Chapter 16: Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Diao Chan hadn’t even finished speaking when a bolt of thunder crashed down from above the site, exploding with a deafening roar.

“No need for such dramatic scene-setting, thanks,” Zhao Meiyou said. “So, what do you plan to do next?”

The question could just as easily have been: How can I help?

“With your current strength, Zhao Meiyou, you can’t help me.” Diao Chan paused for a moment before continuing. “I chose to get lost at this exact time for two reasons. One, I found a lead on the Artificial Brain. Two, it perfectly timed with Qian Duoduo emerging from his last site.”

Right, Qian Duoduo. Zhao Meiyou remembered something. “This guy’s with the government?”

“Archaeologists are technically on the government payroll,” Diao Chan replied. “Why do you say that?”

“The first time we met, he already knew your real name. Most archaeologists use codenames to protect their identities. For him to know your true name, there are only two possibilities. One, you’re close. Two, he has access to government secrets.”

“If it was the first, I’d have heard about him from you at some point, so that’s unlikely.” Zhao Meiyou shifted gears. “And Qian Duoduo is ridiculously strong. His ability is absurd. If I were the Metropolis Government, I wouldn’t ignore a sensitive group like archaeologists. I’d plant a few aces in there. Not many—just enough to clear house when needed.”

As he spoke, Zhao Meiyou glanced at Diao Chan. “But you said you timed it to match Qian Duoduo leaving his previous site. To introduce me to him? Are you trying to recruit him? Looks like his ties to the government aren’t unbreakable…”

He pondered for a few seconds, then his eyes lit up with realization. “You want me to turn him into a double agent?”

Diao Chan clapped a few times. “Zhao Meiyou, you’re a breath of fresh air to talk to.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” Zhao Meiyou’s expression was utterly sincere. “But I think you’re overestimating me, Diao Chan. Qian Duoduo is insanely strong. I almost called him Dad. What makes you think I could flip him?”

“The last guy you called Dad ended up as dumpling filling.” Diao Chan smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your metaphors are off, which blocks the path to false kinship.”

Zhao Meiyou blinked. “Couldn’t understand that. Speak plainly.”

“I’ve teamed up with Qian Duoduo a few times. He’s famous among archaeologists—same tier as Noble Consort, maybe even stronger. Like Noble Consort, he doesn’t hide his name or face.” Diao Chan seemed to recall something. “Right, haven’t you seen what he looks like yet?”

“Don’t remind me.” Zhao Meiyou grimaced at the thought. “I was just wondering if he was a guy or a girl.”

Diao Chan chuckled. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Zhao Meiyou perked up. “That confident?”

“See for yourself when you get out.” Diao Chan waved him off. “He’ll be waiting outside for you, no doubt. You’re his temporary partner this time, so he’s responsible for your safety to the end.”

Zhao Meiyou mulled that over, a playful glint in his eye. “So, Qian Duoduo’s a good guy?”

“Qian Duoduo’s an orphan. His ability manifested early, and the government took him in during childhood. The first time we worked together, I sensed something about him—familiar, oddly comforting. Took me years to figure it out.”

Diao Chan patted Zhao Meiyou’s shoulder. “It was you.”

“I don’t have any long-lost brothers or sisters from the same parents or whatever. Thanks anyway.”

“You’re getting better at holding your breath, Zhao Meiyou.” Diao Chan laughed. “I don’t mean blood. I mean the vibe.”

“What vibe?”

“That rainy night when we first met. You gave me a bowl of dumplings at the Pork Shop.” Diao Chan explained, “It’s similar, but not quite. Qian Duoduo would’ve just boiled me some frozen ones.”

Zhao Meiyou raised an eyebrow. “If I told you mine were frozen too, would you believe me?”

“Too late to backpedal now.” Diao Chan clearly didn’t buy it. “Point is, after some thought, I realized that in the Metropolis Lower District, the only ‘normal’ kids who could grow up like that are you… and someone like Qian Duoduo.”

Zhao Meiyou nodded. “Got it. We’re both orphans, huh.”

“I’m an orphan too. Most kids in the Metropolis are orphans in one way or another. Proper two-parent families died with the old world.” Diao Chan glanced at him. “Anyway, I think you’ll hit it off.”

With the Artificial Brain in play, they were now in a three-way standoff against the Metropolis Government and the Diao Family. Just the two of them were too weak. Qian Duoduo, walking the edge of government power as a special operative, would be a huge asset if they could sway him.

Before Zhao Meiyou could spit out any cheeky remarks, Diao Chan quickly laid out his plan. “As far as I know, Qian Duoduo’s prepping for a high-difficulty site exploration. He needs a partner, and no one’s locked in yet. Your ‘loss of a close friend’ in Site S45 will make him feel guilty. As a newbie, he’ll take you under his wing to make up for it. Seize the chance and hook him fast.”

