The true identity of the old man behind the mirror was indeed Diao Chan.
Qian Duoduo seemed momentarily bewildered, but he quickly regained his composure.
As Zhao Meiyou stepped forward, reaching toward the surface of the mirror, a sharp *crack* echoed through the space, like a support beam snapping. Qian Duoduo’s expression shifted instantly. He grabbed Zhao Meiyou by the collar and hurled him backward. "Move! Now!"
He followed up with a swift kick to Zhao Meiyou’s backside, his words coming out in a rapid-fire blur: "I don't know why Diao Chan is dreaming inside the ruins, but the dream is collapsing. You’ve agitated his subconscious. Now the entire site is going to hunt us down. I can’t hold out for long on his home turf. Run!"
Zhao Meiyou nearly face-planted from the kick, wondering briefly if this person was a man or a woman—they were certainly fierce enough.
A second later, bullets whistled through the air. The sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps erupted outside the carriage. Thermal data flooded Zhao Meiyou’s vision: the lab’s security forces, and there were a staggering number of them. The doors were kicked open with violent force.
Whether Qian Duoduo was a man or a woman remained a mystery, but he was undeniably a badass. With a series of sharp snaps of his fingers, he tossed a smoke grenade into the carriage, dual-wielding pistols as he laid down cover fire. He retreated rapidly while spraying bullets, and as he reached the rear door, he spun in a sudden whirlwind. His leg lashed out in a horizontal kick; the skin on his arch split open, and a long blade slid out from his bone structure, slicing through the door like a knife through a melon.
Qian Duoduo discarded the pistol in his left hand and snapped his fingers again. With the sound of the snap, a motorcycle materialized in the pitch-black tunnel of the underground rail.
Zhao Meiyou leaped forward, steadying the handlebars. "Get on!"
Qian Duoduo kicked the head off an android. "You go first!"
Zhao Meiyou didn't waste words. He floored the accelerator. Two massive plumes of fire erupted from the exhaust, and the oncoming rush of air nearly blew him off the bike. This machine was definitely modified—it was faster than Diao Chan’s nuclear-powered hovercar!
But it was *too* fast. Could Qian Duoduo even catch up? The thought hadn't lasted a second before a world-shaking explosion roared behind him. A wave of heat rolled through the tunnel like a frenzied dragon. Zhao Meiyou’s scalp tingled, and then the back seat suddenly dipped. The madman had actually used the blast's shockwave to catapult himself onto the bike!
A single somersault spanning miles—he wasn't a man, he was the damn Monkey King!
"Steady," Qian Duoduo grunted, locking his arms around Zhao Meiyou’s waist. Then, Zhao Meiyou heard him utter a single, heavy, clear word: "*Gale.*"
In the next heartbeat, the massive atmospheric pressure from the explosion behind them took an eerie turn. It surged past the rear of the bike, punching straight through the tunnel walls. A massive crater was blown into the surface above, and boulders began to rain down. This time, Zhao Meiyou didn't bother dodging; he was waiting to see what other tricks the Great Sage Qian had up his sleeve.
With a deafening *crunch*, they and the bike were smashed to smithereens.
Judging by the level of agony, it was at least a dozen compound fractures. One of Zhao Meiyou’s eyeballs had been knocked out of its socket, though the optic nerve remained tethered to his torso. The result was that he watched his own literal dismemberment at the crash site, red and white fluids dripping down in a steady rhythm.
*Ugh. Brain matter.*
In the darkness, the flint of a lighter sparked. Qian Duoduo lit his "cigarette."
A hand reached out, and a raspy voice spoke: "*Restore.*"
His soul snapped back into place; his body was whole and healthy.
Zhao Meiyou felt himself mended in an instant. Qian Duoduo hauled him up and spoke again: "*Flight.*"
They soared directly out of the blasted hole.
