This was the psychiatric hospital, and the nurses were making their rounds in the corridor.
"Ketchup!"
A sudden shout exploded like a crack of thunder on a clear day. A nurse saw a white, unidentified object streak past and nearly dropped her charts in fright. "Who was that?"
An older staff member beside her pushed up his glasses and said calmly, "Don't panic. That’s the patient from Ward 211. Ordinary straitjackets can’t hold him. He’s probably picked the lock again and is currently streaking."
Before the words had even left his mouth, several burly male nurses ran past. "Zhao Meiyou! Zhao Meiyou, stop right there!"
The nurse following the rounds was a new intern, still shaken. "I think I heard him shouting something... something about ketchup?"
"Ah, yes." The veteran staff member was busy writing notes, not looking up. "211 is an old-timer here. He’s been like this since he was admitted—always saying things no one can understand, or just shouting 'ketchup.'"
"Ketchup!"
Zhao Meiyou dove into a ward, throwing his arms up in a grand gesture. "It’s not gold, nor is it syrup; ketchup is just ketchup!"
It took several male nurses to finally pin him down. They applied a straitjacket and administered a sedative in one fluid motion. Once the young man on the bed drifted into a deep sleep, they finally breathed a sigh of relief. Zhao Meiyou was one of the hospital's most troublesome patients. It wasn't that he had violent tendencies; he just loved to sing and dance, frequently staging "streaking parades" in the corridors while loudly serenading everyone with "Ketchup." He had given the entire staff PTSD to the point where the cafeteria had stopped serving scrambled eggs with tomatoes.
They locked the ward door and replaced the lock with a new one. Once their footsteps faded into the distance, the "sleeping" Zhao Meiyou bolted upright. He shed the straitjacket in a few deft movements, stood on his pillow in a "White Crane Spreads Its Wings" pose, and whispered, "Ketchup!"
He hopped off the bed, bouncing around like a shaman performing a ritual. "Ketchup! Ketchup! Not gold, not syrup! Ketchup is just ketchup! The God of Wealth brings tidings, turning stone to gold, supreme good fortune! Ketchup! There is white frost on the woman's face! This is a loop; I have to find a way out! So the question is, where am I supposed to go? Ketchup!"
He began crawling on the floor, muttering to himself, "Ketchup! Set the banquet in the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness, I shall speak my heart to my brothers. Who in the greenwood does not revere Dou Erdun—ketchup—I have a wife at home still waiting for me to return from the ruins—return home? Return to what home?"
He suddenly broke into a theatrical operatic voice, reciting a line of dialogue, only to stop abruptly at the most critical part. He repeated it over and over like a man possessed: "Return home... return home... ruins... Site 000... Ketchup!"
Ketchup again. Zhao Meiyou collapsed back onto the bed. Suddenly, his manic expression vanished, replaced by a look of profound exhaustion.
"Dammit," he muttered, covering his eyes. "To hell with the ketchup."
He lay there for a moment, then gritted his teeth and stood up. He fished a marker out from inside the mattress, crawled under the bed, and wrote several large characters on the bedframe: *Site 000.*
Looking up from the floor, the wooden bedframe wasn't large, but it was already densely covered in chaotic scribbles: *Mission, Archaeologist, Friend, Loop, Angel, Dream, Door...*
There were also several lines of smaller text:
*Your name is Zhao Meiyou.*
*You are not crazy.*
*This is a loop, or a dream.*
*You must find a way out.*
And a massive "KETCHUP" written in thick, heavy strokes, with a note beside it: *You are not a person without a past; you’ve just forgotten some things. If you want to remember, shout "Ketchup" at the top of your lungs.*
Zhao Meiyou stared at the writing on the bedframe, murmuring, "Ketchup."
People told him he was a patient at this hospital and that he had lived here for a long time—part of that was likely true, as the place did feel familiar. But no one could say where he came from or if he had family or friends. He couldn't escape the hospital, nor could he recall his past. He was like a person who had suddenly dropped from the sky, and his earliest memory consisted of only one word: "Ketchup."
