未来镜像

姚海军　（美）尼尔·克拉克（Neil Clarke）　主编

ISBN：978-7-111-56454-6

本书纸版由机械工业出版社于2017年出版，电子版由华章分社（北京华章图文信息有限公司，北京奥维博世图书发行有限公司）全球范围内制作与发行。

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目录

序言一

序言二

序言三

以太

开光

格里芬太太决定于今夜去死

饿塔

安检

留下她的记忆

祖母家的夏天

寒冬夜行人

圆圆的肥皂泡

Ether

Coming　of　the　Light

Mrs.Griffin　Prepares　to　Commit　Suicide　Tonight

The　Hunger　Tower

Security　Check

Preserve　Her　Memory

Summer　at　Grandma’s　House

If　on　a　Winter’s　Night　a　Traveler

Yuanyuan’s　Bubbles

序言一

姚海军

微像文化与《科幻世界》的合作始于五年前，始于对中国科幻银河奖的升级打造。五年间，银河奖的提升有目共睹，而微像文化也发展成为连接科幻出版、动漫、影视的重要桥梁。事实证明，当下的中国科幻非常需要这样的跨界联动，但我知道这其实并不容易。

短短五年的时间，中国科幻发生了很多深刻的变化，其中之一，就是中外科幻交流模式的改变。过去很多年，尽管我们了解西方科幻中相当一部分经典，但西方国家对中国科幻的认识极为有限。不论是在美国的世界科幻大会上，还是在中国的国际性科幻大会上，中外科幻作家的交流，鲜少能够围绕中国的某部科幻小说深入展开。现在则不同了，中外科幻作家、学者之间有了《三体》《北京折叠》等越来越多的共同话题，中国科幻与西方科幻的交流模式从单向变成了双向。

这当然在很大程度上要归功于刘慈欣、郝景芳这样的优秀作家以及刘宇昆等一批热心华语科幻海外推介的译者。通过两座雨果奖奖杯，他们将中国科幻的影响力扩大到英语世界（其实不仅仅是英语世界，刘慈欣的《三体》在欧洲的某些非英语国家也取得了显著的成功）。我们欣喜地看到，世界科幻正因此变得更为丰富。

中国科幻文学的发展空间也得到了前所未有的拓展。众多的出版机构介入科幻出版，多家影视公司宣布自己的科幻影视拍摄计划，一些重要科研机构开始像美国的NASA一样听取科幻作家的意见，科幻这种原本被认为小众的文学类型甚至成为社会性话题。

当我们欣喜于这种巨变时，不应该忘记那些幕后英雄的努力，正是他们积极有效的译者组织与海外推介，这一切才得以发生。比如中国教育图书进出口总公司李赟先生的团队（他们组织翻译了《三体》），当然，更少不了张译文女士领导的微像团队。

因为银河奖的合作，译文刚刚接任微像文化CEO不久，我们就在北京的一家咖啡馆见了一面。她给我的印象深刻：典型的职业女性，年轻、精明、眼界开阔，对未来有着清晰、独到的判断。在将中国的科幻小说推介到英语世界方面，她的方法卓有成效——与美国科幻杂志《克拉克世界》（Clarkesworld）主编尼尔合作，让美国的科幻读者得以通过《克拉克世界》，持续不断地分享到中国科幻最新的创作成果。我很荣幸，这些作品中有多篇作品是通过《科幻世界》推荐，并且最初发表在《科幻世界》上的。

本书是对微像文化与《克拉克世界》《科幻世界》合作成果的最好呈现。我不想说本书完整反映了当下中国科幻日益多样化的复杂样貌，但至少从美国读者的角度看，这本小说集所选录的作家与作品代表着中国科幻火热的现实与未来，尤其是未来。

这本选集是特别的纪念，感谢译文的团队为本书所做的一切，包括邀我作序以及她耐心的等待。

我相信，这只是一个开始。未来才刚刚展开。

序言二

尼尔·克拉克

今年是我在《克拉克世界》杂志担任编辑的第十个年头。这实在有点令人吃惊，因为我之前从未想过要当一个编辑。我的大半辈子都在技术部门、学校和大学里度过。虽然在青少年时代，科幻作品对我产生了巨大的影响，但我能走上编辑这条路也颇具戏剧性。不过，走上这条路，我从不后悔，而且现如今，我竟也能与那些在我个人成长定型期被我视为人生偶像的作家和编辑们一起共事。看来，我之前做的所有事情都在引导我走向这一崭新的职业生涯，而我也因此收获了许多欢欣喜悦。

刚开始在《克拉克世界》杂志工作时，我就怀抱着填补出版界空白的理想。科幻作品于我而言一直是一种短暂的逃离。我热切渴望着与众不同的故事——那些能够激发我以新方式对事物进行思考和感知的故事，又或者是那些能引领我感受与自身经历迥然不同的故事。我们向世界各国的作者约稿，也收到了很多优秀的作品。但是，撇开最初的跨洋电话交流不谈，我渐渐发现尤其是非英语国家交来的稿子存在着理解上的鸿沟。我们知道，我们国家的作品被翻译成许多其他语言；我们也知道，像中国这样的地方往往拥有着非常庞大的科幻读者群，但我们并不了解如何才能真正地接触这些读者。和许多美国人一样，我只会说英语，而且现在越发认识到只掌握一种语言竟如此遮蔽了自己的眼界。

幸运的是，还有一些人士既是我在各语种小说方面的同好，同时也能帮助我克服困扰我的语言障碍。在他们之中，正是刘宇昆带我走入了中国科幻小说的胜境。作为一名杰出的独立作者，刘宇昆主动承担了翻译和引介中国作家作品的任务。我们最先出版的两部作品来自陈楸帆和夏笳，这两本书不仅令我也令我们的读者叹为观止。稍后，当我有机会出版自己主编的第一部选集时，我毫不犹豫地将这两部作品纳入其中。此时，我终于得以一窥这巨大的科幻文学财富，而这些宝贵的作品那时还未曾进入以英语为母语的读者世界，同时我对这些作品的沉迷也自此一发不可收拾。

我们最初的出版尝试获得了一些关注，于是有一天我收到了来自微像文化的一封电邮。在接下来的几个月里，我们商定出了一项足慰平生的合作协议，使《克拉克世界》得以更好地展示全球范围内最优秀的科幻小说。项目启动的第一年，在非常得力的中国团队的协助下，我精选出了即将翻译并刊登在我们杂志上的九篇作品。我们殷切期望在两个生机勃勃的科幻小说群体间搭建一座桥梁，而本书就是这个项目迈出的第一步。

希望你在阅读这些精彩故事的同时也能体会到我在阅读它们时体会到的无限乐趣。

This year，I’m celebrating my tenth year as editor of Clarkesworld Magazine.This is，in many ways surprising，as I never expected to be an editor.I’ve spent most of my life working in technology and schools and universities.Despite the influence of science fiction when I was a teenager，I took a very scenic route to get here.However，there are no regrets on that path and I now get to work with authors and editors that I considered heroes in my formative years.Everything I did led me to this new career and I have been blessed with many hours of enjoyment.

When I started Clarkesworld，I was looking to fill a gap in what was being published.Science fiction has always been an escape for me.I wanted different stories，things that would challenge me to think or feel about things in new ways or introduce me to experiences unlike my own.We invited authors from all over the world to submit stories and it worked out quite nicely.Yet，despite our initial international call，I began to notice certain gaps particularly in submissions from non-English-speaking countries.We knew our stories were being translated into other languages.We knew that there were some significantly large science fiction audiences in places like China，but we didn’t know how to reach them.Like many Americans，I only speak English and I realized just how much that was holding me back.

Fortunately，there are a few people out there that share my interest in international fiction who do not suffer from my linguistic limitations.Of them，Ken Liu is the one that deserves the most credit for introducing me to Chinese science fiction.An amazing author in his own right，Ken took it on himself to start translating and submitting the works of Chinese authors.The first two we published were by Chen Qiufan and Xia Jia，both of whom not only impressed me，but also our readers.Later，when the opportunity to include them in my first anthology presented itself，I jumped at it.At this point，I simply had a glimpse of the wealth of stories that had not made their way to an English-speaking audience and I was hooked.

Our initial efforts caught some attention and one day I had an email from Storycom in my inbox.Over the course of the next few months，we ironed out an agreement that would allow us to fulfill a dream of making Clarkesworld more representative of the best science fiction from around the world.In that first year，with assistance from an amazing team in China，I selected nine stories that would be translated and published in our pages.This book represents the first stage of what we hope will be a bridge between two vibrant science fiction communities.

May these stories provide you with as much enjoyment as they did for me.

序言三

刘宇昆（Ken Liu）

据我所知，微像文化和《克拉克世界》在翻译出版中国科幻作品方面的合作在业界还是前所未有的。由于经费短缺，优秀的翻译作品一直难以出现，而没有良好的翻译质量，再深刻有力的作品也无法跨越语言差异的障碍。因此，我们还得深深地感谢这两家公司的有识之士。

目睹这一合作随着时间推移不断发展，着实令人振奋。越来越多的编辑、译者和作者投身这一事业，中选作品和翻译技巧都更为丰富多样且更具吸引力。

在世界各地存在着多如繁星的精彩作品，鉴于没有人能够掌握世界上所有的语言，翻译就是我们阅读体会非母语作品的最佳途径。希望这一合作能抛砖引玉，带来更多更好的翻译作品。

The collaboration between Storycom and Clarkesworld to publish Chinese SF in translation is，as far as I know，unprecedented.The lack of funding has always held back good translations，which keeps powerful stories from crossing linguistic barriers.We thus owe a debt of gratitude to the visionaries in both of these companies.

It’s been fascinating to watch the collaboration develop over time，as more editors，translators，and authors become involved to make the stories chosen as well as the translation techniques employed more diverse and interesting.

There is a great deal of wonderful fiction between written all over the world，and since it’s impossible for all of us to speak and read all the languages of the world，translation is the best way for us to experience works not written in our own tongues.I hope this collaboration is but a sign of things to come.

以太

张冉

1

我忽然想起22岁那年的冬天午后。我的右边坐着一对非常漂亮的双胞胎姐妹，叽叽喳喳聊着天，左边坐着一个胖家伙，抱着瓶碳酸饮料，不停地给自己续杯，我的碟子里是冷掉的鸡肉、乳酪和切碎的甘蓝，如今我已经记不得那些食物的味道，只记得夹通心粉的时候掉了一些在我崭新的条纹长裤上。整个宴席的后半段，我一直在擦拭长裤上新月形的污痕，留鸡肉在盘子里渐渐变冷。为掩饰尴尬，我试图与双胞胎姐妹找个话题聊聊，但她们似乎对大学生活不感兴趣，我也不懂得马尾辫的几种绑法。

这场宴会显得极其漫长，一个又一个人站起来无休无止地举杯致辞，我一次又一次随他们举起高脚杯，啜饮苹果汁，明知没有任何人会注意到我的举动。宴会的主题是什么？婚礼、节庆还是丰收？我已记不清。那时我无数次隔着四张桌子偷偷看我的父亲，他忙于与同样年纪、长着浓密胡须和酒糟鼻的朋友们聊天喝酒，说着粗鲁的笑话，直到宴会结束都不曾向我投诸一线目光。乐师疲惫地将小提琴装进琴匣，主妇开始收拾狼藉的杯盘，醉醺醺的父亲终于发现我的存在，摇晃着庞大的身躯走来，嘟囔着说：“你还在啊？叫你妈来开车。”

“不。我自己回去。”我站起来盯着地面说，用力揉搓长裤上的污迹直到手指发白。

“随便。跟你的小朋友们聊得好吗？”他四处张望。

我没有回答，握紧拳头，感觉血液向头部聚集。他们不是我的朋友。他们只是孩子而已，十一二岁的小孩，而我已经22岁，即将大学毕业，在城市里，我有我的朋友和骄傲，在那里，没有人拿我当孩子看待，把我安排在一桌儿童中间，在我的高脚杯中倒满甜苹果汁而不是白葡萄酒；在我走入餐馆的时候，侍者会殷勤地接过我的外套叫我一声“先生”，若不小心将通心粉掉在长裤上，我的女伴会温柔地用湿巾擦去污迹，我是成年人了，我想要成年人的话题，而不是在愚蠢的乡村宴会中被当作学龄儿童对待。

“……去你的！”我终于说，然后头也不回地走掉。

那年我22岁。

我努力睁开眼睛，天色已经完全暗了，屋子笼罩在对街脱衣舞俱乐部的霓虹灯的光芒中。起居室里只有电脑屏幕闪闪发亮。我揉着太阳穴，从沙发上缓缓坐起，端起咖啡桌上的半杯波本威士忌一饮而尽。这是本周第几次在沙发上睡着了？我应该上网查查，45岁的单身男人在周日下午窝在家里独自上网直至进入一场充满闪回童年经历梦境的睡眠是否有益于身心健康，但头痛告诉我不必打开搜索引擎就能知道：这种无聊的生活在谋杀我的脑细胞。

“喂，在吗？”液晶屏幕上ROY说。

“在。”我从烟灰缸上找到半截雪茄，弹掉烟灰，划火柴点燃，斜靠在沙发上单手打字。

“你知道吗，他们建了一个讨论组专门讨论如何用肉眼分别蓝鳍金枪鱼与马苏金枪鱼生鱼片。”ROY说。

“你参加了吗？”我吐出一口瑞士机制雪茄充满草腥味的烟雾。

“没有，我觉得这个比前一个讨论组更无聊，你知道的，‘硬币自然坠落正反面概率长期观察’小组。”ROY打出表示无奈的符号。

“可是你参加那个小组来着。”

“是的，我连续15天，每天抛硬币20次，然后将测试结果反馈给讨论组。”

“后来呢？”

“越来越趋近常数0.5呗。”ROY给我一个苦笑。

“你们根本就知道这是必然结果啊。”我说。

“当然，可网络如此无聊，总得找点事干呢。”ROY说。“要不要一起参加‘肉眼分辨蓝鳍金枪鱼与马苏金枪鱼生鱼片’小组？”

“免了，我宁肯去看看小说。”雪茄快烧完了，我拿起威士忌酒杯，呸呸吐出嘴里苦涩的唾液。

“小说、杂志、电影、电视都让我发疯。总有一天，我会被无趣的世界杀死。”ROY打了个大大的句号，下线了。

我关掉对话框，登录几个文学和社交网站，想找感兴趣的文章看，但正如从未谋面的网友ROY所说，一切正向着越来越无趣的方向发展，在我年轻时，网络上充满观点、思想与情绪，热血的年轻人在虚拟世界展开苏格拉底式的激烈辩论，才华横溢的厌世者通过文学表达对新生活的渴望，我可以在电脑屏幕前静坐整个晚上，超链接带领我的灵魂经历一次又一次热闹的旅行。如今，我浏览那么多网站头条与要闻，没有找到一个值得点击的标题。

这种感觉令人厌恶，又似曾相识。

我点开常去的社区网站头条新闻“民众在市政府前游行示威，抗议钓鱼者对蚯蚓的不人道行为”：视频窗口弹出，一群穿着花花绿绿衣衫的年轻人左手拎着啤酒，右手举着歪歪扭扭的牌子站在市政广场，标语牌上写着“坚决反对切断蚯蚓”“你的鱼饵是我的邻居”“蚯蚓和你家的狗一样会感觉到痛”。

