Chapter 10: Public Family

“Thank you, big sis.” Ji Xinghuo accepted the gift.

He looked at Ye Dongyun, haggard and efficient, yet there was an almost invisible weariness in the depth of her eyes.

Concerned, he said, “Big sis, you must rest more. Don’t ruin your health with too much work.”

“Indeed,” Zhong Ming nodded. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Sitting down, Ye Dongyun took a sip of water and sighed, “There’s no way around it. The pressure on civil servants is increasing, nearly as competitive as those in races. If I stop, plenty are willing to take my place. Any slack, and I’ll be outpaced.”

“Still, it’s not worth wearing yourself out,” said Liang Qiu Feiyan worriedly.

“Don’t worry,” Ye Dongyun said while ruffling her hair. “I’m planning to carve out an hour daily to pick up my fitness routine.”

Ji Xinghuo nodded: “That’s good to hear.”

He was about to remark on the benefits of exercise when Ye Dongyun added, “Once I get fit, I’ll crush my colleagues in performance!”

Everyone was speechless.

“Let’s not talk about me anymore.”

Ye Dongyun clapped her hands, assuming an authoritative tone, “Today’s Ji Xinghuo’s birthday. It’s rare for us five to be together as adults. Let’s enjoy!”

Delicious dishes were served, and drinks uncorked.

“Let’s fill up everyone’s glasses.”

Raising her glass, Ye Dongyun stood with everyone at the table, smiling, “For our first toast, let’s wish Ji Xinghuo a happy birthday!”

“Happy birthday!”

“Cheers!”

The atmosphere in the room was both warm and lively.

The siblings talked and laughed over the meal, sharing amusing stories and forgetting all troubles.

Ji Xinghuo felt deeply joyful, looking at them and thinking, “These are my family.”

A true family!

Although they were half-siblings, to him, they were no different from blood relatives and were legally related.

They were from a public family.

In the mid-1960s, four countries signed the “Evangel Treaty” ending the “Fourth World War” and stabilizing the global geopolitical landscape.

By then, the powerful state of the Asia-Pacific Community had been established for nearly two decades, enjoying peace, advancing technology, and prosperous lives. However, a problem emerged.

Neither the wealthy nor ordinary citizens wanted to have children anymore.

It seemed a self-curse of humanity.

Since the era of industrialization centuries ago, better development and higher civilization inevitably meant lower birth rates.

Once this decline started, it was irreversible.

No government policy could reverse the falling birth rates, only slow them.

In 2033, the opening of the star gates temporarily solved this problem amid global instability and a prolonged human extinction crisis spanning two world wars.

During war, governments used harsher methods since winning required manpower.

Numerous people may not assure victory, but less surely meant defeat!

To this end, governments rallied resources, issued compulsory decrees, and utilized reproductive technologies to spur a birth surge.

Humanity, amidst suffering, was willing to reproduce again.

This cycle lasted over a century.

After the war, governments again faced declining birth rates.

However, by the 22nd century, the biggest hurdle was no longer reproduction but ethical debates.

Different countries provided different solutions.

In the early 2170s, the Asian Community government announced a comprehensive and significant “Continuation Plan,” prioritizing it as a top state policy involving astronomical financial and resource investments.

The Continuation Plan had two parts.

“Birth” was the first.

According to policy needs and population changes, babies were produced monthly through artificial wombs in fixed quotas.

These babies, all legal citizens, had political rights equal to those born in normal families and were known as “public children.” Legislation prohibited them from seeking their biological parents; even if met by chance, no legal kinship existed.

“Nurture” was the second part.

From birth, the government raised public children, divided into four age stages: infant (0-2), toddler (2-6), child (6-12), and adolescent (12-18).

Public children of the same age group formed public families of four to six members.

Each family stage had at least three professional ‘parents’ providing care and education, positions known as ‘nurturer father’ and ‘nurturer mother.’

Nurturer parents were professional guardians who underwent rigorous assessments.

They earned high salaries and held more political rights and higher social status than ordinary citizens.

The younger the children in a public family, the more nurturer parents they had.

Infants had the most, usually one to two more than the number of babies. As the children grew and became more self-sufficient, the number of nurturer parents gradually decreased to two by adolescence.

Upon reaching 18, nurturer parents retired and lost their guardianship rights, ending any legal relationship with the public children.

