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Chapter 73: Zhou You was interested in you at that time, right?
Blood dripped from the broken finger. Bian Han was completely surrounded by Meng Yu’s fury. His familiar close friend, the familiar leader of the underground people, was roaring in front of him, “If you keep going like this, you might as well just die!”
“…Yeah,” Bian Han agreed with him completely, answering in a barely audible voice.
But the physical pain did bring back some of his sanity. His mind, completely shattered by reality, seemed to regain a bit of clarity. Taking advantage of Meng Yu’s letting go, he slid down the wall and sat on the ground, grabbing his injured hand and kissing his left ring finger. There was a mark where he had worn a ring, but the ring was gone.
Bian Han still remembered. After snapping his partner’s neck, he had taken off the ring and thrown it into the ruins.
The painful memory made him tremble again, and he had to bite his shaking finger, taking a while to control himself.
Meng Yu was restrained by the crisis management team and the hospital staff. He had struggled so hard to get here, seemingly just to shout a few words at Bian Han. Xiao Liu watched him being pulled out of the ward, feeling very conflicted. A few days ago, Meng Yu had asked if he could see Bian Han. But because Bian Han was extremely emotionally unstable, Xiao Liu and Lei Chi both thought he was not fit to see familiar people.
To make Meng Yu believe in Bian Han’s current state, Xiao Liu said a few more words, telling Meng Yu how bad Bian Han’s condition was.
“Did you come specifically to wake him up?” Xiao Liu asked. “Can pain make him…sober?”
“…I didn’t discover this,” Meng Yu said calmly. “We are very familiar with each other. Bian Han’s partner got along well with us. Bian Han often has nightmares at night, and apart from his guide, pain is the quickest way to get him out of a nightmare. When the four leaders of the Black Battalion act together, his guide doesn’t always follow. He told us that if Bian Han’s mental state is unstable, just give him a punch.”
Xiao Liu returned to the ward and found Bian Han squeezing his fingers hard.
“What are you doing?!”
Before he could stop him, Bian Han had broken another finger. He was covered in a cold sweat, but his eyes were very clear. “Quick, while I’m still sane, I can tell you everything I know.”
Xiao Liu looked at him as if he were an incredible madman.
When calling Lei Chi to report the situation, Xiao Liu couldn’t help but say, “Bian Han seems normal, but I think his mind has undergone a serious abnormality.” Lei Chi told him to stay with Bian Han and immediately rushed to the hospital to interrogate Bian Han directly in the ward.
Bian Han appeared much calmer than before. While the nurse bandaged and fixed his two broken fingers, Bian Han remained expressionless. He was organizing his thoughts.
He knew that the guide from the crisis management office, Qin Ge, had entered his “sea area.” Qin Ge seemed to have cleared some of the negative emotions in his “sea area,” and his thoughts were very clear, even remembering some things he couldn’t recall before. Looking at his bandaged fingers, another bleak thought surfaced: perhaps he wasn’t clear-headed because of Qin Ge. The reason he was clear-headed now, able to sort out things he couldn’t remember before, was because his partner’s death had hit him too hard.
Pain and sorrow broke through everything, exposing all his past memories.
He calmly recalled things related to Zhou You, even planning what he would do next.
In Xie Zijing’s “sea area,” there was no more snow this time. Qin Ge looked around and found that most of the scenes in the “sea area” had taken shape, except for the roads.
The ends of the roads surrounding the central park were still shrouded in a layer of mist.
Xie Zijing still needed time.
Just as Qin Ge was about to call out his self-awareness, a voice suddenly came from behind, “Do you want to eat?”
Another loquat was handed to him.
Qin Ge helplessly accepted it. “Everything is normal,” he said to Xie Zijing. “I’m going to try to enter your memory now, don’t resist. If you feel pain, trust me. I’ll leave quickly.”
Xie Zijing nodded and asked, “How do you enter?”
Qin Ge pointed at his body, “I need to explore your memories, so I have to start from you.”
Xie Zijing raised an eyebrow, “You want to enter me?”
Qin Ge nodded.
Seeing Xie Zijing’s expression, he felt something was off. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Xie Zijing shrugged. “If you want to enter me, I’m absolutely willing. I won’t resist at all, and I’m even two hundred percent happy. But…are you sure here? Don’t we need a more comfortable or private place?”
Qin Ge: “…”
He was wrong. The yellow waste in Xie Zijing’s mind wasn’t caused by the “sea area” being damaged, nor by his love for him—this person was inherently a yellow waste machine.
The self-awareness of sentinels and guides in the “sea area” often represents their true mental state. The polite Xie Zijing on the hospital bed, always saying “sir” and “please,” had his inner self completely exposed through his actions and words.
He’s interested in me. Has he remembered? …Or is he just following his yellow waste machine instincts, teasing me?
