Chaos reigned inside the Joyful Red Courtyard.
At that moment, the entire twentieth layer had been completely sealed off. Flying cars emblazoned with the government seal screamed in from the sky above. The people who disembarked mostly wore either black or white uniforms—black for the government’s senior agents, white for the laboratory researchers. They had even deployed Killing Machines, surrounding all of Lantern Street without leaving so much as a gap for water to pass through.
Even back during the great purge of the 330th layer, such a massive show of force had been rare.
The courtyard’s exterior blazed with lights. Zhao Meiyou’s “big sister”—the Observation Team 1208 Captain—stood at the entrance. Spotting the government arrivals, her high heels clicked sharply together with a crisp snap as she saluted them. “Observation Team 1208 Captain, reporting for duty!”
“How is the experimental subject doing?” The one taking her report was a researcher in a white lab coat. “The lab received yesterday’s report showing the subject’s activity levels as completely normal. All metrics were stable. So why did it suddenly trigger a high-level alert?”
High-level alerts only activated when an experimental subject was on the brink of death. The researcher tapped open his terminal, where densely packed observation logs detailed the subject’s daily activities right up to that morning. The latest report hadn’t been submitted yet, but all the data was already logged. He clicked on a video: a private room in the Joyful Red Courtyard. Zhao Meiyou and Qian Duoduo lay side by side on the bed, chatting.
“But I secretly kept this dream.”
“I think it’s the most beautiful dream.”
The video cut off there. The woman explained, “They tried linking dreams earlier. All the generated dreams in the Joyful Red Courtyard stayed within safe parameters. The brainwave stimulation was tolerable, so the observation team didn’t intervene with any further prompts.”
“Then why the accident?” The researcher frowned. “Did someone tamper with the Dream Link Machine?”
“Yes.” The woman bowed deeply. “This was the observation team’s failure. I take full responsibility.”
The researcher had no interest in whatever punishment she might face. He headed up to the second-floor private room, where a full medical team stood crammed inside, desperately working to resuscitate the person on the bed. “Can you save him?” he asked one of them.
“It’s tough.” The doctor shook his head. “The subject’s brainwaves are spiking wildly. The body is probably a total loss. Right now, we’re just trying to preserve the brain. After that, we’ll have to start a new round of experiments.”
“Do your best.” The researcher glanced at the figure on the bed, tubes and electrodes stabbed into every inch of exposed flesh, skull already cracked open as doctors probed the brain with slender needles. “Where’s Qian Duoduo?”
“We took him back already. The bosses want to analyze the recordings…” The doctor trailed off as the heart monitor suddenly blared a piercing beep. Both men whipped around to see a flat red line crawl across the screen.
“No time to waste.” The doctor clicked his tongue. “We can’t neutralize the virus in the Dream Link Machine yet. This body’s heart has stopped three times already. If it keeps up, it’ll damage the brain. We need to freeze it now.”
The researcher didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his terminal and issued the order. “Back to the lab.”
Underwater.
Zhao Meiyou felt himself submerged.
Muffled voices drifted to his ears, mingled with the rumble of rolling wheels. A gurney sped down a corridor. Heart monitors wailed, a scalpel clattered to the floor. Crowds of people surrounded him, lips flapping silently. They sliced him open, tore him apart. Crimson liquid spilled from his wounds as they flushed his guts, inspected his heart, soaked his eyeballs in jars. They pried off his ribcage like pulling a dust filter from an air conditioner. Finally, they cracked his skull, shattering the orbital bone.
They took his brain.
Some unknowable time later, Zhao Meiyou opened his eyes. Blurry light swam into view first.
He plunged into a sodden, heavy blue. The blue was light born from darkness, a soft, flowing prison that held him fast. His eyes burned. He blinked a few times before realizing where he was.
He floated inside a massive cultivation tank.
Zhao Meiyou tested his limbs—no problems with control. He reached back, feeling no electrode ports along his spine, just countless tiny needles embedded there. After a moment’s thought, he gritted his teeth and yanked them all out in one go.
