Zhao Meiyou hadn't chosen this specific time to visit the Metropolis without reason. The 330th floor was currently celebrating the Festival of the Wandering Gods, and today was the main event.
The 330th floor served as the boundary between the Lower and Middle Districts. It was a place teeming with gambling dens and black markets. In a world where business was often stained with blood, people tended to be more devout, seeking solace in gods and Buddhas. Consequently, the annual festival was a grand affair. Unlike the Lower District, which used holographic projections to create divine images, the 330th floor adhered to ancient traditions: paper-mâché statues, banners, talismans, colorful armor, and divine tablets. The festivities began at dawn with the welcoming of the gods and continued as a street procession until dusk.
Back when Zhao Meiyou still lived in the Metropolis, he’d heard a joke: the residents of the Lower District might not be able to crawl out of bed at dawn for a gang war, but they could stay awake all night to welcome the gods.
When they emerged from the theater, it was exactly three in the morning. Two massive drums stood before the colorful ceremonial archway of the 330th floor. A round of drumming had just finished, and firecrackers exploded, turning the world into a haze of crimson.
A group of children wearing traditional masks ran across the red-paper-covered ground. A gong sounded, and a divine official with a long beard and eyebrows stepped out. He had a benevolent face and held a green bamboo whip and a wine gourd.
Zhao Meiyou covered his ears and shouted, "That’s the Baozhang Gong, the one in charge of clearing the way! Don't block him, or he'll whip you!"
Since gambling dens craved fortune, the first to be welcomed were the Wealth Gods. The Wealth God of the South, Chai Rong; the East, Bi Gan; the Center, Wang Gong; the West, Guan Yu; and the North, Zhao Gongming. Each was dressed in dragon robes or armor, wearing ingot-shaped boots. Their eight-man palanquins were piled high with massive treasure basins, which were currently spraying clouds of gold powder into the air.
It wasn't a sprinkle; it was a deluge. The 330th floor was filthy rich, and they showed it through their sheer extravagance in "scattering wealth." Liu Qijue, standing too close, was covered from head to toe. Passersby immediately grabbed his sleeves, hoping to catch some of his "good fortune." Liu Qijue couldn't dodge in time, and in the crush, even the Little Gentleman lost a shoe. When he finally escaped, he looked at the laughing Zhao Meiyou and roared over the din of the drums, "Why the hell do these Wealth Gods have neon tubes on their heads?!"
Liu Qijue wasn't familiar with the folk beliefs of the Lower District, but even he knew that industrial technology and ancient mythology didn't usually mix. The divine golden crowns were bristling with glowing tubes, paired with heavily painted faces. It looked wild and eerie—hard to tell if they were orthodox deities or something out of a cyberpunk ghost story.
"They aren't picky!" Zhao Meiyou yelled back. "This is high-tech cultivation!"
Since the 22nd century, human civilization had risen and fallen several times. From the remaining embers, the belief systems in the Metropolis had become a complete melting pot. Traditions from all directions were tossed together; when fragmented legends couldn't form a coherent story, later generations simply wrote new chapters. In less than an hour, they saw almost every god, ghost, and heroic spirit from heaven and earth. They saw the worship of the Heavenly Father, the dance of Zhong Kui, and the martial dances of the Liangshan Heroes. Diao Chan, with his sharp eyes, even spotted a statue of the Virgin Mary draped in a Buddhist cassock. He stood there, bewildered. "How did she get mixed in with this crowd?"
Liu Qijue was reading an electronic pamphlet he’d bought roadside, snacking on melon seeds as he replied, "It says here that after heaven and earth returned to chaos, all the gods gathered together. Guanyin and the Virgin Mary became sworn sisters, so now they’re one family..."
"It's a holiday! The more the merrier!" a stranger chimed in. "Saves us from being one player short when we sit down for mahjong!"
Before the words had even settled, a large procession approached. The leading Jitong wore a black mask and scattered a handful of golden joss paper, chanting loudly: "Between heaven and earth, all spirits walk the same path!"
"Being a god or ghost is better than being a man; sixty years of sorrow, a century of freedom—"
Diao Chan had heard that joss paper was burned for the dead, but now that it was gilded in gold, it was considered auspicious. Much like the Metropolis itself: looking up, one saw the purple palaces of heaven; looking down, the abyss of hell. Immortals lived above, ghosts lived below, but in the end, those huddled together here were all human.
