I'm doing engineering in the instance.

Chapter 26 Completion Report

Hsieh Cheng-chou sat down at his worktable and turned to a new page of his memo.

He didn't have much to write on this page, but he needed to finish it.

He had written the completion report for #001, using a format he defined himself: project number, scenario type, rule records (explicit/implicit rules), variable records, items to be verified, and evaluation conclusions. #002 was more complex than #001, with more variables and more items to be verified, but the format was the same.

He wrote the project number at the top: "#002·Pipeline·Underground Pipeline Network".

Next is the scenario type: "Group Adventure, 2 players, beginner stage".

Next came the rule recording. He wrote the explicit and implicit rules separately: three explicit rules and six implicit rules, each followed by its verification status and confidence level. When he got to implicit rule B, he paused—"The fluid anomaly cycle is about eleven minutes, with an error of ± two minutes"—and added a parenthesis after the confidence level for this rule: "(Three trigger data points, sample size is too small, pending verification with a third copy containing the fluid system.)"

Then there are variable records.

He paused in the "Variables" column for a longer time than he did in the rules section.

He wrote: "Old Zhao, approximately sixty years old, retired plumber, ID JG-0089. Variable evaluation: valid. Knowledge type: empirical, unsystematic, with higher accuracy than systematic knowledge in the plumbing scenario. Leg injury: persists after the scenario ends, already treated."

Then he paused below that line.

He was thinking about that sentence—"After working in pipelines for thirty years, this is the first time someone has said I'm useful."

He didn't include that sentence in the completion report. That's not where such a thing is supposed to be. But he didn't delete it either; he just let it sit in his mind for a few seconds before continuing to write.

Items to be verified: Six items, including the source of the note, the actual size of the acceptance team, Qian's position, the third data point of the cross-copy pattern, the complete information of the missing worker JG-0471, and the precise value of the fluid anomaly cycle.

Assessment Conclusion: "#002 Completed. Main quest completed. S rating. Collaboration variables effective. Nine new records added to the database. Cross-replica pattern hypothesis: 72% confidence level, pending verification in the third replica."

He finished writing the last line and closed the memo.

Then he placed his hand on the workbench and felt the temperature of the surface.

It's cool and dry, a completely different texture from the damp coldness inside the pipes.

He sat in the space, not immediately doing anything else.

It's not because there's nothing to do—the assessment framework for #003 can be further refined, the annotations for several records in the database can be more precise, and the information from the acceptance team can be reorganized. There is something to do.

But he sat there, not moving.

He mentally reviewed the events of the past two days: #001, 18 minutes and 47 seconds, single person, chemical plant, plant supervisor, vibration prediction, main switch, SS rating. Then #002, 47 hours, pipeline, Lao Zhao, fluid anomaly, crawler, thermos cup, note, C-7 valve, S rating.

With the two instances, plus the time spent in Yuan City, and the time recorded in his personal space, he has been in this system for nearly seventy-two hours.

He realized something.

He's not hungry.

This was rather strange. Normally, a person would have given up after seventy-two hours without food. But while he was in #002, he didn't feel hungry or thirsty—he noticed this and noted it in his memo: "Within the territory: physiological needs seem to be suppressed; no hunger or thirst felt."

But he is currently in his personal space, not in the historical realm.

He went over the matter in his mind, then opened his memo, flipped to the "Pending Verification" section, and added a note at the bottom: "Physiological need suppression mechanism within the immersive/personal space: Exists, scope to be confirmed. Is there a compensatory response upon returning to reality? To be observed."

He closed the memo and prepared to leave his personal space.

Then he felt it.

It's not hunger, but something more fundamental—a low-frequency, continuous feeling of depletion coming from within the body, like a constantly running system suddenly handing over a report saying: You've overdrawn your energy, now it's time to pay it back.

Not just his stomach, but his entire body. His shoulders were tense; he pressed them down slightly and heard a soft pop. His cervical spine was stiff; he turned his head to the left, then to the right, each angle about ten degrees smaller than usual. His hands were steady—he placed both hands on the workbench and glanced at them; they were steady, but there was a thin layer of dried salt on the backs of his hands, left from evaporated sweat.

He was sweating in the pipe. He didn't notice at the time because the pipe was wet, and it was hard to tell whether it was sweat or moisture.