他们没有其他事情可干了吗？就算游行示威，不能找个更有意义的话题吗？我的头痛袭来，于是关掉显示器，倒在棕色的旧沙发里，疲惫地闭上眼睛。

2

45岁的贫穷单身汉在城市这个庞大资源聚合体中显得无足轻重，我每周工作三天，每天工作四个小时，主要职责是“在满足条件的申请书中挑选出个人情感认同的”，在计算机抢走大部分人类饭碗的今天，在政府部门以“个人情感”因素审批特殊贫困津贴的申请书几乎是一份完美的工作，它不需要任何培训背景或知识储备，当局认为在自动审核通过的众多特殊贫困津贴申请书中挑选幸运者应当适度体现冰冷规章制度之外的人情味，故聘请社会各阶层人士，包括我这样的失败者，参与此项工作，每周一、三、五的上午我从租住的公寓乘坐地铁来到社会保障局那间小小的、与三名同事共享的办公室，坐在电脑前，把电子印章盖在屏幕中比较顺眼的申请书上，名额时多时少，通常盖30个印章后我的工作就结束了，余下的时间可以找人聊聊天，喝喝咖啡，吃两个百吉饼，直到下班铃打响。

与此前无数个周一相同，我完成四个小时的工作，打卡后离开社会保障局的灰色花岗岩大楼，走向不远处的地铁站。地铁站门口通常有个单人乐队的表演者在单调鼓声中吹着刺耳的小号，经过他身边的时候，那个阴郁的表演者总盯着我的眼睛，或许是因为几年来我没给过他一分钱，这让我感到不快。猫抓玻璃一样的小号声果然响起，让我昨天尚未痊愈的头痛蠢蠢欲动，我决心向反方向走一个街区，去上一个地铁站搭地铁。

上午下了一点小雨，地面湿润，扎辫子的滑板少年飞速掠过，两只鸽子站在咖啡馆的招牌上嘀嘀咕咕。橱窗映出我的影子：身穿过时的黄色风衣的瘦削半秃中年人，长着一个与我父亲一模一样的酒糟鼻子。我摸摸鼻子，不禁想起我久未谋面的父亲，准确地说，自从22岁的宴会后就再未见面的父亲。母亲给我的电话中有时会谈起他，我知道他还住在农场，养着一些牛，留着几棵苹果树用来酿酒，但酒精毁了他的肝，医生说他不能再喝酒了，除非科学家发明出肝癌的治疗方法。说实话我并不感觉悲伤，尽管我的红鼻子和宽大的骨架完全继承了他的血统，但我整个后半生都在逃避父亲的影子，避免自己成为那样自私、狭隘与嗜酒的肥胖老头——如今我发现，唯有避免肥胖这一点，我做到了。他人生最大的亮点是娶到了我母亲。我连这一个亮点都没有。

“站住！”一声大喝打断我的自怨自艾。几个穿着黑色连帽衫的人越过车流向这边快速跑来，两名警察挥舞着警棍，跌跌撞撞穿过刹停的汽车追赶着，一名警察吹响哨子，另一人大声喊叫。

驾驶员的叫骂声与汽车鸣笛声响成一片。我将身体贴近咖啡馆的橱窗。别惹麻烦。父亲络腮胡子中因劣质雪茄而泛黄的牙齿在眼前闪现。穿黑色连帽衫的人撞倒路边的垃圾桶，从我身边跑过，一个、两个……一共四个人，我装作毫不在意，但发现他们都穿着帆布鞋。是年轻人。谁年轻时没有穿过脏兮兮的帆布鞋呢。我低头看看自己脚上暗淡无光的棕色系带皮鞋，鞋面因长时间穿着产生一道道褶皱，像我照镜子时极力回避的额头的皱纹。

忽然有人伸出手挡住我望着脚面的视线，探进风衣兜里拉出我的右手，我感觉手心传来滑稽的瘙痒——那人用手指在我掌心画着什么图案。我惊诧地抬起头来，停在我面前的是第四个黑衣人，身材矮小，兜帽罩住眼睛，他迅速地在我手中画着什么，然后拍拍我的手掌说：“你明白吗？”

“快点！”三个连帽衫在呼唤，第四个人回头望一眼越追越近的警察，丢下我向伙伴们飞奔而去。警察气喘吁吁地追来，“站住！”其中一个声音嘶哑地喊道，另一个口中含着哨子，吹出断断续续的哨音。我确信他们越过我的时候扭头看了我一眼，但两位警察没有说什么，挥舞警棍跑远了。

逃的人和追的人转过花店所在的街角，不见了。潮湿的街道上汽车开始移动，行人穿梭，仿佛什么都没有发生过，只有我的右手，残留着陌生人指尖的温度。

3

“照旧吗？”我公寓楼下那家餐馆的女侍应皮笑肉不笑地问我，“当然。”我不假思索地说，“……等等，再加一份腌熏三文鱼。”已经转身走开的女侍应从肩头比画一个OK的手势。

“有什么事发生吗？鉴于你会更改你的食谱。”我唯一可以称得上朋友的熟人、同样在社会保障局工作的瘦子带着不讨人喜欢的笑容问。瘦子有一种特质，能准确嗅出每个人身上分泌的荷尔蒙味道，落座后的短短五分钟里，他已经鉴定出一个老处女、一对男同性恋、一个饥渴到可以跟送比萨的小弟上床的中年怨妇、一个手淫过度的用哥哥的身份证买到啤酒的高中生和一个性生活和谐的残疾人。

“说真的，一个坐轮椅的人怎么可能性生活和谐？”我端起杯子喝口凉啤酒。

“瘫痪的部位越高，勃起的可能性越高。”瘦子用长而弯曲的手臂在自己的脊椎上比画着。“而你呢，一定遇到了一个令人心动的姑娘。她是金发对吗？”他的灰眼珠带着窥探隐私的愉悦光芒。

“扯淡。我下午碰到示威游行，你知道，视频中那些呼吁给蚯蚓人道主义关怀的小痞子。”我摇摇头。“谢谢。”我接过女侍应递来的盘子，肉丸三明治配腌黄瓜，万年不变的晚餐食谱。

“无聊。”瘦子摇摇头。“说起来，你知道吗……‘马铃薯’这个词来源于牙买加的阿拉瓦语。”

我恍惚觉得他说后半句话的时候声音有点奇怪，仿佛嗓子里哽了块什么东西，或许是凉啤酒让我的耳鸣复发了。“不知道。我也没兴趣学习一种已灭亡的语言。”我把腌黄瓜送进嘴里。

瘦子有些惊异地睁大灰眼睛：“你没兴趣谈这个话题？”

他的声音正常了。是耳鸣。我得去看看医生，如果今年医疗保险没有超额的话。“完全没兴趣。”我嘴里含着食物嘟囔着。

“好吧。”他失望地低下头，把玩着啤酒杯。女侍应将他的晚餐放在桌上，又将我的腌熏三文鱼递给我，“说真的，你们两个有空的话得出去玩玩。比如脱衣舞俱乐部什么的。”她扫了一眼我们脸上的表情，撇撇嘴，走开了。

我和瘦子扭头看看街对面灯红酒绿的俱乐部，没作声。我伸手从他盘子里拿出两根薯条塞进嘴里，将腌熏三文鱼向他那边推了推，“你有没有觉得我们最近聊天缺乏有趣的话题。”我说。

“你也有这个感觉？”瘦子惊奇道，“除了我的性能力鉴定之外，几乎找不到任何可以谈论的东西了。我也是这一两年发现聊天变得无趣起来。”

“也许是我们都老了？”我不情愿地缩回拿薯条的右手，手背上有一块显眼的色斑，刚出现没多久，就像22岁那年长裤上的污迹，令人难堪。

“我刚42岁！西蒙尼斯41岁才赢得威尔士公开赛！”瘦子叫道，右手的薯条在空中飞舞，“一定是单调的工作让我们变成这样，等退休以后一切都会不同，对吗，老兄？”

“但愿如此。”我心不在焉地回答。

4

当天晚上，我多喝了两瓶凉啤酒，打开公寓门之后感觉一阵阵眩晕，没顾上洗澡，直接走进卧室倒在床上。床单有一股奇怪的泥土味道，不知是不是因为太久没换，可从好的方面说，这种味道让我想起小时候的农场——不是充斥着父亲浓重体味的那个农场，是他酗酒并开始虐待母亲以前，我、姐姐和母亲安宁生活的平静农场。记得我和姐姐在新建的谷仓中玩耍，空荡荡的谷仓里充满新鲜木料和泥土的清香，阳光从阁楼的小窗户洒进来，带着妈妈烘焙饼干的味道。

跑累了，我们倚着墙壁坐下来，姐姐把我的右手拉过去，“闭上眼睛。”她说。我听话地闭上眼睛，阳光在眼皮上烙出红晕。手心痒痒的，我咯咯地笑了起来，想抽回手掌，“猜猜我写的是什么字。”姐姐也笑着，手指在我掌心搔动。“我猜不出来……写慢一点啦。”我想了想，抱怨道。姐姐于是慢慢地重新写了一遍。

“马？”我看着她，迟疑道。

“对了！”姐姐哈哈大笑，揉着我的头发，“再来再来。猜对五个字的话，我的那匹小骟马让给你骑两天。”

“真的？”我惊喜地闭上眼睛。

手心又痒了起来，我忍住没有笑出声。“这次是……‘叫’？”

“是‘道’啦，小笨蛋！”姐姐笑着弹我的鼻子，然后蹦起来跑了出去，“谁先回去，谁吃大块的奶油曲奇饼哦！”

“等等我……”

我伸出手臂，睁开眼睛，看到被霓虹灯照亮的天花板，天花板角落有一滩水迹。楼上那家人又忘记关浴缸水龙头了，这次得让公寓管理员狠狠地教训他们，我想着，发现自己刚从童年的梦中醒来。穿了一整天的衬衣泛出酒精的酸味，脖子和后背因别扭的睡姿而生疼。我花了五分钟从床上坐起来，看看闹钟，现在刚刚凌晨一点。

起床冲澡、喝了两杯水后感觉好些，但再没有睡意，我穿上睡衣坐在起居室的沙发上，打开电视，深夜节目同往常一样，没有任何令我感兴趣的东西。换台的时候，我看到右手上那块丑陋的色斑，不由自主用左手搓着，尽管谁都知道那玩意儿不可能用手指搓掉。忽然来自手心的微微痒意令我打了个寒颤。等等，这种感觉是什么？刚刚梦境中出现过的、姐姐在我手中写出的稚嫩字符……

今天中午穿黑色连帽衫的人在我手心画出的并不是什么符号。

他在我掌心写字。不，她在我掌心写字。她是一个女人，黑色连帽衫遮住了性别特征，她纤细的手指不可能属于男人。她写了些什么？

我忙乱地翻出纸和笔铺在咖啡桌上，尽力回忆手心的触感。中间的一个字是姐姐写过的……没错，这是一个“道”字。

我在纸正中写下“道”。

前面是一个词，她写得很快，非常快。在长期审核申请书的工作中我发现人们遇到象征美好幸福的词组通常写得很快，并且连笔，比如微笑、永恒、梦想、满足。她写的是一个短词，词性是正面的，有两个元音……等等！是伊甸。没错，耶和华的乐园。

我在纸左边写下“伊甸”。

后面是一串数字，阿拉伯数字，这串数字她写了两遍，我皱起眉头，细心地回忆她手指的每一道运动轨迹。7、8、9、5？不，第一个数字划过我的小鱼际部位，象征末尾有一个折弯，那么是2。2、8、9、5，没错。两遍，确认。

我在纸右边写下“2895”。

纸上写着“伊甸道2895”。

显然这是一个地址。我扑到电脑前，打开地图网站，输入“伊甸道2895”，页面显示伊甸道在我所在城市的另一端，远离闹市区与金融中心的贫民窟。然而伊甸道并没有2895号，准确地说，门牌号到500号就结束了。

我揉着太阳穴。数字一个个化为皮肤的触觉，在我的掌心画出酥麻的痕迹，我盯着掌心。2、8、9，没有错误。5……哦，当然，也可能是一个S。我输入“伊甸道289S”，地图锁定了一栋四层高的公寓楼，位于伊甸道的中央，整个城市的边缘，距离我45公里远的地方。“是了！”我兴奋地一拍键盘站起来，又因头部充血的眩晕跌坐回去。

那里有什么？我不知道。但我知道在45年循规蹈矩的生涯里，并没有任何穿黑色连帽衫的女士用极其隐秘的方式给我留下联系地址的离奇经历，或者说，我根本是一个没有女人缘的失败者。无趣的人生里，终于出现了一点有趣的事情，无论是荷尔蒙的驱动（如同嗅觉敏锐的瘦子所说）还是好奇心勃发，我都决定穿上风衣，去伊甸道289S寻找一些不曾有过的经历。

别惹麻烦，小子。出门前，我在穿衣镜里看见父亲挺着大肚子、手中拎着琴酒的瓶子说。

去你的吧。我同23年前一样大步走开。

5

我有一辆摩托车，但久未使用。大学时我像所有的年轻人一样热衷于时髦的玩意儿：最新的手机、平板电脑、等离子电视、能够发电的运动鞋和大马力的摩托车，谁不爱哈雷戴维森和杜卡迪呢？但我负担不起昂贵的名牌摩托，26岁那年，我终于从一个签证到期即将回国的日本留学生手里买下这辆跑了8000英里（约12874千米）的黑色川崎ZXR400R，它的车况好极了，刹车盘如同全新的一样闪闪发亮，排气管的吼叫无比迷人。我迫不及待地骑上摩托去向朋友炫耀，但他们早已玩腻了，坐在酒吧里谈论女人时，外面停着他们崭新的梅赛德斯-奔驰与凯迪拉克。

大概是从那个时候起，我就不再有什么朋友。我打起领带，骑着川崎摩托去工作，人人用奇怪的眼光盯着我和我离经叛道的座驾。终于我妥协了，将心爱的摩托锁进储藏室，伴随着年龄增长与不断的职场失败，我转眼间变为45岁的单身酒鬼，偶尔在晴朗的天气里擦拭摩托车时，我会问心爱的川崎：老伙计，什么时候再出去兜兜风？它从不回答我。尽管我一再鼓起骑车出游的勇气，可只要想想半秃中年男人跨坐在流线型摩托车上的丑陋画面就让我胃部不适——那就像醉醺醺的父亲自以为得体地与每个遇见的女人搭讪一样让我作呕。

我走下破旧公寓楼的楼梯，用钥匙打开公用储藏室布满灰尘的大门，在一大堆啤酒易拉罐下面找到我的摩托车，掀掉防雨布，川崎400R乌黑的漆面上也积满灰尘，但轮胎依然饱满，每个齿轮都泛着油润的光芒。我打开一小桶备用的汽油，灌进油箱，拨动风门，试着打火，四汽缸四冲程发动机毫不犹豫地发出尖锐的咆哮，排气管吹出的热风扬起我的裤脚。老伙计没有让我失望。

“该死的，你不知道现在几点吗？”推车走出储藏室时，一个啤酒瓶摔碎在我脚下，抬头一看，房东太太戴着睡帽在二楼的窗口怒吼着。我反常地没有道歉，跨上摩托车，轰了几下油门，轰鸣声在整条街道上回荡，“你疯了？”在房东太太的叫喊声里，我猛松离合，在川崎摩托轮胎发出的吱吱摩擦声与橡胶燃烧的焦臭味里，我兴奋地大叫，飞速将我的公寓和脱衣舞俱乐部抛在脑后。

