“…I’ll pass.” Qian Duoduo pointed at the pot. “Make another batch. Also, Young Master Liu wanted you to know—dinner gathering tonight.”
Zhao Meiyou ladled a bowl for Qian Duoduo. “Gathering?”
Qian Duoduo waved off the bowl, preferring to sip from the pot. “A few colleagues we know. Trustworthy.”
Zhao Meiyou got it. An archaeologists’ meetup.
The Lead Actor’s safehouse sat in the Middle Layer District. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, a fast-food airship glided past the window. The waitress, gliding on hover skates through the air, held up a menu striped in red and yellow—burgers and soda.
M Fast Food, soda, and Marlboro Cigarettes were the Metropolis’s three prized cultural relics, supposedly the only things in the city whose recipes matched those from centuries ago. In the distance, the massive Lamp-Lighting God Statue flickered to life. It was the first golden-body structure completed in the Metropolis’s cultural building project, piercing through one hundred forty-nine layers and providing nighttime light for half the Middle Layer District.
Sunset poured like molten gold. Ripples like flowing water shimmered across the walls.
The first guest to arrive was a middle-aged man in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase and a thermos as if he’d just clocked out from work. Next came a pair of twins still in their school uniforms, followed by an androgynous young person dressed in an utterly unique style. They carried a transparent oxygen tank—or rather, a miniature ecosystem pod stocked with flowers and butterflies.
He—or she—wore an oxygen mask that hid their face. Rumor had it this was a side effect from the Sites; they could no longer breathe the real world’s air.
Qian Duoduo’s “few colleagues” clearly numbered more than ten. There was the opera singer of a woman, a boy in a wheelchair, a woman who was stunningly, unnaturally beautiful with an IV bag dangling from her arm, a brother-and-sister pair who could have been beggars or thugs. They swept through the kitchen stores the moment they entered, even hauling the fridge onto a cart. There might have been a philosopher or two. When Zhao Meiyou stepped into the bathroom, he found some of them occupying the tub, smoking while shaking pill bottles like dice.
All told, there were about twenty of them, a motley assortment. Some arrived in pajamas, dragging sleeping bags; one promptly passed out in the hallway and got stepped on more than once without stirring.
The Lead Actor had ordered a mountain of takeout. The air filled with the aroma of fried chicken and hot sauce. Zhao Meiyou set aside a few simple stir-fries, rolled up his sleeves, and pitched in. The kitchen’s acrid pepper fumes gradually dissipated. One guest delivered ingredients in an insulated box: clusters of blue-green fungi.
Zhao Meiyou glanced at them. “You can’t eat that stuff.”
“Why not?” asked the oxygen-masked youth. “It’s expensive. Labs can only cultivate a few dozen kilos a year.”
“You should check out below the twentieth layer sometime,” Zhao Meiyou replied. “It grows wild there for free. The tribal folks use it as poison.”
“Properly prepared, it’s edible,” The Lead Actor said as he wandered over. “Time to get creative, Zhao Meiyou. Turn it into something people can eat.”
“It’s hallucinogenic,” Zhao Meiyou warned. “You sure you want this crowd wrecking your place?”
The Lead Actor shrugged. “They’re the same blackout drunk either way.”
By the time the food hit the table, the crowd in the living room had broken into song. Zhao Meiyou poked his head downstairs. The middle-aged civil servant was raiding The Lead Actor’s liquor cabinet like an old pro, eagerly stacking a champagne tower. The thug siblings tried to swipe the wheelchair boy’s IV stand. When he refused, he stood up, swung his wheelchair at them, and gave chase. A table overturned, glasses shattering everywhere.
Some guests were impossible to age. The Lead Actor shared a trick: “The ones who look normal are either underage or middle-aged. The ones who seem a bit brain-dead are usually in their twenties or thirties.”
Zhao Meiyou blinked. “Why’s that?”
“Kids are desperate to grow up, so they fake maturity. Middle-aged folks want to feel young, so they fake cool. Only people in their twenties are stuck in the mushy middle—pure fluidity, primed for self-destruction.” The Lead Actor snorted. “Run a psych survey on this lot; more than half would end up hospitalized.”
It did ring true. Zhao Meiyou finally placed that nagging sense of familiarity.
It was like a wild habitat in a mental hospital.
Qian Duoduo appeared last, materializing in the living room. The moment he entered, every sound cut off. The archaeologists swiveled toward him like they’d sprouted radar dishes. Then, in unison, they turned to stare at Zhao Meiyou peeking from the second floor.
Zhao Meiyou felt something indescribable. He’d never shied from stares, even venomous ones. But now, all these eyes—none truly malicious—turned toward him and Qian Duoduo, weaving an invisible net between them. It sliced open his chest like soft blades, and out flew butterflies, flaunting his vulgar yet grandiose dreams to the world.
Like boiling soup dashed on snow, entrails bared to the crowd.
The twins broke the silence first. The older one laughed, then the younger extended a hand to Qian Duoduo. “Where’s the candy?”
Qian Duoduo ducked his head. “What candy?”
In chorus, the twins replied, “On a night like this, shouldn’t you treat us to some?”
