Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Sun and Steel

The mission to explore Ruin A173 had barely concluded when New Year's Eve arrived.

Level 33 was predominantly home to Easterners, and the air was thick with the festive spirit of the Lunar New Year. As a boy, Zhao Meiyou would go door to door, freeloading dumplings, while neighbors gathered to play mahjong. Later, when he met Diao Chan—whose aristocratic demeanor clashed with the boisterous, courtyard-style revelry—Zhao began reserving New Year's Eve solely for the two of them. Together, they would stay up to welcome the new year. Over time, this quiet ritual became a habit, a rhythm of its own.

Starting from the twelfth lunar month, the streets would come alive with simulated fireworks and electronic firecrackers. A few convenience store owners had pooled their money to purchase a "God of Wealth" holographic program. Every day, the deity, adorned in red and gold, would parade through the streets on horseback, with two child attendants striking gongs to clear the way. The streets shimmered with golden light, and children followed the procession, scrambling for the "gold ingots" that fell behind the deity. These ingots, a clever holographic illusion, would transform into store flyers once grasped, but no one seemed to mind—it was all for the sake of joy and good fortune.

Zhao Meiyou, a lover of opera, couldn't help but notice the oddity: in classical tales, the child attendants served under Guanyin, the Bodhisattva of Mercy. How had this "God of Wealth" program ended up placing them by Zhao Gongming's horse? Perhaps it was just a design flaw.

After all, this was the 25th century. Many folk traditions and myths from both East and West had long been lost. In the Upper District, Lunar New Year wasn’t even observed anymore—nor were Christmas, Buddha's Birthday, or Eid. The Middle District instead marked the founding of Megalopolis with grand celebrations. Only the Lower District still clung to the ancient remnants of civilization, its festivals awash with parading deities, the clang of gongs, clouds of incense smoke, the din of voices, and offerings of fruit and candles.

Yet even the so-called "ancient" customs of Megalopolis were far removed from humanity's original roots. At least, sacrifices of human lives had been abolished.

Zhao Meiyou took an elevator pod up to the 330th floor, the border between the Lower and Middle Districts. Here, the streets were a chaotic swirl of guild halls and shady dealings, flanked by a grand archway with green tiles and vermillion pillars marking the entrance.

It was New Year's Eve, one of the quieter nights for the 330th floor. Beneath the archway, an elderly woman manned a street stall, her cart displaying an assortment of colorful plastic glasses. Zhao Meiyou approached and handed her some cash. "Granny, to the Tavern."

The old woman grinned, her gold tooth catching the dim light, and handed him a dark red box.

Zhao Meiyou opened the box to find a pair of contact lenses inside.

Only insiders knew that the 330th floor was, in fact, a "shadow city."

To outsiders from the Middle District, the garishly decorated archway might be the only thing that aligned with their expectations. The rest of the floor would be a letdown: sterile fast-food joints, pristine skating rinks, even bars that strictly prohibited minors. But for those who purchased a pair of "eyes" at the entrance, the world before them would transform entirely.

Zhao Meiyou slipped on the lenses, and the space behind the archway erupted with towering neon signs, some ten stories high. Insiders jokingly referred to these as "lookout lights," their flickering displays tracking the real-time wins and losses of every casino in the district.

The "eyes" Zhao Meiyou had bought came equipped with micro-nano vibrators linked to his eardrums, and now, the silence around him gave way to a cacophony: the clatter of dice, the scratchy friction of a lighter wheel, the clink of glasses toasting, the sizzle of raw meat releasing its oils on a hot iron plate. A colossal lion in a traditional dance costume roared past him, far more imposing than the holographic God of Wealth that convenience store owners pooled their money to display. Gold coins tumbled from its mane—real gold, the kind that could be exchanged for chips at any major casino.

If filters create deception, then on the 330th floor, it was the nano-filters in the "eyes" that revealed the street's truth. Zhao Meiyou brushed past all kinds of pedestrians. Without the "eyes," they might appear impeccably dressed, exuding grace and charm; but through the lenses, they transformed into drunken men, leering as they clung to holographic women. One customer, likely caught cheating, was battered black and blue by the casino's security programs. To those without the "eyes," he would merely look like a drunkard stumbling into walls and air before finally tumbling, headfirst, into a garbage bin.

