They visited many more sites, with the train stopping occasionally for picnics along the Stellar Road. It wasn’t just at the edge of the universe that They dwelled; as they passed a nebula resembling a vast ocean, Zhao Meiyou spotted numerous giants standing around its perimeter.
The giants hung their heads low, ignoring everything else in the cosmos, their gazes fixed solely on the nebula before them, as if peering into a petri dish of seawater.
In human language, “giants” was the only fitting term for those beings. Mythology might offer more apt words—Pangu-like figures, centaurs, swarms of insects, and so on—but Zhao Meiyou was no scholar and couldn’t recite the right scriptures at that moment.
Zhao Meiyou gazed at the distant giants. Creatures of that scale could indeed cleave the heavens and earth between stars with a single axe. “What are They doing?”
“Brewing soup,” Qian Duoduo replied.
“Brewing soup?” Zhao Meiyou was baffled. “What kind?”
“Primordial soup.”
Primordial soup—in Earth’s lexicon, this was a biologist’s hypothesis about the origin of life. In the planet’s earliest days, the environment resembled a vast primordial ocean where inorganic molecules underwent chemical reactions, eventually birthing the first life forms.
That liquid milieu teeming with organic matter was dubbed “primordial soup.”
“I see,” Zhao Meiyou mused thoughtfully. “What happens once the soup is ready?”
“Drink it, of course.”
Starlight flickered unevenly inside the carriage, the air thick like viscous liquid. Qian Duoduo suddenly asked, “Have you read the Mountain-Sea Notes?”
“What’s that?”
“A renowned work among archaeologists, supposedly left behind by the earliest batch of scholars.” Qian Duoduo explained, “The most authoritative among that first generation had ancient Eastern bloodlines. They made an intriguing attempt, interpreting sites through passages from the ancient Classic of Mountains and Seas, leaving behind many profound phrases.”
He recited one: “In the wilderness of Great Legacy, by the abyss, Di Jun’s children await their meal of sun and moon.”
As if anticipating Zhao Meiyou’s confusion, Qian Duoduo pressed on: “A second-generation scholar of ancient English descent spent decades studying the Mountain-Sea Notes. In ancient Eastern legends, Di Jun was a celestial god and a giant, so he believed ‘Di Jun’s children’ referred to these giants.”
“That scholar’s posthumous writings included a famous line, considered by many to be the key to the ‘Great Legacy Wilderness’ chapter in the Mountain-Sea Notes.”
Qian Duoduo watched as the giants shrank in the starry expanse, speaking slowly.
“At the abyss’s edge, the giants await their meal.”
Ah, that made sense. Zhao Meiyou recalled the giants’ hunched postures over the nebula and thought: No wonder.
When you’re starving and waiting for chow time, you crowd around the stove looking just like that.
The train pressed onward. According to Qian Duoduo, the Rum Tunnel connected most sites.
“I don’t have a fixed home base for exploration,” Qian Duoduo said. “I can adapt to any site. There have been similar archaeologists before—wanderers drifting between sites, called troubadours.”
Zhao Meiyou connected the dots to Qian Duoduo’s role as a government operative, likely handling oversight and rescues. It wasn’t odd for him to lack a main site.
They passed more sites, the train halting at times. Qian Duoduo guided him through them like speedrunning with a strategy guide. The sites came in wild varieties: planet-sized libraries, derelict space stations, civilizations locked in eternal war, endless galleries. They zipped by a bathhouse-like site where fellow archaeologists soaked in tubs with fish-tank oxygen helmets. Some got scrubbed down—one master dumped a wooden bucket of hot water over a plastic bed, then wrapped it in plastic wrap. The queue featured humans and unknown creatures alike. Zhao Meiyou watched a mermaid sprawl on the mat, scales flaking off in glistening sheets. In the sauna sat a blind squid sawing away at an erhu, singing to itself.
In the end, Qian Duoduo had to drag Zhao Meiyou away, drool still trickling from his mouth.
Back on the train, Qian Duoduo remarked, “Your mental fortitude is top-notch for a newbie.”
“Nah,” Zhao Meiyou waved it off. “Food is the first necessity of the people, after all.”