风呼呼作响，我没有戴头盔，感受空气把我松弛的脸部肌肉挤成滑稽的形状，为掩饰脱发而留得长长的头发随风飘扬，但我不在乎凌晨一点的街道上有多少人会目睹丑陋的中年男人骑着摩托车飞奔，起码这一刻，我无聊太久的人生里有了一点点追求快乐的强烈渴望。

路程显得太短。没等我好好体味飞驰在寂静城市街道的乐趣，伊甸道的路牌已出现在眼前。我放慢速度，换入二档，扭头观察门牌号。从地图上看，伊甸道距离最近的地铁和轨道电车站点都有两公里的距离——这是一个被遗忘的街区。街道不宽，路边停满脏兮兮的旧车，三四层的老旧楼房紧紧挨着，不留一丝空隙，其中多数显得比我住的公寓楼更破烂。街灯多数坏了，川崎400R的车灯在黑漆漆的街道上打出一团橘黄光晕，垃圾箱里跳出一只野猫，向我看了一眼，转身走掉。这时我开始冷静下来，思考在夜里横穿城市到不熟悉的街区寻找陌生人留下的奇怪信息这一举动的合理性，每一根电线杆后面都可能跳出手持尖刀的抢劫犯，甚至盗窃人体器官的黑市医生。我希望摆脱无聊的生活，但绝不希望是以尸体照片出现在明天早报头条的方式。

我尽量放慢转速，但这里太安静了，川崎摩托的轰鸣声显得比超期服役的B52轰炸机还大。幸好这时一个铜质门牌出现在灯光里：伊甸道289A/B/C/D/S。我停在路边，熄灭发动机，关掉车灯，死一样的寂静立刻将我笼罩，伊甸道两端陷入黑暗，唯有289号公寓楼门前亮着一盏微弱的白炽灯，灯罩在风里微微晃动，发出不详的金属摩擦声。

该死，应该带一个手电筒出来的。我后背渗出冷汗。手机，对。手机。我摸遍风衣，在内袋中找到自己的老式手机，点亮闪光灯，橄榄球大小的白色光斑给了我些许安慰。

我走过去，轻轻拉开伊甸道289号的大门。门没有锁，两扇门其中一扇的玻璃碎了，地上没有玻璃碎片。门内更加黑暗，在手机照明中隐隐约约看到一个废弃的柜台，木制柜台后贴着纸页泛黄的房间登记簿，说明这里曾经是一家旅馆。右手边是楼梯，我走近些，照亮墙壁，墙壁上歪歪扭扭写着：A/B/C/D，后面画着个向上的箭头。没有S。

我用手机向上照。楼梯通往黑漆漆的二层，什么也看不到。别惹麻烦！父亲用一贯漫不经心的强调式口吻说。我挥挥手，赶走碍事的回忆。手机闪光灯晃过楼梯背后，没有向下的阶梯，通常在楼梯下三角区域会有一个储藏室，我看到储藏室的门，门上涂着奇怪的绿色油漆，门把手出人意料地闪闪发亮，显得与陈旧的公寓楼不太协调。

我迈步走向那扇门，旧棕色系带皮鞋在磨损严重的水磨石地面上踏出带着回音的脚步声。黄铜门把手像它的外观一样光滑油润，我试着用力旋转，门没有锁，推开门，长而狭窄的水泥阶梯出现在眼前，在手机灯光有限的视野里，我看不到楼梯通往多深的地下。

没有声音。这里静得像座坟墓。要不要下去？我踌躇一下，看看手机屏幕上显示的剩余电量，稳定心神，拾级而下。两侧墙壁挤压过来，阶梯仅容一个人通过，我照亮脚下的路，数了大约40级台阶，面前出现一堵墙壁，阶梯转向反方向继续延伸，我继续前进，或者说，走向地心深处。这算不上有趣的体验，我的心怦怦地跳动，眼睛充血，脚步声经过墙壁反射忽前忽后响起，让我不止一次回头张望。又是40级台阶，灯光照亮通道尽头一扇虚掩的绿色木门，门上有个大大的黄铜字母——S。门缝没有灯光射出来。

是这里了，伊甸道289S。我心绪复杂地考虑了几秒钟要不要敲门，如果把陌生女人传递的信息当作异性邀约，那无论敲不敲门，在深夜两点拜访都是失礼的举动；又倘若那个讯息是参加某种秘密组织的暗号，那还有比现在这个诡异的情境更适合的入会方式吗？——我需要一杯威士忌，就算啤酒也好。我舔舔干燥的嘴唇。

我推开虚掩的门走进去。一片黑暗。我左手高高举起手机，尽量使闪光灯照亮更多地方。在那一刹那，我感觉头骨因头皮的剧烈收缩而发出不堪重负的嘎嘎声，不由自主地，我扭动僵硬的脖子，像探照灯一样旋转照出室内的每一个角落。

这是一间相当庞大的地下室，墙壁没有任何装饰，管道和赤裸的混凝土遍布四周，空气潮湿而污浊。几十个身穿黑色连帽衫的人，或许有上百个，静静地盘腿坐在地上，手拉着手。没有人说话，就连呼吸声也轻得像蚊虫振翅，人们闭着眼睛。

灯光照亮一张又一张黑暗中的脸庞。兜帽下，有男人、女人、老人、青年、白种人、黄种人、黑种人，每张脸庞都浮现着一种令人毛骨悚然的愉悦。没有人对我这个不速之客做出任何反应，甚至眼皮下的眼珠都没有滚动，地下室的空气是凝固的，我僵直在门口，喉咙发出无意义的咯咯响声。

我急需喝一杯。我的眼前出现父亲手里总是拎着的那个琴酒酒瓶，和里面哗哗作响的透明酒液。先离开这里。出去，骑上摩托车回到公寓，给自己倒满满一杯波本威士忌。咽下口水，感觉喉结干涩地滚动，我尽量放慢动作，一步一步退出屋子，伸右手想将木门掩上。为了让自己的视线从诡异莫名的静坐人群身上移开，我盯着右手背上丑陋的色斑，下定决心明天就去医院做个该死的激光手术，顺便让医生诊断一下我的幻听问题。

忽然一只手搭在我的手背上。从门那端伸来的手，穿着黑色连帽衫的手臂，手指瘦弱而有力。我感觉全部体毛一瞬间竖起来了，手机从左手滑落在地，闪光灯熄灭了，我的眼前一片漆黑。短时间内我无法动弹，不能思考。一根食指轻轻伸进我的掌心，在其间移动。熟悉的酥麻触感出现了。是昨天中午那个神秘的女人，我几乎能从她的指尖分辨出她的指纹，或者是生物电？我的脑海中读出她正在写的几个字：“别怕。来，……分享，……传递。”

别怕。分享什么？传递什么？我是否漏掉了几个关键词？我不由自主地被那只手牵着，挪动僵硬的脚步，再次进入寂静的房间。黑暗的空气像黏稠的油墨，神秘的女人拉着我，趟过黑暗，慢慢走向房间深处，我害怕踩到某个静坐的黑衣人，但我们的路线曲折而安全，直到女人停下脚步，写道：坐下。

我摸索着，周围空无一物，我坐在冰冷的水泥地面上，尽量睁大眼睛，还是看不到任何东西。女人的呼吸声在右边若有若无地响着，她的左手还放在我的掌心，那只手很凉，皮肤光滑。手指移动了，我闭上双眼，解读掌心的文字：对不起。以为。懂。不。害怕。朋友。

“对不起，我以为你原本懂的。不用害怕，我们是朋友，这里都是朋友。”用一点想象力，掌心的触觉就化为带有感情色彩的句子。虽然我不明白她为何不用声音交流，但这样感觉也不算坏。恐惧感像阳光下的冰雹一样融化，我渐渐习惯失明般的漆黑，习惯手心的触觉。

她凑近我，摸到我的左手，将我的手指握在她的右手心。我立刻明白了，在她手中写道：我没事，这是很有趣的经历。

“慢点。”她写道。

我放慢速度，一个字一个字写出：我。很好。有趣。

“学得很快。”她画出一个新月形。我觉得那是一个笑脸符号。

你们。这儿。聚会。我写，然后画一个问号。

“是的，这是每天的聚会。”她回答。

“这是什么样的聚会？你们是什么样的组织？为什么找到我？”

“用手指聊天的聚会，你会爱上它的。我在街上看到你，你冲着玻璃窗发呆，觉得你一定跟我一样，是个非常孤独的人。感觉世界无聊到爆的人。”

“我？……算是吧。说实话，我确实觉得人生乏闷，不过遇到你以前，从未想到要去改变什么。”

“那从现在开始。”她又画了一个笑脸的符号。这一瞬间，我觉得我爱上她了，尽管我从未看见她的容貌，也嗅不到女孩身上应有的香水味道。

“那我现在应该做什么？”我问。

“参加手指聊天的人组成一个环，每个人都与其他两个人连接，用左手写字，右手当别人的写字板，想听什么，想说什么，随你。刚刚为了迎接你，我从环中退了出来。”她回答。

“我大概懂了。”我想了想，“那我没办法像现在这样跟某一个人聊天吗，我只能对左边的人说话，听右边的人对我说话。”

“在手指聊天聚会中，没办法的。私下里……随你。”

“假如——仅仅是假如——我对右边的人感兴趣，那我的右手与他的左手轮流读和写，不就可以单独对话了吗？”

“那是不被允许的。手指聊天聚会的规则就是保持讯息的单方向流通。但你可以创造一个话题传递出去，让你感兴趣的人参与进来。”

“……我不大明白。”

“比如你想与右边的人聊聊总统，那么可以对左边的人发布话题：‘大家觉得总统先生对待外汇储备的策略是否正确’，左边的人会根据自己的兴趣加入自己的观点或者将问题原封不动地传出去，而作为一个环，话题最终会到达你右边的人那里，他就可以对你表达意见了。手指聊天聚会不是为对话产生，分享思想、传递观点才是它有趣的地方。有人告诉我这种形式来自已经消亡的古老网络拓扑结构。”

“听起来很复杂的样子。”我搞不明白他们为什么发明这样奇怪的机制来谈天，网上有很多开放讨论组，到餐馆里喝杯啤酒聊聊天是更好的主意，但被奇特经历引领到这个神秘聚会的我，不会放过任何尝试的机会。“我能够加入聚会吗？现在？”

“对于初学者来说，环中的信息量太大了，你传递效率低下会导致整个环传导的阻滞。为提高效率，我们在环聊天时使用大量的缩略语和简略写法，你需要时间习惯。”她回答道。接着用了五分钟给我演示那些专用缩略词。“你不像个初学者。”惊异于我的学习速度，她画出大大的P，代表吐舌头的表情。

当然，这是我和我姐姐的小秘密。我想。“放心，让我试试吧。”

“……好吧。我在你左边。现在，我们向前移动三步，那里是环的一个节点，你拍拍右边人的肩膀，他会暂时断开环，然后你用右手拉住他的左手。记住，要快。”她迟疑一下，答应了。

我们交换位置，她用右手握住我的左手，带领我向前移动。我隐约感觉前面人的体温，蹲下去，触到一个人的肩膀，轻轻拍了一下。那人立刻向右让开位置，我和她手拉手坐下，右边的人找到我的右手，与我相握。

那是一只坚硬、骨节粗大、肌肉发达的男人的手掌，但手指出奇地灵活。我的掌心立刻被快速的书写覆盖了，右边人写得太快，以至于我无法分辨出每个字母，我努力捕捉关键词和缩略词，通过猜测大致了解一句话的意思，脑子还没烙下痕迹，下一句话又汹涌而来——这是手指书写构成的信息洪流，我的皮肤敏感度显然还不够格。忙乱解读文字的同时，断断续续写给左边的她。“……反对党……丑闻……下台风波……秘密警察……逮捕……”一段信息只翻译出部分关键词，是我挺感兴趣的一个话题，现在的网络讨论组里从来没人提起的话题。我想加入自己的观点传给她，但下一条信息已经到了。“空天飞机坠毁……牙买加。丑闻。液体燃料泄漏。NASA失去政治支持？俄罗斯攻击。”前面是议题，后面是人们的观点。我想我逐渐习惯了接受信息，她说的对，我不算个新手。但左手的几根手指无论如何也无法迅速而清晰地传出资讯，多次尝试以后，我泄气地写了一个“对不起。”

她的掌心凉爽光滑，像我小学时教室里崭新的黑板。这时，她伸出食指，偷偷地在我左手心写了个三个字：“原谅你。”

我能感觉自己的嘴角向上咧起。“你刚刚告诉我这是违规的。”我写道。

“有进步。”她明显违规地加上一个笑脸。

6

敲门声把我吵醒。我用枕头捂住耳朵，希望等一会儿敲门人会自己离去，但五分钟后，我不得不套上睡袍，趿着拖鞋走向起居室。敲门声不紧不慢、执着地响着，我从猫眼望出去，一顶警察的大檐帽挡住全部视线。见鬼。我嘟囔着打开门锁，拉开门：“有什么可以效劳？”

“你好。”倚在墙上的小个子警察摘下帽子，出示徽章，无精打采地说：“先生，能耽误你五分钟吗？你知道的，例行谈话那一套。”

“好吧，五分钟。”我转身走回起居室，倒在沙发上，给自己倒了半杯波本威士忌。时钟显示周二下午一点半，糟糕的睡眠质量让脑袋又隐隐作痛起来。我把琥珀色的酒液倒进嘴里，长长吐出一口气。电脑屏幕亮起来，ROY留言道：“我参加那个讨论组了，比想象中有趣一点点。”

看样子30岁左右、留着老式髭须的小个子警察毫不见外地在单人沙发上坐下，左右打量我的小公寓：“挺不错的地方。”

“20年前显得更好些。”我回答。

警察把大檐帽放在我的咖啡桌上，从兜里掏出平板电脑和电子笔，想了想，又丢下，靠在单人沙发上略显无聊地叹口气：“连我自己都知道，这种问话半点意义都没有。”

“工作，对吧！”我表示理解。

“好吧，工作。”他皱着眉头，不情愿地拣起平板电脑，“那么……你在社会保障局工作。周一、周三、周五。”他读到。

“没错。”我回答。

“45岁，单身。去年因医疗保险诈骗被判社区服务两个月。”他略显惊异地念道。

“是医院没搞清楚我的额度！他们后来道歉了。”我烦躁地解释道。

“昨天深夜一点十二分接到投诉，你打扰邻居睡觉了？”警察懒懒地用电子笔的末端梳理小胡须。

“呃……”想起昨夜的经历，我忽然没来由地一阵紧张。警察登门会不会与“手指聊天聚会”有关？尽管我没觉得一群人坐在黑暗中抠对方的手心有什么违法的地方，但直觉告诉我，什么也别说。保守这个秘密。别惹麻烦。就像父亲常常对我说的那样。“……我喝了点啤酒，醒来以后骑摩托车出去兜风。就这样。对邻居的投诉我深感歉意。”

“哦。骑摩托兜风。”没什么干劲的警察在平板电脑上写道，“男人的浪漫，我懂的。那就这样。没问题了，你知道，对精神衰弱的老太太的投诉我们向来不太当真，但总得例行公事走一趟，是吧？”他站起身来，把大檐帽夹在腋下，将电脑和笔塞回口袋。

“结束了？”我不敢相信地站起来。

“感谢您的配合。”警察干巴巴地说着标准用语，转身出门。我端着威士忌杯子送他出去，在关门时，小个子回头抬起黑眼珠看了我一眼说：“对了，你骑摩托没去什么不该去的地方吧？”

