The images from the glittering opening gala had been replaced by the facade of the actual theatre, with the lush trees of Yangmingshan as a backdrop framing the domed roof.
“Since the opening of the Old Taipei Theatre,” the new reporter standing by the theatre’s silver entrance said, “there have been rumblings on the undernet as well as among the wealthy about the state of Taiwan’s air and environment. Many of the wealthiest Taiwanese have stepped forward to advocate the introduction of environmental legislation to improve Taiwan’s pollution. The new bill will be brought up to vote in the fall.”
The reporter smiled winningly into the camera before they cut to previously recorded footage. Angela’s face filled the wall screen. She showed much less skin since the last time I saw her, wearing a black sweater and turquoise skirt that emphasized her curves. “Why shouldn’t we have better air? Clean, breathable air?” she demanded, speaking right into the camera. Her hair was longer and swept past her shoulders, but it was as red as ever. “Why should we be forced to cower and hide in regulated spaces, trapped inside like dogs?”
The corner of my mouth twitched upward. Hadn’t I used almost those same exact words when we were making our plans?
“But the meis”—the unseen male reporter stopped himself—“those who couldn’t afford suits have been living under these conditions for years. Why do you care now?”
Angela blinked her wide, kohl-lined eyes. “Because it affects me now,” she said in a tone that told the reporter in no uncertain terms he was asking a ridiculous question.
I laughed under my breath.
More images from the gala played across the screen, Daiyu posing with politicians and celebrities alike, looking stunning and regal. I knew from my research before going in as Jason Zhou that she was fiercely protective of her privacy. Now she was on a personal campaign to help push environmental legislation through, and she was using her image and status to full advantage.
I had kept limited contact with my friends and hadn’t seen them again as a group since Victor’s death. I wasn’t ready to face them together, to accept their sympathy or shared grief, and be reminded so starkly in numbers that we had lost one of our own. I couldn’t deal with their suspicions and scrutiny, or be questioned again on where my loyalties lay.
Arun’s antidote had helped to curb the spread of the virulent flu Jin had released. When it was clear what the antidote could do, the FDA quickly approved it, and it was manufactured and distributed throughout all hospitals. Arun had become a local hero, and I’d always smile when I saw him on-screen, his orange hair usually spiked, wearing a white lab coat for interviews. Dr. Nataraj would be so proud of him.
My apartment door clicked open, followed by the familiar sound of boot heels resounding against the concrete floor. I didn’t need to look to know who it was—I’d given Daiyu official access to my apartment a month ago. Not that she hadn’t been coming and going as she pleased for as long as I knew her. A corner of my mouth twitched upward at the thought.
“I’ve brought fresh-baked buns,” she said, and set a rectangular box on the glass table. Her gray jeans were darkened by splotches of rain, the flower blouse she wore turned sheer, clinging to her wet skin. She wrung the water from her ponytail, completely at ease and unaware of how I was staring.
Then she met my gaze and her lips curved in a knowing grin.
Ah. She did know. Fooled again.
I smiled back, then laughed and extended my hand.
She came to me, droplets falling from her like stars, and clasped it.
We had wanted to change the world.
This was only the beginning.