The city, shrouded in heavy snow, had descended into total chaos. Searchlights swept everywhere, vehicles collided on mid-air highways, and airships exploded in the sky. Yet, amidst this extreme turmoil, the moment Qian Duoduo and Zhao Meiyou appeared in the air, nearly every living entity locked onto them. Pilots screamed as they veered their crafts toward them in a murderous frenzy.
Qian Duoduo: "*Shade.*"
Their forms vanished. Several high-speed cargo trucks collided where they had been, erupting in a roar of sparks and flame.
"I don't have many of the 'Invisibility' cigarettes left. It won't last long." Qian Duoduo landed atop a skyscraper, its mirrored surface as smooth as if carved by a chisel. One step forward was an abyss. "What’s the plan?"
Zhao Meiyou thought for a split second. "To catch the bandits, you must first capture their leader."
"Diao Chan is likely in a 'Lost' state. Usually, the probability of waking someone from that is less than ten percent. Otherwise, we wouldn't have needed to run," Qian Duoduo said. "The government didn't understand the internal state of the ruins before. Now, your only objective is to leave alive."
Zhao Meiyou insisted, "I’m staying."
Qian Duoduo asked, "What are your odds?"
"You can't measure us by 'usual' standards," Zhao Meiyou replied. "Take that ten percent and give it a discount. Let’s say one percent."
"And you’re still going?"
"I'm going." Zhao Meiyou grinned. "One percent is already doing me a favor. It’s not like it’s a negative probability."
Qian Duoduo locked eyes with him for a moment, then suddenly let out a tiny smile. The android’s left face was completely charred, yet in that brief exchange of glances, Zhao Meiyou saw a flash of wildness in the remaining corner of his mouth—like the glint of a blade momentarily unsheathed.
"Fine," he said. "Then go."
Qian Duoduo pulled a cigarette case from his coat. He opened it to reveal several cigarettes of varying lengths; one was already burning.
He took it out, and Zhao Meiyou saw what it was: a Marlboro. It was the most famous cigarette brand in the Metropolis. Much of the cultural information from the 22nd century had been lost, yet the Marlboro parent company still maintained the exact same tobacco formula from centuries ago. Zhao Meiyou had seen one of their new commercials; they claimed to have restored the vintage flavor of the 20th century. The white filter of the cigarette was wrapped in a deep red band, like a woman’s lipstick mark.
"Next time you want to find a way to die, say so earlier." Qian Duoduo measured the length of the cigarette and shoved it into Zhao Meiyou’s mouth. "You have ten minutes."
Then, he uttered another word: "*Gale.*"
An invisible force field seemed to expand with the sound. Another cigarette in the case ignited spontaneously. Qian Duoduo took it out and tucked it behind his ear; Zhao Meiyou saw the smoke rising from it was a deep cyan.
The next second, Qian Duoduo shoved him. Zhao Meiyou plummeted from the skyscraper, but the howling wind rose like a wave to catch him. It became an invisible river, the current carrying him directly toward a specific part of the city.
The moment Zhao Meiyou was swept away, Qian Duoduo presumably lost his invisibility. Countless searchlights converged on him. Every chaotic entity in the ruins found its target and swarmed toward him like a tide. The wind blew fast. Qian Duoduo quickly vanished from Zhao Meiyou’s line of sight, leaving only the distant burst of a firestorm, like a firework.
Diao Chan seemed to have left the underground during their brief escape. The wind veered left and right, carrying Zhao Meiyou past countless buildings before finally dropping him onto an aerial highway.
The highway spiraled upward around a massive bronze statue, hundreds of meters above the ground. He was currently at the statue’s brow. He could see that the eyes had been hollowed out, and a burger joint was operating inside.
Diao Chan was sitting at the entrance of the shop, the glass barrier of the highway edge right behind him. He was eating a burger. Zhao Meiyou knew there were definitely pickles inside; that way, it could pass for a cucumber sandwich.
Regarding the cucumber sandwich, the origin of Diao Chan’s dietary fixation traced back to when they met at sixteen.