“……什么不该去的地方？当然没有。”我立刻回答。

“哦，你的摩托车在城东南方向脱离了摄像头的监控。一定是条风景独特的小巷，不是吗？虽然目前犯罪率达到半个世纪以来的最低点，但做这行你就知道，世界上还是存在各式各样的坏人的。今天好心情，先生。”他似笑非笑地拍拍我的肩膀，扣上大檐帽，点头致意，然后走下公寓楼嘎吱作响的木头楼梯。

我反锁屋门，靠在门上急速喘气。警察真的掌握到什么信息？她和神秘的“手指聊天聚会”是什么非法组织？对了。我这个笨蛋。我拍拍脑袋，想起昨天中午遇到她的情形，她和她的伙伴正在被两名警察追赶。

我需要再次见到她。话题千奇百怪、令人兴奋莫名的手指聊天聚会在凌晨三点结束，穿黑色连帽衫的人们默默地依次离开伊甸道289S简陋的地下室，我与她在人群中失散，遵守聚会的准则，我没有大声喊她，后来发现，还不知道她的名字。

我需要再次见到她。

7

上线后，ROY已经离开，我叹口气，关掉电脑。手指聊天聚会从午夜十二点开始，我从未如此急切地等待天黑，不停起立、坐下、切换电视频道，坐在马桶上发呆，反复看表。为消磨时间，我从保湿盒里取出珍藏许久的玻利瓦尔2号雪茄，将昂贵的铝管打开，用雪茄剪小心切开茄头，划火柴点燃，深深吸一口，慢慢吐出，古巴优质雪茄厚重浓烈的烟气让我感觉舒适的眩晕，但很快负罪感涌上心头，30美元一支的雪茄？这不是我应当享受的。这样美妙的东西应当永远保存在我简陋的保湿盒里，像漂亮的川崎摩托车一样时时瞻仰。

说起来，我的摩托车在回家的路上开始工作不良，发动机发出虚弱的咳嗽声，我想是化油器老化导致雾化效果下降，老伙计年纪毕竟不小了。今夜应该用更隐秘、更安全的方法到达伊甸道，我开动脑筋想着，无意识地拨动遥控器切换频道。电视如同网络一样无聊，昨夜聚会讨论的话题没有任何一个出现在电视节目里，更别说那些天马行空的批评和议论。我焦躁不安地吸完整支雪茄（直到烟头烫手），到卧室衣橱里翻出一件学生时代的深蓝色连帽衫，套在身上，戴上兜帽，走到穿衣镜前。

皱皱巴巴的蓝色连帽衫上印着史蒂夫·乔布斯——一个当代年轻人可能根本不知道的过时名字——的黑白画像，衣服显得很合身，我的体重自从大学时代后就没有增加过，兜帽里浮着一张苍白的、两腮瘦削、眼袋浮肿的中年男人的脸，男人试图挤出一个微笑，配着大大的酒糟鼻，显得有些滑稽。

所以我才如此想念手指聊天聚会。在一片漆黑里，谁也不用看见谁不讨人喜欢的脸庞，有的只是手指的触感和书写思想。我想着，掀开兜帽，把头发仔细地向右边梳，怎样也掩不住半秃的天灵盖。

天色终于暗下来，我把奶酪放在饼干上叠成高高的摞，压紧后送入烤箱，又开了一瓶啤酒，当作简易晚餐。奶酪在胃里燃烧，我怎么也压抑不住内心的悸动，穿着连帽衫在起居室里走来走去，这时电视新闻播出一个穷极无聊的家伙举着硕大的标语牌在市政府门前抗议，现场围观者很多，但似乎没人参与到他发起的示威中来。我想我在人群中看到一两个穿着黑色连帽衫的身影。是他们吗？我丢下遥控器，扣上兜帽。决定出去看看。

地铁里人不太多，有些人佯装盯着屏幕上的广告，偷偷打量我和我连帽衫上的史蒂夫·乔布斯。“那老头衣服上印着的是谁？”“我想是个宗教领袖……那又是谁？”两个十五六岁、留着时兴的蘑菇发型的年轻人低声谈论着。你们说对了一点，无知的小子。我把兜帽压低一点。在我们那个时代，乔布斯就是宗教领袖，直到移动互联网变得恶俗无聊、人们丢掉复杂的智能手机回归基础通话功能的大变革到来。

半个小时后，我来到市政广场，明亮灯光下的草坪中站着那个举着标语牌的人，牌子大得吓人，用红红绿绿的颜料涂写着几行字迹，我看不太清。我的视力也在衰退，这应该和幻听一样，是饮酒过度的后遗症？母亲在电话里说起，我的父亲现在瞎得像只鼹鼠。我想象不出那个大胡子、红脸膛、拥有强壮手臂和结实大肚腩的粗鲁汉子如今是什么模样，也没有兴趣知道。

一群人远远站着围观，几个警察靠在警车上嚼着口香糖，滑板少年在台阶上玩花样，电视采访车前记者与扛着摄影机的家伙聊着天，示威者显得有些孤独。我走近些，眯起眼睛看标语牌，上面的红字是：壁炉燃烧木材是造成温室效应的元凶。下面的蓝字写着：拆毁一个老式壁炉，延长地球一天寿命。

我皱起眉头。第一修正案就是为这些无聊的话题准备的吗？手指聊天聚会中那些犀利的观点都到哪里去了呢？我走近围观的人群，试图找出黑色连帽衫的踪迹，但这时警察走上前来以草坪维护为理由请示威者离开，人群也随之散去，我没能在其中找到熟悉的影子。几个警察用狐疑的目光上下打量我，其中一个举起手指指我衣服上的头像，另一个恍然大悟，并大笑了起来。我立刻转身离开。

不由自主地，我乘坐地铁向城东出发，在环线最东端的地铁站下车，拦了一辆出租车并告诉司机：“伊甸道289号。”

“伊甸道？”出租司机嘟哝着，“希望小费够多。”

车子拐入小路，街区越来越破旧，路灯也稀少起来，随着出租车停在黑暗的伊甸道中央，我的紧张和希冀水涨船高。“考虑搬家吗，老兄？我知道几家不错的旅馆。”司机接过车费，替我打开车门。

“不必了，我喜欢安静。”我下车，关上车门，挥挥手。出租车的尾灯亮起，接着迅速变小，消失在深远的夜里。现在是晚上九点，伊甸道依然寂静得像一座坟墓，我走近碎掉一扇窗户的289号大门，想了想，推门而入。

我知道我来得太早了，可些许等待会让今夜的聚会更加有趣。同昨天一样，我的心脏怦怦跳着，不同的是兴奋代替了恐惧。在摇晃的白炽灯的照明下，我找到楼梯背后的小门，拧开黄铜门把手，狭窄而深邃的40阶楼梯出现在眼前。我没有手机，当然也没有手电筒，我整理一下兜帽，闭上眼睛，走入渐渐黑暗的地下室。1，2，3，4，5，…，39，40。面前出现一堵墙，楼梯在此转弯，我摸索着，伸出右脚试探，找到向下的台阶，1，2，3，…，39，40。双脚落在平坦的地面，前面应该是挂着铜质S符号的绿色木门，我满怀希望，伸出双手。

手指摸到的，是冰冷的水泥。

记忆出现偏差了吗？我尽量回忆昨夜的经历，楼梯的尽头有一扇门，仅有一扇门。不会错，我清楚地记得黄铜S字母的光泽。我移动脚步，左右试探，两边都是混凝土墙壁，正前方原本应该是门的地方，也是一扇粗糙的墙壁，楼梯的尽头，竟然是一个死巷。

我感觉血涌上头部，耳朵开始发热，头痛再次袭来。冷静，要冷静，我对自己说，深呼吸，做个深呼吸。我摘掉兜帽，长长地吸一口气，地下冷且潮湿的空气涌进我的肺，让我过热的大脑稍微冷却。

平静了几分钟，我再次试着寻找那扇消失的门。没有任何痕迹表明这里曾经出现过一扇门，坑洼不平的墙壁刺痛我的指尖。我颓然坐下。

“你的朋友们去哪了？”父亲的脸出现在黑暗中，带着漫不经心的放肆的嘲笑。“住嘴！”我叫道，把脑袋埋进臂弯，堵住自己的耳朵。“我说过了，别惹麻烦。”父亲抹去嘴角的酒迹，呼出臭烘烘的灼热气息，他揽着姐姐的肩膀，姐姐明亮的蓝眼睛中蓄着透明的眼泪。母亲在一旁哭泣。“住嘴！”我尖叫道。“你已经18岁了，现在滚出我的房子，找份工作，或者去上你那该死的大学，我没有责任再与你分享我的牛肉浓汤了。”父亲咆哮着，将衣箱扔在我脚下。姐姐躲在厨房里流泪望着我，母亲无动于衷地端着锅子。“住嘴！”我歇斯底里地尖叫着。

不知过了多久。黑暗中，你没办法准确计算时间。我或许做了一个噩梦，也可能根本没睡着。我扶着墙壁，慢慢站起来，每一个关节都在因长时间蜷曲而呻吟。现在我想做的，只有回到我小小的公寓，喝一大杯不加冰的威士忌，倒在沙发上，打开电视，把我昨夜荒唐的梦境完全忘掉。把手心残留的触感完全忘掉。把手指聊天聚会这个荒诞不经的名字完全忘掉。

我迈出左腿，脚尖踢到什么东西，那东西滚动两下，亮了起来。白色光斑照亮狭窄的空间。那是我昨夜丢在门前的手机，我独一无二的、被当今时代唾弃的老式智能手机。

那不是梦。我立刻找回了全身力量，拾起手机。电量马上就要耗尽，但足够让我仔细检查凭空出现的墙壁。没错，这堵墙是崭新的、由快干水泥临时砌成的，在墙壁下方接缝处我发现了被掩埋一多半的木质门槛。门还在，只是被试图隐藏秘密的人保护起来。我敲敲墙壁，水泥的厚度在我破坏的能力范围之外。穿黑色连帽衫的人不是我的幻觉，他们只是换了聚会的地点，忘了通知我而已。我有些欣慰地自我安慰道。

我在那里等到凌晨两点，没有人出现。我走上地面，步行到两公里外的地铁站，在那里找到一辆出租车回到公寓。我一步一步走上嘎吱作响的台阶，心情乱糟糟的，但周三上午还要工作，打开公寓门之后，我想的是赶快喝杯酒冲个澡，然后好好睡一觉。

我愣在门口。我的沙发上，坐着一个穿黑色连帽衫的人。

8

我拿起电子印章，给屏幕上那份六个孩子的新移民家庭提交的特殊贫困津贴申请书盖章，电子印章指示灯由绿色变为红色，代表今天的通过名额用光了。我靠在椅背上，活动一下手腕。距离下班还有一个半小时，与我共享小隔间的漂亮金发女人站起来邀请大家参加她的生日聚会，“如果你有时间的话……也欢迎你。”她有些迟疑地对我发出邀请，我知道这样的邀请已经是礼貌的极限。“对不起，我第二天有个重要约会。那么，生日快乐！”我回答道。她显然松了一口气，拍拍胸脯：“谢谢，真遗憾。祝约会愉快哦。”

对她这样年龄的女孩来说，我是长辈，我很明白一个不合时宜的长辈能给聚会带来多大的灾难。但约会并不是借口，我的右掌心犹能清楚地感觉到她的留言：明早六点市政广场。

我不知道她用什么方法找到我、怎样进入我的公寓，也不知道她等了多久，在短暂的震惊过后，我走过去，拉起她的手。脱衣舞俱乐部的霓虹灯在窗外闪耀，给她的黑色连帽衫镀上五彩光芒，我仍然看不清兜帽下的脸庞。“对不起，聚会地点更改了。没来得及通知你。”她写道。

“我给你们带来麻烦了吗？”我问。

“不，情况很复杂。刚才的手指聊天聚会只有核心成员参加。我们内部产生了一些争执。”她写完这句话，手指点了几个代表犹豫的省略号。

“关于什么？”

“关于要不要做一件蠢事。”她在“蠢事”两字下面画了一条波浪线。

“我不明白。”我老老实实写。

“如果你愿意听的话，我可以把手指聊天聚会的由来、组织形式、派系斗争和最终目标讲给你听。”她写了个很长的句子。

“我不愿意听。”我回答，“我不愿意把有趣的聊天聚会变成政治。”

“你不懂。”她画出代表叹气的大于号。我发现她就连最简单的情绪表达都通过书写来完成。“你一定发觉，网络、电视、纸质出版物在这些年来失去了思想的光芒。”

“是的！”我有些兴奋，“不知道为什么，可以引发争论的话题都消失了，剩下的都是些无聊的东西，我不止一次在讨论组里发表敏感问题，但没有任何人参与讨论。瞧，他们似乎更关心生鱼片和蚯蚓。很多年前我就发现了，那时没有人相信，医生让我吃那些该死的小药片使这种幻觉消失。我知道这不是幻觉！”

“不只这样，你与朋友聊天的内容、在街上看到的景象，也像媒体和网络一样变得越来越平淡。”

“你怎么知道？”我几乎站起来。

“这是一个阴谋。”她用力写，导致我的掌心感觉疼痛。

“阴谋？像人类登陆月球那样的阴谋？”

“像水门事件那样的阴谋。”她缭乱写道，辨识起来有些费力。

“我想我需要好好上一课。”

“那从政治开始。”

“先等一下……下一次聚会何时举行？我可以参加吗？”

“这就是争执产生的地方。行动派认为，我们下次聚会应该在公共场所举行，比如市政广场。我们不应该再躲躲藏藏，而要强硬地表达自己的态度。”她告诉我。

“我猜……警察不太喜欢你们。”我又想起初见她的那天，气喘吁吁追逐的两名警官。

“整个组织他们掌握不了，只是部分成员有案底而已，特别是行动派。”她坦然回答。

“你有案底？”我好奇地问。

“说来话长。”她不愿多谈。

“……你叫什么名字？”我鼓足勇气，终于问出这个问题。

她的手指停止移动。我努力端详她兜帽下的脸，但连帽衫完全遮蔽了她的面貌，甚至性别特征。我忽然想到，关于“她是女人”的猜测完全基于纤细的手指，她也可能是个年轻的男孩子，尽管内心完全抗拒接受这一点。我希望她是姐姐那样的女人，亚麻色头发、声音轻柔、有点调皮、鼻子上长着几朵小小的雀斑，我漫长的单身生涯一直在寻找的那种女人。

“你会知道的。”她想了想，避开这个话题。

“其实我更好奇的是……”我正感受左手食指与她右掌心的细腻触感，窗外忽然有警笛声响起，尖利的啸叫由远而近，她警惕地坐直身子，拉低兜帽，快速写道：“我要走了。如果愿意的话，明早六点市政广场。记住：这是你自己的选择，你有机会改变世界，更可能后悔终生，无论怎样，别因此责备别人，特别是我，因为你自己做出选择。顺便说一句，我觉得光头的男人比较性感。”

她用瘦弱而有力的手指捏捏我的右手，离开沙发，从起居室的窗户翻了出去，我追过去向下看，她已经从防火梯灵巧地攀援下去，消失在街角。我抚摸着自己半秃的头顶，有点迷茫。

9

我37岁那年因为种种原因陷入深深的抑郁，房东太太说服我去见她的心理医生，并威胁我说不接受一个疗程的心理咨询就要把我和我的脏屁股踢出公寓楼，虽然明白她怕我在起居室里服毒自杀，我后来还是深深感念她的好意。心理医生是个留着弗洛伊德式大胡子的瑞典人，“不，我不是心理医生。”见面聊了几句之后，他说：“我是精神病医生。这也不是心理咨询，是心理治疗。你需要服药，先生。这些小药丸可以让你不总梦到姐姐的坟墓。”

