Star Hunter

Ding-- As the door of the small shop swung open, a soft female voice echoed. "Welcome." As the voice resonated, a beautiful face appeared on either side of the door—a cascade of golden waves framing the face, bright red lips, a glistening smile, and a bold sweetness. However, the person who entered the shop didn’t spare much attention to this beautiful face. Instead, he furrowed his brow and shouted towards the counter, "Xilin, it's been years, can we get Old Daiwen to change this face? It's time!" The young man behind the counter, holding a bottle of liquor, shrugged. "Can't help it, the boss likes it." "Enough," a voice laughed from the bar area, "Getting Old Daiwen to change the welcome image is harder than getting him to quit gambling." As the laughter echoed, the face of the singer, who had once been the dream of men across the planet three decades ago, lingered on the door's screen. Time, the cruelest assassin, had inevitably aged her. Yet before age could take its toll, this beautiful singer, the screen idol, passed away prematurely due to a failed genetic modification experiment. For the first ten years, many still hung holographic images and electronic posters of her in their rooms, but thirty years had passed. Time, like the tide, washed away the beauty of the past, drowned by the ever-rising tide of new, dazzling trends. Few remained interested in revisiting the once-dreamed fantasies. Nevertheless, the bar's owner, Old Daiwen, was a sentimental man. Despite the years that had passed, he continued to display this hologram of the once-beautiful singer as the bar's welcome screen. For more than thirty years, unchanged, and this topic remained a frequent one among the regulars. The newcomer, who seemed unimpressed by the owner's nostalgic display, merely rolled his eyes. He didn’t feel like commenting further and sat down at an empty table, surrounded by familiar faces. Without ordering, the chatter began. Xilin, the young man behind the counter, took down a bottle of liquor named "Smile Under the Scorching Sun" and placed it before the newcomer. After uncorking the bottle, he left to serve other customers. With no more words exchanged, the newcomer continued his conversation with the group, taking a swig from the uncorked bottle. "Ha! This liquor is still as refreshing, strong, and satisfying!" Xilin smiled and returned to the counter, recording the sales in an electronic ledger. This bar, like the town it was in, was unremarkable—mostly frequented by the working class. In the words of the central district's more refined residents, they were the "lower class," or, to be blunt, "the worthless." The so-called "worthless" had their own joy—they relished sitting in a bar with no fancy robots, only human servers, sipping cheap yet strong alcohol, and chatting about the events of the day. They'd gripe about oppressive bosses, gossip about the latest rumors, and find contentment in simplicity. The "higher class" from the prosperous areas couldn't understand the happiness of these common folk. It was like how successful people, dressed in fine clothes and chasing after wealth and power, would occasionally pass by a ruin and see a stray cat excitedly swatting at a fly, and think: How bored must one be to do something so trivial? Clearly, this is the life of the lowly. What is lowly? What is noble? The genetic levels of a, b, c, d, e, f, and g neatly divide everything. A person with inferior genes is lowly, and a person with superior genes is noble—that is all. Including Xilin, the people in this bar all belonged to the f-genotype, classified as lower-class citizens on this planet. Those with the e-genotype were given the opportunity to work in the prosperous areas, and only those with d-genotype or higher could truly establish themselves in such areas. As for the g-genotype, The "Unconquered War Gods"—the most tragic of all, born with inferior and defective genes, they suffered from diseases that simple treatments could not cure: severe deformities, premature aging, and other congenital ailments. Xilin’s former girlfriend, Hena, was of the g-genotype, and the combination of early aging, congenital diseases, and poverty robbed the sweet girl of her most beautiful years. Superior genes and superior genotypes lead to superior offspring, even better than their parents, while inferior genes lead to the opposite. As this divide widened, more and more low-level genotypes sought genetic modification, though only a few succeeded. The chances were slim, especially as one ascended the genetic hierarchy—hence, the pride of those with higher genotypes. And thirty years ago, that beautiful screen idol had become a thing of the past, her failure in genetic modification a part of