"Holy shit?" This time, it was Zhao Meiyou who sounded shocked. "Why is there a bridal sedan? Who gets married at a time like this?"
Diao Chan and the others followed his gaze. Behind two rows of drummers followed a bridal sedan chair. "Is it fake?" Liu Qijue asked, looking at the groom sitting on a tall horse. "That's a paper-mâché man."
Indeed, it was made of paper—a young man with a pale face and crimson lips, dressed in a brand-new jacket with a red silk flower on his chest.
In a street where humans dressed as gods and ghosts, when it came to representing a human, they chose to use paper. "Interesting." Zhao Meiyou tapped his terminal, seemingly performing a remote scan. As the sedan was about to pass them, he suddenly spoke. "There's a living person inside that chair."
Diao Chan’s mind went in a different direction. "Is this some kind of tourist attraction? Riding a sedan?"
"I doubt it," Zhao Meiyou said. "The bride inside isn't a girl. And his mouth is sewn shut."
"Not a girl?" The Little Gentleman was startled. "Wh-why is it sewn shut?"
"It's a boy, looks about eleven or twelve." Zhao Meiyou mused for a moment, not appearing as alarmed as the Little Gentleman. "I've heard of this before. There are clinics on the 330th floor that specialize in organ trafficking. Some buyers are superstitious; they feel uneasy about having someone else's parts inside them. So, they have the 'source' go through a procession during the festival to wash away the bad luck."
Liu Qijue looked at the riot of deep reds and heavy greens filling the street. "Don't the gods punish evil and reward good? Aren't they afraid of divine retribution?"
"They commit sins while praying to the gods—it's about balancing the books," Zhao Meiyou said. "It's the same logic as Diao Chan applying a face mask while pulling an all-nighter."
"Enough, you two," Diao Chan snapped. "Are we doing something or not?"
Liu Qijue asked, "Doing what?"
"Saving him!" Diao Chan hissed. "Your Little Gentleman is watching. Aren't you even going to pretend to be a hero?"
"No need, no need," the Little Gentleman waved his hands frantically. "I understand. You can't save everyone."
The 330th floor was a gray zone where even the Metropolis government hesitated to interfere. Ordinarily, with their status, they might have had a chance, but this time they were here incognito. The last thing they needed was to draw attention.
The internal situation at Gudu was already complicated enough; there was no need to add fuel to the fire.
Diao Chan nudged Zhao Meiyou. "Zhao Meiyou, say something."
"Normally, there would be a more stable way, but we have so little time here, we definitely couldn't manage the aftermath..." Zhao Meiyou stopped mid-sentence, his tone suddenly taking a sharp, erratic turn. "But since we've run into it, it must be fate."
All conditioned things arise from fate. He lit a cigarette and looked at Liu Qijue. "How about we put on a show?"
Liu Qijue looked entirely indifferent. "Let's put on a show, then."
Zhao Meiyou: "Hehehehe."
Liu Qijue: "Heh."
Standing under the red lanterns, they shared a knowing, sinister smile. Amidst the street full of gods and Buddhas, the two of them looked like a pair of child-eating demons—exactly the type of villains the gods were supposed to exorcise.
Diao Chan got goosebumps from their laughter. He grabbed the Little Gentleman and started walking away from the crowd. "Vice Dean? What's wrong?"
"They're about to start courting death," Diao Chan said, clearly a veteran of such scenes. "It's about to get loud. Let's hide first."
The red bridal sedan moved slowly down the street amidst the thunderous drums. Long tables were set up along the road, laden with offerings of pig heads and sacrificial wine. Most of the processional statues were grand and solemn, with people inside walking on stilts to portray them. They moved like giant puppets, their steps rhythmic and swaying, their long sleeves brushing against the street lanterns. Sparks flew, igniting the crimson atmosphere of the street.
At the end of the street sat a bronze basin where a bright fire roared, fed by a constant stream of yellow joss paper.
With a sudden crash of gongs, a Guan Jiang Shou wearing feathers and silk pom-poms leaped out. The flames in the basin were already several feet high. The blue-faced general performed a flip, soaring over the fire. Behind him followed a line of massive divine statues, each several meters tall. They could easily step over the basin, but suddenly, one statue’s waist seemed to go soft, and it pitched forward.
