Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Archaeologist

The leader of the masked men said nothing, just stared blankly for a moment. Then he turned to his companions, nodding as if in confirmation. “This one’s a lunatic.”

Zhao Meiyou’s stomach let out a loud, desperate growl.

“Starved mad,” the masked man remarked flatly.

“Quite mad,” another chipped in.

“Pitiful, really.”

“Shall we spare him a bite of brain?”

No way, Zhao Meiyou thought to himself. Are these bastards really planning to eat my brain?

Who’s the crazy one here, exactly?

His mind raced, recalling the last time a cannibalistic patient had been admitted to the hospital. It had been ages ago, so long that the details blurred. What had the attending physician done back then? Oh, right—nothing. The guy had tried to assault a nurse on his second day and got beaten into paralysis for his efforts.

The attending doctor had chalked it up to something called “sleep-deprivation-induced rage” and locked him up in solitary for a week.

Zhao Meiyou had always thought the cannibal’s logic was absurd. Who in their right mind would want to fornicate with food? What was next—tucking Diao Chan and a cucumber sandwich under a blanket to sleep together? And even then, who was on top?

In that fleeting moment of distraction, the leader of the masked men had already scooped out his brain whole with a spoon. Then, one of them casually flipped open the top of his own skull, like opening a lid.

He took out his own brain.

And then he replaced it with Zhao Meiyou's brain.

Finally, he removed the mask from his face.

Zhao Meiyou gaped. The face beneath the mask was identical to his own.

“He swapped out your brain, so now he can wear your face,” the leader explained nonchalantly before rummaging through a box, pulling out jars of mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, and strawberry jam.

The Masked Person held Zhao Meiyou’s freshly removed brain up to him. “Which sauce would you like to dip it in?”

Zhao Meiyou said, "...No chilli or cumin?"

The masked men recoiled as if disgusted. "Anyone who eats chilli is an abomination!"

The rest of the masked men chimed in, "Abominations should be burned alive!"

Zhao Meiyou tilted his chin, gesturing at the one who had just claimed his brain. “Well, he’s me now. If you’re burning anyone, burn him.”

The other man panicked. "It’s not me! I didn’t do it!"

“Then give me back my brain,” Zhao Meiyou demanded.

"Fine, take it back." The masked man actually slotted his own brain back into Zhao Meiyou.

“I meant my original brain!” Zhao Meiyou snapped.

"No way!" The man looked even more horrified now, as though he were the one being held hostage. "Your brain's already stolen the purity of my skull!"

“I can’t do this anymore,” Zhao Meiyou said, exasperated beyond measure. “You’re all bloody lunatics!”

No doubt about it, there was no way anyone in the real world could lose their brain and still think like this. He had to be dreaming, and not just any dream—this was the kind of outrageous dream that made Diao Chan and a cucumber sandwich in bed seem almost plausible.

Thoughts had a way of manifesting in dreams, and sure enough, the next second, he heard Diao Chan’s voice: “Zhao Meiyou!”

Zhao Meiyou turned his head, and there he was, standing not far away with a door behind him. “Diao Chan! Finally!” he shouted. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your love affair with that cucumber!”

Diao Chan looked at him like he was a lunatic—like he’d caught some incurable disease. Then the sound of guns cocking broke through the tension as the masked men surrounding Zhao Meiyou all raised their weapons.

“Well, since this is my dream,” Zhao Meiyou thought to himself, “Dream, let their dicks fly out of those barrels.”

The next second, gunfire erupted, and something shot out. Flesh-coloured. Nice!!! Zhao Meiyou cheered internally and turned his head, eager to see the expressions on their faces.

Instead, what he heard was a crescendo of moans and groans.

“Dreams are projections of the subconscious,” Zhao Meiyou muttered, his expression complicated. “...I might really need to see a shrink.” What kind of garbage was lurking in his subconscious, anyway?

The groaning wasn’t even over yet when suddenly, bang bang bang! Shots rang out from the other direction—it was Diao Chan, and he had a gun in his hands.