Zhao Meiyou’s first memory was waking up in this bed. At that time, he couldn't even speak; he could only say "Ketchup." Then, he slowly remembered a nursery-rhyme-like jingle: *Ketchup, not gold, not syrup; ketchup is just ketchup.*
The days in the hospital were endless. He tried pairing the song with various melodies, singing it aloud. Then, one day, he suddenly sang new lyrics: *Ketchup, this isn't real, get out, escape the loop, ketchup.*
He had startled himself. His first instinct was to write the sentence down. He then began to chant the song repeatedly, and occasionally, nonsensical sentences would surface. Language was like a tunnel; these fragmented remains of speech revealed glimpses of another world to him, until one day he finally pieced together a single fact: *I don't think I'm a madman.*
He wasn't a madman because this world was fake, and he had to find a way out.
First, he had to remember who he was. His name was Zhao Meiyou, but that didn't mean he had nothing. He had at least the word "Ketchup." That word was like a key. Zhao Meiyou discovered that if he recited it at a certain frequency, other things no one understood would come tumbling out like a "buy one, get one free" deal: *Metropolis, pork, ER doctor, archaeologist.* Sometimes, strange melodies would play in his head, and he would dance, march, and sprint down the corridors to those tunes. The more frantic he became, the closer he felt to the truth, and words would gush out. Everyone said he was crazy. Those who cannot hear the music always think the dancers are mad.
There were no clocks here; he couldn't see the time. The sun outside the corridor seemed as though it would never set, and he never felt the need for sleep.
Zhao Meiyou tucked the marker back into its hiding place, put the straitjacket back on, crawled onto the bed, and began to dream a dreamless dream. After an unknown amount of time, the ward door was pushed open again. The male nurses walked in. "Zhao Meiyou, time for some fresh air!"
Zhao Meiyou opened his eyes.
Very rarely—it had only happened once or twice—the hospital would let the patients out into the garden as a group. Because his behavior was usually too erratic, Zhao Meiyou assumed he had long since been disqualified from such activities.
The male nurses didn't untie his straitjacket. Instead, they lifted him bodily into a wheelchair and pushed him out.
"Ketchup." Zhao Meiyou sat in the wheelchair, bobbing his head as if in high spirits. "March Hare, Alice, the party is starting. Whose head will the Red Queen take? Ketchup!"
The garden was at the end of the corridor. The male nurses pushed him inside, like shoving a white crane into a flock of chickens.
Patients were scattered in small groups throughout the garden. Zhao Meiyou was strapped to the wheelchair and could do nothing, so he settled into a comfortable position to soak up the sun and soon grew drowsy.
"Rabbit, rabbit." Someone suddenly nudged him. "The party is starting. Hurry up and turn into Alice."
Zhao Meiyou opened his eyes. A few people were suddenly sitting around him in a circle, all wearing hospital gowns.
The person who had nudged him was a small boy. Seeing Zhao Meiyou wake up, the boy immediately puffed out his chest and said, "Greetings, Your Majesty!"
Zhao Meiyou looked at him and replied, "You may rise, my subject. Ketchup."
"Halt!" the next patient spoke up, his voice booming. "Having received the imperial decree, I dare not be idle. Daily I inspect the perimeter of the Great Mountain, the root of Hell, the records of Fengdu, and the continuous Lake of Blood!"
Zhao Meiyou nodded like a leader listening to a report and replied, "Infinite Heavenly Worthy. Ketchup."
The third patient continued: "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven..."
Zhao Meiyou broke free from the straitjacket and made the sign of the cross over his chest. "Hallelujah. Ketchup."
The fourth patient pressed his palms together. "The thoughts and movements of the sentient beings of the Southern Jambudvipa continent are nothing but karma, nothing but sin—"
Zhao Meiyou likewise pressed his palms together and chanted a Buddhist name: "Amitabha. Ketchup."
The people surrounding him seemed to be performing a grand ritual, reciting all sorts of scriptures. Zhao Meiyou listened for a long time but couldn't make heads or tails of it. It was as if he were a demon from another world and this group was doing their best to exorcise him. He turned to the little boy who had spoken first and grabbed him. "My subject, what are you all doing?"