On the day the holographic mother’s program self-destructed, the devastated son had finished the entire piece of music and collapsed over the keys, retching. It was then that Zhao Meiyou realized Diao Chan had some sort of obstacle regarding emotional expression. He didn't know if it was due to the cloned genome, but he listened to the dry heaving echoing through the vast hall. It sounded like stomach acid and blood boiling inside him, like a massive meat grinder roaring as it pulverized his internal organs. The sound could only be described as tragic, or like someone on the brink of death.
But as Zhao Meiyou listened to him heave for a long time, he suddenly realized: the man was crying.
He had been right. For Diao Chan, tears were more like vomit.
Diao Chan heaved for God knows how long. Zhao Meiyou grew drowsy listening to it. He asked if he was done crying and what the plan was.
The other was still retching. Zhao Meiyou was truly exhausted; he found a corner, lay down, and fell fast asleep.
When he woke, he saw Diao Chan sitting on the piano bench. His hands were black, and there was a burnt smell in the air. He was cradling something in his arms.
"What’s that?" Zhao Meiyou walked over and asked.
Diao Chan didn't answer directly. His fingers brushed over the piano keys, leaving a pitch-black smudge. "This piano broke once before," he began. "I was young then, and I was deeply obsessed with the things that belonged to me. Even though the piano was broken, I refused to get a new one. I practiced every day as usual, playing songs that made no sound.
"Then one day, Mother suddenly had the old piano dismantled. She let me pick out certain parts and had them installed into a new piano.
"She said that the new thing would then have the marks of the past, and the old thing would be reborn."
Zhao Meiyou listened quietly. Suddenly, Diao Chan turned to look at him and asked, "Did you have the same thought when you ate your father?"
It took Zhao Meiyou a moment to untangle the logic. He shook his head. "By that logic, the one I should have wanted to eat was my mom. But back when she was around, she always said I’d already eaten a huge part of her. Eaten while she was alive; no need for another meal after she was dead."
Having said that, he looked at Diao Chan with a bit of interest. "Why ask that? What are you planning?"
"If I were an android made of machinery, I would install Mother’s parts into my own body." Diao Chan lowered his head, his hair falling over his ears. Zhao Meiyou couldn't see his expression, only heard him say: "But unfortunately, it seems clones have flesh and blood just like humans.
"I searched for a long time. I found this monitor in the basement."
Only then did Zhao Meiyou realize Diao Chan was holding a terminal casing. The hardware for the holographic display.
In a sense, it was indeed his mother’s corpse.
Diao Chan placed the monitor on the piano keys, which let out a discordant chime. He suddenly asked, "Do you have a pot?"
"In the butcher shop," Zhao Meiyou said. "What do you want to do?"
Diao Chan stroked the casing of the monitor. After a moment, he said:
"I’m going to boil it. And eat it."
They returned to the Lower District. As Diao Chan wished, Zhao Meiyou made his first attempt at cooking machinery.
The monitor was a top-tier, expensive piece of equipment. Even with the core chips fried, the casing was as delicate as porcelain and felt warm to the touch, reminiscent of thick, milky-white fat. When the knife sliced down, a sweet, metallic scent bled out. The circuit boards were like silver tendons and bones. He pulled out the fiber optics as if pulling out intestines and blood vessels. Hot juices coated his hands, and it seemed a residual current seeped through the liquid into his skin, triggering a strange shiver.
Every act of dismemberment evokes desire—the most primitive kind. Cruelty, hunger, curiosity... Once the pleasure is satiated, you look at it with new eyes. There is a tension between the pieces of meat—moist, smooth, tempting. That is the starting point of beauty.
Beauty: a domesticated wild lust.
*This is a good piece of meat,* Zhao Meiyou thought. That stark white mansion was undoubtedly the finest ranch. Rich fodder, perfect temperatures, meticulous rearing. She had accepted everything a noble lady would be fed and became the most ideal livestock. Zhao Meiyou had heard of how they raised pigs in the Middle District—not the synthetic lab meat, but pigs they actually took the time to grow. In the end, the quality of the meat was decided by the moment of death. Those pigs would be euthanized, killed gently—in short, they died without pain, because terror makes the meat turn sour. The woman was undoubtedly the highest grade of meat. She had gone to her death willingly, without a trace of fear. She might even have been happy.
