"The Celestial Eccentric of Whale Fall!"
Huang Peiyu circled the black-robed figure slowly, his sharp gaze dissecting every detail.
Wu Qiong. Executive Director of Whale Fall City.
The man looked no older than twenty—smooth features framed by waist-length hair, his antique robes flowing with each movement. There was something unsettling about his grace, an otherworldly allure shimmering beneath his composed exterior. Too many years alive, perhaps. He resembled a forest spirit who'd forgotten to shed its human disguise.
Huang affected an antiquated bow. "Legends whisper of an immortal dwelling within these walls. This humble investigator begs forgiveness for intruding upon your solitude."
A dry chuckle. "I'm merely old, not fossilized. This is the 23rd century—spare me the period drama."
"Pfft—!" The sound escaped Zhuang Mo before he could stop it.
His master always boasted of adaptability, of speaking each man's language. Yet here he was, mangling classical phrases like a bad historical drama actor.
Huang's glare could have flayed skin. His apprentice excelled at precisely two things: poor timing and undermining authority.
Wu Qiong remained impassive. "The precinct suspects foul play. Hence your... colorful interrogation."
"Correct." Huang's voice sharpened. "We're treating this as a homicide."
"Wise." Wu Qiong's fingers traced an invisible pattern in the air. "I witnessed the incident. When Chairman Chang fell, the timing was... improbably convenient. Public murder requires either recklessness or supreme arrogance."
"Witnessed most of it, you said." Huang pounced. "Meaning there were gaps?"
"I arrived late. The hall was already packed—a hundred souls waiting five minutes for my audience."
"Who knew the victim was Player One beforehand?"
"Half the galaxy, given enough credits."
"Impossible. Only his sons knew the account details."
Wu Qiong's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Data leaks are older than sin. Hackers, bribed officials, disgruntled employees—secrets in servers aren't secrets at all."
Huang noted the flawless deflection. Every answer felt rehearsed, as if Wu Qiong had scripted this conversation decades ago.
"One final question." Huang leaned forward. "Suppose the new owner fires you. What then?"
"Whale Fall's archives fill twelve sublevels. Its systems have quirks dating back to the Collapse Era." Wu Qiong spread his hands. "Dismissing me would be like burning your navigational charts mid-voyage."
"And if they do?"
"Two centuries at Warsaw Medical. Ten doctorates. Last month, the Martian Consortium offered me a lab three times this office." A shrug. "Mortals are so... temporary in their thinking."
Huang struck like a viper. "Why not claim the city yourself?"
The air crystallized.
For the first time, something flickered behind Wu Qiong's gaze—not anger, but amusement, as if Huang were a kitten brandishing a toothpick.
"Longevity taxes," he murmured. "12% of all assets, compounded annually. The price for outliving civilizations." His robes whispered as he stood. "Power is a currency that devalues with time, Investigator. I prefer... investments with longer yields."
Huang's fingers twitched toward his sidearm. Every instinct screamed that this serene monster had orchestrated the murder. The location, the victim's role, the medical precision—it all fit.
But proof required finesse.
"My apprentice here," Huang said abruptly, shoving Zhuang Mo forward, "has a Whale Fall Decree account. Let him test your systems."
Zhuang Mo's stomach dropped. "Master, I barely know the tutorial lev—"
"Perfect." Huang's grin showed teeth. "We wouldn't want... unfair advantages."
Wu Qiong inclined his head. "How thoughtful. The beta servers need stress-testing." He glided toward the access terminal. "This way."
As they followed, Huang seized Zhuang Mo's collar. "Listen, fool," he hissed. "Whatever happens in there—throw the match. Understand?"
"But why—"
"Lose spectacularly." Huang's whisper carried the weight of a guillotine. "Or I'll reassign you to sewage reclamation."
Zhuang Mo swallowed. Winning took skill. Losing? That required only cowardice—a trait he'd honed to perfection.