It had been a while since Zhao Meiyou last came here. He hadn't been short on money lately, so instead of heading to the casinos, he stepped into a tavern.

Above the entrance, a three-character sign read: "Grandma's Tavern."

In literature, the word "tavern" feels less like a noun and more like an adjective. In bourgeois novels, it often serves as a metaphor for illicit affairs; in martial arts stories, it conjures images of rogues, wanderers, and outlaws. It carries more gravitas than a love hotel, yet exudes more intrigue than a convenience store. Beneath its dim amber lights, a jukebox played grainy cassette tones. You could whisper sweet nothings by the window, or commit murder and arson in the private rooms.

Grandma's Tavern was precisely such a place.

"Hey, Brother Zhao!" The moment Zhao Meiyou entered, a sharp-eyed customer spotted him, and soon, greetings erupted one after another. "Brother Zhao's here!" "Come sit over here, Zhao!" "Hey, Zhao!" "Happy New Year, Brother Zhao!"

Someone edged closer. "Brother Zhao, it's been a while. Got a deal on the table—interested?" He was promptly shoved aside. "It's New Year! Brother Zhao's rule: no business during the holidays!" Then, lowering his voice, he whispered to Zhao Meiyou, "When are you betting again, Brother Zhao? That big win of yours, the number's still lighting up the top of the Scouting Lamp, you know. It's been years—no one's broken it!"

Zhao Meiyou chuckled, exchanged a few words with some friends, greeted familiar faces, and finally asked, "Where's Grandma?"

Behind the counter, the abacus beads clacked sharply, followed by a cool, feminine voice: "Right here."

Zhao Meiyou walked over, smiling. "Happy New Year to you."

Behind the counter sat a woman in a cheongsam, her face quintessentially East Asian—blooming like a peach blossom, yet frosty as ice. She glanced up at him briefly, then resumed her accounting, replying with a nonchalant "Mm."

It had been some time since Zhao Meiyou frequented the place. He noticed a new upright aquarium installed beside the counter, its aquatic scenery beautifully arranged, with a variety of vibrantly colored tropical fish swimming inside. "Grandma, what made you decide to keep fish? What kind are these?"

Before he finished speaking, a drunkard stumbled into the side of the aquarium. Zhao Meiyou barely had time to react before the man bent over and vomited directly into the tank.

Zhao Meiyou: "…"

"You don't want to know," the proprietress said, snapping her fingers. A cleaning robot promptly dragged the drunkard out and removed the aquarium.

The woman finished her accounting, set down the abacus, and stood up. As she rose, her cheongsam transformed into a backless dance dress, her appearance shifting with it—golden hair, blue eyes, and a sultry smile aimed straight at Zhao Meiyou. "Well, what made you think of visiting me today?"

Her ample chest brushed against his shoulder as she leaned closer, winking with playful insinuation. “I mean, seriously, after all these years you still haven’t snagged that rich Diao family heir? The man’s drowning in money, and yet here you are, scrounging around the 330th floor like a beggar…”

Zhao Meiyou raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression resigned. “Grandma, can you stop teasing me already?”

The woman let out a sharp “Heh!” and scolded him for being clueless. Then, in an instant, her height dwindled, her figure transforming into that of a doll-like little girl. She thrust her hand out toward Zhao Meiyou, her tone righteous and demanding: “Red envelope!”

In his mind, Zhao Meiyou muttered, You cheeky old hag…

“Grandma” was none other than the proprietress of Grandma’s Tavern. Whether the title “proprietress” was even fitting was up for debate, given that no one had ever seen her true appearance or uncovered her real identity since the tavern’s opening. On the 330th floor, there were unspoken rules—secrets woven into the very fabric of the place. For instance, different “eyes” revealed different scenes, and certain locations could only be entered with the right “eyes.” Grandma’s Tavern was one such enigma.

No one had ever glimpsed the proprietress outside the confines of the “eyes.”

Even her lovers—men and women alike—hadn’t seen her true self. They’d once convened a hushed meeting to compare notes, only to realize that the naked bodies they’d witnessed weren’t even the same.

Zhao Meiyou handed over the red envelope. The girl stretched out her arms, indicating she wanted to be picked up. Reluctantly, he bent down and hoisted her onto his shoulders. As their hair brushed against each other, she leaned toward his ear and whispered, “Diao Chan didn’t show up. There’s a stranger upstairs waiting for you.”

