SOP CH19: Vanishing in an Instant

Rising early in the morning, Quicksand cast a wide net with that old photograph, grabbing anyone he saw to ask, “Have you seen this photo?”

Most of the patrons shook their heads. The photograph had been crumpled by time, and the memories preserved upon it had grown hazy and indistinct. Quicksand showed the photograph to Hearts, who fell into thoughtful contemplation:

“Isn’t this a group photo taken long ago? Back then, I was still young. Look at this titanium prosthetic; it was quite fashionable at the time, but now it’s an antique.”

Madam Spades studied the figures on it as well, pursing her lips. “Indeed. The hat I wore back then was that trendy kaleidoscopic black of the era. It truly is an old photograph.”

Yet when Quicksand pressed for the specific date the photo was taken, or asked about the boy and Diamonds, they grew vague and evasive, as if someone had breathed a cloud of mist into their minds, veiling their recollections.

Diamonds frequently stayed out all night. When he did return on occasion, his hair would be disheveled, his clothes reeking of alcohol. By habit, he would first head straight to the washroom to vomit violently, sometimes coughing up red fluids that he casually labeled Bloody Marys, telling Quicksand not to worry. Afterward, he would favor the long lineup of medicine bottles on the windowsill one by one, before collapsing headfirst onto the bed. Quicksand wanted to question him, but seeing his genuinely terrible physical condition, he was forced to spend the night with him in silence several times.

After a few days, Quicksand could no longer restrain himself. He climbed onto the bed, threw back the quilt, and demanded of the curled-up Diamonds: “Did you take that old photograph on the bedside table?”

Tucking his neck in, Diamonds mumbled indistinctly: “What photo? Don’t remember.”

“Was there once a child named ‘Yunshi’ helping out at the bar?”

“Black-hearted employee… I’m exhausted. It’s so late, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I’m not sleeping, and I’m not letting you sleep either.”

Quicksand reached out to tickle his armpits. Unable to hold back his laughter, Diamonds squirmed on the bed like a worm, wheezing intermittently: “I really don’t remember… Too many kids from the scrapyard visited this place! I’m not a census registry clerk… how could I name every single stray cat and dog?”

Quicksand firmly grabbed his face, holding it steady with his palm so he couldn’t turn away. “Look at me. Do you feel you’ve seen me before?”

Diamonds mumbled: “Seen you. Two days ago.”

“Not a few days ago, and not a few months ago. Did you cross paths with me much earlier?” Quicksand fired off like a machine gun. “Was my previous name… ‘Yunshi’?”

Suddenly, Quicksand felt a subtle tremor, like a pulse signaling from beneath Diamonds’s skin, delicate as a butterfly alighting on a fingertip. Yet in the next instant, Diamonds rolled his eyes: “Are you sleep-talking? How would I know your real name, Mr. Invincible Newcomer King?”

“Yet that is definitely a staff photo of the bar, and you were part of it, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep it so treasured on your bedside table.”

“I told you, I don’t remember. That photo might even be photoshopped!”

Diamonds sat up abruptly, veins throbbing beneath his pale skin. Quicksand seized his arms, pinning him down onto the bedding in an instant as their eyes met.

“Tell the truth.” Quicksand’s tone was as frigid as an interrogation under torture.

“I saw that old group photo in your room. Back then, you were holding a cleaner’s weapon. Tell me, were you once… a time cleaner?”

Diamonds struggled, but could not break free from those iron clamps. They were pressed exceedingly close, hot breaths mingling like falling leaves rustling past their cheeks.

“What kind of tall tale are you spinning? Why would I become a cleaner when I was doing perfectly fine?” Diamonds pulled a smile across his bloodless face.

“Who knows if you were once a wayward youth who committed countless atrocities?”

“Why throw a tantrum in the dead of night! Where would I get a cleaner’s weapon? Even if I had one, I merely picked it up by chance and resold it a few days later!” Diamonds seemed agitated, rolling over and pulling the covers over his head like a snail retreating into its shell.