The boy was dangled in the air like a chick, but he didn't panic. He looked at Zhao Meiyou and blinked. "We are encouraging the Queen to find her courage and go diving as soon as possible."
"Diving?"
"The holy water will cleanse your mortal shell. Through bathing, the soul of the New King will be born." The boy pointed toward the edge of the garden, which was also the edge of the rooftop. At this height, jumping would mean certain death, yet the boy said, "The two previous kings died this way. Do you not look forward to the birth of the New King?"
Zhao Meiyou was completely lost. "What previous kings? What New King?"
"Have you forgotten? You are Zhao Meiyou," the boy said, looking at him. "In the beginning, you were Diao Chan. Later, you were Liu Qijue. Every dive is a rebirth. You are the third."
Diao Chan? Liu Qijue? An indescribable sense of familiarity flooded Zhao Meiyou’s mind. The boy’s lips continued to move: "The police say you are a murderer, that you killed and dismembered the first two kings. But we all know you simply inherited their throne."
Before Zhao Meiyou could respond, the boy added, "We are now looking forward to the arrival of the final King. Your Majesty, having devoured the flesh and blood of a million subjects and two generations of kings, please become your own true ruler as soon as possible!"
With that, he raised his hand in a salute, like a fanatic of the Third Reich. "Ketchup!"
"Ketchup!" the surrounding patients began to shout in unison. "Ketchup!"
Zhao Meiyou had no idea what was happening. The place had suddenly become like a feverish sermon for the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. *Our Pasta, who art in a colander, draining be thy noodles. Thy sauce come, thy meatballs be done, on the fork as it is on the spoon. Ramen.* Tomato-men. Ketchup was the only salvation.
"To welcome the birth of the True Buddha!" the boy declared solemnly. "Citizens! Let us lead the way and go diving!"
The words were like a starting pistol. The patients scrambled toward the edge of the garden. *Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, let’s go hand in hand; walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, let’s all jump off the building.* The nurses and guards were alerted and rushed out to stop them. However, the boy somehow produced a set of cutlery. Facing a guard charging at him, he sliced open the man's chest, spraying ketchup all over the ground.
This inspired the patients. A fierce battle broke out in the garden. In the end, not a single person succeeded in jumping, and not a single person survived. After an unknown amount of time, Zhao Meiyou looked at the ketchup covering the rooftop. The air was so silent you could hear a pin drop. He smacked his lips. "Ketchup."
Zhao Meiyou walked through the ketchup. He approached a dead "tomato" and flipped the body over. It was a guard he recognized.
The next second, Zhao Meiyou’s hand froze.
This guard—the man with the scar over his eyebrow in his memory.
Right now, he had Zhao Meiyou’s face.
Zhao Meiyou paused for a moment, then went to flip over other bodies, like picking out the freshest tomatoes at a vegetable stall. One, two, three... four yuan a pound, discount if you buy five.
Finally, he had looked at all the tomatoes.
At this moment, everyone had Zhao Meiyou’s face.
What was going on? Zhao Meiyou felt a sense of vertigo. Was everything just his mad delusions? Was he truly insane? Was he committing fratricide within his own body? Who was he killing? His memories? His personalities? His past? His self?
What exactly was it that had died?
Right. Diving. Zhao Meiyou remembered the boy’s final words.
"To welcome the birth of the True Buddha! Citizens! Let us lead the way and go diving!"
He was urged by that voice, like a sheep being driven. He walked to the edge of the rooftop and jumped without looking back.
It felt like hitting the ground suddenly mid-fall. The young man sleeping on the bed jerked violently and slowly opened his eyes.
"You're awake."
The doctor by the bed looked at him and extended a hand. "Let's get acquainted. I am your attending physician."
"...You say you're a doctor." The young man on the bed spoke as if waking from a long dream. After a long pause, he asked, "What illness do I have?"
"A very rare case of Dissociative Identity Disorder. I have already met your three sub-personalities, and now we finally meet, the primary personality." The doctor smiled. "Interestingly, the other three personalities didn't seem to know you existed."
The young man pondered the doctor's words, his expression calm. After a moment, he said, "You killed those three sub-personalities."
