Three bloom only for you.

Despite trying to comfort himself, an overwhelming panic seized Wu Qingchen’s heart, leaving him unable to utter another word. The car fell into silence; all conversation ceased.

Soon, the motorcade left the city, merging onto the national highway. The journey proceeded smoothly, with a lead car clearing the way and a rear guard following behind. It was nearly forty minutes before the police car began to slow down for the first time.

They were now approaching a stretch near the expressway entrance, a place Wu Qingchen barely recognized. The road itself hadn’t changed, but a seemingly endless cordon ran down the center. On either side of the cordon, every meter or so, stood two soldiers back-to-back. The lane Wu Qingchen’s car traveled was clear, but the opposite lane was jammed with countless vehicles. Wu Qingchen saw, just ahead of his own convoy, a van and a truck traveling in the same direction being stopped by several soldiers, then quickly redirected to the other side of the cordon, where they parked at the very end of the line.

The deceleration was smooth and gradual. When the convoy finally halted, the expressway entrance lay just ahead. Even after the stop, the four occupants of the police car remained utterly vigilant—the engine was still running.

The entrance to the expressway had never been so empty. Several individuals, their affiliations indiscernible, appeared to be directing proceedings. Most of the vehicles in the convoy quickly turned around and departed, leaving only a dozen or so police and soldiers who, under the same direction, engaged in various odd actions around the entrance.

It was a long while before a middle-aged man, about forty, approached the police car and saluted the senior officer. “Reporting in, everything is normal. Awaiting your orders.”

The senior officer returned the salute and pressed an earpiece with focused attention. Soon, he lowered his left hand and gestured toward the expressway entrance, addressing the military driver: “Alright, proceed.”

Are we getting on the expressway now? Where are they taking me? Who have I offended to warrant all this?

If the previous chain of bizarre events had only brought Wu Qingchen stress and tension, the realization that he was about to be taken far from home plunged him as if into water, only to have his last straw ripped away—his heart filled instantly with terror and dread.

“I... I...” He didn’t know what to say or do. Some unspeakable emotion made him suddenly straighten up, breaking free from the grip of the two officers.

“What’s happening!” “Sit down!” “What are you doing!” “Grab him!” “Careful! Careful!”

If the four shouted commands at the door before had been stern and severe, these five were truly hoarse with desperation.

The commotion inside the police car instantly drew the attention of the police and soldiers at the expressway entrance, who had been watching the car intently. In a split second, Wu Qingchen saw at least dozens of people rushing toward the police car.

They moved as if their shoes were on fire or as if bullets were chasing them. Though their postures varied—some ran, some leapt, some lunged, some spun around—they were united in urgency. Faces twisted with tension and anxiety, some so agitated as to appear almost ferocious. Wu Qingchen noticed a young soldier, perhaps just a teenager, who, in his haste, lost his balance and fell hard on the concrete. Ignoring the blood streaming from his scraped palms, he scrambled on all fours toward the police car, only to fall behind the others, his face awash in regret and anxiety, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Officer Ji! Is this the result of your work?” Director Zhang’s white hair stood nearly on end.

“Is this the result of my methods, or your attitude?” Ji Mingming flung off his cap as he stepped out of the police car, slamming the door behind him and pulling out his phone. “Authorization! Caution! Authorization! Caution! All you think about is rigid protocol and shirking responsibility. Have we ever had anything like this before? Ever had these so-called rules? The rules be damned!”

The chaos quickly subsided. Whether inside or outside the police car, every face was grim, yet no one said a word to Wu Qingchen—though at this moment, curled up and trembling in the back seat, he needed no further warning.

During this, after the officers had once again restrained Wu Qingchen, the senior military officer stepped out of the car, making calls to unknown parties. Several minutes later, he returned to the front passenger seat. When Ji Mingming finished his own call and sat back down, the senior officer nodded to the young military driver: “Alright, proceed.”

This stretch of the journey was shorter. No sooner had they finished the entrance ramp than the police car stopped again.

Where they stopped, a dozen or so all-black vans were parked nearby, surrounded by dozens of soldiers standing or squatting. One of the vans slowly pulled up beside the police car.

