“Are you insane?!” Wang Hong clutched his neck and shouted at Xing Bi.
“No,” Xing Bi looked at him, “If Qiu Shi doesn’t wake up, the two of you will be dead in four hours.”
Each of them received an injection—Wang Hong and Zhang Tan were stabbed in the neck with such speed by Lin Sheng that no human could have dodged it. The name of the drug on the syringe was even shown to them.
“Just opened. Shelf life: three days,” Lin Sheng said.
“He can’t wake up, but it wasn’t because of us,” Wang Hong said. “He’s been enhanced—might be more sensitive to information than regular humans, also more prone to…”
“You didn’t mention that possibility in the precautions,” Xing Bi said. “You only told us he was more suitable than a regular human.”
“He is more suitable than a regular human!” Zhang Tan was so anxious he switched into Chief mode, speaking fluently without stammering. “But this situation—we didn’t know this could happen. No enhanced human has ever been linked before. This is an experiment. Even that 7 minutes and 15 seconds came from countless trials.”
“But you two always came back,” Xing Bi said.
“Can you be reasonable?” Zhang Tan stared at him.
“No,” Xing Bi said. “Only humans care about reason. Bioroids never have.”
Zhang Tan opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything.
“You’ve got four hours left,” Lin Sheng reminded from the side.
“Bioroids dare to kill Chief Technicians now?” Wang Hong yelled.
“I don’t see anything I wouldn’t dare to kill,” Xing Bi said.
“He’s Xing Bi,” Lin Sheng said. “When you activated him, you must’ve known who he was. If Qiu Shi doesn’t come back, he’ll kill that Mr. Long and Li Feng too. What’s a chief technician compared to that?”
“Storage staff,” Xing Bi said. “Right now, you’re just storage keepers. If Qiu Shi returns safely, unlocks the lab, rescues the people inside, and decodes the mess in the general’s brain—then you’re chief technicians.”
Wang Hong stared at him. After a moment, he suddenly crouched to the ground, hugged his head, and started crying.
“Human emotions are far too unstable,” Xu Jie commented.
“Don’t cry,” Xing Bi looked at Wang Hong, then turned to Zhang Tan. “Fix the problem, Chief.”
“We’ll go get the diagnostic equipment,” Zhang Tan said as he headed out. “The lab’s locked; we don’t have the latest version. He tried to talk to you earlier. Keep talking—stimulate him, see if there’s any reaction.”
“Mm.” Xing Bi responded, lowered his head to glance at Qiu Shi, and finally let go of the hand he’d been holding the entire time.
Qiu Shi’s palm had been gripped so hard that it was torn, blood seeping out along the lines of his palm and dripping down.
Xing Bi pulled over a nearby chair and sat beside Qiu Shi.
Qiu Shi’s eyes were open, blank and unfocused, as if he were lost in thought. The cable connected to the back of his neck made him look like an unfinished bioroid.
“Qiu Shi,” Xing Bi didn’t dare let go of Qiu Shi’s hand. Compared to sound, touch felt more real. But even pain wasn’t getting a reaction. He pressed Qiu Shi’s bleeding palm against his own shoulder. “Listen to my voice. You can hear it. You need to hear it.”
“What do you want to hear? How intense does the stimulation have to be?” Xing Bi said softly, placing a hand on Qiu Shi’s chest. “My teacher once took me to a wedding when I was still ‘Little Xing Bi.’ It was the first time I heard a human say ‘I love you,’ but I couldn’t feel it. The teacher said love comes in many forms—it could be earth-shattering, or gentle as a stream. If you’re unlucky, it might even be when enemies meet. Love has many endings, but it always begins the same. Once you feel it, you’ll know…”
Xing Bi lifted Qiu Shi’s hand from his shoulder and looked at it. The bleeding had stopped. He pressed Qiu Shi’s hand to his own face. “I don’t know when it started, but by the time I noticed it, it felt like it had been there a long time. This is the only emotion I have with no human reference sample—but it’s vivid and unmistakable…”
The door had closed behind him. In front of Qiu Shi, countless pieces of paper flickered, constantly shifting. According to the chiefs, this was the room where all the codes were kept. These were the general’s codes—each displayed on small slips of paper the size of a palm.
