Chapter 5: City of Disorder
At eight o’clock in the morning, the neon signs buzzed to life one after another, emitting a red glow akin to the morning sun. The Central Plaza of the Lower District was packed with tin cars and laid-out waterproof tarps, resembling fish scales when viewed from afar.
Diamonds and Quicksand emerged from the bar. Diamonds was a nocturnal creature; sporting a half-asleep look, he practically needed toothpicks to prop his eyelids open. Lacking clothes to wear, Quicksand used his star-patterned pajamas as a coat over a sleeveless undershirt, exuding a certain ruffian air that strangely suited the Lower District.
The two came to a halt in the center of the plaza. Diamonds unwrapped a piece of bubblegum, tossing it into his mouth to chew listlessly:
“Hey, shrimp, remembered anything yet?”
“No.”
“If you can’t remember, don’t force it. Isn’t it quite nice to go on being a know-nothing fool? Your memory is like Pandora’s box—if you open it, who knows what might pop out. What if you remember that you’re a Time Cleaner? I wouldn’t be able to account to Madame Spades then.”
Quicksand listened blankly, and after a pause, asked, “What kind of people are Time Cleaners?”
Only then did Diamonds recall that the youth was completely muddled, his memory as clean as a blank sheet of paper. He explained leisurely:
“To us, they are bad people. They materialize out of thin air, declare that you will damage the interests of the Chrono-Entropy Corporation thirty years from now, stab you, and leave. They are the running dogs and assassins bred by the Corporation. Knowing this, what kind of people do you think they are?”
Quicksand said, “Baffling people.”
“Exactly. Though from their perspective, none of us count as people anyway—probably no different from rats.”
The two walked into the swirling mists of vapor. Every tin car in the plaza was a small, mobile stall selling rice rolls, water chestnut cakes, and bread. The sheer variety of food was staggering, like a museum. Quicksand thought that while these meals were unrefined and certainly not prepared in a sterile environment, they possessed a rugged, mouth-watering magic.
Diamonds strolled up to a stall. Upon seeing him, the proprietress greeted him with familiar warmth. Diamonds switched on his commercial smile, offering a string of sweet-talking compliments. The prices here weren’t high; a bowl of hot porridge could be purchased for 4 minutes of one’s lifespan. Before long, Diamonds walked back to Quicksand’s side holding two drinks, handing one over.
“What is this?”
Diamonds replied, “Coffee.”
Quicksand took a sip and instantly spat it out. It was a dreadful bitterness, a single drop capable of causing all one’s taste buds to instantly collapse and surrender. Quicksand stuck his tongue way out: “This isn’t coffee.”
Diamonds bit his straw, “Chinese coffee—coptis root tea. I ordered a large espresso for you. Why are you sticking your tongue out? This doesn’t even qualify as bitter; after all, life is far more bitter than this.” Quicksand delivered a ruthless punch to his side, which Diamonds dodged, causing a bit of the liquid in his cup to splash out. It was white—he was drinking soy milk.
As they walked, the street scenery receded beside them like flowing water. Even during the day, there was no sunlight in the Lower District; light signs flickered, their colors cascading down and rising up like Tetris blocks, at times reminiscent of a television screen with no signal. Diamonds suddenly asked, “How much is your remaining time balance?”
Quicksand raised his hand, looking at the wristwatch Madame Spades had given him. There were 40 hours left in his temporary account. When he had first appeared out of nowhere in the junkyard, he was already unaware of the account that originally stored his lifespan balance. Diamonds remarked:
“Most people have a transaction terminal on them. People of the Lower District generally only have one or two days of time on them, needing to work themselves to the bone to bitterly earn time, otherwise they will drop dead right here.”
His gaze drifted casually to the side. Quicksand followed his look, only to see beggars sprawled haphazardly along the roadside, their lifeless eyes wide open like broken window display mannequins.
