He had fallen asleep in the butcher shop, while several elderly aunties nearby were enthusiastically shuffling mahjong tiles.
Zhao Meiyou stretched his limbs and looked at the child who had come running in frantically. "Don't panic, watch your step," he said, ruffling the kid's hair. "What is it? Which families are at it again?"
"It's the people from Jade Face Hall and the Vedlan family," the child replied, naming two of the most prominent organizations in the Lower District. "Lantern Street is covered in blood; it’s practically flooding the clinic door. Are you going back?"
"Of course I'm going back. Only a fool turns down money. The medical fees should be just enough to get our clinic a new hemodialysis machine." Zhao Meiyou stood up and waved to the mahjong-playing aunties. "Auntie, I'm heading back. Come over for dinner tonight if you're free!"
"Got it!" the woman shuffling tiles waved back. "Stay safe! Come help me watch the shop again when you have time!"
Zhao Meiyou led the child back to Lantern Street. He padded along in his wooden clogs, and before he even stepped through the door, he landed right in a puddle of blood, splashing his trouser legs. "I just had these made from new fabric," he remarked, his tone lazy and tinged with a smile as he looked at the people standing before the clinic. "Tell me, how are we going to settle this?"
Two men stood before the clinic: one carrying a blade, the other holding a gun, both in a state of mutual hostility.
"The medical fee is not an issue." The youth with the blade wore a fox-face mask, his voice tight. "Please, Doctor, you must save him."
"Jade Face Hall is as generous as ever." Zhao Meiyou nodded, then turned to the black-clad man with green eyes. "And what does Vedlan have to say?"
"Please save him, Mr. Zhao." The man in black spoke politely and holstered his gun upon being addressed. "Both our sides have wounded. You treat yours, we'll treat ours. We won't resort to violence inside the clinic."
Seeing him stow the gun, the masked youth also released his grip on his hilt. "We leave everything in your hands, sir."
"Easy enough," Zhao Meiyou said with a beaming smile. "Rest assured, as long as the money is right, even the King of Hell has to keep his mouth shut in my humble shop."
Inside the clinic, a white paper screen was drawn, serving as a makeshift border. Both sides were crowded with wounded men. Seeing him return, the nurse hurriedly said, "Doctor Zhao."
Zhao Meiyou put on a mask and sterile gloves. "What's the situation?"
"The ones with light injuries have been handled. Some have bone injuries and are getting X-rays next door..." The nurse was a veteran of the clinic, well-versed in cleaning up after gang wars. She had arranged everything perfectly. After a brief explanation, she lowered her voice. "There's only one who's critically injured. You need to see him yourself."
"Where is he?"
"In the operating room." The nurse followed him into the inner chamber. A man lay on the bed, receiving a blood transfusion. Zhao Meiyou clicked his tongue in wonder at the sight. "Injured like this? Did he go out to blow up a bunker?"
Seeing no one else around, the nurse leaned in and whispered, "Word is, the fight between Jade Face Hall and Vedlan was all over this man. He’s supposedly a spy Jade Face Hall planted in the Vedlan family. He got his hands on something, and Jade Face Hall is going to great lengths to keep him alive..."
Zhao Meiyou, checking the patient's vitals, gave a noncommittal hum. "And?"
"Both Jade Face Hall and Vedlan have made offers." The nurse's face lit up with gossip. "One wants him alive, the other wants him dead."
Zhao Meiyou chuckled. "I run a clinic, not a gambling den. They're placing bets on me now?"
"What do you think?"
"The old rule: who offered more?"
The nurse pulled two large suitcases from under the bed and kicked them open; banknotes spilled across the floor. "No time to count, but it looks like Vedlan gave a bit more."
"Then there's nothing to discuss. Go next door and book a package—funeral, cremation, the whole nine yards." Zhao Meiyou began disinfecting his hands. "I'll do a token job of saving him here, just enough to let him last until he gets back to die... Wait."
The nurse was about to leave, but seeing his change in tone, she quickly stepped back. "What is it?"
Zhao Meiyou had just removed the patient's oxygen mask. The blood on the man's temple had coagulated, looking like a scab on white jade.
Zhao Meiyou stared for a moment, then suddenly said, "I've changed my mind."
"What?"
"Return the Vedlan family's money." Zhao Meiyou snapped the oxygen mask back on, speaking with righteous indignation. "Tell them a doctor must have a benevolent heart. Our clinic doesn't do the business of taking lives for profit."
The nurse knew his temperament all too well. She rolled her eyes and walked out.
