Chapter 21: Goldfish Aren’t for Eating Part 1

Site 000. Every archaeologist knew of it, but no one had ever set foot inside.

The entrance to Site 000 lay on Layer 1. Among archaeologists, it was known as the Heavenly Gate.

The Heavenly Gate swings open, vast and surging; grand halls daubed broad in vermilion, stones hewn level for the palace.

“Bro.” Zhao Meiyou gestured with his hands. “Is Site 000 really that dangerous?”

“Can’t say for sure,” Qian Duoduo replied, “but judging by the numbering, it’s definitely the most perilous one. It’s terrifying precisely because no one’s ever gone in. Fear stems from the unknown.”

Zhao Meiyou had just woken up, his mind still a bit sluggish, but his instincts told him something was off. Brother Qian, if no one’s ever gone in, how did it get named Site 000? How did the namers know it was the most dangerous? And who was it that assigned the site numbers in the first place?

Then what’s there to discuss? Zhao Meiyou gestured rapidly. I’m definitely coming with you. It’s settled.

Qian Duoduo fell silent for a long moment.

Finally, he clasped Zhao Meiyou’s hand. “Rest up first. We’ve still got time.”

“That’s what he said.”

Zhao Meiyou poked his head out of the bathtub. “‘We’ve still got time’—his exact words.”

“Zhao Meiyou,” The Lead Actor said with a cold laugh as he listened in, “legally and morally speaking, I’m a fresh widow whose husband just died. You won’t even give me hush money, and now you’re showing off your romance at my doorstep? Are you even human?”

“There’s trouble aplenty at a widow’s door,” Zhao Meiyou replied, blowing bubbles in the water. “Help a brother out, and I’ll invite you to the wedding—no gift required.”

“I’m warning you, don’t get ahead of yourself,” The Lead Actor said. “Qian Duoduo hasn’t promised you a thing.”

“No way. This is the 25th century—auction houses sell the most expensive brain slices from people who’ve tasted true love.” Zhao Meiyou raised an eyebrow. “Your attitude’s off. Who’s the one who was hounding me a couple days ago about ‘how to trick someone into your bed’?”

“You should know, then, that the black market’s cheapest item is hormone boosters.” The Lead Actor shot him a sidelong glance. “Find a fling if you want, no problem. But remember, Zhao Meiyou—no one can give definite answers before they die. Don’t get too carried away.”

“You’re a real mood-killer.”

“Romance is boundless, life is finite. Chasing the infinite with the finite is doomed.” The Lead Actor said, “I’m telling you this because your current state might be part of the site aftermath. Suspension bridge effect, Romeo and Juliet effect—whatever hallucination’s stimulating your brain, your reason hasn’t caught up yet. So you’re mistaking it for love. Don’t act rashly.”

He quoted Shakespeare: “These violent delights have violent ends.”

“Speak English,” Zhao Meiyou said, splashing a handful of water at him. “How do you even tell if you’re in reality or a dream?”

“In a dream, you don’t know it’s a dream. You only call ordinary times ordinary.”

“Get out.” Zhao Meiyou pointed at the door. “You can’t hang with us illiterates.”

The Lead Actor actually left. Before going, he looked down at him from on high. “No matter what, one of us deserves a happy ending. Right now, you’re the most likely to get it, Zhao Meiyou.”

Zhao Meiyou draped himself over the edge of the tub. “And are you happy?”

“My poetry is done.” The Lead Actor shut the door behind him. From Zhao Meiyou’s angle, he caught only the man’s retreating back.

The door clicked shut.

“A good ending.”

Half of Zhao Meiyou’s face stayed submerged, staring down a rubber duck.

He was in the washroom. The bathtub’s exterior was covered in a dense web of pipes—some kind of circulation system designed to optimize his internal and external condition. He’d been soaking intermittently here for over half a month now. His body, warped by the Transformation, had mostly healed, leaving only occasional twinges.

Bored out of his mind, Zhao Meiyou had asked The Lead Actor to find him a playback terminal for an experiment.

He wanted to recreate the scene from his dream: lost instruments singing underwater.

The terminal shorted out after just a few dips. The Lead Actor wasn’t about to waste more money on him and instead dug up a music box—pure handmade, at least it wouldn’t electrocute anyone.

Zhao Meiyou tilted his head back in the tub, the water surface receding as he strained to keep his eyes open. The music box floated overhead, its metal and wood engulfed in deep blue liquid. The notes slowly drifted out of tune as iron oxidized and fungi broke down the lignin. He could almost watch it rust and rot.

He didn’t know how long he’d been soaking when the music box’s spring wound down. Suddenly, hands broke the surface, hauling him out, and a large bath towel wrapped around him.

It was Qian Duoduo.

“Brother Qian, you’re back?”

“I’ve told you how many times, Zhao Meiyou—don’t get addicted to the asphyxiation high.” Qian Duoduo frowned at him. “Are you hooked?”

Zhao Meiyou tried to explain, but the dream had been too hazy, so he settled for, “Brother Qian, my lung capacity’s great. I won’t drown.”

Then he spotted the plastic bag in Qian Duoduo’s hand. “You bought fish?”