Though the flickering made his head spin, there weren’t that many codes, and some repeated.
What made Qiu Shi despair was that he didn’t know what these numbers, letters, and symbols corresponded to. They were all codes—but for what?
“Fu-ck.” Qiu Shi grabbed two sheets and clutched them. He planned to try copying all the codes into the air. Maybe on the other side, his hand would move…
He paused when he saw his own hand—a wound on his palm had only just stopped bleeding.
He was injured and hadn’t even noticed.
This was the hand Xing Bi had been holding—his left. The wound must’ve been made by Xing Bi, trying to bring him back. But he’d felt nothing.
For a moment, he didn’t know how to feel. Was it this space making him dull? Or was the despair so overwhelming that he couldn’t even feel it anymore?
He stared at the wound in his palm and rubbed his hand—still nothing. He couldn’t feel Xing Bi’s touch. He couldn’t even feel himself.
“Fu-ck your ancestors,” he muttered.
He looked around at the codes, steadied himself. If he couldn’t go back, and he wasn’t in pain, then to hell with it.
He walked to the door and opened it cautiously. He might’ve given up, but he still remembered the chiefs’ warning—don’t let the general see you.
He didn’t step out, just stood in the doorway and looked.
This door had been pointed out by the white-bearded old man. At least that proved the old man knew why he was here and wasn’t hostile. Maybe, Qiu Shi dared to guess, the old man even wanted to help him. After all, when the chiefs arrived, the old man had always hidden.
“Hey, old man!” he tried calling softly.
It felt bizarre—he couldn’t even be sure which side could hear his voice, or if any could.
“I’m Xing Bi’s partner.”
This white-beard had to be Xing Bi’s teacher.
Just like how he reacted instantly to Xing Bi’s name—once Qiu Shi said it, the white-bearded man appeared at the end of the hallway to the front-left of the door.
“You can hear me,” Qiu Shi whispered. “You can f*cking hear me. Then what the hell is going on… Xing Bi, can you hear me?”
The white-beard approached, looking tense and walking slowly, as if listening carefully.
The general must already be in the office by now. Forget five minutes—even seven minutes and fifteen seconds must’ve long passed.
Qiu Shi, you’re stuck here.
…No, what is the white-beard listening for? What is he avoiding?
Avoiding a bioroid?
Who? Which one?
The white-beard took a few steps, and Qiu Shi noticed the end of the hallway behind him start to darken.
What the hell is that?
Qiu Shi stared, watching the far end of the hallway lose light like it was being sucked out.
Was this the way back?
Qiu Shi dug his nail into the wound on his palm. No pain—but blood welled up again.
He looked back. The darkness in the hallway had crept even further. The middle section had begun to dim too. That’s when Qiu Shi realized something was wrong.
This wasn’t the hallway getting darker.
It was something—like a black mist—spreading.
Maybe it was because of his limited experience, but the only thing it reminded him of was the thick black fog that surrounded the Nest.
The white-beard seemed to notice him and kept walking toward him while staring at him.
“Behind you!” Qiu Shi pointed.
The white-beard didn’t turn—he just kept looking at Qiu Shi.
“Run!” Qiu Shi shouted.
“I don’t just want to kiss you,” Xing Bi held Qiu Shi’s hand, “I want to touch you—your back, waist, legs… I want to take your clothes off…”
“Run…” Qiu Shi murmured, and his fingers twitched.
“Qiu Shi?” Xing Bi suddenly lifted his head and looked at Qiu Shi’s face.
“His hand,” Xu Jie said.
Xing Bi looked at Qiu Shi’s hand. The wound that had started to scab had broken open again, and fresh blood was seeping out.
“Does that mean we can pull out those wires now?” Xing Bi asked the two chiefs.
“No,” Wang Hong said, watching the readings on the monitor. “He didn’t respond to you. He didn’t hear your voice. Something happened to him over there.”
“What kind of situation?” Xing Bi asked.