It was late at night. The clinic's AI butler was announcing the time. The hallway was packed with wounded men; the lingering scent of gunpowder and blood mingled with the smell of disinfectant and various types of tobacco. A wounded man from Vedlan was gesturing wildly; the nurse only spoke Mandarin, so she brought the AI butler over. The translator showed he was speaking an archaic Dutch dialect, saying he had a history of drug allergies and the medicine the clinic injected was making his head hurt.
The nurse told him it was just ordinary glucose, but his physical report showed mild encephalitis—likely an addiction to brainwave monitors. He should spend less time on Dream-Link software.
"Impossible," the wounded man glared at her. "I go for a checkup every year. I can't have encephalitis."
"The hospital you go to for checkups is probably the mental asylum on the 33rd floor," the nurse pointed out calmly. "Their medical equipment is so ancient that only the mercury thermometers are accurate. You could have a tumor in your gut and they'd congratulate you on being pregnant."
The 33rd-floor mental asylum was one of the few public hospitals in the Lower District, and the only place where citizens could use their medical benefits. Anyone with connections went to the 330th floor for private doctors. For more serious matters, they went to the 20th floor.
The 20th floor was nearly at the bottom of the Metropolis, yet it boasted two extraordinary things: one was the Red Mansion brothel, and the other was Zhao Meiyou's clinic.
Zhao Meiyou, a citizen of the Metropolis Lower District, operated a notorious black clinic on the 20th floor with exorbitant fees. However, the clients who came here were rarely decent folk. Rumor had it that Zhao Meiyou had been raised by the Red Mansion since childhood and was highly skilled at navigating social circles. The tangled mess of factions in the Lower District reached a delicate balance in his clinic; some even came here specifically to seek refuge. It was common knowledge that violence was forbidden in Mr. Zhao's shop.
Zhao Meiyou turned no one away, as long as the money was right.
The people from Jade Face Hall and Vedlan stayed in the clinic all night, only leaving in groups the next morning. The masked man was the last to remain, waiting until the operating room door finally opened. "Oho, Fox-face, you're still here?"
"Mr. Zhao." The masked man bowed to him. "The Hall Master told me to pass on a message: the man is in your care."
"Easy enough." Zhao Meiyou, sporting dark circles under his eyes but still wearing that beaming smile, pulled a tobacco pipe from behind the counter and lit it, taking a leisurely puff. "We pride ourselves on integrity in our business. Rest easy."
"The Hall Master also said, if Mr. Zhao requires any service..."
"Everyone knows the rules here; we don't keep outsiders." Zhao Meiyou interrupted him, his gaze sweeping over the man with a look that was both wanton and clear. "However, Mr. Baoyu from the Red Mansion next door has quit. Why don't you consider joining the trade?"
The man's body stiffened. Even behind the mask, one could imagine his expression wasn't pleasant.
"Alright, let's both take a step back. To err is human, to forgive divine," Zhao Meiyou said with a smile. "Go buy me some breakfast, and when you get back, tell your Hall Master I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not short on hands."
He tapped his pipe. "Though, as for money, the more the merrier."
When the man on the bed finally drifted awake, the first thing he smelled was the rich aroma of spicy pepper soup.
Zhao Meiyou sat by the bed, holding a bowl of soup, accompanied by brown sugar biscuits, tiger-skin eggs, and a large stack of fried meat pockets. "Oh, you're awake?"
The man on the bed seemed to want to sit up but was pressed down. "Your wound is too large. I went to great trouble to patch it up with microporous dressing. If you don't want to die, don't move."
The man on the pillow paused, then asked after a moment, "You saved me?"
"The Hall Master of Jade Face Hall paid a high price to keep you alive. Naturally, I had to do my best." Zhao Meiyou crunched on a meat pocket, making no effort to hide anything. "You'll need about half a month to recover. I've cleared it with your Hall Master; you'll stay here for now. The clinic is safe."
The other man didn't reply, falling into silence. The room was filled only with the sound of Zhao Meiyou eating and drinking.
Finishing his breakfast, Zhao Meiyou wiped his mouth and stood up. "I'm here during the day. Your voiceprint has been recorded into the system. If you need anything, just have the AI butler find me."
He was about to leave when he heard a low voice from the bed. "...Thank you."
"You're welcome. A doctor's heart is benevolent." Zhao Meiyou leaned against the doorframe and smiled. "You should know me; I'm Zhao Meiyou. How should I address you?"
The man thought for a moment and replied, "My surname is Qian."
