Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Lotus Leaves Home

Three years later, Experimental Site No. 2 opened its doors once more.

The first thing Zhao Meiyou did after coming out was ask Diao Chan, “Did Liu Qijue and his kid finally get together or not?”

Maybe thanks to Zhao Meiyou’s absence, Diao Chan’s dark circles had faded. He looked more and more like a delicate pretty boy—silver-rimmed glasses, coffee cup in hand, all gentle refinement. Zhao Meiyou snatched the cup, took a sip, and blurted, “What the hell? Since when do you drink tea?”

“My mom sent it over. It’s all the rage at her salon, she bought too much and can’t finish it,” Diao Chan said. “You came out a day late—Liu Qijue just left.”

Zhao Meiyou raised an eyebrow. “Where’d he go?”

Diao Chan blinked. “Wedding leave.”

The words were barely out before both of them cracked up—first with sly, wicked grins, then shoulder to shoulder, howling with laughter. A passing technician took one look and ducked away, half convinced the director and deputy director had finally lost their minds.

After three years locked away in Site 2, Zhao Meiyou had finally found a breakthrough. “The Buddha’s basically a supercomputer. I couldn’t fully reconstruct its source code, but I found traces of an old AI system. Which means, we can work from the intelligence angle.”

Diao Chan was buried in the files Zhao Meiyou had sent. He grunted, “You want to give the Buddha a personality? Let it fix itself?”

“Exactly.” Zhao Meiyou spun in his chair. “My brain can’t crack it, but we can give it a brain of its own—let it figure things out.”

Over three years, he’d designed a personality program that was already linked to the Buddha. The results were staggering. Diao Chan skimmed the report and whistled. “There’s a ton of 22nd-century tech in here... Shit, if you hand this to the government, Zhao Meiyou, you’d better watch your back.”

“Not for now.” Zhao Meiyou dangled a cigarette from his lips, lazy as ever. “The personality system’s not perfect yet. The government still needs me.”

Diao Chan shook his head. He knew it was true—if anyone in the old capital could unlock the Buddha’s data, it was Zhao Meiyou. No one else came close.

They say there’s a fine line between genius and madness, but that didn’t quite fit Zhao Meiyou. His mind was so vast it held both. For him, genius and madness were one and the same.

Diao Chan watched Zhao Meiyou zoom down the hallway on his rolling chair, pushing off with a mop. The building had only just calmed down, and now chaos was back. He sighed, pulled out his terminal, and dialed, “...Hi, Mom? Do you still have that concealer you sent? Yeah, the one for dark circles... I’m not wearing makeup! It’s a work injury!”

Zhao Meiyou’s personality program was unusual—it wasn’t installed directly into the Buddha system, but ran separately, like he’d built another supercomputer to spar with the first.

“Zhao Meiyou, you’re a world-class bastard,” Liu Qijue said when he saw the setup. “You built a son just to beat up his father?”

Zhao Meiyou looked unbothered. “Fight fire with fire.”

With current tech, building a supercomputer wasn’t hard. The real challenge was giving it a complete personality. In a way, he was tiptoeing into artificial human territory—strictly forbidden in Megalopolis. But as Zhao Meiyou once said, high stakes draw big gamblers. The government still hadn’t figured out what he was up to, and for now, they looked the other way.

But eventually, someone took notice. Not long after leaving the test site, Zhao Meiyou was poisoned several times—each time barely surviving. By the seventh or eighth time he woke up in the hospital, he was a pro at it. He kicked Liu Qijue, who was sleeping by his bed. “Give me a smoke.”

“Should just let you smoke yourself to death.” Liu Qijue, now awake, fished out a lollipop and tossed it over.

“This time it wasn’t the government—it was a biotech company from the Upper District.” The door swung open. Diao Chan walked in. “I’ve sent people to investigate. If we move fast, we might shut them down for good.”

Zhao Meiyou unwrapped the candy, gave it a lick, and frowned. “Not lychee. Got anything else?”

“What’s wrong with you, picky about candy too?” Liu Qijue patted his pockets, annoyed. “I’m out.”

Diao Chan rummaged in his jacket, found an orange-flavored one, and handed it over. He turned to Liu Qijue. “Your kid’s waiting outside. Go get some sleep. I’ll stay with him.”

Liu Qijue glanced at Zhao Meiyou, figured he’d be back to his old tricks by tomorrow, and said loftily, “Your dad’s leaving. Behave yourself.”

“Get lost, idiot.” Zhao Meiyou waved him off. “See you in the lab tomorrow.”

