Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Metaphor

"Now what?"

"Wait."

"I thought so."

At this moment, both of them displayed an extraordinary level of professionalism—calm tones, expressions unchanging. Qian Duoduo, a seasoned archaeologist, had seen and known it all. Zhao Meiyou, on the other hand, was no stranger to madness—be it human experimentation or slavery, history had seen countless civilizations normalize such atrocities, to the point they no longer fell under the realm of pathology.

The train sped through the subway tunnel. It was hard to tell how much time had passed when the train seemed to slow, and Qian Duoduo suddenly spoke up: "There’s a fork ahead."

"Qian-ge, how do you know that?" Zhao Meiyou asked.

"Instinct." Qian Duoduo closed his eyes. A moment later, he added, "We’ve switched tracks."

Before his words even settled, Zhao Meiyou felt the train car, which had been moving forward, suddenly lurch to a brief stop. Then it began reversing, the front shifting course. Qian Duoduo was right—they had entered a different track.

This train car shouldn’t have a driver. So, who was responsible for changing its course?

Zhao Meiyou made an assessment: "Maybe there’s internal conflict within the artificial human faction."

Qian Duoduo nodded. "That could work to our advantage."

"Whoever can control our train must have high-level access," Zhao Meiyou pointed out.

"Risk level, uncertain," Qian Duoduo replied. "If something goes wrong, you stay hidden. I’ll handle the fighting."

Before Zhao Meiyou could respond, light suddenly appeared outside the window. They weren’t at a station—the darkness of the walls was abruptly illuminated by projections, like LED displays in a tunnel.

At first, the image was blurry. Zhao Meiyou could just barely make out what seemed to be a human face. But the projection began to move, dragging an entire wall as it slowly pressed toward the side of the train car.

Qian Duoduo pushed Zhao Meiyou behind him, and then something unbelievable happened. His head suddenly popped off, like the lid of a bottle. From the exposed vertebrae of his neck, a large-caliber handgun extended, snapping into place.

From what Zhao Meiyou knew, this type of gun was designed for taking out high-value military targets—like long-distance strikes on tanks. In any case, it was wildly unsuited for use in the confines of a train car.

Qian Duoduo was very likely a hardcore enthusiast of violence.

The kind of person who fought like he had nothing to lose.

This guy definitely had violent tendencies—possibly even selective emotional detachment. Before Zhao Meiyou could finish his mental diagnosis, something heavy landed in his hands. Qian Duoduo had yanked off his own head and thrown it to him.

They were still connected via a communication channel, and Qian Duoduo’s voice came through in Zhao Meiyou’s head: "Take the gun."

"Qian-ge, what did you just say?" Zhao Meiyou asked.

"Rifle." Not waiting for a response, Qian Duoduo reached into his neck like King Arthur drawing Excalibur and pulled out a long, narrow gun barrel, tossing it to Zhao Meiyou. "I figured you’d be more comfortable with this." Then he swiped a hand over his waist, and two semi-automatic pistols—resembling Browning designs—popped out from beneath his skin. It seemed these were his weapons of choice.

So, Zhao Meiyou thought to himself, was that diagnosis I just made actually more applicable to myself?

Qian Duoduo assumed a defensive stance. Outside the car window, the scene continued to shift. It penetrated the walls but did not press closer. Instead, it seeped into the cabin walls like liquid mercury. The alloy ceiling and walls vanished, and now they seemed to be standing in an endless corridor of mirrors.

But this wasn’t a real hall of mirrors—it must have been some kind of synthesized projection. Zhao Meiyou could still feel the car moving, though its speed had slowed significantly.

The "mirrors" didn’t reflect their images. Instead, they showed a figure—a person who wasn’t inside the car.

It wasn’t immediately clear if this was an artificial human, but outwardly, they looked more like a regular human.

It was an old man.

Just as Zhao Meiyou was about to say something, Qian Duoduo abruptly smashed the mirror with a sharp, precise strike—a textbook preemptive move.

“…Qian-ge?” Zhao Meiyou looked confused, thinking to himself that this guy definitely had violent tendencies. Didn’t he know that attacking first often meant losing in a battle between experts? And to strike without even gathering intelligence—was he joking?

“That’s an artificial human,” Qian Duoduo said, stepping in front of him. “The only part of an artificial human that ages is the brain. Even if the synthetic body deteriorates, the signs would never be this obvious on the surface.”

Yet, the figure in the mirror, despite being artificial, showed signs of aging. This was a technology that had never been achieved—not because it was impossible, but because it served no purpose.

This deliberate, outward aging was rarely meant to serve a practical function—it often stemmed from some kind of ideological intent. And that made it dangerous.

Too strange. Better to kill it first and ask questions later.

But things didn’t go as he wished—or rather, it went exactly as expected. Beside the cracked mirror surface, another image of the old man appeared. This time, the old man spoke first: “We don’t have much time. Please, listen to me.”

Qian Duoduo kept his finger on the trigger, raising the barrel slightly.

