickered, but she didn't reply immediately.
Just then, a child ran past on the street, the "study" sign on his sleeve half-loose. A gust of wind blew it, and the sign spun to the ground. The child didn't notice at first and even rushed forward a few steps. The old woman chasing after him shouted sharply, "Stop! Don't move!"
The child froze, standing in the middle of the street, forgetting even to cry.
Shopkeepers around peeked out, but no one came forward to pull him away. The old woman, leaning against the doorframe, caught her breath before her legs trembling as she walked over, picked up the skewer, carefully wiped it clean, and reattached it to the child's sleeve. After securing it, she first touched the child's face, then slapped him on the back of the head, scolding him while tears streamed down her face: "Why did you run away? Who will recognize you if you get lost!"
The child then burst into tears.
People on the street glanced at it a few times, then shrank back; this kind of thing happens every day.
Chen Fan's heart sank.
The woman saw it too and whispered, "People are the same. First, you need a name, a household, and a purpose. If you stick it up, the street official will recognize you, the neighborhood will recognize you, and your name will be on the grain register. If you lose it, you'll be considered unregistered. If you're unregistered for a long time, you can't live in a house, you can't get food, and you can't even get through the door. Anyone who dares to take it privately will have all their belongings confiscated."
Xuanzang asked, "Doesn't anyone think of hiding a few more, tearing off the tags, and keeping them for themselves?"
The woman gave a bitter smile and pointed to an empty nail in the corner: "A few years ago, someone tried this. They took the tags off the grain bags at night, thinking that without the tags, no one could take them. The next day, when they opened the door, the bags were gone, the pot was gone, even the bed board was gone. The street official said that since there was no owner, they would confiscate it. The family of three sat on the ground, unable to even borrow a bowl of hot water."
Wukong withdrew his hand, and the smile in his eyes faded.
Chen Fan walked out. The wind on the street grew stronger, making the corners of the paper slips all over the city rustle. In the distance, a tall building stood in the center of the city, with layers of long slips hanging outside, white, yellow, and red, as if displaying the names of the entire city.
The man leading the way stood by the door and pointed to the building three times.
Chen Fan understood.
The street official is over there.
He took a few steps forward, then turned back to look at the woman: "How long can this sign on your door last?"
The woman looked up and said softly, "It depends on the rain, the wind, and whether the street official is willing to give you a new one."
After she finished speaking, she quickly pressed the red tag on the side of the door again.
His finger lingered on the paper for a while before slowly retracting it.
Chapter 714 Paper City Signatory
The building on the street looks even taller up close.
It wasn't a wooden building, nor did it resemble a brick building. The building was stacked layer upon layer, with edges made of cardboard, old and worn from rain, white to gray. Each floor had hanging slips of paper of varying lengths under the eaves, which rustled throughout the building when the wind blew, like someone flipping through thousands of account books at the same time.
Ah Chao walked to the front of the building and first pulled his feet back.
The ground was covered with paper bricks, which weren't soft to step on, but my shoes always felt like they were walking on a layer of shell.
There were no guards at the entrance, only a long table. Behind the table sat an old man, thin, with a very straight back, holding a pair of thin scissors, trimming the ends of skewer slips. The scraps of paper he cut fell into a box, and he didn't waste a single piece, picking them up and sorting them by color.
When the man leading the way reached the door, he immediately lowered his head, held up the white slip of paper at his waist with both hands, and showed it to the old man.
The old man didn't even look at his face, just glanced at the signature, and nodded.
"East of the street, Ding Lane, number 471. Bring a stranger into the street, make a note of it."
His voice was soft, but each word was clear, like striking a wooden fish.
The man leading the way quickly agreed, then gestured for Chen Fan and the others to go in quickly before turning and retreating without daring to utter a single unnecessary word.
Ah Chao turned to look at him: "You ran away already?"
"It's not running away," the old man said, still repairing the slips. "It's returning to the original number. Everyone in Paper City has to return to their original number before dark."
Only then did he raise his eyes.
Those eyes weren't cloudy; instead, they were bright, as bright as two pinpoints. First they looked at Chen Fan, then at Xuanzang, and finally stopped at the book bag at Si Mo's waist.
"Outsiders".
Si Mo hummed in agreement.
The old man put down his scissors and wiped his fingers with a damp cloth. "What brings you to the street office?"
Chen Fan said, "Check the old files. Ask a few more people."
"You need to take a number to check records. You need to take a number to ask people." The old man pulled out a stack of blank slips of paper from under the table and slammed them on the table. "Take a number first."
Ah Chao stared at the stack of slips and asked, "Not giving your name?"
The old man seemed to have heard something very strange. "If people go to the city to register, the city will be in chaos."
Ah Chao was stunned: "How did things get so chaotic just from registering?"
The old man didn't answer immediately. He spread out a white sheet of paper, dipped his pen in it, and paused the pen tip on the paper, as if trying to find the most stable place to land.
"Names can be duplicated, changed, stolen, or even taken," he said. "Today someone is called Ah Shan, tomorrow they might say that's not their real name. Brothers fight over a household name, husbands and wives separate and each take their old surnames, and even the name left by the dead can be taken by the living. Once a real name is registered, the neighborhood officials have to follow what people say."
He picked up his pen and wrote the character "外" (wài).
"The numbers are different. The number is on the sign, the sign is on the door, and the door is in the street. It's clear at a glance who lives in which cell, who receives which portion of rice, who repairs which section of the ditch, and who owes which month's tax. Whether you cry, laugh, are sick, or leave, the number won't move by itself."
After listening, Xuanzang said in a low voice, "The numbering is for convenience."
"It's not about saving trouble," the old man corrected him, "it's for stability."
He pushed the slip of paper over; it read "Outer Nine Three".
"Zhicheng has 3,217 households and over 6,400 permanent residents. Two years ago, a windstorm cracked the south street, destroying 41 doors. Last year, rain soaked the north ward, ruining 187 doorplates. If we replace them all by name, people will be all over the place. Who got the wood pulp first, who replaced the doorplates later, whose children haven't returned, whose elderly have moved out—can you remember all that?"
As he said this, his hands did not stop; he had already written "Outer Nine Four" for Xuanzang and "Outer Nine Five" for Si Mo.
"I remember it," he added, "and the street official has to remember it too."
Ah Chao scratched his face, unable to respond for a moment.
Chen Fan took the slip and flipped it over. The back of the paper was blank, with a thin red mark pressed in the corner. It was a small square with only the character "执" inside.
"Are you the signing officer?"
The old man nodded: "The street official in charge of signing documents is Lu Shouye."
