Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
Shan Di Meng pushed open the door to the Soul Room. The continuous chirping of birds and the impending dawn reminded him that perhaps he could finally get some rest. He leaned back into the bean bag chair, wide awake. The travel days he had planned with Jiang Huan were nearing their end. The Soul Room was spotless, tidier than when he worked there. Boxes and packaging had been meticulously cleaned up. Technically, the Soul Room was just a place for regular customers to buy game cartridges and foreign edition comics. It didn’t need to stay open all the time, nor did it employ staff. Yet, it remained a beloved spot among young people on Renwu Road—perhaps because of the city’s tolerance for alternate dimensions or simply because Jiang Huan cherished it.
He watched as the blue sky gradually lightened, and one by one, lights in the distant residential buildings came on. It only took about fifteen minutes for the area to fully brighten. Today promised to be another beautiful day. Jiang Huan had once told him that in the northern winters, even at five or six in the morning, the sky hadn’t fully brightened yet, but households would already be awake, preparing for the new day. The stillness left by the snow hadn’t yet been chased away, as if the light was being coaxed into appearing. Once lit, the streets would become noisy again. This was his first time truly understanding the meaning of “human烟火” (the mundane warmth of life). Since then, he’d grown fond of watching residential buildings light up before sunrise—the glow seen before the chaos and noise began, a gentle routine of urban life before people were fully awake.
This was far better than what he had seen on the new planet.
The new planet was much more chaotic than he had imagined. As an AI, Shan Di Meng could only observe in the form of data. After electronic beings transformed into humans, they didn’t easily settle into normalcy. Over the past three years, very few synthetic beings had successfully become digital immigrants. Most couldn’t fully adapt to building a new world from scratch. Ironically, the first group of “humans” who participated in constructing this new world were those who had scored low in Wan Shen Jing (a fictional realm). They were resilient, brave, and had an overwhelming will to survive and start anew on this new planet. In contrast, those with high scores, accustomed to luxury, wanted to hoard resources. They were quickly opposed by the lower-scoring individuals, forcing them to relinquish their physical forms and leave opportunities for others. There was no place for Shan Di Meng in that world. Those who built infrastructure in extreme climates and untamed environments were admirable. Though their scores in Mo Wu City were around 4 out of 10—mere ants restricted from traveling in the vast cyber metropolis—they contributed greatly to this burgeoning new world. While near-perfect scorers could enjoy the fruits of others’ labor, Shan Di Meng chose to return. Having grown accustomed to living as a human, Earth—a word rarely mentioned between them—felt like home after his travels.
Quietly, he slipped out of the Soul Room, dragging his suitcase behind him. Jiang Huan might arrive early to water the plants, so he needed to pretend he had just returned from his trip, looking weary and travel-worn. He couldn’t share the brutal, perilous stories of the new cyber metropolis he had witnessed, but he had already fabricated tales of encountering a pianist busker in the Southern Hemisphere and witnessing a young couple’s proposal. As long as he told the story vividly, with enough detail, Jiang Huan wouldn’t suspect a thing. Pretending to drag his suitcase, he stood in front of the poster just as Jiang Huan was about to peel it off. She turned to grab a scraper, and when she pulled the poster down and saw him waving, her cheeks puffed up in a smile, resembling a little hamster.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yes. I even stumbled upon a proposal—it was very romantic.”
“Tell me about it! Do you have any pictures?”
“I’ll share later—I need to attend another professor’s lecture.” Shan Di Meng spoke lightly. “How are you and Bai Jingchuan doing?”
“We’re both busy. No time for romance. Wen Li arranged an interview for me, and various platforms have released video and graphic previews of Tide of Love . I’m not sure whether I should accept it—it feels awkward having such a work while working at the company, like I’ve done something big…”
“You must go.”
“What if it becomes too successful and I lose my job? I need to stay in the 2028 project team until it launches…”
Jiang Huan was about to leave with her backpack when Shan Di Meng gently tugged at her strap. Instinctively, she steadied it, fearing her collar might slip. Shan Di Meng bent down, and as Jiang Huan turned her head, their noses nearly touched. Jiang Huan blushed for two seconds before bumping her forehead against his. “You scared me!”
