During the days he spent cramming literature and history in the library, Zhao Meiyou once came across a sentence: "I come from hell, I am bound for heaven, and I am merely passing through the mortal world."
This was an apt description of their entry into Site 000. They had traveled from the deepest depths to the highest heights, finally reaching the 990th floor. It was said that heaven was filled with light; indeed, before they entered the 990th floor, they encountered a light so intense, a white so pure, that for a moment Zhao Meiyou thought he had gone blind.
Then, he felt that familiar sense of detachment—the precursor to entering a Site.
"So, Brother Qian," Zhao Meiyou said, surveying their surroundings, "are you saying the 990th floor is itself a Site? Then what exactly is the Metropolis?"
Qian Duoduo looked up from a massive display case. "We entered Site 000 via the escalator. We never actually saw the 990th floor."
They were now inside Site 000, and it was nothing like they had imagined. There were no strange, never-before-seen creatures, nor had time and space been compressed into two dimensions. Compared to many grand and magnificent Sites, this place was almost too silent. It was possible there were no living organisms here at all.
After all, museums only exhibit dead things.
Standing beside Qian Duoduo, Zhao Meiyou looked at the colossal sphere before them, and his suspicions were confirmed.
This place was like a museum.
They were currently in an exquisitely decorated exhibition hall, resembling a magnificent opera house. The circular dome was carved with Baroque floral patterns, but there were no actors on the stage.
Zhao Meiyou looked at the giant sphere suspended in the center of the hall. It was so enormous that, thanks to its sheer volume, he could guess what it was.
It was a dead planet.
It was hard to describe what kind of planet it had been. Perhaps a star, but it no longer possessed a smooth surface. It seemed frozen at the very moment of its explosion—cracked, distended, and solidified. Mountains rose like bulging veins or the dead skin of an old man. It was surrounded by volcanic ash, lava, and bright purple electromagnetic radiation. It was hard to imagine what might still exist deep within its core. Had a civilization once thrived there? Before the blade of destruction disemboweled it, had music echoed across its plains? Had a pair of eyes ever gazed out at the vast sea of stars?
"Let’s go," Qian Duoduo said. "Regardless of what this is, we should try to circle the area."
It was impossible to fathom how large this "museum" truly was. It was filled with all manner of bizarre, dead objects. It was as if a giant’s head had been sliced open, and the boundless brain matter had turned into goldfish swimming through the air.
*Maybe we are inside a giant’s head,* Zhao Meiyou thought.
They passed through a hall filled with massive bronze pillars. These pillars were smooth and tall, their tops nearly invisible. The surfaces were carved with mysterious shapes and scripts—things resembling eyes, algae, and some sort of interstellar insect swarm. Large swaths of blue-gold pigment were smeared into the patterns. There were watermarks on the bronze; perhaps this place had once been submerged in an unknown liquid, or perhaps those carved eyes could weep.
Enormous rooms, long corridors, spiral staircases—they were like two wanderers. Zhao Meiyou had to keep a tight grip on Qian Duoduo’s hand to prevent one of them from suddenly floating away. The exhibits here followed no discernible logic. They walked down a long corridor for a long time; the ceiling was pressed low, draped with thousands of differently shaped lanterns. The exhibits on either side were sealed in cylindrical glass vats, the contents looking like the skeletal remains of countless civilization-builders. They stopped for a moment before one vat. The corpse inside looked remarkably human—almost entirely so—except humans didn't have wings.
"Is that an angel?" Zhao Meiyou whispered.
"I’ve read the descriptions of angels in the Bible," Qian Duoduo recited a passage. "I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up... and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew."
"Holy shit," Zhao Meiyou blurted out. "Then this guy is an angel? Why’s he just taking a soak in here? That can't be comfortable!"
Qian Duoduo grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away. "Move."
This was no place to linger. Neither of them knew if the things in those vats were truly dead or merely sleeping.
At the end of the corridor was a door. Surprisingly, it was a perfectly ordinary door, the kind found in any human home, leading to a bathroom, a study, or a basement. Qian Duoduo paused before the door, hesitated for a second, and then turned the handle.
In that instant, they both heard a sound like a sigh. It was raspy, deep, and heavy, like an echo in a cave.
What lay behind the door?
Zhao Meiyou saw it.
A corridor in a psychiatric hospital.
This was a place he knew all too well—the Metropolis 33rd Floor Psychiatric Hospital, the only public hospital in the Lower District. The scent of disinfectant and air freshener permeated the air. Zhao Meiyou felt a sense of trance. He looked at the glass window opposite him; his face was reflected blurrily in it. *Why am I here?*
"Director Zhao!" a duty nurse saw him and called out hurriedly. "There you are! They're waiting for you on the third floor for rounds. Let’s hurry!"
He saw his face clearly in the glass: wearing a white coat and rimless glasses.
Oh, right. At this hour, he was supposed to be doing rounds.
Today, most of the test subjects were in good condition. Room 12 showed a promising trend toward recovery. The cafeteria lunch was spiral-algae baked venison. He clocked out at exactly 8:00 PM. Zhao Meiyou went down to the parking lot, pulled his friend’s shriveled skin out of the trunk, and used a pump to inflate it. The human shape gradually filled out and became plump, finally opening its eyes: "Zhao Mode?"