He turned his wrist over and glanced at his right calf—the wound had already scabbed over when he came out, but he could now feel a slight, persistent warmth in that area, as the subcutaneous tissue repaired itself.

He mentally summarized this information into a single line: "Physical condition: depleted, not damaged. The normal cost of 72 hours of intense focus."

Then he shifted his attention away from the worktable and left his personal space.

The noise from Yuan City reappeared for a second, then disappeared.

A wave of dizziness washed over me.

It wasn't the kind of dizziness that makes you feel like you're about to fall, but rather the kind where your vision is spinning, but your feet feel stable. It lasted for about two seconds and then disappeared. He placed his hand on the wall next to him, waited for the dizziness to pass, and then lowered his hand.

He is in the real world.

In the construction site dormitory, in a single room, the chair he sat in before entering the system was still there. The memo on the table was still there, and the page he had opened to was the last line he had written before entering #001: "Project number: C-0047. Project status: Underway."

He picked up his phone and glanced at the time.

8: 17.

He logged into the system shortly after midnight yesterday, and it's now 8:17 AM. Approximately eight hours have passed in the real world.

He mentally noted down the number and then added a note to his phone's memo app: "Real-world time flow: approximately 8 hours = approximately 72 hours within the historical timeframe. Ratio: approximately 1:9. Awaiting second verification."

He stood up, stood for about two seconds, and checked the condition of his legs—his legs were stable, but his knees felt a little weak when he stood up, like the weakness he felt after sitting for a long time. It wasn't a leg injury, but the stiffness of muscles that hadn't been used.

He walked to the door, put on his construction clothes, and went out.

There was someone in the corridor; it was Old Li, the electrician from the next dormitory, carrying an enamel bowl filled with white porridge, walking towards the cafeteria.

"Good morning," said Old Li. "I didn't see you last night and wondered where you'd gone."

"She's asleep," Xie Chengzhou said.

"He's sleeping soundly," Old Li said. "The cafeteria has duck legs today, so go early, or they'll be gone."

Xie Chengzhou nodded and followed the corridor toward the cafeteria.

The construction site canteen is located on the first floor of the main building of the project headquarters. It has the standard layout of a construction site canteen: a tin roof, long tables, stainless steel plates, and three large pots behind the window. The cooks are wearing white aprons with several oil stains on them, and it is hard to tell whether they are from yesterday or today.

Xie Chengzhou stood at the window and glanced at today's dishes.

A large bowl of braised duck legs, a deep brown color, glistening with oil. The duck legs were neatly arranged, each one whole, not cut up. Next to it was a bowl of stir-fried cabbage, the cabbage stalks translucent with slightly charred edges. Then came a bowl of soup, rice porridge, with a few chopped scallions floating on top.

Then he saw the potted thing.

A stainless steel basin, its rim lined with a ring of dark brine stains, the result of long-term use. Inside was a deep brown braising liquid, not the clear kind, but the thick, viscous kind that had been repeatedly simmered, with the addition of soy sauce and collagen, its color resembling soy sauce paste, with a thin layer of oil floating on the surface. A row of pig livers was arranged in the braising liquid, each piece neatly cut, cut side up, its surface a glossy dark brown, with a darker ring around the edge—the residue left after the braising liquid had reduced.

The aroma arrived first—star anise, cinnamon, dark soy sauce, and a touch of cloves, propelled by the steam from the pot, mingling with the savory aroma of the duck legs nearby, creating a distinct olfactory zone around the window. Xie Chengzhou stood there, the aroma filling his nostrils.

The workers in line next to him were already pointing, "Two pieces, extra braising sauce, please." The cook rummaged through the food with tongs, "That's all left," he said, "Hurry up if you want some, it'll be gone soon." He turned to Xie Chengzhou, "Want some?"

"Yes," Xie Chengzhou said. The cook used tongs to dip into the braising liquid, rummaged around, found a piece with a intact cut, picked it up, tapped it against the rim of the bowl to drain the excess braising liquid, and then placed it on a plate. The two pieces of liver were neatly arranged, the braising liquid seeping down the cut surface, staining a small dark patch on the bottom of the plate. Then he picked up a duck leg for Xie Chengzhou, scooped a spoonful of stir-fried cabbage, and served him a bowl of rice porridge, his movements showing the practiced skill of someone who had used it for many years, without pausing between each step.

He took his tray and sat down by the window.

