That day in Site A173, they wandered through various eras for a long time before the Pillar finally told Zhao Meiyou that his ability was "Creation."
An archaeologist's ability has no upper limit, but its effectiveness depends on the level of affinity between the user and the ruin. "Site A173 is my home turf. My affinity here is the highest, so my abilities are enhanced," the Pillar explained.
Zhao Meiyou thought of the taxi that had appeared out of thin air and the mask the Pillar had donned; they must have been manifestations of his power. "What happens in a ruin you aren't familiar with?"
"In a ruin with my lowest affinity, I can barely manifest a single strand of hair," the Pillar said. "Most archaeologists choose a specific ruin as their home turf to slowly build up that affinity. Newcomers like you are taken through representative ruins to see where your affinity is highest, and then you can settle on a primary site."
Finally, the Pillar told him that a rare few archaeologists could traverse various ruins at will, but that required innate talent. Given Zhao Meiyou’s level of eccentricity, however, he might just have a shot. If he died trying, it would be considered a service to the public.
Zhao Meiyou’s time limit for exploring Site A173 was one month. The Pillar accompanied him a few times before eventually leaving him to his own devices. Site A173 was highly hospitable to humans; accidents rarely happened there.
Zhao Meiyou sat on a set of steps, watching whales fall in the distance.
This meant that Li Daqiang’s disappearance was likely self-orchestrated.
He had looked over Li Daqiang’s file: a middle-aged widower whose wife and child had died in an accident years ago. He had no hobbies, and his daily life was as bland as paper. In the 33rd District, such people were the most common among the missing; many were suicides.
The hospital had once admitted a patient with three split personalities: a grandmother, a mother, and a granddaughter. They spent every day bickering over mother-in-law issues. Initially, Zhao Meiyou thought the primary personality would be the father, but the attending physician told him that persona had never appeared. There was, however, a fourth personality: the family dog.
A female dog. The patient’s biological sex was male, yet not one of the four personalities was a man.
So, having a hobby was truly important; otherwise, once you were alone, you’d have no spiritual anchor. Zhao Meiyou pulled out a cigarette as he pondered.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Don't smoke near antiques."
"Oh, Guifei, you're here." Zhao Meiyou kept the cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it. "Good timing. I was just wondering how to get out of here."
He was currently at the edge of the ruin’s known boundaries. Space-time was distorted here; in the distance lay an endless sea where whales continuously plummeted from the sky like gargantuan blue raindrops, triggering massive tsunamis.
There should have been a torrential downpour, yet aside from the splashing waves, the sky above was clear and bright. Seawater submerged the abandoned city. Zhao Meiyou was sitting at the entrance of a cathedral; the steps were half-eroded by the sea, overgrown with sprawling blue-purple coral.
The Pillar surveyed the surroundings, looking slightly surprised. "Only you, Zhao Meiyou. Most archaeologists couldn't reach this place even after a year of exploration."
"I was in the Renaissance when I first came in today," Zhao Meiyou said. "I checked the library a few days ago; they say Italy in that era is quite a sight. I wanted to see if the Mona Lisa was actually Da Vinci himself."
"Then how did you end up here?"
"I got a bit dizzy. While I was walking, the sky was always right above me, and my shoulders felt heavy," Zhao Meiyou admitted. "Somehow I entered a long corridor full of mirrors, and when I reached the end, I was here."
"You didn't get dizzy because of the sky. No one gets dizzy from seeing the sky; looking up is a human instinct, even for those in the 33rd District," the Pillar snorted. "You suffered a bout of Florence Syndrome."
Florence Syndrome, also known as Stendhal Syndrome. It was said that the French writer Stendhal once visited Florence and, due to the intense concentration of artistic masterpieces he viewed in a short time, suffered heart palpitations and fainting, even seeing hallucinations.
It was a disease born of artistic beauty—cognitive confusion caused by overwhelming aesthetic stimulation. In the years when Italy still existed, local doctors frequently treated such patients, most of whom were tourists.
The Pillar looked at Zhao Meiyou with genuine curiosity. "I can't believe you're capable of catching a disease like that."
Zhao Meiyou’s only response was to light his cigarette.
"This is the edge of the ruin's known range," the Pillar said, looking at a sculpture submerged in the water. "It's close to the real-world timeline."
"The real-world timeline?" Zhao Meiyou was surprised. "I thought space-time was completely haywire here." He pointed toward the horizon, where whales were still splashing down.
"It is distorted, but not entirely." The Pillar traced a semicircle in the air. "Within the city limits, the space-time fluctuations are relatively stable."