“You said it’s high difficulty.” Zhao Meiyou pointed out. “As a total newbie, won’t I just be cannon fodder? Does he even want me?”

“Your Undying Bug alone is tempting enough. With access to government files, he knows what you’re capable of.” Diao Chan said. “Think about it—didn’t he test you in the site?”

Zhao Meiyou thought back, suddenly recalling his subway escape. A cement slab had fallen from above, smashing him to bits, brains splattered everywhere.

And he hadn’t died.

Damn, so that’s what that was about.

Zhao Meiyou’s expression turned knowing. He said one word: “Fine.”

Then added, “I’m on your pirate ship now. What about you after this? Staying in the site forever? Will the government send more people?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m not leaving for a while. S45 is my home turf, after all.”

Diao Chan raised his gun, aiming at Zhao Meiyou’s head. “Alright, don’t keep him waiting.”

Zhao Meiyou protested. “Hold on—you ask for a favor like this?”

“Learned from you.” Diao Chan grinned suddenly. “Oh, right—remember Zhao Bujiao’s nickname?”

The gunshot rang out.

Zhao Meiyou opened his eyes on the piano bench, face planted on the keys.

Diao Chan was right. Qian Duoduo sat nearby, gazing down at him, clearly waiting for him to wake.

Though it was their first real-world meeting, Zhao Meiyou was certain. This was Qian Duoduo.

He wore the archaeologist uniform. The harsh overhead light gleamed like a blade, slicing from the back of his neck along his spine, straight down to his waist, piercing through his pants leg to reveal a stretch of pale ankle.

The light dazzled Zhao Meiyou. It took him a moment to steady himself. He cleared his throat. “Nice hair, Brother Qian.”

Qian Duoduo looked about his age, long hair tied back. Under the cold white light, he had an almost jade-like quality—not the polished elegance Diao Chan exuded from upbringing. Qian Duoduo was like ancient jade from a tomb: cool, smooth against a corpse’s lips. Hard to pin down—like a cat, a snake, beautiful, a touch eerie.

Then Zhao Meiyou recalled Qian Duoduo’s rampage in the site, sparks flying like a living grim reaper. Okay, that was ferocious, not eerie.

He heard Qian Duoduo ask, “Why did you dodge Diao Chan’s first bullet?”

What a question. Zhao Meiyou almost laughed. Then he realized Qian Duoduo didn’t really care what he’d done at the end in the site. He didn’t want a real answer.

He just needed something to report.

Like in paperwork. Or to government overseers. Or maybe this room was under surveillance.

Right, surveillance. Zhao Meiyou remembered: The Metropolis Government couldn’t directly observe quantum fields, but archaeologists carried monitoring devices for recording. The Lead Actor ignored everyone, so he could fool the system. Nothing went wrong in Site A173. But Qian Duoduo was government-bred.

Zhao Meiyou quickly reviewed his actions in Site S45. Nothing suspicious. He relaxed and started bullshitting. “Well, Brother Qian, I’m new to this. Out of practice. Missing my lower half threw me off—couldn’t control it and snapped back.”

Qian Duoduo turned, sizing him up. He nodded, as if satisfied. “I understand.”

“Site S45 will be classified as extreme hazard and sealed for now.” Qian Duoduo lowered the piano lid, pulled a document from the music stand, and scribbled a few lines. “Government agents might question you later. Just answer honestly.”

“Got it.” Zhao Meiyou nodded along. “Anything else, Brother Qian?”

Qian Duoduo wrote swiftly. Paper was rare in the Metropolis, but he handled the pen with ease. A lock of long hair fell across his face; he tucked it behind his ear.

He hadn’t answered the earlier question. Just as Zhao Meiyou thought the silence would drag on, Qian Duoduo spoke. “There’s a mark on your face.”

“Huh?”

Qian Duoduo finished the document, gathered it, and stood. He was half a head taller. Leaning down, his finger brushed near Zhao Meiyou’s face—maybe not quite touching, but Zhao Meiyou felt a moist puff of air. “When you came out of the site, your face hit the piano keys.”

“This piano is custom-made. It’ll be frozen afterward. No more playing.” Qian Duoduo turned to leave, his coat brushing the papers with a rustle. He seemed to murmur something softly.

It sounded like, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

After Qian Duoduo left, Zhao Meiyou sat still on the bench for a moment, composing himself. Holy shit.

The guy was exactly as Diao Chan described.