Another middle-aged officer approached, saluted, and handed over a document. “Director, Officer Zhang, these are new orders.”

The senior officer—addressed as “Director”—read the document carefully, then handed it to Officer Zhang on Wu Qingchen’s right, who also examined it closely.

After reading, the gray-haired Director Zhang looked up at the middle-aged officer. “What’s the plan from here?”

“Let’s switch vehicles first, I’ll explain on the way...” The officer tapped a matching earpiece on his left ear and opened the van’s door, revealing three fully armed soldiers. “You know time is tight... and it’s only getting tighter...”

Officer Zhang nodded and, with Ji Mingming, led Wu Qingchen out of the police car.

As Wu Qingchen climbed into the van, darkness closed in. The windows were tiny and deeply tinted. He couldn’t see the driver, but the three armed soldiers seemed even younger, their faces tense. As soon as Wu Qingchen entered, the soldiers chambered their weapons, and the last to get in, Ji Mingming, shut the door behind them.

Three of them took seats in the rear. The van started up quickly, joining a new convoy with Wu Qingchen’s van near the front.

This time, the convoy sped along at a breakneck pace. Trees, houses, hills flashed by outside, leaving only streaks of shifting color on the retina.

Once underway, Ji Mingming repeatedly pressed his earpiece and occasionally moved his lips and throat, seizing brief moments between transmissions. Finally, when Wu Qingchen had regained a sliver of composure, he could bear it no longer: “Officer Ji, I want to know—who did I offend?”

“What are you talking about?” Ji Mingming looked baffled, then realized: “Still imagining things?”

“I just don’t understand what’s going on.”

“No one would, in your place... Tell you what, just wait a moment...” Ji Mingming tucked the unlit cigarette he’d been sniffing behind his ear—a gesture he’d repeated many times, but never actually lit up—and quietly spoke a few words into his throat mic.

This time, the response took longer—at least three minutes before Ji Mingming’s ear twitched and his perpetually furrowed brow finally eased.

“Alright, Mr. Wu Qingchen,” Ji Mingming turned to him, “It isn’t really my place to explain, and I don’t know much myself. But given your state—especially your earlier... less mature reaction—my orders have changed a little.”

Ji Mingming’s expression told Wu Qingchen he’d meant to say “childish” rather than “immature,” but Wu Qingchen felt no embarrassment. “Your orders?”

“Yeah, I’m here just to talk, keep you company.”

“You’re an interrogator?”

“See? There you go again.” Ji Mingming spread his hands. “Yes, it’s complicated, but let’s not make it worse. From now on, take my words at face value.”

“Alright, please go on.”

“First, you haven’t offended anyone... at least not in the way you think. Second, no one wants to harm you—at least, no one here dares to. Confusing? Doesn’t matter, let’s rephrase.”

“Look at this expressway—what do you see?”

What could one see on an expressway? Four lanes? Medians? Separate directions of traffic? Asphalt pavement? Nothing unusual.

The van’s windows were small and dim. Wu Qingchen peered out for a while, but saw nothing special.

“Be patient.” Before Wu could express confusion, Ji Mingming pointed outside.

Wu Qingchen turned his head, taking in the asphalt, the median, the trees, farmland, mostly low houses. After a long silence, he suddenly looked up in realization.

From the moment he began watching until he finally understood—ten, maybe fifteen minutes—he hadn’t seen a single other vehicle, in either direction, except their own convoy.

“Notice anything?” Ji Mingming grinned. “The entire expressway has been cleared for you alone.”

The entire expressway, open for you alone.

Wu Qingchen’s mouth gaped.

“Still not getting it?” Ji Mingming shook his head. “Mr. Wu, think differently. Are you some bodybuilder? A champion fighter? Special skills, nerves of steel?”

Wu Qingchen said nothing.

“If all this was just to deal with you...” Ji Mingming gestured in a circle, “Would we need all these vehicles? All these people?”

“But why...”

“Why such a spectacle, right? It’s simple: you’re far too easy to handle, and that makes protecting you much harder. That’s why we’re doing this. Yes—protecting.”

