The world had entered an age of chaos.
No longer were there borders between East and West, between white and yellow, black and brown.
Everything had merged into one — a gray mass of hybrid identities, a blurry space where heritage became a luxury, and the idea of a “pure” human remained only in memory.

An — a living witness of this historic shift — felt it most deeply.

Distinction — once the compass of perception — now melted like ice under the harsh sun.
Westerners no longer preserved their golden hair, porcelain skin, or crystal-blue eyes.
Asians lost their distinct monolids and pale golden tones.
And Black individuals — bearers of radiant night — were diluted to the point of no longer recognizing themselves in the mirror.

Science stood confused.
Culture, disoriented.
Tradition, reduced to fragments in dusty books and forgotten documentaries.

And only one path remained to reclaim ethnic identity and power:

Either rewrite the genetic code entirely. Or eliminate all remaining “other” races.

That was the ultimate dream of those with unyielding ambition:
A world ruled by East Asians — in economy, in politics, in race.
A world where “Asian purity” reigned, and everything Western lay in ashes.

But at what cost?

The price was identity, dignity, and even ancestral memory.

An — with a body shaped by three bloodlines — became a symbol of dislocation.
She was no longer French.
Not entirely Vietnamese.
Nor fully Chinese.

She was everything.
And nothing.

And in that ambiguity, she was constantly torn between past and present, between homeland and foreign land, between what was “pure” and what was “plural.”

She asked herself:

“If I abandon the West to return to Asia, will I still be me?
If I betray the foreign blood in my veins, who will forgive me?
If I continue to live, to replicate myself through future generations, am I passing on pain — not hope?”

And she knew:
The answer lay nowhere else but within herself.

New generations of An came into the world — carrying the marks of intermingling: eyes that held both East and West, hearts that throbbed with restlessness.
They were haunted by a false philosophy:
That only purity is glory, that only uniformity brings strength.

But the truth is:
Only through hybridity do humans learn their limits.
Only through the pain of belonging nowhere do they learn to love everyone.

From the shadows of history, a flicker of light emerged — the light of truth:
That dreams of racial supremacy are hollow.
That honor does not come from skin color or origin, but from how a person lives, how a people love one another.

And only when we relinquish insatiable greed —
only when we release the obsession with dominating the world —
can humanity truly begin its journey of becoming human.

An closed her eyes.
A droplet fell from the corner.

Not a tear —
but a bead of blood, blended from three ancestral rivers.

And she whispered into the wind:

“If there is reincarnation...
please don’t make me choose again.
Let me just be myself — undivided, unmasked, unburdened by hate.”