Diamonds then looked toward the distance, where a high-rise building rose in a spiral fashion within his field of vision. “But the people of the Upper Districts are different; there are many wealthy people there who can live for centuries. Once you hoard enough time, you can go there and apply to the Corporation to move to the High Sectors—there are elevators leading to the upper levels there. However, for bottom-dwelling dregs like us who have no roof above or land below, our property gets stripped away for various reasons before we can ever amass enough time. I advise you not to harbor any illusions regarding the Corporation. Plus, since this is the headquarters of the rebel army, no one wants to wag their tails and beg the Corporation for mercy.”
Quicksand asked, “Are you also part of the rebel army, ‘Clepsydra’?”
Diamonds chewed his bubblegum, blowing a bubble: “No, I’m not. ‘Clepsydra’ looks down on me. I’m just an external associate.”
“Where do the members of ‘Clepsydra’ come from?”
“People harboring resentment toward the Corporation—those exiled to a certain point in time by the Corporation who lived until now, or those who stealthily utilized time-jump technology to get here. In short, ‘Clepsydra’ is full of such people,” Diamonds said.
“But look, we are currently trapped in the year 2026, so at most we can use weapons like firearms and artillery shells. The Time Cleaners, however, are enemies arriving from the future. The weapons in their hands are not even from the same dimension as ours—functions like detonating space or stopping time can be seen everywhere. For us to fight them is practically like Don Quixote charging at windmills, or Confucius battling Godzilla.”
Quicksand glanced at the Mauser pistol at Diamonds’ waist; that gun could spit out bubbles that stagnated time, likely confiscated from the hands of a Time Cleaner. The struggle between the rebel army ‘Clepsydra’ and the Chrono-Entropy Corporation was, in essence, a war between the past and the future.
“So now, time has become a commodity, as well as a geographical distinction. The objective of the rebel army ‘Clepsydra’ is to make time return to a linear state, carving out a new timeline starting from 2026 to usher in a future free from the Corporation’s rule.”
“What if the Chrono-Entropy Corporation lets their Cleaners time-jump into the distant past to stifle you all in your cradles?”
Diamonds smiled, arching an eyebrow as if hearing an amusing joke: “They can’t do it. Currently, they are unable to jump to any point in time prior to 2026.”
“Why?”
Quicksand was utterly ignorant about everything in the Lower District. Diamonds looked up at the sky, explaining to him with patient detail, deriving a sort of prenatal-education pleasure from it: “Do you know about the Time Labyrinth? After the Chrono-Entropy Corporation monopolized time-jump technology, they would banish dissidents to backward eras and deploy Time Cleaners to alter timelines adverse to them. This gave rise to a bizarre phenomenon: people of the future can alter the past at will, while people of the past possess knowledge of the future.”
He made a gesture by interlacing his ten fingers, his thumbs and index fingers forming a circle:
“So the current timeline is extremely chaotic. The world we reside in does not advance time in a linear fashion; the past and the future have interwoven into a cyclical timeline. When the timeline of a specific year becomes chaotic to the absolute extreme, that location collapses, forming a Labyrinth composed of cyclical timelines.”
Quicksand listened as if hearing a celestial script, ultimately shaking his head gloomily: “That’s unscientific.”
Diamonds said, “With your infant-like brain, it’s likely difficult to comprehend the underlying principles, which is why I used a few rather unscientific metaphors to explain it to you. In short, 2026 is caught right within such a Time Labyrinth. Time-jump technology cannot leap to any era before that. This is precisely why the Corporation doesn’t dare dump dissidents back into the Cretaceous period anymore, and why the resistance forces are concentrated in 2026.”
“However, forcing a jump back into the past isn’t entirely impossible—it’s just that an immense price must be paid. It’s like plunging stark naked into a high-speed cutting machine; at best, your torso shatters into pieces, and at worst… even I don’t know the consequences,” Diamonds spoke while blowing a bubble. “The Time Cleaners are painstaking creations bred by the Corporation at immense expense. They need to hold several large meetings, obtaining the consensus of all executives, before making the decision to let these high-precision killing machines embark on a point-of-no-return mission.”
Quicksand nodded, “I understand. 2026 is like a door number, and you all live here.”
Diamonds smiled faintly. The two paused on a footbridge as countless fine lights, resembling silver sand, flowed and surged toward them. He turned to Quicksand: “Since years have become door numbers and lifespans have become tradeable commodities, what do you think time actually is to us now?”
