The arcade was loud enough to make conversation feel optional.
Music spilled from rhythm games in one corner while racing simulators screamed through another. Children celebrated impossible victories, university students argued over whose turn was next, and somewhere near the entrance an old claw machine kept playing the same cheerful melody for no one in particular.
Qiū Huà Bǐ liked places like this.
People assumed he came for the games.
He came because the noise was the perfect distraction, but whether it worked or not was still up for debate.
A quiet room invited conversation. A crowded one let everyone disappear into themselves.
That was enough.
He sat in the back corner with a half-melted red-bean popsicle balanced on its wrapper, one hand resting lazily on the joystick of an aging fighting cabinet. His character moved almost entirely from habit. Sometimes he won. Sometimes he lost.
Either outcome disappeared the moment the next round began.
He preferred it that way.
Nothing expected him to care.
Another coin dropped into the slot.
The screen flashed.
GAME START.
He sighed almost contentedly.
"...Much better."
The cabinet threw another opponent at him.
He accepted without thinking.
By the time Yè Yī reached his apartment, midnight had settled over Hangzhou.
The hallway outside was quiet.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and locked it again out of habit.
Then—
Crunch.
He stopped.
Crunch.
He slowly closed his eyes.
"...No."
Crunch.
"...Definitely not.... I'm going to pretend I imagined that."
Another crunch answered him.
"...Too late."
He opened them.
Violet sat cross-legged on his sofa, one leg tucked beneath the other, a bag of potato chips resting comfortably in her lap. The television played tomorrow's weather forecast with the volume muted, washing the apartment in shifting blue light.
Without looking away from the screen, she raised a hand.
"You're back."
Yè Yī stared.
"I don't remember inviting you."
"You didn't."
"You broke in."
"I let myself in."
"You picked the lock."
"I unpicked the lock."
"...That's the same sentence."
"It really isn't."
She sounded strangely serious about it.
"Technique matters."
Yè Yī looked at the untouched lock.
There were no scratches. No bent metal. Nothing.
He let out a slow breath.
"You committed a crime."
"I committed curiosity."
"You broke into my apartment."
"I entered."
"Without permission."
"I was optimistic."
Yè Yī looked at the ceiling for several long seconds.
He wasn't praying.
He was considering whether explaining the situation to the police would somehow require even more effort.
Eventually... he gave up.
He wasn't sure whether that made him feel better or worse.
Giving up seemed healthier.
He dropped his backpack beside the entrance and walked into the kitchenette.
Behind him—
Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.
He poured himself a glass of water.
"...Those aren't even your chips."
"They are now."
He took a slow drink before speaking again.
"You said ET came looking for something."
The crunching stopped.
He turned.
Violet folded the empty chip bag and placed it beside her.
"They did."
"What was it?"
Instead of answering, she slipped a hand into the pocket of her hoodie.
When she pulled it back out, something rested in her palm.
A small golden plaque.
Its edges had been worn smooth by countless years, but the engraved characters remained astonishingly clear. They weren't decorative. They had been carved with purpose, every stroke carrying the quiet confidence of someone who had expected the plaque to outlive them.
She laid it gently on the coffee table.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Yè Yī's eyes remained fixed on it.
"...When?"
Violet looked up.
"Hm?"
"When did you get that?"
She smiled.
"I borrowed it."
His expression didn't change.
"...Borrowed."
"Mhm."
"Violet."
She sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
"I switched it."
Silence settled over the apartment.
"They found a plaque."
"They did."
"But not this one."
"No."
He looked at the golden plaque again.
"You switched them..."
"I had about fifteen minutes."
His eyes lifted.
"Fifteen?"
She nodded.
"I found another gold plaque, melted it down over a charcoal stove, reshaped it, copied the weight as closely as I could, then put it back before ET finished searching the west wing."
Yè Yī simply stared.
She scratched her cheek.
"...It was a busy fifteen minutes."
He blinked once.
"You did all that..."
"Mhm."
"...while ET was inside the manor."
"They were very focused."
"You could've been caught."
"I could've."
"And you still did it."
"I did."
Another silence.
Then—
"...You're impossible."
She smiled.
"There it is."
"What?"
"I was wondering when you'd say it."
He looked away before she could see the corner of his mouth threaten to move.
It almost did. Almost.
His attention returned to the plaque.
"I didn't even know..."
His voice had become quieter.
"...that my family had something like this."
"Most families don't."
Violet leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"But yours hid it well enough that someone was willing to turn an ancestral home inside out looking for it."
Yè Yī remembered the memorial hall.
He remembered the scattered records.
The displaced tablets.
Nothing had been smashed but everything had been searched.
"They weren't looking for valuables."
"No."
"They already knew what they wanted."
"Exactly."
Rain tapped gently against the apartment window.
Neither of them hurried to fill the silence.
After a while, Yè Yī asked the question that had been waiting since the plaque appeared.
"...What is it?"
Violet looked down at the gold resting between them.
She shook her head.
"I know it's old."
"How old?"
She met his eyes.
"Older than the Specialist world."
The apartment seemed to grow quieter.
Yè Yī frowned.
"...That's possible?"
"I think so."
She reached toward the plaque but stopped just before touching it.
"I think..."
Her voice became thoughtful.
"...whatever this belongs to..."
Her fingertips hovered above the engraved surface.
"...the Arms came after."
Neither of them spoke.
Then the plaque trembled.
It wasn't enough to make a sound against the table.
It was barely enough to be seen.
But both of them felt it.
A slow pulse spread through the room, subtle as a heartbeat heard through a wall.
Yè Yī looked down.
He hadn't touched it.
Neither had Violet.
The pulse came again.
Slow. Steady. Waiting.
Violet wasn't looking at the plaque anymore.
She was watching him.
"You feel it."
It wasn't a question.
Yè Yī gave the slightest nod.
"...Yeah."
She smiled almost imperceptibly.
Not because she had expected the answer— because she'd hoped he would arrive at it himself.
Some truths lost their meaning the moment someone else explained them.
Those... were always worth discovering on your own.