“I think…” Zhang Tan turned to look at Xing Bi. “Did he run into that old man? That old man’s been hiding all this time.”
“Then why didn’t he hide from Qiu Shi?” Xing Bi asked.
“No idea,” Zhang Tan replied. “Or maybe—maybe he was chasing the old man. Honestly, I think he’s totally the type who would do something like that.”
Xing Bi didn’t say anything. His gaze returned to Qiu Shi’s face.
Qiu Shi really was the type to do something like that. Xing Bi had sensed it from the beginning, back when they first met. Qiu Shi was the kind of person who somehow had both a sense of things and no sense at all. He had grown up outside the city leading a crew of corpse collectors, relying on instinct, loyalty, and violence. A street-smart guy.
If he really saw the old man—and the old man was very likely Xing Bi’s mentor—then the old man had to be a good person. Even if only a part of his consciousness remained, Xing Bi would choose to believe that part was good.
And if it was good, then it was worth approaching.
Xing Bi raised his hand and gently traced Qiu Shi’s face.
That was Qiu Shi—simple and direct.
“Where were we just now?” Xing Bi asked softly.
“We were talking about taking off clothes,” Xu Jie said.
“Turn off squad comms,” Xing Bi glanced at him.
“Even if it’s off, we can still hear,” Lin Sheng said. “We’re all in the same room.”
“Qiu Shi”, Xing Bi no longer cared whether the others could hear. He just hoped Qiu Shi could. “I told you before… about the bioengineered s*x workers…”
The white-bearded man finally started running—but as he ran, he waved frantically at him.
The gestures were simple, and Qiu Shi understood.
The old man wanted him to shut the door.
“Shut the door?” Qiu Shi frowned. “You tell me to shut the door and then keep running? Didn’t you just want to come in?! Why the hell should I shut the door?! Hurry up!”
Still, he understood—the old man really wanted him to shut that door. The black mist behind him wasn’t just drifting down the hallway—it was chasing him.
The forefront of the black mist seemed almost alive, constantly twisting and rolling like the fuse of a venomous snake, trying to catch the fleeing old man whose beard had come undone from the sprint.
That must’ve been what he was hiding from.
But the chief officers had said the old man was hiding from the Bioroids.
What the hell did this black mist have to do with Bioroids?
The white-bearded man was getting closer. Qiu Shi felt his chest tightening.
“About those s*x workers, the details—we can go over them when you get back…”
What?
It was Xing Bi’s voice.
What damn s*x services? Who’s servicing who?
The old man had already reached the doorway. Qiu Shi didn’t have time to think—he stepped aside quickly, and as the old man leapt into the room, Qiu Shi shut the door behind him.
The black mist was sealed outside.
Qiu Shi turned to see the white-bearded man sprawled on the ground, unmoving.
“Hey, are you dead?” he asked.
“Almost,” the old man said.
The voice was old, but not weak. It actually sounded quite spirited.
To hear a voice in this place that didn’t belong to his own world—it felt strange to Qiu Shi, almost unreal, like the dazed moment after a bad case of tinnitus.
“What’s your name, young man?” the old man asked as he slowly got up.
Qiu Shi didn’t answer. He just stared at him. “You were the one who let me into this room. You know what I’m looking for, don’t you?”
“You’re Xing Bi’s partner?” the old man asked.
“And you’re his teacher?” Qiu Shi asked back.
The old man chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that title.”
“Then it’s true.” Qiu Shi suddenly felt something he couldn’t name. Looking at the old man’s kind smile, he could sense the weight of Xing Bi’s emotions—longing wrapped in despair. “Xing Bi misses you a lot.”
“It’s been a long time…” the old man said. “Bioroids don’t forget. Their memories stay clear. That’s… quite a painful flaw.”
“Teacher, have you been here this whole time?” Qiu Shi asked. “How did you get in?”
“I don’t remember. But I can only exist in here,” the old man replied. “Inside this room. Zone 249 can’t enter. This room isn’t part of a typical memory fragment.”
“What’s 249?” Qiu Shi asked.
“A data designation for a bioroid,” the old man said. “You probably don’t have enough time or background knowledge to understand it fully. Once you’re out, Wang Hong and Zhang Tan can explain it to you.”