“You must be people sent by the ‘Friends.’ Don’t rush to deny it. The procedures to travel from Mars to Earth are extensive, and memory erasure is mandatory,” the old man said, speaking at a steady pace. “I will tell you everything you need to know. After hearing me out, you can decide for yourselves whether to trust me. Once your trust level reaches a certain threshold, your memory switch will activate, and you’ll understand everything.”

Liu Qijue wasn’t wrong when he said I suck at literature, Zhao Meiyou thought to himself. I recognize every word this guy is saying, but strung together like this, I can’t make any damn sense of it.

Qian Duoduo uttered a single word: “Speak.”

“First, I need to tell you the history of Ideal City,” the old man began. “You may have already noticed that this is a city ruled by artificial humans. However, in most parts of Earth and nearly all space colonies, it is still the era of organic humanity.”

“Ideal City is an experimental city.”

After a groundbreaking leap in nuclear fusion technology, humanity entered its Age of Exploration in space. Genetic engineering became an essential part of space colonization—namely, the creation of artificial human labor.

Artificial humans had inherent physical advantages. To prevent uprisings, a global agreement was reached to limit their lifespan to a maximum of ten years.

But as life in space expanded, humanity’s worldview began to shift. A new distinction emerged—humans who retained their organic brains but underwent complete biomechanical body modifications.

Thus were born the ‘bionic human’ and the ‘mechanical human.

Newly designed limbs injected fresh vitality into life itself, a temptation that undoubtedly shook the foundations of power. Meanwhile, the integration of humans and artificial humans blurred moral and philosophical boundaries even further. In 2149, an artificial human uprising occurred in the α-coordinate sector of the Mars colony, an event later known as the Turing Revolution.

The leaders of the Turing Revolution included both bionic humans and mechanical humans, though whether any humans were involved remains unknown. What is certain, however, is that it was a successful revolution. After the rebel forces seized control of the α-coordinate sector, they expanded their influence further and eventually returned to Earth, claiming a long-abandoned stretch of land in the high latitudes.

At the turn of the 21st century, the energy revolution brought immense benefits to humanity, but not without an inevitable price—like the re-enactment of Chernobyl. Half the land of what was once a mighty northern nation became a radioactive wasteland following a nuclear leak.

Moscow, the former capital.

The rebel forces from Mars chose Moscow as their base. After a decade of warfare and international negotiations, both sides reached an agreement. Humanity made concessions, allowing a limited number of artificial humans to obtain legal residency in Moscow under strict supervision, paving the way for a potential coexistence between humans and artificial humans on Earth.

That same year, Moscow was renamed Ideal City.

Zhao Meiyou listened in stunned silence before asking over the communications channel, "Is this old guy for real? Is this the hidden truth of history? Are we going to get silenced for knowing this?"

"The Megalopolis government can't directly observe the quantum domain; they won't know what's happening here," Qian Duoduo replied. "As for what the old man says, it might not be true. What’s reflected in the ruin isn’t necessarily reality. Even if the setting is highly accurate to its era, the decisive factor is still human consciousness."

"Exactly, like Liu Qijue’s Creation—everything in the ruin is shaped by human intent."

"S45 is Diao Chan's exploration zone," Qian Duoduo continued. "Although his ability isn’t Creation and he can’t directly alter the ruin, given enough time, the ruin will be influenced and reshaped by his subconscious."

So, in a way, this place bears the imprint of Diao Chan's thoughts.

Humans, artificial humans, bionic humans, mechanical humans—blah blah blah—Zhao Meiyou thought to himself, Damn, Diao Chan, you really overthink things. No wonder you can’t sleep at night.

"So, the Martian rebel army—there had to be humans infiltrating it, right? Otherwise, the Ideal City agreement is just too humiliating," Zhao Meiyou said. "Humans can’t survive in radioactive zones. Isn’t this basically like sending cleaning robots to pick up the trash?"

Qian Duoduo glanced at the old man reflected in the mirror. "It's possible."

Following Qian Duoduo's gaze, Zhao Meiyou hesitated for a moment before speaking. "The live human experiments in the subway—that was your doing, wasn’t it?"

He directed the statement at the old man, neither using the communications channel nor phrasing it as a question. It was a fact, plain and simple.

"That's right," the old man said. "The buildings in Ideal City grow taller and taller, as if we’re drawing closer to our dreams. This city could even achieve communism. But just as the word 'utopia' was born with an undercurrent of irony—artificial humans become more like humans, children grow more like their fathers, and with that, they inherit humanity’s desires in equal measure."

"I suppose I should introduce myself," the old man said, brushing his hair back. "I was once a malfunctioning artificial human."

He went on to give a brief account. He was from Mars, one of the leaders of the Turing Revolution. His "malfunction" allowed him to surpass the ten-year lifespan imposed on him, during which he gathered a group of like-minded friends. Together, they successfully launched the revolution and returned to the fabled homeland, building this city in the midst of the snow.

