His ability fully restored. Under his reshaping, Site A173 took on forms from myriad times and spaces; images from the screen became reality. They rode the bright yellow taxi through eras, dined at the Waldorf Hotel—the very spot from Scent of a Woman where Donna and the colonel danced to “One Step Beyond.” The old man rose, smiling as he invited him for a tango.
“Change the tune,” the old man said. “We’ve heard ‘One Step Beyond’ a thousand times.”
“What would the gentleman like?”
“Perhaps some jazz.” The old man grinned with boyish delight. “How about ‘Fly Me to the Moon’?”
“…Liu Qijue?” A faint voice drifted into his ear. “Noble Consort! Damn it, Liu Qijue! Wake up, Liu Qijue!”
The Lead Actor finally snapped back to reality. Zhao Meiyou had yelled himself hoarse. The Lead Actor bent over, coughing twice with a raspy voice. “You remember now?”
The Lead Actor stared at him like someone jolted awake from a long dream. Then he swung a fist into Zhao Meiyou’s chest.
Zhao Meiyou had just straightened up when the punch sent him curling back over. “…You bastard. Don’t hit like that, Noble Consort.”
The Lead Actor turned away. “Thanks.”
Zhao Meiyou grinned. He didn’t fight back even after taking the hit. It was bound to happen, after all—the price of waking from a dream might well be a final farewell.
That’s what brothers were for. He could handle a little morning grumpiness. “You’d better check on your man quick. See if he’s holding up…”
“Sir will be fine,” The Lead Actor cut him off. He snatched the cigar from Zhao Meiyou’s hand and took a drag.
“You’re kidding. That’s a dragon.” Zhao Meiyou glanced into the distance as he spoke. He’d been too focused on The Lead Actor’s condition earlier, but now he was stunned to see that the rampaging Azure Dragon had vanished at some point. A taxi was slowly pulling back into view.
The old man rolled down the window and handed The Lead Actor a dragon-patterned face mask. He smiled warmly. “Qijue.”
That strong? Zhao Meiyou watched The Lead Actor take the mask, feeling a bit dazed. Wasn’t this a case of domestic abuse?
The Lead Actor stroked the mask and let out a soft sigh. “Sir.”
The old man got out of the car and pulled him into a hug. The embrace was long and heartfelt, but he finally let go. He turned to Zhao Meiyou. “I owe you a thank you, young man.”
“No problem.” Everyone had a bit of admiration for the strong, and this old guy was ridiculously powerful—cool in a way that didn’t suit his age. Even Zhao Meiyou felt a rare flush of embarrassment, like a kid who’d just been praised. “But I’ve got a question… Why didn’t you wake Noble Consort sooner?”
He realized as soon as he said it that the question was pretty tactless.
The old man’s smile remained gentle. The Lead Actor took a hard drag on the cigar. “Because of Correction.”
“Correction?”
“A big part of Site A173 has been reshaped by my power. In other words, my subconscious controls the laws governing this place,” The Lead Actor explained. “Sir… Sir is the same. He’s a counterpart I created myself. If I don’t accept my true identity, he can’t say it out loud.”
If I don’t accept it, it’s wrong.
And what’s wrong gets corrected.
That meant only an outsider from beyond the Site could reveal that The Lead Actor was the real original. Outsiders weren’t creations, so the creator’s laws couldn’t correct them.
Talk about… Zhao Meiyou swallowed the rest of his thought, leaving only the bloody stump.
Talk about fucked up.
He could guess why the old man had chosen this moment to reveal the truth.
That first thing the old man had said when they entered was true after all. His original body outside the Site was on its last legs.
Farewell was imminent.
There might be another reason too. “What’s the deal with Li Daqiang?”
“As you saw—a younger version of me.” The Lead Actor paused there, clearly still sorting through his tangled thoughts. “It’s been trying to drag you into the Site all along. But creations can only leave the Site under certain conditions. They have to tag along with a real living person to enter the real world. That’s probably why it made a deal with Li Daqiang.”
This had to be the kid’s most outrageous act yet. It must have sensed the old man in reality was about to die, so it started losing control— even dissolving living people inside the Site.
The Lead Actor sounded irritated. “Damn it. It was so simple, and I never realized.”
Not surprising. If you were having a sweet dream, most people didn’t want to wake up.
The old man patted The Lead Actor’s shoulder lightly and looked at Zhao Meiyou. “Plenty of archaeologists have entered Site A173 over the years, but I’ve watched for a long time, young man. You’re the only one fit to wake Qijue.”
He smiled again. “Maybe the only one who could wake him.”
He’d watched from the sidelines for ages, struggling against Correction while searching for the right moment. His young lover had created something too wild and crazy inside the Site—too easy for others to exploit. Only Zhao Meiyou, Qijue’s one true friend, could keep the secret and be entrusted with all this.
Zhao Meiyou glanced at the old man, then at The Lead Actor. A complicated feeling washed over him—bittersweet, a tangle of sorrow and joy. He felt a bit like the Queen Mother of the West breaking up a lovers’ pair.
