Jia Ming sat at his desk by the window, his fingertips tapping a brisk rhythm on the keyboard. The title *Fuan Sub-district Happiness Index Investigation Report* blared prominently at the center of his screen. His face bore an unnatural flush, and a hint of almost ecstatic smile tugged at his lips. He, too, had not escaped the pandemic; the virus had quietly altered segments of his genes, turning him into a different person entirely. His world was completely reshaped: he could no longer see the truth of the real world, trapped forever in illusion and lies.
"Everyone, listen up! The latest data is out!" His voice boomed, laced with a deliberate broadcast tone. "The resident happiness index of our sub-district is a staggering 98.6%! This isn't just a number—it's the ultimate proof of our work's success!"
No sooner had he finished speaking than the office door swung open. Hu Ping stepped in, clutching a stack of photos. The command "Find him" roared in her mind, and the thick, cloying air of falsity surrounding Jia Ming guided her steps like a beacon in the dark.
"Jia Ke, the sewers in Yangguang Community have been blocked for three weeks," Hu Ping's voice was weak. "Residents reported sewage backing up into their basements, ruining their furniture, but the construction team still hasn't shown up." She handed over the photos: in them, basement floodwater lapped over cardboard boxes, wall plaster blistered and peeling, and dark brown mildew crawling across the walls.
Jia Ming didn't even glance at the photos, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Xiao Hu, I knew about this ages ago!" He leaned forward, striking a posture of total control. "I've already lined up the best construction team and the most scientific solution plan! We'll hold the dredging launch ceremony tomorrow—I've even lined up the media— the key is to let everyone see we're taking action!"
Hu Ping stood silent, the residents' despair palpable to her. Jia Ming, meanwhile, was already lost in the narrative he'd spun, unable to break free.
"Xiao Hu, did you know?" He suddenly stood up, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I even brainstormed a news headline: *Fuan Sub-district's Innovative Work Method Solves a Decade-Old Problem in Three Days*! What perfect publicity material!"
At that moment, his phone buzzed on the desk. The screen displayed "Wife"—the twentieth missed call. Jia Ming didn't so much as glance at it, slamming the call down. "Must be residents thanking me," he explained to Hu Ping, pride dripping from every word. "I've gotten over a dozen of these thank-you calls this morning alone."
No one knew his wife was sitting vigil at the hospital emergency room that night. Their child had spiked a 40°C fever at dawn, and she'd run two kilometers with the boy in her arms just to flag down a ride. No one knew Jia Ming had promised the night before that he'd "take the child to the hospital this morning"—but he'd forgotten all about it.
The next morning, the launch ceremony unfolded in grand style on Yangguang Community's small square. The red banner emblazoned with "Fuan Sub-district Prioritizes People's Livelihoods, Eradicates Drainage Woes Once and for All" blazed harshly in the sun. Journalists swarmed with cameras, and Jia Ming stood on the podium in a crisply pressed suit.
"With the high attention of the sub-district office, the drainage issues in Yangguang Community have been completely resolved today!" He boomed into the microphone, impassioned. "This embodies our work philosophy—*People's Livelihoods Are No Small Matters*—we mean what we say!"
The audience below, however, grew gloomier by the second. Some clenched their fists quietly, others stared down at the basement photos they'd snapped on their phones—the floodwater was still rising, yet here they were, attending a "celebration banquet."
"Completely resolved?" A hoarse cry cut through the air. A filthy, staggering elderly man burst into the venue, pointing furiously at the podium. "My basement's flooded up to my waist! How dare you hold this farce here!"
Chaos erupted instantly. Journalists swiveled their cameras toward the man in unison.
Jia Ming's smile froze for a split second, then smoothed back into place. "Please calm down, sir," he said steadily into the microphone. "Your frustration perfectly illustrates the complexity of people's livelihood work—but rest assured, we will resolve this properly!"
Before he could finish, Jia Ming's wife stormed in, her hair disheveled, medicine stains smudged on her chest, clutching a crumpled bill in her tight grip.
"Jia Ming!" She shouted through sobs. "Our child spiked a 40°C fever at midnight! I called you twenty times and you never picked up! Just now, the boy stabilized—your constant talk of *people's livelihoods being no small matters*—how can you ignore your own son's life like this?"
She slammed the bill onto the podium. The words "Emergency Infusion Fee" blazed like fire on the paper. "You promised yesterday you'd take him to the hospital! What happened? You ran here to grandstand for reporters instead!"
Jia Ming's pupils constricted sharply. For the first time, his smile cracked. He fumbled to grab the bill, panic edging into his voice. "H-How did you find me here? Isn't the child okay?"
"Okay?" His wife shook with rage. "Doctors said if we'd arrived half an hour later, the child might not have made it! Jia Ming, what about your family? Is there anything in this world but your *data* and *ceremonies*?"
Journalists' cameras zeroed in on the trembling wife and flustered Jia Ming, shutters clicking nonstop.
"Mommy," a soft child's voice suddenly rang out. A little girl with braided pigtails tugged at the woman's hem. "Why isn't that uncle taking his baby to the hospital? When I was sick, Daddy always held me the whole time."
That innocent question sliced through the tense, false atmosphere like a sharp sword.
At first, a few muffled murmurs rose. Then, waves of disappointed sighs rippled through the crowd. Standing on the podium, Jia Ming turned deathly pale. His fingers clamped so tight around the microphone that his knuckles whitened, but he forced a smile. "I-I'm doing this for work, for the *happiness* of more residents..."
At that moment, the big screen at the back of the venue flickered to life. A video began playing—it was the "work report" Jia Ming had recorded on the office camera the day before. In the footage, he beamed with confidence: "Under my personal supervision, the drainage issues in Yangguang Community have been fully resolved!" But in the background, his phone buzzed loudly. The screen flashed the note "Wife [Emergency Room"—yet he swatted the call away with a wave of his hand and continued smiling for the camera.
Jia Ming swayed on his feet. On the verge of collapsing, a self-preservation mechanism suddenly kicked in. He straightened his posture abruptly, roaring into the microphone: "This is a premeditated sabotage! Someone deliberately edited the video and incited the crowd to smear our people's livelihood work!"
He pointed at the elderly man and his wife below, then turned to security. "Remove these people! Contact the cyberspace office at once to delete this fabricated video!"
As he raged to salvage his last shred of illusion, a hand rested gently on the back of his neck. The coolness of his fingertips sent a jolt through Jia Ming's body. He whirled around sharply.
Hu Ping's eyes were bottomless. A flat, cold voice cut through the venue's chaos, searing itself into his consciousness:
"I've found you."
In that moment of contact, a deeper connection stirred. Jia Ming's life frequency intertwined with those of Hu Ping, Yan Zhi, Feng Jian, and Han Che, forming an invisible network. At the same time, a clear, unfamiliar command surfaced in Jia Ming's chaotic mind:
"Find him."
In that instant, the world he'd built with lies crumbled to dust. And a new "search" was only just beginning.