Unlike Zhao Meiyou’s feeble projectile antics, Diao Chan’s shots were the real deal—deadly accurate, too. The heads of several masked figures erupted into grotesque blossoms.

“You alright?” Diao Chan ran up to him, patting his face. “Zhao Meiyou? Xi Shi? Are you seriously scared stiff?”

“Undo these restraints first,” Zhao Meiyou demanded.

Diao Chan blinked in surprise. “You forgot? Last time you were locked up, you broke out of a restraint suit in three seconds flat and escaped solitary confinement. Even won first prize at the company talent show for it!”

“This is a bloody antique from 1999!” Zhao Meiyou retorted. “It’s the great-granddaddy of the Restraint Suit I’m familiar with!”

“Fair point.” After fumbling with it for a while, Diao Chan finally managed to undo the straps around his legs. “Can’t really help you with the upper half though—”

“That’s enough.” Zhao Meiyou got to his feet, chair still strapped to his back, and kicked Diao Chan squarely in the chest.

Diao Chan staggered back, too stunned to dodge, staring at him in disbelief. “Zhao Meiyou, have you finally gone mad?”

Zhao Meiyou delivered another kick. “You blasted my bloody brains out just now, you bastard!”

Once everything was explained, Diao Chan looked at him with deep remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

“Forget it.” Zhao Meiyou plopped back down. “If apologies worked, what would we need psychiatric wards for?”

Diao Chan eyed the mess of red and white splattered across the ground, hesitation flickering in his gaze. "Think we can clean this up and…put it back in you?"

“Anything that’s been on the ground more than three seconds is inedible—basic common sense,” Zhao Meiyou replied. “It’s been way longer than that.”

“Fair enough.” Diao Chan nodded before crouching down to meet his gaze. “Sorry, Xi Shi.”

“Tch.” Zhao Meiyou clicked his tongue. “I said let it go, why’re you still apologising—”

“Because I have to blow your brains out again,” Diao Chan said, lifting the gun and aiming it at his head.

“What?” Zhao Meiyou blurted.

Before he could react, the gunshot rang out. Blood sprayed everywhere.

In the instant his skull was blown apart, Zhao Meiyou's last thought was this: having your face shredded by a bullet wasn't half bad—it sure beat the grinding whirr of a chainsaw cracking your skull open.

One like diarrhoea, the other like constipation.

When Zhao Meiyou woke, the first thing he said was, "I knew it. That bastard Diao Chan’s been coveting my beauty for ages."

"We even made a bet on whether your first words would be a string of curses," a voice chimed in from the side. "Still, I didn’t see this coming either. Classic you."

“Diao Chan?” Zhao Meiyou turned his head, bones crunching audibly. His body felt as though it had been crushed by a steamroller and hastily reassembled. “What the hell happened to me?”

"Take a wild guess."

After a moment’s contemplation, Zhao Meiyou’s face twisted into an indescribable expression. “I think I had the most ridiculous dream ever.”

“Hmm,” Diao Chan replied.

Zhao Meiyou suddenly looked up and narrowed his eyes. “But judging by how my body feels... you didn’t snag some sedatives from the pharmacy, knock me out, and do unspeakable things to me, did you?”

“Hmm… What?!” Diao Chan stammered.

Well, shit. It was absurd, but how else could you explain it? Zhao Meiyou thought grimly. A night of cucumbers and nonsense that left a man utterly drained—clearly his brain’s emergency response to outside stimuli. But if he really ended up tangled with Diao Chan, there’d be complications down the road. Maybe he should help the guy sort out his inheritance, set up a cash cow, and start a cucumber sandwich chain in the Lower District? What would that make him? A discarded wife or a cunning gold-digger?

Zhao Meiyou, you’ve got some nerve. He spat at himself inwardly. Already planning to cosy up like that.

"Zhao Meiyou, I don’t know what’s running through your head, but I’m begging you to act normal," Diao Chan’s voice broke through his runaway thoughts, sounding as distant as if it were transmitted from light-years away. "There are people watching, and the Upper District isn’t some lawless wasteland."