Upon hearing the name, Ah Chao chuckled, "You do have a name, don't you?"
Lu Shouye didn't even lift his eyelids. "That's what they call it outside the city. Inside the city, they only recognize the official in charge of signing documents."
Ah Chao's laughter stopped abruptly.
Si Mo remained silent until this point, then asked, "What we need to check is the old operating file. Seventh operating file. Can we access the main register?"
Lu Shouye glanced at him, his gaze finally settling on the booklet bag. "People who can write always ask questions quickly."
"Can I see you?"
"Yes," Lu Shouye answered readily, "according to the rules."
After he finished speaking, he got up and pushed open the narrow door behind the long table. Inside was a long corridor, with grids on both sides, arranged closely together. Each grid contained a slip of paper, some new, some old, some with yellowed edges, as if they had been there for many years.
Ah Chao felt a chill run down his spine and whispered, "How much is there?"
"Today's registered numbers are 6,493." Lu Shouye walked ahead, his sleeves not flaring at all. "Including the old numbers that have been sealed, it's over 10,000."
He led everyone up to the second floor.
The second floor was quieter than the first. The entire floor was made up of shelves, not of books, but of stacks of thread-bound paper books, each with a label on its spine. By the window was a long table, behind which sat three people, none of them looking up, the only sounds being the turning of pages and the movement of abacus beads.
Lu Shouye walked over, took a wooden plaque from the top, and placed it on the corner of the table.
The sign reads: "Foreigners checking records."
The three then stopped, and one of them moved the booklet aside to make room for it.
"The seventh cycle," Lu Shouye said.
The man turned and went to the back of the shelf to look for a book.
Chen Fan stood by the desk and saw a large sheet of paper hanging on the wall. It wasn't a list, but rather a city map. Every street was drawn in a straight line, and the doorways were densely packed with small signs. There wasn't a single name.
He asked, "Don't people in the city use their real names?"
"Use it," Lu Shouye said. "Use it when you get home, when you close the door, and when your mother calls the children. Don't use it when you go out."
Why?
Lu Shouye looked at the city map, his voice still calm. "Names are too personal. If you call out a name, people will turn around. Once they turn around, they want to argue, to acknowledge, to dredge up old grievances. Numbers, on the other hand, create a barrier, so people's hearts aren't as fiery. There's less arguing on the streets, and fewer misidentifications."
Xuanzang frowned: "You've smoothed everyone out."
Lu Shouye turned around, surprisingly without anger. "Smooth things over a bit, and life will pass. You come from outside the city; have you seen more dead people or more peace and tranquility?"
After these words were spoken, even Ah Chao fell silent.
The person searching for the book had already brought over a large gray book, with water stains on the corners and the rope tied tightly. Si Mo was about to reach out when Lu Shouye stopped him.
"Searching is allowed. Copying is allowed. Taking it away is not allowed."
"What if we want to take people with us?" Chen Fan asked.
Lu Shouye looked at him, and this time he looked at him for a long time.
The sales slips outside kept making a soft, rustling sound, like the chirping of insects before a rain.
"You can leave." Lu Shouye finally spoke. "Paper City doesn't detain people. Anyone who wants to move out can be released by the street officials."
Ah Chao breathed a sigh of relief: "That's alright."
Lu Shouye finished the sentence with the second half: "First, return your real name."
None of them moved.
Xuanzang asked first, "Return it?"
"right."
Chapter 715 Making a Living by Using Labels
"Where should we return it?" Ah Chao asked first.
Lu Shouye held the booklet tightly, as if afraid someone would snatch it away.
"Return it to the street official," he said. "The real name registered when entering the city must be placed under the master register. When a person leaves, their name must be cancelled first. Only after it's cancelled can a white certificate for leaving the city be issued."
Upon hearing this, Xuanzang frowned: "If the real name is recorded, does that mean the person is still considered their own?"
Lu Shouye didn't respond to that, but simply turned a page of the water-stained booklet and pushed it to the side of the table.
The pages were yellowed and the edges were curled. Lines of small characters were written on them, all names. Small marks followed the names, such as which family owed a bushel of rice, which family had a new baby, and which family had changed their door sign several times.
Chen Fan glanced at it twice, then looked up and asked, "Is it difficult to get a white-card permit to leave the city?"
"Signing for free isn't difficult," Lu Shouye said. "The difficult part is how to survive once you're out there."
A-Tu scoffed, "Isn't the area outside the city a place where people live?"
Lu Shouye glanced at him, his tone still flat: "You're not from Paper City, you don't understand the rules here. Paper City issues one permit per day. Meal permits, work permits, door permits, travel permits, all are reissued at dawn. Yesterday's permit is invalid today. If you go out without a permit, the rice shop won't recognize you, the workshop won't recognize you, and no one will even dare to take you in for lodging."
Ah Chao was stunned: "Yesterday's today and you're already useless? Doesn't that mean you're hanging on by a thread?"
"It's safer to keep it hanging." Lu Shouye closed the booklet. "If the old signatures could circulate, chaos would break out on the streets quickly. It would be impossible to tell who's impersonating whom, who's taking the place, and who's hoarding them."
Si Mo hadn't spoken until now, then reached out and moved the booklet half an inch closer to himself: "Who made these rules?"
"The old city collapsed once," Lu Shouye said. "That time, the ration slips were mixed up. The dead received rations, but the living had nowhere to live. In the end, half of the last street burned down. Later, they changed it to changing the rations every day."
He spoke as if reminiscing about the past, without any emotional fluctuation.
Chen Fan, however, understood.
Rules don't appear out of thin air. But once they do, they can become a hindrance to people.
"Take us to see it," Chen Fan said.
Lu Shouye didn't refuse and got up to leave. A gust of wind blew outside, causing the long, dangling rice slips to tap against the corner of the building with a soft crackling sound. It was still early, but two lines of people had already formed on the street. One line was collecting rice slips at a small shed on the east side, and the other was exchanging them for work slips at a table on the west side.
The first place we went to was the rice shed.
A thin old woman sat under the awning, with three wooden boxes beside her. The white box contained blank slips, the black box contained slips that had been stamped, and the red box was full of invalid slips. The person who came to collect a slip had to first put in yesterday's old slip, then press their fingerprint, before they could get the new slip from this morning.
Ah Chao stood by and watched for a while, then couldn't resist moving closer.
The slip of paper was very thin, about a finger's width and half a palm's length. It read "two liters of millet," "half a catty of beans," and "a pinch of salt," even specifying which shop could sell it. At the end of the slip was a small square seal of the street official, the ink of which hadn't dried completely and would smudge with a touch.