The ingredients dictate the meal. Diao Chan was going to have a fine dinner.
Zhao Meiyou boiled a pot of dumplings for himself. Finally, he set the two plates of food on the table. The teenagers sat opposite each other. Three, two, one—the starting gun fired, and they began to feast.
The room echoed with the sound of teeth grinding through flesh and matter, thick and vivid. Food was crushed in mouths; an infant stirred in the womb. How full, how joyful, how utterly satisfying. They ate with abandon, like savages from the age of the hunt, like the most carefree children of a civilized society.
It was a truly magnificent meal. Zhao Meiyou ate until his throat was slick. In the end, he was still holding his bowl, eating as he rushed Diao Chan—who had food poisoning—to the hospital. Diao Chan was unconscious for a long time. When he finally woke, the first thing Zhao Meiyou said to him was: "What did your mom taste like?"
Diao Chan’s voice was still raspy, but he answered without hesitation: "She tasted like a cucumber sandwich."
After that, a strange thing happened. No matter what Diao Chan ate, it tasted like a cucumber sandwich.
It was perhaps the most absolute form of fusion.
It was Zhao Meiyou who had a sudden whim. On the day Diao Chan was discharged, he made a box of cucumber sandwiches as a celebratory meal. After the first bite, Diao Chan froze. He said, "I think I taste shepherd's purse."
Zhao Meiyou hadn't put shepherd's purse in the sandwich. Shepherd's purse had been the filling for his dumplings the day before.
They tried many more times. Diao Chan could taste many things from a cucumber sandwich; what exactly he tasted was completely random. Neither of them intended to investigate whether this was a physical malfunction or a psychological illness, but Zhao Meiyou felt this "disease" would be perfect to sell as a vintage cosmetic product—a win-win for both gluttony and dieting.
From then on, cucumber sandwiches became Diao Chan’s staple. He couldn't live without them, just as a fish couldn't live without water. Through this, Zhao Meiyou understood that Diao Chan still had the will to live. Only those who want to live care about the pleasures of the palate, even if that life had to be realized through a cucumber sandwich.
Sure enough, a few days later, Diao Chan said to him: "I want to try living in the Lower District."
"That’s great." Zhao Meiyou had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and was looking for a lighter. "Want me to find you a place?"
"No, I want to try on my own." Diao Chan paused there, his mouth hanging open as if he wanted to say more but held back.
Zhao Meiyou finished it for him: "When you want to crash for a meal, just come find me at the butcher shop."
When he said that, they were crouching at the entrance of the shop, watching the rain. The buildings of the Metropolis were too tall and grand; the 33rd District rarely received actual rain. Some said the Lower District’s rainfall was actually industrial waste; some said it was holographic rain; others said it was actually piss.
Zhao Meiyou preferred to think of the Lower District’s rain as piss. He’d heard someone say that urine was actually quite clean water. Given the level of atmospheric pollution in the 25th century, piss was at least much cleaner than rain.
And so, amidst the downpour of golden rain, Diao Chan suddenly began to laugh. He leaned over and lit Zhao Meiyou’s cigarette.
Zhao Meiyou asked him, "Want one?"
Diao Chan still refused. "I don't smoke."
Zhao Meiyou knew that he and Diao Chan were not kindred spirits in the usual sense. Even after years of living in the Lower District, Diao Chan still wouldn't smoke. They had met too early—early enough that they didn't dare trust—and yet they had met too late—late enough that they were already full of sorrow and bitterness. To describe their relationship as "best friends" or "brothers" might not be quite right. They each had their own voids. If he had to use a metaphor, they were more like two stray dogs huddling under the same eaves to escape the rain.
But when two strays huddle together, they are no longer strays.
Three makes a crowd; two makes a home.