"Morning, Diao Chan. How did you sleep?"
"Not great. Why did you wake me up?" Diao Chan rubbed his brow. "By the way, today’s your birthday, isn't it?"
"That’s right." Zhao Meiyou tossed him the car keys. "Come on, let’s go visit the Habitat."
The Habitat was built in the suburbs—a tall greenhouse surrounded by a wire fence. Inside the greenhouse, the weather was always clear, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers and birdsong. The remaining one hundred thousand original humans lived inside, well-fed and without a care in the world. Zhao Meiyou parked the car in an observation spot and bought two buckets of popcorn and salt-water colas. "It’s been a while. Is Mr. Shi Ge married yet?"
Mr. Shi Ge was an original human they "cloud-sponsored." The greenhouse administrators would periodically send growth logs and photos of the humans to the sponsors, and they could also visit the Habitat in person to observe the humans' development. "I didn't see him," Diao Chan said, stuffing popcorn into his mouth. "Didn't they say last time that Mr. Shi had fallen for a young man?"
"I see the kid." Zhao Meiyou held up a pair of binoculars. "He’s wearing a ring on his finger. I guess he’s married? Hey, look!" Zhao Meiyou pointed in a direction, like someone gesturing at a gorilla in a zoo. "He’s coming over! The one in black!"
Zhao Meiyou and Diao Chan both jumped out of the car and waved to the youth across the wire fence. "You’re Zhao Meiyou, right?" The youth looked at them and handed over a gift box. "Happy birthday."
"Thanks." Zhao Meiyou was a bit touched. "Can I open it?"
"Of course." The youth smiled, his eyes bright. "My husband and I picked it out together."
Zhao Meiyou opened the box. Inside was a hardcover photo album. He flipped it open; the first page was a photo of him.
"Isn't this me? Ooh, this one’s handsome. How’d you take it?" Zhao Meiyou flipped through the pages with great interest. "Did the administrators send these to you? How could they take so many—?"
After a pause like a musical rest, Zhao Meiyou saw the last page of the album. Written on golden cardstock was: *Our sincere thanks to the sponsor, Mr. Shi Ge, for his remote sponsorship of the mutant citizen, Zhao Meiyou. The Metropolis Government sends you its heartfelt blessings.*
The album slipped from Zhao Meiyou’s hand and hit the ground with a thud. Photos scattered, whipped up by a sudden gale. He stood in the eye of the storm, feeling a sharp pain deep in his skull. *What is happening?*
"...Zhao Meiyou! Zhao Mode!" Someone seemed to be calling him. Zhao Meiyou looked toward the voice in a daze, seeing only a world of black and white. The voice came from very far away. He tried to run, but was knocked down by a powerful gust of air.
Like a heavy hammer striking his chest, Zhao Meiyou snapped his eyes open.
He saw Diao Chan looking at him by the hospital bed, a worried expression on his face. "Zhao Meiyou, are you okay? You suddenly fainted during rounds. Have you been pulling all-nighters again?"
He saw the snow-white ceiling and felt the warm, solid touch of the hospital sheets beneath him. Zhao Meiyou bolted upright. "Zhao Mode, what are you doing now? You can't just jump up like that in your condition!" Ignoring Diao Chan’s shouting behind him, he pushed open the door.
Zhao Meiyou saw it.
A corridor in a psychiatric hospital.
This was a place he knew all too well—the Metropolis 33rd Floor Psychiatric Hospital, the only public hospital in the Lower District. The scent of disinfectant and air freshener permeated the air. Zhao Meiyou felt a sense of trance. He looked at the glass window opposite him; his face was reflected blurrily in it. *Why am I here?*
"Zhao Mode, are you alright?" Diao Chan walked up. "Have you been under too much pressure lately? Your mother called and was very worried. He’s coming over right now. If you can't handle it, take a couple of days off to rest."
Zhao Meiyou turned around, looking incredulous. "My mother?"
"Yeah, Lady Liu." Diao Chan stared at him for a moment. "Don't stop acknowledging him just because he’s getting remarried. Take a brother’s advice: a wise man submits to fate. The hospital is still waiting for your family’s sponsorship."
A moment later, Zhao Meiyou met the "Lady Liu" Diao Chan had mentioned—a plump, noble-looking man. Zhao Meiyou’s eyes widened in disbelief as he turned to Diao Chan. "This is a man?"
"Well, yeah?" Diao Chan looked at him with equal disbelief. "What else would he be? A woman?"
"How can a man give birth?"
"How can a woman give birth?" Diao Chan felt Zhao Meiyou’s forehead. "No way, Zhao Mode. Have you actually gone mad?"
"Enough." Lady Liu waved a hand impatiently. "Stop playing dumb, Zhao Mode. You just don't want to get married and have kids. Forcing you to go on a blind date is like asking for your life. Don't you know a man is like leftover food if he isn't married off by thirty? With this high-stress job of yours, you still want kids? Dream on! It’s too late! You’ll regret it one day!"
Zhao Meiyou: "..."