Few people could enter Grandma’s Tavern, and those unrecognized by Grandma herself were even rarer. Zhao Meiyou’s expression remained neutral, but through gritted teeth, he hissed, “…Government?”

The girl laughed while playfully pinching the back of his neck.

Zhao Meiyou made a circuit through the booths on the first floor, but gathered little useful information. Spending New Year’s Eve at Grandma’s Tavern was a tradition for him and Diao Chan. After all, the 330th floor boasted the best fireworks display in the entire Megalopolis, and the tavern’s rooftop offered an unrivaled view.

The last time Zhao Meiyou had seen Diao Chan was two weeks ago. Word had it he’d been sent on an emergency expedition to a ruin. Long before Zhao Meiyou had even learned of Diao Chan’s existence as an archaeologist, the man would often vanish without explanation. Zhao’s personal theory? Diao Chan was back home embroiled in some melodramatic family feud. The most absurd part was that each time he returned, he’d regale Zhao with elaborate tales of which stepmother had done what ridiculous thing. Once, he’d even considered teaming up with one of them to bring down his old man.

In hindsight, that bastard’s failure to pursue a career in drama was a massive missed opportunity.

Zhao Meiyou pushed open the rooftop door to find a man standing by the railing. He wore dark sunglasses, a black trench coat, and a Windsor-knotted tie—the standard government uniform.

The man didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Citizen Zhao Meiyou, the government is formally requisitioning you for a rescue mission into Ruin S45.”

Ruin S45—Diao Chan’s expedition site.

Zhao Meiyou pulled out a cigarette. “Diao Chan’s in trouble, isn’t he?”

“Citizen Diao Chan went missing five days ago. The government immediately dispatched rescue personnel, but now even they require assistance.” The man handed him a folder. “This contains the full details of the mission.”

Zhao Meiyou accepted the folder, pulling out his lighter. “Why me?”

It didn’t surprise him that the government had already dispatched rescue forces—after all, Diao Chan’s family background was no secret. That he himself wasn’t chosen as a rescuer also made sense; he was, after all, a novice when it came to exploring ruins. But the fact that an issue even the most experienced archaeologists couldn’t resolve was being brought to him? That warranted some serious thought.

“Two reasons,” the man explained. “First, the rescuers need your particular skillset. Second, you’re listed as the emergency contact in Diao Chan’s citizen file.”

Zhao Meiyou tucked his cigarette and lighter back into his pocket and nodded. “Lead the way.”

The helicopter took them to a museum in the Upper District. Zhao Meiyou used to frequent this place during his school days, even going so far as to draft a meticulous plan to steal a famous diamond housed within. That plan was eventually sold to a certain organization in the Lower District. Initially, they intended to kill him to tie up loose ends, but upon learning of Diao Chan’s identity, they begrudgingly delivered the payment in a truck to his school. The truck driver, seemingly dedicated to his role, spent half an hour yelling profanities outside the dormitory, the core message boiling down to one sentence: “Zhao Meiyou, you goddamn lunatic!”

That day, both Zhao Meiyou and Diao Chan were in excellent spirits, playing a four-handed piano duet on the balcony as accompaniment to the driver’s tirade.

Zhao Meiyou didn’t ask why they were here; his companion clearly had no intention of explaining. He changed into a uniform in the restroom before descending a seemingly endless spiral staircase. At the bottom lay a sealed chamber, its centerpiece an antique piano.

“Do you play the piano?” the agent asked.

“Just one piece,” Zhao Meiyou said, naming the title.

The agent’s expression flickered with something unreadable before he nodded, lifting the piano’s lid and gesturing with a polite “please.” “This is how you enter the S45 ruin: by playing this piece on this piano.”

Zhao Meiyou stepped forward and tested a few chords. “No sheet music?”

“No need. Just play the melody as you remember it,” the agent replied.

“One last piece of advice: if someone in the ruin asks to borrow a cigarette from you, don’t say no.”

As the final note faded, a familiar sense of detachment swept over Zhao Meiyou. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the late 22nd century.

The government hadn’t provided him with much information—just a rough outline of the S45 ruin’s internal layout. The ruin was set in the mid-to-late 22nd century, an era when human technology had reached its zenith.