It was less a city and more a ruin; the white marble had long since weathered into ash. "This is Italy after the destruction," the Pillar said.
The Orion War, the Great Cataclysm—Earth had undergone a brutal purging. Almost all of Europe had sunk. The once-glorious nations, like Atlantis, now existed only in the records of myth.
When Zhao Meiyou first arrived, he had wandered through the cathedral. He had read many documents in the library lately; this place should have been the Santa Maria del Fiore. Vasari's ceiling frescoes were now just mottled outlines of oil paint. Jesus was nowhere to be found; in place of the crucifix hung a massive, rusted gold frame, the original painting long gone.
Zhao Meiyou didn't quite understand how he had reached post-apocalyptic Italy. He couldn't traverse space-time freely within Site A173 like the Pillar could; that was a feat reserved for archaeologists with high affinity. Having explored the ruin for half a month, he was usually confined to a single era.
The Pillar seemed to read his mind. "You aren't wearing your uniform."
Zhao Meiyou looked at his black trench coat. "I am, though?"
The Pillar nearly kicked him into the water. "The *full* uniform! The tie has to be a Dover knot!"
The archaeologist's uniform was a complete set from the inside out. This man was just wearing a trench coat over his eternal combo of an old man's undershirt and flip-flops. Thank God he hadn't worn the apron this time.
"Even a ruin as hospitable as A173 isn't absolutely safe. Once an archaeologist's mental fluctuations exceed the threshold, it's easy to get lost. A deep breath," the Pillar commanded. "Your Stendhal Syndrome caused an excess of mental fluctuations, which is why space-time distorted. If you don't stabilize in time, you'll be swallowed. Zhao Meiyou, if you're going to die, don't do it on my watch."
Zhao Meiyou remembered now. When the Pillar had brought him the uniform, he’d mentioned that it was one of the few items guaranteed to function within a ruin, serving to stabilize mental fluctuations. But since he’d been messing around in the ruin for so long without incident, he’d simply forgotten.
Zhao Meiyou showed no sign of remorse; instead, he looked thoughtful. "What happens if you're swallowed?"
"Your consciousness dissolves. From then on, you'll believe you're a native of the ruin."
Zhao Meiyou thought about it. "Doesn't sound too bad?"
This time, he actually was kicked into the water.
"Honestly, Guifei, the fact that you can be so agile with your physique is truly a marvel," Zhao Meiyou said, climbing out of the water and scratching his head. "Fine, fine, let's dance. I have the night shift tonight."
Dancing was the method for exiting Site A173—a fairly "safe travels" procedure. Compared to the "refreshing" feeling of being shot in the head by Diao Chan, a tango was nothing.
The Pillar manifested a pair of high heels. Zhao Meiyou looked at them. "Why are they my size?"
"Because I'm the one saving your ass."
It had to be a tango, and it had to be a partner dance, which was why Zhao Meiyou couldn't leave on his own. Post-apocalyptic Italy was nothing but ruins; there wasn't a soul to be found. If the Pillar hadn't come, Zhao Meiyou might have considered trying to wrangle a female whale for a one-two-cha-cha.
Speaking of whales, Zhao Meiyou rubbed his chin. "I can do the woman's steps, but Guifei, can you manifest something for me?"
"Always something with you," the Pillar said impatiently. "What?"
Zhao Meiyou pointed to the horizon where whales were falling, then to the vast blue sea. "Can you manifest a giant pot and bring this ocean to a boil? With the whales falling like dumplings, I've been getting hungry for a while now."
The Pillar: "..."
Zhao Meiyou obligingly added, "Make it a sour broth."
***
Back in reality, Zhao Meiyou and Diao Chan were on the night shift. Pushing open the emergency room door, he found Diao Chan eating a cucumber sandwich again, as expected. "Enough, enough, I'm starting to get a trauma response to your cucumbers." Zhao Meiyou carried several large bags. "The synthesis market got a shipment today. I just bought some groceries. We're having hotpot tonight."
Diao Chan held his sandwich, clearly disapproving. "You can't have hotpot in the department."
Zhao Meiyou slammed a slab of pork onto the table and unsheathed a scalpel. "Are you eating or not?"
Diao Chan: "...I'm eating."
The pot was a split "Mandarin Duck" style—half clear broth, half spicy red oil. They dipped tripe into the broth, then coated it thickly with sesame and chili flakes before stuffing it into their mouths with garlic and shrimp paste. Zhao Meiyou had been in a rush and hadn't brought much meat, so their chopsticks were constantly clashing in the pot. "By the way," Diao Chan asked between bites, "you've been working with Guifei for half a month now. How is it?"