Quicksand frowned; Diamonds’s reasoning held some water. The Mauser he regularly used, capable of spitting stasis bubbles that froze an object’s time, clearly looked like a confiscated cleaner’s weapon. Yet having witnessed Diamonds’s martial prowess, suspicion had taken deep root, and he no longer believed Diamonds’s words.

Since Diamonds refused to speak the truth, Quicksand resorted to relentless badgering. During the day, whenever Diamonds was about to step out of the bar, Quicksand would bar the cast-iron door with a flat mop, looking like a wife reproaching an unfaithful husband: “Going out to fool around again? Take me with you.”

Diamonds found it absurd: “You just need to take inventory of the liquor and glasses in the bar. Why follow me?”

Quicksand said coldly: “I am going to be your personal bodyguard.”

“I don’t need you close to me. I’m an expert myself.”

“You’re hiding things from me, and it bothers me. Unless you explain everything clearly about the photograph, the past, you, and me, I’m going on strike.”

Saying so, Quicksand produced a galvanized iron sheet from behind him, painted with large red characters: “No pay raise, no labor! Boss cries poverty, worker cries pain!” Seeing this, Diamonds rolled his eyes: “It seems you don’t want an explanation at all; you just want a raise.”

Quicksand set the metal board right by the entrance and pulled out several rolls of protest banners, making a move to paste them up. Patrons took detours upon seeing the sign. Diamonds recalled that if bar business suffered, he would certainly face Madam Spades’s wrath; when infuriated, her hair stood on end like thatch struck by lightning. Breaking into a cold sweat, he conceded: “Fine, your threat worked. What do you actually want?”

“I want you to tell the truth.”

“Everything I could tell you, I’ve already poured out like spilled beans. If you want a raise, I’ll add another hour to your daily wage. What else do you want?”

Seeing that a frontal assault failed, Quicksand decided to take another route: “Where do you wander off to during the day? I want to go too.” To prevent Diamonds from refusing, he slammed the metal board down once more.

“Fine, come along if you want.” Diamonds was worn down by his persistence. “Let’s get one thing straight: we aren’t going out to wander aimlessly.”

“Where we’re heading is the Gilded Conclave, an intelligence distribution hub. To understand news across all tiers of Spiral City, that is the premier venue.” He glanced at Quicksand and lowered his voice.

“It is also the most perilous place.”

At midnight, a Gothic clock tower crouched in the fog, its sandstone walls cracked and overgrown with moss.

The two parked the taxi by the curb and stepped out. Diamonds was dressed in his classic ensemble: white top hat, white suit, and red shirt, neatly groomed as if attending a banquet. He said:

“Get out, black-hearted employee.”

Quicksand sat in the passenger seat, visibly sulking. He wore a bliaut gown made of sapphire-blue brocade, tight at the bodice and loose below, topped with a saffron-dyed woven silk wig, resembling a tall medieval noblewoman. Before being brought here, he had no idea he would be dressed like this.

“I have to wear this inside?” he asked.

“Of course. Take a look in the mirror: your eyes radiate murderous aura like a butcher. This conclave is frequented by high society. You and I have no relation, so what other method could I use to bring you inside? Unless you are my female companion.”

“Why didn’t you wear the dress? You could have been my female companion.”

“The people inside know me. If I suddenly transitioned into a noble lady, it would scare them out of their wits. Besides, aren’t you used to wearing that pink apron? This time it’s merely swapping it for a different little dress.”

Through sheer imagination, Quicksand turned his gaze into sharp blades, slicing Diamonds into a thousand pieces several times within seconds.

Before entering the clock tower, Diamonds fitted a black velvet veil over his face, warning repeatedly: “Once inside, you must follow my commands. The rules there are rigid, and not a single mistake is tolerated. Understood?”

Ignoring Diamonds, Quicksand glared viciously at the sky with his gray eyes. He had volunteered to come this time, so even after being pranked, he could only swallow his grievances.

The two entered the old clock tower. Surprisingly, behind two weathered pine doors lay an oyster banquet of resplendent luxury. Expansive Gobelins tapestries hung on the walls, silk embroidered with tales of ancient heroes and beauties. An elongated oak table sat in the center, people wearing porcelain and feather masks moving back and forth, brocade robes trailing along the floor like colorful rivers.