Upper District? Zhao Meiyou froze, startled. Wait—was this really happening? Meeting the in-laws already?

When he had woken earlier, he’d noticed there was no one else in the room but him and Diao Chan, which meant—surveillance. Zhao Meiyou watched as Diao Chan pulled out a remote control. In an instant, the right-hand wall turned translucent, transforming into a smooth, floor-to-ceiling panel of glass.

Bright, vivid light flooded the room, the sun stretching endlessly across the sky.

Zhao Meiyou gauged the height of the view and exchanged a glance with Diao Chan. There was no doubt—this was the Upper District, and not just any part of it. This was near the very top, probably close to the nine-hundredth floor.

“Ordinarily, this kind of thing would fall to a specialised government department,” Diao Chan said, taking a deep breath. “But given the sudden nature of your situation, the task of declassifying this has landed on me. Zhao Meiyou, listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

Zhao Meiyou caught onto the term he used—“declassification.” It referred to opening confidential files after their secrecy period expired, but it also signified the disclosure of highly classified information.

“You weren’t dreaming before. Everything that happened was real.”

“Or rather, real in a quantum state.”

“Beyond the linear time we inhabit,” Diao Chan continued, “there float countless uncertain micro-worlds. Certain individuals, with unique constitutions, can traverse between these micro-worlds and the reality we know.”

Diao Chan pressed a button on the remote, and a straight line appeared, suspended mid-air, surrounded by scattered, irregular fragments. He pointed to the line. “This is the reality we live in.” Then he gestured to the floating fragments. “These are the small worlds.”

“How these small worlds came to exist and what caused them remain unknown. Based on current research, they seem to resemble quantum field thresholds. Ordinary people can’t perceive them at all, but certain individuals, using specific methods, can travel between them.”

“So my earlier dream—was that me accidentally entering some quantum domain?” Zhao Meiyou grasped it quickly. “Was it pure chance, or am I one of these special individuals?”

Diao Chan studied him closely and sighed. “The latter. You are one of the special ones.”

Moments later, several uniformed Government Commissioners entered the room, carrying black briefcases. One of them opened a case, and an image flickered on a hovering screen—it was everything Zhao Meiyou had experienced earlier in his so-called “dream.”

The footage began from the moment Diao Chan appeared. It seemed the government had equipped traversers with some kind of recording device.

By extension, it was clear—the government itself couldn’t directly observe the quantum domain.

“Citizen Zhao Meiyou, although you stumbled into the quantum domain by accident, we’ve discovered that you’re indeed among a rare group of people, and you might possess an extraordinary constitution,” the commissioner said. “Did you mention that your brain had been sawed open before?”

Zhao Meiyou nodded. “Injuries sustained in the quantum fields don’t carry over to reality?”

“Quite the opposite,” the commissioner replied, adjusting his glasses. “The first rule of quantum fields: they are not dreams.”

Standing behind Zhao Meiyou, Diao Chan rested his left hand on Zhao’s shoulder. “Everything in the quantum domain fundamentally exists as a quantum state. Some micro-worlds may feel as dramatic as dreams, but the quantum domain itself is no dream. It’s best not to get hurt within the domain.”

Zhao Meiyou asked, “What happens if I get hurt?”

“In a quantum state, we have no idea," Diao Chan replied. “Most of the time, it won’t cause any problems, but…”

“The second rule of the ruins,” the Government Commissioner interrupted, cutting off Diao Chan. “The brain must not be injured.”

“This is why the government has classified you as possessing a rare constitution,” the commissioner said, looking directly at Zhao Meiyou. “Injuries to the brain within the ruin are transferred identically to reality, and yet you are the only exception.”

“You’re the only person so far who’s suffered brain damage in the ruins and come out alive—without brain death.”

Zhao Meiyou asked, “Is it just a coincidence, or do I really have some extraordinary ability?”