Diao Chan watched Liu Qijue leave, then said, “Zhao Meiyou, you can’t keep living like this. Maybe you should go back to Site 2 and lock yourself in again.”

“I’d love to,” Zhao Meiyou mumbled around the candy, “but the personality program’s reached the sampling stage. It needs outside contact.”

“Sampling?”

“It’s like raising a kid. Sooner or later, they have to join the world, or they’ll turn out weird.” Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment, then rolled out of bed. Diao Chan jumped. “What are you up to now?”

Zhao Meiyou grabbed his IV stand and headed out. “Come with me.”

They returned to Site 2. In the empty hall, a massive mainframe loomed. Zhao Meiyou unlocked the console, opened a channel, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m back.”

“I see you,” a lazy voice drawled from the console. Diao Chan’s skin prickled—because the tone was pure Zhao Meiyou. The voice was different, but everything else was eerily identical, like a clone.

Then the console piped up again, “Hey, Diao Chan’s here too? You finally brought your family to meet me?”

“I’ve told you a million times,” Zhao Meiyou said, “family means relatives. Friends don’t count.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the voice replied. “So when are you bringing the rest of your family?”

Zhao Meiyou’s answer was to shut the system down.

He turned to Diao Chan. “Get it now?”

Diao Chan understood. After three years with Zhao Meiyou, the program had absorbed all his quirks—it needed fresh human samples, just like a kid meeting the world. One Zhao Meiyou was more than enough for the old capital. No one wanted a buy-one-get-one-free deal.

After this hospital stay, Zhao Meiyou stopped drowning in paperwork. He moved the personality system onto his own terminal and dove headfirst—no, gleefully—into his daily mischief.

First, he got in touch with Diao Chan’s mother—the current head of the Diao family, who ran the Upper District’s swankiest salon. Days later, a whole truckload of express packages arrived at the old capital. Every researcher saw their director cruising down the street in a retro sightseeing cart, megaphone in hand, his lazy pitch echoing for blocks—

“Beauty tea for all-nighters! Emergency concealer for those sleepless nights! Diao Chan swears by it—drink it or soak in it, your choice!”

“Direct from Megalopolis! Buy one get one free—don’t miss your chance!”

No one had ever imagined the government complex could host a street vendor, but there was Zhao Meiyou, parading in his cart for all to see. The labs fell silent—everyone wondered if the director had lost it or was running some bizarre social experiment. Finally, Liu Qijue stormed over after a meeting. “Zhao Meiyou, what the hell are you doing now?!”

“Hey, Juejue~!” Zhao Meiyou called out, waving his thermos with glee. “Want some tea? It’s fantastic!”

Liu Qijue nearly tripped at the nickname, rolled up his sleeves, and punched him. Zhao Meiyou’s eye went purple on the spot. Liu Qijue was winding up for another when Zhao Meiyou held up a hand, righteous and stern. “Wait, wait.”

He pulled out a sample packet, dabbed it around his eye, then stuck his head out the cart window and shouted, “Concealer for brawlers! The director swears by it!”

The shut-ins exchanged baffled looks. The extroverts were itching to join in.

Zhao Meiyou’s eyes sparkled. He hooked Liu Qijue by the neck and dragged him out too, fanning the flames. “Perfect for newlyweds! Outshines any flower!”

The shut-ins kept staring, but the extroverts—well, there were none left in the building. They’d all rushed out, nearly swamping the cart.

That day, Diao Chan was out. When he returned, he was met with a barrage of strange looks. In the end, it was the young master who explained the whole fiasco.

Thanks to Zhao Meiyou’s antics, everyone in the old capital now knew Deputy Director Diao Chan drank beauty tea and used luxury concealer. The female researchers crowned him with a new title that day—“Lady Director.” They even dropped the “Deputy.”

After years of diligent work, he’d finally seized the director’s seat—at least in name. But Diao Chan couldn’t enjoy it. His head throbbed. He set off to settle accounts with Zhao Meiyou.

At that moment, Zhao Meiyou was being hunted by Liu Qijue, chased across the old capital half the night. In the end, hunger got the better of them. The cafeteria was closed, so they crouched in front of a roadside food machine. The only thing on the menu was cake. Zhao Meiyou waved it off—“No problem, I wrote all the food code here.” He whipped out his terminal and rewrote the machine’s processing code. Liu Qijue asked, “So what can we eat now?”

“I changed it to mapo tofu,” Zhao Meiyou said. “You can even take some home for your kid.”

Mapo tofu was the young master’s favorite. Liu Qijue brightened a little. Then the machine dinged, and a steaming food box popped out.

