After returning from the Metropolis, Zhao Meiyou immediately dove into work on the personality software—or Qian Duoduo, as it was now called—linking it up with the storage core of the Buddha Head. The results were impressive.
As Zhao Meiyou had anticipated, the Buddha Head contained vast amounts of technology data related to the 22nd century. Even the scraps they’d decoded from its outer storage years ago had been enough to convince the Metropolis Government to boost funding for Ancient Capital’s research every year. Now that the main event was underway, the government’s upper echelons were in an uproar. They even wanted to summon Zhao Meiyou back to the Metropolis for a special commendation ceremony.
“Screw your damn commendation.” Zhao Meiyou lazily shot down the government’s leave approval. “Tell them to sort out their internal squabbles first. Otherwise, am I heading back for a pat on the back or a funeral?”
“You’re definitely not dying anytime soon,” Diao Chan called from the other end of the lab, rephrasing Zhao Meiyou’s rejection into official jargon. “The government seems set on nominating you for Distinguished Scientist. So far, the only one who’s gotten that honor is the First Generation Leader’s Grandmother Qiao.”
Zhao Meiyou didn’t know much about this First Generation Leader, so he pulled up the terminal and searched. “Lived to 78, not bad. Looks like she went out on a high note.” He read from the screen. “Buried in the Metropolis Cathedral, later moved to the 720th floor…”
“Zhao Meiyou, you finished that task yet?” Liu Qijue pushed open the door, a boy trailing behind him. “We’re just waiting on your data now. This is the first batch of golden bodies— the investment’s astronomical. If anything goes wrong on the project, the three of us’ll have to apologize with our lives.”
“Zhao Meiyou ain’t dying,” Diao Chan laughed from his end. “His brain’s too valuable these days. At worst, you and I get drawn and quartered.”
“Give me a break, young master. You think your mom’s dead?”
“Don’t even go there. Mom’s been up to who-knows-what lately.” Diao Chan waved him off hurriedly. “Her secretary called me, and it sounded like she was about to sell me off…”
“Your mom’s already sold you.” Zhao Meiyou chuckled from the side. “Otherwise, why’s a big-shot young master like you roughing it out here? Look at those dark circles. Folks who don’t know better’ll think you’re burning the candle at both ends.”
“Sold goods can always be flipped secondhand. You wouldn’t get it.” Diao Chan didn’t bother arguing. Spotting the boy Liu Qijue had brought in, he beckoned him over. “Xiao Yao, you’re here. How’s the body holding up?”
Xiao Yao was the boy Zhao Meiyou and the others had “rescued” from a forced marriage in the Metropolis. They’d all agreed that staying there meant no real chance at survival, so they’d smuggled him back to Ancient Capital. As dean, Zhao Meiyou had no trouble sneaking someone in.
Zhao Meiyou and Diao Chan clearly weren’t cut out for childcare. Over the past year or so, it had mostly been Liu Qijue and Little Mister handling it, raising the kid practically like a son.
Xiao Yao’s bone age tested at twelve. He’d seemed unscathed when they first saved him, but checks back home revealed his organs had been gutted—probably for some life-extension scheme—with cheap plastic prosthetics slapped in as replacements. Even Zhao Meiyou was shocked the boy had survived; it was a miracle. It took several major surgeries to stabilize him.
The boy stepped up to Diao Chan and stood straight, his eyes curving into a smile. “Hello, Vice Dean.”
Liu Qijue had clearly done a fine job raising him. Compared to the skittish, subdued kid who’d first arrived in Ancient Capital, Xiao Yao now showed fairly normal emotions. He wore a uniform tailored down a size, looking obedient yet with that sly spark unique to boys his age.
“How’s the mouth?” Zhao Meiyou leaned in. “C’mere, let Grandpa take a look.”
Liu Qijue shot him a glare. “Zhao Meiyou, whose cheap thrills are you after?”
