Chapter 7: The Old Homestead Part 1

As an emergency room doctor in the psychiatric hospital, Zhao Meiyou could certainly understand The Lead Actor’s approach. It was undeniably creative, scoring full marks for imagination.

Swapping the brain of a counterpart into a real person’s body might have some ethical holes and raise certain philosophical questions—once the transplant succeeded, who was really alive: the counterpart or the original? Was it the brain or the flesh that determined the soul?

But those were just Zhao Meiyou’s own thoughts. Once the patient was discharged, he was no longer his responsibility. Other people’s lives weren’t his to meddle in. If The Lead Actor truly got what he was seeking, his friend could just mooch a drink out of it.

As long as he didn’t get himself killed.

Adults could have it all, just so long as they didn’t end up losing the wife and folding the army too.

Zhao Meiyou straightened out his thoughts and found his starting point rather amusing. He thought he was showing goodwill toward his friend, maintaining a neutral stance while waiting for the right moment to lend a hand. But what was the real motive? To help The Lead Actor succeed?

Pull the other one. It was simply that he’d be sad if his friend died.

And he didn’t want to be sad.

If he wouldn’t be sad, then it had nothing to do with him whether the guy lived or died.

So self-interest was indeed the primary driving force behind human behavior. Zhao Meiyou reached that conclusion and immediately felt refreshed, his high dancing wildly through his brain. Diao Chan’s coffee always packed a hell of a punch; he definitely wasn’t sleeping tonight.

Zhao Meiyou pondered for a moment, then decided to strike while the iron was hot. He dashed straight to the high platform on the 777th floor of the Metropolis and leaped off like a soaring roc, wings spread wide.

The balloon went “pop,” and he landed seated in the big red audience stands.

A lion leaped through a flaming hoop, aerial acrobats showered golden confetti, fireworks sprayed orange dust and blue-purple flames. Dwarves, giants, snake women, clowns, and mad scientists danced on the sandy ground. Darts pierced spinning targets, elephants paraded in, a magician’s top hat unleashed a flock of white doves. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the greatest show!”

Zhao Meiyou couldn’t tell what era this was. The world resembled a massive circus, an endless amusement park. He emerged from the tent and wandered for a long time along streets strung with colorful lights. The scenery shifted from Victorian haunted houses to roller coasters and drop towers from the Third Industrial Revolution. The crowds wore every imaginable style: ladies with peony hairpins, nobles in hunting robes, missionaries, Western socialites, punk girls, and hip-hop kids. The little children seemed to be celebrating Halloween, dressed in eerie, multicolored skeleton costumes, some clutching plaster heads.

Zhao Meiyou had come in hoping to test his luck and find that old taxi driver gentleman, but now the streets teemed with traffic—gargoyles pulling four-wheeled carriages in a frenzy, flying carpets drifting through the air, broomsticks, paper airplanes, Heelys, a Hogwarts Express car, a car that whooshed past the moon like the time-traveling DeLorean from Back to the Future.

In short, this place collected every mad idea from around the world. Finding a normal taxi here was damn near impossible.

Fine then. Make the best of it. Zhao Meiyou adapted quickly and soon found an arcade to lose himself in. These retro game halls were rare in the Metropolis these days, even in the Lower District. People preferred neural-linked immersive dream dives or at least full holograms.

That meant Zhao Meiyou, who’d only played holograms before, got wrecked at the classic machines. The kids wouldn’t carry him, and even turning into a hot babe didn’t help—pre-teen boys only cared about Ultraman. Zhao Meiyou had never seen Ultraman and tried shapeshifting based on their description, but they rejected his Tylor for lacking horns, calling it a bootleg.

Quickly reduced to the bottom of the gaming food chain, Zhao Meiyou ended up at the claw machine.

Luckily, his claw skills were decent. A little girl watched him for a bit, then tugged his clothes. “Auntie, can you grab me a March Hare?”

“Change how you address me, and I’ll get it for you.” Zhao Meiyou stared unblinkingly at the claw inside the glass.

The little girl thought it over, then declared firmly, “You hag!”

Zhao Meiyou’s hand slipped, and the plushie dropped through the chute with a plop. “Here, you little brat.”

“I wanted the March Hare. This is the Red Queen.” The little girl wasn’t pleased.

Zhao Meiyou replied, “Crazy hags only come as the Red Queen.”

The little girl stared at him for a moment, then “snap”—she twisted off the Red Queen’s head. One, two, three—ready—set—wail!

By the time the little girl’s father finally showed up, he saw two figures at the claw machine: the woman standing steady as a rock, the little girl howling like a banshee. Half a Red Queen’s body piled up in the shopping basket like a mini mountain, doll heads scattered across the floor.

“Doudou!” The man rushed forward. “Causing trouble again!” He quickly apologized to Zhao Meiyou. “Sorry about this, miss. My kid’s a handful; I’ll make sure to discipline her when we get home…”

“No worries.” Zhao Meiyou worked the joystick. “Your daughter’s got a great set of pipes.”