Quicksand was tall, drawing curious stares upon entry. His murderous gaze swept the room like a targeting laser. Diamonds tugged at him: “Employee, you are my companion. Couldn’t you act a little more delicate and gentle?”

Quicksand glared darkly at him, prompting Diamonds to amend: “Fine, at best you can manage spreading your wings like a giant roc.”

The crowd mingled continuously, some in battered hazmat suits, others in costly nanosilk garments, hailing from disparate strata of Spiral City as rumors flew about. The two made their way toward a lower-tier group clad in worn denim jackets, who were celebrating the fall of the 2030 Branch, strumming battered guitars and rhythmically banging plates and bowls.

Diamonds guided Quicksand to sit on chairs welded from scrap rebar. A person wearing a plastic bag over their head approached, making a gesture with an index finger hooked over a thumb to form a spiral; Diamonds returned the secret sign.

“The Clepsydra rebels won, but corporate undercurrents are surging. You must proceed with caution,” the plastic-bag person whispered.

“Which branch will act next? The time cleaners’ stronghold at the 2035 Branch, or the 2050 Branch that launches nuclear warheads?”

“Neither. It’s the 1805 Branch.”

Before the smile on Diamonds’s face could warm, it vanished entirely. Quicksand asked blankly:

“The 1805 Branch?”

Although he had heard Hearts’s brief overview and knew it was a Time Entropy Group branch dormant in the past, he remained ignorant of its methods.

Noticing Quicksand’s presence, the plastic-bag figure bantered: “Boss Diamonds, so this diamond bachelor has this kind of taste? But this broad of yours has quite a large frame; I fear sitting on you would crush you to pieces.”

Diamonds said: “Indeed, she’s exceedingly strong, a living Lu Zhishen, while I am the weeping willow left to her merciless uprooting.”

Quicksand’s cheeks puffed out like an enraged pufferfish, delivering a kick under the concealment of his gown. The plastic-bag figure continued: “Madam Lu, you asked about the 1805 Branch just now, correct? That is a very peculiar branch comprised of assassins. Unlike other branches existing in the future, it resides in the past.”

Quicksand said stiffly: “I am not Lu Zhishen, and certainly not Madam Lu.”

“Alright, Miss Lu,” the plastic-bag figure continued. “The 1805 Branch’s assassination operations, in short, involve killing your forebears in the past so that your very existence vanishes from the ‘present,’ severing the problem by the root. Although the timeline prior to 2026 has collapsed, they remain hidden in the past, making them an exceptionally tricky foe.”

Killing a target’s ancestors so the target ceases to exist was an unsolvable dead end. Quicksand frowned, no longer bothering to correct the form of address: “Then do we have no way to deal with them?”

“There is a way, but it requires taking immense risks,” the plastic-bag person said. “That is to cross through the Time Entropy Group’s prison, the time labyrinth ‘Stairs of Paradox,’ and locate the 1805 Branch among countless time fragments to eliminate them. Many have attempted this countless times before, leaving behind ‘anchors,’ yet none have ever returned.”

Quicksand’s heart chilled, and he asked: “Could we use the time labyrinth to find an earlier time fragment, travel back before the Group was established, and strangle those cleaners in the cradle?”

“Many have contemplated that feat. However, the Time Entropy Group possesses deeper time-jump technology; the pasts of its cleaners are locked away and detached from current timelines to prevent retaliation. Even if we jumped into the past, we couldn’t find their younger selves.”

“In any case, I know the 1805 Branch is stirring. Any other intel on other factions? Give me five bucks’ worth.” Diamonds pulled out a watch, tapped it against the plastic-bag person’s wrist, and transferred the funds. Recognizing it as his own watch, Quicksand was about to flare up when Diamonds held him down, whispering: “Don’t rush. This is community property of husband and wife. We’re acting, remember? Do you want to blow our cover?”

Channeling his imagination, Quicksand transformed into a tribal sheikh in his mind, brandishing a whip to lash Diamonds’s backside two hundred times. The corners of his mouth curved upward slightly, his eyes flashing with an eerie gleam. Seeing this, Diamonds thought: “Spending his money makes him this happy? This kid is unwell.”

