DOOMSDAY SUMMONING
Part Two
3
After about half an hour of riding, the motorcycle stopped. I pulled the cloth from my eyes and looked around—we were clearly in the suburbs, a desolate area without even a proper road. In front of us stood what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, with a few lights flickering inside.
She led me into the warehouse. It was cavernous and empty, and a middle-aged man was already waiting. He was impeccably dressed, his hair slicked with pomade, not a strand out of place. His deep-set eyes projected an air of intellectual refinement. He raised a hand in greeting: "Vivian, well done."
So the wild girl's name was Vivian. It sounded surprisingly gentle.
Then the man stepped forward and shook my hand. "You must be Mr. Matt. My name is Lucian Holt. A pleasure."
This man's manners were impeccable, but they only deepened my suspicion. "Mr. Luo, you dragged me out here in the middle of the night—what exactly do you want? I'm a nobody—no money, no connections. Nothing for you to exploit."
"Mr. Ma, you misunderstand. I simply want to make a friend," Lucian Holt smiled. "I read your article 'The Descent of Icarus,' and one line struck me deeply: 'The comet's light lingers, while ignorant humanity carouses.' Truly a stroke of genius."
Now it was my turn to be embarrassed. "Ah, that was just...I dashed it off casually..."
"Your piece gave me great inspiration. I'm hosting a comet-themed carnival party this weekend, and I'd like to invite you. Are you available?"
The conversational whiplash left me reeling. "Uh, a party? But I'm not very good at socializing..."
"No worries—we're all friends. I think you'll enjoy this party. If you're willing to come, Vivian will pick you up when the time comes."
Leaving the warehouse, I was blindfolded again as before, but my head was full of questions. Who were these people? Why so secretive? That Lucian Holt—clearly someone of substance—why was he holed up in a rundown warehouse in the middle of the night?
No answers, and Vivian clearly wasn't going to give me any. By the time she dropped me at my door, the sky was already growing light—golden shafts of dawn filtering through the clouds. As she started her motorcycle to leave, she asked me one more question: "Have you ever read the book 'The Hidden Messages in Water'?"
"I don't think so," I said, thinking.
"In that book, the author photographed 122 images of water crystals of different shapes under a microscope, demonstrating that water can sense changes in human emotion and generate different crystal structures. In other words, human intention can directly influence matter. This idea was considered too absurd by many and was dismissed as pseudoscience—but I know it's all true. Do you believe it?"
"I..." The golden dawn light reflected in her eyes, radiating prismatic color. I stared, mesmerized, and forgot to answer.
"Hey!" She snapped me out of it.
"Huh?" I jolted back to awareness.
"If you want to come to the party, go to Zhongmin Pharmacy and find the boss. He'll contact me." With that, Vivian revved her engine and sped off in a cloud of dust.
I rubbed my head and turned toward the horizon. The sun was already up. The whole night's experience felt like a dream—only the lingering ache in my skull reminded me that it had been real.
Damn it—I still hadn't taken my painkillers.
4
I soon pushed the whole thing to the back of my mind and went back to my routine—commuting to and from my dead-end job, enduring the editor-in-chief's abuse and exploitation. I texted Luna, but got no reply. I called her, and she rejected it. Then I checked her social media and saw a photo of her with that startup classmate—the two of them beaming at the camera.
Bitches and dogs, together forever, I thought, my heart shattering.
The only emotional pillar I had in this godforsaken city had crumbled. Humans really were fragile creatures. After work, I couldn't even muster the interest to cook instant noodles. I ordered takeout on a whim. A few minutes later, there was a knock. I assumed it was the delivery guy, but when I opened the door, I was met with the landlord's fleshy, fierce face.
"How many months do you owe?" she asked, like a cop interrogating a suspect.
"Two...or maybe four..." I mumbled.
"Did you see the demand notice I gave you?"
"I saw it."