“What? Hard to believe? You’ll find it even harder to believe what’s next.” Ji Mingming’s grin took on a cruel edge. “And don’t go imagining you’re a key witness in a major case. You’re not. Until today—no, until just a few hours ago—your file barely filled a page or two. Anyone who tried to catch you would have been wasting police resources.”

“A few hours ago?” Under the immense pressure, Wu Qingchen didn’t care about Ji’s contempt, latching onto the key point.

“Very good, Mr. Wu! That’s the right idea.”

“But a few hours ago...” Wu Qingchen frowned, thinking back. “I was sleeping at home. Is there a mistake?”

“Ha! Sleeping—then there’s even less of a mistake. The whole world knows you were asleep, even knows what you were dreaming.”

“Officer Ji, you—”

For a moment, Wu Qingchen even wondered if he’d offended Ji Mingming himself, but couldn’t think what to say, and his gaze drifted to Director Zhang, the gray-haired man.

Director Zhang nodded slowly, his expression grave. “He’s not joking.”

Has everyone lost their minds? If it weren’t for the sharp metallic smell inside the van, Wu Qingchen would have thought he was dreaming.

“This is too complicated to explain by words alone. Just rest for now—authorization should come through soon.” With that, Ji Mingming focused on a cardboard box he’d produced from somewhere and set on his lap.

Wu Qingchen’s confusion was stifled for the time being. Oddly, though nothing was resolved and his mind swarmed with even more questions, talking with Ji Mingming had somewhat calmed him.

The convoy sped on. After some time, a distant roaring began overhead—at first like muffled thunder, quickly growing louder into a thunderous rumble.

Huge shadows swept swiftly across the ground. Wu Qingchen looked up and gasped.

New visitors had appeared in the sky, flying in a wedge formation alongside the convoy. Several surged ahead, most kept pace on the flanks.

One, two, three... eight, nine helicopters—also part of the security detail?

This stretched Wu Qingchen’s imagination to its limits. His mouth gaped wider still, but the others seemed unfazed, as if they’d expected it.

He had never seen helicopters up close before. Even at a distance, the nine looming shapes in the sky radiated power and menace.

Staring upward in a daze, Wu Qingchen didn’t know how much time passed before Ji Mingming suddenly laughed, both hands tapping a fourteen- or fifteen-inch display. “Ha! That was fast—approval’s in? Special authorization from the Office of Major Disaster Response? Qingchen, looks like your case is even more complicated... Alright, take a look for yourself. After this, you’ll understand.”

Authorization? Major disaster? Special approval?

At last, would he know why? Wu Qingchen unconsciously wiped his palms on his pants, took the display from Ji Mingming, who tapped a few keys, switching through menus to a video.

The video was clearly not shot by professionals—the camera was distant, the image blurry, but the scene was well chosen: blue sky, a few white clouds; a winding river dividing forest and hills; near the river, three peasants toiling in a small field...

...and still toiling... and toiling... and toiling...

For five full minutes, the video showed nothing but this.

What is this? Pre-earthquake footage?

Wu Qingchen frowned at the display, puzzled, and glanced at Ji Mingming.

“No thoughts? ...” Ji Mingming seemed surprised at his reaction, then quickly realized, “Ah—different perspective.”

He leaned in and tapped the display, zooming in on the field. The camera was clearly high-end; even at heavy magnification, the tools, crops, weeds—all were crisp. Every bead of sweat on the peasants’ foreheads, the numb exhaustion of the first two, the baffled surprise of the third—crystal clear.

Crystal clear.

Crystal clear.

It was as if a thunderclap exploded beside his ear. Wu Qingchen’s hands trembled so violently he nearly dropped the display.

This... this... this...

Isn’t that me? Isn’t that me? Isn’t that me?

Isn’t this the dream I had at noon? Isn’t this the dream I had at noon? Isn’t this the dream I had at noon?

How could this be? How could this be? How could this be?

It was as if the floor of the van had turned to solid ice—a biting cold shot up from his feet to his head, freezing his tongue. Wu Qingchen’s lips quivered, but no sound came out.