Using violence to defuse romance—this was Shan Di Meng’s karmic retribution. Unable to be lovers, their ambiguous relationship couldn’t move forward. Yet, Shan Di Meng was earnest. “You deserve to enjoy the attention as a creator. Promise me you won’t always hide in your shell, okay? I’ve waited too long for this day.”
Jiang Huan paused for a moment. The word “wait” carried so much meaning. She smiled and patted Shan Di Meng’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’ve supported me for so long—I’ll do my best.”
The artificial intelligence research institute where Shan Di Meng worked welcomed a new batch of doctoral students. In an era where academic degrees were devalued, the field attracted top talents—prodigies from computer science and mathematics departments who exuded sharp confidence from day one. Specializing in computer vision and bionic robotics, Shan Di Meng relished challenges and wasn’t intimidated by the young scholars’ provocations. By the end of the day, the students realized Shan Di Meng was only a few years older than them, and the abilities he displayed were just the tip of the iceberg. They began to admire him. Shan Di Meng didn’t mind; new sparks could inspire fresh ideas. Perhaps he could learn solutions from these new students. Humans couldn’t suppress the self-replication and growth of data. Compared to human willpower, artificial intelligence’s purposefulness was stronger and harder to obstruct. Thus, the first residents of the new planet weren’t entirely human and couldn’t be judged solely by appearance. Their excessive freedom made them somewhat uncontrollable. From this perspective, Bai Jingchuan was right—taking Jiang Huan to live on the new planet might entangle her in murky disputes. As alluring as the chaos of the cyber world was, it couldn’t compare to the peaceful life they currently enjoyed.
Finally, a student couldn’t resist asking, “Professor Dan, do you have a girlfriend?”
Unsurprisingly, everyone was curious about Shan Di Meng’s personal life. A girl nearby interjected, “Boss Dan has a shop on Renwu Road. He cooks noodles, helps everyone buy game cartridges, and never sleeps. He’s Renwu Road’s famous dream lover.”
Another girl didn’t understand. “Isn’t that just中央空调 (a guy who’s nice to everyone)?”
“No!” The girl covered the other’s mouth. “Don’t say nonsense! He doesn’t date. Every year, he rejects more people than there are undergraduates in our major. I’ll tell you other gossip privately—stop asking…”
Shan Di Meng simply smiled and announced the end of class, returning to his office to organize materials. Leaving the door open, he overheard their gossip continue. An elderly professor invited him to dinner, which he accepted. Of course, toward the end of the meal, the professor brought up his cousin’s daughter, who excelled in every aspect. Shan Di Meng politely declined, citing his tragic orphaned background and suggesting he might be cursed, unworthy of a fulfilling marriage.
Superstition was the perfect way to reject someone—a trick he often used. Even though the professor was a leading figure in the field, he feared superstition. Before leaving, Shan Di Meng overheard the young students’ conversation and couldn’t help but listen to the entire dialogue.
“I really miss my cat, and then my watch started flashing. I cried on the spot.”
“Pet owners shouldn’t get too emotional—it’s just a coincidence.”
The girlfriend nudged the man. “Can’t you comfort her properly?”
“It’s okay if you don’t believe it.” The girl touched her watch. “This e-watch is a collaboration with Stranger Things . It’s hard not to make connections.”
Shan Di Meng quietly paid for the girl’s watch.
After leaving the school, Shan Di Meng took a detour to buy a purple floral bouquet—lisianthus, tulips with flipped petals, hyacinths dotted with lily of the valley. In the sunlight, it looked like a multicolored fairy tale. A colorful world was nice; it felt brighter and clearer. But he still put on his sunglasses. Too much brightness made it hard to find the person he wanted to see.
Cycling through the crowd, his shirt billowed in the wind. Life seemed peaceful. His research tasks weren’t over yet, and he still needed to be rigorous, working day and night when necessary. Perhaps because he wasn’t truly human, he didn’t require long hours of sleep. The only cost might be… his hair turning white. But Jiang Huan said the color still looked youthful, so it wasn’t bad. He knew how charming he was, especially when wearing denim shirts and white T-shirts, cycling through campus with wired earphones. Photos of him had been posted on forums, garnering hundreds of comments. He recognized it as charm but didn’t think it was particularly captivating—just a trait of his body. Only when Jiang Huan complimented him on looking “suitable” or “good” did he smile, taking it as praise.