Qin Ge was full of suspicion and helplessness. “Please throw away the yellow waste in your mind.” He shook his arm and grabbed Xie Zijing’s collar. “This is how I enter you.”
They were so close that when Qin Ge looked up, his gaze was as serious as if he were doing something extremely important. “You can start recalling Luquan now, focus on the clearest memory, and recall it repeatedly.”
However, because he was too close, Xie Zijing instinctively raised his hand and hugged him. Qin Ge, with a bit of surprise, felt like he was diving into water, entering his chest. Xie Zijing was suddenly startled: At this moment, he wasn’t thinking about Luquan but about Qin Ge.
For the first time, Qin Ge felt that entering someone else’s self-awareness was not difficult at all. Warm, gentle water surrounded him, and he was led by a light at the front, instantly diving into Xie Zijing’s memory.
But this wasn’t Luquan. He was blinded by strong sunlight, instinctively raising his arm to shield himself. Qin Ge saw his bare upper arm, and all around him were the sounds of cheering and music.
He stood on the edge of a huge stadium, shading his eyes with his hand and looking around.
This place seemed familiar. Using Xie Zijing’s eyes, Qin Ge looked at the crowd and suddenly saw himself.
It was his teenage self, with a baby face, walking over while talking animatedly with a companion.
“Xie Zijing, it’s time for the photo. Be serious.”
Xie Zijing stood up straight and grabbed the medal on his chest. “Should I hold it up or bite it?”
The teacher, holding the camera, gestured in front of him and then noticed something was wrong. “Where are your flowers?”
“Gave them away.” Xie Zijing scratched his head and smiled, “Someone just asked if they could kiss me, I said no, but I can give you the flowers as a memento.”
As he spoke, his eyes couldn’t help but drift to the side. Qin Ge saw himself and his companion blocked by the teacher taking the photo, unable to pass.
This was Xie Zijing’s memory. Qin Ge only remembered giving him the flowers but had long forgotten many details of the time. If not for meeting Xie Zijing again many years later, he might never have recalled this small incident.
But this moment was clearly a significant event in Xie Zijing’s mind, worth savoring repeatedly.
The memory was beautified. Qin Ge saw himself handing the bouquet to Xie Zijing, who gazed at his face for a long time. The young Qin Ge, unaware of the sentinel’s curiosity and affection in his eyes, simply handed over the bouquet and walked away from the area.
Listening to Xie Zijing’s recount and witnessing it again himself, the feelings were so different. Xie Zijing lowered his head, and Qin Ge saw him clutching the bouquet tightly, cherishing it, even gently straightening the petals wilted by the scorching sun.
Qin Ge felt dizzy, feeling that his emotions were unusually unstable, as if he might be thrown out of this memory at any moment.
The person who implanted false memories into Xie Zijing must have also deeply entered his self-awareness and seen this memory.
His life’s small joys were grasped tightly by someone and ruthlessly mocked.
Qin Ge felt extremely uncomfortable. He couldn’t steady himself and just wanted to hug Xie Zijing and cry on his shoulder. He didn’t mind if Xie Zijing completely forgot him—he could bear that—but he couldn’t stand Xie Zijing’s memories being manipulated so wantonly. Those were past times only he and Xie Zijing should share.
The bouquet in his hand suddenly began to tremble. Then all the petals fell off and flew towards Qin Ge.
Qin Ge instinctively closed his eyes. After a moment of swaying as if in a storm, his feet were firmly on the ground.
A cold wind swept across the open ground, tugging at his hood and the zipper on his clothes. Qin Ge heard the faint sound of the zipper head moving and struggled to open his eyes as the thick black fog slowly dissipated. He was walking on a rough, uneven road.
A tall man walked ahead of him, about four or five steps away.
The view kept swaying; this seemed to be a memory Xie Zijing was reluctant to recall.
Above was a dark sky, with dense constellations he had never seen before nailed high in the firmament. He turned around and saw two tents and a bright lamp not far behind him.
Qin Ge heard Xie Zijing’s voice vibrating from within his chest.
“Dad!” he shouted, “Is Luquan really dry now?”
“Dad?” Lei Chi stared at Bian Han and asked, “Are you sure you heard Zhou You call Zhou Yiqing that?”
Bian Han curled up in bed and slowly nodded.
“You know he isn’t the real Zhou You,” Lei Chi said. “The regulator found in your memory that you had known for a long time the real Zhou You was gone.”
“I know… but I was powerless.” Bian Han looked at him. “Even Zhou You’s father believed he was his own child. What we kids said… Besides… more trouble means less trouble.”
Lei Chi stayed silent, leaning back in his chair and quietly watching Bian Han. The recording officer, Xiao Liu, also stopped writing. Their silence, like a huge, angular block, filled the narrow hospital room, making Bian Han uneasy.