Black technology... brain implants... thought monitoring... neural control...

A thousand movie scenes flashed through Wu Qingchen’s chaotic mind. Sweat rolled in beads down his ashen cheeks to his trembling chin.

“Calm down, Mr. Wu! Please, stay calm!” Director Zhang glared at Ji Mingming, leaning forward, anxiously rubbing his hands as if he wanted to seize Wu Qingchen’s arms, but hesitated and did not.

Smack!

Ji Mingming clapped a hand loudly in front of Wu Qingchen’s face. Wu jolted, his eyes regaining focus.

“Do you understand now?”

“No, I don’t!” Wu Qingchen didn’t know if he was dreaming—or, more precisely, whether he was truly alive, whether his life was even real, whether he himself existed at all. Struggling to control his tongue, he said, “This is impossible! How could this be! This is my dream! How could you... how could you...”

“No, this is the truth!” Ji Mingming’s voice drowned out Wu Qingchen’s now-sobbing protest. “Wu Qingchen, even if you closed your eyes for another hour, this would still be reality!”

“What gives you the right to monitor me! Even... even record my dreams!” As he spoke, Wu Qingchen grew more lucid, though he himself knew how irrational he sounded.

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Ji Mingming looked at him as if he were a card-playing mouse. “You think we want to watch you dream? You think this is a movie filmed in your apartment?”

He jabbed the display so hard his finger seemed to go through it. “Let me tell you, Mr. Wu! This afternoon—May 8, 2012, 1:27:13 p.m.—anyone in the world, anybody with eyes, no matter the time of day, who looked up at the sky could see what’s in this video! Do you understand? By now, the number of people who have seen this, in order, probably surpasses two or three billion.”

The whole world could see? I’ve become a mirage... No, my dream has become a mirage?

He couldn’t imagine what Ji Mingming—or anyone—would gain by conspiring to deceive him. Wu Qingchen felt weak all over.

“Hah! And that’s not all! Want to know how we found you?” Ji Mingming deftly scrubbed through the video to the final segment:

Wu Qingchen’s dream-self, frightened, stood up to leave, tripped on a branch, and fell onto a rock. His face didn’t even show pain.

Then, without any cinematic fade, the video cut abruptly to its final frame: a small bedroom, Wu Qingchen lying face-down on a crumpled quilt, brow slightly furrowed, scar on his left eyebrow, dark spot on his right arm, a mark on his calf clearly visible. Through an untidy curtain, three large shop signs were visible: “Glittering Eyewear,” “Golden Award Photography,” “Majesty Motors.”

“Cross-referencing business registration data nationwide, there are over a hundred and twenty streets with those three shops together... In our province, seven. Just in our search teams, there are over a hundred and twenty squads like Director Zhang’s.” Ji Mingming pointed at the three signs.

“Is dreaming a crime? Why don’t you arrest a mirage in the desert?”

“Of course dreaming isn’t a crime.” Ji Mingming finally managed a wry smile. “Mr. Wu, if this were only the world watching you dream, there’d be plenty of people looking for you, but we wouldn’t be here so fast, nor so urgently... Director Zhang...”

As he spoke, Ji Mingming scrubbed the video back a little, stopping at the moment Wu Qingchen’s dream-self fell onto the rock.

Pointing to the spot where Wu Qingchen hit the rock, Ji Mingming lifted his police shirt, revealing his abdomen—

—and a clear red mark.

At the same time, Director Zhang, at Ji Mingming’s prompt, sighed yet again and raised his shirt, revealing the same mark in the same spot.

Seeing Wu Qingchen gaping, Ji Mingming pressed on: “And these comrades, I should now have temporary command—please show the suspect the evidence of his ‘crime.’”

The three soldiers moved their lips and throats, presumably seeking permission by throat mic. After a few seconds, they set their weapons aside, lifted their combat shirts, and displayed six-pack abs—each with a prominent red mark.

“Do you understand now?” Ji Mingming lowered his shirt. “Based on current investigation and statistics, regardless of age or gender—even newborns in hospital, even prisoners just executed—everyone has suddenly developed this same red mark on their bodies... Moreover...”