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“You’re from the biology department too, right? I think I saw you at the movie marathon,” said the Bengal tiger sitting in front of me, turning around with a curious glint in his eyes, an enthusiastic tone, and a scent of genuine interest.

I couldn’t help but think, I also saw you having meat intoxication at the black market—how bad can your memory be?

“Yeah, and you live on the second floor of Dorm 7, right?” I decided to play it safe and respond with something neutral, avoiding anything that might come off as unpleasant.

“You actually remember that? You have an incredible memory!” The Bengal tiger broke into a broad smile, baring his sharp teeth.

“I’m Meng An. You can probably tell I’m a Bengal tiger, right?” He patted his chest confidently.

Oh, my Great Blue Whale, this guy has an overwhelming sense of self-awareness.

“I’m Haruo, gray wolf,” I responded.

“Ha, you’ve got a sense of humor!” Meng An’s grin grew even brighter.

Well, I am so honored to entertain you.

“Yesterday, you bared your fangs at everyone in class—that was impressive.” Judging by his spirited expression, he was sincerely trying to give a compliment. I didn’t know how to react to such a statement, so I awkwardly smiled.

“You answered a question no one else could, then flashed such an aggressive expression. It was like saying, ‘You little nobodies mean nothing to me!’ I admire that kind of dominance. I used to think all canines were just softies who liked to play dumb. I really respect you.” Meng An spoke with utter seriousness, his gaze unwavering.

Why are there so many big cats in our cohort? I lamented silently. I’m really not cut out to represent canines, especially since I’m the only one in our class.

Before I could respond, the teacher—a Thomson’s gazelle—entered the classroom. I gestured toward the teacher, who was busy setting up the electronic lectern. Meng An flashed me one last radiant smile before turning back to face the front.

Through snippets of conversation among classmates, I had picked up some information about Meng An. He was the only son of a prominent family from District 17, who had given up a prestigious public scholarship in medicine to enroll in the teacher training program at Normal University. It was an unusually bold move, and I had initially been curious about him. However, after his childish remarks just now, my interest had significantly waned.

“Class, I have an important announcement today,” said the teacher as she waved toward the door. A large black crested serpent eagle walked into the room.

“There have been changes to the schedule for our social engagement project. The guest lecture originally planned for next week will now coincide with the weekend march, and the lecture itself has been postponed by another week,” the teacher explained, gesturing toward the black-crested serpent eagle, who nodded to everyone in greeting.

“Some of you might already know Mr. Jiawei, but if you don’t, that’s okay—you’ll have time to get to know him later.” A few students chuckled, though I had never heard of this individual before.

“The lecture was originally rescheduled for today, but due to an emergency meeting called by the Order Committee, Mr. Jiawei will only have time to introduce himself briefly.” The black-crested serpent eagle walked to the front of the classroom, smiling warmly as the teacher continued her introduction.

“I look forward to sharing with you all in two weeks,” he began, but his phone buzzed before he could say more. After a quick glance, he apologized to the teacher and promptly left.

“It seems the schedule has shifted again. Let’s return to our revised course outline,” the teacher said, pulling up an updated syllabus on the projector.

“I’ll give you some context for these changes,” she continued. “Two days ago, Mr. Jiawei’s petition for a constitutional interpretation was accepted, and the Supreme Court has already made its decision. The government plans to release an official announcement on Friday.”

Most of the class, myself included, looked puzzled as the teacher launched into her explanation.

“Thirty years ago, Mr. Jiawei applied for a civil marriage certificate at the Central City District Court. However, the registrar refused to process it, citing the law’s non-recognition of marriages between toxic and non-toxic species. At the time, the widely held ‘common sense’—now considered utterly ridiculous—was that black-crested serpent eagles were venomous, and many animals treated them as such.

“Although the matter was resolved after several appeals, as black-crested serpent eagles are not venomous, the process wasn’t particularly difficult. However, during his appeals, Mr. Jiawei became aware of a larger issue—so many other interspecies marriages were unrecognized in our country.

“For Mr. Jiawei, who comes from a well-off family, the lack of subsidies for interspecies unions wasn’t a significant concern. As such, he had never paid much attention to marriage equality laws before. But being wrongly classified as venomous and having his marriage denied validity, combined with the absurd incidents he encountered during the appeals process, finally pushed him to take action.”

***

It was that time of year again. I prepared the appeal applications and the constitutional interpretation request forms that had already been signed and stamped, along with two cups of herbal tea—my grandmother's secret recipe. It was the least I could do.

Two male crested hawk-eagles walked into the hall, carrying application documents as they approached me.

"Always so punctual, Mr. Jiawei?" I accepted the documents and quickly skimmed through them.

"Rain or shine," he replied with what I assumed was a smile. It's always hard to tell with the movement of a bird's beak.

"If you exhaust all the marriage combinations that our country refuses to recognize as legitimate unions, what will you do next, Mr. Jiawei?" I asked while continuing to process the paperwork.

Every year, he applied for a marriage registration that Central Nation didn’t recognize—pairings between land and sea species, venomous and non-venomous creatures, and even unions with citizens from nations that Central Nation did not acknowledge. I was pretty sure he was running out of combinations.