“我不害怕小药丸，医生。”我回答：“只要医疗保险能够支付。我也不怕梦见亲爱的姐姐，就算她一次又一次从坟墓中爬出来。我害怕的是身边正在发生的一切。你感觉到了吗，医生，滴答滴答，像秒针一样，这儿，那儿，永不停止。”

医生饶有兴致地俯身过来：“讲讲你所说的变化。”

“有种东西在死去。”我左右望望，低声说：“你嗅不到腐烂的味道吗？电视节目里的评论员、报纸专栏作家、网络聊天组，自由的精神正在死去。像暴露在DDT中的蚊虫一样大规模死去。”

“我看到的，是社会与民主的进步。你有没有想过某种阴谋论的精神症状使你怀疑一切，包括和谐的文化氛围？”医生向后靠，交叉手指。

“你也曾经年轻过，医生，那个敢于怀疑一切的时代。”我焦急地提高音量：“在那个我们不知道会成为什么人但明白自己不愿成为什么人的时代，在那个充满斗争又充满英雄的时代。”

“当然我怀念年轻的时候，先生。谁都应该。不过既然我们已经是成年人，要承担家庭责任和社会责任乃至人类文明和物种延续的职责，我的建议是回去定时服用这些小药片，把你不切实际的幻想都丢掉，找一份轻松的工作，周末时钓钓鱼，每年出去旅游一趟，在合适的时候找个女孩成立一个家庭，当然我们还没有聊到你的性倾向，请不要当作歧视，然后生个孩子。”医生戴上眼镜，翻开记事本，用暂停的手势打断我即将脱口而出的争辩：“现在，让我们谈谈你父亲和姐姐的问题吧，童年创伤对那些小药丸的组成很重要。好吗？”

治疗很有效。我渐渐习惯平淡的电视节目与网络讨论组，习惯社会的平静、单纯、美好与平庸，习惯父亲的影子偶尔出现在面前，尽量不与往事争辩。忽然一个穿黑色连帽衫的家伙闯进我一成不变的单身汉生活，丢给我一个选择，一个我完全无法理解其中意义的选择。我能够理解的是，手指聊天带给我许久未有的真实感，让我感觉八年前逐渐死掉的那些东西像春季的昆虫在地下悄悄破茧重生。“明早六点市政广场”代表什么，我想不明白，在面临选择的时候我通常掷硬币，硬币在空中飞舞的时候答案会自己出现：你期望哪一面先落地。这次我没有掏出硬币，因为下班后走出社会保障局大楼后潜意识驱使我走向地铁站的反方向，推开一扇旋转灯柱旁的玻璃门，对站在镜子前面的肥胖男人说：

“嗨。”

“嗨，好久不见。”胖男人挥挥手，“老样子？”

“不。”我微笑，“帮我剃个光头。性感的那种。”

10

凌晨三点四十分从梦中惊醒，再也睡不着。我泡了个热水澡，换上史蒂夫·乔布斯连帽衫和卡其布长裤，穿上慢跑鞋，戴上耳机，听金属乐队的老音乐。五点整的时候我给ROY留言，喝了一杯咖啡，走出公寓。太阳没有升起，清晨的风吹过新剃的头皮，让我滚烫的大脑凉爽起来。我搭上第一班地铁，满不在乎稀疏乘客投来诧异的目光。五点四十分，我来到市政广场，站在草坪中央，路灯明亮，晨雾升起。

五点五十分，街灯熄灭，第一线天光照亮青蓝色的薄雾，人影在雾中逐渐聚集。一个穿黑色连帽衫的人握住我的右手，我牵起左侧陌生人的手臂，“早安”在掌心传递，越来越多的人出现在市政广场前，沉默地组成不断扩大的圆环。

六点十分，由超过100人组成的环稳定了，手指聊天聚会的参与者开始高速传输信息，我闭上眼睛，一滴露水从兜帽沿滴下。右边是一个年老的绅士，松弛的皮肤与精炼的造句告诉我这一点；左边是一位保养得当的女士，她手掌丰润，戴着大大的钻石戒指。话题出现。“相比现在那些没种的娘娘腔乐队，哪些乐队的名字是我们应该永远记住的？”

“金属乐队、U2，当然还有滚石。”我立刻加入自己的意见。

“地下丝绒。”

“性手枪。”

“绿日。皇后。涅槃。”

“NOFX。”

“Rage Against The Machine。”

“Anti-Flag。”

“Joy Division。”

“The Clash。”

“卡百利，当然。”

“Massive Attack。”

“……跳舞音乐也算吗？那要加上性感小野猫。”

我会心地微笑。第二、三个话题出现。我怀念这种自由自在讨论的感觉，即使以游戏式的数据交换方式。第四、五个话题出现。指尖与掌心繁忙工作，在减少误码率的基础上尽量使用缩略词，我感觉手指聊天技巧逐渐纯熟。第六、七个话题出现，这几乎是手指聊天聚会带宽的极限。话题附加的评论会逐渐增多，直到所有感兴趣的人发言完毕，发起话题的人有权利和义务在合适的时刻停止该话题的传输，为新主题腾出空间。第一、三个话题消失了，第二个话题，即关于宪法第一修正案的评论仍在持续增加。其他话题发起者不约而同选择中止传输。环网中只剩第二个话题，参与者默契地停止发送话题本身，仅仅传递评论以节省带宽。但这时的聊天组是低效率运行的，因为环网中传输的只有一个数据包，有人意识到这一点，在空闲时发起新话题。新话题让网络再次繁忙，但数据很快在某一个节点拥堵起来。

遥远大学时代的记忆忽然被唤醒。“介绍一种已经消亡的网络拓扑结构，由IBM在20世纪70年代发明的令牌环网。”网络课程导师在讲台上说。手指聊天聚会原来是一种以自觉为基础的、不太科学的令牌环网。我手忙脚乱地传送完第二个话题的庞大数据包，有点闲暇地想着改进方案。

一个很短的信息出现了。这是不科学的，我想。然而信息让我张大嘴巴。“我的名字叫黛西——致性感的光头。”

我能感觉5-羟色胺在千亿脑神经元中产生，腺苷三磷酸让心脏剧烈跳动，身体内部的小人儿在欢呼雀跃。我截停了这条信息，发送一条新的出去：“你好，黛西。”

由于庞大的第二话题数据包，网络的运行变得迟缓，我等了十分钟才收到上游传回的数据，显然有人把第二话题评论精简了，压缩数据包的最后，附加着我的话题“你好，黛西”以及众多评论。

“我们爱你，黛西。”“我们的雏菊。”“小美人。”……“你好，光头叔叔。”

光头叔叔是我。我想到出门前穿衣镜里的人像，瘦削的身体、下垂的两腮、红鼻子和滑稽的光头，过时的连帽衫，像个小丑。我微笑了。

正在撰写评论，网络忽然传来微微动荡，我不由睁开眼睛。太阳早已升起，薄雾消失得无影无踪，市政广场草坪的每一片草叶都挂着晶莹的露水珠。手拉手的手指聊天聚会成员围成不规则的圆环，像一堵沉默的墙，许多人在远远围观，晨跑的健身者、途径的上班族、记者与警察。他们显然有些迷茫，因为我们没有标语、口号，没有任何表示我们在抗议示威的知觉特征。

一辆警车停在广场边缘，排气筒冒着白烟，车门打开，走出几名警察。我认出打头的那一个，曾经登门造访的小个子警官，依然带着懒洋洋的表情，迈着松垮的步伐。他摸摸整齐的小胡子左右打量我们一群人，然后径直走到我面前。“先生，早上好。”他摘下大檐帽按在胸前。

我盯着他，没有答话。

“对不起，你们被捕了。”他有气无力地说。四辆黑色的、庞大的厢式警车无声无息地出现在市政广场，全副武装的防暴警察涌出，举着警棍和盾牌逼近。围观人群没有任何动静。没有人惊呼呐喊，没有人移动脚步，甚至没有任何人把目光投向步伐整齐的防暴警察。

我能从旁边人手心的汗液感觉紧张的情绪。第二话题数据包消失了。一条极其简短的信息以交换方式能够支持的最快速度在网络中传送。

“自由。”许多手指在许多掌心快速、坚定地写下。

“自由。”所有人睁开眼睛，闭紧嘴巴。

“自由。”我们用无声的最大音量对黑色的政府机器呐喊。

“黛西，我爱你。”我传出最后一条信息，然后被防暴警察野蛮地扑倒在地。网络分崩离析，我不知道信息能否传到黛西那里，她处在网络的什么位置？我不知道。今后能不能再见到她？我不知道。实际上，我从未真正见过她，但我感觉，我比世上任何一个人更了解她。

“别惹麻烦。”父亲高高在上地俯视我变形的脸。防暴警察试图将我的脸与草坪结为一体。

“去你的。”我吐出一口草腥味的口水。

11

我有十分钟的电话时间，我不想浪费，可除了瘦子和ROY之外，想不到还能打给谁。瘦子声音怪异地讲着牙买加的阿拉瓦语，ROY没有接电话。我放下听筒，发着呆。

“嗨，老爹，你在浪费所剩无几的生命。”后面排队的人不耐烦地开口。

我无意识地拨了熟悉的号码。与往常一样，铃响三声之后，电话接通了：“你好？”

“你好吗，妈妈？”我说。

“我很好。你呢？头痛还出现吗？”听筒里传来拖动椅子的声音，对面的人坐下了。

“最近好多了。……他呢？”我说。

“你从不主动问起他。”母亲的声音有些诧异。

“唔。我想……”

“上个月他去世了。”母亲平静地说。

“哦，是吗？”

“是的。”

“那么有人照顾你吗？”

“你的姨妈陪着我，放心。”

“他的坟地……”

“在教区。距离你姐姐的很远。”

“那我就放心了。那么……周末快乐，妈妈。”

“当然。也祝你愉快。再见。”

“再见。”

听筒传来忙音。我揉搓右手的丑陋色斑，试图把那些画面从眼前抹去，酒气熏天的父亲、哭泣的姐姐、变得无动于衷的母亲，大学时代回家看到的画面，如今因生命的流逝显得不再那么沉重。“老爹，时间宝贵啊，滴答滴答。”排队的人指指手腕，模仿秒针跳动。我挂好听筒，转身离开。

午餐时我与一个红头发的家伙坐在一起，他的脸上刺着男人的名字，胳膊上花花绿绿，像穿着件夏威夷衫。“这家伙是个同性恋！别靠近他。别让他摸你的手。”与我分享房间的墨西哥人曾经告诫我，我想他是好意。我端着餐盘，挪开一些。

红头发嬉皮笑脸凑了过来：“要分享我的羊奶布丁吗？我不是什么乳糖爱好者。”

“谢谢，不必了。”我尽量礼貌。

红头发伸手过来，我触电似地缩回手臂，但还是被他捉住了。他把我的右手紧紧握在掌心，指尖轻轻搔挠，让我感觉毛骨悚然的不适。

“我想我不太适应这种关系，我说……”我尽量挣扎。旁边的人肆无忌惮笑了起来，鼓劲似地敲打餐桌。熟悉的感觉传来。那是手指聊天的讯息，一样的缩写方式，快速而准确，“如果你懂的话，反馈我。”

我冷静下来，深深地看了红头发一眼。他还是一副令人反感的同性恋表情。我手指反勾，告诉他：“收到。”

“天哪！”他表情不变，却写下代表强烈感情色彩的感叹词。“终于又找到一个了。”现在听我说，午餐后去阅读室，东边靠墙鸟不生蛋的哲学区域，第二个书架底层，在黑格尔与诺瓦利斯之间有一本2009年版的《哲学史大观》，拿去看。如果不明白阅读方法，第149～150页有简单说明。稍后我会再跟你联系，为了安全起见……我建议你做好变成同性恋的准备。现在，打我。

“什么？”我没反应过来。

红头发带着真正同性恋才有的恶心笑容伸手去摸我的屁股，我挥起拳头，砸在他的鼻梁上。“噢！”围观者愉快地哄然大笑。狱警向这边看来，红头发从地上爬起来，捂着流血的鼻子，骂骂咧咧地端起餐盘离开了。“我说什么来着？”同屋的墨西哥人端着盘子出现，挑起大拇指：“不过你是个有种的老家伙。”

我没理他，尽快把食物塞进口中。午饭后，我独自来到阅读室，在哲学书架底层、黑格尔与诺瓦利斯之间找到那本精装的2009年版《哲学史大观》，交给图书管理员登记，带回房间。墨西哥人还没有回来，我躺在上铺，翻开厚重的封皮。没什么出奇，这是一本空洞的哲学书籍，从密密麻麻的条目和引文名单就看得出来。我翻到第149页。这页纸被人调换了，令人头痛的哲学名词中间，出现一张分明从其他书中撕下的泛黄纸页，正面是毫无意义的关节保健知识，背面是大段头部按摩方法和配图，末尾一段，用300字篇幅简单介绍了一种盲文的读写方法，据称这是一种误码率很低、效率极高的新型盲文，但由于各种视觉与非视觉新技术手段给盲人带来的便利，盲文渐渐式微，新型盲文夭折在应用之前。

哦，当然，盲文。我合上精装书，闭上眼睛。封面、封底只有烫金大字。在封面内页，我找到以一定方式排列的密集小圆点，如果不用心感觉，就像封装质量不佳带来的页面坑洼不平。我对照说明，慢慢地解读盲文信息。由于压缩率比较高，我几乎用了两个小时才明白封面内页携带的文本信息。

“手指聊天聚会欢迎你，朋友。”不知名的撰写者在盲文中问候，“你一定察觉了那些变化，但你不明白，你迷茫、愤怒，甚至成为别人眼中的疯子。你也许屈服于现实，也许一直在寻找真相。你有权利得知真相。”

我点点头。

“这是一项庞大的计划。国会秘密通过第33条宪法修正案成立联邦信息安全委员会，对可能危害社会稳定和国家安全的信息进行过滤及替换，在漫长的尝试后，一套高效率的系统逐渐形成，这个系统叫作‘以太’。最初，‘以太’是工作在互联网上、对互联网设备和移动互联网设备进行监控的自动化体系，它对一切被认定存在潜在威胁的文字、视频、音频进行数据欺骗。简单举例，语义分析接口认定一个讨论组中的有害主题，‘以太’对接入该讨论组所在服务器的所有相关会话发送欺骗信息，初发表者之外其他人看到的都是经过调制的讨论话题，同时，信息发送者被数据库记录。假如你发表名为‘参议员的午餐’的话题，被判定为有害信息，运行于巨型计算机上的、因法律体系而凌驾于所有网络防火墙之上的‘以太’在其他程序会话接入之前控制所有端口，将数据包中的相关字节替换，于是在别人眼里，你发表的话题变成无趣的‘KFC超值午餐’。以这种方式，联邦政府秘密地彻底控制了网络，可悲的是，绝大多数人并不知情。他们只是悲观地认为，革命精神在互联网上逐渐消失，这也是联邦最愿意看到的情形。”