“You still remember them?” Qiu Shi was surprised.
“I remember a lot of things that don’t matter,” the old man said. “This is a memory space. Whatever the General remembers, I might know.”
“Then how come you don’t know me?” Qiu Shi asked. “We’ve had video meetings with the General. There’s got to be a room somewhere that stores those memories.”
“You came in at a time when the General didn’t know you yet. Do you know how many memories a person has? Everything you remember—and don’t remember—is in here,” the old man said, looking up toward the ceiling. “As many as stars in the universe. Even if I opened doors nonstop, I might never reach the one with you in it.”
“If you were inside my brain, maybe it’d be easier,” Qiu Shi said.
The old man paused—then burst out laughing. “It’d be even harder. You seem like a sensitive one. Sensitive people remember more: a rock, a tree, a snowfall, a breeze…”
A corpse. A face.
Maybe behind every door in his mind was a face he’d seen before.
“What’s the password you’re looking for?” the old man asked.
“The lab has been locked,” Qiu Shi said. “We need to open it and save the people inside.”
“Locked?” The old man frowned. “Are there Bioroids inside?”
“Yes, and humans too,” Qiu Shi said. “They locked it to protect themselves.”
“I could also give you a massage. You feel it? From your neck down—chest, lower belly, and then—”
“What the fu-ck?!” Qiu Shi froze, staring at him. “Can you hear that? Xing Bi’s voice?”
“I can’t hear him,” the old man said. “He’s calling you back.”
“Xing Bi!” Qiu Shi shouted. “Can you hear me?!”
“I can hear you,” the old man said.
“…Yeah, I figured.” Qiu Shi muttered. “Could you not speak out loud?”
“If I don’t speak, how would you know only I can hear you?” the old man replied. “Where did you go to school? The education system clearly failed you.”
Qiu Shi blinked, then couldn’t help but laugh. “You really are his teacher, no doubt.”
“Answer him,” the old man said. “If you miss this chance, you may never get back.”
“I… need to find the password first,” Qiu Shi said, flipping through the floating papers one by one. “I don’t know what shape my body is in right now. I might not get another shot at this. I have to find the password.”
The old man also started sorting through the papers in the air. “Do you realize that if you miss this opportunity, you may never return?”
“I know,” Qiu Shi said.
“Then why—” the old man looked at him.
“I never think that far ahead,” Qiu Shi said. “I just know I can’t come in here for nothing.”
“That counts as thinking far ahead?” the old man asked.
“For me, it does. I only focus on what’s right in front of me,” Qiu Shi said. “To make it here, too many people have sacrificed too much—including Xing Bi and me. I can’t let Li Feng die in there. Otherwise, it’ll all have been for nothing.”
“You’re not afraid of dying anymore?” the old man asked, catching a few sheets mid-air.
“It depends on what living looks like in comparison,” Qiu Shi said. “Teacher, do you have anything you want me to tell Xing Bi? If I make it out, I’ll pass it on.”
“Nope.” The old man handed him a paper.
…Damn. That’s cold.
“Qiu Shi, I’m about to put my hand down your pants…”
Xing Bi’s voice rang out again.
Fu-ck! Was Xing Bi always this perverted?
Qiu Shi took the paper handed to him by the white-bearded man and glanced down—then froze.
Drawn on the paper was a slanted building. At the exposed base was a disc-like object surrounded by a ring of numbers. Below it were four sets of numbers of varying lengths.
“This is how you open the lab,” said the white-bearded man. “Memorize the position of this device and the numbers on the dial.”
Holy shit! Qiu Shi was stunned. How the hell was he supposed to memorize this?
“Can you hear me? Qiu Shi, you always say you want to fu-ck your ancestors. Well, am I your ancestor?”
…That was his ancestor!
Qiu Shi quickly pinched the cut on his palm. As blood welled up, he dipped his finger in it and started writing the four sets of numbers on his pant leg.
“Xing Bi!” he shouted, writing as he shot a glance at the white-bearded man. “Teacher, say something to Xing Bi. To him, you’re like a father.”