“There was nothing I could do! None of us could do anything!” he shouted.
“If it was Xia Chun or Ling Siyuan who were replaced… they are also friends you’ve known since childhood, right?” Lei Chi asked. “Would you have been able to do something?”
Bian Han remained silent.
Xiao Liu looked at Lei Chi and said, “Team Leader, you…”
Lei Chi nodded, indicating he would control himself.
He shouldn’t have asked such a question during the interrogation. He just couldn’t help himself. Lei Chi knew why so many people realized the real Zhou You had been replaced but didn’t care—because the real Zhou You was insignificant.
A child who couldn’t leave home, a frail guide, he knew Bian Han and the others, but they weren’t his real friends. Out of pity and sympathy, they interacted with Zhou You; but once something happened, such weak feelings couldn’t provide any support for Zhou You.
Around such a Zhou You, an X appeared who adored him.
What would he do? Would he trust X completely? Would he tell X all his thoughts? Or even further, would Zhou You rely on X: he needed the admiration and affirmation of his peers, he needed X, he needed a different kind of emotion, or love, the unconditional kind.
In the cramped room where they spent long hours together, only Zhou You and X might know what truly happened.
“…After the real Zhou You disappeared, Zhou Yiqing said that person was Zhou You, so we… started calling him Zhou You too.” Bian Han frowned, recalling that these things gave him a splitting headache and were very uncomfortable, and the medication barely kept him awake. “This new Zhou You… he was a weirdo.”
Bian Han, Xia Chun, and the others remembered that the handsome boy rarely went out before. He was always in the room with Zhou You. Zhou You taught him to read, use the computer, and he would wipe Zhou You’s wheelchair clean, spotless. Sometimes, they would lie close together on the only window sill on the second floor, watching the sky cut by tangled wires and buildings or watching a snowfall, loudly greeting people passing in the snow.
After Zhou You was gone, that boy started appearing frequently in the Wangdu District.
He called himself Zhou You and was always looking for young guides or sentinels in Wangdu, luring them into narrow alleys or dimly lit houses with a charming smile.
Bian Han always thought Zhou You was earning money by selling his body. There were too many people like that in Wangdu. But since Zhou You pulled him into an alley, he realized he was completely wrong.
Zhou You didn’t have se-x with the sentinels or guides he picked. When Bian Han refused him, Zhou You laughed out loud.
“I’m not looking for se-x.” Zhou You pushed him against the wall, his thin body almost entirely pressed against Bian Han, his fingers pointing virtually at Bian Han’s temples. “I just want to see your ‘sea area,’ okay?”
He seemed to be pleading, his eyes full of pitiful earnestness, “I will repay you.”
Bian Han looked at him coldly and said, “I’m not interested in you.”
Zhou You laughed again, “No… oh, my reward is completed in your ‘sea area.’”
Bian Han became cautious, “What are you going to do?”
Zhou You thought for a moment and suggested, “How about five minutes?”
Five minutes—an insignificant five minutes. Bian Han considered his proposal: he was a sentinel, stronger and more powerful than a guide. He couldn’t hurt him.
“…I had no idea what a guide could do to a sentinel back then.” Bian Han held his head. “I allowed him into my ‘sea area,’ just for five minutes. He brought an incredibly terrifying storm in those five minutes… not pain, but an extremely intense pleasure… joy and excitement I had never experienced…”
After the brief five minutes, Zhou You immediately left Bian Han’s “sea area.” Bian Han couldn’t stand; he was overwhelmed by a pleasure far exceeding any physical sensation, unable to support himself, leaning against the wall and sitting on the ground, panting blankly. There was no physical abnormality, no sweating, no discomfort, but the aftershocks from that earthquake still shook his “sea area,” and he saw Zhou You get up to leave, involuntarily grabbing his ankle.
“Can I go back in?” Zhou You asked in a pleading tone again, but this time, he added a little condition, “Ten minutes, okay? It might be a little uncomfortable, can you bear it?”
Bian Han couldn’t resist such temptation. He nodded again.
“…The sentinel-guide turmoil in Wangdu District was related to Zhou You.” Bian Han said, “I told you before I saw a spirit body, an arctic fox, ringing a big bell. I said I didn’t know whose spirit body it was… but I remember now.”
He looked at Lei Chi.
“He was Zhou You’s friend… or maybe someone with a more intimate relationship. A sentinel, who disappeared shortly after the turmoil and was later found dead in an abandoned house. There were many such people… I mean, people who might have had a close relationship with Zhou You. They depended heavily on Zhou You because of his abilities. They claimed to love Zhou You, but I… don’t think Zhou You was interested in them.”
Lei Chi looked at him: “Zhou You was interested in you at that time, right?”
Bian Han nodded silently.
“…Because he found it hard to control you?”