These statues were top-heavy, adorned with jeweled crowns. This collapse was no small matter; it triggered a domino effect. The statues fell one after another until they hit the very first one—the divine brother who was just about to cross the fire. He lost his balance and sat right down into the basin. His silk and bamboo frame ignited instantly, flames racing toward his head. To make matters worse, a string of firecrackers went off at that exact moment, turning the deity into a spectacular display of "fiery trees and silver flowers."
The massive statue burned like a giant firework. The surrounding crowd, startled by the accident, began to scream and scatter.
Zhao Meiyou tossed the firecrackers in his hand and spoke into his terminal: "It's done! Move now! The chaos won't last long; the fire trucks are right behind us!"
Minutes earlier, Zhao Meiyou had used his terminal to scan the entire procession. He quickly discovered that many of the statues were driven by mechanical levers rather than people.
What followed was easy. He directly hacked the procession's remote controls, creating a spectacular diversion to allow Liu Qijue to snatch the boy in the confusion.
"Zhao Meiyou, you didn't hack all the programs!" Liu Qijue’s voice crackled through the terminal. "This sedan is surrounded by combat-model mechanical thugs... Shit, didn't the government ban these?! Zhao Meiyou, hurry up! I can't hold out long against ten of them!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Zhao Meiyou’s fingers flew across his terminal. "Oof, this firewall is thick. The last time I cracked something this tough was back in university when I stole the porn off Diao Chan’s computer... Done!"
The "groom" blocking Liu Qijue’s path suddenly went limp. Before Liu Qijue could breathe a sigh of relief, the thing suddenly jumped back up and began a demonic, flailing dance.
Nearby, the melody of the drum corps changed. The Jitong leading the way, who had been scattering gold paper, suddenly shifted his voice to a high-pitched, eerie trill, singing like a forest sprite—
"The Great King sent me to patrol the mountains, to catch a monk for dinner—"
"Wrong one, wrong one! I accidentally imported the 'All-Nighter Energy' playlist." Zhao Meiyou was going to change it, but then thought better of it. He waved his hand grandly. "Keep the music playing! Keep the dancing going! Drinks for everyone, only two-fifty!"
"Dance your ass! Zhao Meiyou, did you go to those trust-fund brats' greenhouses to rave again under the guise of 'overtime'?!" Liu Qijue, carrying a person over his shoulder, sprinted past Zhao Meiyou. "Move! Can't you see the casino thugs are out?!"
Better a dead friend than a dead me. Liu Qijue ran like the wind, stuffing a large bundle of red cloth into Zhao Meiyou’s arms as he passed. The 330th floor was heavily monitored; they had made too much noise, and the casinos were on high alert. Killing someone here was as common as slicing a melon, and given their sensitive identities, if they were caught, no amount of explaining would save them.
One of the thugs, blinded by the chaos, saw Liu Qijue hand the red bundle to Zhao Meiyou and immediately assumed they were accomplices—and that Zhao Meiyou was holding the "bride." He changed direction and charged. Zhao Meiyou was still doing his "seaweed dance" when a bullet whizzed past his face. He immediately turned and scrambled away.
They split up. Zhao Meiyou drew a significant portion of the fire. Fortunately, he knew the 330th floor well, weaving through alleys and crawling through holes until he’d mostly lost his pursuers. He vaulted off a warehouse roof, and just as he was about to relax, a voice came from behind: "Don't move."
A gun was pressed against his back. He had no choice but to raise his hands in surrender. The man, likely from one of the casinos, clicked his comms: "I've got him. Bring the car around."
In less than half a minute, a fire truck with flashing red lights roared up, looking fierce. It was unclear how many remote ports Zhao Meiyou had hacked, but even the fire siren had been changed to "The Great King Sent Me to Patrol the Mountains," the sound effects blasting through the street. Zhao Meiyou was still trying to calculate his relationship with the various casinos when he heard the sound. He froze, then looked down sharply.
A high-pressure water cannon extended from the truck. Diao Chan, clutching the valve, roared: "Zhao Meiyou, how much goddamn overtime did you fake?!"
Everyone at Gudu knew Dean Zhao worked late. Liu Qijue thought it was for the overtime pay; Diao Chan thought it was for show, because usually, only Diao Chan would be in the lab pulling an all-nighter while Zhao Meiyou was nowhere to be found.
Now the truth was out. He’d been out clubbing.
The massive jet of water instantly swept the thugs away. The Vice Dean, having nearly lost his mind, turned the nozzle and began a spree of indiscriminate fire. "Zhao Meiyou, how are you going to pay me back—"
Diao Chan was suddenly pulled back. The fire truck rumbled past the curb, and as it reached Zhao Meiyou, Liu Qijue reached out and hauled him into the back.