我感觉后背发凉。这时墨西哥人走了进来，把脏毛巾丢在我的肚皮上，“老家伙，你应该偶尔参加一点集体活动”。

“闭嘴！”我用尽全身力气叫嚷。墨西哥人愣了。他的表情由惊诧、愤怒变为逐渐恐惧，挪开视线，不敢看我充血的眼睛。我的手指颤抖着在《哲学史大观》扉页移动。

“随着‘以太’的成功，联邦政府对广播、电视和纸质出版物的控制是顺理成章的结局，对部分不肯配合信息安全法案的媒体人士，与‘以太’同源的信息欺骗技术被用于隔离异见者。纳米微电子技术被用于信息欺骗，很快，权力者意识到纳米机械在肉眼可见光范围内信息替换的潜力，第33条修正案颁布后的第7年，他们决定向空气中散播纳米微机械。这种微型设备悬浮在空气中，利用土壤和建筑材料中的硅进行自我复制，直至达到预定浓度，它们仅具有简单的机械结构，浓度达到规定程度后进入工作状态；它们会自动侦测具有潜在威胁的文字（可见光信号）和声音（音波信号），将其替换为无害信息，并将发布者记录在案。它们附着在印刷文本和标语牌表面，通过光偏振向除发布者之外的观察者发布欺骗光学信号；它们改变声波扩散形态，向除发布者之外的倾听者发布欺骗声学信号，当然，发布者本身因为骨骼的传导作用，听到的还是自己的原本想说的话。漂浮在空气中的小恶魔使‘以太’无所不能、无所不在，如同哲学家口中人类无法察觉却充满一切空间的神秘物质——‘以太’本身。”

“我看到的，是社会与民主的进步。”我想到心理医生的话，握紧拳头，牙齿咯咯作响。

“这就是我们生活的时代，我的朋友。一切都是谎言。网络讨论组是谎言。电视节目是谎言。坐在你对面说话的人，说着谎言。高举的标语牌，刻着谎言。你的生活被谎言包围。这是享乐主义者的美好时代，没有争执，没有战斗，没有丑闻，当阴谋论者被关入精神病院，最后的革命者在孤独的电脑屏幕前郁郁而终，等待我们的是脆弱而完美的明天，彬彬有礼的悬崖舞者，建在流沙上的华美城堡。”

“我是谁？我是无名小卒，参与编织‘以太’黑幕的罪人，我并不重要，重要的是你察觉到这一切变化，有权利得知真相，现在真相就在你手中，由你选择接下来的道路。手指是我们最珍贵的礼物，因为在可预见的20年内，纳米机械没有欺骗人类精密触觉的可能。若你下定决心的话，随时可以通过你的介绍人加入手指聊天聚会，加入‘以太’无所不在监视下唯一的、最后的反抗组织，加入虚假世界内的仅有的真实。”

“手指聊天聚会欢迎你，朋友。”

我合上厚重的封皮。一幕幕画面在脑海中串联起来。我看到了真相，却产生更多的疑问。这一切疑问，只有写下这些文字的人能够给予解答。我用手掌抚摸长出短短灰色发茬的头皮，知道自己早已做出选择。

晚餐时，我见到红头发的同性恋者，径直走过去拉起他的手。餐厅里一片哗然，我们成为嘲笑的对象，但我视而不见，在他的手心写道：“我加入。”

他露出一个内容丰富的笑容。“欢迎你。第一次聚会在两天后集体劳动时举行，木器厂东北侧。内部刊物在哲学第二书架的底层，尼采文集的扉页，每周更新。对了，女监区亚麻色头发、长着雀斑的小妞让我传达‘对性感光头大叔’的问候。我想，我没找错人。”

我张大嘴巴。

那一刻，我想了很多。我没有想怎样使用幼稚的交流方式给世界带来变化，而是想着父亲留给我的一切。我以为父亲的棍棒与责骂让我不懂得怎样去爱，但我发现，爱是人类无法割除的灵魂片段，而不只是荷尔蒙的颤抖；我如此憎恨我的父亲，以至于年复一年抗拒着有关他的所有回忆，但我发现，责打孩子的父亲未必不能养成健全的人格，疼痛起码是真实的，我更憎恨（即使是善意的）欺骗。

我需要做的是像23年前一样，大声对那个用尽一切办法控制我人生的家伙喊出：“去你的！”

有着亚麻色头发、蓝眼睛的她，给予我勇气。我握紧红头发的手，仿佛透过他的皮肤，感觉到她的体温。我们的手心里，写着爱与自由。滚烫的爱与自由。烧破皮肤、镌刻在骨骼上的爱与自由。

“我爱你，黛西。——不是对你说，请别会错意。”众目睽睽中，我在红头发的手心写下。

“当然。”红头发早有准备地以一个熟悉的、调皮的笑脸回答。

开光

陈楸帆

0

据说我满岁的时候，我妈抱着我上街买菜，路遇一名和尚。

和尚摸了摸我当时和他一样寸草不生的脑袋，吟了几句诗。我妈回来告诉我爸，我爸比我妈文化程度略高，初中毕业，他说那不是诗，那叫佛偈，他记下只言片语，后来请教了屋头的教书先生，才查到了这几句决定我命运的佛偈。

出入云闲满太虚，元来真相一尘无。

重重请问西来意，唯指庭前一柏树。

他们觉得其中必有蹊跷，于是就根据这几句佛偈给我改了个名字。

你才太虚呢，你全家太虚。

1

我叫周重柏，我在一个蒸笼里，我是一枚蒸饺。

每个人都在不停地吐息，然后死死盯住对方嘴里冒出的白烟，就像卡通片里的人物，脑袋上升起云团，能看到思维逻辑、裸女，或者是凝固的表音符号。可烟雾散尽，只露出对面一张浮肿的糙脸，空气净化器疯了般嘶吼，后排的小姑娘默默戴上口罩，滑动手机，眉头一皱。

不用看我也知道，现在已经过了半夜，微信上的媳妇儿已经不搭理我了。

我是临时被拉来开会的。当时我和媳妇儿遛完弯回家，在天桥上经过一个身穿军大衣的哥们儿，他突然开口，声若洪钟，把我俩都吓了一跳。

他说：“1月4日象限仪流星雨光临地球，不要错过……”

我等着他说出专业上讲叫“行动”（call for action）的关键词，比如“加入XX组织”“拨打热线电话”，或者从大衣里掏出一把单筒天文望远镜或者别的什么大家伙，告诉你“现在只卖88元”，都算是成功的推销落格。可他像个自动答录机又回到开始“……1月4日象限仪流星雨……”

任务失败（Mission failed）。

我们只好失望地悻悻离开。这时手机响了，是老徐。我心虚地瞄了眼媳妇儿，她条件反射般露出满脸不高兴，这事儿不止一两次了。我接通了手机，于是就到了这里，坐到现在。

媳妇儿给我的最后一句回话是：“让你妈就别惦记着要孙子了，她儿子已经够孙子了。”

“重柏，”老徐把我的思绪拽回到毒气室里，据说他已经跟老婆分居三年了，原因不明，有时候，我感觉他拍我肩膀时用力不太自然。“你负责策略，你说说看！”

透过烟雾迷蒙，我努力看清小白板上鬼画符般的记录，用户洞察、产品卖点、市场调研……就像用各种颜色的马克笔画连连看一样，勾连成三角形、五边形、六芒星或者七龙珠，毫无意义。

蒸笼里的压力在不断升高，汗珠在我额头凝结、淌下、滴落。

“热啊，擦擦。”老徐递给我一张揉得皱巴巴的纸巾，颜色可疑，我不敢不擦。

“万总对上次的方案就不太满意，想换组，被我摁住了，如果这次还不行，你懂的。”

劣质纸巾糊了我一脸。

他说的万总就是我们的上帝，一家移动互联网公司的老总。在中关村街头主动跟陌生人搭讪的十个人里，一个卖安利，两个做如新，三个信耶稣得永生，剩下的全是IT创业公司的C什么O或者联合创始人。如果这群人在街头进行三分钟无差别1V1对喷战，那最后一类人必须大获全胜，他们不卖东西，卖的是改变世界的理念，他们不为神代言，他们自己就是神。

万总就是这么一个神人。

托了老徐的福，我们这小破公司接下万总的单，花着这个天使那个PE的ABCD轮美钞、欧元、澳币，帮他们公司的App拓展市场，提高产品知名度，提升日均活跃度，然后万总再拿着这些数字拉来更多的投资，车轮般运转不息。

所以点在哪里？

“点在哪里！”老徐的干瘪嗓音像隧道里呼啸而过的地铁，一股无形的风压震得我眼前发黑。我颤巍巍地起身，刻意回避其他人的目光，就像二维国里的居民，身上全是点，就是看不见。

“是……是产品的问题。”我深深地低下头，准备迎接老徐的劈头盖脸。

“这还用得着你说！”

我惊诧无语。

万总公司的另一个联合创始人是他中科大的校友Y，在美国待了多年，被万总忽悠着带着核心专利回国，准备大展拳脚。Y的专利是一种数字水印技术，由于关系到信息学和数学，解释起来颇需要一番功夫。举个最简单的例子，你拍一张照片，用这种技术在照片上加上肉眼看不见的数字水印，则无论这张照片被怎么篡改，哪怕是被裁剪掉80%，你都可以根据算法将照片恢复到原初状态。秘密在于，看不见的数字水印本身便携带了那一时间点图片上的所有信息。

当然这只是这项技术最基础的应用，它可以作为一种认证防伪机制广泛使用到媒体、金融、刑侦、军事安防、医疗等领域，想象空间巨大。可回国之后，他们发现核心领域都被设置了准入门槛，这道门槛出人意料之处不在于有多高，而在于你根本不知道它卡在哪里。屡屡受挫后，他们只好打着擦边球，搞起了娱乐产业，想先借助草根用户的力量把这项技术推广出去，再逐步渗透到商用领域。

万总总把性感挂在嘴边，似乎这是衡量世间万物的唯一标准，可他们做出来的产品却像被戳破的充气娃娃，皱巴巴地被晾在阴凉处风干。

“你们为什么不用？”老徐转向后排的小姑娘们，她们花容失色，假装埋头做着笔记。

万总做出来的App叫“有真相”，只要用这款应用拍出来的照片便被自动加上数字水印，无论被转发多少次，被PS成什么样，只要一键便能将图片复原。最初的市场定位是主打安全牌，用“有真相”拍照，妈妈再也不用担心我的脸出现在艳照上了。

除了铺渠道之外，我们还帮他们策划了一个“有真相现原形”的线上活动。我们找了100个姑娘，用“有真相”帮她们拍照，再用美化功能PS成女神的样子，传到网上，辅佐以“一秒钟女神变恐龙”的Gif效果和文案，引导用户下载App进行功能认知。

反响出奇得热烈，男草根极力追捧，恶搞出许多UGC花样，女性用户群体却是另一个极端，她们在网上吐槽、谩骂、抵制这款产品，认为它以丑化、侮辱女性为乐，将女性追求美的正当权力贬损为一种变态自恋的欺诈行为，甚至还引起了一场不大不小的公关危机。

要我说，这就是我们想要达到的目的，做市场讲究一针见血、直插人心，不见血就说明针太钝，或者没扎中部位。

可万总觉得我们的活动只能博一时眼球，长期来看伤害了产品的品牌。数据曲线证明他是对的，短暂的峰值后，后续下载量一蹶不振，而被活动吸引来的男性用户由于缺乏新鲜内容的持续刺激，也逐渐丧失了活跃度。

“比起担心照片安全，我更在乎别人看到的是不是我最美的一面。”用户访谈中一个相貌普通的女孩说。她的手机相册里充满了千篇一律过分修饰的大头照，每一张看起来都与她本人相去甚远，但她仍然每隔半小时便会举起手机，从侧上方45度角对准自己微微嘟起的嘴唇。

如果一座高塔把根基建在沙滩上，你又怎能指望它站立到涨潮的那一刻？

老徐盯着我，我盯着白板，白板盯着所有人，所有人盯着手机。我们像一群迷失在雾霾里的鸟雀，不断被发光的屏幕吸引注意力，忘记了自己原本想要飞往的方向。而寒冷的夜幕已降临，捕猎者饥肠辘辘，步步逼近。

手机发出电量不足的报警声。我的下意识反应不是省着点儿用，而是变本加厉地翻看起朋友圈来，越临近最后时刻，越要让每一滴能量充分发挥作用，而不是耗散在静默的后台运行里。这是我的价值观、我的哲学。

我看见了万总更新的动态，突然间，蒸饺的皮破了，馅儿流了出来。

“有了！”我拍桌子大喝一声，所有人都从半昏迷状态惊醒过来。

我把手机摆到老徐面前。

万总头像下，一张河畔水景图配上一段文字：

本周六农历15日于温榆河畔放生带籽螺蛳，鸟类、爬行类、水产类等物命，身为佛子，当行佛事，发慈悲心，消世代业。愿此功德，回向老者增福增寿，中年者家庭美满，妻贤子孝，小孩子开通智慧，茁长成长！特此公告，祝大家六时吉祥！（随喜自愿，上不封顶，支付宝账号：XXXXXX，转发此条信息亦可积功德）。

“他们的资金链都紧张到这份儿上了？”老徐瞪大了眼睛。“这个月的月费还没结呢！”

“您再往前看看。”我滑动手机屏幕，万总的动态时间线上，技术与佛法交辉，鸡血与鸡汤齐飞。“这也许是他的另一个爱好。”

“所以点在哪儿？”

“为什么每天都有那么多人转发这些保平安积功德的消息？他们真的信吗？我看未必。图片安全也许不是人们的核心需求，但人身安全，尤其是心理上的安全感，是中国人当下最迫切需要的。我们所要做的，就是将产品和这种心理需求建立起强联系。”

“说人话！”

“你们说说，什么样的信息转了能保平安？”我反问大家。

“菩萨心咒！”“佛图！”“佛诞，各种寿辰！”“上师智慧金句！”

“什么样的你会信而且愿意掏钱？”

大家思考了片刻，一个女孩怯怯地说：“开……开过光的……”

“Bingo！”

整间屋子突然陷入寂静，老徐站起来，面无表情地走到我身后，只听见哐当一声，妖风由领口钻进我后背，像倒进了一桶冰块。屋里的雾霾瞬间消散。

“醒了没！”老徐把窗户重新关上。“你再说一遍，别再跟我扯那些有的没的。”

我看着他，一字一句地说：“找个大师，给这款App开光，让它拍出的每张照片都变护身符，这才是真正的转发保平安。”

所有人把目光从手机屏幕上移开，投向我，我盯着老徐，老徐不说话，看着手机。许久，他长长地出了一口气，说：“朝阳区的700个仁波切不会放过你的。”

那时的我尚不清楚这意味着什么。

2

我媳妇儿是个新时代的卢德主义者，她曾经是个重度的电游玩家，后来被家长强迫报了一个戒断夏令营，之后态度便有了180度的戏剧性扭转。

我问过她很多次，那年夏天，在凤凰山上名为“涅槃计划”的营地里究竟发生了些什么。

她从来不正面回答。

这造就了我俩最大的观念分歧。她认为这一貌似风口浪尖的所谓高科技产业，到头来还是跟那些历史最悠久、最顽固的行当一样，利用大众千疮百孔的心灵，假借进步、提升、拯救之名，行操控、玩弄人心之实。无论你的手放在《圣经》还是iPad上，你都是向着同一个神起誓。

我们只是给了人们想要的东西，他们想要慰藉、快乐、安全感，他们希望自己变得更好，希望自己是人群中与众不同的那一个。我们不能剥夺他们的这种需求。我总是这样反驳她。

“别装大尾巴狼了，你们只是在玩游戏，以满足自己的控制欲。”她说。

“别扯了，都是大活人，有手、有脚、有脑子，谁控制得了谁啊。”

“NPC。”媳妇儿吐出一个词。

“啥玩意儿？”