The surrounding solution drained away. The tank hissed open.
Zhao Meiyou tumbled out onto the floor of a vast, empty room. He stepped forward, and lights flickered on grid by grid beneath his feet. At the room’s edge stood a glassy wall.
He touched it and slid his hand right. Colorful blocks flipped across the surface, revealing a massive floor-to-ceiling window.
The view burst into dazzling light. Towering buildings sprawled like crouching beasts, their countless windows glowing like unblinking eyes—sharp as scalpels. A huge patrol flyer hovered in the air, casting sweeping beams of light as it prowled. Rain fell outside; pedestrians huddled under umbrellas, all clad in crisp white uniforms.
Farther out loomed the golden statue of the Metropolis’s god—but from this layer, only its head was visible, a massive halo of merit light floating behind it.
Now he knew where he was.
This was above the nine-hundredth layer: the Metropolis Government’s experimental grounds, nestled within the city itself.
He glanced back at the enormous cultivation tank in the room, then down at his hands. Finally, he looked toward a mirror-like surface. In the faint reflection, he saw his own face.
Still Zhao Meiyou’s face.
Judging by the window alone, the room was enormous—at least as big as an abandoned parking lot. Anything above the nine-hundredth layer housed the government’s most secretive departments. Getting in here was about as easy as storming the heavens.
Zhao Meiyou returned to the tank. After pondering, he reached out on instinct and pressed the base.
An instant later, an operation console rose from the floor.
He paused, stared at his hand again, then stepped over and punched in a few keys.
The tank sank slowly, vanishing completely underground as the tiles sealed seamlessly over it.
Zhao Meiyou entered another sequence.
The floor hummed deeply. Countless tiles slid apart, transforming the ground into a vast transparent panel—doubly so, offering a clear view of the space below.
Zhao Meiyou drew a deep breath and looked down.
He saw—
Meanwhile, on the 330th layer of the Metropolis, in Granny’s Tavern.
Business boomed as usual. The landlady had dressed sharply today, intellectual chic with gold-rimmed glasses, reading the paper behind the counter. The front page covered the clash days earlier between Jade Face Hall and the Wedlan Family on Lantern Street, complete with terminal-linked video.
Patrons inside chattered about it. “Street brawls on Lantern Street aren’t new—happens every other day. But this time, who knows what strings got pulled. Word is the whole street’s locked down!” The storyteller gestured wildly, drawing a big crowd. “Heard Jade Face Hall and the Wedlans are both under police control now. Big shake-up coming for the Lower District…”
“Hey, what about that doctor on Lantern Street? The one named… what was it?” Someone slapped their thigh. “Right, Mr. Zhao—Zhao Meiyou! Where’s he at?”
Just then, the antique gas lamp outside the tavern door flickered. The entrance creaked open.
With the door came a faint ripple in the air, like a guitar string delicately plucked. A massive fish tank dominated one wall of the tavern. The water inside froze solid for an instant.
The pause lasted only a fraction of a second—no one noticed. As the second hand ticked forward, the flow resumed. But one goldfish suddenly went berserk, slamming itself madly against the glass.
The landlady glanced at the tank, scooped out the frenzied fish, and tossed it in the trash.
In the instant before the goldfish lost it, anyone standing beneath the Metropolis’s colossal golden god statue would have seen its eyes ignite, radiant glow spilling out. A golden magnetic field unfurled around It, blanketing the entire Metropolis.
The next second, the world ticked on.
No one realized they’d lost a second of memory.
But in that second, water solidified, the goldfish thrashed, beer taps clogged mid-pour, lively chatter halted dead. Outside the window, two drunks trading blows saw their fists hang in slow motion. The world fell utterly silent.
The landlady turned a page in her paper.
One second passed.
The guest from outside stepped in. The tavern buzzed back to life. The conversation picked up: “Hey, where were we?”
“Not the twentieth layer—something about that Zhao guy…”
“Zhao who? Doctor?”
“Doctor? What doctor?”
“Some Zhao dude? Who?”
