Chapter Text
Lin Qiushi was trying very hard not to doubt his own sanity. An endeavor made more difficult every time he ran into a friend who had no idea who he was.
Had everything in the last year just been a long dream? A desperate wish? Even though he recognized their faces, everything was wrong. Chen Fei was a real doctor instead of former veterinarian, Tan ZaoZao a streamer rather than up and coming actress. Cheng Qianli was alive.
They all were.
Lin Qiushi felt light-headed with relief and fear. Maybe he’d met them in passing and subconsciously thought of them during his coma—
No. It couldn’t be. Despite all of Lin Qiushi’s doubts, he was certain Ruan Nanzhu was real, or at least had been. He had seen firsthand how the doors could flex and shift reality, killing those who had died within the Spirealm. By reaching the twelfth door, Ruan Nanzhu must have successfully cleansed the game—by purging it and himself from reality.
Of course, there were ripple effects.
And only Lin Qiushi remembered because only he had been with Ruan Nanzhu at the end.
Everything from the past year, the friendships Lin Qiushi had come to hold dear, the deaths that had shattered his heart, had been erased like a file off a computer. But that didn’t mean they were completely gone.
Lin Qiushi was a computer engineer specializing in virtual reality. Once you started working with complex systems there was no such thing as permanent deletion. Files always left traces, fragments and remnants that could be brought back if you knew what you were doing, if you had the right key.
Quite literally running into Zhang Mingyu gave Lin Qiushi a spark of hope that he desperately needed. The man had been Gao Dawei’s friend and known Lin Qiushi through association. If anyone were to know how to help him, it was the creator of Spirealm himself.
Except even Gao Dawei wasn’t that person anymore. It felt like a gut punch to find out that his old friend hadn’t even graduated in Computer Engineering. Just how much had Ruan Nanzhu changed? Or was it Gao Dawei himself who had determined that every trace of Spirealm and its creation had to be obliterated?
It felt like Lin Qiushi had woken up in a life that was almost recognizable as the one he remembered, but nothing was quite the way it should be.
Still, Lin Qiushi wouldn’t give up. When Wu Qi caught up to him, he’d already decided what he had to do.
Wu Qi was more worried than incredulous when Lin Qiushi told him that he was moving out and begging him to take care of Chestnut for the foreseeable future. And maybe that was fair. To his friend, he’d just resigned from his job a week ago before being hit by a car and being comatose for days, but Lin Qiushi couldn’t stay standing still.
No matter what his intentions were, it still took Lin Qiushi a few days and dozens of reassurances to Wu Qi that he knew what he was doing. Which was mostly a lie. He only knew Gao Dawei was somewhere in Europe, working in the financial sector of all things.
However, while at Obsidian, he had learned a few skills and resources that became immediately useful. Oddly enough, when he’d tried to find Gao Dawei before, there’d been no sign of him. This time, it only took a few minutes to find where Gao Dawei worked and where he was staying. He was on the right path, but it was almost more reassuring to be able to do something he shouldn’t have been able to, to use memories he shouldn’t have had, than anything else. Even computer engineers didn’t know how to sift through information networks like this. His time in Obsidian was real, even if the only remnant of it was in his mind.
Gao Dawei was in Germany, so that’s where Lin Qiushi would go. It was going to take a month even expediting the visa process, and the cost of the flight made him wince. He hadn’t had to worry about money for a while—Ruan Nanzhu had made sure that none of them did, but now all he had was a small savings account that would only last for a few months. It would last half as long if he was traveling.
Curious to compare what he remembered from a year ago to now, Lin Qiushi pulled up a few cryptocurrency sites that they’d used for payment in Obsidian. Anonymity had been critical when dealing with anyone from Spirealm until they had otherwise proven themselves.
Everything was just as he remembered it, including the current exchange rate. There was no assurance that in the next year it would skyrocket in price like Lin Qiushi remembered it doing. Afterall, Spirealm had driven at least part of that, with organizations like X pushing more and more people to become involved who then desperately searched for answers and help.
In the end, he decided it was worth the risk. He put in a third of what he’d saved, and in the meanwhile he’d start picking up freelance jobs. They didn’t pay well, but seeing him do something seemingly normal helped assuage Wu Qi’s worries. Well, that and Lin Qiushi told him he was going to meet an old friend. He definitely didn’t mention that Gao Dawei hadn’t even talked to him in five years.
Finally the day came for his flight. Wu Qi came with him to the airport to see him off. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Wu Qi hugged him tightly.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Lin Qiushi squeezed back. “I hope so too.”
Wu Qi promised that he’d finish clearing the apartment and extracted promises to contact him as soon as he was settled. He was going to finally move in with his girlfriend. There wouldn’t be any way of going back to the way things were.