Without waiting for Quicksand’s reply, he stated, “The time we experience now is all time within our consciousness. There is a concept called ‘time perception’—the perception of the continuity and sequential order of objective phenomena. For instance, when doing something agonizing, even if only a single minute has passed, you feel as though seconds stretch into years, right? The time we experience now is your perceptual time; it is not a minute of reality, but ten minutes in your consciousness. In this chaotic world, the time we experience is fraudulent. Perhaps only by returning to the primitive can the order of time be rebuilt—that is the target ‘Clepsydra’ is striving for.”
Quicksand chewed over his words, ultimately shaking his head honestly: “I don’t understand.”
Diamonds patted his shoulder: “It’s fine if you don’t understand. This is exactly the kind of baffling world this place is.”
As they walked through the streets and alleys, conduits and pipes ran vertically and horizontally, the ground reflecting a crimson hue from the light signs, making it feel as though they were walking atop a scorching iron wok. Diamonds guided Quicksand past shop after shop, asking if he had any recollection. Quicksand’s mind was hazy; he muttered hesitantly, unable to give a definitive answer.
Diamonds gradually grew distracted. Whenever he spotted an old female acquaintance or a female patron who frequently visited the bar, he would step forward to flirt, chatting warmly about how they should doll themselves up with smoky eyeshadow, fashionable cybernetic prosthetics, and fluorescent tattoos. Watching him dally with flowers and grass, Quicksand’s emotions fluctuated unsteadily. Grabbing Diamonds’ collar, he snapped, “You agreed to accompany me for the day. What are you doing?”
“You can’t remember a thing; I’ve already ceased harboring expectations for your brain. Their brains work better than yours—I’m asking them if they recall seeing you,” Diamonds mused, playing with a bottle of charcoal black cosmetic greasepaint he had obtained from a female patron. “You must have lost your memory from getting hit on the head, right? I wonder if hitting your skull one more time will make you remember?”
Quicksand said icily, “Boss, my head is not an old-fashioned television set that can be fixed with a slap.”
They walked side by side. Out of the corner of his eye, Quicksand caught sight of a billboard beside Diamonds. It depicted a white-painted face, a short plush hat adorned with spinels, a white suit, and a glittering diamond stud gracing the cheek—a clown surrounded by countless flying balloons and playing cards, bowing to the audience on a stage with unrestrained flamboyance.
Noticing his gaze, Diamonds followed his look and immediately smiled: “What’s wrong?” Quicksand said, “That animated character looks a lot like you.”
“It’s I who look like that character. Haven’t you watched it? It’s ‘Ace Joker’, an animation highly popular in both the upper and lower levels.” Diamonds performed a curtain-call bow identical to the character’s.
Staring at the character leaping across the billboard, Quicksand’s heart suddenly thudded uncontrollably, as if an affection for this character had long been etched into his very bones. He asked Diamonds, “Was your choice of clothing originally a cosplay?”
“Yeah. After all, that’s an enduring animated character. ‘Ace Joker’ is a hero who uses tricks like twisting balloons, juggling colorful balls, and pulling items out of empty bags to defeat villains, bringing laughter and justice to children. I am his fan too.”
“I thought you were cosplaying Michael Jackson’s look from the ‘Smooth Criminal’ music video.”
“Yes, I cosplay Michael Jackson on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays.”
Diamonds stroked his chin, lost in thought. “I see you quite fancy this character too. How about this—from now on, I’ll pay your entire salary in animated merchandise.”
Quicksand stated, “If you dare do that, I’ll punch you into a flat playing card.”
They gradually walked into a dark alleyway. A dilapidated billboard emitted electrical static, sounding like moths getting scorched upon crashing into a lamp. A few people with fluorescent tattoos on their arms crouched in the corners, sporting hostile expressions, their faces pickled into a dark, muddy hue by the dim light. Sensing something amiss, Quicksand glanced sideways at Diamonds.
As if sensing his thought, Diamonds spoke before he could open his mouth, “Further ahead lies the slums. I figured you might have grown up there; turning around that place might help you remember something.”