An old woman reached the front of the line, fumbled in her sleeve for a while, but couldn't find the old slip. Her face immediately changed, and she bent down to rummage through her basket. Inside were scraps of cloth and half a hard biscuit; she searched and searched, but still found nothing.
The skinny woman didn't even look up: "Where's the old contract?"
The old woman coughed anxiously: "My grandson heated the stove last night, and I might have dropped it near the stove when I was boiling water. Give me a copy first, and I'll make a replacement later."
"No way." The skinny woman pressed the empty slip into the box. "There are no old slips. We need to go to the local police station to re-file them."
The old woman stood there, making gurgling noises in her throat. The people behind her started urging her on, and others in front glanced at her sideways. She rubbed her hands together on the edge of the basket, finally turning her head to look at Lu Shouye.
"Guardian, do you recognize me?" Her voice was weak. "Old Granny Wang, she lives at the third end of Grass Lane. Last month I even pasted account paper for the street official."
Lu Shouye nodded: "I recognize him. How old is your grandson?"
"Seven years old. He was delirious with fever last night."
"Go to the west window to get a replacement," Lu Shouye said. "Give me your door number and I'll take half a copy first."
The old woman finally breathed a sigh of relief. Before she could even say thank you, she picked up her basket and ran westward, her shoes making a clattering sound as they hit the stone path.
Ah Chao watched her retreating figure and whispered, "What if you weren't here?"
The thin old woman answered for Lu Shouye: "Then we'll wait for the verification."
"How long will it take?"
"Few people, half a day. Many people, a whole day."
Ah Chao didn't say anything.
Half a day isn't long. But for a child with a fever, half a day can be enough to cause serious problems.
Further ahead is the area where you can exchange your work permit.
There were even more people here. Signs hung in front of the wooden tables, reading "Copying, Wall Repairing, Sifting Plaster, Patrolling the Alley, Carrying Materials." Each job had a small slip nailed to the back; whoever drew a slip would do that job that day. As the sun began to set, they would return to the street office after finishing their work and then receive a work slip based on the work slip. The work slip was only valid for that day; if it wasn't exchanged for wages before dark, it would be invalid the next day.
Atu clicked his tongue: "This is even stricter than herding livestock."
A man was standing in front of the table arguing.
He was holding yesterday's knotted paper in his hand; the edges of the paper were crumpled and soft.
"I carried loads all day yesterday, but the south gate of the city closes as soon as it gets dark, so I didn't have time to change. I should at least get paid today, right?"
The clerk behind the case shook his head: "The rules are written down; they become invalid overnight."
"I wasn't slacking off." The man's neck turned red. "It rained last night, and the roads were terrible. Look at my shoulder, the rope marks are still there."
The clerk raised his eyes, glanced at the man, then lowered his head again: "You can find a guarantor to testify. Without a guarantor, no replacement will be made."
The man stood there stunned for a long time, as if he wanted to curse, but he opened his mouth and then closed it again. He took a step back, slowly stuffed the damp and limp work slip back into his pocket, and turned around to join the queue for today again.
Chen Fan watched the retreating figure and asked Lu Shouye, "Did you work all day for nothing?"
"It's not a waste of time," Lu Shouye said. "If he really has a guarantor, he can make up half of the cost."
"What if not?"
Lu Shouye paused for a moment: "Then we'll remember this as a mistake. If we make three mistakes, the workshop won't want to use it anymore."
This time, even Atu remained silent.
The people of Paper City always seem to be holding a thin thread in their hands. The other end of the thread is at the street office. Whoever is a step slow, whoever drops a card, the thread will loosen. Once or twice, it can be repaired. But too many times, and a person will fall.
They walked further down the street, which grew narrower and narrower. The houses on both sides were made of paper and wood, with new slips of paper pressed against the doorframes. Red ones were for staying, yellow ones for cooking, and blue ones for traveling. The old slips hadn't been torn off; they were just pressed at the bottom, their edges turned up, damp, and frayed, layer upon layer like old tree bark.
A child was squatting on the doorstep, licking the bottom of an empty bowl. When he saw Lu Shouye coming over, he immediately stood up and hid the bowl behind his back.
"Where is your mother?" Lu Shouye asked.
"They went to the pulp mill," the child replied. "They'll be back around noon."
"Where's your grandpa?"
The child gestured towards the house with his lips.
Chen Fan glanced inside and saw an old man sitting by the bed, a thin blanket covering his legs, and a string of medicine tags beside him, their colors already faded. He remembered the old woman mentioning her grandson, and looking at the row of old and new tags on the door, he understood a few things.
Those who can walk are mostly young and middle-aged. They can find food on their own, find work on their own, and endure a night without any prospects.
The elderly and children cannot leave.
They had to rely on someone to come and collect the signatures every day, and on the street clerk to recognize the address, face, and the booklet with their real names on it.
Once outside, all of these things were broken.
At the end of the alley, a family was changing their doorplate. The man, standing on a low stool, reached out to peel off the old one. The woman below, holding a baby, looked up at him, as if afraid he would damage the door. As the old doorplate was peeled off, a layer of plaster came off the corner of the door. The man clicked his tongue and quickly pressed it down.
The woman stamped her foot in frustration: "Be gentle! If this door breaks again, the neighborhood watch will remember it."
The man didn't reply, but carefully affixed the new label, smoothing it out bit by bit with the heel of his palm. After finishing, he took a half step back, tilting his head to look at it, as if checking if a patch was crooked.
Ah Chao suddenly asked, "Haven't you ever thought about moving out?"
Upon hearing this, the man paused for a moment, then gave a wry smile.
"I've thought about it," he said. "I thought about it the year before last. I have a cousin outside the city who sets up a shed by the salt road. Later, my father coughed so badly that he couldn't get out of bed, and my child was still young. If I went out, I could find work today, but what about tomorrow? There would be no job available, and where would I go if it rained at night? My wife can't read many words, and she's even afraid of misreading the stamps for exchanging grain."
As he spoke, he moved the stool back under the eaves.
"Living here is inconvenient. But at least when it's light, I know where to get my food for the day."
He spoke very softly, as if afraid of startling the baby in his arms. But after hearing it, Ah Chao's casual expression vanished.
Further ahead was the small medicine window set up by the street clerk. Several elderly people sat in front of the window, each holding a medicine slip in their hand. Each slip had the time written on the back; if you missed it, you had to come back the next day. An old man who was blind in one eye kept listening intently through the window, as if afraid of missing his number being called. The little girl next to him held the slip for him, her hands sweating as she gripped it, quickly smoothing out the curled edges.