To ensure the physical and mental well-being of public children, they underwent monthly psychological evaluations and frequent random checks. Cameras installed in homes provided comprehensive monitoring.

Incompetent nurturer parents were immediately disqualified, and serious offenses led to legal prosecution.

A series of laws and regulations related to public families covered all aspects.

The Continuation Plan initially started as a trial.

By the 2190s, the first generation of public children entered the workforce, making significant contributions to society and the state just like children from original families, endowed with normal intellect and healthy psyches.

The Continuation Plan was a massive success, yielding returns after years of investment.

The Asian Community government quickly expanded the program’s scale, entering the 23rd century with the population issue resolved!

Today, the Asia-Pacific Community boasts a population of 5.6 billion.

Public children comprise 20% of this, with the government adjusting the Continuation Plan based on finances and resources, ensuring yearly population growth.

Ji Xinghuo and his four siblings were public children.

But he was slightly different.

Ji Xinghuo wasn’t born from an artificial womb, but naturally. However, his parents lost their guardianship and entrusted him to the government.

There were many like Ji Xinghuo.

In the 1990s, the success of the Continuation Plan eased the government’s concerns but also led to an increase in people unwilling to bear children.

Another factor contributed too.

At its founding, the Asian Community outlawed abortion and required at least one parent to pass a qualification exam on parenting to obtain guardianship rights—two contradicting laws that also drove down birth rates.

Thus, many parents failed the test and lost their guardianship rights after accidental pregnancies.

Some couples voluntarily relinquished their rights, leaving their children to the government.

This practice, colloquially known as ‘managing birth but not upbringing,’ led these children to be included in the Continuation Plan, also known as ‘foster children.’

Ji Xinghuo was one of these foster children, learning the truth at 18.

By law, foster children could contact their biological parents after turning 22 and graduating from university, provided they were psychologically mature.

Upon mutual consent, they could legally reestablish familial ties and return to their original families.

Therefore, this birthday held special significance for Ji Xinghuo.

He was about to face a major life decision.

His siblings knew this and set aside everything to gather and celebrate his birthday, supporting him.

Ji Xinghuo received numerous congratulatory messages from close friends and classmates.

The birthday feast was halfway through.

Former nurturer parents from his adolescent, childhood, and toddler phases, totaling seven or eight, called via video, thrilled to see the five siblings and wishing Ji Xinghuo happy birthday.

Only the adolescent phase nurturer parents knew Ji Xinghuo was a foster child. After leaving this family, they took on new responsibilities in other public families.

Being a professional parent is a busy job with limited rest.

They also had their own families and children.

During his university years, Ji Xinghuo only met with his nurturer parents two or three times. Although they occasionally kept in touch, his emotional bond with them naturally faded as he matured.

Whenever there was an issue, he discussed it with his siblings.

At ten o’clock in the evening.

The restaurant delivered a bowl of longevity noodles and a large cake, and his siblings sang the birthday song for Ji Xinghuo, then lit the candles on the cake.

“Third brother, make a wish!” called out Liang Qiu Feiyan.

Ji Xinghuo stood among them, smiling, “I make a wish every year, and it’s never come true. Let’s skip it this year?”

“That can’t be!” Liang Qiu Feiyan aimed the floating camera at Ji Xinghuo. “It’s a centuries-old tradition to eat longevity noodles and cake and make a wish on birthdays. Especially today, take it seriously. Maybe it’ll work this time?”

Ye Dongyun also smiled, “Ji Xinghuo, just do as Feifei says, no dawdling.”

“Alright.”

Ji Xinghuo had no choice but to agree.

Wang Zizhen turned off the room lights, plunging it into darkness.

Zhong Ming said, “Make your wish.”

Ji Xinghuo stood before the cake, and even in the dark, he could clearly see it. His gaze swept over his siblings’ faces and settled on the window.

The towering Wuyan Building pierced the clouds.

At that moment, looking out, the world split into two parts. Below, a brightly lit metropolis with skyscrapers dominated; above, a dazzling Milky Way stretched across the night sky, decorated with billions of stars, stunning to behold.

Ji Xinghuo closed his eyes, wishing, “May my family be safe, healthy, and happy, successful in their careers; may I reach the peaks of life’s evolution, witness the grandeur of the galaxy, see the wonders of the star realms, and live a life well spent.”

With his wish made, he gently blew out the candle.