“I’m afraid that before I can remember anything, we will be plundered clean first.”
As if validating his words, a man suddenly rushed out wielding an iron shovel, shouting frantically:
“Robbery! Hand over the time… hand over the time, or I’ll split your skulls open!”
Diamonds and Quicksand exchanged a look, then glanced around. Diamonds asked, “Who are you robbing?”
“Huh?” The robber was stunned. Diamonds pointed at Quicksand and asked again, “Robbing me or robbing him?”
“B-both?”
“Too greedy, young man. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.” Diamonds turned his head to roll his eyes at Quicksand, “How about letting him rob you? Isn’t your head itching for a hit? Let him knock you once with the shovel; you might just recover your memory.”
Before the words fully left his mouth, Quicksand grabbed Diamonds’ head and slammed it right into the robber’s head.
Diamonds felt a massive explosion erupt in his brain, fireworks bursting across his field of vision as golden stars swirled wildly. He and the robber crashed onto the ground. After a long while, he scrambled up and yelled, “What did you do that for!”
Quicksand looked at him callously, “Didn’t the boss say he ceased harboring expectations for my brain? Presumably, even if I took a hit, I wouldn’t be able to recover my memory. The boss’s brilliant brain is different, though—a good knocking might just make you remember something.”
Diamonds snapped resentfully, “Yes, I remembered the fact that you are an atrocious scoundrel.”
The robber was also left seeing stars from the impact. Letting out a cold snort, Diamonds vented his displeasure with Quicksand onto the robber, kicking the shovel aside, pulling off the man’s belt, and swiftly binding him up. The robber regained his clarity, and upon seeing the menacing duo looming beside him, he repeatedly bowed his head obsequiously:
“My apologies, my apologies, two bosses! I truly had no way out, which is why I committed such an insolent act against you… I was scammed by the Corporation’s loan sharks. Now my house is sold, my family is scattered, and the next thirty years of my lifespan are mortgaged away. My balance only has 2 hours left—it looks like I won’t survive today…”
“That is no excuse for you to turn to crime. If you have the guts, go join ‘Clepsydra’, kick down the Corporation’s doors, and demand your thirty years of time back.”
Diamonds pulled out his wristwatch, tapped it casually a few times, and transferred 2 hours of time to the man. Afterward, he said, “Let’s go, black-hearted employee.”
The robber stared blankly at the silhouettes of the two walking away dashingly, momentarily forgetting to move.
After walking a few paces, Quicksand suddenly grabbed Diamonds’ wrist, his gaze like ice: “Give me back my time.”
“What?” Diamonds feigned ignorance.
“The time you just transferred to that robber was deducted from my account, wasn’t it?” Quicksand extended his hand flatly toward Diamonds without expression. Just moments ago, Diamonds had imperceptibly slipped the wristwatch given by Madame Spades off his wrist. “Give it back.”
“Why talk about borrowing and returning between brothers? We can just deduct it from your future salary,” Diamonds stated completely without shame, throwing an arm over his shoulder.
Quicksand didn’t appreciate the gesture, delivering a hard punch to his side.
The two continued to wander aimlessly through the alleys. As they walked, Quicksand recalled the robber they had just encountered. Diamonds’ casual handling of it indicated that this phenomenon was by no means rare in the Lower District. Many people possessed no future, merely scraping by in the corners.
Diamonds led him through the slums, where sewage flowed freely. Thin, elderly individuals wearing flip-flops curled atop nylon bags, sorting through paint cans and grinding plastic—resembling mold growing under the neon splendor. Diamonds pointed at one of them and said:
“Take a guess—how old is that person?”
Quicksand fixed his gaze. It was a yellow-skinned, emaciated woman with protruding joints sitting beneath the base of a window, currently gluing bone cores onto scrap leather. Diamonds’ question certainly wouldn’t be without reason. Quicksand said prudently, “Forty… thirty years old?”
“Ten years old,” Diamonds said, his gaze indifferent, yet harboring a hidden trace of pity within it.
Quicksand fell silent.
