The sounds of vending echoed from the corridor: "Beer, soda, mineral water! Peanuts, melon seeds, congee! Coming through, watch your legs—"
"Hello, do you need anything?" The vendor pushed her small cart to their booth. Zhao Meiyou stared in disbelief—the vendor was Grandma’s Bridge, and the electric cart she pushed emitted a youthful voice: "Sunflower seeds and tangerines are on sale today! Buy one, get one free!"
Liu Qijue and the others were unperturbed. "We'll take one order of seeds and tangerines, thank you." The Little Mister pulled out some money.
Zhao Meiyou stood up and looked around carefully, only then realizing the train was packed with people.
Li Daqiang and his family were there with their daughter, a giant teddy bear resting on the seat. Old Man De held a theatrical mask, singing "The moon curves over the world," while the twins in school uniforms sat beside him, clapping to the beat. A young man took off his mask and opened an oxygen tank, letting butterflies fly out; a boy in a wheelchair pulled out his IV needle and threw the wheelchair out the window. Philosophers began to sleep, while those in sleeping bags woke up. A civil servant in glasses was reading a newspaper titled *Centennial Anniversary of the Founding of the Ancient Capital Research Institute*; noticing Zhao Meiyou’s gaze, he smiled and offered him a cigarette.
"...I remember many of them. They were people from the Institute who later became archaeologists." Zhao Meiyou thanked him for the cigarette and sat back down. "There’s still something I don't understand. Do the cycles of every archaeologist overlap?"
If they overlapped, it would create memory conflicts—like seeing a companion who died yesterday suddenly alive today. This would undoubtedly create cracks in the simulation. With so many archaeologists, did the Metropolitan Government have enough resources to meticulously arrange every person's cycle?
"What do you think the rules of the Archaeologist Assemblies were for?" Liu Qijue tore open the package of melon seeds. "Attendees almost always had to wear masks, and the roster was never public. It was all to minimize contact between experimental subjects."
"But at the last gathering, many people came to your house," Zhao Meiyou mentioned the party before he entered Ruins No. 000.
"That was Qian Duoduo’s idea." Liu Qijue glanced at him while cracking a seed. "You know, although it’s hard to say what the current Qian Duoduo actually is, he still retains that original part of himself. That is his root."
"To be fair, he’s probably struggling too," Liu Qijue said bluntly. "I can feel that he’s been leaving clues for you. Take the new Ruins No. 000, for example. I didn't expect the new ruins opened by that cycle to be the Ancient Capital of the past, but thinking about it now, it makes sense."
"Qian Duoduo knew his personality completion was reaching its limit. His highest authority is held by the government; once he fully merges with the Buddha, there might never be a chance to turn back."
"So he opened the Ancient Capital—the place where it all began. Statistically, the Ancient Capital ruins had a chance to awaken some of your memories. That gave us a glimmer of hope."
"And if it didn't work, it would at least serve as a way to say goodbye to you from the place where it all started."
Zhao Meiyou thought of the past he had remembered in Ruins No. 000. In Experimental Field No. 2, he had seen Qian Duoduo’s appearance for the first time; the figure was shrouded in white light, his face almost divine as he bowed toward him.
"Originally, I would have had to expend a lot of effort to shove those memories back into your original brain. Qian Duoduo’s meddling actually saved me the trouble."
Having finished his piece, Liu Qijue handed a peeled tangerine to the Little Mister. "Alright, that settles the favor I owed him. As for what to do next, that’s for you to decide, Zhao Meiyou."
Zhao Meiyou looked at the sea of stars outside the window. "What else can I decide?"
"Don't be in such a rush. Liu is just a 'knife mouth with a tofu heart,'" Diao Chan interjected. "You'll understand when we reach the final station."
"And you." Zhao Meiyou suddenly turned his head. "Tell me, who were all those Diao Chans who just died in the ruins?"
The Diao Chans who had committed suicide countless times before him—each had seemed so real. Were they Liu Qijue’s creations? Or had he used his "Wake Up" ability, meaning each gunshot wasn't a true death?
Or perhaps...
Those Diao Chans were all among the clones.
