The Desolate Earth and the Beautiful Boy
In the year 2324, a photograph of Earth taken by a space satellite was published in the annual journal of the Hengtai Alliance. The image revealed a stark truth: apart from the blue oceans, the landmasses had largely turned into a dull, arid yellow. Beneath the photograph, a chilling caption read, “Deprived of humanity’s nurture, Earth is succumbing to desolation.”
This photograph was widely circulated by various media outlets, heralded as the loudest cry of the year for Hengtai citizens. The slogan beneath the image particularly resonated with the younger generation, who had spent their entire lives in subterranean artificial ecosystems, untouched by true sunlight, fresh air, or real soil. For them, the vision of life on the surface, as sketched out by the Alliance, was an alluring dream. They believed humanity would one day return to the surface—perhaps in ten years, maybe twenty. Who could say? With technological advancements accelerating at their current pace, the long-cherished hope seemed attainable.
Yet only the older generation knew the bitter truth. Over a century ago, it was precisely humanity’s so-called “nurture” that had brought Earth to its current state.
A nuclear disaster over a hundred years prior had rendered the Earth’s natural ecosystem uninhabitable for carbon-based life. Radiation had poisoned the oceans, the soil, and the air, forcing all life forms to either mutate for survival or perish. Humanity, exiled from its self-destroyed home, was compelled to migrate underground, evolving from terrestrial beings into cave-dwellers.
The question of whether 1,500 meters of soil could fully shield against radiation had been a subject of endless debate, yet no definitive answer had ever emerged. To construct temporary refuges sustained by scarce, uncontaminated energy sources, over 200 nations had set aside their conflicts and formed fragile alliances. It had taken generations of effort to establish two major ecological havens: the Merin Federation and the Hengtai Alliance. The global population had plummeted from tens of billions to less than a billion. Even now, in this precarious coexistence, the two alliances secretly vied for dwindling resources under the guise of collaboration. Humanity’s innate drive for conquest remained unchanged.
On Fifth Avenue in District 148 of the Hengtai Alliance, a colossal poster of Earth from the journal was displayed. Adjacent to it stood an advertisement for the touring concert of Merin Federation’s famous child star, Andrew Owen. The angelic and radiant smile of the boy starkly contrasted with the barren Earth depicted beside him.
“Andrew Owen! Oh, my God, I wish my future child could be half as adorable as he is. Even a third would make me happy,” a pregnant woman exclaimed, her eyes fixed on the poster with envy.
Nearby, an elegantly dressed lady glanced at her swollen belly and remarked casually, “You’re due soon, aren’t you? Have you had the DNA screening yet?” Her tone carried the same nonchalance as people centuries ago might have when asking, “Have you had your ultrasound?”
“Of course I have! My husband and I opted for a boy, screened for over fifty genetic disorders, and even corrected two defects,” the young mother-to-be replied hurriedly, as if fearing others might mistake her for someone too poor to afford genetic enhancement.
The surrounding crowd looked at her with admiration. Even in this middle-class district, families wealthy enough to afford genetic corrections were rare.
“Well, that’s wonderful. At least your child won’t have to worry about school or work in the future,” the lady responded politely. The young woman beamed with pride. “These days, if you’re going to have a child, you must be willing to invest. It’s a responsibility to both the child and yourself.”
The older woman, now fully engaged, continued, “Without screening, bringing a child into the world is just asking for trouble! They’ll struggle in school, fail in their careers, and become a burden on the entire family. Look at Andrew Owen—what a perfect little face! Even the Merin media say he has the most flawless genes in human history. A child like that is intelligent, capable, and destined for greatness in any field.”
“Yes, exactly!” The young mother stroked her belly lovingly. “If my child could be even a third as perfect as him, I’d be satisfied. At least I’d never have to worry about their future.”
The sweet-faced boy in the advertisement, with his soft, golden hair and angelic smile, had just turned seven. Yet he was already a household name across both the Merin and Hengtai alliances. His radiant innocence, framed by sun-kissed locks and flawless, porcelain skin, evoked an irresistible tenderness. His voice was as enchanting as his visage, effortlessly tugging at the softest strings of the human heart. Perhaps, as the Merin media proclaimed, he truly was the pinnacle of human DNA engineering.
At 3:45 p.m., artificial rain began to fall under District 148’s cerulean synthetic sky. It was the third rainfall of the month, a luxury enjoyed only by the middle and upper classes. People opened their umbrellas, savoring the nostalgic simulation of natural rain.
As the rain intensified, the crowd gradually dispersed from the posters. When the area was finally deserted, a small, frail figure darted out from the opposite tunnel and stopped in front of the boy’s advertisement. She stood there silently, staring at the image.
She was an eight- or nine-year-old girl, her emaciated frame and bony shoulders betraying severe malnutrition. Her disheveled black hair was tied into two haphazard braids, and she wore an oversized, tattered T-shirt. Rainwater trickled down her grimy face, carving streaks of pale skin beneath the dirt.
The girl’s expression was unreadable—neither joy nor anger. She gazed unblinkingly at the boy in the advertisement. Suddenly, she pulled a sharp piece of metal from her pocket and scratched it violently against the glass, producing a piercing screech. The glass cracked. She reached through the gap and touched the boy’s radiant face on the poster.
Her lips curled into a faint, mischievous smile as she used the metal shard to deface his image. She drew whiskers on his cheeks and a pirate’s eyepatch over his right eye. Satisfied, she withdrew her hand and disappeared swiftly into the shadows.
The rain continued to pour. The once-perfect boy in the advertisement now looked comically disfigured. Water seeped through the broken glass, soaking the poster. The paper warped and curled pathetically at the edges, a testament to the enduring clash between perfection and decay.
