Chapter 120

After the thunder, heavy rain followed. Langdao City had never seen such prolonged rain, and lightning illuminated a child’s face.

“Moroz, in a bad mood?”

Rain leaped over the windowsill, splashing a few drops onto the tabletop and scattering onto the haphazardly placed masks.

Moroz crumpled the mask in his hand into a bizarre shape. Finally, he frowned and smashed it down.

Moroz propped his chin with both hands and looked up out the window.

The weather had been like this lately; he didn’t know when it would clear up.

“He said I have no friends because I’m weird.” Moroz felt unhappy just thinking about it, to the point that he wasn’t happy looking at the masks on the table either. He didn’t want masks with smiling faces, but Mikaila needed to make dozens of happy ones right now.

Mikaila’s movements as she made the masks were unhurried. Her hands didn’t stop working, and her gaze stayed on the various masks. “The same boy who always fights with you? What did you say back?”

“I said I have you, and that’s enough. He said, ‘That’s your mother; she doesn’t count,’ and ‘If no one likes you, there’s definitely something wrong with you.’”

Mikaila reached up to check the translucency of the mask shell. Her sleeve slid down to her elbow with the motion, revealing fresh bruises underneath.

“Do you think that makes sense?”

“No.” Moroz answered quickly.

“Why?”

Moroz thought for a moment, then threw the same question back at her. “Ah, why?”

Mikaila handed the mask to Moroz and picked up a new one. She spoke slowly. “Because when someone says, ‘No one likes you, so there’s something wrong with you,’ they’re actually saying: other people’s attitudes determine your worth. They judge right and wrong based on outcomes, not on what you say, and they redefine ‘mother’ as not counting as a friend—that’s shifting the definitions. They’re not really discussing whether you have friends; they’re secretly changing the standard for ‘friends’ to make their argument hold.”

Moroz took the mask and examined it from all sides, somewhat puzzled. “How do you always see through this kind of logic?”

Mikaila chuckled softly. “You learn it after making too many masks.”

“What do you mean?”

The blank mask looked dull and gray in the rainy weather. Mikaila held it like that, staring at it, her fingers slowly tracing its surface.

“You’ll see that some people wear them to hide the truth, others to create illusions.”

Moroz said “oh.” “They’re all for deceiving people, so the essence of wearing a mask is deception.”

“No.” She paused, her tone growing very soft. “The essence of wearing a mask is isolation.”

Moroz thought about it for a long time but couldn’t grasp what that meant, so he asked, “Can’t they go without? Can’t they stop deceiving?”

Mikaila’s fingers lightly stroked the edge of the mask. “Sometimes, not wearing one means death.”

Moroz didn’t want to deceive people, but he also didn’t want to die. Before he could speak, the doorbell rang outside.

The softness in Mikaila’s eyes vanished in an instant. Her movements paused, and she set down the mask and stood up. “Is that Aunt and the others? Go answer it; I’ll make dinner.”

Moroz didn’t want to entertain any uncles or aunts.

“Mikaila is cooking?”

“She’s actually cooking?”

“What’s wrong with cooking? What else could she do if not cook? You really think selling a few masks—like kids playing house—makes money? In this era, making that stuff is just waiting to die. If you hadn’t taken pity on her back then, she’d have died on the roadside long ago.”

Moroz leaned against the wall between the kitchen and living room. One ear listened to the sounds of oil and water splattering in the kitchen, the other to the uncles and aunts accusing his mother, followed by his father’s agreement.

“Cooking isn’t a big deal; don’t be so surprised.”

Aunt clicked her tongue. “Better to divorce sooner. A woman like that doesn’t deserve you. You’re Langdao City’s military strategic commander, only 48 years old—prime age.”

“It’s fine; she’s easy to handle.”

In the kitchen, the soup began to overflow, and the pot lid rattled with a clack clack from the hot steam.

Bang! The door slammed shut. Moroz looked displeased, arms crossed over his chest, suppressing his anger as he said, “Why does Milo always deny you?”

Mikaila had heard their conversation, but she showed no reaction, answering casually as if it were everyday chit-chat. “Because humans and the Aliens have always been at war. He’s afraid of losing control. If I weren’t his woman, I might become an enemy he can’t beat.”

Moroz was even more confused. “You know that and still don’t leave him?”

He kicked the door irritably and continued immediately. “Don’t say you love him. I don’t get it. He just likes you depending on him, likes that you don’t resist.”

Mikaila was a bit surprised that Moroz would say something like that. She laughed. “If I resisted, he’d get even angrier, even more violent.”

“Then you could turn back into an Alien and kill him.”

“Shh.” Mikaila gestured for him to lower his voice; there were still outsiders outside. “I’m not depending on him, and I’m not unable to resist. I just want to experience what it might be like as a human woman. This time, it just happened to be him, and I experienced this part of it. You know…”

The Aliens had such long lifespans. Once she got tired of this, she could try different roles and identities next time.

She didn’t care about anyone’s attacks, so they escalated.

“At 26, she still can’t cook? Serving this to guests?” Aunt slammed down her bowl and chopsticks, refusing to eat.

The food was a bit bland, but Moroz ate it with relish. After Aunt stood up, he even shot back sarcastically on Mikaila’s behalf. “You know you’re just a guest?”

Slap!

What started as a poorly cooked meal turned into a barrage of doubts about Mikaila. After the guests left, Milo overturned the bowls and dishes, slapping her across the face.

