The exploration of Site A173 had just drawn to a close when New Year’s Eve arrived.
The 33rd Layer District was predominantly inhabited by those of Eastern descent, so the holiday atmosphere was thick. In his youth, Zhao Meiyou would often drift from house to house to scrounge dumplings while the neighbors gathered to play mahjong. Later, after meeting Diao Chan, he realized the young scion didn’t quite fit into the rowdy, communal bustle of the tenements. Zhao Meiyou began setting aside New Year’s Eve specifically for the two of them to keep the vigil together. Without realizing it, several years had passed, and it had become a tradition.
Since the start of the twelfth lunar month, the streets had been decorated with sensory fireworks and electronic firecrackers. A few convenience store owners had pooled their credits to purchase a "God of Wealth" program; every day, a red-and-gold holographic deity would parade through the streets on horseback, preceded by two "Wealth-Bearing Acolytes" clearing the way with gongs. For a time, the streets glittered with gold. Children chased after the deity to snatch the falling ingots, which were merely holographic simulations that turned into convenience store flyers once grasped, but no one cared. It was all for the festive spirit.
Zhao Meiyou enjoyed the opera. In the *Journey to the West* scripts, the Wealth-Bearing Acolyte was a follower of the Bodhisattva Guanyin; he wasn't sure how this program had ended up putting the kid in front of Zhao Gongming’s horse. Perhaps it was a design flaw.
After all, this was the 25th century. Many folk traditions and legends had been lost to time. The Upper Layers didn't even observe the Spring Festival, nor did they celebrate Christmas, Vesak, or Eid. The Middle Layers held grand ceremonies for Metropolis Foundation Day. Only the Lower Layers retained the oldest traces of civilization—festivals filled with wandering gods, gongs and drums, incense and candles, the roar of crowds, and offerings of fruit and sweets.
However, even the "oldest" traditions found within the Metropolis were far removed from the true origins of human civilization. At the very least, all modern sacrifices had long since abandoned the use of human victims.
Zhao Meiyou took the lift to the 330th Layer. This was the junction between the Lower and Middle Layers, a place where gang territories stood thick and the crowds were a chaotic mix. At the entrance stood a grand paifang archway with green tiles and vermilion pillars.
Tonight was New Year’s Eve, making it a relatively peaceful night for the 330th Layer. Under the archway, an old woman sat behind a stall filled with colorful plastic glasses. Zhao Meiyou walked over and handed her some credits. "Granny, I’m going to Laolao’s Tavern."
The old woman grinned, revealing a single gold tooth, and handed him a dark red box.
Zhao Meiyou opened it to find a pair of contact lenses.
Only those in the trade knew that the 330th Layer was actually a "Movie City."
If an outsider from the Middle Layers came here looking for excitement, the only thing that might satisfy their imagination was the garish archway at the entrance. Everything else in the district would be a disappointment: nothing but health-code-compliant fast-food joints, clean skating rinks, and bars that strictly barred minors. However, if one bought a pair of "eyes" at the entrance, everything would change.
Zhao Meiyou put on the lenses. Behind the archway, neon signs suddenly erupted from the previously empty ground, soaring ten stories high. Insiders jokingly called them "Sentry Lights," as they scrolled with real-time displays of the wins and losses in every casino in the district.
The "eyes" Zhao Meiyou bought were equipped with micro-nano vibrators that connected to his eardrums. The silence around him instantly dissolved into a cacophony: the rattle of dice, the flick of lighter wheels, the clink of glasses, the sizzle of raw meat on iron griddles... A massive lion dancer roared past him—far more majestic than the holographic God of Wealth the shopkeepers had bought. Gold coins tumbled from the lion’s mane; these were real gold, exchangeable for chips in any major casino.