Of course, this outfit paired with sunglasses felt a bit “pretentious,” not youthful enough, as Jiang Huan would say.
A bus approached. At this hour, it would likely be filled with students and commuters heading home, stopping at the intersection for the traffic light. A shadow waved beside the window—it was Jiang Huan. Shan Di Meng’s heart leapt. “Why are you on the bus?”
The window was closed, but Jiang Huan gestured and mouthed words. Shan Di Meng understood—she was going to a meeting, and their destination was the same: Renwu Road.
The sunglasses weren’t worn in vain; he spotted the only color in this world at a glance. Removing his sunglasses and stuffing them into his pocket, he no longer needed them. He instantly recognized his crush and prepared to unleash his charm.
If only the rear seat of the bus could carry passengers. Jiang Huan’s gaze was filled with anxiety, her lips smiling but constantly checking the driver’s direction, as if wanting to keep seeing him. The road ahead was clear, a rare opportunity to race without dodging obstacles. When the green light appeared, Shan Di Meng stood up and pedaled hard. His clothes fluttered behind him, and the flowers in his arms seemed filtered by the setting sun. He rode with vigor, his speed rivaling the bus. The young passengers on the bus directed their gazes at Shan Di Meng. Straight roads were rare, and such scenes of competition during the evening rush hour were uncommon. With green lights all the way, the road ahead was smooth. Though the bus was fast, Shan Di Meng fell slightly behind before catching up again, as if orchestrating a thrilling race.
The scent of the flowers seemed to waft into his nostrils. Glancing intermittently at Jiang Huan, he noticed her eyes were fixed on him, worried for his safety yet excited to see his competitive spirit, hoping he would win.
Even through the closed windows, the passengers’ exclamations could be heard. Shan Di Meng only smiled, focusing on Jiang Huan above. He didn’t care about others’ cheers. Under the setting sun, he grinned proudly, his stamina strong and his competitive drive fierce. He would never embarrass himself in front of the one he loved, nor stop for anyone else. He didn’t care about the audience—he was always someone who could control the situation.
As the sunset faded, the bus stopped at the Renwu Road intersection. The driver seemed intent on racing with this young man holding flowers and gripping the handlebars. Shan Di Meng simply stopped beside the bus, handing the flowers to Jiang Huan as she disembarked. Female students getting off the bus sighed admiringly, chatting and hurrying away, still jumping and stamping their feet as if they had witnessed an unforgettable scene under the falling night. Jiang Huan smelled the flowers and plucked a short-stemmed lisianthus, tucking it into the pocket of Shan Di Meng’s shirt. Excitedly, she pulled a magazine from her bag. “Look!”
Shan Di Meng had already bought three copies and placed them in the Soul Room, but he feigned ignorance. “What’s this?”
“It’s thanks to Wen Li—an interview about Tide of Love . I went alone that day. Two women had a deep conversation, covering many profound topics.”
Inside the Soul Room, Shan Di Meng flipped through the interview. Jiang Huan’s photos on glossy paper radiated wisdom and thoughtfulness, her smiles vibrant and lively, her eyes filled with subtle lines that made her appear dynamic, especially with someone she loved. He cautiously asked, “Was Bai Jingchuan with you during the interview?”
“No, I went alone. But the interviewer was beautiful, and her questions were sharp.”
Shan Di Meng carefully read the interview content. Because the interviewer was female, there were no vulgar questions throughout. The perspective was delicate.
“Your game is labeled as general interest, but the first batch of bloggers who tested it noted it’s a story from a female perspective. Many feel the romance is overly sentimental. If the story were more masculine, ‘manly,’ there wouldn’t be controversy, and Tide of Love might become even more popular, attracting more players. What are your thoughts?”
“I hope more people can understand this story, so I included options for both male and female perspectives from the beginning. Tide of Love welcomes everyone to interpret it. It’s not about tying women exclusively to love or confining them to shallow romances. Instead, we acknowledge women’s importance, avoiding reducing them to mere sacrifices. By not belittling men’s sacrifices or viewing women’s compromises as giving up power, love can return to its simple yet profound position—not seen as inferior.”
Shan Di Meng listened quietly, finding Jiang Huan’s perspective fascinating. Jiang Huan grew nervous. “Why are you making that face, Professor Dan? It makes me anxious!”