“Non-Player-Controlled Character，即非玩家控制角色。如果你相信有一个大的后台系统，你的一举一动都会影响到相应的游戏进程逻辑，系统会反馈到这些NPC上，他们便会按照预先设定的程序进行反应。”

我盯着她的脸，像是从来没有真正认识过她，我甚至怀疑她是不是加入了什么新型的邪教组织。

“你不会真的相信这个吧？”

我去遛狗了，这个点儿路上狗屎还少点。

3

每天寺里的钟敲过五响，我就得起床开始扫地，从新修的藏经阁一路沿着木长廊，扫到石台阶，再从石台阶，扫到寺门口那棵张牙舞爪的千年老槐树。

至于扫地过程中默诵的是《严楞经》《法华经》，还是《金刚经》，得看当天的空气PM2.5数值落在哪个区间，我咽喉肿痛，心无旁骛。

随便哪个香客都能看出，我并非佛门中人，我出现在此处，只不过与其他周末研修班的俗家弟子一样，为了逃避。

就像那些在雍和宫外佛具商店里购买电子佛盒的人们，摆在家里，按动按钮，它便会开始诵读经文，每逢正点或者设定好时间，还会发出跟庙里敲钟一样空旷幽远的“duang”一声，仿佛这样便能消除业障，净化罪孽。我时常想象着在罐头般拥挤的2号线地铁里，所有的电子佛盒同时响起的情景，所谓的“禅”或许便是这一瞬间与现实生活的抽离感。

就像吃素，我怀念北新桥那家老汤卤煮。

我注销了手机号，删除了所有社交网络上的数据，媳妇儿回了老家，我甚至改名为法号“尘无”。我只是希望那些疯狂的人们不会再找到我。

我受够了。

一切都是从那个夜晚，从那个貌似无厘头的疯狂点子开始。

万总结了账，连夜召集产品技术进行开发，老徐布置市场创意和策略，而项目最核心的部分，便义不容辞地交到了我手里。

去找一个愿意为这款App开光的大师。

老徐要求，全程跟拍，做一个病毒视频进行传播。我开始万般推脱，一会儿说家里三辈基督徒，一会儿说媳妇儿在待孕期间，禁止接触生冷食品动物毛发及一切灵异事件。

老徐只回我一句话：“你的主意，你不做，就滚，耶。”

我开始求爷爷告奶奶地遍访名刹古寺高僧，包括隐居在皇城根各个角落的仁波切，可每次把价钱谈妥后只要一掏出摄像机，高僧大师便脸色一沉，阿弥陀佛几句，掩面而逃。我们也曾试过偷拍，但香火缭绕外加镜头抖动，效果实在堪忧。

眼看死期将近，我彻夜难眠，在床板上翻来覆去，媳妇儿问我干啥呢。我说烙饼呢。她给了我一脚，要烙地板上烙去，别跟老娘这儿演擀面杖。

这一脚踹得我神清气爽、茅塞顿开，我顿时有了主意。

万总的新版App如期推出上架，老徐像他那辆路虎，开足马力把所有人的弦绷得紧紧的，连轴转似地推视频、出创意、上campaign，很快地，一段表现高僧为一款手机做法开光的视频在网络上疯传，紧接着，来自“爱Fo图”的图片便攻占了朋友圈和微博，下载量及日活跃用户量曲线节节攀升，像疯狂的火箭以逃逸速度冲上云霄。

别问我这样做究竟对产品品牌有什么帮助，也别问我数字水印技术的后续开发及应用，那是万总要解决的问题，我只是一家三流野鸡营销公司的不入流的策略人员，我只能用我的方式，解决我能解决的问题。

我还是低估了网友的创造力，打上数字水印后的图片，只需要发送极低分辨率版本，或者部分图片，便可通过App恢复成接近原图质量的文件，省流量，省时间。我们乘胜追击，又推出了一系列主打这一功能点的传播广告。

曲线上又出现一个小小的峰值，但随后发生的事情超出了所有人的预料。

最开始是一张用“爱Fo图”拍摄的苹果照片，Po主在一周后又发了一张同一个苹果照片。他发现，用“爱Fo图”拍摄的苹果比其他苹果腐败的速度明显要慢一些。

紧接着，是用App拍摄的宠物猫狗奇迹般恢复健康的故事。

然后，有一位老太太说用“爱Fo图”自拍后，逃过了一场车祸，大难不死。

越来越多的传言甚嚣尘上，每一条听起来都像是愚人节笑话，但每一条笑话背后都站着一位言之凿凿的证人，以及滚雪球般飞速增长的信徒。

消息越传越离奇，晚期癌症患者每日自拍肿瘤显著缩小，不孕不育夫妇拍摄艳照喜得贵子，打工青年合影后彩票中大奖，诸如此类只有在地铁小报上才能刊发的耸人听闻，在社交网络上铺天盖地。它们都打着“爱Fo图”的标签，而我们都以为是公司内部花钱雇的水军。

我们都以为错了。

据说万总的电话被投资人打爆了。除了追加投资，被问得最多的一个问题是，究竟那个给App开光的大师是谁。

逻辑很简单，如果单凭给手机应用开光便能出现如此奇效，那么请到大师本人作法，该能有怎样改天换地的大神奇啊。投资人想到了，亿万用户也都想到了。

在这个时代，真相就像是贞操，往往难得，而比这更可悲的是，即便把真相放在面前，人们大多都选择怀疑其真实性，他们只相信自己所幻想出来的真相。

很快，我的联系方式被出卖了，邮箱、电话、短信……所有的人都在怒吼着问同一个问题：那个大师究竟是谁？

我不能说。我知道他们迟早自己会找出来。

他们靠着人肉搜索的力量，找出了病毒视频中的“大师”及其弟子，那是我托朋友从横店影视城趴活儿的群演里挑出来的，反正演清朝百姓也需要剃度，倒少了一道讨价还价的工序。这些怀揣演员梦想的人们颇为尽心尽力，主演甚至为了头顶戒疤的排列形状与化妆师起了争执，这更加令我惴惴不安。

他们都是好人，错都在我。

惨遭人肉的演员家无宁日，网民用尽一切恶毒语言攻击他们及其家人，逼迫他们承认本来就是板上钉钉的事实，即他们确实是被公司雇用来假扮成大师的临时演员。如果说这里面尚有无法达成共识之处，那便是，他们相信我们公司，或者我，隐瞒了一个真正的背后的大师。出于私心，出于欲念，不愿公之于众，分享这足以光耀世人的大神通。

这个，我真没有。

老徐把公司暂时关了，每天一堆大妈候在楼底下扯横幅，我们受得了，物业管理也受不了。他给员工放了带薪长假，希望这件事能够早日过去。他好心地提醒我，最好离开这里，回老家避几天风头，因为说不定哪天哪个丧心病狂的绝症患者及其家属便会杀上门来，要求我供出大师的微信号。

我想他是对的，我不能连累家人。

于是安排好一切之后，思前想后，我来到这座千年古刹，成为一名扫地僧。

钟声敲过九下，结束了早课，我们开始各就各位，今天是开放日，主持德塔大师会迎接一批来自互联网界的高端信众，并召开一个关于佛法与网络的讲演沙龙。

我负责签到及发放胸牌。在签到簿上，我看到了不止一个熟悉的名字，其中就有万总。

在38摄氏度的桑拿天里，我戴上了医用棉质口罩，汗如雨下。

4

身穿土黄色僧衣僧鞋的信众鱼贯而入，胸前红红绿绿的胸牌摇晃，恍惚间我仿佛回到了几个月前的生活，国家会议中心、JW万豪、798 D Park……我不是在开会，就是去开会的路上，散名片，加微信，吹各种牛，画各种大饼，言必称互联网思维，就像是手持红宝书的小卫兵。

如今，依旧是那些熟悉的面孔，只不过他们的胸牌上少了昔日那些耀眼的title，“CXO”“联合创始人”“投资VP”换成了“居士”“信士”“施主”。他们收起往日嚣张的气焰和突出的肚腩，念念有词，就近入座，并虔诚地将手机、iPad、Google Glass、智能手环等身外之物交给收集的小沙弥，换取一个号牌。

我看见了万总，他面容憔悴，却目光如水，步伐轻盈，施施然对着身边人双手合十作揖，全然没有之前的霸气。当他从我身边经过时，我低下头，他也低下头回礼。

这几个月一定发生了很多事情。

据说德塔大师曾经是清华大学计算机系的高材生，由于开悟得证，放弃了斯坦福、耶鲁、加州伯克利等常春藤名校的Offer，受戒皈依，遁入空门。在他的带领下，一众高等学府毕业生加入我寺，并以互联网时代的方式弘扬佛法，普度众生。

大师那天说了很多，我却记不得太多，只记得万总姿态虔诚，频频点头。当讲到如何利用大数据技术帮助定位转世灵童时，他甚至眼含泪水。

我躲着他，又按捺不住想上前问他，那件事究竟过去了没有。我想念我的家人，但并不想念我的生活。

在这里，只有一定级别的僧人才有上网权限，这山间的古柏，重重叠叠，如同防火墙般将我们隔绝于俗世烦嚣之外。每日生活单调却不枯燥，扫地、劳作、诵经、辩义、抄帖，在极简的物质生活中，我逐渐恢复了良好的作息习惯，并不会因为手机的震动而心生焦虑，尽管偶尔在右侧大腿股四头肌上仍会有“幻震”感，但师父说，只要每日摩挲佛珠，遍数1800颗，如此经过180天便可彻底痊愈。

我想也许是因为我们要的太多，多得超出了我们身心能够承受的限度。

我的工作便是创造需要，让人们去肆意追逐那些对他们人生毫无意义的事物，然后将兑换到的金钱，再去购买他人为我所创造的生活幻象。我们乐此不疲。

我想起了媳妇儿的话，真他妈孙子。

这就是我的罪过、我的业障，我需要洗清涤净之因果。

我开始有点理解万总了。

讲演结束后，万总和其他几人围住德塔大师，似乎有满腹疑惑需要解答，德塔大师朝我招招手，我硬着头皮走过去。

“把这几位施主带到三号禅房。我稍后就过去。”

我点头，带着几位走到后院的禅房，那里是接待贵宾的地方。

我安排他们入座，又帮他们沏好茶。他们彼此点头微笑，却又只是客套寒暄，我猜他们以前可能是竞争对手。

万总并没有正眼瞧我，他抿了口茶，闭目养神，口中念念有词，双手不停盘娑着那串紫檀佛珠。当他转到第49圈时，我终于没能忍住，在他近旁俯身轻问：“万总，您还认得我吗？”

万总睁开双眼，仔细地盯着我瞧了半分钟，问：“你是周……”

“周重柏，你的记性真好。”

万总突然龇牙咧嘴，用佛珠箍住我的脖子，把我掀翻在地。

“都是你这个王八蛋害的！”他边打边骂，旁边两位施主惊骇地站起，却也不来劝架，只是一个劲儿念着阿弥陀佛。

我用手护住脸，却不知道该说些啥，只能善哉善哉地穷叫唤。

“住手！”那是德塔主持的声音。“此乃佛门净地，怎能如此无礼。”

万总举在半空的拳头停住了，他盯着我，眼泪就那么刷地掉下来，打在我脸上，就好像被打受委屈的是他一样。

“全没了……什么都没了……”他喃喃说着，一屁股坐回到座位上。

我爬了起来，原来一个什么都没了的人，打起人来也是软绵绵的，一点都不疼。

阿弥陀佛。我朝他双手合十，行了个礼。我知道他并不比我好过多少。正当我准备退出禅房时，主持叫住我，用戒尺在我左肩敲了两下，右肩敲了一下，说：“今日之事不可外传，你身上狂狷之气尚未除净，难当大任，理当勤做功课，深刻反省。”

我正想反驳，转念一想，老徐和万总的气我都能忍，德塔大师现在就是寺里的CEO，是可忍孰不可忍。

我行了个礼，躬身退出。

我倚靠在木质长廊上，遥望夕阳中的树林山色，雾霾闪闪发光，如层层叠叠的纱丽，堆在城市上空。钟声适时响起，惊飞鸦雀，我突然脑中电光火石频起，想起菩提祖师在孙猴子天灵盖上用戒尺敲了三下，背手走了。于是便有了经典的三更后门拜师学艺。

可左二右一是怎么个意思？

5

我在晚上九点顺着后山小道溜到了主持的房间，一路松涛阵阵，鸦雀无声。

我在门上先敲了两下，又敲一下。门里面似乎有所动静，我再敲。门自动开了。

德塔主持背对门坐着，面前是一个硕大的屏幕，屏幕一片漆黑，房间里似乎有低频的电音涌动。我清楚地听见他长长地叹了一口气。

“师傅，请受弟子一拜！”我跪倒在地就要磕头。

“你《西游记》看多了吧。”主持缓缓起身，面有愠色。“我不是让你十点零一分到吗？”

我顿时语塞，原来师傅用的是二进制。

“下午的事……”我赶紧打圆场。

“不怪你。你的事情我都知道，打你一进这寺门起，所有资料就已经同步了。”

“……那您还收我。”

“虽非一心向佛，却有菩提慧根，我不渡你，怕是早就寻了短见。”

“谢大师慈悲为怀。”我还是丈二和尚摸不着头脑。

“你还是不明白这究竟是怎么一回事吧。”大师其实年纪并不大，也就40岁出头的样子，戴着眼镜笑起来的样子，还略像个学者。

“吾辈愚讷，还望大师点破。”

德塔大师把手一挥，原来那屏幕是体感操控的，忽地亮了起来，一幅难以形容的图画，一个巨大的被压扁的椭圆，在深浅不一的蓝底上缀满了不规则的橘红色亮点，又或者是相反。看起来像某种星体表面经过补色处理的等高线图，又像是显微镜下某种霉菌的繁殖切片。

“这是？”

“宇宙，确切地说是宇宙微波背景辐射，大概是大爆炸后38万年的样子，迄今为止最精确的图谱。”他溢于言表的赞许之情，很难与那身装扮联系到一起。

“然后呢？”

“欧洲航天局用‘普朗克’太空探测器收集到的数据，经过计算得出了这张图，看看这里，还有这里的亮度有点异常……”

除了橘红或宝蓝色的霉斑之外，我看不出有什么特别之处。

“也就是说……佛祖是不存在的？”我小心翼翼地试探着。

“佛说，三千大千世界。”他瞪着我，像要逼我把那句话咽回去。“这张图证明了曾经有多个宇宙的存在，人类通过了这么多年的努力，终于用技术证明了佛教中的宇宙观。”

我应该早想到这一点，就像在中关村搞传销的那些人，多么风马牛不相及的一切都可以拿来成为佐证其观点的有力论据。我想象着假如是一名基督教徒，他会怎么解读这幅图。

“阿弥陀佛。”我双手合十，以示虔诚。

“问题在于，佛祖为什么选择现在，向全人类展示这个事实。”他缓慢有力地说着。“我思忖了许久，直到看到你做的那个项目。”

“爱Fo图？”

德塔大师点点头：“我并不喜欢你做事情的方式，但是既然你来到这里，就证明我的猜测是有道理的。”

我的冷汗开始沁湿后背，就像遥远得不真实的那个夜晚。

“这个世界已经不是它原来的那个样子，或者说，它的创造者——佛祖、上帝、神，无论你怎么叫它，已经改变了世界运行的规则。你以为真的是开光让爱Fo图实现神通的吗？”

我屏住了呼吸。

“假设宇宙是一个程序，我们所能观测到的一切都是代码实现后的结果，而宇宙微波背景辐射可以看成某个版本的源代码记录，我们能通过计算调用这个版本的记录，这意味着，我们也能够用算法去改写当前的版本。”