If filters created a facade, then in the 330th Layer, it was the nano-filters of the "eyes" that revealed the street's reality. Zhao Meiyou brushed past various pedestrians. Without the "eyes," they would look well-dressed and dignified; through the "eyes," they were revealed as drunks pawing at mimetic hostesses. A customer, likely caught cheating, was being beaten bloody by a casino’s security program, but to those without "eyes," he simply looked like a man who’d had too much to drink, stumbling against thin air before face-planting into a dumpster.
Zhao Meiyou hadn't been here in a while. He wasn't particularly short on cash lately, so he skipped the casinos and headed straight for a tavern.
A three-character sign hung over the door: *Laolao’s Tavern*.
In literature, "tavern" often felt more like an adjective than a noun. In bourgeois novels, it was a metaphor for an affair; in wuxia novels, it brought to mind the rough-and-tumble world of the martial arts underworld. It was more dignified than a love hotel, yet more ambiguous than a convenience store. Under the dim yellow lights, a jukebox played the grainy tones of a magnetic tape. You could whisper sweet nothings by the window or commit murder and arson in the private booths.
Laolao’s Tavern was exactly that kind of place.
"Hey, Brother Zhao!" As soon as he entered, a sharp-eyed customer spotted him, and greetings erupted from all sides. "Brother Zhao’s here!" "Sit over here, Zhao!" "Hi, Zhao!" "Happy New Year, Brother Zhao!"
Someone leaned in. "You haven't been around for a bit. There’s a job on the table, you interested?" He was immediately shoved aside. "It’s New Year! You know Zhao’s rule—no business during the holidays!" The man then lowered his voice to Zhao Meiyou. "When are you going to place another bet? The amount you won last time is still hanging at the very top of the Sentry Light. It’s been years and no one’s broken it!"
Zhao Meiyou smiled, chatted with a few friends, greeted some acquaintances, and finally asked, "Where’s Laolao?"
From behind the counter came the sharp *clack* of an abacus, followed by a cool female voice: "Right here."
Zhao Meiyou walked over and smiled. "Happy New Year."
Behind the counter sat a woman in a cheongsam. She had a classic Eastern face, as beautiful as a peach blossom but as cold as frost. She looked him up and down, then lowered her head back to her ledgers, giving a faint "Mm."
Zhao Meiyou hadn't been in to support the business for a while. He noticed a new vertical water tank next to the bar. The aquatic landscaping was beautiful, filled with many colorful tropical fish. "What made you decide to keep fish, Laolao? What breed are these?"
Before he could finish, a drunk stumbled against the tank. Before Zhao Meiyou could stop him, the man leaned over and *blegh*—vomited right into the fish tank.
Zhao Meiyou: "..."
"You don't want to know." The proprietress snapped her fingers. A cleaning robot immediately hauled the drunk out and carried the fish tank away.
The woman finished her calculations, set down the abacus, and stood up. As she rose, her cheongsam transformed into a backless dance dress. Her features shifted as well—she became a blonde, blue-eyed woman of immense charm, smiling at Zhao Meiyou. "My, what brings you to see me today?"
She leaned her ample chest against his shoulder, winking suggestively. "I say, it’s been years and you still haven't landed that Diao boy? His family is worth millions; there’s no reason for you to come begging for scraps in the 330th Layer every day..."
Zhao Meiyou raised both hands to show his innocence. "Laolao, please don't tease me."
The woman huffed, calling him a bore, and then her height suddenly shrank. She turned into a little girl who looked like a porcelain doll. She held out her hand to Zhao Meiyou, demanding righteously, "Red envelope money!"
Zhao Meiyou thought: *You old hag.*
Laolao was the proprietress of Laolao’s Tavern. Whether she was actually a "proprietress" was debatable, as no one had ever seen her true form or knew her real identity since the tavern opened. There were certain unspoken rules in the 330th Layer—for instance, different "eyes" would see different scenes, and some places could only be entered while wearing them. Laolao’s Tavern was one such hidden realm.
No one had ever seen the proprietress outside of the "eyes."
Even the men and women she took to bed hadn't seen her true self. Her bedfellows had once held a private seminar only to discover that the naked bodies they had seen weren't even the same.