Si Mo stood there, motionless for a long time.
Lu Shouye said, "Now you understand. The paper city doesn't lock people up. But once people go out, they have to grow a whole set of tokens on their own. Most people can't grow them."
Chen Fan looked up at the tall building in the middle of the street.
The long signs hanging outside the building are still swaying in the wind. From a distance, they really resemble the days of a city's residents being exposed to the elements, one after another, changing from today to tomorrow, without end.
"Therefore, the real name is kept in the register," Xuanzang said slowly.
"That's right." Lu Shouye nodded. "The street officials need to recognize the names to make it easier to recognize the signatures. Only with recognized signatures can the city be stable."
Chen Fan didn't reply. He walked to the medicine window, reached into the little girl's hand, and took the medicine slip to look at it. The paper was thin, but the print was very heavy. Below it was a line of small print: "No replacements after the due date."
He handed the signature back.
The little girl was afraid it would fall, so she quickly caught it with both hands and then tucked it into her arms.
Chen Fan turned to Lu Shouye and asked, "Where is the master register located?"
Lu Shouye looked at him, his eyes tightening for the first time.
"The third floor of the street office," he said.
"lead the way."
Lu Shouye didn't move.
The wind blew in from the alley entrance, rustling the row of old prescription tags under the medicine window. The one-eyed old man heard the sound, reached up to touch them, and only after finding the prescription tags still on his knee did he slowly withdraw his hand.
Chapter 716 Move the grain first, then the people
Lu Shouye didn't move.
Chen Fan didn't urge him, but just glanced at the smoothed stone steps at the entrance of the street office.
The edges and corners became shiny from being stepped on so many times.
People come here every day to collect, reschedule, and renew their visas, begging for extra days of medicine or an extra rice voucher. If you actually ask someone to move out, the first question won't be any grand principles; it will be: "Where will you eat and where will you sleep?"
Chen Fan turned to look at Si Mo.
"Don't rush upstairs."
Si Mo understood what he meant, put down his pen, and asked, "Back to the entrance?"
"Go back to the entrance. Fill in the hole first."
Ah Chao was still stunned: "What pit?"
Xuanzang answered for him: "The pit to fall into."
The group retreated the way they came. Lu Shouye stood under the eaves, neither stopping them nor seeing them off. The wind lifted the long name tags hanging outside the building, striking the wooden pillars with two sharp cracks, as if recording names.
As we stepped out of the paper city gate, the sky had already darkened.
The open space outside was already messy, with scraps of paper mixed in with the soil, making it soft to walk on. The tire tracks from a few days ago when the file books were being transported were still there, but they dried before the rain even came.
Chen Fan walked around the open space.
He doesn't look far ahead, he only looks at what's in front of him.
After reading it, he spoke: "Place the grain depot on the east side, sheltered from the wind. It should be thirty paces from the door, so you can see it as soon as you step out. Build the shed on the west side, making sure it doesn't block the way. Leave the middle empty for the registration area."
Si Mo had already spread out the paper to record.
"How many sheds?"
"Set up three first. Two for living, and one for storing cooking pots and grain. If it's not enough tonight, we'll add more tomorrow."
Ah Chao asked, "Just the few of us?"
"First, establish the framework," Chen Fan said. "Once the framework is in place, the people will naturally follow."
After saying this, he pointed to the intersection: "Go find Old Niu and ask him to send four cartloads of coarse grains. Don't pick the refined rice. Just enough to fill our stomachs. Also, bring two big pots, a bundle of firewood, and a bag of salt."
Ah Chao responded, ran a few steps, then turned back: "Staying in the shed?"
"Bring all the leftover tarpaulins and bamboo poles from a while ago. If there are no bamboo poles, dismantle the old cart planks. They'll keep us sheltered from the wind tonight."
Ah Chao really ran away this time, kicking up a string of dirt with his heels.
Si Mo is still writing.
He wrote quickly, his pen almost never stopping, and after finishing a line, he asked, "What about the workstation register? How do we decide on that?"
"Open a separate book," Chen Fan said. "Don't ask what people can do first. Ask what they're willing to do first, then ask if they have any old injuries, how long they can stand, and how much weight they can lift. Record the truth."
Si Mo looked up at him.
"Wages?"
"Let's not talk about money first. Let's focus on meals. You get one meal for half a day's work, and two meals for a full day's work. There's a shed to sleep in at night. Once everyone's settled in, we'll assign you the more demanding tasks."
Xuanzang nodded.
People from paper-walled cities are mostly afraid of hunger first, not of being taken advantage of. They'll only start talking when the food is actually served to them.
Not long after, the sound of a car came from the other end of the mountain road.
It wasn't Old Niu; it was the people from the academy who arrived first.
A small cart led the way, carrying a table, stools, blank books, and an inkstone. Behind it followed seven or eight teenagers, their clothes tucked into their waistbands to avoid getting them muddy. Leading them was a tall, thin school official surnamed Lu, who usually managed the copying room of the academy.
As soon as he got out of the car, he cupped his hands in greeting to Si Mo.
"I heard they're going to establish an external register, so the headmaster told me to bring all the apprentices from the register. They must be literate, able to understand spoken words, and tight-lipped."
Si Mo looked the person over.
These children are all quite young, but their fingers are stained with ink, and their fingernails are not clean. It's obvious they've been spending a lot of time in the book room.
Chen Fan walked over, squatted down, picked up a twig from the ground, and first drew three lines.
"You will split into three groups."
"The first group guarding the gate will be responsible for recording people leaving the city. They'll ask for their names, which street they originally lived on, how many people are in their family, and whether they have any sick or children. If they can't answer all the questions, we'll ask them slowly."
"The second group entered the city. They went from alley to alley. They told them that no money or signatures were required before they moved out. If they couldn't write, they could just dictate it, and the others would write it down. They should write down the real names, not the signatures given by the street officials."
"The third group will be stationed at the registration point. Whoever registers first will receive a wooden tag. The tag will only have a number on it, not a name, to avoid losing it on the way and causing trouble. When you return, you can check your number against the register to collect your rations and berth."
A round-faced apprentice asked in a low voice, "What if they don't dare to give their real names?"
Chen Fan glanced at him.
"Then report a false report first. Record the false report anyway. We'll verify it later. Don't force someone to spit out their lifeblood in one go."
The child paused for a moment, then quickly nodded.
After listening, Lu Xueguan rolled up his sleeves and said, "I will personally lead the men into the city."