They got a cake—flavored like mapo tofu.

They stared at each other. Liu Qijue decided this friend was a lost cause—might as well cook him on the spot. Zhao Meiyou, quick on his feet, called out, “Hey, Diao Chan! You’re back!”

Liu Qijue turned his head—and Zhao Meiyou bolted.

It was a total shot in the dark, but a hovercar dropped from the sky—Diao Chan had really come. He blocked Zhao Meiyou’s path. “What the hell are you up to now?”

Seeing his escape blocked, Zhao Meiyou sat down on the curb, lit a cigarette. “What else? Sampling.”

Diao Chan’s face screamed, “Yeah, right.” “You turned the institute upside down for sampling?”

Zhao Meiyou: Just wait, let me spin you a story.

“Sampling isn’t about gathering headcounts in a meeting. You need genuine reactions—strong external stimuli. This way I can even get a gender comparison…”

Diao Chan didn’t really understand the personality program. After a round of nonsense, he was half convinced. “...Really?”

Liu Qijue: “Don’t buy his crap.”

Zhao Meiyou: “.”

A good lie is nine parts truth to one part fiction—that’s how it hits hardest. Zhao Meiyou was telling the truth; he really was sampling. But there were plenty of ways to do it. He didn’t need to play street vendor—he was building bridges.

“There’s been some unrest in the old capital lately. The government’s getting jumpy,” Zhao Meiyou said. “They won’t approve my personality program anymore.”

Diao Chan frowned. “So?”

“I’m broke,” Zhao Meiyou said, cigarette between his fingers, as if it were obvious. “You’ve seen the daily burn rate at Site 2. The mainframe alone costs more than a lifetime of free labor for the government.”

“You could’ve just asked me for money.”

“Of course I could.” Zhao Meiyou was shameless. “That’s why I’m selling your family’s stuff today.”

Diao Chan blinked, then got it. “You contacted my mom?”

“Technically, she contacted me.” Zhao Meiyou grinned. “Diao Chan, next time you go home to play young master, keep your mouth shut. When your mom calls, I feel like she’s stripped me bare.”

Diao Chan wanted to say he kept his mouth shut—it was his mother who played dirty. All Megalopolis knew the current Diao matriarch was a force to be reckoned with. Even the government struggled to plant people in the old capital. Who knew how deep she’d infiltrated the institute?

Liu Qijue understood now. The government wanted to shut Zhao Meiyou down, but only the Diao family had the clout to push back. As director, Zhao Meiyou could still bring in outside funding—if he let the Diao family in, he could keep the project alive.

But for years, the old capital had balanced on his careful maneuvering. Now, with this bet, everything was on the line.

“Go easy on the coffee.” Zhao Meiyou clapped Diao Chan on the shoulder. “You need to stick around.”

Diao Chan was the Diao family’s only heir. If the family returned to his hands, they’d win big.

Nothing more needed saying. The three squatted by the road, smoking. Finally, Diao Chan asked, “So, after a day of sampling—what’d you get?”

“Let’s see.” Zhao Meiyou hadn’t had time to check the data after being chased all day. He opened the system on his terminal. Instantly, a cheeky voice rang out: “Hey, if it isn’t Lady Director! Hello, Director!”

Before Diao Chan or Zhao Meiyou could react, the voice added, “Juejue’s here too! Congrats on the wedding, Juejue!”

The three of them: “...”

“At this rate, you’ll be director soon, Diao Chan.” Liu Qijue slapped the mapo tofu cake onto Zhao Meiyou’s face. “No time like the present—go for a coup.”

With the Diao family’s money flowing in, Zhao Meiyou could keep going. He’d done the math—if it takes eighteen years for a human to mature, his program would need at least ten.

By year seven, the personality inside the terminal had evolved from a Zhao Meiyou clone, to Lady Diao Chan, to newlywed Liu Qijue, to a bizarre mashup of all three. For a while, Diao Chan’s mother visited the old capital, and Zhao Meiyou played host. The more the program interacted with her, the sharper and more cunning it became. The current Diao matriarch was no easy mark—listening to the androgynous voice in the terminal gave Zhao Meiyou a headache. Something had to change.

He gathered his two troublemaking friends and announced, “I’m taking some time off.”

“You’re always skipping work,” Diao Chan said, baffled. “Why bother announcing it?”

Liu Qijue had a bad feeling. “What are you up to now?”

“I’m going back to Megalopolis.”