The Little Gentleman was driving up front. It was his first time seeing Diao Chan lose it like this, and he was still a bit shaken. "Dean, are you alright?"
Zhao Meiyou lay on the floor, limbs splayed. "I'm fine. Diao Chan’s just on his period. Don't mind him."
"P-period?"
"You wouldn't understand the life of a 'noble lady'." Zhao Meiyou scrambled up. "This truck is too obvious. We need another way to get to the Middle District."
Diao Chan had known Zhao Meiyou and Liu Qijue would screw up, so he’d hijacked a fire truck in advance to follow them from a distance. When the casino comms reported that Zhao Meiyou had been caught, he’d rushed in to the rescue.
Diao Chan raised a leg and tripped Zhao Meiyou, sending him sprawling back down. "Change your clothes first."
To distract the thugs, Zhao Meiyou was wearing the outfit Liu Qijue had shoved at him: a bright red wedding robe.
The boy they’d rescued had long since been stripped bare, huddling naked in the corner of the truck. Liu Qijue said, "I checked him over; no external injuries. We can't just pull the stitches out of his mouth. We'll wait until we've escaped."
Zhao Meiyou wrung the water out of the wedding robe and crouched near the boy. After a brief look, he nodded. "Alright. Do you guys have a plan for getting out?"
"Nope," Liu Qijue answered bluntly. "It's all on you, hero."
Zhao Meiyou looked at Diao Chan. Diao Chan opened his mouth, but Zhao Meiyou quickly waved him off. "Forget it, Young Master. Think of something else. We aren't playing 'Little Tadpole Finds His Mama' this time."
"Dumbass." Diao Chan rolled his eyes. "Then it's up to you."
Zhao Meiyou scratched his head, feeling the pressure. He pulled out his terminal, preparing for a stroke of genius, when the Little Gentleman called out from the driver's seat: "Dean, I think we're blocked."
Zhao Meiyou opened the back of the truck. A bright yellow light was shining from above—an airship car was hovering over them.
He hadn't been back to the Metropolis in years, but he recognized the logo on the airship. These cars were common in the city, shuttling between layers—it was an M-brand fast-food truck, its hull plastered with golden fried chicken decals.
There was no one inside.
The group looked at each other. As if sensing their hesitation, the door creaked open. Zhao Meiyou saw a locker inside the counter containing red-and-yellow uniforms and hover-skates. He thought for a second. "Go. Switch cars."
They boarded. Zhao Meiyou tucked the boy into a cupboard but didn't change his own clothes, merely crouching behind the counter. Liu Qijue glanced at him, said nothing, and draped the red bridal veil over his head.
If they were going to save him, they’d go all the way. If the car was searched, Zhao Meiyou could stand in for the boy’s identity. With their abilities, surviving wouldn't be an issue.
M-brand fast-food trucks had direct clearance between districts; they usually just scanned the plate at checkpoints. But today they’d caused such a stir that the checkpoints were manually locked down, with casino accountants personally inspecting every vehicle. When it was their turn, an old man in tortoiseshell glasses looked at the three "girls" in uniform. He squinted for a moment, then waved them through.
The hover-car drove until they reached the 400th floor. Diao Chan let out a sigh of relief. Liu Qijue pulled two burgers from his chest, taking a huge bite. "Too much mayo."
In stark contrast to the chaos of the Lower District, the Middle District was quiet. Sky-trains glided silently past. A private car pulled up alongside them, the salaryman inside grinning. "Hey, beauties! Give me a combo meal."
Liu Qijue ignored him. Diao Chan didn't know how to cook, and the Little Gentleman was clumsily trying to pour a cola. In the end, it was Zhao Meiyou who scrambled out from under the counter to the storage room in the back to whip up a meal. The salaryman took the brown paper bag, looking confused. "Where's the red bean pie?"
Liu Qijue crunched on a piece of lettuce, staring at him expressionlessly. "Sold out."
Perhaps sensing a predatory vibe from the way he was eating, the salaryman didn't dare say more. He dropped his change and drove off.
Diao Chan quickly hung the "Closed" sign in the window and hauled out Zhao Meiyou, who was sneaking a red bean pie. "You know how to use the kitchen machines on this thing? Make me a coffee."