He’d spent no short time messing around in the site. Back in the Lower District, Zhao Meiyou crashed out and slept like the dead—dreams empty as always. He woke, went to work, took long leave for Diao Chan, and was now in the ER puzzling over how to lure Qian Duoduo onto the pirate ship when Grandpa De poked his head in. “Kid, where’d you ghost off to for New Year’s?”

Grandpa De didn’t take the bait about the medicine. Instead, he looked at Zhao Meiyou with a mysterious grin that gave the young man goosebumps all over. “What’s with you, old man? Spit it out if you’ve got something to say. Why just stare at me and smile like that? Did my face bloom or something?”

“Go take a look in the mirror, kid.” Grandpa De chuckled and walked off. “It’s not a flower blooming on your face—it’s a peach blossom!”

Zhao Meiyou was baffled. He grabbed a mirror and took a look, finally understanding. He’d had an allergic reaction—there was a red mark on his cheek. With the hospital so quiet over the holiday period, no one had pointed it out until Grandpa De spotted it.

No wonder the old guy had said his face was blooming with peach blossoms, grinning like a sly fox. Zhao Meiyou stared at his reflection and clicked his tongue.

The allergic spot wasn’t large, roughly the size of the spot where the piano key had hit him yesterday, but its shape was suspiciously suggestive.

It looked like a lipstick mark—bright red.

But if something like this stumped Zhao Meiyou, then he wouldn’t be Zhao Meiyou. He grabbed some anti-allergy cream and specifically asked for the red kind. Then, using a makeup brush, he carefully dabbed it on, filling in the inner edges and sharpening the blurry outline. What had started as a vague shape was now a full-blown set of fiery red lips.

Allergic reactions meant avoiding raw foods, so he skipped his side gig at the Pork Shop. After work, he headed straight for dinner. The restaurant was a handcart parked outside the convenience store, vending fully cooked meals from an automated machine. Rain was falling that night, so Zhao Meiyou selected fried rice on the screen and hit the dine-in option. A red-and-white rainproof awning extended from the cart, along with a dining tray and chair.

“Brother Zhao, eating alone?” The girl working at the convenience store poked her head out the window. Her orange bubble gum popped with a snap. “Want some company?”

Zhao Meiyou snapped open a pair of disposable chopsticks and pointed at the lipstick mark on his face. The girl raised an eyebrow, ducked back inside, and tossed out a plastic bag a moment later. Inside were Marlboro cigarettes and canned beer. Zhao Meiyou glanced at it. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

“Consider it on me!” Her voice drifted from inside the store. “No way a date happens at a dump like this. And you just got kissed—looks like you got dumped!”

Corporate-level insight, Zhao Meiyou thought to himself. I was planning to play it off like I just got engaged.

Fair point, though—who celebrates a successful proposal with a meal like this?

Cigarettes, booze, instant fried rice, and a rainy night. Zhao Meiyou sat in front of the handcart. Business must have been slow; he was the only customer. Neon lights from the glass window blurred in the rain, while pedestrians in plastic raincoats hurried by behind him like glowing code dissolving into the darkness.

The Lower District didn’t really have day or night—it was more like a computer powering down and up again, the difference between light and dark boiling down to whether the screen was on.

As he ate, Zhao Meiyou pondered whether to head back to his rental tonight or crash in the ER lounge. Going home meant the cat and dog food was running low; at least over the holidays, he could crack open a can for them…

His thoughts drifted to Ideal City in Site S45, the Orion Arm war, and the Great Catastrophe, when humanity had nearly gone extinct. How had cats and dogs survived?

Were they manufactured from genes too?

But wouldn’t that tech cost a fortune? How could people just abandon them willy-nilly? Or were these little guys actually mechanical surveillance cams on legs…

Maybe he should dissect one and find out…

Or had the cost of gene products dropped so low that casual abandonment was no big deal?

If that was the case, how many clones like Diao Chan were wandering around the Metropolis?

…

Am I a clone? Maybe, maybe not. Memories aren’t entirely reliable.

What about emotions? Instincts? Muscle memory? Thought patterns?

…

Maybe he could ask the restaurant owner. Zhao Meiyou’s mind wandered aimlessly. The guy who ran the diner next to his place—he had this weird code of ethics and never killed cats or dogs.

Maybe he knew they were gene-made, just like the Metropolis citizens. Eating them would be like cannibalism.

…

Zhao Meiyou’s thoughts scattered in every direction. He lit a cigarette absentmindedly, the smoke curling like an extension of his mind, faintly visible in the lamplight.

He sometimes slipped into states like this. As a classic Lower District type missing a few vital organs, he was healthy as could be, slept like a rock, and never dreamed. This hazy frame of mind might as well be a dream for him.