Zhao Meiyou knew people like him had reasons to hide their identities, so he didn't press for a real name, switching his form of address readily. "Fine then. I'll call you Qian-ge."
There weren't many patients today. After the bloodbath between the two factions last night, even the streets were deserted. Zhao Meiyou sat in his office, counting the money sent by both sides, feeling refreshed. "Let's go, time to head back home."
Zhao Meiyou had grown up in the Red Mansion; "heading back home" meant the brothel next door. The nurse didn't join him, letting him go off on his own. Zhao Meiyou packed a box of gynecological medicine and some items the ladies had asked him to buy. On the street, several automated sweepers were cleaning the battlefield, their chassis bearing the marks of Jade Face Hall and Vedlan. The dog-meat butcher's van followed behind, likely there to scavenge corpses.
Zhao Meiyou didn't use the front entrance of the Red Mansion, instead climbing over the wall into the backyard. A woman in a cheongsam was simmering soup and jumped at the sight of him. "You're trying to kill me!"
"Just came back to visit." Zhao Meiyou didn't dodge the slap the woman aimed at him, taking it squarely on his back with a laugh. "Smells great. What kind of soup is this?"
"You certainly know when to show up." The woman spat at him. "I went to the herbalist early this morning for the ingredients. A guest from the Middle District sent over a whole fresh pig leg yesterday—supposedly raised on a farm for an entire year... Hey, what's the rush! Did I say you could have some?"
"It really is fresh pork." Zhao Meiyou was well-acquainted with the butcher and knew the taste of synthetic pork all too well. "But why would a guest from the Middle District come down here?"
"You're asking me? Don't you know who's lying in your own shop?" The woman served him a bowl of soup. "There have been all sorts of messy guests in the courtyard lately. Watch yourself."
Zhao Meiyou hummed while drinking the soup. "Sister, I've saved up quite a bit of money, enough to buy a place in the Middle District. Why don't you move up there?"
"It's easy for me to go up." The woman looked at him. "But what about everyone else in this courtyard?"
Zhao Meiyou grumbled, "That's the Metropolis government's job. Why should you worry about it?"
"What was that?"
"I didn't say anything." Zhao Meiyou immediately changed his tune. "Man, this soup is delicious. By the way, Sister, that chicken soup you made for one of the girls before—how do you make it? Teach me?"
"Why do you want to learn that?" The woman was suspicious. "Which poor soul have you set your sights on now?"
"How can you call them a poor soul?" Zhao Meiyou said. "It's a matter of mutual consent."
"Is it because you've scammed too little money or haven't been beaten enough?" The woman glared at him. "Zhao Meiyou, I'm warning you: run your clinic properly and don't compete with our courtyard for business, you hear me?"
Zhao Meiyou had been picked up by the courtyard as a child and raised there. Immersed in the ways of the pleasure quarters, he had grown into something of a philanthropic Casanova—or perhaps a fox spirit from a spider's den. Rumor had it he was involved with the leaders of every major gang. As his "sister," she knew the truth wasn't as scandalous as the rumors, but Zhao Meiyou did follow the patterns of the demimonde, living for the moment and acting on whims.
She wasn't sure if he was serious this time or just off his meds again. She couldn't help but worry. "Who is the soup for?"
"Cough." Zhao Meiyou dodged the question. "Just, you know... someone in my clinic. Sent over by Jade Face Hall last night."
Hearing this, the woman flew into a rage and slammed the table. "Zhao Meiyou!"
Zhao Meiyou nearly pulled his head under the table.
"A man must have manly virtues, a doctor must have medical ethics, and a living person must have a conscience! How could you do something so wicked? Are you trying to die?"
"It's not that serious." Zhao Meiyou quickly tried to fix it. "I can cure him."
The woman was so angry she took off her shoe to chase him. After a chaotic night, Zhao Meiyou finally returned to the clinic and asked the nurse, "Has he eaten?"
The nurse knew he wasn't asking about her. "The patient doesn't have much of an appetite. He's had two bags of nutrients."
"Nutrients alone won't do. I stuffed so much rapid-fusion agent into his wounds yesterday; it's all protein being dissolved. He won't recover without real food." Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment. "I'll head out for a bit."
"Where to now?" the nurse asked. "The patient was asking if you were in today. Aren't you going to strike while the iron is hot?"
"No rush. Good soup needs a slow simmer." Zhao Meiyou smiled at the thought. "I'll be back soon."