“I’m not his teacher,” the white-bearded man said. “The teacher died long ago. I’m just a faint fragment of consciousness. He and the teacher shared complete memories, from childhood to now. He doesn’t need a teacher anymore. Just remembering is enough.”
Qiu Shi looked at the white-bearded man, suddenly overwhelmed by sorrow.
“Qiu Shi?” Xing Bi’s voice came through more clearly now.
“I hear you,” Qiu Shi said. He said it for Xing Bi, but also for the white-bearded man.
The white-bearded man smiled, pointed at his own ear, indicating he could no longer hear him.
“Pull it,” Wang Hong said.
The medical assistant swiftly and cleanly pulled out the needle from the back of Qiu Shi’s neck. Then, they picked up a syringe and injected it into Qiu Shi’s arm.
When Qiu Shi woke up, he was dizzy and nauseous, almost immediately ready to throw up.
He realized he was lying down and tried to sit up, struggling.
“Easy, easy,” Xing Bi’s voice came from nearby—close, clear, with that familiar, slightly low, gravelly tone.
“Xing Bi.” Qiu Shi reached out blindly—his vision still a blur.
“I’m here,” Xing Bi took his hand. “You’re okay. You’re back.”
Qiu Shi finally felt grounded.
After a few seconds of daze, as the blurriness faded, he suddenly yanked up his pant leg. “F*ck, those numbers! Did I write them down? Did I—”
“You did, you did, you did,” Xing Bi held him close. “All four sets. You wrote them all.”
Lin Sheng handed over a sheet of white paper. On it were crooked red numbers, so messy that even telling they were numbers was difficult.
“What the fu-ck…” Qiu Shi froze, a wave of despair washing over him. How the hell was he supposed to read that?
Lin Sheng flipped the paper over. On the back were the four sets of numbers, now tidied up according to the order he had written them.
“It’s a dial—looks like a steering wheel,” Qiu Shi said urgently, worried he might forget. “From the proportions, it’s really big. It’s underneath the lab. The drawing shows the lab, and this dial is beneath the floor. There’s a ring of numbers around it—probably something you have to turn.”
“Got it,” Xing Bi turned Qiu Shi’s face toward him, holding his cheeks. “Lie back down. We’re taking you to the medical room now.”
“A hospital?” Qiu Shi asked.
“No,” Xing Bi replied. “I know you’d never go to a hospital. We set up a temporary one in the lounge over there. You just need to go through some simple checks.”
Only then did Qiu Shi realize he was still beside the electric interrogation chair, with everyone in the room staring at him.
He lay back on the hospital bed.
As the medical assistant wheeled him out, Qiu Shi suddenly remembered something very serious. “Xing Bi.”
“Hmm?” Xing Bi followed beside him, responding softly.
“When you said all that stuff…” Qiu Shi lowered his voice, “You said it in front of everyone?”
“Yeah,” Xing Bi replied. “Not only said it, I even did a few things.”
“Fu-ck…” Qiu Shi shut his eyes. “You really are a damn bioroid.”
“You asked for something stimulating,” Xing Bi said.
“Not that stimulating!” Qiu Shi protested. “I meant—”
“Me confessing wouldn’t have had any effect,” Xing Bi said. “What you really want deep down is this kind of thrill.”
“Fu-ck off.” Qiu Shi opened his eyes again. “You confessed?”
“Yeah,” Xing Bi nodded.
“Shit, I didn’t hear it,” Qiu Shi said.
“The team call was recorded,” Xing Bi said. “You can play it back.”
“You actually had the team call on the whole time?” Qiu Shi exclaimed.
“Yep,” Xing Bi nodded. “Let everyone enjoy a little thrill together.”
Qiu Shi burst out laughing. But as he laughed, he noticed tears in Xing Bi’s eyes as he looked down at him.
“A top-tier hidden guard,” Qiu Shi reached up and touched the corner of Xing Bi’s eye, “How come you’re such a crybaby?”
“Was afraid you wouldn’t come back,” Xing Bi said.
“How could I not?” Qiu Shi replied. “Knowing you were here, I had to come back.”