Zhao Meiyou handed the New Year’s money to the little girl. She reached out to be held, so he had to bend down and lift her onto his shoulder. As their hair brushed together, the girl whispered in his ear: "Diao Chan isn't here. There’s a stranger waiting for you upstairs."
Few people could enter Laolao’s Tavern, and even fewer were unknown to her. Zhao Meiyou’s expression didn't change as he squeezed out a breathy whisper: "...Government?"
The girl laughed and pinched the back of his neck.
Zhao Meiyou circled the booths on the first floor but didn't gather much useful intel. Spending New Year’s Eve at Laolao’s was a habit he shared with Diao Chan; the 330th Layer had the best fireworks display in the Metropolis, and the tavern’s rooftop was the prime viewing spot.
The last time he’d seen Diao Chan was half a month ago. The man supposedly had an urgent exploration mission and had to visit a site. Before Zhao Meiyou knew about the existence of archaeologists, Diao Chan would often vanish mysteriously. Zhao Meiyou’s internal explanation was that the guy had gone home to play out some wealthy-family drama. The most ridiculous part was that every time he returned, Diao Chan would tell him a story about what his latest stepmother had done, as if he were plotting with one of them to take down his old man.
Looking back, it was a major mistake that the bastard hadn't majored in drama.
Zhao Meiyou pushed open the rooftop door and saw a man in sunglasses standing by the railing. He wore a black trench coat and a Dover-knot tie—the standard government uniform.
The man didn't beat around the bush. "Citizen Zhao Meiyou, the government is conscripting you for a rescue mission in Site S45."
Site S45—Diao Chan’s primary exploration ground.
Zhao Meiyou pulled out a cigarette. "Did something happen to Diao Chan?"
"Citizen Diao Chan lost contact five days ago. The government dispatched rescue personnel immediately, but currently, the rescuers also require assistance." The man handed him a file folder. "These are the details of the mission."
Zhao Meiyou took it and pulled out his lighter. "Why me?"
He wasn't surprised the government had sent rescuers; Diao Chan’s family background ensured that. It also made sense that he wasn't the first choice, given he was a novice at site exploration. But if high-level archaeologists couldn't solve the problem and they were coming to him, it was worth considering why.
"Two reasons," the man said. "First, the rescuers need your ability. Second, you are the emergency contact in Citizen Diao Chan’s file."
Zhao Meiyou put the cigarette and lighter back in his pocket and nodded. "Lead the way."
A helicopter took them to a museum in the Upper Layers. Zhao Meiyou used to come here often during his school days; he’d even meticulously planned how to steal a famous diamond from the collection. Later, he sold that plan to a gang in the Lower Layers. They had originally intended to kill him to keep him quiet, but upon learning of Diao Chan’s identity, they grumbled and hauled the payment to his school in a truck. The driver was exceptionally dedicated, cursing for half an hour under the dormitory window without catching his breath. His core message was: *Zhao Meiyou, you absolute goddamn lunatic.*
That day, Zhao Meiyou and Diao Chan had been in high spirits, playing a four-handed piano piece on the balcony to accompany the driver’s shouting.
Zhao Meiyou didn't ask why they were here, and the man clearly didn't intend to explain. He changed into a uniform in the restroom and then walked down a very long spiral staircase. At the bottom was a sealed room with an antique piano in the center.
"Can you play the piano?" the agent asked.
"Only one song." Zhao Meiyou named the piece.
The agent’s expression turned subtle for a moment, then he nodded, lifted the piano lid, and made a "please" gesture. "This is the method to enter Site S45. Play that song on this piano."
Zhao Meiyou stepped forward and tried a few chords. "No sheet music?"
"No. Please play the melody as it exists in your memory," the agent said. "One final reminder: if someone asks to borrow a smoke inside the site, do not refuse."
As the last note fell, Zhao Meiyou felt a familiar sense of detachment wash over him. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the late 22nd century.
