Chapter Seventy-Six: His Excellency the Governor

Let us turn the clock back twenty minutes.

Governor Shidi, the highest authority in the Takamagahara Stellar District and the second son of the third-generation governor, Shiboen, was at this moment seated in a private suite on the upper floor of the Thousand Islands Aquarium. Together with his confidential secretary, Song Mingyuan, he was preparing to attend the afternoon’s collective wedding ceremony for newcomers.

Shidi was fifty-five years old—an age considered suitable for a stellar district governor, neither so young as to be dismissed by the public as “unreliable.” Yet few people knew that the first half of Shidi’s life had been devoted to art. The previous governor, Shiboen, had originally groomed his eldest son, Shiying, as his successor. However, Shiboen had underestimated his own longevity and overestimated Shiying’s patience. Five years ago, after a failed secret coup within the family, Shiying, harboring hatred, took his own life. Shiboen, left with no choice, named his second son, Shidi, the heir—by then, Shidi had already immersed himself in oil painting for over fifty years and was a celebrated figure in Takamagahara’s artistic circles. Fate forcibly redirected him onto a political path.

Devastated by the loss of his designated heir, Shiboen, though gravely ill, managed to give Shidi a crash course in governance over the course of a year before finally succumbing to his illness. In the subsequent district governor election, the National Elite Party once again secured victory, and Shidi became the fourth governor of Takamagahara. With the full support of the civil service, and despite having only a year of political experience, Shidi pursued a prudent and beneficial development policy, consolidating the achievements passed down from his forebears. His performance was widely recognized by all sectors of society.

At least, that was the case until last week.

“Mingyuan,” Shidi said, rubbing his tense temples as he studied the accident report submitted by the military, his tone heavy, “the situation is dire. We must do something.”

“I agree with you, sir.” Song Mingyuan, the confidential secretary, echoed his sentiment and then added, “But for now, the situation appears to have stabilized…”

“Hold off on the briefing for now.” Shidi, who had worked with Song for almost four years, was well acquainted with his usual evasions and would not let him get away so easily. He interrupted sternly, “Mingyuan, can you tell me this—”

“Why is it that, after all these years, in a planetary metropolis of two billion people, dealing with some unknown, unspeakable, highly classified threat, there are barely even a handful of public security officers assigned to handle it?”

“Your observation is perceptive,” Song replied calmly. “But I must first correct you. Currently, there are seven frontline officers from Countermeasure Section Six of the Arctic City Public Security Bureau, twenty in intelligence, and thirty-six special response troops from the military. If necessary, more personnel can be mobilized in support…”

“More personnel?” Shidi pressed quickly. “How many?”

“For example, the Public Security Bureau is currently cooperating with third-party organizations,” Song replied. “By introducing specialized labor, the initial manpower can be increased to over five hundred.”

“Absurd,” Shidi said, slamming the report on the table in frustration. “Faced with such a sudden social crisis, we still have to rely on private organizations? After all the money we’ve poured into the security system, has it all just been frittered away in bureaucracy?”

“With respect, sir,” Song reminded him, “our fiscal investment in the security system has actually been decreasing year by year.”

“Is that so?” Shidi sounded unsure.

“Yes, and you yourself have recently considered cutting a portion of the civil service,” Song sighed.

“I wanted to cut the civil service to save on public spending—so the money could be put to better use,” Shidi said, tapping the table with his fingers. “For example, to fix this broken security system.”

He fell silent for a moment, then suddenly sensed something amiss, and realized:

“Wait, Mingyuan, ‘annual budget cuts’ don’t mean the budget is low, do they? And regardless, no matter how much it’s cut, the security system should at least be able to afford a team of several hundred, without having to resort to private partnerships!”

“That’s correct, Governor,” Song replied smoothly. “The risk posed by the arcane is simply too great, which is why the Public Security Bureau has always chosen an elite force strategy. Training a Section Six operative is nothing like training a regular detective—the cost is worlds apart.

“As I understand it, even to become a basic Section Six operative requires deep knowledge of the arcane—and acquiring such knowledge is inherently risky, with high accident and casualty rates. And that’s only during training, not counting losses on active duty.