“I taught you how to live in this world! I give you food, shelter— and you can’t even cook? Who gave you the right to call yourself human? Besides looking human, where else are you like one? If I go out right now and say you’re an Alien, you’ll be torn to shreds! Without me, you’d have died under our human laser cannons long ago!” Milo was furious, exploding as he pointed at Mikaila, spittle flying.

Moroz rushed out from his room and stood in front of Mikaila, roaring, “Why did you hit her again?! Are you even human?”

Milo didn’t back down, shouting even louder. “Hitting is my way! You accusing me? I’m your father— if you’ve got the guts, support this family yourself!”

“She’s my mother!”

“And the woman I took pity on! Don’t confuse family ties with blood!”

Moroz nearly wanted to kill the man, but Mikaila gently tugged at his clothes from behind. Moroz calmed down and said in a low voice, “What do those two things have to do with each other?”

“You speaking up for her? Want to be a traitor?”

Moroz gritted his teeth. “I’m not a traitor! Don’t apply your Military District rules to family!”

“I’m an officer; why can’t I use Military District discipline? Didn’t I teach you, ‘If you can’t even clean your own house, how can you govern the world?!’”

“Enough!” Moroz wanted nothing more to do with Milo. He clenched his fists. “You’re completely illogical! I talk behavior, you talk burdens; I talk identity, you talk definitions; I reason with you, you talk positions; I talk role distinctions, you talk institutional metaphors?”

Milo’s face turned beet red. He grabbed a nearby stool, shoved Moroz aside, and swung it at Mikaila.

“Look at the fine son you raised!”

Daily life was full of similar arguments.

Moonlight shone just right, and all around was quiet.

In the room, Moroz skillfully tended to Mikaila’s wounds. She smiled and said, “You’re really good at treating wounds now.” But her smile tugged at the swelling on her face, making her gasp.

Moroz’s face darkened instantly. “If you weren’t getting hit, I wouldn’t need to learn.”

Mikaila thought that made sense. She took hold of Moroz’s careful hand and gently pushed it away.

“Then I won’t trouble you today.”

Moroz was about to speak when Mikaila vanished from the spot.

She turned into a cloud of drifting black particles that instantly filled the entire bedroom. Moroz looked up at it without speaking.

A few seconds later, the particles coalesced and slowly took shape.

The minor surface scrapes healed on their own within minutes. Moroz just watched the tiny particles surge and mend, restoring everything as good as new.

“Why can’t I turn into an Alien?” Moroz stared at the mass of particles.

A few minutes later, the Alien dissociated again, rapidly reassembling. Mikaila sat on the bed as if she’d never changed form, draped in a crimson silk robe, her soft golden hair falling over her chest—pure as a sleeping infant. Moroz casually draped the deep blue satin cloak scattered by the bed over her; the gold trim blended with her hair color.

Mikaila gestured for Moroz to put away the medical supplies and said, “Not being able to turn into an Alien is the norm.”

“Then why can you?”

“I don’t know.”

Moroz clenched his fists. “If I could turn into an Alien, I’d kill Milo.”

She’d thought about why she could take human form while Moroz couldn’t dissociate into an Alien, but found no reason. She leaned against the headboard, gazing out the window, and said slowly, “I originally thought that since I could, you should be able to switch between two forms too. I used to think it was because you were too young to dissociate, but you’re nine now. Last time I asked your uncle; he hasn’t replied yet. We might have to wait for the next Alien invasion to meet.”

“Oh, Uncle? When you married this scum, didn’t Uncle stop you?” Moroz thought of that massive Alien. Originally, the Aliens had no human-style family relations, but to help Milo understand, they’d added the “uncle” concept. From then on, Moroz called that Alien uncle. He only knew it was an Alien that loved Mikaila—Uncle had said so himself.

Mikaila smiled. “No. Milo wasn’t like this before.”

Whatever.

Moroz didn’t bother continuing. He knew that back then, Mikaila had just gained human form when Milo brought her home. Even knowing she was an Alien, Milo fell in love with her, went out of his way to make her feel safe and belonged. Even though he was a Military District officer who hunted Aliens daily.

Later… Later, Mikaila still couldn’t fully understand the pressures of human survival, couldn’t empathize. Milo grew impatient; his relatives thought she was a burden, and he slowly did too. It evolved from cold violence to physical, but he wouldn’t let her leave. Moroz saw it as fear—without love or family ties, Milo was afraid of losing control. What if she really turned back into an Alien and killed him?

Moroz climbed onto Mikaila’s bed and lay beside her, unwilling to leave or talk about Milo anymore. He remembered the stories she’d told before and asked again for the continuation. “No more gloomy stuff. Tell me more about what you’ve experienced before.”

“Okay.” Mikaila turned off the main light, leaving only a small bedside lamp glowing faintly in the darkness. The light traced along the wall, flowing out to the quiet Snowfield, echoing with another human city a thousand kilometers away.

“Soul-traveling lifeforms only care about frequencies, not physical distance. For humans, almost the entire universe is out of reach, but not for us. I’ve been to many planets. I discovered that the universe has a unified frequency—the closer a lifeform is to it, the purer and more heartfelt it is…”

“Then humans definitely aren’t; humans have no heart.” Moroz stared at the dark ceiling and concluded.

“No, you can’t use that logic; don’t generalize from extremes. And…” Mikaila said softly, “It’s not that because they’re human, they have heart. It’s because they have heart, they’re human. Your understanding of Alien and human is limited to your little world. You haven’t seen cruel Aliens or kind, wonderful humans.”

“Kind, wonderful humans exist?” Moroz perked up. “How do I deal with those?”

“Deal with?” Mikaila laughed at his wording. “Treat.”

“How do I treat those people?”

“Protect them.”