And then Lin Qiushi was alone, traveling at 1000 kilometers an hour towards the barest chance of answers. He wondered what he was doing. Lin Qiushi had lost people before. No matter how much it hurt, he would have tried to accept it if Ruan Nanzhu had died. But he hadn’t, Ruan Nanzhu was just gone— If Gao Dawei could make Spirealm, then surely Lin Qiushi could reopen the door to get Ruan Nanzhu back.
Ruan Nanzhu who had chosen to walk into the twelfth door knowing it would be the end. Ruan Nanzhu who might have chosen to completely cleanse the Spirealm, locking that final door, to the point that it should have been impossible to bring back.
With nothing else to do but ruminate on his thoughts, Lin Qiushi found himself doodling in a journal he’d bought on a whim. Somehow it felt important that there was some evidence of the doors outside of his own mind, even if none of it was real in the here and now.
He landed in Berlin early after nearly twenty hours of flying and he couldn’t understand a word anyone was saying. His only saving grace was the translation app on his phone. If he’d never been through the doors, he would have felt completely overwhelmed, but it was hard to feel very intimidated when it wasn’t life and death on the line. Still, he was exhausted by the time he made it to the hotel he knew Gao Dawei was staying in.
He’d meant to message ahead half a dozen times, but every time he’d tried, doubts came sneaking in. If Gao Dawei and he hadn’t been in the same program, then what else about their relationship wasn’t the same? Would Gao Dawei even agree to meet up with him? No, it was easier to head up to his room to get some much needed sleep.
The next evening, not nearly as refreshed as he should have been for sleeping almost ten hours, Lin Qiushi waited in the hotel’s bar, relying on his hazy memories of Gao Dawei’s after-school habits.
“Lin Qiushi?” Gao Dawei’s voice was still familiar, but when Lin Qiushi turned, seeing him still managed to be a shock.
At first glance, Gao Dawei looked like a poor imitation of Ruan Nanzhu. Except, that he had always looked that way, back in college, long before Lin Qiushi had ever met Ruan Nanzhu, he just hadn’t remembered somehow.
Lin Qiushi swallowed, trying to clear his suddenly dry throat. His memories of Gao Dawei’s face were blurry despite how often in the last year he had thought of him and somehow Lin Qiushi had never realized. Somehow the influence of the Spirealm could still surprise him.
“Gao Dawei! It’s a surprise to see you.” Lin Qiushi’s voice came out too flat to be believed, but Gao Dawei looked delighted as he came to sit next to him at the bar.
“What are you doing in Germany? God, I haven’t seen you since college. Are you still working in the Virtual Reality sector?”
It wasn’t so much that Gao Dawei was unattractive, as much as Ruan Nanzhu was almost inhumanly perfect. Maybe that made sense since Gao Dawei had created Ruan Nanzhu in the first place, but it hurt to see someone who was so close, yet clearly not the person he wanted to see most of all.
All the same, Lin Qiushi couldn’t pull his eyes away.
“I am, but I’ve gone independent.” Lin Qiushi studied Gao Dawei’s face, finding more and more differences, no moles beneath his right eye and he had softer cheekbones, and most importantly, no darkness in his eyes. Gao Dawei and Ruan Nanzhu were as different as night and day.
“There’s actually a project I’m working on now called Spirealm.” Lin Qiushi prodded, hoping despite all signs that Gao Dawei would react.
Gao Dawei ordered a drink before he replied. “Spirealm? Is that derived from Spirit Realm? Bit of a surprise from you. I always thought you were a staunch materialist.”
Lin Qiushi winced, “I am—” or he was. He didn’t know what he was now. “Do you remember talking about Qian Xuesen’s theories about virtual reality being a gateway for human consciousness?”
Gao Dawei looked at him blankly, before an inkling of recollection appeared in eyes hidden behind thick rimmed glasses.
“I think so? You talked about it a lot our first year—he said virtual reality should be called the Spiritual Realm right? You were always idealistic, I missed that.”
Lin Qiushi startled when Gao Dawei’s hand covered his own. He was probably misinterpreting the move and stopped himself from pulling away.
Gao Dawei gave his hand a squeeze before letting go with a half-hearted smile. It made Lin Qiushi miss Ruan Nanzhu even more.
“You don’t remember anything.” Lin Qiushi sighed, tucking his hands beneath the bar, wringing them like he could forget the touch.
Gao Dawei’s smile fell. “I remember. I hated how it ended between us—I always thought we’d figure it out, but then we never did.”