"To be precise, the three sub-personalities committed suicide within your mind palace," the doctor said dismissively. "It is a form of treatment. Once the sub-personalities have completely vanished, you are cured, Mr. Qian."
"You've got one thing wrong." Qian Duoduo stood up from the bed and suddenly grabbed the doctor by the throat. "I am not the primary personality."
He used immense force, and the doctor soon lost consciousness from lack of oxygen. Qian Duoduo dropped the man onto the floor and quickly scanned the room. There were no mirrors, but there was a glass pane on the door.
He walked to the glass and met the eyes of this body.
"Zhao Meiyou," he said. "I've come to save you."
"I know you can hear me. This is your dream. The fact that the dream hasn't collapsed is proof that the host hasn't dissipated yet. You've dived too deep into the dream loop; your logic and memories are starting to displace. I will help you set them right, and then you must work hard to wake up yourself. Do you hear me?"
It was the first time Qian Duoduo had said so much in one breath. He was slightly breathless from the speed of his speech. He stared at the face reflected in the glass, yet his gaze remained flat and unwavering.
"Zhao Meiyou, listen carefully," Qian Duoduo took a deep breath and said firmly. "When people are hurt, they bleed blood, not ketchup. Diao Chan and the Lead Actor are your friends; they are not your mother or your sponsors. Men do not have organs like a uterus and do not secrete eggs, therefore men cannot give birth. The Cataclysm Virus of the 23rd century causes the human body to rot and die rapidly; corpses do not turn into zombies..."
"You are you, Zhao Meiyou. Qian Duoduo is not your primary personality." Finally, he said, "I am just here to save you."
After an unknown amount of time, as if displaced gears were being adjusted one by one and finally found their correct positions, the clock began to tick again. Qian Duoduo saw a faint, subtle light flicker in the eyes within the glass. He heard himself speak, his voice hoarse.
"...When people are hurt, they bleed blood, not ketchup."
"Diao Chan and the Lead Actor are my brothers."
"I was born in the Metropolis of the 25th century. I am an ER doctor at the 33rd-floor psychiatric hospital."
"Men can't give birth... wait, the ruins don't count."
"The 23rd-century Cataclysm doesn't turn corpses into zombies."
Correct facts were reported one by one. In the infinitely falling dream, Zhao Meiyou’s increasingly disordered logic and memories slowly returned. "...Qian Duoduo is not Zhao Meiyou’s primary personality."
Zhao Meiyou’s eyes gradually cleared. Hearing the voice grow more and more lucid, Qian Duoduo felt a sense of relief. This temporary "self" was about to be expelled by the Zhao Meiyou who was regaining his subjective consciousness. However, before the dream dissipated, he heard Zhao Meiyou’s voice, resonant and powerful, stating a fact more truthful than any other amidst the countless mad delusions soaking in the solution of his brain.
"Qian Duoduo is not Zhao Meiyou’s primary personality. Zhao Meiyou loves Qian Duoduo."
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 窦尔敦 | Dou Erdun | A famous character from Peking Opera (The Wild Boar Forest), known for his bravery and blue face paint. |
| 绿林 | Greenwood | Refers to the world of outlaws or the "jianghu" in a forest setting. |
| 酆都 | Fengdu | The Ghost City in Chinese mythology, associated with the afterlife. |
| 血湖 | Lake of Blood | A hellish location in Buddhist/Taoist mythology where sinners are punished. |
| 南阎浮提 | Southern Jambudvipa | In Buddhist cosmology, the continent where humans live. |
| 飞天面条神教 | Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster | Pastafarianism. |
| 拉门 | Ramen / Lamen | A play on "Amen" used by Pastafarians; also sounds like "pull the door" in Chinese. |
| 番茄门 | Tomato-men | A play on "Amen" within the context of the ketchup delusion. |
| 台柱 | Lead Actor / Pillar of the Stage | Referring to Liu Qijue (who was an opera performer). |
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Thus Spoke the Buddha: The Quantum Circus | Chapter 24 | The Ketchup Carnival | Novela.app | Novela.app
