[Existentialism | 18:00] Come see me.

Last night, Zis had a dream. In it, he seemed to transform into a malevolent spirit and traveled back to an ancient temple sixteen years ago, disturbing his seven-year-old self.

Upon reflection, he wondered if it was truly a dream or something that actually happened. After all, in his vague memories, the seven-year-old him did seem to have encountered a demon.

According to quantum mechanics, the sequence of time is an illusion. Time travel could happen unwittingly, and the timeline entwining around him had likely already twisted into a Möbius strip.

The seven-year-old him couldn’t open the temple door, but the twenty-three-year-old could. So, the older him journeyed far away to celebrate the first birthday without his mother’s company, sending blessings to his younger self.

Together, they picked up a white stone suitable for painting and drew a vivid turtle high up on the door panel, orchestrating a clumsy yet flawless prank.

The boundary between reality and dreams isn’t so clear-cut. Zis wasn’t a philosopher, nor was he a compulsive person obsessed with order in life, so he didn’t intend to dwell on trivial details.

Yet he couldn’t help but wonder: what was so special about that birthday? Why did he insist on meeting his seven-year-old self?

Was it because on that birthday, his mother was for the first time thousands of miles away, seemingly heralding countless solitary days ahead?

Or was it because he knew his mother would return, prompting him to deliberately seek out his past self? Did his subconscious truly care about such things?

Zis lingered in bed until noon, finally forced to rise by a shrill doorbell. When he opened the door, the culprit was gone, leaving behind a large, ornate cake box.

Reluctantly, Zis remembered—it was his birthday. He was far beyond the age of joy for this annual artificial holiday, had long lost the companions with whom he once shared festive desires, and lacked the ritualistic sensibility to mark dates. Usually, only Jin Yusheng would drag him out for a meal.

Now, Jin Yusheng was avoiding him, certainly not inviting trouble by ordering a big cake and writing a "Happy Birthday" card—that was already more than enough. Zis had to admit that although he often found Jin Yusheng annoying, this sudden change in their dynamic felt unfamiliar.

His phone buzzed with a message from Lin Chen: “Brother Zis, happy birthday, happy New Year, may the coming year bring you joy!”

Zis realized today was not only his birthday but also New Year’s Day in most parts of the federation, a holiday celebrated worldwide under various names.

He opened the window and saw red banners and lanterns everywhere, hearing the crackle of firecrackers. People celebrated, though their reasons differed. They smiled upon meeting, briefly mistaking the other’s joy as their own, but human sorrow and happiness aren’t always mutually understood.

Suddenly, Zis recalled that twenty-three years ago, he was born amid such festive cheer—an innocent disaster, a timed bomb, a malevolent spirit descending into the world. The unwitting masses reveled in the holiday, unaware that shadows were extending their tendrils toward the city.

The imagery felt like the opening minutes of a horror film: the protagonists basking in peace, awaiting the first demon’s arrival and the ensuing screams. Memories of dozens of stories and films flooded his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile faintly.

He continued reading Lin Chen’s long message, which recounted the past year’s strange games and the help Zis had provided—from their first meeting in The Rose Manor to their latest mission.

The heartfelt letter made Zis imagine that if not for family obligations, Lin Chen would eagerly come celebrate with him, possibly triggering a wild spy-thriller chase involving the Paranormal Investigation Bureau.

As if to confirm his thoughts, a message popped up under the heading [Paranormal Investigation Bureau]: “Happy birthday to Vice President Zis of the Untitled Guild. Reply R to refuse.”

Suspecting a trap, Zis ignored it and deleted the insincere greeting. He also cleared his spam folder, where banks and foundations sent congratulatory messages with so-called exclusive gift links—likely just investment scams.

Birthdays had lost meaning for someone of his generation and age. They were merely excuses for unscrupulous entities to send spam and for indecisive people to justify spending.

Zis was no longer a child eager for birthday presents. He no longer craved sweets or cake; his ravaged stomach preferred instant noodles of all flavors. Had it not been for the dream last night, he might have forgotten what his childhood self once longed for.

On that seventh birthday, his mother had arrived quietly at six in the evening, carrying a cream cake, her exhaustion evident. She said living at the temple was no solution and promised to take him to a hospital next week. Maybe a psychiatrist could help.

She added that since he was about to start elementary school, it was best to cure his illness quickly to avoid delaying his education.

Zis couldn’t recall what he felt then, but logically, finally leaving the boring temple and no longer being separated from his parents should have made him happy and excited—maybe even proud enough to paint another turtle on the master’s door.

What happened afterward was unclear because, in the dream, after returning to the past, he sat on an old tree in the courtyard all night waiting, but his mother never came. He woke abruptly.

Fortunately, that experience sixteen years ago taught him that adults disliked hearing the truth. To avoid trouble, he had instinctively learned to behave obediently and pretend to be normal. He surely wouldn't risk drawing another turtle again.

Zis took his parents’ skeletal remains from the master bedroom. Accompanied by two ghostless skulls, he lit twenty-three candles, made a ridiculous wish for “world destruction,” and blew them out one by one.

After finishing the cake and tidying up the mess, he collapsed onto his bedroom bed, bored out of his mind, playing level after level of Happy Elimination until the latest update.

In the evening, a notification popped up—a timed email from sixteen years ago. Opening it, he saw a simple message:

“Zis, happy birthday!”

Only six plain words, accompanied by a childishly handwritten card. The sender’s name was—Zis himself.