“Nah, twentieth layer’s got no doctors.” Someone waved dismissively. “You’re drunk. Zhao? Zhao your dad!”
The topic flipped past like water under a bridge. Only the landlady set down her paper, took the wall clock down, and nudged the hands back one second.
Then she eyed the newcomer. “Has the cycle started again?”
“Not yet. They just fired up the god statue. The quantum magnetic field will wipe the relevant memories. This is just the prep phase.” The guest replied, “They made too much noise this time. Expect a thorough sweep. The next cycle won’t kick off so soon.”
“So we’ve got time.” The landlady removed her glasses. “Drink before you go?”
The guest smiled. “Sure. An Icebreaker, and a pack of Marlboros.”
“For the dean?”
“Of course. He’ll need a smoke for what’s coming.”
The Icebreaker was a classic cocktail: tequila, Cointreau, grapefruit, pomegranate syrup. But the landlady pulled whiskey and sweet vermouth, adding bitters to a mixing tin.
The guest blinked. “What is this?”
She poured in Campari, added ice, twisted an orange peel to mist the air.
“A Playboy.”
Long, long ago—before the deep ice sealed away the past—old comrades had shared drinks in springtime. Back then, he was a true young rake, bedding half the team while seeming utterly innocent.
“Vice Dean, you’re old friends with the dean. Face him with your old look.”
She slid the glass over, speaking his name.
“Diao Chan.”
Zhao Meiyou lay sprawled in the vast, empty room.
He lay on the floor, limbs splayed wide. Countless mercury vapor lamps lit the streets outside, stretching his shadow long.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the door of the room suddenly slid open to both sides. Someone stepped inside. The newcomer seemed unaccustomed to the darkness yet and said, “Lights.”
The voice-activated lights gave no response.
“Don’t bother calling out, Brother Qian,” Zhao Meiyou said from where he lay on the ground, not moving a muscle. “This lab’s firewall is really nothing to write home about. After all these years, they’re still running the same outdated system from back in the day.”
The footsteps halted. After a long pause, the man spoke uncertainly. “…Zhao Meiyou?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Zhao Meiyou,” Zhao Meiyou replied. “Did something go wrong with your experiment? I don’t think I was supposed to wake up suddenly inside that incubation tank.”
Qian Duoduo had started toward him when Zhao Meiyou, still sprawled on the floor, suddenly added, “This brutal pleasure will end in brutality.”
Qian Duoduo froze in place.
“Brother Qian, from start to finish, has there only ever been one of you?”
“…Yes.” Qian Duoduo didn’t deny it. “From start to finish, there’s only ever been one of me. Ever since the days in the Ancient Capital, it’s always been just me.”
“Then what about me?” Zhao Meiyou murmured.
In all these cycles—or experiments, rather—what am I?
With that, he shot to his feet and called out loudly, “Lights.”
The lab’s sensor system kicked in at once. The room blazed with light. Moments earlier, Zhao Meiyou had hacked the lab’s control console from the panel, commandeering its authority. No one outside could detect what had happened in here. Such a breach wasn’t simple—it demanded top-tier skills. Neither Zhao Meiyou the black-market doc from Lantern Street nor Zhao Meiyou the ER physician from the 33-Story Mental Hospital could pull it off.
But Zhao Meiyou, director of the Ancient Capital Research Institute? That was child’s play for him.
“Brother Qian.” He turned to face Qian Duoduo.
“What am I to you, exactly?”
The two men stared at each other across the room. The floor was a vast pane of glass. The incubation tank Zhao Meiyou had awoken in had sunk into the ground at his command from the console.
The floor was perfectly transparent.
Now, with the lights fully on, they could see everything below it clearly.
Beneath lay a far larger chamber, several times the size of the lab above—towering and cavernous, like some ancient library. Immense shelves lined the walls, stocked with countless masterpieces spanning the ages.
But it was no library. The towering racks held no books. Instead, they brimmed with countless incubation tanks, packed densely together.
Each one cradled a slumbering body.
Every single one wore Zhao Meiyou’s face.