Chen Fan added, "When you go in, don't shout about being freed from your citizenship, being liberated, or starting anew. Forget about those things. Just tell me one thing—that if you go out today, you'll have food, shelter, and work. That's all."
Lu Xueguan remembered it.
After saying that, the people dispersed.
The area outside the door immediately became busy.
Si Mo led the two to set up the table. The table legs were of different lengths, and it was stabilized by placing three stone slabs underneath. Xuan Zang went to fetch water, and while he was at it, he kicked away a few sharp-edged pebbles nearby to prevent the elderly and children from tripping over them. Chen Fan carried two wooden beams himself and planted them to the west.
The soil was hard; it didn't go in on the first try.
He changed his angle, stepped on the crossbeam and pressed down, the wood creaked and finally gripped the ground.
By the time the old ox's cart arrived, the sky was already dusty.
Old Niu jumped off the cart, glanced at the scene at the entrance, and snorted.
"I knew it. You never try to reason first, you just set the stage for trouble."
"Reasoning can't put food on the table," Chen Fan said.
Old Niu found the words agreeable and told the people behind him to unload the truck.
Four cartloads of coarse grains, sacks piled up on the east side. Two black pots, supported by stones, still had ash from the last time porridge was cooked on their bottoms. An oilcloth was spread out, the smell a bit stuffy, the sun hadn't fully penetrated it. The people, disregarding their complaints, first pulled ropes to secure it. The wind whistled through the paper gate, making the corners of the shed shake. Xuanzang nailed wooden stakes in three times before finally settling the corners down.
The people inside the door saw the first pot of porridge being poured in.
At first, I just stood far away.
A few faces peeked out intermittently from behind the door, at the base of the wall, and at the edge of the alley. No one actually came out; they were all watching the puff of white steam rising from the pot.
The white vapor wasn't much, and it dissipated in the wind. After it dissipated, a rice-like smell lingered.
A woman carrying a child on her back moved to the doorway first, her feet not even stepping over the threshold, her eyes fixed on the book-collecting table.
She asked softly, "You went out, will you be back tonight?"
Si Mo raised his head: "Yes. You can come back if you want. Register first, but we won't force you to leave."
The woman then asked, "Do I need to submit a signature for registration?"
"I won't accept your signature." Si Mo pushed the empty booklet forward. "You tell me, and I'll write."
The woman didn't move, but the child in her arms coughed twice.
She hesitated for a moment, then gave a name. Her voice was very low, as if she was afraid of being overheard.
Si Mo wrote down the name, then stopped and asked, "Is this your real name?"
The woman pursed her lips and nodded.
Si Mo didn't ask any further questions, but simply handed over the wooden plaque.
"Jia San. If you come out tonight, take this to get your porridge."
When the woman received the wooden plaque, her fingers were cold. She touched it twice before tucking it into her sleeve.
It's like throwing a pebble into shallow water.
The people behind started to inch forward.
An old man with one eye also arrived, still carrying the same medicine prescription, walking with a limp. He was illiterate, so the apprentice squatted down to memorize it. The old man answered each question as it was asked. When asked his real name, the old man hesitated for a long time, as if something was stuck in his throat. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn't used those two words in years.
After the apprentice finished writing, he looked up at him first.
The old man didn't look at the booklet; he only looked at the pot.
"Can I give my granddaughter half a bowl first?" he asked.
"Yes, you can," Chen Fan replied from the side. "You don't need to be there. Just take the number plate."
The old man's hand trembled, and he almost dropped the medicine label. He quickly caught it with his sleeve, responding repeatedly, and nearly held the label upside down.
Night slowly fell.
Torches appeared outside the door. The first layer of straw mats was laid out inside the shed, not very thick, making a dry creak when stepped on. The work log was also started, with twenty-seven people already listed on the first page. Those who could mend sheds, cook, fetch water, repair axles, and even sew paper edges were all recorded.
As Si Mo turned to the second page, Lu Xueguan led his men out of the city.
His shoes were covered in dust, and his voice was hoarse.
"I've asked in West Alley, Short Sign Street, and the area behind the medicine window," he said. "One hundred and thirty-six people are willing to leave their names on the register first. Most of them can't write, so I've had my apprentices follow along. We can go in two more rounds tomorrow morning."
Chen Fan took the stack of sweat-soaked papers from his hand.
The top page had slightly crooked handwriting, as if it had been written while leaning against a wall. It was densely covered with names, along with notes on diagnoses, symptoms, and whether the patient could go far.
The names aren't particularly appealing, but they all sound like real things.
Chen Fan placed the paper on the table and looked up at the paper city gate.
There were still people inside the door.
There was already a fire, a pot, a booklet, and a place to sleep outside the door.
He reached out and tapped the table.
"Keep writing," he said. "The table won't be cleared tonight."
Chapter 717 Paper Sticks Catch a Fire
It was past midnight, and the oil lamp on the table had already been relit twice.
Si Mo hunched over his desk, his wrists trembling with aching, but he refused to stop. A Chao squatted by the pot, stirring the porridge with a wooden spoon. The pot bubbled and simmered, with more water than rice, a faint aroma, but its advantage was its heat.
People were still coming out of the city gate intermittently.
Some carried bedding, others just a bowl. Many more had nothing in their hands, clutching their fortune slips tightly to their chests as if they were holding their lives.
Chen Fan was standing by the door, checking a newly delivered list, when he suddenly smelled a burning odor.
It doesn't smell like cooking fire.
It's like the edges of paper have curled up during baking; it tastes sweet at first, then bitter.
He looked up.
Inside the paper city, under the eaves of the houses on East Street, a few red lights appeared.
The red dot was tiny; it blinked twice and climbed up the eaves. It was like someone pressing a spark onto old paper—before the fire could ignite, the paper shrank on its own.
"Si Mo, look up," Chen Fan said.
Si Mo was stunned for a moment, and following his gaze, he saw the tip of his pen dragging a long ink mark on the paper.
"Is it on fire?"
"It doesn't look like something lit outside." Xuanzang had already reached the door, staring at the light. "It looks like a fire started by himself."
No sooner had he finished speaking than a woman screamed throughout the city.
The sound was very short, as if it had been cut off by smoke.
Immediately afterwards, a clattering sound filled the alley as numerous doorplates slammed against doors. People were running, and others were calling out children's names. Further in, the long sign hanging from the tall building of the street office also began to tremble, each one flashing with a red-hot thread, looking from a distance like someone had hung a string of burning red threads outside the building.
Ah Chao threw down his spoon: "I'll go get someone!"
"Don't overturn the pot," Chen Fan said, before stepping inside.
