The most crucial gambles often unfold in the blink of an eye, and the same held true in the Ancient Capital. Events escalated with breathtaking speed. The next day, a dispatched experimenter returned to the Research Institute, only to learn that the Ancient Capital had entered full lockdown. All relevant personnel were required to undergo rigorous security screenings. Zhao Meiyou, director of the Ancient Capital Research Institute, had been stripped of his position and thrown into custody for allegedly violating Metropolis Government bans.
The Metropolis bans numbered only two at present: one prohibiting space exploration, the other outlawing artificial human technology. Neither offered precise definitions, leaving vast loopholes to exploit.
In the Ancient Capital’s early days, those gaps had paved the way for many to claim positions of power. Now, they served as convenient weapons to turn against them.
Bans were like bricks—you could tote them wherever they were needed. Zhao Meiyou thought, cigarette dangling from his lips. This tool really proved handy. The government was clearly intent on kicking him while he was down.
He found himself confined to a sealed chamber originally designed for high-risk experimental subjects. Ironically, he’d designed the room himself. They’d seized his terminal upon entry, but no one had bothered searching him, as if conceding the obvious: no item in his possession could aid an escape.
Zhao Meiyou carried nothing but his clothes, a pack of cigarettes, and his lighter. The lighter was useless, though. He’d calibrated the monitoring sensitivity too high; the fire sprinklers drenched him the instant a flame flickered.
Soaked for half the night, he emerged far more alert. Piecing together his predicament, he concluded that Madam Diao was advancing aggressively, poised to seize the entire Ancient Capital. Whatever her plans for the Research Institute, an operation of this scale couldn’t evade the Metropolis Government’s spies.
The Diao Family had undoubtedly struck some deal with the government.
He’d been sold out. That was Zhao Meiyou’s verdict.
The betrayal didn’t shock him. Madam Diao was a merchant through and through, and he’d steeled himself for this possibility when aligning with the Diao Family. His sole ambition remained completing the experiment in progress.
Qian Duoduo had reached near-perfection, plateaued at 90% with no further gains in sight. Madam Diao’s move to discard him now wasn’t entirely unjust.
Zhao Meiyou had safeguarded some vital data for self-preservation regardless; death held no terror for him. His deeper concerns lay with the Ancient Capital’s fate, the ongoing research into the Buddha Head, and Qian Duoduo.
Some indeterminate time later, the chamber door swung open once more. Madam Diao entered. She was a woman whose eyes brimmed with allure. At a glance, she could pass for Diao Chan’s elder or younger sister. She evoked the archetype of a classical Eastern beauty—a bodhisattva’s serene visage concealing a demon’s gaze.
“Director Zhao.” Madam Diao settled on the opposite side of the glass partition, her words languid. “I’m truly sorry for the harsh treatment. While assuming control of the Ancient Capital, we must conduct thorough clearing scans of every site. Space is at a premium, so you’ll have to bear with it a while longer. Back in the Metropolis, the government offers far better accommodations for retirees.”
Her few sentences unveiled the full picture with crystalline clarity. Zhao Meiyou saw no point in probing the “retirement package” awaiting a ban violator like himself. Other matters weighed on him. “What about Diao Chan?”
Diao Chan wouldn’t betray him lightly—though certain circumstances might allow it, Zhao Meiyou was certain his friend wouldn’t hand him over to Madam Diao. Their mother-son bond was as warped as a modern fusion of Hamlet and Oedipus.
Yet here was Madam Diao, orchestrating a takeover of the Ancient Capital without a whisper from Diao Chan—who was off in Antarctica alongside Liu Qijue. Zhao Meiyou couldn’t ignore the dire implications.
Madam Diao winked her left eye in a gesture defying easy description. Few could shutter a single eye without twitching the other, yet she executed it with mechanical precision, akin to a system refresh—vast computations and data processing compressed into an instant. Zhao Meiyou stared, momentarily transfixed by the motion, before her voice cut through: “You want to see Diao Chan?”
He straightened in his seat. “I want to see my friend. Or should I say, your son.”
Madam Diao studied him, her smile soft and indulgent. “How rare to see Director Zhao appealing to sentiment.”
“Worth a try.” Zhao Meiyou exhaled a plume of smoke. “So, what happened to Diao Chan?”