The fish soup Qian Duoduo had made last time had shattered Zhao Meiyou’s worldview. He’d never imagined anyone could profane ingredients like that. He’d boldly declared that once he recovered, he’d cook himself.

But Qian Duoduo clearly wasn’t letting him save face. The bag held a bunch of goldfish.

“Brother Qian,” Zhao Meiyou said earnestly, “you can’t eat goldfish.”

“I know. Bought them to look at.” Qian Duoduo seemed lost in thought, then asked again, uneasy, “You’re sure it’s not the asphyxiation thing?”

It wasn’t surprising he was paranoid—plenty of archaeologists cracked mentally. Especially an oddball like Zhao Meiyou.

“Really not, Brother Qian.” Zhao Meiyou smiled. “I’m a doctor myself. I know the difference.”

“I heard folks in the Thirty-Third Layer District prefer calling you the Butcher,” Qian Duoduo said skeptically.

Zhao Meiyou laughed it off. “Just jokes, really. Brother Qian, my lungs are fine. I’ve never choked on water…”

Qian Duoduo stepped forward abruptly, his dress shoe splashing into the tub. He gripped Zhao Meiyou’s shoulder, yanking him close. They toppled into the water together.

Deep blue liquid bubbled furiously. Zhao Meiyou’s eyes widened as Qian Duoduo leaned down over him underwater, prying open his lips without a word.

The plastic bag fell. Amid the music box’s warped melody, goldfish flopped on the floor.

It was impossible to call it a kiss—too brief, yet endless. Zhao Meiyou’s mouth was forced open; salty fluid poured down his throat. He choked, head spinning, unable to break free. Near-death and oxygen deprivation crashed over him. The music box dissolved in the water, its song flowing through the liquid into his veins, singing inside him—

Zhao Meiyou shot out of the water, retching over the tub’s edge.

Qian Duoduo patted him down, apparently convinced, and nodded. He moved to the sink, where he seemed to have swallowed even more of the bathwater. He hunched over and vomited, a goldfish even flopping out of his mouth.

Zhao Meiyou had never seen such a kill-one-thousand-lose-eight-hundred tactic. He recovered first. “Cough… I-I told you, Brother Qian…”

Qian Duoduo turned on the faucet, splashed his face, and looked back at Zhao Meiyou. “How’s that feel, choking on water?”

A brutal cure—hell, not even a cure—but Zhao Meiyou got the point. For a while, anyway, dunking his head wouldn’t just bring back this drowning and retching.

He threw up his hands in surrender. “Won’t happen again. Scout’s honor.”

But Brother Qian, Zhao Meiyou thought.

How do you know I won’t be thinking of your lips?

Qian Duoduo saw right through him. “Want a kiss? Come find me. Don’t fantasize in the water like a coward.”

“…”

Zhao Meiyou surrendered again.

This time for real.

There was still frozen fish in the fridge. Qian Duoduo put the goldfish in a tank while Zhao Meiyou prepped the fresh stuff in the kitchen. This safehouse had been The Lead Actor and his husband’s home, fully equipped. Zhao Meiyou even found an old-fashioned oven built into the wall with a copper door—clearly the old man’s taste. It wasn’t user-friendly, so his late husband must’ve been a pro.

Zhao Meiyou fiddled with it a bit, then gave up and decided on fish stew.

Millet peppers, cherry peppers, green and red chilies, green Sichuan peppercorns—hot oil to burst their aroma, fry till tiger-skinned, strain, add water and simmer the sauce. The veggies were fresh from the Middle Layer District, vibrant and juicy. The cutting board overflowed with colorful peppers, heads chopped off, oozing thick juices that filled the kitchen with wet, spicy green.

Zhao Meiyou cranked the heat. The peppers’ aggressive fragrance hit hard, tamed by boiling water and oil like a wild tryst.

The Lead Actor poked his head in midway, like he had something to say, but coughed and fled before uttering a word. Qian Duoduo saw him emerge. “What’s Zhao Meiyou doing?”

“Exorcism!” The Lead Actor pinched his nose as he stomped off.

Thaw the fish, score and marinate with ginger to cut the fishiness.

Simmer the pepper oil into broth, blanch mushrooms for the base, add fish last. No boiling—slow braise.

Zhao Meiyou rummaged and found a clay pot. Once the soup was ready, he poured it in. The kitchen door opened; he recognized Qian Duoduo’s footsteps and handed over the ladle. “Brother Qian, taste the saltiness?”

The ladle clinked against a gas mask.

Zhao Meiyou: “…Brother Qian, what’re you doing?”

Qian Duoduo’s voice was muffled inside. “Zhao Meiyou, if you wanna kill someone, just tell me. No need to brew poison.”

“Brother Qian, peppers can be fumey when frying—kinda like love growing over time. It’ll mellow out.” Zhao Meiyou curved the ladle and sipped. “This is pepper-numbed fish soup. No lie—it’s killer.”

Qian Duoduo counted down silently: three, two, one. Seconds passed; Zhao Meiyou stood fine. He hesitated, removed the mask, and licked the ladle.

Zhao Meiyou watched eagerly. “Well? Well?”