Zhao Meiyou went to the butcher shop on the 33rd floor, borrowed their stove, and simmered a pot of very thin meat congee. The meat was cooked until it was incredibly tender. He packed it in a thermal flask and brought it back. "Qian-ge?" He knocked on the ward door. "Asleep?"
A rustling sound came from inside. "Come in."
Zhao Meiyou pushed the door open, seemingly carrying the air of the pleasure quarters with him. A bitter, cool scent of tobacco lingered around him, but warmed by the light, it became a gentle heat. "I heard you didn't eat anything today." Zhao Meiyou unscrewed the flask. "I happened to visit some relatives today; this is a home-cooked meal from the family."
The smell of the meat congee was warm and fragrant; just the scent of it was soothing to the stomach. Zhao Meiyou adjusted the bed frame to a higher angle and stuffed a few pillows behind the man so they could speak face-to-face. He poured a bowl of congee and said softly, "This is easy to digest. Want a taste?"
The man seemed to want to reach for the bowl, but Zhao Meiyou smiled and moved it away. "Qian-ge, you're the patient. Just open your mouth."
The next day, the woman from the Red Mansion came to the clinic with tonic soup, wanting to see which "cabbage" her disastrous brother was planning to ruin. Before she even entered the room, she heard Zhao Meiyou's voice from inside. "Come on, Qian-ge, say 'ah'—"
The door wasn't closed. She walked straight in and saw a youth as fair as white jade sitting on the bed. Beside him, Zhao Meiyou held a bowl, and the two were sharing a bowl of sweet soup, one spoonful for each.
...Well done, Zhao Meiyou. With this speed of business, he truly was a product of the Red Mansion.
Zhao Meiyou saw her and was pleasantly surprised. "Sister, what are you doing here?"
"Simmered some soup. I remembered you liked it, so I brought some over." The woman set the clay pot down and gave the youth on the bed a fleeting glance. "You carry on. I'm going to the counter to get some medicine."
Once the woman left, the youth asked, "Is that your sister?"
Zhao Meiyou nodded. "She raised me since I was little, being both father and mother to me." He opened the clay pot. "My sister's soup-making skills are excellent. Qian-ge, do you want—?"
His voice trailed off awkwardly. Zhao Meiyou stared at the goji berry and black-boned chicken soup in the pot. Why had his sister made *this*?
Wasn't this for pregnant women to replenish their blood and qi?
The woman only came that once, but after talking to the nurse, she sent over a pile of ingredients and recipes the next day. Zhao Meiyou found it baffling, and the long list of velvet antler and mutton on the recipes felt deeply meaningful. He didn't dare ask too much; the folk remedies from a place like the Red Mansion were sometimes beyond even his comprehension. He went to the herbalist himself, packed some herbs, and tried making a pot, giving it to the dog in the backyard. The dog barked non-stop for three whole days.
Zhao Meiyou squatted in the back of the yard, petting the dog, thinking to himself: *What a grudge.*
He could roughly guess what his sister was thinking. Just a bit. She had likely figured out Qian-ge's identity. His sister wasn't one to fear wealth or power; on the contrary, she was something of a gambler. A man like Qian-ge, who clearly came from deep waters, probably suited her fancy.
A whore for a player, a madman for a fool; the passionate paired with the heartless, the brainless with the cold-blooded. If they could truly ruin each other, it would be the right medicine for the disease—scraping the poison from the bone.
Just as he was thinking this, a wheelchair was pushed over. The youth had a blanket over his legs, his voice light and still lacking in vitality. "What are you thinking about?"
"Qian-ge, you're actually interested in what I'm thinking." Zhao Meiyou smiled so wide his eyes vanished. "I was thinking the humidity is nice today, and you've recovered a fair bit. Shall we go for a stroll?"
The other man didn't hide anything from him. "There are likely many people waiting to kill me outside."
"Isn't that perfect?" Zhao Meiyou pulled his pipe from his waist and spun it between his fingers. "Whether it's romance under the moon or murder and robbery, it's only fun with an audience."
The man looked up at him, seemingly indifferent yet intentional, not delving into the subtext. "Fine. Let's go for a stroll."
Most of the streets on the 20th floor were abandoned; only Lantern Street could be considered prosperous. Zhao Meiyou pushed the wheelchair out of the clinic. A man draped in silk sat by the roadside, his face painted with greasepaint, holding a sanxian. Seeing them approach, he smiled. "Does the guest want to hear a song?"
Zhao Meiyou was intimately familiar with this routine. One look told him there was a blade hidden in that lute. He pulled out a stack of bills and handed them over. "Brother, give me some face. Take the trouble to slack off for a bit and let us have a peaceful walk."