“It’s much better.” Xiao Yao removed the ring from his face. “Hello, Dean.”
Xiao Yao’s mouth had been sewn shut back then. When they pried it open, the inside was completely necrotic. Zhao Meiyou fitted him with an electronic oral device that looked like a transparent mouth guard, helping with speech.
“Hmm, teeth are coming in nice.” Zhao Meiyou dipped a cotton swab in saline and prodded one of the boy’s new canines. “Hurt?”
“Nope. Thanks, Dean.”
“Good. In another six months, we can fix the lip. Come to your uncle then—I’ll hook you up with a handsome face.” Zhao Meiyou stripped off his sterile gloves and started talking out his ass. “Your dad’s the Research Institute’s flower boy. When Ancient Capital runs dry on cash, we’ll send you three to the Metropolis to debut…”
Diao Chan tuned him out and turned to Liu Qijue. “Adoption papers done?”
Liu Qijue nodded. “Handled it last trip back for the meeting.”
“Speaking of which, that jogs my memory.” Diao Chan sat up straighter. “What’s the deal with that government culture project?”
Ancient Capital had recently received a high-clearance file from the government. Ostensibly for cultural development, it called for building massive god statues across the city, each piercing hundreds of floors. “That’s no small potatoes,” Diao Chan said. “What are they really for?”
Liu Qijue gave him a sidelong look. “Can’t guess?”
It wasn’t hard to figure. Ancient Capital’s Experiment Site 2 housed a giant Buddha Head.
Xiao Yao picked up that they were getting down to business and slipped out. “I’ll go find Dad.”
“Go on,” Liu Qijue said. “Tell him no need to cook tonight—the cafeteria has kasaya meat.”
The lab door clicked shut. Zhao Meiyou lit a cigarette. “The government pulled some classified data from Ancient Capital a while back. If I’m right, those approved golden bodies for the god statues? Supercomputers inside.”
Computers had endless uses—from public services to urban planning, even sky-eye surveillance. Diao Chan felt a twinge of unease. “…The Metropolis ones are too tall.”
“Only up to the 790th floor.” Zhao Meiyou chuckled. “Lower and Middle Districts are 330 each—Upper District’s gotta hit 990 to break even.”
“From what I heard at the meeting, each statue spans at least a hundred floors,” Liu Qijue said. “Build them all, and they blanket the whole city. Makes sense for government oversight.”
Construction on the first god statue’s golden body was already underway, split between Ancient Capital, the Metropolis Construction Bureau, and the Antarctic Faction. Logically, Ancient Capital—as the tech source—should’ve handled the core, but the government had yanked the key data and handed it to the Antarctic Faction.
Ancient Capital and Antarctica stayed out of each other’s way. They’d heard rumors of breakdowns over there but knew little of their research.
Liu Qijue eyed Zhao Meiyou. “What data did the government take?”
“Stuff Qian Duoduo just restored—tied to some 22nd-century cutting-edge tech.” Zhao Meiyou puffed his cigarette slowly as he explained. “I looked it over. Honestly? Beats me.”
Liu Qijue frowned. “Even you don’t get it?”
Zhao Meiyou pulled out his terminal and opened the personality software. “You there?”
“Here,” Qian Duoduo’s voice came through.
“That chunk you restored earlier—the parts I couldn’t parse—what’d you say it was?”
“The core data’s been handed to the Antarctic Faction, so I can’t give a precise answer.” Qian Duoduo replied. “From the remnants, though, it’s an experiment on wave function superposition states. Quantum tech-related.”
“Quantum tech,” Diao Chan echoed. “…That’s a broad net.”
The lab fell quiet for a beat. Finally, Liu Qijue spoke. “Zhao Meiyou, you really handed over all the data to the government?”
Zhao Meiyou clamped the cigarette mysteriously between his teeth and made a “shh” gesture.