The Lead Actor took a deep breath. “…Sir.”
The old man smiled at him, his expression forever so tender and accepting. “Qijue.”
They both knew it was time to wake from the dream.
The old man extended a hand. “Qijue, do you remember that tango we danced at the Waldorf Hotel?”
The Lead Actor’s head snapped up.
“Come, my husband.”
Let’s dance one last time.
Zhao Meiyou watched in surprise as the space around them shifted—not The Lead Actor’s power. Creations materialized matter out of thin air, but now countless scenes slid past like grains of sand: Homeland, Rick’s Bar, Eiffel Tower, Montmartre Hill, Tiffany… The scenery finally settled in a grand hotel ablaze with lights. Beneath a massive chandelier, guests in elegant attire mingled amid the gleam of glassware.
The colonel and Donna had just finished their one-step, and the band flipped through sheet music. The young man and the old man stepped onto the dance floor, stirring moonlight across the water.
Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, darling, kiss me…
Amid the jazz melody, the old man gazed at the sobbing young man and murmured softly, “One tear for me is enough, Qijue. One tear for me is enough.”
“Do you remember what I told you before? What’s the one true purpose of poetry?”
“To drink, laugh, dance, and sing as much as possible before the music stops.”
Zhao Meiyou walked to a dining table, pulled out a chair, and sat. He flagged down a waiter for a smoke.
That night in the ER rinsing hot pot, Diao Chan had told him that at archaeologists’ gatherings, few dared remove their masks. Diao Chan had mentioned Liu Qijue and a few other old names, including one memorable code name.
Back then, Diao Chan had said: Some powers are so rare that archaeologists just use them as code names.
This power could halt—or even rewind—time inside a Site.
Dazed, he’d asked outright: Stop with the suspense. What’s the code name? “Time”?
In the steamy haze of the hot pot, Diao Chan had shaken his head and uttered a single word—
Poetry.
Now Zhao Meiyou watched the young man and old man on the dance floor. No, they weren’t young and old anymore. They had shed the skins time controlled, standing soul to soul, bare.
When Poetry began, time stopped.
The dance ended. The old man held the young man close, lips brushing his temple as he recited a line of poetry.
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.”
Site Law number one: The Site is not a dream.
The Site is not a dream. It’s the wilderness between dream and reality. We bury our dead selves in dreams, grow wild in the wilderness, and finally find the courage to live in reality.
“Qijue, live on.”
The words fell like pearls on the floor, ringing clear. Ripples spread like gentle waves. Time flowed like a long river, washing everything clean, carrying it all away. In the end, only a blank white space remained.
The Lead Actor and Zhao Meiyou locked eyes.
Zhao Meiyou cleared his throat. “Ready to go?” How the hell were they supposed to get out now?
“Site A173 has been cleared. The operational laws I set no longer apply,” The Lead Actor said, wiping his face. “It’s completely empty now. Just think about leaving and hold onto that thought. You’ll be out right away.”
Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment, then walked to his friend and crouched down. “So what about you?”
“I’ve got cleanup duty,” The Lead Actor replied. “Gotta whip up something to fool the government. Otherwise, the next archaeologist in here might die of fright. And Li Daqiang…”
“Don’t tell me.” Zhao Meiyou waved him off. “I came into Site A173 for you this time.”
Adults got what they sought.
The Lead Actor went quiet for a moment, then punched him. They pulled each other into a tight hug.
“I’m out,” Zhao Meiyou said, standing. “Playhouse next time. You’re buying late-night snacks.”
The next second, his words faded into pure white.
The Playhouse in the thirty-third layer hadn’t opened its stage in ages. Grandpa De was furious, chasing Zhao Meiyou down the halls every day, howling. Rumor was the original The Lead Actor had left on business and wouldn’t be back soon. Eventually, the troupe found a new lead actor and ran a month-plus of the hit New Dream of the Red Chamber. It drew decent crowds.
The Lower District had endless dramas every day. Folks soon forgot the The Lead Actor who’d once specialized in Ji Gong.
By the twelfth lunar month, the Easterners were gearing up for New Year in the streets. The butcher slaughtered pigs right there on the avenue, handing out lucky pork for kitchen god rites. Zhao Meiyou worked all day, then ditched his shift that night, leaving Diao Chan alone in the ER. He headed to the Abandoned Parking Lot for late-night grub. He booked a whole barbecue truck, munching and drinking while distant gongs and drums echoed from the Playhouse.
A moment later, the chair across from him scraped back. “Anyone sitting here?”
“You’re already sitting…” Zhao Meiyou lifted his eyes mid-sentence and froze.
From the distant stage came a line: “Behold his face like the mid-autumn moon, his complexion like spring dawn flowers, his temples knife-cut, his brows ink-drawn—”
Mountains of jade, peerless beauty.
The incomparably elegant young man sat down and flashed him a playful eyebrow waggle.
“I’m Liu Qijue. Nice to meet you?”