Outside the window was a construction site; tower cranes were operating, and workers were moving on the scaffolding in the distance, their yellow hard hats standing out in the morning light. Construction noise seeped in through the window cracks: the low-frequency vibrations of the concrete mixer, the metallic clanging of steel pipes, and someone shouting somewhere, but the noise drowned out all other sounds, leaving only a silhouette.

He picked up the duck leg and took a bite.

The skin is crispy, the meat is firm, it's a little salty and a little sweet, the sauce has seeped into the meat, and the meat next to the bone is the most tender, you have to use your teeth to peel it.

He finished the duck leg, placed the bone on the side of his plate, and then inserted his chopsticks into the cut surface of Peppa Pig's liver, feeling the resistance—it had the texture of thoroughly braised meat, not hard, but elastic, with a slight rebound when the chopsticks were inserted. He cut a piece; the cut surface was a light pink, even, without any blood streaks, indicating it had been braised long enough. The first taste was salty and savory, the kind of saltiness from dark soy sauce and salt, followed by five-spice, then the slight bitterness of cinnamon, and then that strong base flavor unique to offal, lingering at the back of his throat for a few seconds. The braising liquid had seeped into the liver; every bite was moist, not dry or crumbly, the kind of unpretentious but hearty cooking you'd get in a construction site canteen. He finished the second piece, rinsed the remaining braising liquid on his plate with rice water, and drank it.

"Shall we sit here?"

The sound came from his left.

Xie Chengzhou looked up and saw Old Meng. He was carrying a stainless steel plate with duck leg, stir-fried cabbage, and two pieces of Peppa Pig liver—one more than Xie Chengzhou. He stood next to the bench, nodded to Xie Chengzhou, and sat down without waiting for a reply.

Old Meng always does this on construction sites: he doesn't ask many questions, he just gets right to work.

Xie Chengzhou moved the bowl of rice soup to the side to make room for him.

Old Meng put down his plate, picked up his chopsticks, first took a piece of Peppa Pig liver, put it in his mouth, chewed it a few times, and said, "The braising sauce is better than last time." He added, "Last time there was too much cinnamon, so it was bitter."

Xie Chengzhou did not answer because he had no previous reference.

Old Meng didn't pay any attention and continued eating. The two of them didn't speak for a while. The noise from the cafeteria swirled around them. Some people were talking loudly about last night's card game, others were discussing today's work, and somewhere, someone slammed a stainless steel plate against the edge of the table, making a crisp sound.

Old Meng took a few bites, placed his chopsticks on the edge of his plate, and glanced at Xie Chengzhou.

"The back of my hand," he said.

Xie Chengzhou glanced down at his hand; the thin layer of salt on the back of his hand looked slightly white under the cafeteria lights.

"You're sweating," Old Meng said. "Sweating in your sleep?"

"Maybe," Xie Chengzhou said.

Old Meng picked up his chopsticks again. "Drink more water," he said. "It's dry here, and it's easy to get dehydrated."

After he finished speaking, he continued eating without looking at Xie Chengzhou again.

Xie Chengzhou picked up the bowl of rice soup, took a sip, and went over Lao Meng's actions in his mind: turning his head to look at the back of his hand, saying "You're sweating," then "Drink more water," and then continuing to eat.

He mentally marked the incident, not writing it into his memo, but simply noting: "Old Meng: Noticed the salt stains. Response: Normal concern. Or: Noticed them, but didn't pursue the matter further."

He had no way of knowing which one it was.

He finished his rice porridge and pushed his plate aside.

Old Meng was still eating, his thermos placed next to his plate, the lid screwed on, just like he always did.

Xie Chengzhou stood up. "I'm leaving now," he said.

Old Meng gestured to him with his chopsticks. "Go ahead," he said. "The client will be here at nine o'clock. Check the emergency exit beforehand; there was a place where materials were piled up last time."

Xie Chengzhou nodded and carried the tray toward the recycling bin.

He didn't ask Lao Meng how he knew the emergency exit was blocked. Lao Meng had been at the construction site longer than him, so it was normal for him to know these things.

But he memorized the sentence.

He put the plate into the recycling bin and walked towards the construction area.

I ran into Old Li again in the corridor. He was walking back with an empty bowl in his hand. "How's the duck leg?" he asked.

"It's alright," Xie Chengzhou said.

"Not bad," Old Li repeated, then laughed, "You're really good at keeping your mouth shut."