The closest are the most distant; the dearest are the most estranged. Family is inevitably so.
Standing now before the burger joint on the aerial highway, Zhao Meiyou thought: *After all these years, I didn't realize his mother was still the knot in his heart.*
He had spoken arrogantly before, grandly tearing open the metaphors within the ruins, and so the hideous wound was revealed once more beneath the old scab, oozing pus and blood. In Diao Chan’s "Lost" state, the mother was no longer a machine; she had finally become a human being in the truest sense.
Zhao Meiyou had thought this was all in the past. That day, they had used a ferocious appetite to digest their grief so they could stand tall as men once more. He had always lived that way. When his mother died for love, she left behind boxes of expired makeup; he had accepted the fact almost instantly, using them to paint a new face and a new way forward for himself.
But now Zhao Meiyou realized that he and Diao Chan had experienced very different mother-son relationships. For as long as Zhao Meiyou could remember, he knew that an infant begins to consume its mother while still in the womb, eating her bone and blood, and only intensifies the process after birth. His relationship with his mother was more like a friendly version of the law of the jungle—competing for time and space, control and being controlled. When he was very young, his mother told him: *We will devour each other—but you will be the final victor.*
But Diao Chan... he had never been able to digest his mother’s death. He had been living in a state of poisoning ever since.
Zhao Meiyou thought back to Qian Duoduo’s description of the experimental subject—*She caused massive chaos in the city.*
"Mother" was the cause of the chaos in the S45 Ruins, the agitator in Diao Chan’s subconscious.
Diao Chan hadn't successfully eaten his mother and inherited her life. Instead, in this struggle of the strong devouring the weak, the mother had snatched victory through her death.
The son appeared to have eaten the mother, but in reality, the mother had swallowed the son. Could it be explained that way? Zhao Meiyou fell into thought. She had left Diao Chan with an unsolved mystery regarding the soul and free will, but she had never pointed the way for him. Thus, Diao Chan had been in an internal struggle from start to finish. He didn't even know whether he should hate or be reborn.
Earlier, he had said to the Diao Chan posing as the old man: *You’re an accomplice trying to flee the scene of the murder.* Those words had undoubtedly dealt a massive blow to him, even triggering the ruin’s alert mechanism.
One thing was certain: Diao Chan’s subconscious saw him as a friend from far-off Mars who could take him to the depths of the universe, escaping this chaotic city and the impending war forever. He wanted to flee, and Zhao Meiyou was certain there would be no seats for humans on that escaping starship.
Diao Chan would not go with "Mother."
Was his desire to flee Earth also a desire to flee his mother?
*Well, looking at it that way, I guess I’m failing on all fronts,* Zhao Meiyou suddenly found it funny. Whether as a hired killer, a new family member, or an old friend from Mars, he had failed to save the other man from his fire and brimstone.
He hadn't killed the root of the chaos, hadn't noticed Diao Chan’s long-term internal attrition, and now he couldn't take him away to the stars.
Zhao Meiyou remembered when Diao Chan had commissioned the hit years ago; the deposit had been a massive sum, but the job was never done, and the money was never returned. He really did owe him.
It was useless to be trapped by the past. If that was the case, better to start over, one thing at a time.
A burst of static suddenly crackled in his ear, and then the channel connected. It was Qian Duoduo’s voice: "...Zhao Meiyou?"
"Yo, Brother Qian." Zhao Meiyou walked toward the burger joint. "Speak up, I’m listening."
Qian Duoduo’s side sounded like it was still in the middle of a melee; the sound of explosions flickered through the current. "...Your invisibility has thirty seconds left. Do not move recklessly, especially do not..."
"Sorry, Brother Qian, the signal’s not great." Zhao Meiyou pushed open the glass door of the burger joint. The wind chime above the door let out a *ting-ling*. "Stay safe. I’m hanging up now."
Qian Duoduo likely had his coordinates. The voice on the other end was cold and steady. "Listen to me, if... then you will..."