"You saw it and you still haven't paid?!" She suddenly raised her voice, nearly making my heart leap out of my throat.
"I'm waiting for this month's salary...just give me a couple more days..."
"I've already given you plenty of days. How many more do you need?" She jabbed her finger at my forehead, forcing me backward until I plopped down on the sofa.
"Let me tell you, Matt—I'm not your mother, and this isn't a homeless shelter. No money, then get out! I'm giving you one week. If you can't pay the rent, you're out!" The landlord delivered her ultimatum and slammed the door behind her.
I fell into utter despair. Everything was going wrong. Now I was about to lose even the roof over my head. What sins had I committed in a past life? I pulled at my hair in anguish, one step away from hanging myself. Just then, the delivery guy arrived—or rather, it was a delivery uncle. He set down the food box, looked at me, and said earnestly: "Young man, don't just stay cooped up at home all the time—it'll ruin your health. Go out, make some friends. You'll find life is still beautiful."
I felt a sudden warmth from this stranger's kindness and choked up, trying to say thank you.
"Don't mention it," he patted my shoulder. "Just don't forget to give me a five-star review."
Maybe it was time to make some new friends—to sweep away this darkness over my heart. I dug out the outfit I'd worn to my newspaper interview and hadn't touched since, changed into it, and went to Zhongmin Pharmacy. The pharmacist looked surprised to see me.
"What do you need?"
"Nothing," I said. "Tell Vivian I want to go to the comet party."
Once again, late at night, I met Vivian. She was astride the same imposing Yamaha motorcycle.
"This time, no blindfold, right?"
"Blindfold on," she produced the cloth strip. "I still don't trust you."
We arrived at the same warehouse as before. Tonight, it was ablaze with light, packed with people chatting in clusters. As soon as I walked in, someone recognized me: "Matt? Hey, isn't this Matt, the author of 'The Descent of Icarus'?"
"Matt, hello! I read your blog post—brilliant writing. I even left a comment."
"I left one too. I even shared it."
I was overwhelmed by the attention. Most of the people here had read my article—was this a coincidence? At that moment, Lucian Holt appeared, and the noisy crowd fell silent, as if awaiting the start of some ritual.
Lucian Holt was clearly the host of this gathering. He cleared his throat and said: "Thank you all for coming tonight. Believe me—this is the dawn of a new world. But before we open the door to that new world, let us hear what suffering the old world has inflicted upon us."
He gestured, and a gaunt young man stepped forward, his eyes wide with trepidation as he surveyed the crowd. Then, trembling all over, he began to recount his tragic story: first he was cheated by his employer, a construction boss who refused to pay him; then his mother fell gravely ill and, with no money for treatment, was sent home to die; and just two days ago, when he'd tried to petition the authorities, he was beaten so badly his arm was fractured... It was the kind of tale that would silence men and bring women to tears. I saw people in the audience discreetly wiping their eyes.
After he finished, another person came forward to pour out their grievances—again, a litany of hardship with no glimmer of hope. In all honesty, they were all worse off than me—far worse. I suddenly felt like I was watching a talent show where every contestant tried to prove: "Who can claim the most wretched life?"
After several rounds of tearful testimony, the atmosphere of grief and fury in the room reached its peak. Someone shouted: "Let Icarus-3 crash into the Earth!"
"Let Icarus crash into the Earth!" Everyone took up the cry, wave upon wave, until it merged into a deafening torrent of voices.
I was stunned. These people were insane—they'd been tormented by life until they'd lost their reason. I tried to leave, but Vivian grabbed my hand. My fingers brushed against her wrist, and I inadvertently felt raised scars—winding like earthworms.
I looked at her in shock. She looked back at me. "Remember what I told you about 'The Hidden Messages in Water'? All objects can sense intention. Even something as vast as a comet—if our will is strong enough, it can sense our summons."
My brain buzzed. "You...you want to destroy the Earth?"
"What's wrong with that? Don't you want to destroy all of this?"