In the late 22nd century, humanity endured a catastrophic upheaval of unknown origin—civilization teetered on the brink of annihilation until the establishment of Megalopolis in 2265. While history books offered scant details about this period of calamity, whispers persisted in the city: humanity had fought a war during the late 22nd century, a conflict known as the Orion War.

When the war ended, civilization wasn’t rebuilt immediately—Earth had suffered a cataclysmic event known as The Great Cataclysm.

The Orion War and The Great Cataclysm had resulted in the loss of many peak technologies from humanity’s golden age. By the time Megalopolis was founded, the new civilization was far more conservative—many advanced technologies had been sealed away. Zhao Meiyou’s final thesis in school had focused on the 23rd century, partly because most of the 22nd century’s history was either scattered fragments or classified information.

No wonder the S45 ruin was classified as extremely high-risk.

But. Zhao Meiyou glanced around. Thanks to his recent crash course in history and literature, he felt that this place didn’t seem to belong to the 22nd century.

He was inside a building, though he couldn’t tell which floor he was on. Judging by the height of the view, it was likely a skyscraper. Beyond the glass windows, the moon and stars shone undisturbed—no sandstorms, no low-flying aircraft. Judging by the clarity of the air… perhaps this was the 21st century?

Having reached this conclusion, Zhao Meiyou was about to step out when gunshots suddenly rang out, followed by a burst of chaos in the lobby.

Then he heard the sound of high heels—thin and sharply pointed. Whoever wore them must have strong, long legs, deftly weaving through the crowd. The steps quickened, then suddenly halted. A shot? The sharp clatter that followed sounded like pearls scattering—no, crisper than that, they must have been diamonds. The footsteps drew closer, racing straight toward him...

In that instant, Zhao Meiyou heard his own heartbeat, overlapping with the echoing footsteps. It pounded like war drums, like clashing swords, like the sun striking molten iron. Flesh and bone beneath his skin gnawed at each other; old wounds died away, singing of a rebirth soaked in blood.

He saw her burst through the crowd.

Her makeup was bold, her lipstick smeared like a streak of blood across her temple. Her black dress billowed like flames, cloaking her in a tempest.

She must have been running for her life—her heels had snapped, leaving her barefoot. And yet, she looked so strikingly fierce, like an avenger from an apocalyptic tragedy. How could someone so composed be fleeing?

Then came more gunshots—this time, Zhao Meiyou was certain. She was indeed running for her life.

No, not her. It.

The bullets tore through its body, but what spilled from between its ribs wasn’t blood—it was diamonds, handfuls of them. And those weren’t ribs; no rib bones could gleam with the metallic sheen of alloy.

It was an android.

Zhao Meiyou abandoned all his prior conclusions. This was, without a doubt, the 22nd century.

He quickly pieced together the scenario. A highly-intelligent android had infiltrated the building, stolen a trove of jewels, and been exposed, leading to a police manhunt.

His train of thought was severed. Zhao Meiyou looked up to see the android suddenly charging at him.

Diamonds littered the ground. Police sirens, screams, gunshots, footsteps, and his own heartbeat tangled into a single, compressed cacophony, swelling until it burst. The moon, shrouded by clouds, morphed into a scimitar, grinning wickedly as it slashed down toward his skull—

Amid the dizzying chaos, he saw a fine dust of starlight.

“Snap out of it,” someone said above him.

Only then did Zhao Meiyou realize the starlight was actually shards of glass. In the violent collision, some had flown into his mouth. The android had rammed into him, hurling them both through a glass wall and sending them plummeting from the building—

The next second, they crashed into a hovercraft.

The android flung Zhao Meiyou into the backseat and yanked the control lever. Its force was so intense that the synthetic skin on its hands tore, revealing the metallic framework of its mechanical bones. Zhao Meiyou felt the craft ascending, the gunfire growing faint. He sat up, about to speak, when another violent jolt from the turbulence sent him sprawling again.

Zhao Meiyou gave up struggling and lay there in resignation. He didn’t know how much time had passed when the turbulence finally subsided. Then its voice came again: “What’s your ability?”

Zhao Meiyou sat up and saw the android in the pilot’s seat turn half its face toward him. The other half had been destroyed, exposing a chaotic network of circuits and fiber-optic connectors. Where its eye should have been, a small burst of sparks flickered.