"Don't even get me started. We just had a fight today." Zhao Meiyou told him the story of the sour broth dumplings.
Diao Chan nearly spat out his food laughing. "Only now. If this were the Guifei of the past, he might have rolled you up and used you as dumpling filling."
Zhao Meiyou took a sip of cold milk. "How so?"
Previously, Diao Chan couldn't tell him about archaeologists, and his relationship with the Pillar seemed distant. Now, many things could be discussed openly. "Guifei volunteered to be your guide. It was supposed to be my job, but I'm no longer compatible with Site A173. I didn't expect him to offer; Guifei hasn't taken on a student in years."
"Guifei said you're stronger than him, and that your home ruin is too dangerous for him to carry me through," Zhao Meiyou said. "So I'm clearing the 'newbie village' at his place first."
Diao Chan looked surprised. "Guifei really said that?"
"What?" Zhao Meiyou set down his milk. "When Guifei isn't suffering from indigestion, he can actually be quite human."
Diao Chan seemed unable to believe it. "He wasn't like that before—I mean, before he came to the Lower Districts. I never heard him say anyone was stronger than him."
"Hoh, that arrogant?"
"Xishi, you don't understand." Diao Chan put down his chopsticks and spoke seriously. "Even though Guifei is only a few years older than us, he's a very senior archaeologist. His talent is immense, and he started early. Among his peers, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him the strongest."
Back then, Diao Chan had just entered the profession, coinciding with the decennial Archaeologists' Gathering, held on the 777th Floor. The gathering had many rules, the first being that attendees should wear masks. It wasn't mandatory, but experience showed that those who exposed their identities often died from professional infighting.
"As you know, the 777th Floor is the entrance to Site A173," Diao Chan said. "On the day of the gathering, Guifei had just finished an exploration mission. I don't know what he did in the ruin, but the quantum aftershocks he created when he emerged nearly leveled an entire street."
He would always remember that scene—a youth charging out of the exit astride a giant dragon.
It was the iconic azure dragon of ancient Eastern myth, with whiskers and horns like jade glass. The youth, dressed in a Tang suit, laughed as he tore off his mask, his sleeves rolled up to reveal white silk.
"Guifei's ability is 'Creation.' It's not a rare ability, but he can push it to an unimaginable degree," Diao Chan said. "He created that azure dragon. Although it dissolved in reality shortly after leaving the ruin, he was the first person to ever create a dragon in a ruin and successfully bring it into the real world."
At the gathering that day, the youth was one of the few who dared to remove his mask, but that didn't stop him from being the center of attention.
"Guifei was strong, deservedly so. Back then, he had more admirers than we have patients in the inpatient ward," Diao Chan said. "Do you remember what he used to look like?"
"I actually have a bit of an impression." Zhao Meiyou pulled a face from his memory and clicked his tongue. "Time is a butcher's knife, isn't it?"
Zhao Meiyou had known the Pillar for a while, but he really couldn't connect him to the beautiful youth in Diao Chan's description.
"Guifei and I weren't actually that close. He was far stronger than me back then; we rarely had the chance to collaborate." Diao Chan immersed himself in the memory for a moment. "Xishi, do you remember how we first met?"
"I remember. It was a rainy day," Zhao Meiyou said. "The shopkeeper next door thought I’d picked up a stray dog."
Diao Chan didn't dispute the description, sighing instead. "Actually, I had just escaped from a ruin not long before, and I had run into... I was scared witless."
Zhao Meiyou’s chopsticks, clamped onto a piece of tripe, paused before dropping it into Diao Chan’s bowl. "No wonder."
"Most rookie archaeologists have a guide, but I had bad luck. Not long after I started, my master had an accident during an exploration... he died in the line of duty. I don't know if you can call it that for an archaeologist."
"My situation was tricky. Many archaeologists are superstitious; they thought a student like me was bad luck and didn't want to take me on. But I found a letter my master left behind. He said if anything happened to him, I should go find Young Master Liu."
Young Master Liu. It took Zhao Meiyou a moment to realize who he was talking about. The Pillar’s surname was Liu; his real name was Liu Qijue.
"At that time, Guifei was one of the few archaeologists willing to take on a student like me. He was strong; he didn't care about superstitions," Diao Chan paused. "But it wasn't long before we had another accident."
It was common professional infighting. The youth who had removed his mask at the gathering couldn't escape the curse. Archaeologists had their own code; Metropolis law didn't apply within the ruins. At the very least, it was easy to make a death in a ruin look like an accident.