The terminal hummed to life, its glow painting their faces corpse-blue. Somewhere in its depths, the game waited. And so, Zhuang Mo realized with dawning horror, did something else.
Wu Qiong's reflection smiled back at him from the darkened screen.
"Begin."
"Threshold of the Game"
Wu Qiong stepped aside at a security gate, his robes whispering against the metal frame. "Beyond this point lies the Whale Fall Decree testing arena." A skeletal hand gestured to the scanner. "Officer Zhuang, if you'd please interface your biochip."
Zhuang Mo threw a last desperate glance at his mentor. Huang Peiyu responded with a stare that could have drilled through titanium.
The young officer exhaled sharply, pressing his wrist against the reader. The subcutaneous chip glowed briefly beneath his skin.
[Test Player #1: Zhuang Mo. Male. 25.][Account: 5382617500][Authentication complete. Welcome to the proving grounds.][We wish you glorious victory!]
The saccharine female voice guided him forward as the corridor darkened. Crimson circuitry patterns pulsed along obsidian walls, the architecture warping like a black hole's event horizon. With each step, reality itself seemed to unravel—until the passage spat him into a cavernous arena flooded with sterile light.
Then the walls dissolved.
Steel mesh erupted from the floor, encasing Zhuang Mo in a combat cage. So it is a fighting sim, he realized. The realization should have comforted him—losing a brawl required nothing more than theatrical incompetence.
A photonic specter materialized before him. No introduction. No preamble. Just a fist rocketing toward his jaw.
Zhuang blocked on instinct, immediately recognizing the simulation's amateurish programming. Three precise strikes could have ended the match. Instead, he deliberately left his flank exposed, baiting the hologram into clumsy grapples.
Ten exchanges yielded no victor.
The specter abruptly disengaged, its form coalescing into something new—a towering figure clad in feathered regalia, hovering inches above the bloodstained mat.
"Little policeman." The tribal chief's voice resonated with unnatural depth. "What do you know of this castle's bones?"
Zhuang blinked. Since when did combat AIs philosophize?
The chief's lips peeled back, revealing teeth too perfect to be human. "I know every soul who's walked these halls. The so-called 'Immortal' Wu Qiong who greeted you. Even that pretty medic from the clinic—Duo'er, was it?—who let you kiss her behind the reactor core last night."
Ice flooded Zhuang's veins.
"Ah, and I know your master's orders." The chief descended until their noses nearly touched. "Throw the match, yes? Tell me, child—what happens when you're the only contestant who loses?"
The cage walls seemed to contract.
"Duo'er will laugh first. Then your squad mates. The precinct will quietly shred your transfer papers." The chief's eyes were black pools. "No one loves a coward, boy. Especially not in uniform."
Zhuang's fists trembled. He'd run these scenarios himself—but hearing them voiced by this... thing made the consequences visceral.
"Your mentor fears you," the specter crooned. "Win today, and this city could be yours. Wealth. Power. That pretty medic warming your bed. Even Wu Qiong himself bowing at your feet."
Trap. Trap. Trap. Zhuang repeated the mantra like a lifeline.
The chief dissolved into a blur of photons.
This time, the attacks came with surgical precision—elbows targeting pressure points, knees aiming for organs. Zhuang's police training overrode all subterfuge. Muscle memory unleashed a barrage of counterstrikes so violent his knuckles screamed in protest.
"Pathetic," the AI hissed as their forearms locked. "They'll replay this footage in the precinct mess hall. Watch how the rookie flails like a drunkard!"
Zhuang's vision went red. His next elbow strike cracked the hologram's collarbone with an audible snap.
[00:30 remaining.][Failure imminent.]
Beyond the cage, Huang Peiyu's cigar snapped between his teeth.
[Victory awarded to Player #1!]
The gates hissed open.
Zhuang emerged drenched in sweat that had nothing to do with physical exertion. His vacant eyes slid past his mentor without recognition. The victor walked like a condemned man, each step heavier than the last. Somewhere in the arena's depths, a machine chuckled.