Xuanzang followed. Si Mo picked up the booklet, ran a few steps, then turned back and stuffed the inkwell into his clothes. A Chao cursed, picked up an empty bucket, and chased after them.
The wind is stronger inside the city than outside.
The doors of the houses on both sides of the street were already thin, and when the fire licked them, the cardboard turned black and curled at the edges. The strangest thing was that the fire didn't start from inside the houses, but from the paper tags. The door tags lit up first, followed by the window tags, and the work tags, medicine tags, and grain tags hanging under the eaves looked like a group of dried fish scales, each one popping out with a soft crackling sound.
In front of a house, an old man was splashing water with a ladle.
Water was poured on, and the fire was extinguished for a moment. The next instant, the old label stuck to the doorframe popped back up. The old man frantically pounded on the door, shouting, "My grandson is still inside!"
Xuanzang kicked the door open. The door panel shattered, and half of it flew off.
There wasn't much smoke inside, but ash filled the room. A little boy was huddled at the foot of the bed, still clutching his fortune-telling board. Xuanzang lifted him out, and as soon as he hit the ground, the boy reached for the small piece of paper on his belt. Only after finding it was still there did he dare to breathe.
Chen Fan knew at a glance that the trouble wasn't with fire.
The first thing those people did after escaping wasn't to look for their relatives, but to draw lots.
Someone had a hole burned in their sleeve, yet they were still patting the household registration slip in their pocket. Someone else had burnt hair, yet they were still reciting the time given by the pharmacy for a replacement slip. It was an instinct developed over the years in the city: look at the paper first, then at fate.
More and more people gathered at the street corner ahead.
Lu Shouye stood behind a long table, with three clerks holding slips behind him. On the table were a bronze seal, blank slips, a brush washer, and a sign with four characters: "Refill slips according to number".
The people in line were packed tightly together, while the fire burned forward on both sides of the queue. Some people tried to run out, but were stopped by the official in charge of issuing the warrants.
"Get your new visa first!"
"Leaving the house without a permit will result in the property being ignored during inspections!"
"Your number hasn't arrived yet, step back!"
A woman, holding a child and covered in cigarette ash, cried so hard she couldn't speak properly: "My storeroom burned down. Let me out first, and we'll fix it when I get out."
The clerk only stared at the old slip in her hand: "Burning the corner doesn't invalidate it. Stand at the back."
A young man nearby couldn't resist and reached for the blank slip of paper on the table. Before he could even touch it, he was struck with a stick. The stick was made of paper wrapped around a wooden core, and it made a dull thud when it hit his back. The young man staggered a couple of steps, but still turned around and shouted, "Are you going to wait until the whole city is ablaze before you'll give way to people?!"
Lu Shouye didn't look at him, but only placed his hand on the booklet: "The street administration is orderly. If it's chaotic, no one can leave."
Upon hearing this, Chen Fan slowed his pace by half a breath.
Lu Shouye's face was also covered in dust, and his sleeves were rolled up, as if he had been busy for a long time. He wasn't idle. He was indeed signing documents and following the rules. But at this point, the rules were no different from a rope binding people.
Another loud explosion occurred from the east.
It wasn't wood that exploded; it was bundles of warehouse stubs that burned through all at once. People on half the street turned to look, only to see a corner of the warehouse roof collapse, with grayish-white pieces of paper being swept into the air by the heat, then falling back down, still sparking as they stuck to people's shoulders.
The group immediately broke up.
Cries, coughs, and shoving mingled together. Some people pushed towards the desk, others rushed towards the door. The clerk, trying to gather them, shouted "Press the number!" three times, but his voice was already too loud to be suppressed.
Chen Fan walked through the crowd and stood before the long table.
"Make way," he said.
Lu Shouye raised his eyes: "We can't retreat now. The old officials in the city are burning themselves, and if we don't replace them with new ones, they won't survive if they go out."
Chen Fan stared at the stack of blank slips on the table: "Who told you that?"
"The rules set forth in the master register."
"Will the master register be used to put out the fire now?"
Lu Shouye's Adam's apple bobbed, but he didn't answer.
Xuanzang placed the boy he had just rescued on the table; a patch of the child's hand was burned red. Xuanzang patted the fortune-telling board, and it cracked with a snap, revealing an old fortune slip inside that had been half-burned black.
"See for yourself," Xuanzang said. "The sign is on the person being burned."
Ah Chao squeezed in from behind, spilling water from the bucket until only half full: "The houses in the three rows of houses in West Alley have all been built, blocking the well. If they build more, the people on the back street won't be able to get out."
Si Mo, holding the booklet and panting, said, "We've already recorded over sixty households outside. Go out first, and I'll fill in the missing information for you. We can connect you with everyone outside, including how many people are in each household and what illnesses each person has."
His voice wasn't loud, but someone still heard it.
In the queue, a thin woman slammed her old slip of paper on the table: "I'm not waiting anymore. Write my name down, and I'll go with you."
After she finished speaking, she grabbed the two children beside her and ran outside. The clerk instinctively reached out, but Xuanzang stepped aside, and the hand stopped in mid-air. In the end, he didn't dare to stop her anymore.
This movement caused the morale of those behind to completely collapse.
"I'm leaving too!"
"The storage room is gone, what's the point of getting a new permit!"
"Mother, go out first!"
The crowd surged towards the door. Lu Shouye shouted several times, but no one turned around. One of the clerks frantically grabbed the blank slips from the table, as if afraid of losing something belonging to the government. Another was still yelling at the crowd, "If you leave the city without a slip, the street officials won't recognize it!"
An old woman coughed and cursed, "Whether you admit it or not, I need to be alive first!"
She was slow-moving and almost fell. Ah Chao picked her up and ran towards the door, muttering, "Lend me some meat, so you can live a few more days."
In the chaos, someone knocked over the long table.
The copper seal rolled to the ground with a crisp sound. Blank slips were scattered all over the ground, a thin layer that was blindingly white in the firelight. Lu Shouye bent down to pick them up, but halfway through, his hand suddenly stopped.
The blank slip of paper he picked up was starting to yellow at the edges.
It wasn't contaminated with fire.
It's burning itself.
Lu Shouye froze, his thumb instinctively rubbing together. A thin crack appeared in the paper, and a spark of fire pierced through it, licking his fingertip. He abruptly released his grip, and the newly signed paper fluttered to the ground, instantly burning into a roll of blackened paper.
The two clerks standing nearby were dumbfounded.
"New contracts...are they burning too?"
Lu Shouye squatted there, as if he hadn't understood what he was saying.