“We don’t know yet,” the Commissioner said with a faint smile. “If you’re brave enough, you could get shot in the head again the next time you enter the ruins. Once we have enough samples, the results will be clear.”

Ah, yes—getting shot in the head. Zhao Meiyou turned to the floating screen, which was currently replaying the moment Diao Chan blew his face apart with a single shot.

What he didn’t expect was what came next: after blowing his head off, Diao Chan, without hesitation, turned the gun on herself and did the same.

“So, from what I’m seeing, both our brains got blown to pieces,” Zhao Meiyou said, pointing at the screen. “Why are we both fine now?”

“Every archaeologist undergoes physical training and enhancement, which grants them a unique ability within the ruins,” the Commissioner explained. “Citizen Diao Chan’s ability is called ‘Awakening.’ Entering and exiting the ruins often requires specific conditions, and leaving can be particularly difficult—sometimes requiring highly complex procedures. But Citizen Diao Chan is different. He has a gun.”

“This gun, separated from his body and solidified through quantum mimicry, accompanies him no matter which ruins he enters.”

“As long as he’s shot in the head with this gun, he can wake up—no matter where he is in the ruins.”

“I’m a bit lost,” Zhao Meiyou said, turning to Diao Chan. “ ‘Ruins’ and ‘archaeologist’—what exactly are those?”

“They’re government code words,” Diao Chan explained. “‘Ruin’ is the term for quantum domains, and ‘archaeologists’ are a special group of people who can enter those domains.”

Ah, it’s just jargon for official reports.

“That concludes the briefing.” The commissioner clasped his hands together and looked directly at Zhao Meiyou. “Citizen Zhao Meiyou, the government is extending an invitation to you today. Would you be willing to join the ranks of the archaeologists?”

“Four questions,” Zhao Meiyou said, raising four fingers. “Working hours, salary, benefits, and personal freedom.”

The Commissioner seemed well prepared. He retrieved a laminated document from his briefcase and handed it to Zhao Meiyou.

It was a work contract. Zhao Meiyou quickly skimmed through the lengthy list of terms.

Quite generous.

The Commissioner watched him quietly. “You may either accept or decline. If you refuse, a specialist will be assigned to erase this part of your memory.”

“Before that, I have one last question.” Zhao Meiyou glanced back at Diao Chan, whose hand had remained on his shoulder the entire time. “Diao Chan, when did you become an archaeologist?”

Diao Chan fell silent for a moment before answering, “When I was very young.”

Zhao Meiyou sighed and patted his hand. “Poor thing.”

He turned back to face the Government Commissioner. “Alright, I accept.”

“This is your first job assignment.” True to the efficiency of the government, the transition from onboarding to the first task was seamless. The commissioner handed him another document. “Ruin A173, 95 percent explored. Your first job will take you there.”

In the sprawling megalopolis, paper had all but fallen into obsolescence. Even in the lower-tier clinics of the thirty-third district, prescriptions were issued electronically. Paper documents were too fragile, too cumbersome. They were reserved for the rarest of circumstances—like matters of top security.

Zhao Meiyou flipped through a hefty stack of documents. “What’s the job?”

“Typically, archaeologists’ tasks involve archaeology—exploring the ruin,” the commissioner said. “As per the third clause of the ruin regulations, unless reinforced by quantum mimicry, what can be taken into or out of the ruin is unpredictable.”

“I don’t follow. Speak plainly,” said Zhao.

“There’s some prep work before entering a ruin, but most people don’t bring much, since there’s no guarantee it’ll make it in,” Diao Chan explained. “The same goes for coming out. Whatever you can bring out is completely random.”

The officer nodded in agreement. “Ruin Law, Article Four: Only non-living entities can be brought out of a ruin.”

Zhao Meiyou turned to the last page of the documents. At the top, a bright red warning stamp stood out in bold.

The officer looked at Zhao Meiyou, his expression laden with unspoken meaning.

“However, article four has recently been challenged.”

“An archaeologist brought a living person out of a ruin.”