White Moonlight, White Moonlight 1

This story is adapted from a news report from Japan; any resemblance to real events is purely coincidental.

Ren lay on a bed in a dilapidated hotel, smoking incessantly, one cigarette after another. On the nightstand sat a bottle of stolen sleeping pills, full and unopened. A transparent glass cup, once clear, was now coated in thick tea stains, holding half a glass of water drawn from the tap.

Ren was waiting for something—a thought, or perhaps a person? From time to time, he took deep, sharp drags, struggling to calm his mind, hoping to reflect or remember something. Soon, cigarette butts lay scattered on the floor in an array of postures.

Yet, as his agitation subsided, his thoughts drifted back to that night under the bright, full moon…

It was only a few months ago when an epidemic suddenly broke out. A novel virus began to ravage the country, and the rate of infection far exceeded the limits of what people could endure. The severity of the outbreak was no different from a plot in a Hollywood disaster film.

City W had the highest number of infections in the nation, and many experts, in their media interviews, pointed to the city as the source of the virus. After the media broadcast these expert opinions, within two or three days, all the news seemed to blame City W as the culprit.

Facing the barrage of media reports, the Mayor of City W felt he had to act. As the leader of the city, he could no longer remain indifferent to the condemnation from various outlets. To beat them at their own game, the Mayor continuously released various data through official channels, such as the city's television and radio stations.

He reported how many people were infected, how many had lost their lives, and so on. It seemed he believed that by appearing honest, the public and the media would become as understanding and forgiving as a mother toward a wayward child.

Unexpectedly, the Mayor’s calculated “sincerity” only added fuel to the fire. Moreover, the numbers he reported were often inconsistent, which quickly became another pretext for the media to attack him.

There was no turning back once the deed was done. The Mayor was forced to personally convene meetings with heads of all relevant departments before every public report. A statement of a few hundred words would be scrutinized by all attendees, as if a single wrong word could lead to the infection and death of hundreds or thousands of citizens.

In truth, those numbers could have been summarized in half a sentence, but the Mayor’s calls to action and expressions of resolve were like carpet bombing, igniting the people’s passion and confidence in fighting the disease. The energized public was moved by the Mayor’s determination.

After hearing the reports, the fear in people’s hearts miraculously vanished. Although they still didn't know how to launch an offensive against the virus, they ultimately developed a sense of trust—they believed that the Mayor would find a way to save them. People’s lives gradually returned to normal.

Regrettably, while the Mayor busied himself with meticulously crafting reports that would satisfy everyone (the "report" having become his most practiced tool for fighting the plague), the cruel reality continued to shake the faith built by those reports. Friends and family were still being infected and hospitalized, and the panic within people returned, its momentum far surpassing the spread of the virus itself.

Finally, the Mayor resorted to a desperate move: he invited the experts who had previously "sentenced" City W on television to return. The city station broadcast their "absolution" of City W repeatedly. Unfortunately, the virus did not show the experts any respect; infections and deaths continued to appear rapidly around everyone.

Thus, the Mayor and the virus engaged in a tug-of-war of mutual accusations. People’s confidence oscillated between being built up and collapsing.

Eventually, the survivors grew weary of the chaos. They had to find their own way—a way to escape this hellhole.

The reason was simple: shortly after the outbreak, the Mayor had activated an emergency plan drafted in the 1950s and 60s—a total lockdown of the city. Highways, national roads, provincial roads, railways, and air travel were all restricted. People from the outside could not get in, and those inside could not get out. And at some point, the Mayor’s reports suddenly ceased. Instead, the local radio station began broadcasting irrelevant news: that pork prices were about to drop, which kindergarten girl had returned lost property, or that the city’s steel production ranked first in the province.

"Escaping," however, was not as simple as a casual trip. Yet, those with a keen sense for business soon grew restless. These were the taxi drivers of City W.

Many drivers familiar with the city's traffic—including taxi drivers, private car owners, and truck drivers—started a new trade. Taxis no longer lingered in crowded areas; when night fell, they hid near residential buildings. Relying on their knowledge of the routes around the city, they would use the cover of darkness to sneak people out, avoiding the many checkpoints.

High risk brought high rewards; the price of being smuggled out once rose to nearly ten thousand yuan per person.

Some refugees with good memories even quietly returned to City W along the routes they had used to escape. They used their own cars or bought second-hand vehicles, imitating the taxi drivers to join the trade. The auto market in City W boomed overnight, and even the radio station began reporting on it positively—the city’s GDP was set to hit a new record!

Since the carrying capacity of taxis and private cars was limited, truck drivers rose to prominence. These smuggling drivers performed miracles around the city, as if possessed by the spirit of Columbus, carving out one escape route after another. Racing through the wilderness became a daily routine for these drivers.

For a time, the number of people applying for driver’s licenses in City W soared, and all industries related to vehicles made a fortune. This drive to make money could rival that of the Jews during wartime.