The lute player took the money and smiled leisurely. "Mr. Zhao certainly knows the rules. However, if you keep walking this way, I'm afraid you'll lose a fortune."
"Spending money to avert disaster," Zhao Meiyou chuckled, thinking to himself: *Damn, how many more are lying in ambush on this road?*
Before he could finish the thought, several gunshots rang out. Zhao Meiyou's ears buzzed from the blasts. It took a moment for him to see that the man before him had been shot in the head, with several others lying nearby. The youth in the wheelchair was holding a gun. "Zhao Meiyou, money should be spent where it counts."
"Qian-ge, you..." Zhao Meiyou was speechless for a moment. "This is right in front of the Red Mansion. If my sister sees this, I'll get another scolding."
"Oh." The youth paused. "Then what should we do?"
"Forget it, we're already here." Zhao Meiyou decided to go all the way. He picked the man up in his arms and walked straight through the door. "Into the sea of red dust and desire we go."
The Red Mansion mostly consisted of private chambers. The rooms had opium couches, but they weren't used for smoking. Outside the couches were neural cables and external interface boxes—all old equipment, the magnetic electrodes worn from too much use. However, the view from the room was excellent; the window opened to a sea of lights on the street.
The youth clearly recognized the equipment on the bed. "Is this a Brain-Splicer?"
"Qian-ge, you certainly don't mince words." Zhao Meiyou laughed. "It's called a Dream-Linker."
He turned on the water-cooled host beside the bed. The radiator began to hum with a low drone. The host was as large as half a refrigerator, filled with a golden solution and even housing lantern fish, illuminating the room like the deep sea.
A Dream-Linker was similar to a sensory experience device, but it allowed participants sharing a myoelectric interface to inhabit the same virtual environment, commonly known as a "Generated Dream." There were derivatives on the black market that allowed for a true "Dream-Link," where one party could enter the depths of another's subconscious, or both dreams could merge. However, the latter was rare. There was a saying that only those truly in sync in body and soul could achieve a Fusion Dream. Many young lovers in the throes of passion had tried it, only for it to end in disaster; no one was willing to lay their entire mind bare to another, no matter how much they loved them.
Zhao Meiyou didn't intend to play any "Brain-Splicing" Fusion Dream games with him; the risk was too high. However, the Red Mansion had some excellent Generated Dreams with meticulously designed details, much like a date in a virtual setting, with a realism far higher than holographic games.
He looked at the youth. "Qian-ge, want to try?"
"Depends on what kind of Generated Dream you can offer." The other man propped up his head and met his gaze, clearly an expert. "If the quality is too low, we might as well find an arcade and play games together."
Zhao Meiyou smiled, evidently confident. He entered a string of code into the Dream-Linker, pulling up a hidden channel. "Qian-ge, do you know how Generated Dreams are made?"
The youth was applying coupling gel to his temples and attaching electrodes. "While Generated Dreams are artificial brainwave products, they aren't like traditional video games that can be built entirely on code. The base layer of a Generated Dream usually has a source file—a dream once dreamt by a real person."
"You know your stuff, Qian-ge." Zhao Meiyou raised an eyebrow.
"So, why are you asking?"
Zhao Meiyou finished adjusting the dream data and lay down beside him, putting on his own electrodes. It would take about thirty seconds for the dream to load. He looked at the kaleidoscopic walls. "When I was a kid and bored, I found a lot of scrapped Dream-Linkers in the warehouse. Later, I discovered that if you just adjust the motherboard, they can turn into simple brainwave boxes with a recording function."
The youth turned to look at him.
"Yeah, you guessed right." Though the man hadn't spoken, Zhao Meiyou anticipated his thoughts. "Many of the Generated Dreams in the Red Mansion use my own dreams as the source files."
Since childhood, he had possessed many kaleidoscope-like dreams. After adjustment and editing, they became high-value commodities.
"But I kept this dream for myself," Zhao Meiyou said just before the dream finished loading.
"I think it's the most beautiful dream of all."
The dream began, as always, on Lantern Street.
Unlike the real street, which was still scarred from the gang war, anyone who stepped into this dream would understand why the street was so named.
The ground was a riot of colorful shadows. The lanterns on Lantern Street were a magnificent sight, not just for their light, but for their shadows. The brilliant mosaic patterns of Turkish lanterns, the flickering Persian oil lamps with their ornate palm-leaf scrolls, the Indian lanterns painted with stories from the Ramayana—the walls of the lanterns were perforated, casting the beautiful silhouettes of women. Emerald green, antique gold, imperial purple, celadon blue—countless shadows flowed across the street like a dancer's waist. The road surface of the 20th floor had long since aged, rugged and muddy, covered in slippery moss. But on Lantern Street, people wore wooden clogs or even went barefoot, because there was a river of light on the ground.