Turning a blind eye to their flirting, the plastic-bag person whispered: “As for other factions… the Time Plantation is seeing some movement.”

“The Time Plantation?”

Suddenly, Quicksand felt as though struck by lightning. An inexplicable emotion surged into his chest, an intimately familiar term that seemed buried in the deepest layer of his memory, now abruptly unearthed.

Having received payment, the plastic-bag person answered readily: “It’s a welfare institution opened by the Group, specifically taking in children from the bottom tier.”

“Even so, they don’t do this out of charity. Those children are genetically modified to possess three to four times, or even dozens of times, the lifespan of ordinary people. In return, their bodies are usually deformed: heads as large as bushel baskets, or limbs frail as twigs. The Group creates them to serve as ‘crops,’ harvesting their lifespans or turning them into living bombs concentrated with temporal particles. That is why the facility is called the ‘Time Plantation.'”

Quicksand’s throat felt clogged with cotton, dark gloom churning in his chest.

Diamonds was mildly surprised: “Wasn’t the Time Plantation destroyed by the rebels long ago?”

“Remnants were never purged, and the embers have reignited.”

The three sat in silence for a moment. People nearby rolled alloy dice on the table, cheering boisterously. Cybernetic eyes set upon brass candelabras rolled about, casting multicolored illumination. The plastic-bag figure said:

“In any case, beware the 1805 Branch. They are currently active in the past, rumored to be searching for the ancestors of Clepsydra’s core figures.”

Diamonds sighed: “Understood. I’ll remind Boss Hearts to stay vigilant.”

While they were talking, a shrill scream suddenly punctured the stillness:

“Retreat! Fall back! The cleaners are here!”

With a deafening crash, bronze candelabras tumbled from the dome, beeswax torches hitting the floor to ignite tapestries with sharp crackles. Blazing flames erupted all around as shadows swooped out like bats.

The plastic-bag person panicked: “How did the cleaners find this place?”

Diamonds pulled Quicksand up. “They are ubiquitous hyenas; finding this place is hardly surprising. Let’s go, Miss Lu.”

Tossing away the wig, Quicksand sprinted alongside Diamonds. Clad in black and wielding broad silver blades, the cleaners slashed wildly throughout the conclave. The strings of a Salvi harp were sheared, plates and bowls overturned on tables, honey-glazed roses scattering across the floor. When a cleaner gave chase, Quicksand lifted his skirts, drew out dozens of Molotov cocktails concealed beneath his hoop skirt, and hurled them toward the pursuers, detonating fiery explosions.

Fleeing alongside them, the plastic-bag person marveled: “Boss Diamonds, your broad is way too savage!”

Diamonds replied: “She’s always had a fiery temper.”

Amidst the confusion, the crowd scattered. Diamonds and Quicksand sprinted through a corridor lined with wooden shutters. Quicksand had already shed the gown, like magic swapping back into a snug sleeveless vest and trousers. Ducking into a wardrobe in the dressing room, they heard the chaotic footsteps of cleaners outside.

“Stop hiding. I’ll go out right now and beat them into a retreat,” Quicksand whispered. Diamonds held him back: “Don’t move. There are too many cleaners out there. No matter how formidable you are, you can’t be a one-man army.”

“Then what about two people?” Quicksand asked. “Aren’t you quite capable yourself?”

“Two people… might be worse than one,” Diamonds chuckled. Quicksand detected a tremor in his voice. Looking down, he saw Diamonds clutching his mouth, coughing softly as blood seeped through his fingers.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, just an old ailment,” Diamonds said. “Drank a bit of Bloody Mary earlier, and my stomach threw it back up.”

Quicksand corrected: “You drank lime juice earlier.” Diamonds was in poor health, and charging out blindly now would only mean throwing their lives away. Abandoning the idea of rushing out, Quicksand felt Diamonds leaning against him, resting his head on his shoulder. The wardrobe was cramped and dark; like the belly of a great whale, darkness enveloped them tenderly. Diamonds’s breathing was shallow and rapid, punctuated by quiet coughs.