*Why is he so naggy?* Zhao Meiyou was annoyed. But he didn't know how to turn off the channel, so he simply ignored it. Amidst the crackling static, he had twenty seconds left. Zhao Meiyou walked into the kitchen and found a meat cleaver on the counter.
Ten seconds left. The exhaust vent hummed with a low noise; burger patties oozing blood sizzled on the griddle. Zhao Meiyou walked out of the kitchen and vaulted over the counter. Time was up.
The cashier, wearing a red checkered apron, looked at him with some confusion, offering a professional smile. "Sir, may I help..."
Before she could finish, Zhao Meiyou’s hand rose and the blade fell, cleanly severing the cashier’s head. Years of slaughtering pigs had made his craft comparable to Pao Ding carving the ox; even the spine was severed in one go.
There were no customers in the shop, so there were none of the screams usually found in movie scenes. However, Diao Chan outside seemed startled. He stood up abruptly and pushed through the door. Seeing the scene before him, his pupils constricted.
Zhao Meiyou was pulling a carton of fries from the kitchen window. He looked at him and smiled. "Want some ketchup?"
The man was covered in blood, standing there with his arms spread in a mockingly casual gesture. "It tastes like Mother."
The cashier he had just killed, the woman who sold Diao Chan the cucumber sandwiches—Zhao Meiyou had realized it the moment he arrived. This person was the escaped experimental subject.
In other words, Diao Chan’s mother.
Perhaps the agitation of the subconscious had caused everything to derail. The facade of peace had been torn away, and the "experimental subject" who should have been the victim had transformed into the seller of cucumber sandwiches—selling heartaches, nightmares, and bitterness.
Diao Chan’s eyes nearly split from the strain. His features twisted in a surge of violent emotion. For a moment, he seemed to recognize Zhao Meiyou, his expression becoming like Mr. Hyde’s, struggling between being lost and being awake—half despair, half madness. Then, madness took the upper hand. He lunged at Zhao Meiyou like a wild beast.
The door of the burger joint was slammed open as Qian Duoduo burst in. He was too late to stop it, so he could only shout: "Zhao Meiyou!"
Zhao Meiyou acted as if he hadn't heard. He stood his ground, neither dodging nor flinching.
Diao Chan lunged at him, snatched the knife from his hand, and stabbed it downward without hesitation.
A sharp pain flared. Zhao Meiyou looked at the fluid leaking from his abdomen with a bit of a daze. It seemed the android form he’d taken wasn't perfect; he remembered Qian Duoduo didn't bleed at all.
"...Zhao Meiyou?" Someone seemed to be calling him. It was Diao Chan. The man seemed to have regained some clarity the moment the knife struck. "Zhao Meiyou?!"
"...I’m not dead yet." Zhao Meiyou struggled to hand the meat cleaver back to him, pointing the tip at his own heart, coaxing him. "Come on. Kill me."
Zhao Meiyou had read about some cases in the employee handbook. When an archaeologist falls into a "Lost" state on their home turf, there are ways to save them. One is to kill the source of the chaos. The biggest obstacle to this method is that the "source" is often hard to find in many ruins.
For example, back in the A173 Ruins, when the youth Liu Qijue and the old man vanished together, the "Pillar" regained his clarity.
Zhao Meiyou’s original plan was to use his transformation to become Diao Chan’s mother, but he hadn't expected her to be the cashier.
In any case, he should have finished all of this years ago. Back when he first sneaked into the mansion, even if the woman had discovered him, he should have steeled himself and killed her instead of being a bystander looking for a laugh. Perhaps then he could have prevented all of this—prevented Diao Chan from being immersed in an old nightmare for so long, building a deformed utopia.
Beyond that, Zhao Meiyou had one more prediction—"Mother" was the root of Diao Chan’s nightmare. Once he killed "Mother," he would likely take her place and become the new terror within the S45 Ruins.
The way to stop fearing the dark is to face it. In other words, if Diao Chan wanted to truly wake from his lost state, he had to do the deed himself.
***