"If you were to use a simple dichotomy, I suppose I would be considered a moderate," the old man said. "At the beginning, we were all moderates."

"This is actually one of the rationalities of artificial humans—maybe even an instinct inherent to the birth of a species. We lean toward peace, using our capacity for waging war to pursue other purposes, to live, to explore."

"You said you 'were once' an artificial human," Zhao Meiyou asked. "What do you mean by that?"

"There’s been a schism within Ideal City. The city was originally founded to explore the possibility of coexistence between humans and artificial humans. But in the end, we discovered a fundamental difference—whether or not one possesses a soul."

"This is the foundation of humanity’s moral high ground. It seems that only a mother’s womb can nurture a soul, while artificial humans are born from nutrient liquids and synthesis chambers, relegating us to the realm of machinery and tools."

"So, here’s the question: what lies within a womb? What resides within a mother’s body? And what is the soul contained within human flesh?"

Qian Duoduo thought of the escaped test subject. "So, you’ve been dissecting and experimenting on living humans."

"That's right. This is the root of the schism." A trace of weariness flickered in the old man’s eyes. "I only learned about all of this recently—the underground laboratory and all its madness. I had… some friends, ones I was very close to. But it’s like a son who, in his youth, struggles to escape his father’s influence, only to find as an adult that he has become more and more like him. He was tainted by certain human ways of thinking."

What is the opposite of a human? An animal? A god? Or an artificial human?

Do artificial humans represent rationality?

Then, as the opposite, does humanity represent madness?

"Humans create artificial humans, and artificial humans dissect humans," the old man sighed. "Even opposites share a common thread of madness."

Qian Duoduo fell into deep thought.

Zhao Meiyou thought blankly to himself: What is he even talking about?

"…Forget it. So, what are you planning to do next?" he asked. Based on his logic for stopping them, he seemed intent on preventing all of this. "And also, how did you age?"

"I won’t stop it. I no longer have the power to stop it. The news of Ideal City conducting human experiments has already leaked through certain channels. Armed conflict between artificial humans and humans will erupt again. The city itself has already fractured. The Paradise faction has chosen to stay on Earth, even at the cost of waging war against humanity. The Ark faction has decided to leave." The old man paused. "I will leave."

“The universe has become humanity's colony. Where else can you go?”

“Deep into the galaxy,” the old man replied. “Human exploration is still confined to the Orion Arm. I’ve been in touch with an old friend on Mars. Over the years, they’ve developed some new technologies. Though this new form of travel is highly damaging to the human body, it’s worth a try.”

Children fight to the death for victory. Adults sit back and watch tigers claw each other, waiting to reap the spoils. The elderly sigh and leave the table entirely.

Over the comms channel, Zhao Meiyou asked Qian Duoduo, “Brother Qian, so this guy thinks we’ve come from Mars to deliver intelligence to him?”

“He mentioned brainwashing and memory switches at the start,” Qian Duoduo replied over the channel. “This is probably one of Diao Chan’s private constructs in the ruin. I’m not too familiar with him—do you know how he sets things up?”

That wasn’t easy to guess. Zhao Meiyou wasn’t sure if he should let his imagination run wild—after all, he was usually the one Diao Chan called a lunatic.

Stuck in his thoughts, Zhao Meiyou decided to change the subject. He turned to the old man and posed another question, “Why did you grow old? Was it another malfunction?”

“I grew tired of the endless life that malfunctions brought,” the old man said. “So I tried something new.”

“I preserved my neural program but abandoned the bionic body. I switched to a flesh-and-blood body born from a womb.”

A human body, a mechanical neural program—neither a bionic human nor a robot.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Zhao Meiyou said, eyeing the old man. “You claim not to support human experimentation, but didn’t you steal this body from a living person?”

“You’re just an accomplice trying to flee the scene of the crime, aren’t you?”

Before the words had fully landed, the cabin—or rather, the mirrored corridor—suddenly shook violently. The mirror surfaces cracked. Qian Duoduo jerked his head up. “You’ve triggered the ruin’s security mechanism!”

Zhao Meiyou: “...The quantum domain has an anti-theft system?”

“The quantum domain is influenced by human consciousness. S45, being Diao Chan’s main exploration field, is deeply infiltrated by his mind,” Qian Duoduo said, his tone steady but his words rapid. “You’ve provoked his subconscious. What did you just say?”

He’d said—you’re just an accomplice trying to flee the scene of the crime.

In a flash of realization, Zhao Meiyou suddenly said, “I get it.”

Qian Duoduo steadied himself and grabbed the jolting Zhao Meiyou. “What?”

“I get it,” Zhao Meiyou repeated. “I know how Diao Chan set this up.”

“This ideal city, and all this chaotic, riddled mess…” Zhao Meiyou raised his hand, as if searching for the right word, but ultimately gave up.

“It’s one massive metaphor.”

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Translator's Note: Sorry for the late chapter! Been really busy with IRL recently