The government hadn't given him much data, only a general overview of Site S45. The era within the site was the mid-to-late 22nd century—an age when human technology had reached its absolute zenith.
At the end of the 22nd century, humanity experienced an unknown catastrophe that nearly wiped out civilization. It wasn't until 2265 that the Metropolis was established. Although history books were vague about the events of the catastrophe, rumors persisted in the city. It was said that humanity had fought a war at the end of the 22nd century called the Orion War.
When the war ended, civilization wasn't rebuilt in time—because Earth underwent a Great Cataclysm.
The Orion War and the Great Cataclysm caused many peak-civilization technologies to be lost. Since the founding of the Metropolis, modern human civilization had become more conservative, and many overly advanced technologies were sealed away. One of the reasons Zhao Meiyou had written his final thesis on the 23rd century was that most 22nd-century history was either lost or classified.
No wonder Site S45 was rated as ultra-high risk.
However... Zhao Meiyou looked around. Thanks to his recent cramming of history and literature, he felt this didn't look like the 22nd century.
He was inside a building. He didn't know which floor yet, but judging by the height of the view, it was a skyscraper. Outside the glass were the moon and stars; there were no dust storms or low-altitude flight vehicles. Judging by the visibility and lack of pollution... was this the 21st century?
Just as he made this judgment, several gunshots rang out, and a commotion erupted in the lobby.
Then he heard the sound of high heels—thin, long heels. The wearer must have powerful, long legs, moving through the crowd with agility and speed. The pace quickened—then a sudden halt. Had she been hit? A pitter-patter sound followed, like falling pearls—no, sharper, like diamonds. The footsteps grew closer, rushing straight toward him.
In that instant, Zhao Meiyou heard his own heartbeat, overlapping with the footsteps like a war drum, like clashing steel, like sun and iron. Flesh and bone tore at each other beneath the skin; old wounds died, singing of a bloody rebirth.
He saw the woman burst through the crowd.
She wore heavy makeup, her lipstick smeared like blood across her cheek. Her black dress surged like flames, as if she were wearing the storm itself.
She seemed to be running for her life; she’d broken a heel and was barefoot—yet she looked so cold and stunning, like a vengeful spirit in an apocalyptic tragedy. How could this be a script for a fugitive?
Then came more gunshots. Zhao Meiyou confirmed it: she was indeed running for her life.
No, not "she." "It."
Bullets tore into the woman’s body, but what spilled from between her ribs wasn't blood. It was diamonds—handfuls of diamonds. And those weren't ribs; no ribs would gleam with the luster of metal.
This was an android.
Zhao Meiyou overturned all his previous judgments. This *was* the 22nd century.
He quickly deduced the preceding events: a high-intelligence android had infiltrated the building, stolen a massive amount of jewelry, been exposed, and was now being hunted by the police.
His train of thought was cut short as the woman suddenly lunged at him.
The floor was covered in diamonds. Sirens, screams, gunshots, footsteps, and his heartbeat all tangled together, compressing before instantly swelling and exploding. The moon was veiled by dark clouds; the full moon became a scimitar, grinning as it slashed down toward his skull.
In the dizzying delirium, he saw starlight like fine powder.
"Snap out of it," someone said above him.
Only then did Zhao Meiyou realize the "starlight" was actually glass. In the massive impact, shards had flown into his mouth. The android had tackled him, and together they had smashed through the glass wall, falling from the heights.
A second later, they crashed into a skiff.
The woman threw Zhao Meiyou into the back seat and pulled the control lever. She pulled with such force that her skin tore, revealing a metallic mechanical skeleton. Zhao Meiyou felt them ascending. The sound of gunfire faded. He sat up, about to say something, when another violent impact sent him sprawling again.
Zhao Meiyou gave up struggling and just lay there, letting things happen. After an unknown amount of time, the turbulence smoothed out, and that voice spoke again: "What is your ability?"