Chen Fan walked over and pulled him up from the ground: "See? It's not the old paper that's broken, it's this whole thing. What are you still guarding?"
Lu Shouye's lips moved, and after a long while, he managed to squeeze out a sentence: "The master register is correct."
"The general register is on the third floor." Chen Fan looked at the tall building of the street office. "The fire station is also on the third floor."
Sure enough, flames had already broken out upstairs.
The long, dangling skewer broke off in a piece and fell like rain. Some of the skewer was red, some was yellow, and some even had names printed on them. Once on the street, they crumbled underfoot.
Lu Shouye looked up and his forced composure finally crumbled.
"If the master register is gone..." his voice was hoarse, "the real names in the city..."
"Take them out first," Chen Fan interrupted him. "We can think of names for the living, but not for the dead."
Lu Shouye's chest heaved twice, then he suddenly turned around and roared at the two officials holding the slips: "Stop collecting slips! Open the side gate! Sound the gong and tell everyone in the back street to evacuate!"
The two clerks holding the tally stood there, stunned.
Lu Shouye stepped forward and kicked open the cabinet door, revealing a bronze gong hanging inside. He grabbed it and started smashing it, but his first strike was off-key, producing a dull thud. The second strike landed squarely, sending a powerful boom that shook the entire street.
"Clear the streets!"
"Stop queuing!"
"Take the elderly and children with you, and get out of the city first!"
He kept banging and shouting until his voice quickly became hoarse. On the third shout, someone answered from the west alley, followed by shouts from the east alley. Those who had been guarding their doors and windows finally dared to remove their signs. Some grabbed brooms to beat out the fire, some carried sacks of rice and ran, and some helped the sick move outside.
Chen Fan nodded to Si Mo.
Si Mo immediately spread the booklet on an unburnt step and started writing: "Register! One family at a time! Don't push!"
Xuanzang went to the back street to pick someone up. Achao carried the medicine box outside. After Lu Shouye finished banging the gong, he picked up a short stick from the ground and smashed the wooden sign at the street corner that read "Replacement by Number".
The wooden sign split in two and fell into the fire, hissing as it emitted a plume of white smoke.
The woman by the door also came out.
She was the one who wouldn't let go of the door tag when they entered the city. Clutching a small wooden box, she ran to the door, then glanced back in her direction. Half the eaves had collapsed, and the red tag, burned to a mere ash, was still stuck to the door.
She glanced at him for a couple of moments, then reached out and handed the wooden box to Chen Fan.
"Inside are my family's old name cards," she said. "If they still remember them, please write them down for me. If they don't—"
A surge of people behind her caused her to stumble and fall, her words cut short. She steadied herself and then pushed her child forward a little.
"Write the child's name down first."
Chen Fan took the wooden box and tossed it toward Si Mo.
Si Mo didn't even look up: "What's your name?"
The woman pressed the child's shoulders forward, her breath reeking of smoke, and slowly and deliberately uttered the child's name.
Chapter 718 Wukong Dismantles the Main Axis
The fire line had already crossed half a street.
The paper eaves rolled inward, turning black from the fire, then scattered in the wind. The streets were filled with footsteps, but the crying had lessened, as if people had no time to cry anymore. Si Mo squatted behind the table, his pen slipping, his hands covered in ash, still writing names page by page.
Chen Fan tossed the wooden box onto the corner of the table and looked up at the city.
The long sign outside the tall building was shaking layer by layer, as if someone inside was pulling it hard.
Lu Shouye's face turned pale.
"The main building is accepting applications," he said. "It's about to lock down the city."
"What kind of locking method is this?" Ah Chao asked while carrying a bag of rice.
Lu Shouye's Adam's apple bobbed, and he uttered, "After collecting the signatures, the gates will be sealed. Those who haven't returned their real names won't be able to leave."
No sooner had he finished speaking than a low, grinding sound came from afar.
It wasn't the sound of bricks cracking, nor was it the sound of wood splitting.
It's like a huge stack of wet paper being forcibly pulled up from the ground.
Chen Fan's eyelids twitched, and he turned around and shouted, "Don't crowd towards the city gate! Spread out to both sides! Let the elderly and children get out first!"
The worst thing about a chaotic crowd is when they all rush together.
His shout silenced the men who were rushing towards the door. Some were about to curse, but seeing the flames approaching from the street corner, they opened their mouths, then closed them again.
Xuanzang had already torn the bottom of his kasaya into two strips, tied them to two bamboo poles, and stuck them in front of the crowd.
"Listen up!" His voice wasn't loud, but it was controlled. "Those who can lift people stand on the left, those who can carry people on their backs stand on the right. Pharmacy apprentices, follow me. Those who know the way, lead the way for the elderly."
The boy rushed out carrying a medicine box, followed by six apprentices, all of whom were young and had cigarette ash on their faces.
"Patients first!" he shouted, his voice trembling. "Those who can't breathe, those with fever, those with leg problems—send them all first!"
Those people in the paper city who usually lived with their heads down seemed to suddenly know where they belonged. Carpenters carried door panels, paper cutters tore strips of cloth to tie people up, and cooks pushed out water vats to soothe the throats of passersby.
The chaos continues; it's no longer just a disorganized mess.
Chen Fan glanced at the main building.
The building was swaying.
It wasn't the kind of swaying caused by the wind; it was as if the very bones of the city were shrinking in that direction. The signs hanging at every street corner were all pulled towards the main building, red, white, and yellow, twisted into bundles of thin threads, drilling into the heart of the building.
He then understood.
This godforsaken place doesn't hold people together by walls; it's bound together by signs, registers, and the things inside the building.
"Wukong!" Chen Fan pointed, "Louxin!"
Sun Wukong had been holding back his anger for a long time.
He had been holding back his hand, afraid of collapsing the city. But upon hearing this, he grinned, shrugged, and the golden cudgel leaped from his ear, growing longer in the wind.
"It should have been demolished long ago!"
He stepped onto the eaves, practically charging forward through the flames. The long slips of paper surrounding the building sensed his power and sprang up like a hail of arrows aimed at him. Sun Wukong didn't even blink; with a flick of his staff, he shattered half of it.
The air was filled with sparks from the scattered paper scraps, like a scorching snowfall.
A muffled thud was heard from inside the building.
The next instant, a crack appeared in the belly of the building.
There were no beams or pillars in the gap, only a thick, black, round shaft, so thick that three people could hardly wrap their arms around it. It was covered with densely packed characters, old and new, layer upon layer. Street signs were being wrapped around that shaft, and with each wrap, the shaft would shine.