“Yes,” Bian Han replied, “I couldn’t resist him… but he couldn’t get any definite response from me either. By then, Meng Yu had already arrived in the Wangdu District, and he found out… so he started… he did it so covertly that I didn’t realize how dangerous what he said and did in the ‘sea area’ was…”
Lei Chi glanced at Xiao Liu’s notes and asked, “Then what? Did Zhou You leave the Wangdu District after the turmoil?”
“He didn’t leave on his own; he was taken away.”
Lei Chi and Xiao Liu both looked up: “What?!”
The fragments of memories were evidently hard to retrieve, and Bian Han strained to recall, the discomfort making him frown.
“I… I only have… a little bit of an impression.”
That day, when he found Zhou You at Zhou Yiqing’s house, Zhou You was eating. Zhou Yiqing had long been shouting that his son was missing and had run out of the house, wandering around the Wangdu District. Zhou You lived in that house alone; sometimes he would invite Bian Han over as a guest but wouldn’t allow Bian Han into his room—or rather, the room he used to share with the former Zhou You.
Bian Han questioned Zhou You, asking if he was the one who orchestrated the turmoil. Zhou You neither admitted nor denied it, just smiled and asked if Bian Han wanted to invite him into his “sea area” again.
Bian Han lifted him up, his fist raised high. At that moment, the slightly open door suddenly swung open.
Bian Han was very surprised at that instant. He was a sentinel, but the two people who entered the room moved so quietly and stealthily that he hadn’t heard any sound of their approach.
Like two shadows, the uninvited guests entered Zhou You’s home. A sentinel and a guide, their attire and demeanor completely different from the people of Wangdu District.
Their target was clearly Zhou You, not Bian Han.
Bian Han was restrained by the sentinel, while the guide approached Zhou You. Bian Han was terrified, and the sentinel smiled at him, opened a mask-like device, and placed it on Bian Han’s face.
“Lao Xie, you can start.”
Responding to the sentinel’s call, the guide approached Bian Han. He kneeled down and looked at Bian Han. Bian Han’s fear moved this stranger somewhat.
“Don’t be afraid, just forget.” The guide placed his hand on the device, and Bian Han immediately smelled a peculiar fragrance.
Even Xiao Liu forgot to take notes: “…A guide? He used a device to erase this part of your memory? How could he do that?”
He looked at Lei Chi, quickly explaining to his werewolf team leader: “Ordinary guides can’t enter the deep sea area and touch our self-awareness. Unless he’s a…”
“Psychological Adjustor,” Lei Chi interjected.
…
“Dad, what exactly is your job?” Xie Zijing asked while sitting at the edge of Luquan with Xie Liang.
“Fixing things and transporting people and goods,” Xie Liang answered absentmindedly, holding binoculars and looking towards the center of Luquan. “It’s tiring.”
Luquan was once a large inland lake. The water had dried up, leaving a large concave pit.
The night was deep, and Xie Zijing could only vaguely see that there seemed to be people camping in the center of Luquan, but he could only make out some lights.
He saw his father smile and quickly asked, “What did you see?”
“Those camping there are acquaintances of Dad’s,” Xie Liang said with a smile, “the Crisis Management Office’s field team.”
Xie Zijing had heard of the Crisis Management Office but didn’t know the reputation of the field team. He took Xie Liang’s binoculars and looked towards those tents. The camp was very quiet; he saw three men sitting around a campfire chatting, and one of them was writing in a notebook on his knee by the firelight.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Xie Zijing asked again.
He had too many questions he wanted to ask his father.
“No, they’re probably still working.” Xie Liang pulled him up and said, “We’re here to have fun.”
He checked his watch. “In half an hour, the Milky Way will be the brightest this month,” Xie Liang reminded him, “Go call your mom; the view here is good, we’ll watch the Milky Way.”
Xie Zijing turned and left.
Suddenly, Qin Ge felt his vision start to shake, followed by a heavy thud.
A strange noise came from the direction of Luquan. Xie Zijing’s head felt heavy, throbbing with pain, and a storm arose in his “sea area,” causing him to briefly lose his balance. After getting up from the ground, he quickly turned to look in Xie Liang’s direction.
“Run, son!” Xie Liang threw away the binoculars and shouted at him, “Go back and protect your mother! Don’t leave her side!”
Xie Zijing was startled. Xie Liang had already jumped from the high ground and was running towards Luquan. His spirit animal, a beautiful peacock, spread its intricate feathers, which in the moonlight and starlight, turned into countless indistinguishable blades, heading towards the center of Luquan.
“Dad!” Xie Zijing’s heart pounded. He ran towards the camp where his mother was, constantly looking back at Luquan. He couldn’t see what was happening in the center of the pit. All he saw was a thick, black mist rising straight into the sky, clearly illuminated by the campfire.
A gnarled paw emerged from the fog.
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