“If we pursued a mass-training model, casualties would inevitably rise, which would make secrecy on a societal level even harder to maintain. On the other hand, an elite force strategy reduces casualties and contains the risk of exposure. The only price is a higher per-person training cost—a trade-off that, after weighing all pros and cons, remains the optimal solution.”

“Elite force strategy,” Shidi complained impatiently. “I haven’t seen much ‘elite’ about it. Now the whole city is in chaos, the people are suffering, and our so-called elite security officers can’t control the situation—they have to call in private agencies for help.

“You know what the Democratic Vanguard Party is saying? That we’ve diverted all the security budget into empty propaganda!”

“Last year their slogan was ‘You live under constant surveillance.’ They really have it both ways.”

“The Democratic Vanguard are nothing but petty clowns,” Song said with a smile. “A few down-and-out opportunists from the island clans who specialize in manufacturing and stirring up panic to frighten the easily misled public. But their efforts are doomed to fail—most of the people see through them…”

“All right, enough with the self-congratulation,” Shidi cut him off irritably. “Let’s get back to business.”

“Yes, Governor,” Song said, straightening. “In fact, the elite force policy has always been effective. The system, established by the first governor, Shizhijing, has developed and endured for years without any major incidents.”

“Until now,” Shidi pointed out sharply.

“Yes, but surely you can’t dismiss years of success because of a single exceptional event?” Song looked genuinely puzzled. “And our elite force strategy was designed to counter natural disasters—this time, it’s man-made. It’s like a flood barrier built for rising waters; it can’t stop someone from deliberately opening the sluice gates upstream. No flood barrier could.”

“Speaking of man-made disasters, what about the culprit—” Shidi said weakly. “That Miye Nishikawa, what’s her story?”

“From what I know, she’s a family member of a victim in the Sumida Town massacre a few years ago,” Song answered. “Her husband and children were attacked and killed by a wild wolf pack on their way home from town—nothing left but bones.”

“Oh, how tragic,” Shidi, the artist at heart, showed a rare hint of emotion. “Didn’t the Sumida Town administration compensate her?”

“They did,” Song replied with a sigh. “But Miye Nishikawa refused compensation—she demanded the extermination of the wild wolves to avenge her family.”

“Then why not just wipe out those beasts!” Shidi decided at once. “Settle with Miye Nishikawa and calm her down first!”

“Unfortunately, we cannot do that,” Song said after a moment’s silence. “First, the current Ecological Protection Act prohibits any organization or individual from slaughtering animals. Second, such actions would provoke strong opposition from animal welfare groups, which would in turn affect your approval ratings.”

“Never mind the animal rights groups—what’s this about the Ecological Protection Act?” Shidi looked stunned. “Then the meat we eat every day is—?”

“Synthetic,” Song replied. “All the pork, poultry, beef, and lamb we consume are factory-produced synthetics. This legislation was enacted by your grandfather, Shijintang, as part of a comprehensive agreement with the nature-loving elves, in order for Takamagahara to join the federal interstellar trade alliance. It strictly grants all mammals, birds, and certain reptiles, amphibians, and fish the right not to have their lives taken.”

“Oh! Oh, oh…” Shidi murmured in embarrassment, “A treaty with the elves, so…”

“We can’t violate it,” Song sighed. “The Federation has inspectors stationed here. If we break the agreement, our membership in the interstellar trade alliance is at risk.”

“Takamagahara is, after all, a mining planet—ore exports to the Federation account for the overwhelming majority of our foreign revenue. We must comply with the elves’ rules, or the national economy suffers a catastrophic blow, incomes plummet, and the people are plunged into misery…”

“Forget I said anything,” Shidi interrupted helplessly, searching for a way to diffuse his embarrassment. Suddenly, he glanced out the suite window and his eyes lit up.

“Isn’t that Suzuna Tsukimiya?”

“Yes,” Song replied, glancing outside, recalling quickly how much Shidi admired Seisho Tsukimiya’s daughter. “Governor, would you like to meet her?”

“Yes,” Shidi smiled and nodded. “Let’s ask how she’s been lately.”