With things as they were, they had no other plays. If Zhao Meiyou truly held back some intel, he was the only one in all of Ancient Capital who could crack it.
Years slipped by in a flash. The lotus pond Zhao Meiyou had planted back then was now in full bloom. He climbed the mountain at midnight, rolled up his pant legs, and sat by the pool, soaking his feet.
From this vantage, the whole of Ancient Capital sprawled below. The Research Institute clung to the hillside, its nighttime lights grand and opulent. The mountains loomed blue-black in the dark, like pulsing veins birthing a lavish tumor.
He had his terminal with him. The screen flickered, and Qian Duoduo’s voice emerged. “Want to hear a story?”
Zhao Meiyou was a bit lost in thought. After a long moment, he said, “First time I climbed this mountain, I listened to Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.”
“Mostly ghost stories,” Qian Duoduo noted. “You believe that stuff?”
“If it scares me, I don’t believe. If it moves me, I believe for a bit.” Zhao Meiyou said. “Boils down to ‘love’ in the end.”
The screen flickered again, a loading bar appearing. Moments later, Qian Duoduo spoke. “My personality growth degree has hovered at 90% for ages. Can’t fully grasp human emotions yet.”
“I know.” Zhao Meiyou splashed up some water. “That’s the headache.”
Since the Metropolis trip, Qian Duoduo’s growth had shot to 90%, enabling a link to the Buddha Head’s core storage. It restored loads of key data. But the personality program’s upgrades stalled there—no matter what Zhao Meiyou tried, it wouldn’t budge.
Government brass were getting antsy, dropping hints openly and subtly: crack it or hand the core code to the Antarctic Faction.
“When the snipe and clam battle, the fisherman wins—but wait for the rabbits to drop and the hounds to boil.” Zhao Meiyou plucked a lotus pod, crunching the seeds. “Antarctica’s been too damn useful lately. Keep this up, and Ancient Capital might get shut down.”
“You’re my highest authority holder,” Qian Duoduo said calmly. “If you don’t want handover, I can self-destruct.”
“That’d be awkward.”
“No awkwardness. Just give the order.”
“Hold off. They’re building the second god statue in the Metropolis now—the government still needs me.” Zhao Meiyou tossed the empty pod into the water. “Wonder how Liu Qijue’s doing.”
A year ago, Liu Qijue got reassigned to Antarctica—supposedly a business trip to snoop intel. But soon he messaged about discoveries needing deeper digging, enclosing a transfer request.
Zhao Meiyou checked with Little Mister, who took it in stride: respected his husband’s choice.
“Xiao Yao’s top of his class. If he joins Ancient Capital after graduation, he could take over Liu Qijue’s work,” Qian Duoduo suggested. “Your workload’s crushing you—time to delegate.”
“No way. Liu Qijue comes back and sees I roped his son into this, he’ll come for my head.” Zhao Meiyou shot it down quick. “Just hope Diao Chan can talk him into returning this time.”
Diao Chan had been gradually taking over the Diao Family’s affairs in recent years, which meant he spent less and less time in the Ancient Capital. Not long ago, he had sent a message from the Metropolis about a collaborative project with the Antarctic Faction. He planned to make an appearance there to lend some support and, while he was at it, console Comrade Liu, who was embedded deep within enemy territory.
Zhao Meiyou figured that if things truly got out of hand, they should cut their losses and prioritize survival. Ever since the founding of the Ancient Capital, he had led an expedition team of fewer than a hundred people into the unknown, single-handedly establishing the Research Institute. He wouldn’t claim to have devoted his life entirely to the cause, but at least he could look back without regret.
Back in the day, Zhao Meiyou had harbored grand ambitions for reviving civilization. But as his research delved deeper, he sometimes wondered if he had strayed too far down this path. The Metropolis grew ever taller, year after year bringing reports of madness from Antarctica, and more and more technical secrets decoded from the Buddha Head. If they unearthed the absolute core of it all, what exactly would they be facing?
