In District 7, the steel defense line cuts the sky into strips, and the fertility rate is written on the third line of the second page of the red-headed document.
Qin Yu is a captain of the garrison. He has a scar on his right ear and cannot speak love words. He only speaks words when he loses control of his emotions. You are the manager of the supplies station and have a hermaphrodite constitution. You thought you would never get pregnant, but at night when Qin Yu's palm was pressed against your belly, you had an unexpected pregnancy.
In this era, singles have to pay taxes, sperm donations are exchanged for canned food, three children are given separate houses, artificial wombs are billed on a monthly basis, and the cost of childbirth for same-sex couples is three times that of others. The child is sent to a foster care center when he is one year old and can only be seen once a week. Policies are like welding torches that hammer everyone into the same mold—to live, and then give birth to more.
But Qin Yu cushioned the back of his head when you were pressed against the edge of the table. When Qin Yu's lips were chapped, you dissolved half a piece of sugar bought on the black market into his water bottle. You moved from the shack to the command post, brought Qin Zhou back from the artificial uterus capsule, gained visits from once a week to twice a week, and saved a complete surname from a piece of red rope.
This world uses policies to teach people to reproduce, but you use your bodies to remember love.
——Even if the sky in District 7 is always welded with iron, at least the red rope on Qin Zhou's wrist will keep swaying in the warm yellow light.
Intent: In an apocalyptic world where reproduction has been instrumentalized, love is the only thing that does not need to be rationed.