“Fine, go. Everyone but the director gets vacation—” Diao Chan suddenly realized what he’d said and shot upright. “Say that again?!”

“Keep it down, ancestor.” Zhao Meiyou’s ears rang from the shout. “There are only a thousand people here. I’ve sampled nearly everyone, even the cafeteria dogs... but it’s not enough.”

He paused, serious now. “The data’s still not enough.”

These days, aside from the Antarctic research stations, Megalopolis was the only place left with a real population.

Liu Qijue didn’t hesitate. “Alright, when do we leave? I’m coming too.”

“Bringing the whole family?”

“Obviously.”

Diao Chan felt numb. He knew Zhao Meiyou—once he made up his mind, there was no stopping him. Trying would only make it worse. He took a deep breath. “How long will you be gone?”

“Half a month?”

Diao Chan choked on his own breath, nearly coughing to death. He exploded, “Get real, Zhao Meiyou! Even if my mom came, she couldn’t cover for you that long!”

“Don’t be such a mama’s boy,” Zhao Meiyou said earnestly. “You’ll never find a partner that way.”

Diao Chan snorted. “Who was it last time, fawning over his godmother like a lackey?”

“With our relationship, your mom’s my mom. Why be polite?”

Diao Chan kept sneering, pointed at Liu Qijue. “With our relationship, try saying your wife is my wife.”

Zhao Meiyou feigned deafness. “Anyway, this trip will take at least seven days. During that time—”

“Three days, max.” Diao Chan cut him off. “I’m coming with you.”

“Deal.” Zhao Meiyou agreed instantly, heading for the garage. “No time like the present. Let’s go.”

Diao Chan hesitated. Why did he give in so fast?

In the car, the young master—today’s driver—watched Zhao Meiyou fiddling with the console. “Director, weren’t we just going for half a day?”

“Our deputy director is generous.” Zhao Meiyou patted his shoulder. “Come on, say it—thank you, Deputy Director.”

Diao Chan: “...”

They left under cover of night, Venus bright in the sky. Zhao Meiyou slept like the dead in the car. Who knew how long had passed before Diao Chan shook him awake. “We’re here. Where do you want to go?”

“We’re here?” Zhao Meiyou blinked blearily. “I haven’t been back in twenty years. Who’s playing tour guide?”

He rolled down the window. The city from his memory now stretched into the clouds—palaces of glass and light, bright as day, like the legendary White Jade Capital, a city in the sky.

“They’re building the newest level—up to the 790th floor now,” Liu Qijue said, checking his terminal. “Chuyun Theater has a night show in half an hour. Interested?”

Zhao Meiyou was still half-asleep. He waved a hand. “Sure, that one. Let’s go.”

It was too late for any big-name performers. Zhao Meiyou glanced at the promo—it was a Ji Gong opera, but he didn’t know the style at all. He rarely watched opera; he was only tagging along because he was still groggy. Chuyun was the best theater in the Middle District, and their boxes had soft beds—perfect for a nap.

Diao Chan didn’t know opera either. Zhao Meiyou set his terminal to auto-sample, and the two of them shared a pillow, sprawled on the floor, dead to the world.

Liu Qijue glanced back but said nothing. Ever since Zhao Meiyou started the personality project and the Diao family’s money poured in, those two hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years.

He and the young master understood opera. They watched the whole show in the box, while the two on the floor didn’t stir. Liu Qijue bought tickets for the next performance—Havoc in Heaven, a riotous show with the Monkey King crashing the Peach Banquet and fighting a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers. Colored lights swept through the box, spilling over Zhao Meiyou’s face, but even with the drums thundering, he didn’t budge.

The young master watched Diao Chan roll over, while Zhao Meiyou looked dead to the world. “Does the director always sleep this well?”

“No one’s trying to poison him here,” Liu Qijue said. “Let him sleep. We’ll talk when he wakes up.”

Zhao Meiyou had no idea how long he’d slept. When he woke, Diao Chan was drinking coffee. “What are they singing?” He glanced at the pale-faced scholar on stage. “Is this some kind of exorcism?”

The young master explained, “Director, that’s ‘The Peony Pavilion.’”

Zhao Meiyou watched for a bit, decided the actor’s sleeve-twirling looked like noodles at a hotpot place—except you couldn’t eat them. He waved it off. “You cultured types enjoy your fun. I don’t get it.”

Liu Qijue: “You’re like a boar that can’t eat fine bran.”

“Even boars have their pride.” Zhao Meiyou pulled out a cigarette. “If you want me to sit here for two hours watching people twirl noodle dough on stage, maybe in my next life.”