That single question from Madam Diao spoke volumes. Bluntest of all: Diao Chan was trapped in some bind. Otherwise, she needn’t have inquired; he’d have engineered a meeting himself, methods aplenty. Zhao Meiyou harbored no doubts that his rogue companions would raze the Metropolis Government if push came to shove.
Her asking meant reunion wouldn’t come easily.
At best, some quid pro quo.
At worst, her perverse entertainment.
The end was scripted; she merely savored the desperate thrashings of a cornered beast.
Their terse exchange yielded scant substantive barter. Mostly, she prattled while he listened. As she departed, she left him with this: “If fortune favors you, our paths won’t cross again, Director Zhao.”
Only much later did Zhao Meiyou grasp its meaning.
He suspected a transfer to the Metropolis for some stretch, though certainty eluded him. He dimly recalled the broadcast chime from floor 330. He never left that room—perhaps the entire Ancient Capital structure had been uprooted to the Metropolis. High-level officials handled the inquisition, vacillating on charges. Simple meals devolved into assorted pills, administered forcibly. Their effects remained opaque, but his sleep deepened into dreamless voids, ever lengthening. He theorized they congealed his brain matter; postmortem, it would yield countless frozen slices, perhaps stocking an archive.
At last, one awakening brought true sunlight—not the glare of mercury lamps. He rubbed his eyes, convinced it was illusion.
He was back in the Ancient Capital.
Unclear when the return occurred. He occupied a vast conference chamber, formerly the venue for Lab 2’s monthly briefings. Surveying the tiered seats packed with figures, he realized he sat encircled at center stage, a primed specimen for scrutiny.
An IV drip hung from his arm.
As awareness dawned, a pallid, enfeebled man among the seats addressed him. “Zhao Meiyou.”
Zhao Meiyou pondered briefly, placing him as a senior researcher from the Antarctic Faction, encountered during past collaborations.
Thus: “Aren’t you that fellow? Ages since we crossed paths—made rank, have you?”
The researcher brushed aside the glib retort. Antarctic research culture clashed starkly with the Ancient Capital’s: the former militarized, the latter scholarly, with Antarctica scorning Zhao Meiyou’s loose regime. His gaze fixed on Zhao Meiyou as on an exotic pathogen. “Following Metropolis Government review, you’re granted an opportunity for redemption.”
Without pause for reply: “The Antarctic Faction pursues a grand experiment hampered by technical snags.” A humiliated pause, then: “Effective assistance from you will prompt sentence mitigation.”
The pitch brimmed with flaws; Zhao Meiyou scarcely knew where to begin. At length: “What experiment?”
“The fusion experiment.”
Zhao Meiyou received a protocol summary. Long moments passed before he barked a laugh.
“You lot are truly desperate—out of tricks entirely.”
What straits prompted handing him this dossier?
Fusion experiment: digitize human consciousness for merging with extant programs. Its core logic mirrored Zhao Meiyou’s Buddha reconstitution—Program A neutralizing Program B to exceed the sum.
Per the report, it had run for ages. Unlike his Qian Duoduo, Antarctica employed live humans as subjects.
The program targeted for human consciousness fusion? Qian Duoduo.
Zhao Meiyou’s mind blanked. Scanning the roster: Experiment 173, subject Liu Qijue.
“…Your personality program languished at 90%, prompting Antarctic’s bold pivot: electrode implantation into live brains for fusion refinement. Resistance proved formidable; gains minimal thus far…” Midway, the experimenter faltered. “Zhao Meiyou?”
“I’m listening.” Zhao Meiyou turned a page. “Antarctica knows my stance on live human trials.”
“Needs must.” Prepared retort. “Every subject signed informed consent.”
No tirade ensued. Zhao Meiyou finished the document, slapping it down. “Sacrificing hordes just for the Buddha Head’s residual core data? Your government’s bean counters must’ve short-circuited.”
“Twenty-second-century pinnacle tech defies comprehension,” the experimenter countered. “Self-reliant Metropolis progress might take generations to reclaim that zenith. Sacrificing few for the many’s gain? Statistics deem it sound.”
The experiment demanded halt. Zhao Meiyou pondered coolly. Devise a scheme to uproot these scoundrels wholesale.
Then atone via demise.
The experimenter droned on, pitching enlistment. Years as director meant Zhao Meiyou delegated officialdom to Diao Chan; neither Antarctica nor the Metropolis grasped his essence.
Madam Diao should. Yet her name graced the report: Subject 0045.