Doudou was all thunder no rain, wailing for ages without a single tear. Now that Dad was here, she dropped the act, clambered up from the floor, and said to Zhao Meiyou, “Sis, you’ve got sharp ears too.”

Zhao Meiyou smiled and clamped a March Hare, handing it over. “Drink more water when you get home, kiddo.”

The father nudged the little girl. “Say thank you.”

Doudou: “Thanks, Auntie.”

Zhao Meiyou: “…”

What a character this kid was. He couldn’t help but chuckle wryly and looked up at her father. “Your daughter’s really something…” He trailed off midway.

The man hurriedly scolded the child. “Doudou, call her sister!”

“It’s fine. Lots of people here—keep an eye on her so she doesn’t get lost.” Zhao Meiyou waved it off, turned back to his claw game.

The man thanked him and led the girl away. Not far off waited what had to be the girl’s mother, holding three cotton candies—one for each family member, though she’d already devoured more than half of them herself. Doudou spotted it and shrieked, bolting over to snatch hers. The mother laughed, holding it high to tease her as they bounced and jumped together.

A real family, through and through.

Zhao Meiyou fed in a coin and maneuvered the joystick. The claw swayed unsteadily inside the machine, his controls a bit off-balance—he was using the glass reflection to observe the family of three behind him.

That man was Li Daqiang. The archaeologist who vanished from Site A173.

His wife and daughter, no doubt. In reality, they’d long since perished.

What the hell? Was Li Daqiang’s ability Creation? No, he remembered the guy’s power was… Zhao Meiyou blanked for an instant, his hand jerking. The claw dropped the plushie with a smack.

The little girl not far away turned at the sound, grinning ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.

“Daddy, he’s fake.”

The next second, Li Daqiang appeared out of thin air right behind him.

Agony struck. In his daze, Zhao Meiyou looked down to see the knife tip protruding from his gut.

This was Li Daqiang’s ability: Leap.

Zhao Meiyou couldn’t remember the last time he’d run this hard. Even the time Grandpa De tried to castrate him hadn’t been this intense. Li Daqiang seemed able to control part of the Site; countless creatures now hunted him down, turning the area behind him into a full-blown Jurassic Park. Zhao Meiyou felt targeted, morphing from the Big Bad Wolf’s grandma to Ursula to Tarzan, yet he was still spotted. In desperation, he lost control of his features, accidentally glancing at a funhouse mirror and stumbling from his own ugliness—he now sported three goddamn breasts.

Why was Li Daqiang so ruthless? Did the government owe him money, or did some colleague bang his wife? Or was he not the only one tracking Li Daqiang, and others wanted the guy dead, so he was striking first?

Zhao Meiyou ran while raising his hands and yelling, “Li Daqiang! I’m not here to kill you! Let’s talk!”

Li Daqiang remained as unmoved as a betrayed husband scorned by his cheating spouse.

Zhao Meiyou despaired. He wanted to give up. He didn’t dare give up. Li Daqiang’s Leap ability could close spatial distances in an instant; getting surrounded meant game over. He could only weave through the chaotic crowds, dodging and hiding. That first stab had gone clean through him, then sliced sideways, his guts spilling out. Zhao Meiyou had no time for first aid—nothing fatal to the brain, and he’d live. He tied them off with a quick bow and kept running.

Truth be told, the knife work was better than his own hog-slaughtering. If it weren’t him on the receiving end, he’d have complimented the craftsmanship.

Right—I am a butcher. A slaughterer. Why the hell am I running? Zhao Meiyou skidded to a halt. Screw this—let’s do it!

He recalled The Lead Actor’s warning: excessive emotional swings could make an archaeologist lost in the Site. That was him right now, emotions dragging him along until he became the hunted one from the script.

Realizing it, Zhao Meiyou geared up to fight. Then a car hurtled from the sky, smashing into him and sending him flying. The next instant, the vehicle crashed into the ground in a massive explosion. Amid the shockwave, someone grabbed his hand and hauled him away at speed. Moments later, the clamor faded. Only then did Zhao Meiyou see who it was.

An elderly man with silver hair tied back, posture straight as an arrow—The Lead Actor’s husband.

The old gentleman brought him to a building in the amusement park. As Zhao Meiyou opened his mouth, the man patted his shoulder, whispered something, and shoved him inside.

“It’s not safe here. You go first.”

The door slammed shut behind him. Inside was a Mirror Maze.

Zhao Meiyou’s ears still rang with the old man’s words. Moments later, he realized why he’d been brought here.

He extended his arms in an embrace, and through the light’s refraction, two figures faced each other in the mirror. Zhao Meiyou softly hummed a tune and danced a tango.

This place differed slightly from Site A173 before. The details were rougher—for instance, exiting the previous Site required a partners’ tango, but here both mirrors danced the male steps. As the final note fell, the familiar sensation of departure descended from above.

When he opened his eyes again, he was under the night sky of the Metropolis’s 777th Floor.

The next day, Zhao Meiyou unusually submitted a sick note to the hospital, citing a work injury.