"I didn't have a gun back then. At the final moment when we were surrounded, he threw me out. I didn't hear any news of him for a long time after that."
A moment of silence followed, broken only by the sound of Zhao Meiyou slurping a large bowl of instant noodles he’d added to the pot.
Diao Chan rubbed his face and ate the tripe Zhao Meiyou had given him. "Later, I heard that he suffered a brain injury in a ruin, and his abilities were severely weakened. He rarely showed his face after that. The next time we met was here."
Zhao Meiyou: "Never thought about visiting him?"
"I did at first," Diao Chan said. "But I heard he had found someone he loved and planned to live a quiet life, so I felt I shouldn't disturb him."
This was a twist he truly hadn't expected—Zhao Meiyou choked, noodles nearly flying out of his nose. "Guifei? Someone he loved?"
"You didn't know?" It was Diao Chan’s turn to be surprised, though he calmed down a moment later. "I suppose that makes sense."
Zhao Meiyou felt that being too gossipy right now would be heartless, but he scratched his cheek, feeling both embarrassed and unable to resist. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Hey, hey, hey, who did he like?"
His tone was pure neighborhood gossip, lacking only a handful of melon seeds. Diao Chan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his expression. "Zhao Meiyou, have a heart, will you?"
"Got it." Zhao Meiyou dipped a chicken heart into the pot. "Keep going."
"I don't know the specifics. I only know Guifei fell for an old gentleman much older than himself," Diao Chan said. "A May-December romance, I suppose."
Zhao Meiyou didn't react much this time. "Then why did Guifei come to the 33rd District? Did the husband die?" If so, his binge-eating disorder would be hard to cure.
Diao Chan sighed. "I don't know."
Since Diao Chan didn't know, Zhao Meiyou didn't ask further. Not every reef needs to break the surface; otherwise, too many ships would sink. He was considering something else: the Pillar’s nervous bulimia.
When the Pillar was first admitted, it was just a formality. He’d had a few symbolic consultations, but the attending physician couldn't get a word out of him, so the matter was dropped. However, judging by the increasing dosage of his medication, the Pillar’s body was undoubtedly failing.
Heart sickness requires heart medicine. After hearing Diao Chan’s memories, Zhao Meiyou was concerned. He felt this was a breakthrough point, yet he wasn't sure if he should act—unsolicited kindness often stems from arrogance; not everyone needs saving.
Zhao Meiyou had been cramming history and literature lately. One of the old 20th-century books was called *Love in the Time of Cholera*. The beginning was very interesting: Jeremiah de Saint-Amour, who died in the scent of bitter almonds, chose to commit suicide on his sixtieth birthday to avoid growing old. His secret lover accepted his death calmly, offering no blame or interference for his unconventional choice. They loved each other deeply yet remained independent; she even viewed his choice with respect and blessing, continuing her own life after he was gone.
Critics from centuries ago called this plot "a possibility of soulful love." A coincidental metaphor. It was as if fate were warning Zhao Meiyou not to interfere.
*But I'm not Guifei's lover, I'm his brother,* Zhao Meiyou thought. *As his brother, can I just stand by and watch him seek death?*
***
It was Zhao Meiyou’s night shift again. Diao Chan wasn't there. He was in the emergency room, gnawing on that thick book of illness stories by some "Mar-something" guy. Text flowed across the floating screen; the protagonist was on his umpteenth woman. Zhao Meiyou was getting dizzy from all the characters, so he simply converted the text into video. Now it was exciting; his language database had twenty languages, and the room was instantly filled with the sounds of lovemaking in various tongues.
Zhao Meiyou grew sleepy and eventually fell asleep at the desk. When he woke up, he saw someone standing stealthily beside him, trying to sneak the terminal out from under his arm.
"I say, Old Man De," Zhao Meiyou yawned. "This is a world classic. Erotica in classics isn't that great. If you can't sleep, should I call a companion for you from the 20th Floor's House of Red Delights?"
Old Man De glared at him. "You brat, sleeping so lightly will make you go bald."
"It's not that I sleep lightly; your racket would wake a hibernating pig." Zhao Meiyou tapped the terminal. "Which one did you have your eye on?"
"The one who was just sleeping with the protagonist." Old Man De rolled his eyes. "Looked pretty good to me."
"Florentino Ariza has 622 women in this book. Which one are you talking about? Or do you want them all?" Zhao Meiyou chuckled. "Even Jia Baoyu didn't have that many girls in his courtyard."
