2: A turning point in fate

The wind chime tinkled once.

Cheng Mo stood at the entrance, cold air blowing down from above. He adjusted the cardboard box in his arms, his other hand still tucked in his hoodie pocket, fingertips pressing against the edge of that sketch. He took a step forward; the lights between the shelves were brighter than outside, making his eyes ache slightly.

Without looking at anyone, he turned directly into the instant food section. The freezer hummed, its glass clouded with a thin mist. He pulled the door open and grabbed a cold rice ball. The label read "Teriyaki Chicken Flavor," and the production date was yesterday. Without hesitation, he also grabbed a bottle of room-temperature cola.

There was no line at the checkout counter. The clerk was looking down at their phone and only looked up upon hearing footsteps. After scanning the items, they said, "That'll be twelve-fifty in total."

Cheng Mo pulled out his wallet and fished out two crumpled bills. When change was given, a coin dropped onto the counter and rolled a bit. He didn't pick it up. The clerk didn't remind him either.

He turned and walked toward a corner, standing still against the wall. He tore open the rice ball packaging and took a bite. The rice was on the hard side, and the chicken was dry. He chewed slowly; his throat felt tight, and swallowing felt like gulping down a stone.

He still hadn't taken his right hand out. He could feel the sketch was still there, its edges getting a bit soft from being warmed by his body heat over and over again. His mind was still revolving around that text message—what did "core algorithm" refer to? Were people really targeting the models he'd built?

He didn't believe in coincidences.

As he was thinking, his peripheral vision caught the inside of the glass door. An A4 sheet of paper was taped to the bottom right corner, secured with clear tape, its four corners slightly curling up. On the paper was handwritten text: **Basement flatshare, 800 per month, game industry professionals only.**

The handwriting was neat, with straight horizontal and vertical strokes, almost like it was printed. He recognized it at a glance—Chen Hao's handwriting.

He froze. The last bite of the rice ball got stuck in his mouth, unswallowed.

Just then, a figure stepped out from behind the beverage section. Tall and thin, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the top. The man held a roll of tape, walked to the advertisement, crouched down, and pressed the bottom right corner again.

Cheng Mo didn't move.

The man wasn't in a hurry to stand up either. He kept his head down, fingers pressing the edge of the paper, his voice carrying over neither too loudly nor too softly: "You're here? I knew you'd come to this shop."

It was Chen Hao.

Cheng Mo didn't respond. He stared at the man's back as memories suddenly flooded back—back in university, he had stayed up all night finishing the numerical balancing for a set of levels and asked Chen Hao to help back up the code. The next day, he found the folder empty. Chen Hao said he'd deleted it by mistake and hadn't made a local save. The two argued for a week and didn't speak for three months. Later, after the project fell through, he found out that the mechanics had been taken by a major studio to create a hit casual game, with its revenue breaking a hundred million in half a year.

He swallowed the rice ball; his throat felt as if it had been slashed.

Chen Hao finally stood up, turned around, and took off his glasses to wipe the lenses. He looked at Cheng Mo with a calm gaze, devoid of emotion. "Eight hundred yuan, utilities included," he said. "There's only one condition—you have to do something 'unconventional' with me."

The air went silent for a second.

Cheng Mo didn't ask what it was. He slowly raised his left hand and touched the silver stud in his right ear. The cold metallic touch cleared his mind for a moment. They had bought this earring together on the day their graduation project won an award; the back was engraved with "CM & CH." Back then, they both believed they could make something that would change the industry.

Later, he kept the earring but locked that relationship away in a drawer.

Now this man was standing here, posting a flatshare ad, saying he wanted to do something "unconventional."

He looked at Chen Hao's face. The gaze behind the glasses was steady, without testing or flattery. It was as if he were waiting for an answer that had long been destined.

Cheng Mo spoke, his voice a bit raspy: "Send me the address."

Chen Hao didn't move, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. He didn't speak, but looked down and pulled out his phone, the light from the screen illuminating his face. A few seconds later, the phone in Cheng Mo's pocket vibrated.

He didn't pull it out to look.

Not another word was exchanged between the two. Chen Hao stuffed the tape back into his pants pocket, put on his glasses, and turned toward the door. The wind chime rang again as he walked out, his back quickly swallowed by the night.

Cheng Mo was still leaning against the wall. The rice ball wrapper was crumpled into a ball, gripped in his left hand. The vibration in his right pocket continued; it must be a message notification. He didn't move.

He knew this wasn't an ordinary flatshare.

An eight-hundred-yuan basement wouldn't appear in this area. Chen Hao wasn't the type to just post ads randomly either. Not to mention a word like "unconventional"—that was the slogan they used back then when they cursed capital and bad games.

He looked down at his hands. His knuckles were white, and his sleeves were frayed. The sketch in his hoodie pocket had been crumpled beyond recognition.

The phone vibrated again.

He finally took it out, and the screen lit up. It was a WeChat message with only five words: [No. 3 South Lane, Old Campus]

A picture was attached below. A blurry stairwell entrance, a rusted iron door, and a crooked sign hanging on the doorframe that read "Equipment Room." In the corner of the photo, a familiar symbol was drawn on the wall in red pen—an inverted triangle containing two interlocking letters: CM and CH.

That was their secret code from university. It stood for "Chaos Maker." Back then, whenever someone used this mark, it meant they were about to do something big.

Cheng Mo stared at that picture for a long time.

He exited the chat interface, opened the map, and entered the address. It was less than two kilometers away. A twenty-minute walk.

He put his phone back in his pocket and looked out of the convenience store. The street was quiet, with streetlights lighting up one by one. The entrance to the alley opposite was dark; the wind blew, picking up a piece of scrap paper and sticking it to a utility pole.

He didn't move.

Ten seconds later, he threw the crumpled rice ball wrapper into the nearby trash can. The empty cola bottle, which he had also crushed, was tossed in with it.

He turned and walked toward the door.

The wind chime rang for the third time.

He walked out of the shop, his pace a bit faster than before. He finally took his right hand out of his hoodie and tucked it into his pants pocket. His left hand unconsciously touched his earring again.

The streetlights illuminated half of his face. The other half was in shadow.

He reached the intersection, stopped, and looked back at the convenience store. The lights were bright and the glass was clean, like a small island floating in the night.

He didn't hesitate anymore and started walking forward.

The first intersection, a red light.

He stood and waited. The phone in his pocket vibrated again. He didn't pull it out.

The green light came on, and he crossed the street.

He turned at the second intersection; ahead was the old city area. The buildings became shorter, and the streetlights grew sparse. A few shared bikes were parked by the road, and an electric scooter drove past, its headlight cutting through the darkness.

He continued walking.

The silhouette of an old building emerged in the distance. The plaster was peeling, and most of the windows were pitch black. On the side of the building was a narrow alley, with a tilted sign at the entrance that read "South Lane."

He walked in.

The alley wasn't wide, the ground was damp, and moss grew in the cracks between the bricks. After walking about thirty meters, an iron door appeared on the right. It was rusted, and a sign reading "Equipment Room" hung above the doorframe.

Just like in the photo.

He stopped.

The door wasn't locked, left slightly ajar.

He reached out and gave it a push.

The iron door made a piercing scraping sound as it slowly opened.

It was pitch black inside. Only at the very end, a faint sliver of light leaked from a door crack. A few circuit boards were scattered on the ground, their edges covered in dust. A few cardboard boxes were stacked in the corner, with the words "Server Parts" printed on them.

He stood at the door and didn't go in.

The phone vibrated in his pocket.

He pulled it out, and the screen lit up. It was a new message.

Sender: Chen Hao.

The content was just two words:

"Come in."