“He should treat us,” the civil servant said, adjusting his glasses. “And while we’re at it, time to settle that bet.”
Zhao Meiyou leaned toward The Lead Actor. “What bet?”
“What do you think?” The Lead Actor rolled his eyes. “How long till he stops being single, obviously.”
Clinging to decorum now would have been pointless. Tonight’s guests were all Qian Duoduo’s acquaintances—and some of The Lead Actor’s old friends besides. They drank, devoured the food like starving ghosts, and lobbed blessings at Zhao Meiyou and Qian Duoduo. Some sounded sober, others slurred; a few bordered on curses.
Not surprisingly, Zhao Meiyou blended in fast—like a wanderer reuniting with old friends. The trick was simple: ditch all social niceties. These were drunks, maniacs, lunatics, and children. Guests’ fingers turned blue from the fungi as they chatted, spat grape seeds, soared to heaven, or plunged to hell.
The opera singer planted countless lipstick marks all over Zhao Meiyou. He tried to dodge, but her grip was shockingly strong. In the end, Qian Duoduo yanked him free with a sigh. “I owe her one.”
“Care to share why?”
“A long time ago, when I came out of a Site, I caused an accident. It interrupted one of her big performances.” Qian Duoduo paused. “She was midway through an aria: ‘Ten Thousand Kisses Tonight.'”
Zhao Meiyou chuckled. “I’ve definitely got fewer than ten thousand on me now.”
He held out both hands. “Want to make up the difference, Brother Qian?”
Some time later, the boy lugging his IV stand wandered over and handed Zhao Meiyou a tube of ointment.
Zhao Meiyou took it. “What’s this?”
“Nano rapid-fusion molecules. Heals mouth sores on contact.” The boy’s eyes flicked between them. “Just in case you two kiss your lips raw.”
Once the boy left, Zhao Meiyou eyed Qian Duoduo. “I’m a little curious. What’s with that kid’s IV stand? He doesn’t look like he needs medical treatment.”
“He ate something he shouldn’t have in Site S18,” Qian Duoduo explained. “Pushed his quantum levels way too high. His life force is unstable now—could die in the next second or live forever.”
Zhao Meiyou watched the boy’s retreating back. “How long has he been hanging on?”
“He’s an old acquaintance of Young Master Liu’s Husband.” Qian Duoduo nodded. “The fluid in his IV bag lowers his quantum threshold.”
Zhao Meiyou paused. “I doubt that’s for extending his life.”
“You’re right.” Qian Duoduo inclined his head. “It actually speeds up his death.”
The oxygen youth plucked a butterfly pupa from his tank. The Lead Actor uncorked a bottle of mescal. They mixed salt, lemon, the pupa, and liquor, then located the sleeping bag under the stairs and poured the whole mess down the dreamwalker’s throat.
“That’s his ability: ‘Specimen,'” Qian Duoduo told Zhao Meiyou. “Records everything that’s happened in reality, then recreates it perfectly in the Sites.”
Zhao Meiyou asked, “When’s this guy gonna wake up?”
“That’s one of the field’s great mysteries.” The oxygen youth shrugged. “In the Metropolis, he seems more like he’s sleepwalking. Maybe the Sites are reality for him. Who knows.”
Bitter days drag short, sweet nights stretch long.
Fleeting light, oh fleeting light.
Come, share a cup of wine—for brows eternal, face forever young.
By the wee hours, the rooms were total chaos. Maybe it was the blue hands, but the guests burst into song and dance. Some crawled across the floor. The Lead Actor lounged on the sofa with a hookah; the smoke rose like a hazy sigh of melancholy rapture. The fridge door hung open, canned vomit spewing everywhere. Drunks filled the tub with ice and soaked themselves, hands plunged wrist-deep into ice cream tubs. Brilliant cold light slashed the floor, carving madness into quarters.
Zhao Meiyou and Qian Duoduo climbed to the rooftop, gazing at the distant Giant Buddha Statue amid fading lights.
Qian Duoduo carried down an earthenware pot from the steps—the fish soup Zhao Meiyou had simmered. “Saved you some.”
Zhao Meiyou took the pot and gulped down a huge mouthful. He was ravenous; aside from booze, his stomach was empty. “Brother Qian, mind if I ask what this dinner’s for?”
“A send-off,” Qian Duoduo said. “They know we’re heading to Site 000.”
Zhao Meiyou caught the “we,” grinning into the night.
“Your body’s mostly recovered. If you’re set on going, we need to move fast.” Qian Duoduo continued, “I’ve handled all the arrangements. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“So soon?” Zhao Meiyou said.
“Four hours till sunrise.” Qian Duoduo checked the time. “You’ve got four hours, Zhao Meiyou. Anything you want to do?”
Zhao Meiyou studied Qian Duoduo. A strange familiarity washed over him, evoking memories of his mother. Before her suicide pact with Li Ming at dawn, she’d asked him the exact same thing: Anything you want to do?
He glanced at the abyss of skyscrapers in the Middle Layer District. That woman hadn’t waited for his answer before leaping away.
A leap downward—a path to limitless horizons all the same.
Finally, he spoke.
“I want to watch the sunrise with you, Brother Qian.”
