Chapter 11

*Drunk*
On a junk planet, districts ranked high and low.
People did too.
Paradis sat at the heart of the sector—like the grandest downtown pleasure district. In old Earth French it meant “paradise.”
There, money could buy anything.
Shan said: “Bad music covers sin. Places like that swallow souls.”
Zhu Yu laughed. “Shan, you’ve got poet potential.”
The cat colleague: “I heard the floor tiles are star-ore, champagne towers taller than mountains, expensive wine flooding dancers’ ankles, bills raining from the sky—”
Zhu Yu: “It’s not that dramatic!”
Shan: “Anyway be careful—don’t get swallowed. Lots of people go in and never come back.”
Cat, skeptical: “They probably smuggled to the Federation. Who wouldn’t want a better life?”
Shan’s hands stilled; her slightly baby-fat face darkened. “You want the Federation too? Those robots look down on us.”
Cat muttered: “Not really. Federation folks are nice—pay’s high. If I weren’t illiterate I’d clerk there instead of here.”
Shan said coolly: “Expired goods they don’t want, sold to us at markup—scammers. Watch you don’t get tricked and sold.”
They were about to fight. Zhu Yu hurried to mediate, stuffed a cookie into each mouth.
Three small figures quietly crunched cookies.
Zhu Yu was proud. “Good? My family made them!”
—
My family. She bit down on the words without meaning to.
“Delicious!” The coworkers cheered her on.
Bai Shuzhou, bored at home, sometimes baked small cookies with Heming—sold under Helan’s shop name, pricey, yet sales were oddly good.
Main buyers were the very Paradis people gossip made legendary—rich, happy to buy handmade snacks to seem special.
Cookies made by an imperial princess! Still priced too low!
“Bored” was only an excuse. She was clearly subsidizing the household. Thinking of the princess healing at home while worrying about money made Zhu Yu want to cry.
Sorry—I’m a useless bad Alpha.
Bai Shuzhou often probed about the night shift. Zhu Yu could not tell the truth; after enough times she tasted worry in the woman’s stiff words.
“You care about me!”
Bai Shuzhou spoke little. Cool brows turned away, fixed on her book.
Zhu Yu peeked at the cover—folk fairy tales, *One Thousand and One Nights*.
“Silence means yes!”
Bai Shuzhou finally lifted her head. “Get lost.”
Zhu Yu left hugging that unusual “get lost,” perfectly satisfied.
Whenever Paradis came up, everyone assumed hard labor—high pay sounded heavy.
Zhu Yu did not find it hard. Coworkers were kind. In a Federation-dominated club, imperials instinctively huddled together.
Before each night shift Zhu Yu was buried in fluff—colleagues hugging her plumply.
At first the popularity startled her. Later she realized: because she could not shift, to them she was a bit like a pet.
Humans pet animals; animals pet humans too.
Her scent was clear—snowfield clean. Passing little beasts would step lightly and leave a mark.
She never noticed it was also a kind of gang tag. Under dim lights currents ran; imperials and federation people kept a quiet rift.
Hugs, changing into uniform—that was how her night began.
In this gilt den she was no longer Zhu Yu but—Smiling Angel Little Fish!
The stage name gave her goosebumps.
No choice—the foreman said gimmicks sold better.
Work: smile at guests, lofty-sounding blessings like “may fortune find you,” then sell liquor.
By day she slacked at the nutrient factory and repaired metal in spare time—Wrench Angel fit better.
Greedy mortals, Wrench Angel blesses thee—!
Physical salvation!
The foreman snapped her from fantasy: “Daydreaming? Check the AC in ‘Cloudless Pavilion.’”
Zhu Yu took the mag-card and toolbox upstairs.
Strict hierarchy—pyramid. She was a first-floor server, normally barred from going up—unless “level-two repair,” then status shot up—
Via elevator.
Perk ended there: card let her ride. Capitalists gave no extra repair pay. She was already dirt cheap.
Second-floor halls were quiet—cold fragrance, elegant, unlike first-floor noise.
Rumor: bosses upstairs were filthy rich; when merry they “set off fireworks”—bundles of cash thrown down.
Poor people scrambling below was part of the rich man’s fun.
Zhu Yu had never seen it.
Or she’d show them what “desperate poor” meant!
Whistling softly, she reached the room, opened her toolbox.
Next door’s door stood a crack; women’s laughter leaked out. Zhu Yu glanced—Nan Gong was entertaining.
Nan Gong had beautiful red hair—same butterfly type as the original body—top sales, very popular. Zhu Yu inexplicably disliked her and kept distance.
She feared hyper-outgoing people. Though she had transmigrated into one—karma, maybe—get close and you became a toy, passive.
A Federation citizen, Nan Gong wore electronic cat ears to please the guests.
Zhu Yu stood on soft leather sofa reaching for the central AC and finally felt what was wrong with this bar.
Called smuggling, mostly Federation dumping into the empire—Federation paid more generously, tipping beastfolk servers.
With a looking-down, petting attitude.
Peak discomfort came when she finished, toolbox in hand, and saw Nan Gong being forced to drink.
The proud butterfly drenched, coughing; someone gripped her electronic ears. “Does this hurt? How about this?”
“Hey—can’t even finish this? You dissing me?”
“You know how expensive this is—what you spill could buy your life. Drink it!”