Humanity’s primal urges could sometimes hinder rational thought, but before the unknown, they often conquered fear.
Whatever it is, see if it’s edible first.
Time flowed strangely in the Rum Tunnel. They’d toured dozens of sites, yet Zhao Meiyou felt no fatigue. Qian Duoduo, however, seemed weary, rubbing his temples. “One more site, then we’ll call it…”
Before he finished, a phone rang in the carriage.
Qian Duoduo snapped his fingers, summoning a floating panel between them. The image was blurry, showing only a silhouette.
“Qian Duoduo, Zhao Meiyou citizens,” the shadow said. “The government issues you an emergency rescue mission.”
“Decline,” Qian Duoduo shot back. “I’m beat. No overtime.”
Zhao Meiyou was surprised. Wasn’t Qian Duoduo a government archaeologist? Who knew desk jockeys dared push back on overtime these days?
The shadow paused. “…This one’s urgent. Government offers double pay.”
Qian Duoduo: “Triple.”
Shadow: “…Approved. Proceed to Site S86 ASAP.”
“Sites starting with S have high risk factors,” Qian Duoduo said, glancing at Zhao Meiyou. “Want to go? Not as elite as Site S45, but plenty have died in S86.”
Zhao Meiyou: “Quadruple.”
Shadow: “…Three and a half times. Take it or leave it.”
Zhao Meiyou leaned back in his seat and nodded. “Alright then, let’s roll.”
Like Site S45, Site S86 lay outside the Rum Tunnel’s coordinate system for various reasons. Zhao Meiyou and Qian Duoduo returned to reality first, entering from a Metropolis nexus. En route, Qian Duoduo briefed him: “Site S86 is unique. It has a fixed ‘Overseer’—not an archaeologist, but a lifeform birthed by the site itself.”
“Aren’t there plenty like that in other sites?” Zhao Meiyou asked.
“Those are fluid, like ‘Creation’ products.” Qian Duoduo pondered. “Think of it this way: if an archaeologist picks a home base, their mind couples with the site over deep dives. In time, even without ‘Creation’ powers, they reshape it subtly… like Diao Chan.” He paused. “He’s an example with Site S45.”
Zhao Meiyou nodded to show he got it.
“But Site S86 has no fixed archaeologist—not due to danger.” Qian Duoduo continued. “It has its native Overseer.”
“So,” Zhao Meiyou said, “the site owns itself. It spawned a lifeform to reshape it?”
He brightened. “Does this site have its own brain? Is it alive?”
“You’re quick on the uptake,” Qian Duoduo said, relieved. “Site S86 manifests as a grand mansion housing a lady of the house—the Overseer.”
“Lady of the house? What’s her title?” Zhao Meiyou chuckled lowly. “Madam?”
“First, a heads-up,” Qian Duoduo warned, meeting his eyes. “Rumor has it S86’s Overseer isn’t native-born but an archaeologist swallowed by the site. The truth’s government-sealed, lost to time, surviving only in trade whispers.”
Zhao Meiyou and Qian Duoduo locked eyes, and he grinned. “Brother Qian, you don’t know the truth either?”
Qian Duoduo fell silent for a long moment before murmuring, “I’m not entirely free to act.”
“Got it,” Zhao Meiyou nodded, still smiling. “So, what’s the lady called?”
By now, they were back in reality, riding the elevator to the Upper District. Entry to Site S86 had flair: Qian Duoduo led him into the East Ocean Tavern, settling in a private room. Water trickled outside, wooden clappers echoing from a bamboo grove—deer startled sounds.
Screens parted layer by layer. Opposite sat a woman with powdered-white face. She bowed slightly to them, then plucked her strings.
As the first lyric rose, Zhao Meiyou heard Qian Duoduo’s answer. “The ancient Italian composer Puccini once heard a music box at a friend’s, etched with Eastern folk tunes. Inspired, he wove them into his operas. This one’s among them.”
“…Look, I’m no culture vulture,” Zhao Meiyou said, pointing at the woman. “Bro, you know she’s singing Eighteen Touches, right?”