Zhao Meiyou didn't know how many copies of Diao Chan the 900th Floor had manufactured, nor did he know how they would have traveled from the 900th Floor to Ruins A173 if they were indeed clones. However, Diao Chan had once said, "I’ll wait for you after the 2,023rd gunshot." If 2,023 clones had truly died before him, that number likely represented a limit. Perhaps there were no more copies of Diao Chan left in the Metropolis.
Diao Chan was happily cracking seeds, a rhythmic *crunch-crunch* coming from his mouth. "You guess?"
Zhao Meiyou gave a cold snort and decided not to guess.
Diao Chan, having successfully teased his old friend, looked satisfied. "Even you have your days, Zhao Meiyou."
The train gradually left the star-sea, passing through many old haunts: the Moulin Rouge, the banks of the Seine, Long Island in New York, and finally the snow-covered Ideal City. People constantly disembarked. When they passed Disneyland, Li Daqiang’s family left. The little girl gave her balloon to Zhao Meiyou, made a fist-pump gesture, and said with a smile, "Good luck, Big Sister!"
Zhao Meiyou’s scalp crawled at her smile. He immediately released the balloon out the window, where it burst into a large cluster of fireworks.
Li Daqiang looked a bit embarrassed, as if he wanted to say something. Zhao Meiyou patted him and handed him a cigarette. "Take care of your family."
When the train was nearly empty, Diao Chan looked at the snow outside and suddenly said, "I’m getting off."
"You’re getting off?" Zhao Meiyou asked.
"This is my destination. Yours hasn't arrived yet." Diao Chan stepped over him, opened the window, and jumped out. Before leaving, he left one last phrase: "See you around!"
Since it was "see you around," they would surely meet again.
As the train pulled away, Diao Chan stood alone on the platform, exhaling a puff of white mist. Someone was waiting for him in the distance, holding a leather suitcase. Seeing him, the person waved.
Diao Chan walked forward and called out.
"Mom."
Only three people remained on the train: Zhao Meiyou, Liu Qijue, and the Little Mister.
Liu Qijue spoke first: "The next stop is the final station."
"What about you two?" Zhao Meiyou had a cigarette in his mouth. "Are you getting off at the final station too?"
"We aren't getting off," the Little Mister smiled. "This journey itself is our destination."
Zhao Meiyou originally had many questions—like what kind of existences the current Liu Qijue and Little Mister were, where the limits of creation lay, and if Liu Qijue had fully merged with Ruins A173, whether he could perceive the true nature of the quantum field threshold...
But looking at his old friends' joined hands, he felt that nothing more needed to be said.
Finally, Zhao Meiyou nodded. "And Xiao Yao?"
"Xiao Yao is a good boy," the Little Mister said. "He understands everything we’ve done."
"We said our goodbyes long ago." Liu Qijue toyed with his husband’s hand. "He’ll take care of himself."
Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment and said, "Don't worry. Diao Chan and I will definitely help him."
"Oh, please." Liu Qijue looked at him incredulously. "It’ll be a miracle if you can handle your own business. Xiao Yao is a grown man; he doesn't need looking after."
"When that boy eventually gets married, just remember to bring a red envelope," the Little Mister added with a smile.
Zhao Meiyou smiled too, leaning back against the soft velvet bench. He should have said something, yet it felt like nothing was necessary. He remembered things from long ago, when they had all just graduated and formed the research team to set out from the Metropolis, full of ideals and passion. They were going to discover Egypt, Atlantis, Treasure Island, and the legendary Land of Oz. Diao Chan had the most luggage; besides concentrated coffee, he had brought a glass bottle filled with light-colored sand.
He said it was "Soil of the Homeland," obtained from a witch in the Lower Districts. It was meant to ward off plagues and evil; if one caught a fever while traveling, they were to mix a pinch with water and drink it—a specific cure for being unaccustomed to a new climate.
As it turned out, Diao Chan really did fall ill shortly after the team set out. Remembering this folk remedy, he wanted to mix the soil with water. He was delirious with fever at the time. Liu Qijue, not wanting to argue with a sick man, took the bottle to be tested with a skeptical mind. It turned out to be ordinary potting soil, likely infused with something like "virgin boy urine."
