Long Yuehong hesitated, opening his mouth as if to persuade, but only managed a reluctant, "...Alright."
Shang Jianyao lingered for a moment longer before picking up his tray and walking to the exit. He handed everything he carried to the cafeteria staff stationed there, then stepped outside.
Beyond the "Supplies Market," fluorescent lights hung in regular intervals from the ceiling, illuminating the paths leading to the rest of the floor. Employees of various ages and genders gathered in small groups, some heading toward the "Activity Center," others returning home together, while children ran around noisily, laughing and shouting.
Shang Jianyao moved among them, his pace steady and deliberate. He soon left Zone C and passed through a graffiti-covered street before arriving in the denser residential Zone B.
In the sprawling "living area" of this subterranean building, the concept of "houses" didn't exist. People lived in rooms, not homes. Those who worked in the "Inner Ecological Area" and had seen actual beehives often used them as a comparison.
Yet, the corridors between the rows of rooms were remarkably spacious, paved with smooth, off-white tiles wide enough to accommodate five or six people walking side by side.
This wasn't a coincidence but a company-mandated design, supposedly to prevent bottlenecks during emergencies.
After walking for some time, Shang Jianyao reached his room.
It was indistinguishable from the others around it: black walls with a faint reflective quality that seemed oddly profound, a brownish-red wooden door, and a small four-pane window beside it.
The only thing marking it as his was the white number painted on the door: "Room 196."
Zone B, 495th floor, Room 196.
Shang Jianyao reached into his pocket and retrieved a brass key. He inserted it into the lock, matching its hue, and turned it gently.
With a quiet click, the door unlocked. Shang Jianyao pressed down on the handle with one hand and pushed the door open.
It stopped halfway, bumping against the stove inside.
The room was two meters wide, three meters deep, and four meters high. At the far end, a wooden bed stretched across the space, just long enough for Shang Jianyao to lie flat with his legs straight. There was less than ten centimeters of space between the bed and the wall, leaving no room for additional furniture. On the wall, several expanding screws supported two sets of simple, monotone clothing.
Beside the clothing, separated by a sheet of plastic, was a small sink. On the other side of the sink stood a countertop with an exhaust hood above it, doubling as a cabinet.
Shang Jianyao had always appreciated these amenities. Not every room was equipped with a sink or a countertop.
The building housed far too many floors and residents. Elevators, ventilation systems, drainage, and power grids were all under immense strain. As a result, elevators were segmented into zones, and utilities were divided into subsystems shared across a certain number of floors.
This compartmentalization ensured that failures would only affect specific areas, preventing a system-wide collapse. For instance, drainage limitations meant that many rooms lacked direct plumbing.
Employees without private facilities had to queue outside the public restrooms in their district. During cold mornings or energy shortages at night, stepping outside was an uncomfortable prospect.
To wash up while wrapped in a blanket—indoors—was a luxury many dreamed of.
The other side of the door, beneath the small window, held a sturdy red-painted wooden desk piled with books. A black fountain pen and a matching bottle of ink rested atop it.
The light from the street lamps outside filtered through the window, casting a faint glow over the desk. Though not ideal, it was sufficient for reading without wasting his limited energy allocation.
The desk had built-in drawers, and behind it was a well-worn red chair with a peeling finish. Two rickety stools stood nearby, ostensibly forming a "living room" area, just in front of the horizontal wooden bed.
Shang Jianyao didn't turn on the room's lights. His energy ration was meager, and conservation was a habit born of necessity.
He removed the key, shut the door behind him, and walked through the dimly lit space to his bed.
Reaching for the pillow stuffed with grain husks, he propped it upright against the wall and leaned back, half-sitting and half-lying down.
From this angle, Shang Jianyao could see the stove and rice cooker on the countertop. Their surfaces were rusted, showing the wear of many years.
Both appliances had been with him for as long as he could remember. One had been scavenged by his father during a security division operation in a ruined city of the old world. His father had foregone other company-allotted loot to claim it. The other had been bought by his mother with hard-earned contribution points after their marriage.
This room, however, wasn't the home Shang Jianyao remembered. His childhood home had been in Zone A, Room 28 of the same floor—a larger unit with two rooms and a cramped bathroom.
That home had spared him the indignities of public restrooms and their pungent odors.
But after his father disappeared and his mother passed away, the company reclaimed the unit, reallocating it to another qualified employee. The current room had been assigned to Shang Jianyao after he left the orphanage and enrolled in college.
Many of the newer rooms lacked electronic locks, replaced by salvaged mechanical ones or replicas made in internal factories.
Shang Jianyao's gaze wandered to the wooden desk by the window.
His mother had once told him that his father had made the desk from wood purchased at the "Supplies Market," a rare indulgence during their early marriage.
The desk, along with the clothes his mother had sewn and stored in its drawers, had been kept by the orphanage for three years before being returned to Shang Jianyao.
Now, he could no longer fit into those clothes.
Shang Jianyao closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
Dropping his hands to his sides, he leaned back and remained motionless.
The room fell into an eerie silence, its dimness deepening into a heavy gloom.
Shang Jianyao reclined there, as still as if he had fallen asleep.
…
When he opened his eyes, he wasn't surprised to find himself in a vast, cavernous hall.
It was far larger than the "Supplies Market," with black metallic walls glimmering faintly. The ceiling above was shrouded in darkness, immeasurably high.
Within this darkness, countless brilliant lights twinkled, slowly revolving to form what seemed like rivers of diamonds flowing across a dreamscape.
The sight overwhelmed him once more, defying description.
It reminded him of the starry images his university instructor had shown on a screen—the first time he had ever seen the cosmos.
Now, he seemed to be amidst the constellations themselves.
At the center of the hall, a cluster of "starlight" coalesced into a vague humanoid figure.
The figure extended its arms symmetrically, resembling a scale.
In an ethereal, resonant voice, it proclaimed:
"One price, three blessings."
"One price, three blessings…"