Lin Qiushi winced. For a long time he’d misunderstood Gao Dawei, his own insecurity over being utterly helpless in the wake of the earthquake put an insurmountable barrier between the two of them.
“It wasn’t your fault. Everyone admired you for what happened, and I felt like a failure in comparison.”
“No!” Gao Dawei turned to face him completely, “If you hadn’t gone into that building, all those people would have died. You risked everything and still managed to survive, even when the second shockwave made it collapse.”
Lin Qiushi would have once brushed it aside, he’d put himself in danger and then become a liability after all, but he’d already come to terms with what happened. His memories of being trapped waiting for a rescue that might never come didn’t have the same hold on him that they used to.
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” And for the longest time he hadn’t.
Gao Dawei’s eyes shined, “I’ve always admired you LinLin, I’m glad to see you doing so well. You’ve really come into yourself.”
Lin Qiushi mustered a smile, his new found confidence was hard won after all, “You seem to be doing well for yourself too.”
No matter how Lin Qiushi prodded Gao Dawei, there was no spark of memory regarding Spirealm or Virtual Reality. Anything that could have helped him find a way back to Ruan Nanzhu was truly gone forever—
After a drink, Gao Dawei grabbed Lin Qiushi’s notebook from the counter. He’d never minded sifting through Lin Qiushi’s things so it shouldn’t have been a surprise now. Lin Qiushi flinched when Gao Dawei flipped to a page that Lin Qiushi had covered in an elaborate if badly done drawing of the door of death. The twelfth door.
“Huh, I didn’t know you went to that temple.”
“What?” Lin Qiushi froze midway between taking back his journal.
Gao Dawei gestured to the door, “In Fengdu, the temple was one of our class excursions before the earthquake hit.”
Lin Qiushi pushed to the edge of his seat, leaning close in his excitement, “You’ve seen this door before?!”
Gao Dawei tilted his head in bemusement, but he didn’t lean away, “Of course, it’s what the entire temple was built around.”
Lin Qiushi’s heart was pounding. If the twelfth door still existed in this world, then maybe he could find answers there. Gao Dawei had visited the temple just before everything had fallen apart between them. Maybe it was a key to how he had managed to create Spirealm in the first place.
Spirealm never had been just as simple as just a virtual reality after all.
Gao Dawei let out a chuckle, brushing a knuckle over Lin Qiushi’s cheek. “You look excited, I’m glad you have some good memories of that place to make up for the bad.”
Lin Qiushi pulled back, looking at Gao Dawei’s hand in surprise. Only to once again feel it covering his own. “I have a room here. How about we go up and catch up some more.”
Some, or well, most of Lin Qiushi’s friends would accuse him of being oblivious when it came to romantic overtures. That was more or less fair, however, it was impossible to ignore it from someone who looked like Ruan Nanzhu from a distorted mirror but acted nothing like him. Not after what they’d almost had.
“I’m sorry—that’s not what I came for.” Lin Qiushi pulled away again, this time taking his journal with him.
Gao Dawei’s disappointment was evident, “It’s obvious you sought me out, I thought that maybe—”
“I never felt that way about you.” Lin Qiushi said with complete honesty.
Gao Dawei’s lips turned down in an all too familiar way, “I didn’t think so, but you haven’t been able to take your eyes off me since you got here.”
Lin Qiushi flinched, standing to back away a few steps. No matter how close Gao Dawei looked to Ruan Nanzhu, he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair to him or Lin Qiushi to linger.
“I didn’t think you felt like that about me.” He managed, finally keeping his eyes to himself.
Gao Dawei let out a bitter laugh, “I was hung up on you for half my life, Lin Qiushi.”
Lin Qiushi snapped his head up, looking at Gao Dawei in shock, who shook his head with a sigh. “Guess I should’ve known it was too good to be true, but I still had to take my shot right? Are you sure you’re not interested?”
Lin Qiushi shook his head, even if he had been tempted it would have only broken his heart. He wanted someone who chose him over anyone else. Whatever could have been between him and Gao Dawai died that day, buried deep in the earthquake’s rubble.
“Huh, girlfriend then?” Gao Dawei asked ambivalently.
“Boyfriend.” Or at least, they’d almost been. By the time Lin Qiushi was ready, everything was already spiraling out of control.
A sly grin crept up on Gao Dawei’s face. “Ah, so I’m too late then. Well, call me if you ever break up, considering you found me in the first place, I’m sure you have my number.”
Lin Qiushi’s embarrassment was overshadowed by the existence of the twelfth door. He was used to chasing clues no matter how tenuous after all.
That night, curled up in a too large, cold hotel bed by himself, Lin Quishi booked a flight back to China from his phone. Afterall, he’d done everything he’d gone to Germany to do.