Zhao Meiyou recognized entrapment in a grander scheme. Diao Family clout and Madam Diao’s guile rendered forced subjection improbable.
A bold gambler, she wagered herself—what prize?
What concealed facets lurked in this “fusion experiment”?
Liu Qijue’s survival odds?
Long silence yielded his inaugural demand.
“I want to see Diao Chan.”
Confinement rebuffed all prior pleas. Madam Diao’s parting words hinted at Diao Chan’s woes; the report had nearly convinced him of death. Yet her inclusion as subject aligned with merchant prudence—Diao Chan, the spared asset.
And so it transpired.
When they met again, Diao Chan had slimmed down considerably, the dark circles under his eyes so heavy they bordered on black. From several paces away, Zhao Meiyou caught the thick aroma of coffee wafting from him, mingled with a familiar trace of mint. “You’ve taken up smoking?”
“Zhao Meiyou.” Diao Chan stepped forward and pulled him into a quick embrace, his voice laced with exhaustion and relief. “…You’re still alive.”
This reunion came half a month after Zhao Meiyou’s arrival in the Ancient Capital. He had been abruptly removed from his surveillance-filled hospital room and loaded into a flying car. Before boarding, he spotted the Diao Family emblem etched on its side.
“We don’t have much time.” Diao Chan tossed him a pack of cigarettes—who cared about health issues in a situation like this? “Perk yourself up. Now listen carefully to what I have to say.”
The flying car ascended into the high altitude, activating a shielding field at the same time. Diao Chan’s voice rose and fell amid the static interference of the magnetic waves. Liu Qijue hadn’t died, but his condition was far from good. After the Ancient Capital fell under total control, Little Mister and Xiao Yao had both been taken into custody. Zhao Meiyou’s removal had caught everyone off guard. Diao Chan had poured immense effort into sorting through the sprawling legacy his mother had left behind, barely stabilizing the family internals before pulling strings with the government to get Zhao Meiyou back into the Ancient Capital.
“The most crucial thing is the Fusion Experiment,” Diao Chan said. “It has to stop. You’re the only one who can shut it down.”
Zhao Meiyou got it immediately. “You mean Qian Duoduo’s command privileges.”
“Exactly. The government controls part of Qian Duoduo’s code, which lets the Antarctic Faction run experiments with it. But Qian Duoduo’s intelligence level is already so advanced that it kept rejecting orders at first. In the end, they forcibly reformatted it…”
Zhao Meiyou shot to his feet, only to collapse back down from sheer weakness. “Reformatted?!”
Diao Chan rushed to steady him. “Calm down. The government only has access to the surface-level code. When we filed those reports, we had to give them something substantial… Never mind that. The point is, the Antarctic Faction still hasn’t cracked Qian Duoduo’s operational core. Ever since you were taken out of the Ancient Capital, that core region shut down automatically. They can’t wake it, and any forced startup just fries a host machine.”
“This time, the Antarctic Faction’s invitation for collaboration is a front. They want to use you for live-subject experiments, but really, they’re after Qian Duoduo’s highest command privileges from you.”
Zhao Meiyou couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t you tell them they were dreaming?”
“Get serious.” Diao Chan sighed. Talking to Zhao Meiyou was always like this—even at the end of the world, the conversation could veer wildly off track. “Zhao Meiyou, right now the Antarctic Faction’s research team is relocating en masse to the Ancient Capital. It’s from a contract my mom signed before she left. I’ve tried every trick in the book, but I can’t stop it. And there’s definitely something fishy going on.”
The amount of information in Diao Chan’s words was staggering, but only Zhao Meiyou could parse it so quickly. Back when the Ancient Capital had brought in the Diao Family’s funding streams, it meant that beyond the core areas under Zhao Meiyou’s direct control, the Diao Family had infiltrated everywhere—from equipment procurement to surveillance gear. Much of the source code was in Diao Family hands. If Madam Diao had some deal with the government, handing over the Ancient Capital to the Antarctic Faction would be a breeze. They’d get their hands on every detail of the Research Institute.
Which meant that this place, where Zhao Meiyou had poured his life’s blood, would soon become a slaughterhouse for living subjects.
“How much do you know about this ‘Fusion Experiment’?” Zhao Meiyou asked.
