This is his regular cafeteria, where he eats three or four times a week. As he ate, he scrolled through Weibo's trending topics and saw a news item in the top ten:

#AI face swap#

"Today, a fresh young star gets 100 million AI face swaps!"

"The entertainment industry is amazing! Is this the power of a top celebrity? Love it, love it!"

"AI face swap? Isn't that only available in the domestic region?"

"DM me upstairs!"

As a professional gossip-eater, Sam, he was unfazed.

AI face swap is nothing new. Like a certain web drama, there was a character whose entire face was swapped by AI—what a disaster!

Distorted faces, stiff expressions, and flickering color patches...

Another example is ""XX Era,"" which also used AI face swap.

"Anyway, they use stand-ins for acting, voice actors for lines, and the stars just show their faces. It used to be green screen, now it's face swap—technology has upgraded. Maybe in a few years, real-life virtual celebrities will appear!"

William Clark posted a comment, picked up his bowl, and finished every last drop of soup.

"Boss, check please!"

After eating, he went outside. The rain seemed even heavier, and there was thunder too.

He dodged puddles, half-running upstairs, washed up, changed into fresh underwear, and collapsed on the bed, scrolling on his phone late into the night—thus ending another day as a couch potato.

When he sleeps, he usually sets his phone to turn on and off at certain times, and plays white noise.

White noise is a bit like rain, like wind, creating a natural atmosphere suitable for sleep. Of course, today he didn't need it; with the sound of real rain, he quickly fell asleep.

He didn't know how much time had passed when suddenly there was a rumbling thunder, the room shook, the walls and floor trembled, and a mysterious force called "quantum mechanics" rampaged through the room.

William Clark was half-awake, half-dreaming.

He slept until dawn.

Chapter 2 Where's My Wall

William Clark opened his eyes and immediately felt something was off.

This bedroom faces north to south, with the bed against the east wall, facing the west wall. On the other side of the west wall is empty space, since the building is at the edge.

He slipped on his shoes and ran to the west wall, stared at it for a while, and touched it, puzzled: "Why does it feel like this wall moved? Am I dreaming?"

He couldn't say what was wrong, but something definitely was. After pondering for a while with no clue, he set it aside and went downstairs to wash up.

Downstairs was a "Hangzhou Xiaolongbao" breakfast shop. Whether this actually exists in Hangzhou, he didn't know, but in the north, they're everywhere, and the taste was decent.

In the blink of an eye, he finished two baskets of buns.

William Clark got into his beat-up little car and headed to Shencheng, 80 kilometers away—this county is called Lingshui, a subordinate county of Shencheng.

He drove into the city and went to Yongquan Road.

There was a flower and bird market there, always bustling. At the entrance were two rows of flower stalls, and there were also vendors selling fish, insects, and rare stones. He walked straight in, all the way to the back, where there was a building behind the flower market.

Zhenqi Building!

Nicknamed the "Panjiayuan of the Northeast," the first floor sold stamps, coins, jade, and crickets; the second floor had folk antiques; the third floor was for street stalls. Today was market day, and stalls would close by noon.

As the saying goes: the sign of a middle-aged man losing his desires is when he starts tinkering with useless but expensive hobbies, like fishing, photography, or bead-stringing.

William Clark wasn't middle-aged yet, but he was slowly losing his desires.

Ever since he came back to inherit the family business, he'd given himself many hobbies, but none lasted more than three months. Lately, he'd gotten hooked on a new pastime and came today to hunt for treasures.

Inside, the place was packed and noisy, with stalls neatly lined up and an aisle down the middle.

Blue-and-white porcelain like those from the Forbidden City was casually tossed about, a Hatsune Miku figurine sat atop ""Selected Works of Mao Dun,"" Shanghai-brand watches, enamel mugs from the Revolution, second-hand instruments, toys, bronze coins, KFC cameras—everything you could imagine.

William Clark browsed around and stopped at one stall.

The owner sat on a small stool, stringing beads while scrolling through Douyin, exuding the air of a recluse in the city. Seeing a customer, he casually handed over a stool.

He put it under himself and started rummaging through a box, full of old cassette tapes and CDs.

""Leslie Cheung Farewell Concert,"" ""William So—It's Hard to Love Someone,"" ""New Forces in Mainland Music,"" ""Heartbroken Men Out of Print,"" ""Hedong Disco Medley 1,"" ""Xin Fengxia Peking Opera""...

The covers were well preserved, with lyric sheets inside, and even the stickers on the tapes were intact. They looked old, full of the vibe of that era.

William Clark had done some homework—cassette tapes have a lifespan. For a tape from the 80s or 90s to still play now isn't impossible, but it would have to be meticulously preserved.

He didn't think the stall owner had that kind of dedication; they were probably all self-recorded on blank tapes.

"Do these still play?"

The owner glanced over without replying. William Clark asked again, "How much for one?"

"30 cents (30 yuan)!"

"5 yuan for two."

"At least 10 cents!"

"Forget it then."

He turned to leave—definitely self-recorded, even 10 yuan for two felt like a rip-off.

He wandered around some more, but nothing caught his eye, so he left the flower and bird market.

Checking the time, he drove to a fast food restaurant, where a balding man in his thirties was sitting. The two made eye contact, and the man reached out his hand: "Hello, hello, you must be Old Clark?"

"Yes, the one you chatted with. You got here pretty early."

"Yeah, I work nearby."