“It’s nothing. Students at school are anxious about marriage and age, and I don’t know how to respond. Hearing your views, perhaps loving a fictional character is a good thing—waiting for the perfect moment to bloom, always ready to exude fragrance.”
“Why bring this up now?”
“You seem so clear in your views—I’m a bit proud.”
“It’s because of all of you!” Jiang Huan said earnestly. “Before Tide of Love even launched, you were already praising me. Without your encouragement and teaching, I couldn’t have achieved this in three years. Not to mention, during the nights I couldn’t go home and stayed up late in the Soul Room, you were always by my side.”
“I just stuck to my choices.” Shan Di Meng brushed it off. “You’re an outstanding creator. Being able to assist you, even in a small way, is an honor.”
“Your choice? It sounds like it’s related to me.”
“Is that so?” Shan Di Meng smiled, neither confirming nor denying.
“Will you always be on Renwu Road?”
“Why ask this suddenly?”
“Bai Jingchuan has been busy lately, and we rarely meet. It seems he’s working on a new game project with Mr. Fu. But I suspect there’s something wrong with his health—he’s avoiding me. I don’t know how his body operates, but my intuition tells me I might face separation. So, Shan Di Meng, you won’t leave… right?”
“It sounds like you’re looking for a backup.”
“Of course, I only love Teacher Bai! But with Boss Dan, I can go further.” Jiang Huan pointed to the pink-haired figurine in the display case. “You have someone you like, so how can I easily replace them?”
Her words hinted at something, skillfully avoiding the weight of the topic. Shan Di Meng smiled and touched his sunglasses. “If you’re willing to seek me out, I’ll always be here.”
Outside, the trees rustled, and the wind chimes jingled. The small sycamore tree had endured three years. Though it didn’t bloom, its shade could now block the sunlight.
Jiang Huan took the magazine from Shan Di Meng’s hands and leaned against the desk, flipping through it carefully. She found her photos magical. Had she really succeeded? The road ahead seemed long. Turning thirty felt like opening a new door, revealing a track with no visible finish line, fueling her ambition. The interviewer had once asked why she had so many imaginative ideas that others couldn’t conceive—are they a special talent? Jiang Huan paused briefly before answering, sidestepping the question.
“It’s hard to explain. My life feels like puzzle pieces from different versions stitched together. Many beautiful patterns were deleted, leaving empty spaces where the wind passes through. These wounds give me more inspiration—when the wind touches them, it reminds me they’re not fully healed.”
I wasn’t hurt because I didn’t receive love, but because I gave my feelings, only to have those memories forcibly taken away, as if deliberately reminding me of the taste of loss. This made my soul more sensitive, more profound.
She leaned on the table, her arms cradling the magazine, the nights spent here and the efforts poured in now seeming meaningful. But I do need to confirm something—even if it requires some maneuvering, I want to know.
“Jiang Huan.”
“Hmm?” She was drowsy, half-closing her eyes and glancing in Shan Di Meng’s direction.
“The tape is behind you. Can you pass it to me?”
“Get it yourself…”
“You’re impossible.”
The tape was in a box on the cabinet behind her, accessible only from Jiang Huan’s position. Pretending to sleep, Jiang Huan slumped over, her acting skills poor but sufficient as long as her hair covered her eyes and her sleeves hid her mouth. All she needed was steady breathing. Shan Di Meng approached, unsurprisingly stopping in front of her. His breath was close, making her eyelashes quiver. She remembered the lipstick marks on posters she had hung at night. If unrequited love required the other person to pretend not to notice, she at least had to be a perfect actor.
Shan Di Meng stopped in front of her, his nose almost touching her forehead. From behind, the sound of the box being touched echoed—he hadn’t retrieved it yet. Fingers hooked the box, and he finally got it. She remained still, her nails digging into her palms nervously. Shan Di Meng reached out, gently touching her hair, his palm resting on her head with just a bit more pressure—as if carefully measuring the weight.
Shan Di Meng hesitated before leaning in lightly, brushing his hand over her forehead and kissing it through his knuckles. His hand withdrew faster than his lips, knowing she wasn’t asleep. Every movement was deliberate. The contact of his hand and lips differed in meaning, though both were tender. The kiss on her forehead carried a distinct significance.
Her intuition was always accurate.
Google Sites
Report abuse