“Not more than you. What I have came from digging it out of my mom.” Diao Chan chain-smoked one cigarette after another. “When I went to Antarctica looking for Qijue, they detained me the moment I stepped off the transport. All channels were locked down tight—even the private group chat the three of us used in the Terminal wouldn’t connect. That’s when I knew it was bad. Only top-tier lockdown fields could block our channel; standard military-grade couldn’t touch it. It had to be wartime level.”
No matter what the Antarctic Faction was up to, a secrecy level this high meant it went way beyond a few mad scientists killing a handful of people or writing off deaths as experiment accidents.
“Later, the family steward came to pick me up. Mom left me the entire business empire—with two exceptions. One was the handover agreement for the Ancient Capital with the Metropolis Government. The other was her volunteering as a subject for the Fusion Experiment.”
Madam Diao, as head of the Diao Family, was decisive and ruthless. She wouldn’t sacrifice herself for science, nor was there any expecting some hidden noble motive from her. The only explanation was that the Fusion Experiment hid some massive payoff, one that could tempt even someone like her.
“I have a theory,” Zhao Meiyou said. “If it involves converting human consciousness data, could it be related to lifespan?”
“I’ve thought of that.” Diao Chan had clearly considered the same angle. “In theory, full conversion could mean immortality—but that’s just theory. Peak 22nd-century tech might make it possible, or else you wouldn’t have struggled so much researching Qian Duoduo.”
Zhao Meiyou paused in thought. “I remember the government took some key data before—related to quantum tech.”
Quantum technology. Consciousness conversion. Fusion Experiment.
What exactly connected the three?
Diao Chan wasn’t the chain-smoker Zhao Meiyou was. After a few aggressive drags, he started coughing, clearly overwhelmed by the harshness. “If you can’t handle it, don’t smoke.” Zhao Meiyou snatched the cigarette from his hand. “Switch brands if you have to. Marlboro’s too strong.”
Marlboro used raw tobacco leaves, and Zhao Meiyou’s usual kind had added mint. Back in the lab during all-nighters, the mix of his cigarette smoke and Diao Chan’s coffee could knock out a room full of interns.
“Quit worrying about the small stuff.” Diao Chan swatted his hand away. “That’s all the intel we’ve got for now. If we can’t crack what the Fusion Experiment is really about in short order, we’ll need another plan. The Antarctic Expedition Team will fully relocate to the Ancient Capital within a month.”
A month. Zhao Meiyou mulled over their current assets, then said abruptly, “If you’re dead set on Marlboro, pop a peach candy in your mouth. Works best.”
“You pulling my leg? That’d taste good?” Diao Chan reflexively suspected another of Zhao Meiyou’s traps. “Wait, what are you scheming now?”
“No joke. Mint and peach actually go together pretty well.” Zhao Meiyou said. “You forget? That’s how I did it back in school.”
Diao Chan froze.
Zhao Meiyou studied his expression. “Don’t remember?”
“No, but…” Diao Chan recalled the scene from back then and whipped his gaze to Zhao Meiyou. “How could you—”
“I don’t have any other options.” Zhao Meiyou clamped down on his cigarette filter. “Don’t think just about me. Think about Liu Qijue, Diao Chan.”
Diao Chan looked ready to lunge at him, but those words halted him dead.
“On the small scale, I’m single—no ties. Liu Qijue still has Little Mister and Xiao Yao. On the big scale, can you really stand by and watch the Ancient Capital fall into the Antarctic crew’s hands?” Zhao Meiyou’s voice faded into the swirling cigarette haze, his words sharp as razor blades.
“Human experiments. They actually dare.”
“I’ll handle the Ancient Capital situation,” Zhao Meiyou said. “After that, whatever the Metropolis Government does with it is on you.”
Diao Chan stood there, looking uncharacteristically lost. After a long moment, he asked, “How can I help you?”
“This kind of major relocation has to follow government protocols. The Antarctic side will probably split it into two waves: first the equipment and gear, then the subjects and researchers.” Zhao Meiyou explained. “I need to know the time gap between them. And time to act alone.”
“How long?”
“Not much.” Zhao Meiyou gave a faint smile. “An hour’s enough.”
“An hour? The Ancient Capital’s a fortress right now. You’re asking me to buy you a goddamn hour.” Diao Chan scrubbed a hand over his face. “Zhao Meiyou, you sure know how to ask for the moon.”
“Of course.” Zhao Meiyou slipped back into his old, laid-back drawl, like the carefree young man from their glory days, skipping class for the black market. “Gotta at least break even, right?”