"Start over from the beginning," he said firmly. I truly admired the tenacity of such a determined individual. As a small chipmunk, I generally felt powerless in the face of life’s events.

After graduating from high school, I got into an university with almost all nature animals, earned my diploma, and was fortunate enough to pass the civil service exam on my first attempt. Since then, I’ve worked at the household registration office. My life had no dramatic ups and downs, no particular misfortunes—just the ordinary life of a mid-level government employee.

"Is it same-sex partnership this year?" I signed the documents proficiently and stamped the rejection seal.

How many times had I done this?

"Mr. Jiawei, as in previous years, I must inform you on behalf of the Central Nation Household Registration Bureau that your marriage registration application is invalid because our country’s laws do not recognize marriages between individuals of the same sex." I returned the documents to him along with the appeal and constitutional interpretation forms I had prepared in advance.

"If you have concerns about the discretion of administrative authorities, these are the necessary documents for appeals and constitutional interpretation. I’ve already filled them out for you," I said, knowing I had done the same thing nearly thirty times. "You can submit them directly to the courts."

"Thank you." He accepted the documents as usual, without any particular emotional reaction.

Don’t thank me. I’m just a powerless mid-level bureaucrat. Am I really so powerless?

"Oh, Mr. Jiawei, please take this." Starting around our tenth meeting, I began preparing herbal tea for him every year around this time.

"This is my family’s secret recipe. It has a calming effect. Whenever I feel low, I drink a cup, and it always helps me regain my spirits," I said.

What was I even talking about? Did I truly understand what it meant to feel low? Thanks to my aptitude for memorization, I had never faced major challenges during my academic years. Even in college, I didn’t find my passion or set lofty goals. Grand ambitions and aspirations were never the business of a small creature like me.

"Thank you, Miss Saliya. Every year, your carefully prepared herbal tea gives me the strength to keep fighting for another year."

As Mr. Jiawei accepted the tea, the small cup looked almost insignificant in his large hands. In that moment, something inside me seemed to overflow. In truth, it was the same every year—from the moment Mr. Jiawei entered to hand over his application, to my rejection stamp, his acceptance of my tea, his encouraging smile, and his slightly dejected departure.

Every time, a bit of indescribable emotion filled my chest. Every time, little by little, I could ignore it no longer. It surprised me that such a small body could hold so much feeling. Today, it finally spilled over.

After graduating from college, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do. On a whim, I passed the civil service exam on my first try and was assigned to work at the household registration office. Friends and family congratulated me, saying I had achieved something great.

Since then, my life followed a routine: clocking in, handling tasks, gossiping in the break room, celebrating holidays with snacks brought by coworkers, attending meetings, passing annual audits, and clocking out. It felt like my life had reached an ideal state, a model many animals envied. Over the years, I began to feel a small sense of accomplishment.

But every year, Mr. Jiawei reminded me of how powerless I was. I knew full well that our office couldn’t approve every couple who wanted to register their marriage. Legal issues involving inheritance, taxes, and contracts made it impossible to satisfy everyone.

Still, why? Why did Mr. Jiawei have to leave with that faint sadness every time? What was I really feeling as I stamped and processed these forms day after day? Was I truly powerless?

"Please wait, Mr. Jiawei!" I called out as he was about to leave.

The room fell silent. This was probably the only time in my life I had ever shouted with all my might.

"When an administrative agency exercises its discretion under the law, if..." I reached into the drawer containing the necessary forms. I had never considered this before: I wasn’t entirely powerless.

My coworkers stared at me in shock, some close friends frantically gesturing for me to stop.

Yes, I knew this would cause trouble for me. Speaking out was the greatest taboo for a civil servant who wanted to retire peacefully.

"...if the agency has doubts about the constitutionality of the applicable law, it may request a constitutional interpretation." I quickly filled out the form and attached the required documents. Perhaps I had already been preparing for this moment. All the necessary data had been collected and stored on my computer. For thirty years, I had wallowed in self-pity. This was the culmination of that feeling.

"Mr. Jiawei," I said, stepping out from behind the counter with all the necessary paperwork. The rest I had already sent through electronic documents. "Our constitution guarantees that all citizens are equal under the law, regardless of gender, religion, race, class, or political affiliation. Based on this principle, the restrictions in our marriage law violate the constitutional spirit of equality before the law and may be unconstitutional."

Some of my coworkers looked like they were about to faint, while others in the hall stared in confusion.

"Mr. Jiawei, I no longer want to see you leave with that look of disappointment. It’s just not right."

He looked surprised but then smiled.

"So, Miss Saliya, what do you propose?" Mr. Jiawei asked.

I still needed approvals from several other departments, and this wouldn’t be easy. But that didn’t mean I should stop here.

"Let’s go upstairs first," I said, realizing my words and actions had meaning. For the first time in my life, I felt my power.

I pressed the elevator button, standing beside Mr. Jiawei.

"Thank you, Miss Saliya," he said, his voice resonating with a shared emotion.

No, thank you, Mr. Jiawei. You showed me I could have this strength within me.

"Let’s go up together," I said, to both Mr. Jiawei and myself.

The elevator doors opened, and we stepped forward together into the next chapter.