Holding him close, Quicksand felt the erratic rhythm of his heart, a damp sensation seeping onto his shoulder, unsure if it was blood. Resting a hand on his waist, Quicksand felt his skin tense, clearly unaccustomed to being embraced. “Feeling better?”

Diamonds murmured: “Not great, but not terrible.”

“It’s your own fault for fooling around outside all day, upsetting your stomach.”

“Yes, I played a game where… you swallow a needle for every lie you tell… and accidentally swallowed until my stomach bled,” Diamonds said.

Seeing him struggle for air, Quicksand loosened his collar. Suddenly, Quicksand’s heart leapt. A sliver of light filtered through the wardrobe door, illuminating Diamonds’s pale skin: near his collarbone rested a tiny brand shaped like the Penrose stairs, pitch-black, with small text beneath: A-0.

“What is this?”

Quicksand reached out to touch it, but Diamonds drew his collar shut swiftly as if scalded.

“Nothing.”

“You have a brand near your collarbone…”

“Your eyes are playing tricks on you. Playing too many video games lately? It’s quiet outside; the cleaners have probably left. Let’s get out of here quickly.”

The two stepped out of the wardrobe and pushed open the wooden shutters. Night had thickened, lights flickering from distant dwellings. Stepping onto the window frame, they dropped to the ground. Firelight danced inside the building, silhouettes of cleaners faintly visible. Unnoticed, the two sped away in the taxi.

Returning to Poker Bar, the evening business was well into its late hours, dense with alcohol and swirling tobacco smoke. Drunken patrons strummed guitars while others played loud drinking games. Quicksand helped Diamonds out of the car. Standing behind the bar counter, Hearts called out boisterously upon seeing them:

“You’re back?”

“Yes. The black-hearted boss isn’t feeling well. I’m helping him back to rest.”

The two entered the room. After taking his medicine, Diamonds finally stabilized, color returning to his cheeks. Before long, Hearts knocked on the door, bringing a warm towel and a bowl of warm water. Diamonds smiled: “Boss Hearts, I’m fine now. It’s nothing serious; go get some rest.”

“What kind of trouble did you two get into, coming back covered in dust and dirt?”

Quicksand averted his eyes, while Diamonds laughed: “Nothing much, just taking a stroll with empty hands and having a late-night chat. Speaking of which, Boss Hearts, I see you had the leisure to tend bar tonight. Where did Madam Spades go?”

Hearts looked bewildered: “I’ve always been the bartender.” He stepped forward and felt Diamonds’s forehead. “Strange, are you burning with a fever?”

Diamonds was completely baffled, when Hearts asked again:

“Who is Madam Spades?”

Suddenly, Diamonds’s throat clicked, his eyes widening into perfect circles. He turned toward Quicksand, who asked with equal confusion, “Is she someone I’ve met?”

In that instant, Diamonds’s pupils shrank to needlepoints. He suddenly yelled: “Clubs Cat!”

The snow leopard bounded into the room, packing the small space to the brim: “What is it, stinky liar? I’m not a cat!” Diamonds pressed: “Do you remember Madam Spades?”

The snow leopard tilted its head: “What spades, are they tasty?”

Diamonds was struck dumb.

He threw himself up from the bed, Hearts crying out in alarm: “Easy there!”

Diamonds seized the picture frame on the bedside table, staring with trembling hands at the group photo taken on the terrace. After their victory over the 2030 Branch, Madam Spades, Hearts, Clubs Cat, and the patrons had taken a cherished photo together.

Yet now, where Madam Spades had originally stood, only an empty blank remained. Her very existence had vanished, evaporated like morning dew without a trace.

“What’s wrong, Diamonds?”

The others looked at him with strange expressions, entirely unaware that a companion was missing.

Blood drained from Diamonds’s face. Clutching that photograph, sweat poured down like rain. He understood why this was happening: if a person vanished in the past, the future would be rewritten alongside it.

“Someone has been… assassinated.”

He murmured to himself.

“Back in the past, in the year 1805.”