After hearing the results, Zhao Meiyou had laughed hysterically while mixing a cup for Diao Chan, urging him to drink up! He was subsequently chased for miles by the team doctor.
Old matters are like the soil of the homeland—dust in the palm.
*Alas, like a horse glimpsed through a crack, a spark from a flint, a body in a dream.*
If he hadn't been struck by a whim that night, perhaps he would never have discovered the Buddha’s head, and there would be no grand scheme to mend the fold all these years later. He thought he should apologize to his friends, but was an apology truly needed? None of them would regret it. They lived with regrets but died without them. He remembered the moment the Buddha was pulled from the water, the founding of the Ancient Capital Research Institute, the completion of Experimental Field No. 2, the success of the personality program... and the day of the parade in the Metropolis when the personality completion reached 90%.
In all those moments, they were reveling.
Even if there were tears and blood later, could the unparalleled joy of that revelry be denied?
Nothing more needed to be said. Zhao Meiyou slowly exhaled a breath.
Nothing more needed to be said; this was enough.
Liu Qijue seemed to see what was in Zhao Meiyou’s heart. He gave a short laugh and said, "This life is sufficient."
The train slowed down. They were entering the station.
Outside was a dense green; red buildings were hidden among plane trees. With one glance, Zhao Meiyou knew: this was the Ancient Capital.
"It’s time for you to get off, Director," the Little Mister said. "Someone is waiting for you."
Zhao Meiyou paused as he stood up. "Who?"
"Who else could it be?" Liu Qijue said, giving him a kick. "Now get lost!"
Zhao Meiyou "got lost." The train moved at a snail's pace now, like a sightseeing train in a park. The windows were open. Liu Qijue watched Zhao Meiyou’s back as he stood on the platform. He snapped his fingers, and an accordion appeared in his hands.
He pulled the bellows, and the Little Mister began to sing softly.
"Outside the pavilion, beside the ancient road,
Green grass touches the sky.
Evening wind brushes the willows, the flute's sound fades,
Sunset beyond the mountains.
I ask you, when will you return from this journey?
When you come, do not hesitate..."
After Zhao Meiyou disembarked, there was no one waiting for him on the platform.
So he knew. Without hesitation, he went straight to Experimental Field No. 2.
However, at the end of the street, there was no towering circular building from his memory. In its place was a vast pond.
Qian Duoduo was sitting by the pond. He had taken off his shoes and socks, his calves submerged in the water. His long hair was not tied back, falling loosely around his ears. For a moment, Zhao Meiyou couldn't see his face clearly.
He stubbed out his cigarette and walked over. "I remember this pond being on the mountain."
"You’re here." Qian Duoduo looked up at him. "There was indeed a lotus pond on the back mountain of the Ancient Capital, planted by you. But this pond is a bit different from that one."
Zhao Meiyou studied the flower buds in the water, not quite seeing how they were different. He simply sat down and dipped his feet into the water as well. "How is it different?"
Qian Duoduo smiled, a very gentle smile. "This was originally the pool of solution I was submerged in."
It was rare for Qian Duoduo to show such an expression. Zhao Meiyou was momentarily dazed. He remembered that in Experimental Field No. 2, Qian Duoduo’s mainframe had indeed been submerged in a pool of conductive fluid, but there had been no lotuses there.
Zhao Meiyou wanted to smoke again. He instinctively felt his pocket. Qian Duoduo glanced at him. "Smoke less. It makes your mouth bitter."
Zhao Meiyou could only say, "Did you plant these flowers, Brother Qian?"
"I didn't exactly plant them." Qian Duoduo plucked a lotus seed pod, peeled out a seed, and handed it over. "Taste it."
Zhao Meiyou ate it. The moment he bit into the seed, something exploded before his eyes—he saw a heavy rain. His perspective was from below. Above him was a piercing white light that almost turned the rain into snow. He was likely lying on something like a manhole cover; he could hear the rushing water beneath his head. The cover was soft. It took him a while to realize it was a hand.
Someone was cradling his head, lifting him up. The person’s movements were very light, yet Zhao Meiyou felt a sharp pain—a knife was buried in his side.