At the end of the street stood a pavilion where a veiled performer was singing *Lantern Street Gathering Emeralds*.
This was originally a play for many actors, but now only one person sang the lines. Zhao Meiyou explained to the man beside him, "My sister loves this play; she's always humming it. So when I dream, I always dream of this."
"*The Purple Hairpin*. The Cloud Theater still has that playbill." The youth seemed to have heard the tune, looking around as he spoke. "Is this the 20th floor you saw as a child?"
The street was so filled with lanterns it didn't seem like the mortal realm. Such a sight would be rare even on the 330th floor. Zhao Meiyou shook his head. "The Lantern Street I saw growing up was never like this."
"Then your sister saw it?"
"She never saw it either. I think I might have read some storybook before I dreamt it," Zhao Meiyou said. "They say when the Metropolis was first founded, the three sectors weren't so clearly divided. Only then could it have been this prosperous."
This Generated Dream of Zhao Meiyou's hadn't been meticulously edited; many details retained the surreal nature of a dream. A staircase that went halfway up suddenly led to a pond; a telephone booth was filled with goldfish; the sky flowed like liquid mercury, floating with countless giant moons and eyes. There was also a strange bird, entirely golden, but consisting only of a skeleton.
Rows of lantern stands several meters high lined the street. Zhao Meiyou took down a lantern and looked at the man beside him. "Qian-ge," he began. "Can I ask what your name is?"
The youth turned around, looked at him for a while, then looked up at the countless moons in the sky. "I thought you'd never ask."
"Cough." Zhao Meiyou cleared his throat. "How could I not?"
The lantern between them was moved aside. The youth looked at him and suddenly smiled—a smile both tender and sorrowful. It didn't look like a first meeting, but a reunion after a long separation.
Zhao Meiyou was dazzled, as if a fire too bright had suddenly flared up, scorching and stinging.
"Zhao Meiyou, remember this well," he heard him say. "My name is Qian Duoduo."
Zhao Meiyou felt the name was strangely familiar. He searched his mind for where he might have heard it—perhaps when dealing with Jade Face Hall, or maybe they had met somewhere before. But would someone of Qian Duoduo's status reveal his true name so easily? Or was the name Qian Duoduo also a fake?
No, it didn't seem fake. For some reason, he felt a strange certainty.
Qian Duoduo had to be his real name.
"What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking, Qian-ge, that's a great name..."
Halfway through his sentence, the lantern before him suddenly went out. Qian Duoduo's form flickered like a sudden disconnection, the image fracturing briefly. Before Zhao Meiyou could realize which circuit had failed, a person appeared within Qian Duoduo's flickering frame—like a frame abruptly spliced into a film. It was a stranger's face.
Zhao Meiyou immediately realized it was an external virus and tried to force a disconnect. However, the intruder was faster. In the time it took to press 'Enter,' Zhao Meiyou felt himself being stabbed—not a physical stabbing, but as if a virus had been shoved into his brain.
He instantly lost control of his central nervous system.
"Sigh, one stab after another. I'm becoming a regular butcher." The person in the image stepped out of Qian Duoduo's body, becoming three-dimensional, and finally stood before Zhao Meiyou with a sigh. "Being a butcher is your side job, though. I guess I'm just destined to be the nanny."
"Sorry about this, Zhao Mode. Hate to interrupt your romantic moment with Qian Duoduo, but you've had plenty of these moments across your lives; one more or less won't matter..." The person prattled on, then scanned him from head to toe and burst out laughing. "But after so many cycles of the experiment, Zhao Mode, your persona this time is truly... flamboyant and flirtatious enough."
Zhao Meiyou understood almost nothing of what the man was saying. He had no control over his consciousness; he could only watch as the other man kicked him to the ground, pumping a fist and exclaiming, "Damn, that felt good, I've wanted to do that for ages." Then the man looked down at him and said, "Regardless, Zhao Mode, you have to die again."
"But before you die, let's get acquainted."
The youth knelt down and patted his cheek good-naturedly.
"My name is Diao Chan."
***
Enjoying the story? Rate this novel:
Thus Spoke the Buddha: The Quantum Circus | Chapter 39 | A Game of House | Novela.app | Novela.app