It was time to pull Liu Qijue out of there, squeeze some pocket money from Diao Chan, and then pack up for retirement. The Earth was vast—surely there was some idyllic spot with clear waters and green mountains where they could spend their final days.
“If we can really settle into a quiet life without all these miscellaneous daily hassles,” Zhao Meiyou mused aloud, his mind wandering as he spoke idly, “then I could finally dig into that remaining 10% of yours. I’ve got some artificial human tech stashed away privately. When the time comes, I’ll build you a body. Male or female?”
“I have no gender preference,” Qian Duoduo replied. “You can decide.”
“Then how about being my son?”
“Rejected.”
“Didn’t you just say you had no gender preference?”
“It’s a matter of seniority,” Qian Duoduo explained. “My base personality was sampled from a lot of your behavioral data, and you’ve always enjoyed playing the father figure.”
“Fine, I don’t need another dad. How about you warm my bed instead?” Zhao Meiyou pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Your personality growth degree is incomplete anyway, so the two of us shacking up would be convenient all around.”
“What’s that got to do with married life and my personality growth degree?”
“Everything,” Zhao Meiyou said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I’ll kick the bucket long before you do. If you’ve advanced too far by then, you’ll be heartbroken.”
He chuckled softly. “After all the effort I put into creating you, what if you get depressed and self-destruct?”
“You don’t want me to self-destruct?”
“Of course not.”
“I understand.” The screen flickered. “Highest command logged.”
Like a sword plunged into the depths of the ocean, the command—imprinted with Zhao Meiyou’s voiceprint—was etched into the program’s foundational core. It would remain embedded there, woven into his very being like a rib bone, enduring even as his flesh turned gray with age.
During the two months that Diao Chan spent in Antarctica, Zhao Meiyou steeled his resolve. He began preparations for his retirement, transferring or destroying technologies of dubious safety. He even dug up some old movies he’d enjoyed back in university, importing the protagonists’ facial data into his models. He merged and refined them endlessly, aiming for a face of perfect beauty.
The memory drive from his university days had been shared among three people and still held files from Diao Chan and Liu Qijue. Late one night, Zhao Meiyou worked on an experimental report with the projector running. Colors danced across the walls. He had been watching an old French film—man and woman smoking languidly on a red floorboard set. Zhao Meiyou knew the dialogue by heart and treated it as mere background noise.
But midway through, the light flared bright. The hazy, intimate scene shifted to something stark and piercing. A channel had jumped somehow, pulling up a clip Liu Qijue had saved. A voice sang leisurely: “I too attended the Qionglin Feast. I too galloped my horse before the palace steps.”
It sang only that one line before the screen changed again. Now a woman in military garb stood on stage, belting out: “Only now do I feel I’ve shed three parts of my youthful fire. In the blink of an eye, white threads weave into my temples.”
“How’d it change channels?” Zhao Meiyou glanced up from his files and commented. “Nice face, though. What do you think?”
No answer.
“Qian Duoduo?” He set the files aside. “Where’d you go?”
Zhao Meiyou drew back the curtains, squinting against the blinding light.
Instinct told him something was wrong. Lately, the Ancient Capital’s researchers had been dispatched one after another, leaving the Research Institute sparsely staffed. The night lights were few and dim. A glow this bright as daylight hadn’t been seen since the Ancient Capital’s heyday, many years prior. He contacted the power plant via his terminal. “Who flipped the main breaker?”
As the Research Institute’s director, he alone held authorization to activate the energy gates.
Putting recent events together, Zhao Meiyou had a sinking suspicion. Sure enough, the staffer on the line confirmed it: “…Director, the other party has higher clearance…”
Clearance even beyond that of the director himself.
The next instant, the laboratory door swung open. Zhao Meiyou set down his terminal and regarded the woman before him with a faint smile.
“Madam Diao, it’s been a while.”