“Already dizzy? Boring. Beastfolk last longer.”
Zhu Yu’s knuckles whitened on the toolbox.
First floor had drinking too, but open booths—sight lines, limits. Up here in elegant rooms, civilized guests showed their teeth.
Someone in the inner room laughed low. “Shame—she’s Federation too.”
Another said carelessly: “Not a Federation citizen—who cares? Keep drinking. You recommended the wine—you finish it, pretty.”
Nan Gong went boneless against him, fingertip under his chin. “Captain, I’m dizzy—I really can’t—”
Scum—and an officer?
Federation officer running smuggling? Zhu Yu frowned.
Nan Gong climbed while her floating hand traced the Alpha’s gland. He laughed, softened a little, still lewd—seeing her flushed face he filled another cup.
“Drink this and I’ll let you go.”
One more cup and Nan Gong might not walk.
Guests exchanged smiles, meaning clear.
The door burst open.
A girl with an iron wrench—slim shadow stretched long in the corridor light, tall and twisted on the floor.
Federation guests startled, then saw cheap server uniform and grew angry. “Who are you? What do you want?!”
Nan Gong looked back, cursed idiot inwardly, waved her off—don’t offend them.
Zhu Yu bit her lip. “AC repair—don’t want our honored guests overheated.”
“Since Sister Nan Gong can’t—let me drink for her.”
“I hear Federation lords drink well—admired you long—care to compete?”
Clumsy, raw, teenage bravado.
Nan Gong: …
What do you mean I “can’t.”
Do those two sentences even connect? What possessed you at the end!
First real look at the buttoned-to-the-top idiot—clean among filth.
Idiot playing hero—Nan Gong almost laughed from anger.
Officers present were all Alphas—Betas beneath notice, especially trash from a backwater rock.
They looked at the reckless kid and smiled meanly.
Too small a challenge—after-dinner sport.
Whistles—crate after crate carried in.
Nan Gong tried to stop, feigned drunk to leave with an officer and break the game—but Zhu Yu blocked like a hen shielding chicks, not yielding an inch.
Zhu Yu could drink. Bottles of spirits down, face unchanged, like water. Alphas rose to the fight, round after round, marveling.
At the peak the crystal floor to the first level opened. A drunk Alpha swept his arm—bills snowed red.
Amid cheers and scrambling, the girl in the booth drained the last drop and tossed the bottle—clang, shatter.
The fierce Alphas were swaying, held up by attendants so they did not collapse like mud.
Zhu Yu wiped shining liquor from her lip, waved politely at the losers. “No more? Another bottle?”
The Alphas nearly fled.
She spoke so lightly—hard to believe that thin body held so much spirit. The easy smile carried wine’s echo.
Nan Gong had to admit she looked good drunk—mist only in those hazy eyes, no flush; instead her plain face turned vivid, porcelain pale.
Who gets paler drinking? What constitution.
Nan Gong frowned, poked the girl smiling on the sofa—poke, withdraw—and she toppled.
Nan Gong: “Hey…?!!”
She rolled her over, checked pulse and eyes. The girl curled up, small voice: “Oops—forgot my stomach condition.”
You forgot that?
Nan Gong laughed angry. “Don’t think I’ll thank you.”
Lips going white, polite: “No need to thank me.”
Nan Gong: “You drunk?”
Zhu Yu: “No—it’s fine. I don’t get drunk. Body breaks down the reagents soon—just overload, needs time.”
She lifted her face; black-and-white eyes blinked. “All that wine after—counts as my sales?”
Nan Gong’s flicker of complex feeling: …Drop dead.
Leadership heard she drank until unwell and sent her home early—“rest,” they said.
Nan Gong flipped hair. “Afraid she dies on-site and it’s workplace injury.”
“Nonsense—ordinary stomachache. Go home or stay for charity? Paradis isn’t a clinic!”
Under Nan Gong’s half-smile the lead gritted teeth, slapped several large notes into Zhu Yu’s hand. “Personal gift—go!”
Under everyone’s eyes Zhu Yu sat up, counted bill by bill, bright-eyed. “Thanks, boss.”
She walked out steady and slow.
Nan Gong couldn’t watch—dragged her into a crimson car, made her give an address.
Autodrive on. Nan Gong opened the mirror, wiped lipstick—eyes clear, not drunk at all.
Deep night. From afar she saw the little yard, eyes narrowed, looked Zhu Yu up and down a long while, then hauled her out.
A dim night lamp inside. Through the security bars, mirror-white light flickered.
The car had stopped how long; the watcher in the mirror had looked that long.
The girl half hung on the red-dress beauty, one arm on her shoulder, hair tangled close.
Nan Gong whispered: “Bastard crushing my hair—thirty thousand per strand.”
At money Zhu Yu snapped away, eyes blurred, rushed home like ghosts chased.
Keys shook. Cheek on iron door, muffled: “I’m back…”
Solid walls carried sound in rings through silent night—into the woman’s ears as:
Wife, I’m back from carousing—
Carousing—and I brought a woman!
Inside, vines coiled like ink split into ten thousand black hairs, viciously jamming the lock core.
Would not open.
Seeing the girl frozen, Nan Gong sensed something, long legs stepping close, white teeth smiling:
“Oh no—your family doesn’t want you.”
“Want to come with me?”