Empire of Shadows

Lance leaned against his car, a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching passersby on the street.

The middle-class neighborhood had strict entry rules, and the security guard eyed Lance suspiciously. He didn’t have any psychic powers to detect criminal intent—he just instinctively distrusted non-residents, especially those as good-looking as Lance.

Lately, Lance’s ventures had started gaining traction, and he’d gotten to know more about Patricia’s father, Mr. William Lawrence.

Mr. Lawrence was a municipal civil servant working under the mayor, holding a position that was neither particularly high nor low. He was a member of the Federation Party, one of the Federation’s three major political factions alongside the Liberty Party and the Socialist Party.

Originally, there had only been two dominant parties—the Liberty Party and the Federation Party. The Liberty Party advocated for the freedoms of the middle and lower classes until a significant split occurred years ago, giving rise to the Socialist Party.

Socialists believed that excessive individual freedoms could bring disaster to society and the nation. They championed industrial and economic development, a stance fundamentally at odds with the Liberty Party’s emphasis on liberalism, which Socialists derided as “reckless freedom.”

The core ideological conflict was the priority of individual versus national interests, and the two camps couldn’t reconcile. The Socialist Party, heavily backed by capitalists, grew rapidly, often taking the reins of government and dominating Congress.

In this political climate, Mr. Lawrence’s Federation Party had little leverage to help his career. Thus, at forty years old, he remained stuck in a middling municipal position.

In an era where ideals bowed to capital, idealism alone had little meaning. A pair of young women walking by waved at Lance. He returned their wave with a smile.

Summer’s breeze carried an inexplicable charm, stirring emotions in the air. It wasn’t about wanting to do anything in particular—sometimes just feeling the wind was enough to be content.

“Lance!”

Patricia emerged from the community gates, her vibrant presence like a fairy stepping out of a painting.

Lance tossed his cigarette aside and stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. “You look stunning.”

Being complimented by someone you like is always heartwarming, and Patricia beamed. “I thought so too!”

She naturally took his arm. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Lance opened the car door for her. “What is it?”

Patricia hesitated, a bit flustered. “William and the others want to invite you over for dinner tonight. They’ve prepared a meal for you.”

Getting into the driver’s seat, Lance started the car. “That’s good news.”

“You don’t feel awkward about it?” she asked.

Shaking his head, Lance replied, “If meeting the people closest to you is awkward, then you should question whether I truly love you or if I just want to sleep with you.

“This is something I need to do. Either I convince them, or they convince me!”

“I’ll be a warrior!” he added with a sunny smile that made Patricia’s heart melt.

That afternoon, the two went to see a movie. Cinema was one of the few cheap and widely accessible forms of entertainment in this era.

They chose a more upscale theater, where tickets cost 25 cents. Such venues were cleaner and smelled better than the 10- or 15-cent establishments, where one could never be sure what the previous occupant of their seat had done. ȒÀℕọ฿ËŜ

At the 25-cent theater, staff ensured the seats were clean, and the patrons tended to behave better.

The film, Love in a Chaotic Time, was a war romance. People of the era seemed to believe that hardships and tragedy made love more profound.

Patricia was deeply engrossed in the story, while Lance appeared distracted.

Despite her focus, Patricia’s face grew redder as the film progressed.

The climax featured the female lead, after years of waiting, finally receiving the male lead’s ashes. Cradling her growing belly, she wore a determined smile as she faced a new life.

The crowd’s response started with a smattering of light applause—tentative and subdued, like a frail old man unbuckling his belt in the restroom.

Soon, however, the applause swelled into a thunderous ovation. The audience was moved by the heroine’s steadfast love, loyalty to her family, and enduring hope.

Patricia clapped enthusiastically, while Lance joined in with less fervor.

“You’re crying,” Lance noted.

“It was so touching!” Patricia said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t you think the heroine was amazing?”

Lance shook his head. “Actually, she should have been a little more selfish. If she had been, her husband might not have died, and their child would still have a father.

“Patricia, from an artistic perspective, the film beautifully ties war, love, death, and new life into a poetic cycle.

“But as an ordinary man, if we were married and war broke out, I’d take you far away.

“I couldn’t choose between loyalty to my country and loyalty to you. But if I had to, I’d choose you.”

Already emotional, Patricia couldn’t hold back any longer. She kissed Lance passionately.

After a long kiss, she pulled back, shy and flustered.

Patricia had been raised in a strict church-run girls’ school, where the nuns were notorious for their harsh discipline. Public corporal punishment was a common tool used to break both the body and spirit of rebellious students.

Such schools had seen their fair share of student suicides, though the church and government often suppressed such news.

Patricia, a model student, had never dared step out of line.

Sensing her shyness, Lance gently took her hand and led her out of the theater. By now, the sky had darkened, and the heat of the sun had faded.

The couple sampled some street food, which Patricia ate with great enjoyment despite its mediocre taste. “I rarely eat street food. My dad says it’s unhygienic.”

Lance didn’t argue. “He’s not wrong.”

Patricia froze mid-bite and looked at him. Lance wiped a bit of grease from her face.

“But if you avoid everything unhealthy, you’ll miss out on experiences. When you’re old, you’ll regret it.

“A small compromise in health for a lot of joy—that’s a trade worth making.”

“You’re right, Lance!”

The two tried various street foods until Patricia was full.

By the time they returned to Patricia’s home, she looked at Lance nervously. “They’ll know we’ve already eaten.”

“Then tell them the truth,” Lance said.

While it should have been Lance feeling nervous, Patricia was the one unsettled. She appreciated that Lance respected her as a person, not just as an object or a body.

As they pulled into the Lawrence family’s gated community, the security guard recognized Patricia.

“Miss Patricia, who’s this handsome gentleman?”

“My boyfriend. Please open the gate.”

The guard nodded and sighed as the car drove through. Such moments were a universal melancholy for all security guards.

When they reached the Lawrence home, Patricia asked, “Are you nervous?”

“Not as long as Mr. Lawrence doesn’t hate brandy,” Lance replied, holding up a bottle.

Patricia, drawing a deep breath, took his arm and knocked on the door.

Inside, the Lawrences had been watching through the window. Mrs. Lawrence found Lance quite likable, though Mr. Lawrence remained reserved.

Mrs. Lawrence opened the door, her appearance polished in a pale pink dress and a pearl necklace. Her radiant smile was natural—or at least, not from wax.

“Welcome, Lance,” she said, taking the brandy and passing it to her husband. “Thank you for the thoughtful gift.”

Mr. Lawrence glanced at the brandy, then at his daughter, recognizing her influence in the choice. It was his favorite, and he quietly appreciated Lance’s generosity.

“This is an expensive gift. Perfect for tonight,” he said, handing the bottle back to his wife. “Open it up.”

He then led Lance to the living room. “What can I get you—tea, coffee, juice?”

“Water.”

Mr. Lawrence raised an eyebrow before chuckling. “Not nervous, are you?”

From their spot nearby, Mrs. Lawrence and Patricia were eavesdropping, eager to see how Lance handled Mr. Lawrence’s subtle yet calculated first “attack.”