history. People are born unequal; it's simply that familiarity breeds indifference. "Hey, Xilin, hasn’t Old Daiwen shown up in days? Did his blind date not work out?" someone shouted. "Yeah, the success rate should be high this time." Xilin responded with a grin. "Tch—" the group scoffed, beginning to recount Old Daiwen’s history of failed blind dates. Xilin merely smiled and listened without commenting. He didn’t tell them that Old Daiwen had actually become wealthy overnight from winning a lottery, fulfilling his dream. Old Daiwen's dream was simple—to marry an e-genotype woman who wasn’t too young or too old, use sperm he'd stored years ago, and have a child with an e-genotype in the hopes of opening a small shop in the city for a peaceful life. As long as there was money, e-genotype women were never hard to find, even if Old Daiwen was a lowly f-genotype himself. The annual aquatic, terrestrial, and aerial triathlon was the most anticipated event on the planet, and also a gambler's delight. The prizes were enormous, and even if one didn’t place a perfect bet, meeting certain criteria could still make a pauper a millionaire overnight. Old Daiwen had won big in this event and was thus able to escape his life of poverty. Of course, it was likely thanks to Xilin that Old Daiwen had won. Every time Daiwen placed a bet, he’d consult Xilin first, only then would he dare to place his money. Though Daiwen was a gambler, he was good to Xilin. Otherwise, Xilin wouldn’t have helped him. Moreover, the share of the winnings was promptly transferred to Xilin the very same day. As night deepened, the patrons slowly began to leave. Xilin took a shower, changed clothes, and sprayed a special fragrance to erase any lingering scents. He locked the shop door and glanced at the black sky, where tiny flecks of light twinkled like stars. The weather forecast predicted continuous rain starting at midnight, lasting for an hour, and there were still forty minutes before midnight. Forty minutes... that was enough. Thirty minutes later, Xilin, having taken shelter beneath overhanging eaves and external roofs, skillfully avoided the outer surveillance and used a magnetic card to unlock the main gate. He silently infiltrated a warehouse and slipped into a staff dormitory next door. After all, this wasn’t the central district—security here was not as sophisticated or complex. The person lying on the bed seemed to stir, but before he could take action, he fell unconscious again, as though sinking into another deep slumber. Three black, slender needles had silently embedded themselves into the back of his neck and the area behind his ear, concealed by his hair. Xilin gently swept his hand over the needles, retracting them and ensuring there were no visible marks before, as silently as before, he left, using the same route along the eaves and roofs. The sky had its "eyes," and thermal weapons could be detected by local networks. To deal with things quietly and invisibly, one had to resort to more primitive methods, for these left no energy signatures. As a hunter, Xilin’s path was difficult. Because of his age and genotype, he couldn’t be an official hunter. More precisely, Xilin was a "shadow hunter." The shadow hunter worked alongside hunters but remained in the dark, their identity too sensitive to be exposed. Since he was 14, Xilin had been a shadow hunter for nearly three years. Initially, he chose this path to fund the treatment for Hena's illness, and after her death, he continued, for leaving this planet required a substantial amount of money. Five minutes after Xilin departed, another shadow slipped in, taking the now-unconscious person away to claim the bounty, then split it with Xilin. For nearly three years of cooperation, the hunter had never known the true identity of the "shadow," nor did he care. As long as the prey was caught and the bounty claimed, that was all that mattered. Xilin knew the hunter would never expend much effort trying to uncover the "shadow's" identity because, before selecting a partner, Xilin had meticulously analyzed all potential outcomes from every angle. For certain subpar hunters, without a "shadow," they wouldn’t be able to complete their tasks or make money; they might even lose their lives. Thus, in many ways, the relationship between hunters and shadows was mutually beneficial. As for the top-tier hunters, they didn’t need shadows. Of course, hunter teams were a special case. The hunter would never guess that the "shadow" he was working with, with a d-genotype, was actually of the much lower f -genotype. The f-genotype, however, in this environment, was seen as lowly. Thus, even in this environment, lower-class folks such as Xilin still made the most of what they could.