Zhao Meiyou sat up and saw the woman in the pilot’s seat turn half her face toward him. The other half had been blown away, revealing a mess of electronic circuitry and fiber interfaces. Where an eyeball should have been, a cluster of sparks erupted.
No way. This person was an archaeologist too? Zhao Meiyou was momentarily stunned. He asked, "How can you prove your identity?"
The android snapped its fingers, and an aluminum cigarette case appeared out of thin air.
Creation.
Zhao Meiyou paused. "Borrow a smoke?"
The android glanced at him. The aluminum lid flipped open, revealing long, thin cigarettes. It pulled one out and handed it to Zhao Meiyou.
Zhao Meiyou took it. A flame sprouted from the android’s fingertip to light it for him.
This wasn't tobacco. Zhao Meiyou made the judgment the moment the flame caught. He was a veteran smoker; real cigarettes release their aroma the instant the paper burns, like the top notes of a perfume. But the smoke in his mouth was colorless and odorless. What had this person given him to inhale?
A second later, the other person plucked the cigarette from his mouth. The android’s eyes glinted with an inorganic silver as she put the filter to her own lips.
"I see," it said. "Your ability is 'Transformation'."
Before leaving, Zhao Meiyou had remembered the government agent’s words: "If someone asks to borrow a smoke inside the site, do not refuse."
In the ashen moonlight, the android held out a hand. "Let’s get acquainted. How should I call you?"
Zhao Meiyou thought for a second. "You can call me Brother Zhao."
As the mechanical arm passed through the moonlight, Zhao Meiyou saw skin spreading from the mechanical fingertips all the way to the elbow joint. When he shook that hand, he was certain he was touching real human flesh—soft, warm, with a pulse thrumming at the wrist.
They shook hands, and the android said, "Don't doubt it. This is a real hand."
"I borrowed your ability," the android said, pulling its hand back as the skin reverted to machinery. "Transformation."
"When your mastery of the ability reaches a certain level, the range of the transformation is controllable." The android’s lips moved, its half-shattered face looking at Zhao Meiyou. "You seem surprised. Any questions?"
Zhao Meiyou: "...What is your ability?"
"My ability is 'Borrowing a Smoke'," the android said. "When you lend me a smoke, I can possess your ability for a certain period of time."
As it spoke, it pulled the control lever, and the skiff ascended further. "I had just come out of another site when I received the government’s rescue summons. I didn't have many smokes left. The duration of the last smoke I used to borrow 'Transformation' ran out, and I was trapped in this body. You arrived just in time."
"Anyway, thanks." It glanced at Zhao Meiyou. "I’m Qian Duodu. You..."
Zhao Meiyou’s mind raced. An ability like "Borrowing a Smoke" was like "Poetry"—it belonged to an extremely rare group of gifted individuals. In other words, this was a powerhouse, the kind of veteran who could carry him through the mission.
"Hello, Brother Qian," Zhao Meiyou said, sitting up straight and responding smoothly. "My name is Zhao Meiyou. You can call me Little Zhao."
Qian Duodu paused for a moment. "...Zhao Meiyou, I need you to do me a favor."
"Name it, Brother Qian."
"It concerns Diao Chan’s safety. I found some intel in the skyscraper." Qian Duodu turned its head. "I hid the paper documents inside my torso. Stealing the diamonds was just a distraction. Now, I need you to help me get the documents out."
"Sure, Brother Qian," Zhao Meiyou said. "How do I get them?"
"I cannot actively damage my abdominal cavity, or this body will lose its mobility." As Qian Duodu spoke, it demonstrated by "snap"—wrenching off its own left arm and tossing it aside.
The android was concise: "Dismember me."
Zhao Meiyou: "..."
Zhao Meiyou—citizen of the Metropolis, ER doctor at the 33rd Layer Psychiatric Hospital, part-time butcher, and active archaeologist—was about to begin his first step of "clinging to a powerhouse" in Site S45:
By hacking the powerhouse to pieces.
***
**Glossary**