Zhao Meiyou didn't understand. Zhao Meiyou was profoundly shocked.
Lady Liu pulled an invitation from his bag and stuffed it into Zhao Meiyou’s hand. "Here’s the wedding address. Come or don't. Fine, I’m leaving."
"Lady Liu, Lady Liu, please, walk slowly!" Diao Chan hurried to see him out. Before leaving, he pushed Zhao Meiyou back into the room and whispered, "I’ll handle your mother. You get some sleep. Don't think too much."
Zhao Meiyou numbly closed the hospital room door. He looked around and actually found a bottle of sleeping pills under the bed. He stared at the bottle for a while, took out a marker, and wrote several large characters on the wall: *I hope your mother has triplets.*
Then he unscrewed the cap, stuffed all the remaining pills into his mouth, got into bed, and pulled the quilt over his head.
When he woke up again, the writing on the wall was gone. He was lying in bed hooked up to an IV. A nurse pushed a medical cart in, skillfully changed his IV bag, and seeing him awake, pressed the call button on the headboard. Zhao Meiyou tried to sit up, only to find he was tightly bound. He knew this thing all too well—a specialty of the psychiatric hospital: a straitjacket.
The nurse seemed to have no desire to communicate with him. Zhao Meiyou was trying to piece together what had happened when suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted outside. The nurse’s expression changed; she abandoned the cart, threw open the window, and jumped out. She moved so fast that Zhao Meiyou was stunned. *This is the 33rd floor, right? Since when did nurses start jumping off buildings?*
The next second, the hospital room door was plowed open as a massive tractor drove in. A giant iron shovel was mounted on the front, so large it even smashed through the ceiling. Zhao Meiyou could vaguely see the corridor outside—a place he knew all too well, the Metropolis 33rd Floor Psychiatric Hospital. The smell of disinfectant and air freshener mixed with the dust. His face was reflected blurrily in the glass window opposite him.
*Why am I here?*
The next second, Diao Chan poked his head out from the tractor’s driver’s seat. "Zhao Mode! Get in!"
Though he didn't know what was happening, Zhao Meiyou quickly wriggled out of the straitjacket and jumped into the driver’s seat. Diao Chan spun the steering wheel hard; the tractor plowed right through the wall and sped down the corridor. Zhao Meiyou shouted over the roar of the engine, "What the hell is going on?"
"Harvesting the crops! What else do you do with a tractor?" As they spoke, the tractor had already burst through the hospital’s main gates. The streets were completely unrecognizable to Zhao Meiyou. Zombie-like crowds wandered everywhere, dragging tattered, mangled limbs. "What is this?" Zhao Meiyou was startled. "Has the Great Cataclysm Virus resurfaced?"
"Zhao Meiyou, have you slept yourself stupid? These are clearly the crops the government planted!" Diao Chan said, flooring the accelerator. The tractor even had a sound system, which was blasting a rock song by Queen. Amidst the deafening drumbeats, Zhao Meiyou saw the tractor’s shovel rise high and then crush the zombie swarm that was surging toward them like insects. Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching everything in red.
"Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh—!" Diao Chan actually looked quite hyped. "This year’s ketchup harvest is really good!"
Half of Zhao Meiyou’s body was covered in blood. He was frantically trying to roll up the window, his hair flying in the wind. "What ketchup?!"
"It’s just ketchup!" Diao Chan looked at him as if he were being ridiculous. "Ketchup is just ketchup. It’s not gold, and it’s not syrup. Ketchup is just ketchup!" As he spoke, he scraped a thick layer of blood off the outside of the window, held out his palm, and extended it toward Zhao Meiyou. "The quality of the ketchup is pretty good this year. Want a taste?"
Zhao Meiyou felt dizzy and confused. "Zhao Mode, are you getting carsick?" Seeing his pale face, Diao Chan actually fished out a bag of fries from under the seat and handed them over. "Here, dip them in the sauce and you won't throw up!"
Zhao Meiyou waved him off, covered his mouth, pulled the door open, and jumped out. The "tomatoes" lunged at him with claws and teeth, only to be crushed under the wheels.
When he opened his eyes again, he was still on a hospital bed. This time, what restrained him wasn't a straitjacket, but handcuffs.
He recognized this place: the Metropolis 33rd Floor Psychiatric Hospital, the only public hospital in the Lower District. The scent of disinfectant and air freshener permeated the air.
There was a glass panel in the hospital door, through which he could see the bright, clean corridor outside.
Not far from the bed stood a row of stainless steel bars. A woman in a police uniform sat outside the bars. Seeing him wake up, she said, "Zhao Meiyou, regarding your murder and dismemberment of the citizens Diao Chan and Liu Qijue—the circumstances are extremely heinous. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Zhao Meiyou felt utterly bewildered. His brain felt like a boiling pot, with all sorts of nonsensical memories simmering and bubbling inside.
*Why am I here?* Zhao Meiyou struggled to remember what had happened. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit him, and he blurted out: "Ketchup."
The policewoman frowned. "What?"
"It’s not gold, and it’s not syrup," Zhao Meiyou said reflexively. "Ketchup is just ketchup."
***