“I know,” Qian Duoduo said flatly. “Puccini probably knew what he was writing when he penned ‘One Fine Day.'”
“‘One Fine Day’?”
“An aria from one of Puccini’s three great operas.” Qian Duoduo answered the title question.
“Butterfly Madam.”
The song ended, and disorientation hit. They entered the mansion Qian Duoduo had described.
Its layout echoed the tavern: heavy Eastern style, paper screens painted with vibrant evening cherry blossoms. Qian Duoduo scanned around. “The layout’s changed.”
Zhao Meiyou turned to him. “Brother Qian?”
“The wind smells wrong.” Qian Duoduo closed his eyes, then opened them. “Zhao Meiyou, transform.”
“Into what?”
“Anything. Use your ‘Transformation.’ Quick.”
Zhao Meiyou swore he strained like he had the worst constipation, but it was like clogged veins. He shut his eyes, opened them—same as before.
Qian Duoduo had expected as much. He frowned, grabbed Zhao Meiyou’s hand. “Danger outside, probably. Stick close.”
He pushed open the door.
Beyond stretched endless corridors.
They stood in a colossal atrium, vertical space laced with spiraling staircases everywhere—some blooming with cherry blossoms, others trickling water, a few snapped midway with long moss draping like rusted women’s tongues.
Zhao Meiyou’s eyes spun with dizziness. The structure here resembled a vertical kaleidoscope; he even spotted what looked like Penrose stairs and a Möbius strip. “Brother Qian, was it like this the last time you came?”
“No, this is the site’s typical state of chaos. An intruder wrecked the place.” Qian Duoduo hoisted Zhao Meiyou onto his shoulder in one motion. “Hold on tight. There are too many stairs—no time to take them one by one.”
With that, he sprinted forward and leaped from the stairs straight down to the lowest level.
Whistling wind filled their ears as Zhao Meiyou shouted, “What’s a state of chaos?”
“Last time I visited, the mansion was nothing like this. The layout was perfectly orderly, without all these stairs—just an ordinary traditional Japanese house.” Qian Duoduo replied, “Remember at Site S45, when you exposed Diao Chan’s identity? Every living thing in the site attacked us in an instant. That’s the state of chaos.”
Zhao Meiyou pieced it together. “So someone did something to the lady of the house—the Butterfly Madam—and it set her off?”
“Very likely.” Qian Duoduo snapped his fingers and uttered a single word: “Wind.”
A vortex of wind gathered beneath their feet. Whether from imagination or not, the gusts felt much weaker this time, but they were still strong enough for a steady landing.
“…Hold on, Brother Qian. Why can you still use your ability?”
“My ability works because I’m strong enough.” Qian Duoduo said. “But the wind itself has been greatly weakened—by someone.”
“Ah, got it.” Upside down over Qian Duoduo’s shoulder, Zhao Meiyou patted the man’s thick thigh. “Hey, Brother Qian, mind if we switch things up? This position is digging into me. Hurts. How about carrying me properly?”
Qian Duoduo paused for a moment, then scooped him up into his arms.
Suddenly, amid the thick darkness surrounding them, a goldfish lantern flickered to life.
Qian Duoduo lashed out with a kick. The figure let out a pained “Ow!” “Stop, stop—don’t hit! I’m on your side, one of your own!”
Qian Duoduo didn’t relent. He pinned the figure underfoot and demanded, “Code name?”
“Koi! Code name Koi!” The voice belonged to a man. “You’re here to rescue me, right? I’ve been trapped here forever!”
Koi. Zhao Meiyou recognized the name from the mission briefing.
Qian Duoduo lifted his foot. “What was the environment like when you arrived?”
“Everything was normal when I got here! Just a lavish mansion. Then a noble lady invited me to dinner…”
Zhao Meiyou knew that tone all too well—the rambling of someone half-mad from too long locked in the Hospital, words tumbling out without order, leaving the listener to stitch the story together. Koi prattled on about his explorations through the site before concluding, “I was just about to leave when suddenly the door was gone! And that noble lady had vanished too!”
Qian Duoduo asked, “Then you got trapped here?”
“Yeah. And that noble lady—that woman—she just snapped!”