When Lu Shouye saw that thing, he felt as if he had been struck by lightning.
"Numbering center..." he murmured.
Chen Fan narrowed his eyes.
No wonder this city can trap people together, one household after another. Names, medicine tags, food tags, work tags—in the end, everything is recorded on this one axis. People live as if they are borrowing, with their real names buried at the bottom.
"Hit it!" Chen Fan shouted.
"Do you need to tell me?"
Sun Wukong twisted his hands and slammed his golden cudgel down horizontally.
The first blow sent the entire main building tumbling downwards, its window panes shattering.
The second strike, the black shaft cracked with a piercing sound, like hundreds of sheets of paper being torn apart at once. All the signs hanging on the street rolled back simultaneously, and pieces of plaster bulged up, revealing old name cards, old contracts, and old prescriptions hidden inside.
With his third strike, Sun Wukong smashed directly into the axis.
"Cut it off for me!"
With a loud bang.
The main building exploded in the middle.
The black axle broke in two, spewing out clumps of shredded paper. The characters, now unrestrained, flew wildly through the air. Chen Fan's vision blurred as he saw many yellowed pieces of paper flutter past, each bearing a name, some with only half a character remaining, some stained with blood, and some with fingerprints.
The ground of the paper city began to crack.
It wasn't a collapse; rather, a long crack had appeared along the main building to the city gate. The crack wasn't wide, just enough for three or four people to walk side by side. Ashes were falling from the walls on both sides, and the previously sealed alleyway was opening up section by section, as if someone had used a knife to slit a piece of old cloth in the middle.
Yang Jian stood on the high place and watched.
This is the moment we've been waiting for.
He carried the three-pointed, double-edged knife and slashed down along the crack, the blade skimming along the ground. He cleared away the collapsed paper wall, the obstructing signboard, and the fallen door beam, carving out a straight path.
"Go this way!" Yang Jian shouted, "Don't look back!"
The celestial hound darted out first, barking wildly along the way. Whichever side was about to collapse, it would bark in that direction. Several children who were about to run away were stopped by it, and instead, they huddled together in fear. The apprentice scooped them up and ran.
Xuanzang stood at the intersection and raised his hand to direct the flow of people.
"The elderly, children, and patients should be placed in the suture channel first."
"If you can carry someone, don't do it empty-handed."
"Those who can cook, go to the stove first. Those who can build a tent, go and pick up the people behind."
He placed them down one by one. His voice wasn't loud, and the apprentices beside him shouted along. By the second time he shouted, the crowd was already able to catch them on their own.
"Prioritize the elderly and children!"
"Patient, move forward!"
"Strong laborers should be relegated to the back!"
An old man selling paper umbrellas clung tightly to his shelf on the street, repeatedly chanting, "The umbrellas aren't closed yet, the umbrellas aren't closed yet."
Ah Chao rushed over, kicked over the shelf, wrapped the bundle of paracord around his waist, and hoisted him up, paracord and all: "Pack it up slowly once we're outside!"
Another woman was carrying her paralyzed mother-in-law on her back, while her child clung to her trouser leg, causing them to stumble. The child handed the medicine box to the apprentice, then stepped forward, took the child from her, and tucked him into his arms, saying, "Just keep walking, don't stop."
Si Mo wasn't idle either.
He slammed the booklet on the table and yelled at the people behind him, "Those who have registered, read it once and leave! Those who haven't registered, tell us your household registration number, how many people are in your family, and who is sick. Don't try to cram in every single sentence!"
Some people actually stopped and lined up in a crooked line. The loudest voices went first, and the softest voices followed. Si Mo wrote very quickly, and towards the end, the ink became too thin, so he simply bit his finger and pressed it against the paper, marking each entry as it was written.
Lu Shouye stood frozen in place, his eyes still fixed on the severed central nervous system.
Chen Fan grabbed him: "What are you daydreaming about? Lead the way. Which streets are full of people who can't move?"
Lu Shouye's chest heaved twice, as if he had finally pulled his soul out of that axis.
"There are bedridden people on West Third Street. There are blind people in South Corner. There's also an old paper mill, full of craftsmen with injured hands."
"Headband."
Lu Shouye gritted his teeth, turned around and ran.
This time he ran faster than anyone else.
Sun Wukong stood on the half-collapsed main building, slamming his golden cudgel on the ground. Although the main shaft was broken, the remaining paper slips inside were still being randomly drawn, and several thick paper ropes rolled towards the crack, trying to drag the person back.
"court death."
He pushed off with his feet, plummeting straight down, his staff piercing through the earth's veins from the bottom of the building. The remaining half of the black shaft could no longer hold on, and with a crack, it shattered completely.
The whole city seemed to have suddenly lost its breath.
The tags that were pasted on the door, those that were wrapped around the beam, those that were pressed under the bed, by the stove, and in the cracks of the cabinet, all went soft, floated away, and fell to the ground.
Halfway through the run, someone looked down and saw an old name card lying at their feet. They paused for a moment, then bent down, picked it up, stuffed it into their clothes, and rushed out with the crowd.
Night had already fallen on the other side of the gap.
The braziers, thatched huts, and stoves outside the city were all lit. Those who went out first turned back to help, stretching out their long arms to pull the others out one by one. Only then did the crying begin, not the chaotic crying from before, but the kind that started when people got outside, their legs went weak, and they clung to each other, sobbing.
Xuanzang remained standing at the seam.
"The last batch of able-bodied men." He raised his hand and pointed to a few men. "Go back, West Third Street isn't cleared yet."
The men didn't answer, turned around and went inside.
Chen Fan stood at the edge of the broken wall and looked up at the ruins of the main building.
The fire is burning from the broken edge inwards.
Yang Jian sheathed his sword and landed on the ground, glancing inside: "We can hold out for another quarter of an hour."
"That's enough," Chen Fan said.
Just then, the woman who had handed over the wooden box emerged from the other end of the passageway, her child asleep in her arms, her face streaked with black and white. She walked up to Si Mo, paused, and her voice was still hoarse: "Did you remember that name from earlier?"
Si Mo didn't look up, but touched the book with the tip of his pen.
"I've got it."
The woman stood still.
Si Mo turned another page and pushed the wooden box back: "Your family's old name card is also tucked in."
The woman then took the box, held it to her chest, and slowly squatted down. The child nuzzled against her shoulder and murmured a word, as if calling for someone.
The wind blew through the crack, swirling up a few pieces of paper that were half burned and landing at Si Mo's feet.
He stepped on it and moved on to the next person.
"What's your name?"