Something salty and wet pressed against him, bitter yet warm and cool. Zhao Meiyou suddenly realized the person holding him was kissing him.
It was a desperate embrace, as if trying to pull him into their very flesh. The tip of the knife sank deeper into his body. Zhao Meiyou was trembling, but the person holding him was shaking even more violently. A rainy day for murder is a fit time for tears.
It took a long time for Zhao Meiyou to recover. The lotus seed burst with an intense bitterness in his mouth. He had a fragmented impression of the scene he had just seen: "...Was that a cycle I experienced before?"
Qian Duoduo gave a soft "mm."
"Back then, I was clumsy. I made it very painful for you."
"Could this entire pond of lotuses... be all the cycles I’ve been through?"
"Yes," Qian Duoduo said. "Every flower stores a memory chip."
Zhao Meiyou remembered that question again—an old, clichéd question he had asked before that had never been answered. Now, sitting with the "wife" he had supposedly broken up with, he felt a sense of detachment beyond life and death. So he asked, hardly thinking about it, "Brother Qian, why did you always have to kill me?"
"Zhao Meiyou, are you stupid?" Qian Duoduo actually answered, seemingly without thinking, the words slipping out instinctively. "Did you want me to just stand by and watch?"
After saying it, he seemed to realize the words were inappropriate and gave a strained, awkward smile.
Zhao Meiyou rubbed his fingers together—a gesture of wanting to smoke. He did it unconsciously, but it exposed his emotions and gave the other person a space to retreat. "Zhao Meiyou, you need to smoke less," Qian Duoduo’s voice choked. "It’s too bitter."
As the words fell, Zhao Meiyou felt he had received his answer. Qian Duoduo’s voice vibrated in his chest, triggering wave after wave of echoes. He looked at the vast lotus pond, feeling as if he were sitting across from countless versions of himself from previous cycles. Those past selves were all dead, having died of myriad causes, and from their corpses, white lotuses had bloomed.
The lotuses could not see themselves; they were unconscious.
From beginning to end, only Qian Duoduo was the one watching the flowers.
*If it were me,* Zhao Meiyou asked himself quietly. *Could I endure seeing Qian Duoduo die before my eyes so many times?*
Death is the end of it; the pain belongs only to the one who lives on. Zhao Meiyou merely imagined the scene, and his heart ached.
He thought again of how it was always Qian Duoduo who took the initiative to kiss him.
"Brother Qian," Zhao Meiyou suddenly said. "Let’s have a kiss."
Qian Duoduo snapped his head around to look at him. "Wha—"
Before he could finish, Zhao Meiyou’s lips crashed into his.
In that instant, a kaleidoscope of colors exploded before their eyes. The world vanished. Their inner selves expanded simultaneously, reaching the boundary of eternity after merging. Countless cycles overlapped and exploded here, turning into hallucinations of eros and death. It was as if the abdomen had been sliced open by a scalpel; the intestines, organs meant for waste, flowed with brain matter instead. Amoebas wriggled in a dance, supernovas burst apart, giants painted on the surface of Jupiter, and aliens relished devouring gene chains. Garlic pork, vodka flowing everywhere—in an acid rain made of colored pills, people marched through clusters of buildings wearing space helmets. A steel dancer couldn't find her eyeballs; she looked at a customer and said: *Amitabha.*
The Buddha said: *Have the guts to love me.*
*Please love me.*
*Don't love me.*
*Love me.*
.
"Brother Qian." Amidst the poisonous fragrance and hallucinations, Zhao Meiyou gripped Qian Duoduo’s hand tight. "That question you asked me back at the 900th Floor... I have the answer now."
Back then, Qian Duoduo had asked him: *Zhao Meiyou, do you want to continue loving me?*
He had seemingly placed an unsolvable riddle before him—does loving someone mean losing oneself, or affirming oneself?
"Love is the birth of a new self after the loss of the old one."
So said Zhao Meiyou.
"I said it a long time ago," he let out a sigh-like sound. "As long as you give me a kiss."
Then, in the fleeting moment before the end arrives, I shall place my hand in yours.
After a long time, he heard Qian Duoduo’s reply.
"Zhao Meiyou."
"...Don't give up on me."
***