No way. Was it an archaeologist too? Zhao Meiyou was momentarily stunned and asked, “How do you prove your identity?”

The android snapped its fingers, and a silvery aluminum cigarette case materialized in its hand.

That was Creation.

Zhao Meiyou hesitated for a moment. "Can I bum a cigarette?"

The android glanced at him, the lid of the aluminum case snapping open to reveal slender cigarettes. It pulled one out and handed it to Zhao Meiyou.

Zhao Meiyou took it, and a small flame flickered to life at the android’s fingertips, lighting the cigarette for him.

This wasn’t tobacco. Zhao Meiyou instantly realized it the moment the flame touched the cigarette. He was a veteran smoker—real cigarettes released an aroma in that first moment of ignition, like the top notes of a fine perfume. But the smoke in his mouth was colorless, scentless. What had this android given him to smoke…?

The next second, the android plucked the cigarette from his lips. Its eyes glinted with an inorganic silver sheen as it brought the cigarette to its own mouth.

"I see now," it said, voice cool and measured. "Your ability is 'shapeshifting.'"

As Zhao Meiyou prepared to leave, he recalled the Commissioner’s warning: "If someone asks you for a cigarette in the ruins, never refuse."

In the ashen moonlight, the android extended a hand toward him. "Let’s get acquainted. What should I call you?"

Zhao Meiyou thought for a second. "You can call me Brother Zhao."

The metallic arm stretched through the moonlight, and Zhao Meiyou saw skin spread from the android’s mechanical fingertips, creeping up to its elbow joint before halting. When he clasped the offered hand, he was certain of it—he was touching real, human flesh. It was soft, warm, and he could feel the pulse rhythm at the wrist.

They shook hands. The android said, "Don’t doubt it. It’s a real hand."

"I borrowed your ability," the android explained, retracting its hand as the skin reverted to machinery. "Shapeshifting."

"When your control over your ability reaches a certain threshold, the scope of shapeshifting becomes adjustable." The android’s lips moved as it spoke, the half-destroyed side of its face turned toward Zhao Meiyou. "You seem surprised. Is there a problem?"

Zhao Meiyou hesitated. "…What’s your ability?"

"My ability is ‘borrowing cigarettes,’" the android replied. "When you lend me a cigarette, I can temporarily acquire your ability."

As it spoke, it pulled a lever, and the airship rose higher. "When I received the government’s rescue summons, I’d just come from another ruin. I didn’t have many cigarettes left. The last one I used to borrow shapeshifting had worn off. I was stuck in this body. You arrived just in time."

"Anyway, thank you." It glanced at Zhao Meiyou. "I’m , and you are…"

Zhao Meiyou’s mind raced. An ability like ‘borrowing cigarettes,’ much like the elder’s “Poetry”, was extremely uncommon. In other words, Qian Duoduo was a big shot, the kind of person who could carry him out of the beginner’s zone and straight into greatness.

"Greetings, Brother Qian." Zhao Meiyou straightened his posture, responding with impeccable smoothness. "My name is Zhao Meiyou. You can call me Little Zhao."

Qian Duoduo paused for a moment. "…Zhao Meiyou, I need you to do me a favor."

"Whatever you need, Brother Qian."

"It’s about Diao Chan’s safety. I found some intel in the building," Qian Duoduo said, turning to face him. "I hid the paper documents inside my torso. Stealing the diamonds was just a diversion. Now I need your help to retrieve the files."

"Got it, Brother Qian," Zhao Meiyou replied. "How do I retrieve them?"

"I can’t damage my torso myself, or this body will lose all functionality," Qian Duoduo explained, demonstrating by twisting off his left arm with a sharp crack and tossing it aside.

The android spoke succinctly: "Dismember me."

Zhao Meiyou: "..."

Zhao Meiyou, a citizen of Megalopolis, an ER psychiatrist at the Level 33 District Psychiatric Hospital, part-time butcher at a pork stall, and current archaeologist by profession, was about to take his first step in securing the favor of a big shot at the S45 ruins—

By dismembering said big shot.

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Translator's note: The title "Sun and Steel" is a reference to a book of the same name by Yukio Mishima. Also, we finally got to meet Qian Duoduo, our MC's love interest! And do keep in mind that this novel is gong POV. Zhao Meiyou is the gong