"Drink less coffee." Zhao Meiyou found some black tea bags in the cupboard and brewed them with hot water. "Milk and sugar?"
Diao Chan sighed and took the cup. "Just plain tea."
The festival had begun at dawn, and now daybreak had arrived. It was raining today. Holographic birds and fish swam past the street. The bars had just closed, and automated cleaners were dumping empty bottles into recycling bins. The bins were overflowing with colorful cans and a large, wilted bouquet of roses.
Before long, a garbage truck descended from the upper streets. A mechanical claw flipped the bins into the back. The hatch opened briefly, offering a glimpse of the city's refuse: fast-food boxes, plastic mannequins, rotting fish, a cat's corpse, and a broken telephone booth. Zhao Meiyou was tinkering with the fast-food truck's radio. He tuned into an obscure channel. Guitar strings drifted out, and Diao Chan realized it was a retro station they used to listen to in school, one that played songs from before the 22nd century. The DJ must have had connections to get his hands on black-market records.
Zhao Meiyou propped his legs up on the counter and lit a Marlboro, humming softly to the melody: "Welcome to the Hotel California."
The light of dawn was breaking. He sat in the fast-food truck in his red wedding robe, a cigarette in his mouth. The air was filled with the melody of *Hotel California*, the greasy smell of salt-water cola and day-old fried chicken, and the acrid scent of Marlboro tobacco. No one spoke. They all looked out the window at the city that towered into the clouds—his long-lost home.
After a long time, someone said, "This city is beautiful."
"No shit," Zhao Meiyou said. "This is my hometown..." Before he could finish, he suddenly looked at Diao Chan. "Was that you who just spoke?"
Diao Chan shook his head. Liu Qijue and the Little Gentleman hadn't spoken either. Zhao Meiyou opened the cupboard door and saw that the boy was fast asleep.
"Was it the voice on the radio?" Diao Chan asked.
Zhao Meiyou waved him off. He had a suspicion. He pulled out his terminal and, sure enough, saw that the personality software, which had been running continuously, had finally finished processing the samples and was back in communication mode. Zhao Meiyou refreshed and rebooted it. Then, everyone in the car heard a male voice they had never heard before.
The program cleared its throat. "Hello, everyone."
Liu Qijue immediately leaned in. "Got enough samples this time?"
"There were too many filterable samples in the Metropolis. It took me some time to process the data," the program replied.
Diao Chan immediately turned to Zhao Meiyou, who took a deep breath. "Query personality growth level."
"My current development is nearly 90%," the program said. "The remaining 10% might take some time to perfect, but I’ve tried interfacing with the Metropolis’s core mainframe. No issues. I believe I can begin preliminary docking with the core data inside Buddha."
Zhao Meiyou froze. He knew exactly what interfacing with the Metropolis mainframe meant. "So... you’re the one who drove this car here?"
"Indeed." A light chuckle came from the program—the tone of a boy transitioning into a young man. "Did you expect me to just watch you get caught?"
"Holy shit." Liu Qijue slapped Zhao Meiyou on the shoulder. "You’re a genius, Zhao Meiyou."
Zhao Meiyou nearly fell over from the slap. After years of day and night research, he finally had results. He smiled, a bit of ash falling from his cigarette onto the terminal screen.
He reached out to wipe the ash away and heard a voice from between his fingers: "Zhao Meiyou."
It was the first time the personality program had addressed him so formally. Zhao Meiyou knew the program was now sophisticated; he couldn't mess around like he used to. He cleared his throat and replied, "I'm listening. What is it?"
"You should give me a name."
"That's easy," Zhao Meiyou said without thinking. "You name things after what you want more of. Let's call you Wangcai."
"Screw you, that's hideous," Diao Chan said. "Change it, change it!"
"Then what?" Zhao Meiyou asked helplessly. "How about Mimi?"
"You think you're raising a cat?"
"Then let's go with Duoduo—the more the merrier." Zhao Meiyou made the final call. "That's it. No more changes."
Liu Qijue raised an eyebrow but didn't bother reminding him how common "Duoduo" was as a dog's name.
"And a surname?" the program asked patiently, seemingly unoffended. "Will I take yours? Zhao?"
"Let me think..." Zhao Meiyou pondered for a moment. "Let's go with Qian. That way, our names will be perfectly symmetrical."
He smiled and winked as he spoke.
"The Book of Surnames doesn't start with Zhao; it opens with Qian."
***
**Glossary**