Old Man De was rendered speechless by the retort. He glared for a while before saying, "You brat, take care of your health."
Zhao Meiyou laughed and waved him off. "Didn't you see I fell asleep watching it?" He stood up. "How about we go for a stroll, old man?" The elderly slept lightly; he often accompanied them for late-night snacks or went to the rooftop at 4:00 AM to practice Baduanjin.
"Forget it—" Old Man De let out a long sigh. "The theater is doing a song and dance show tonight. Brother Liu isn't performing, so there's no point in going out."
Zhao Meiyou remembered then. Right, Old Man De and the Pillar both specialized in *laosheng* roles. Actors were prone to obsession, and there were so many people from the opera world here that he hadn't really connected the two. "You know Guifei?"
"Nonsense!" Old Man De huffed. "He and his partner used to patronize me at the Izumo Theater all the time!"
The Izumo Theater was the best theater in the Middle Districts. Zhao Meiyou asked, "You knew his husband?"
"Hey, you brat, give you an inch and you take a mile." Old Man De swayed his head, looking a bit proud. "Back then, they were my number one fans. They almost invited me to be the master of ceremonies at their wedding." He pulled out his terminal and rummaged through a memory card for a long time before finding a photograph.
It was a three-person photo, though not a holographic version. It seemed to have been taken backstage somewhere: a Xiang Yu with artificial whiskers, a grinning youth, and an elderly man in a suit. Zhao Meiyou’s gaze locked onto the old man. He wore tortoiseshell glasses, his eyes held the gentle kindness unique to elders, and he held his hat against his chest.
Bingo. Zhao Meiyou looked at the person in the photo. *Guifei, oh Guifei, it's not that I'm forcing myself to save you; this is a deal delivered right to my door.*
To hell with Saint-Amour. I'm not your lover, so I don't have to respect your death wish. I can't just watch you die.
Zhao Meiyou had seen the old gentleman in the photo before; the memory was vivid.
—This was the driver of the bright yellow taxi from his first time entering Site A173.
On that night in Paris, at Montmartre, in front of the Moulin Rouge. The taxi had stopped under the gaslight, the cabin smelling of cigars and elm hair oil. The Pillar had opened the door and sat directly in the passenger seat.
Old Man De looked at the photo and recited a line of dialogue: "Birth, age, sickness, and death are but common things; even the vast seas turn into mulberry fields."
Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment and asked cautiously, "When did Guifei's husband pass away?"
Old Man De gave him a strange look. "I know you and Brother Liu don't get along, but there's no need to curse the man."
*Heaven and earth be my witness, I'm practically calling him 'Dad' in my head.* Zhao Meiyou grumbled inwardly. "What do you mean by that?"
"What do I mean?" Old Man De said like a tongue twister. "Brother Liu’s partner is still alive."
***
After seeing Old Man De off, Zhao Meiyou brewed himself a cup of coffee.
His sleep quality was far too good. It was 2:00 AM; if he didn't drink extra-strong coffee, he’d be out in seconds. He took a sip; the coffee Diao Chan had bought was incredibly bitter.
He leaned against the window and lit a cigarette.
Zhao Meiyou realized he had fallen into a logical trap. The past Diao Chan spoke of and the Pillar’s bulimia had made him subconsciously assume this was a cliché tragic romance separated by death. Yet Old Man De told him the husband was alive.
At the time, Zhao Meiyou had asked, "Then why is Guifei acting so crazy?"
"Sometimes being alive is more painful than being dead." Old Man De sounded experienced as he pointed to his temple. "He’s alive, but this part doesn't work anymore."
A common cerebral infarction in the elderly. The rescue failed, and he fell into a long sleep.
Even in the 25th century, the human brain remained a primary challenge for the Metropolis. Skin, limbs, organs, and even genes could be cultured and replaced, but the brain was the sole exception. Technology could not manufacture a brain.
Even archaeologists had to follow this rule. Ruin Law, Article 2: The brain must not be harmed.
So, what was the Pillar doing, creating an identical counterpart of his husband in Site A173? To see the person and remember them? Zhao Meiyou clicked his tongue. He didn't think the Pillar was that kind of person.
Then he could only think of one possibility.
Zhao Meiyou crushed his cigarette butt on the windowsill.
Technology could not manufacture a brain, but the Pillar’s ability was "Creation."
Diao Chan had said that the Young Master Liu of the past had even charged into reality on a dragon.
He was trying to create an identical counterpart in the ruin, then bring that brain into reality to wake his lover from the long dream.
***
**Glossary**