He carefully scanned the elderly-looking figure several times from head to toe: “Doesn’t look like it. Why did she turn out like this?”
“Overdrafting the body’s time in advance—perhaps to exchange for a few mouthfuls of food and water, or perhaps it was mortgaged away by someone else. So around here, never judge a person’s age based on what meets the eye; it’s entirely possible that a white-haired old man who looks a hundred is actually not even a month old.”
Quicksand remained silent. He watched those aged children burying their heads in coarse labor while the light signs behind them flickered, displaying various forms of advertising slogans: “BrainTech Hyper-Sensation Cybernetic Prosthetics, an eternal helper, launching in 2036. Pre-order now for free neural synchronization calibration!” “Energy Red Pills, a single pill rewrites the hypothalamus, boosting your spirits!” He could discern that these were advertisements originating from the future.
The Chrono-Entropy Corporation’s advertising department had once projected billboards into the era of the 17th-century Enlightenment, striking the people of that time with immense astonishment, viewing it as a divine miracle. They strove to root the memory of commodities into people’s minds starting from centuries ago, even though the people trapped in those dark ages were still struggling to feed themselves.
Quicksand suddenly quickened his pace, feeling as though a small insect was burrowing and gnawing inside his chest; the places it gnawed through rapidly rotted and turned bitter. The scenery before his eyes made him uncomfortable. He thought, Is his heart malfunctioning?
“What’s wrong? Why walk so fast all of a sudden?”
Quicksand didn’t look back: “Nothing. Just in a bad mood.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve developed sympathy for them. What is there to sympathize with? This is reality.” Diamonds quickly caught up to him. “We don’t need sympathy; we only need the anger that can alter reality.”
It was hard to tell—though this man appeared cynical and playboy-like, his thoughts were actually quite misanthropic. Quicksand looked toward him, but only found the same shallow smile as always on his face. Suddenly, Diamonds grabbed Quicksand’s wrist, pulling him into a side alley.
“What’s wrong?”
Diamonds made a “shh” gesture toward Quicksand. The two pressed together like climbing vines, peering stealthily out of the alley. They saw a silhouette clad in a black trench coat and a Venetian carnival mask slowly walking toward the slums.
The figure was tall, holding a laser sword hilt, radiating absolute bloodlust. Seeing this, Diamonds spoke softly:
“It’s a Time Cleaner.”
A sudden, slight throb of pain hit Quicksand’s head. He took a deep breath and asked, “What is a Time Cleaner doing here?”
“If nothing unexpected happens, he’s likely here to kill. They are grim reapers, after all.”
The Time Cleaner walked toward the crowd of children possessing the appearance of old elders, his pace firm and exact, as if every step was measured. Quicksand watched him approach the aged girl who was cutting leather, his finger resting on the laser sword switch, clearly harboring an intent to kill.
Quicksand’s heart suddenly tightened. Why would a Cleaner want to kill a filthy child who had barely lived a few years in this world yet was already aged? She was terribly frail, as if every bone beneath her skin stood out distinctly, her claws moving with difficulty, her chest heaving with loud breaths. Could a child like this truly obstruct the Corporation’s future interests?
Detecting the flash of hesitation in his eyes, Diamonds suddenly tugged his sleeve.
“Employee, go strike up a conversation with that Cleaner and see what exactly he intends to do.”
“Strike up a conversation? How?”
“Go pretend to be his peer. Greet him and say that you are also a Time Cleaner deployed to the Lower District to execute a mission.”
“The boss makes it sound so easy. How am I supposed to know what his peers look like?”
Quicksand saw a glint of amusement flash in Diamonds’ eyes, knowing the man had concocted another wicked idea. Sure enough, a moment later, the corners of Diamonds’ mouth curled upward into a sinister grin:
“They look just like you.”
Quicksand looked at him blankly, seemingly unable to make heads or tails of it.
“I’ve met the Corporation’s Chief Cleaner before. Your physical build is very similar to his.”
Diamonds smiled faintly, patting his shoulder.
“Tell you what—go cozy up to that Cleaner. Tell him you’re his colleague, and your code name is ‘Quicksand’.”