Like an old TV suddenly tuning back in: streets stretching into the distance on the screen, the abandoned amusement park firing up again—who were the guests? Colored balloons floated into the sky, bathroom tiles crawled downward endlessly, the lens went out of focus. Why was the DVD binary, the amoeba overdue, Gödel singing, Marlboros not discontinued—fire—

“Your cigarette.”

Zhao Meiyou flinched as if burned, realizing the butt had burned down to his fingers. Sometime when he wasn’t looking, a new customer had appeared beside him, ordering the same fried rice: Qian Duoduo.

“…Thanks.” Zhao Meiyou stubbed out the cigarette, picked up the pack, and offered, “Want one?”

Qian Duoduo’s response was unexpected. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke.”

Zhao Meiyou blinked in surprise. “Brother Qian, you don’t smoke?”

“My ability is similar to Diao Chan’s. We both use Quantum Mimicry to separate and solidify substances from our bodies. What I separate is smoke—it’s just a manifestation of the power, not actual nicotine.”

Qian Duoduo scooped up a big spoonful of fried rice, his cheeks bulging like he’d been starving. Noticing Zhao Meiyou stub out his smoke, he waved it off. “I don’t mind the smell. Smoke away.”

Zhao Meiyou gave an “oh” and watched Qian Duoduo eat. He could read a lot in people’s eating habits—a subconscious extension of their inner selves. Diao Chan’s refined chewing hid a hysterical edge, The Lead Actor’s wolfing it down masked a urge to vomit, and Qian Duoduo’s munching reminded him of his little sister, the girl who raised an electronic sunflower. She was an endangered species in the Metropolis: a pure child. Eating was just about filling the belly and enjoying the taste—nothing more.

“Wrapping up Site S45 took longer than expected. I haven’t eaten yet.” Qian Duoduo seemed to notice his table manners weren’t exactly refined and offered an explanation. “You won’t need to be involved in the follow-up work.”

He realized that sounded off and couldn’t take it back, so he added stiffly, “Sorry.”

Finally, his taste buds caught up, and he muttered, “…This rice is awful.”

Zhao Meiyou couldn’t help but laugh at the chain reaction. “Hey, Brother Qian, no need to apologize to me.” He waved it off, trying to hide his grin and failing, so he lit another cigarette instead. “If anyone’s sorry, it’s me—for all the trouble I caused you back at the site.”

“Your constitution is unusual.” Qian Duoduo didn’t beat around the bush. He’d finished eating, and his demeanor had shifted back to professional detachment. “I checked your file, Zhao Meiyou. From what I know, you’ve just finished your one-month newbie period. Site S45 was a temp assignment. Without the rescue op, you’d be testing compatibility with other sites next.”

Zhao Meiyou nodded. “My first handler was Liu Qijue. By the schedule, Diao Chan was next.”

Qian Duoduo hesitated, then got to the point. “Would you let me be your handler?”

Zhao Meiyou mustered an appropriately surprised look. “Brother Qian, you’re pretty strong, right? You’d handle me?”

“Mutual benefit.” As Diao Chan had said, Qian Duoduo was upfront about his motives. “I’m prepping for a high-difficulty site exploration and need a partner. Haven’t found the right one yet, but you’ve got high untapped potential.”

Zhao Meiyou finished his cigarette. “My task email shows the next coords as Site A89. Brother Qian, you…”

“No need.” Qian Duoduo cut him off. “Pick me as your handler, and I can get you through all the compatible sites in record time—safest and most efficient.” He paused, then added, “And I’m in a hurry too.”

Zhao Meiyou smiled. “Doesn’t seem like I’ve got any reason to say no.”

Qian Duoduo let out a barely noticeable breath of relief. “See you tomorrow?” He gave an address. “Four a.m. work for you?”

“Of course.”

Qian Duoduo’s figure vanished into the rainy night. The convenience store girl came out with the payment terminal. “Brother Zhao, pay up for the smokes and beer.”

Zhao Meiyou pulled his eyes away. “Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She pursed her lips. “You’ve got a boyfriend now, don’t you?”

Zhao Meiyou: “.”

He was speechless for once, then burst out laughing for no reason, rubbing his forehead. Finally, he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, guess I do owe you.”

He entered Diao Chan’s card number on the terminal, thought for a second, and punched in the PIN.

Beep beep—payment successful.

Zhao Meiyou checked the balance and felt great, like he could live another century. He waved grandly. “Pack me fifty mixed cans.”

He hauled two big bags back to his rental. Zhao Bujiao wound around his legs excitedly. As Zhao Meiyou cracked open a can, he muttered to himself, “When did Diao Chan give you that nickname? I’d almost forgotten.”

He set the food bowl down and stroked the cat’s head, humming a tune under his breath. Zhao Bujiao chowed down noisily, barely hearing the song.

Finally, Zhao Meiyou smiled and said, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.”