Xie Chengzhou walked towards the construction area, and when he was almost at the entrance of the construction area, he saw Team Leader Song.

Team Leader Song stood at the emergency exit on the side of the entrance, holding a notebook and reviewing the situation inside. He was the company's safety and rescue team leader assigned to this project. He was in his early forties, rather thin, but his posture was one of very stable balance, as if he were ready to move at any moment.

"Team Leader Song," Xie Chengzhou said.

Team Leader Song looked up. "You're here," he said. "Perfect timing. Take a look around."

He stepped aside, and Xie Chengzhou entered the passageway. He glanced around and saw several bundles of steel bars piled up on the left side of the passageway. These were materials that had arrived yesterday afternoon and had not yet been transferred to the designated storage area, reducing the effective width of the passageway to less than 80 centimeters.

"Clean it up this morning," Xie Chengzhou said. "I'll have the team leader arrange it."

"Hmm," Captain Song wrote a line in his notebook, "The client is coming today, they'll definitely check the fire escape."

"I know," Xie Chengzhou said.

Team Leader Song closed his notebook, looked up at him, and asked, "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"I'm asleep," Xie Chengzhou said.

Team Leader Song didn't say anything more. He tucked the notebook under his arm and walked toward the next checkpoint. His stride was even, neither fast nor slow, and each step landed with roughly the same weight, as if he were doing something that required rhythm.

Xie Chengzhou stood at the entrance of the passage and looked at him for two seconds, then turned around and walked into the construction area.

The light in the construction area was slanted, coming from the east, casting long shadows of the scaffolding. The ground was wet, still damp from last night's dew, and the soles of my boots felt slightly sticky when I walked on it. The smells of concrete, steel, earth, and cooking fumes wafting from a canteen exhaust vent mingled together—the same smell Xie Chengzhou had experienced working there for twelve years.

He walked around the construction area for about ten minutes, checking several key points that the client might inspect today: emergency access (already notified to be cleared), rebar storage area (compliant with regulations), scaffolding wall ties (two loose sections were found during the last inspection and have been rectified; a follow-up inspection today showed no issues), and edge protection (complete).

He stood at the intersection of Zone B and Zone C, took out his phone, and prepared to send a message to the team leader, asking him to arrange for someone to clear the passage.

My phone vibrated.

It wasn't a message, it was a video call.

The screen displays: Mom.

He accepted it.

The screen showed the living room, with morning light filtering through the curtains. His mother was sitting on the sofa, holding a bowl of porridge. When she saw him answer the call, she put the bowl down and moved closer to the camera.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"I ate it," Xie Chengzhou said.

"What did you eat?"

"Duck legs," he said, "and pig liver."

His mother nodded. "Pork liver is good, it's good for iron," she said. "How have you been looking lately? Let me see."

Xie Chengzhou held up his phone so she could see his face.

"It's alright," his mother said, "but you've lost a bit of weight. You must have been eating irregularly over there."

"A pattern," he said.

"The pattern," his mother repeated, with a slight pause in her voice that he could hear, "My classmate Old Chen, do you remember him? The one we used to play basketball with. His daughter is twenty-eight this year, working in the provincial capital. Your second aunt saw her last time and said she's quite pretty, so she asked me to ask you—"

"Mom," Xie Chengzhou said, "I'm at the construction site."

"I know you're at the construction site," his mother said. "I just want to ask you one question: would you like your aunt to ask her for you?"

"The signal isn't very good," Xie Chengzhou said.

His mother paused on the screen. "You said the same thing last time," she said.

"This time it's for real," Xie Chengzhou said. "Mom, the client is almost here, I have to hang up now."

"Okay," his mother sighed, "Go ahead and get busy, remember to drink plenty of water, and don't just focus on working."

"I understand," he said.

After hanging up, he put his phone back in his pocket and stood there for two seconds.

The client hasn't arrived yet. Forty minutes to go.

He took out his phone again and sent a message to the team leader: "Clear the steel bars on the left side of the emergency exit to the designated storage area before 9 o'clock."

Then he put the phone back and continued walking.

The construction site was bustling around him in the morning; tower cranes were turning, workers were walking, and the noise was uniform—the same uniformity he had experienced for the past twelve years.

He paused briefly at the entrance to the construction area, put on his safety helmet, and fastened the chin strap.

Then he went inside.

The actual scene, still the scene.