“也就是说，是万总的算法导致了这一切的发生？”

“不敢妄下断语，但要我猜，差不离。”

“我是个科盲，大师你不要诓我。”

“阿弥陀佛，我是个技术派佛教徒，我信奉的一句话来自已仙逝的A.C.Clarke爵士，他说，一切非常先进的科技，初看都与佛法无异。”

我隐隐觉得有什么地方不对，但又无力辩解：“可，可那个项目不是已经失败了吗，看万总都成那德性了，应该没我什么事儿了才对啊。”

“凡所有相，皆是虚妄；若见诸相非相，即见如来。”

“大师，请准许我还俗回家吧，我想我媳妇儿了。”一阵莫名的恐惧突然攫住我，仿佛巨大无底的黑洞，从墙上的屏幕凹陷进去，像要把我吸入。

德塔大师叹了口气，又苦笑起来，似乎他早就预料到了这一切。

“本以为与你参透佛理，便能让你安心在此渡过劫难，怎料……你和我都是轮回里的人呐，又怎能逃得脱命数。也罢，也罢，拿着这个，也不枉我们相逢一场。”

他递过一张金光闪闪的佛牌，背后写着一串400电话，还有一个VIP卡号和验证码。

“师傅，这是……”

“好好收着，市面价8888元呢，有事儿给我打电话啊。”

德塔大师背过身去，手一挥，屏幕上的霉斑图又恢复成了正常的电视画面，美国一名量子物理学家遭遇离奇枪击事件意外丧生，凶手声称只是认错人。

6

和老徐的再会，是在半年后的管记翅吧里。

老徐没怎么变，依然保持对烤大腰的病态热爱，几瓶啤酒下肚，油光满面，横肉抖动，他开始像个经典的东北人那样开始掏心窝子。

“我说重柏，一起过来玩儿吧，哥不会亏待你的。”

老徐在烟雾缭绕中唾沫横飞，他在家歇了一阵子之后，被一个电话撩拨着重出江湖。这回，他不再搞没前途的传播公司，摇身一变成了所谓的“天使投资人”，凭借他在创业圈里的人脉资历，拿着别人的钱可劲儿挥霍，可劲儿忽悠。

他觉得我是可塑之才，想拉我入伙。

“万总现在怎么样了？”我岔开话题，媳妇儿刚刚查出来怀孕了，目前的工作虽然无聊，却也稳定。一语蔽之，我觉得老徐不是很靠谱。

“已经好久没他信儿了……”老徐的目光黯淡了下去，狠狠吸了一口烟。“造化弄人呐，爱Fo图最火那会儿，好几家公司抢着要投钱，有一家美国公司还想谈全额收购，居然最后关头，杀出来一个程咬金，说Y的核心算法剽窃了当年实验室另一个哥们儿的研究，这老美打起官司来就没完没了，专利也被暂时冻结了，投资人也撤了，老万变卖家产，最后也没撑下去……”

我把杯中酒一饮而尽。

“那事儿真不赖你，真的！要不是你，估计老万他们死得还要早！”

“可如果没有爱Fo图，估计美国那边也没人发现剽窃的事儿。”

“我现在算是想明白了，没有那件事儿，也会有其他的事儿，这就叫命。后来听说告他的那美国哥们儿被枪杀了，这案子就这么悬在那儿了。”

老徐的声音轰鸣着，我的视线穿过他捏着香烟的指缝，仿佛时间凝固了，那些喧闹的、烟火缭绕的、吆五喝六的背景变得模糊失焦，拉开遥远的距离。我想起了一件什么事，这件事是如此之重要，以至于我竟然把它完全抛到了脑后。

我以为一切都已经结束了，其实才刚刚开始。

告别了老徐回到家，我一阵翻箱倒柜，媳妇儿挺着肚子以为我喝多了撒酒疯。我问她，你有没有看见一张金色的卡片，上面有个佛像，背后有个400电话。

她看着我，像是看着一条被遗弃的哈士奇，这一品种在狗界以智商低下而著称。她扭过头继续做她的孕妇瑜伽操。

最后我在厕所的一本时尚杂志里找到了那张VIP卡，夹着的那页，是一名涂满凡士林躺在一堆电子产品中的暴露女星，所有大大小小的屏幕都反射出她光亮肉体的一部分。

我拨通电话，按“9”，输入VIP卡号和验证码。一把熟悉的声音响起，略带疲惫。

“德塔大师，是我，尘无！”

“谁？”

“尘无！周重柏！就是那个你拍了我肩膀三下，让我晚上十点零一分到你房间看宇宙微波背景辐射图的那个！”

“嗯……听起来很变态的样子。我记得你，近来可好？”

“你说得对！问题就出在那算法上！”我深吸一口气，尽量简明扼要地把事情的前因后果告诉他，同时还有我的猜测，有人希望阻止这套算法被投入实际应用，甚至不惜牺牲他人的身家性命。

电话那头久久沉默，接着又是一声长长的叹息。

“你还是没明白。你玩电子游戏吗？”

“很早以前玩过，你指街机、掌机还是PS时代。”

“随便啦。如果你操控的角色向大Boss发起进攻，按照游戏设置，它是不是会调动所有兵力去抵抗你的角色？”

“你是指，NPC？”

“没错。”

“可我什么也没做，我只不过出了个营销方案！”

“你误会了，”德塔大师的声音变得低沉，似乎随时会丧失耐性。“你不是那个向大Boss发起进攻的主角，你只是个NPC。”

“等等，你的意思是……”突然间我的思绪变得“黏稠无比”。

“是的，我知道这很难接受，可这是真的。某人，或者某些人做了一些事情，可能会威胁到整个程序——我们所处在的这个宇宙的稳定性，于是系统按照事前设定好的机制，发动NPC，执行指令，消除威胁，保证宇宙的自洽性。”

“可我以为我所做的一切全是出于自由意志，我只想把活儿干好，混口饭吃。我以为我是在帮他。”

“所有的NPC都这么想。”

“那现在我该怎么办，老徐要我去帮他忙，我怎么知道这是不是……喂？”

电话里突然出现了一些奇怪的声音，就像有许多细小的虫爪在摩擦着麦克风。

“迷时……嘶嘶……师度，悟了……嘶……自度。你只要……嘶……就好……对不起，您的VIP卡账号余额不足，请充值后再拨打。Sorry，Your VIP……”

“你大爷！”我愤怒地挂掉电话。

“怎么回事啊你，那么大声，吓流产了谁负责啊。”媳妇儿的声音从里屋慢悠悠飘过来。

我用三秒钟整理了思绪，决定把事情一五一十地告诉她，当然，只限于她能够理解的那部分。

“你跟老徐说，你媳妇儿怕生个孩子没屁眼，不让你跟着他干那些忽悠人的勾当。”

我正想反驳，电话又响了，是老徐。

“考虑得咋样了，重柏？中科大量子所的进展很迅速啊，他们的机器已经开始攻关NPC问题了，一旦证明了P=NP，你知道那是啥意思吗！”

我看了看媳妇儿，她把手架在脖子上，横着一抹，同时做了个吐舌头的鬼脸。

“你知道那是啥意思吗……”我挂断了电话，老徐的余音在空中回荡。

所有的程序都会有漏洞（bug），而在这个我所处的宇宙里，我相信，我媳妇儿一定是最致命的一个漏洞。

7

我还记得那一天，小来来呱呱坠地，玫瑰色的皮肤，浑身带着奶香。他是我在这世上见过的最漂亮的宝贝。

媳妇儿虚弱地让我给他起个大名，我嘴上答应着，心里却想，叫什么已经没有区别了。

我不是个英雄，我只是个NPC。打心眼儿里我就不认为这一切是我的过错，只因为我没有加入老徐的团队，没有用一些稀奇古怪的点子搞砸整个项目，没有阻止那台该死的量子计算机算出P=NP，至今我都不明白那究竟是什么意思。

如果这就是宇宙崩溃的原因，那只能说编写它的程序员太烂了。这样的世界，毁了又有什么值得可惜的。

可当我抱着小来来，牵着他弱小得吓人的爪子时，我只想让这一刻永远静止。

我后悔自己做过，或者没有做的一切。

在最后的那几分钟，我脑海里出现的，却是遥远的那个夜晚，天桥上那个身穿军大衣的哥们儿。

他望着我和媳妇儿，像台自动答录机般循环播放着：“1月4日象限仪流星雨光临地球，不要错过……”

没有人会错过这一场盛大的下线仪式。

我逗着小来来，试图让他发笑，或者做出任何表情。突然间，我看见他的眼中有什么东西在迅速扩大。

那是我背后的光。

格里芬太太决定于今夜去死

阿缺

家用型机器人LW31端着晚餐走进卧室时，看到格里芬太太正准备去死。她正试图把一根绳子系到吊灯上，但她太老迈了，眼睛浑浊，两手颤抖，试了好几次绳子都绕不到吊灯。

“需要我帮忙吗，太太？”LW31放下餐盘，走到格里芬太太身旁，礼貌地问道。

格里芬太太按着腰，喘了口气，把绳子放到LW31手上：“帮我把它系在吊灯上”。

LW31启动开关，腰部的螺轴向上扭动，它的上半身抬高，碰到了天花板。它一边系一边问：“您要做什么呢，太太？”

“我想自杀。”

“哦，那我得把两头都系上。”LW31点点头，没有再说话了。它把绳子的两头都系在了吊灯的曲形灯托上，两手拉了拉，觉得绳子足够牢固，便转过头，“太太，已经系好了，您可以来自杀了。”

格里芬太太好不容易喘匀了气，走到吊灯下，LW31给她搬来了椅子。她颤巍巍地爬上椅，觉得周围都在晃动，LW31适时地扶住她。尽管经过了长达65年的使用，很多地方都已经锈蚀，但它的机械臂依然沉稳。它一手按着椅子，一手扶着格里芬太太的腰。

格里芬太太站稳了，把头伸过去，绳子勒到了她的脖子。

“等等，太太，我想问一下，”LW31的声音古井无波，一如往昔，“您为什么要选上吊这种自杀方式呢？”

“因为它很有效啊……而且上吊死了的话，尸体这样吊着，看上去不太糟糕。”

LW31“哦”了一声，抬起头。它的头是一个黑色玻璃罩，上面被刀子划出了深浅不一的五官，组成了笑脸，但时代久远，这些刻痕已经模糊，以至于让面罩上的笑容显得古怪而生硬。它说：“那么，我的太太，您犯下的错误跟古时候的人以为地球是宇宙的中心一样。事实上，上吊是最不体面的自杀方式，一旦蹬开椅子，您的体重会让您的气管瞬间破裂，颈椎移位，不像电影里，您没有挣扎的机会，一瞬间就会死亡。但麻烦的是死亡以后发生的事情。”

格里芬太太坚定地摇摇头，“你不要再劝我了，我不会改变主意的。”

“上吊死亡之后，您的眼球会像灯泡一样凸出来，脸上会被憋得通红，以您的健康状况，要是在十个小时内没有人把您的尸体放下来，您面部的血管会全部崩裂，脑袋就跟破裂的番茄一样。最难看的是，体重会让您脱肛，大小便全部溢出来……”

两分钟后，格里芬太太艰难地爬下了椅子，坐在床边，抽泣不止。

“您为什么要自杀呢？”LW31走近，疑惑地问道。

“我突然想到，爱我的人已经全部离开，只剩我一个人孤苦伶仃地活着。我想在今夜去死，这个想法越来越强烈……没有人爱我了，一个人活着有什么意思。”格里芬太太从兜里掏出一张照片，苍老的手指拂过，透明屏上便显示出一个个人影，“自从儿女去世后，我已经一个人过了25年，现在我连一天都忍受不了了。”

“跟我说说那些爱您的人吧，太太？”LW31说，“您说完后，我可以帮您自杀。”

窗外漆黑一片，这个夜晚无比漫长。格里芬太太止住眼泪，手指按在照片屏上，定格的，是一对年轻夫妇的合影。

放下电话，她有些发怔。肚子里的小家伙怕是在动，一阵隐痛传来。

他是深夜才回的家，天冷，他呵气都像是吐着冰渣子。手冷脚冷，他钻进被子里，蜷了好一会儿才缓过劲来。

她没睡，说：“又回来这么晚？”他好不容易将身子骨暖活泛，寒意消减，睡意渐长，迷糊地回答说：“是啊，加班。还有，这周的工资发了，350个点，已经存进……”话没说完，他就合上眼皮，沉沉睡去。

她却睡不着。

这已经不是他第一次撒谎了。

五个月来，他每天晚归，身上还时常带着酒气，进屋就睡，问他，只说是加班。但他只是个AI公司的普通运货员，又怎会总是加班呢？她刚刚给他的头儿打电话，得到的答案是，公司一直没有加班。而且，五个月前，他的工资就涨了，是500个点，而不是350。

那些被隐瞒下来的钱和时间，成了她的心病。但她是个骄傲的女人，从未逼迫他说，尽管他每撒一次谎，她的心就凉一些。

他照常上班，她在家里休养，胎儿已经九个月了。

她的家逼仄阴暗，很多时候，她都搬着椅子坐到街道旁。路边种了很多梅树，阴冷天气里，枝条炸开一溜儿红花。她坐在树下，等他回来。街上的车来来往往，悬在半空，在她的视线里划来划去。

那么多空闲的时间，她是靠回忆来打发的。她和他相识于这颗梅树下。那时，她还是衣食无忧的千金，浑身奢侈品，开着名车，路过这里时，莫名地被红梅吸引了。或者说，被站在梅树下的他吸引了。雪铺了满地，红梅惹眼，他站在那里，像是漫天的雪都比不过眼前的一簇梅。

她停车走过去，站在他旁边。他笑了，笑纹里盛满了温暖。他折下一枝梅，递给她，说：“我刚才还在怀疑，这个冬天有什么会比梅花更美丽呢。但现在，看到了你，我知道了答案。”

于是，她爱上了他。

同所有旧时代的爱情小说一样，这份爱情遭到她父母的强烈反对。他父亲本来打算安排一场商业婚姻。父亲暴跳如雷，打她，骂她，没收她的包和车，冻结她的卡，把她关在家里，但都没用，她执意要嫁给他。最后，父亲筋疲力尽地叹口气，挥了挥手，对她说了一个字：“滚。”

她花了很长时间才适应结婚后的生活。他开货车，给各地运输机器人，工作很累，薪水却很低。她从小就锦衣玉食，但为了他，全身都投入到油盐酱醋里。学做饭时，她不小心切到了自己的手指，血洇开，当时就把她吓哭了。他听到哭声，到厨房抱住她，连声说：“再也不要到厨房了！我来，我来，你别再伤着自己。”

但现在，他变了，学会了撒谎和藏钱。偶尔身上还带着酒气和香水味。谁都知道这些行为意味着什么。她付出了青春和富贵，熏黄了手指，皱了眼角，却只换来了他渐行渐远的背影。

想着想着，她就会在梅花树下落下泪来。

下班后，头儿叫住了他，说：“昨天你老婆给我打电话了，说你天天晚上都回家很迟。她大着个肚子，不容易，你早点回家陪陪她。”他连忙点头，说：“是是是。”

出了公司，他没回家，而是走到了城中心的一家夜总会门前。早有人等着他了，抱怨说：“怎么才来啊，快，王老板喝醉了，你送他回去。他唯唯诺诺地弯腰，钻进一辆飞车里启动引擎，向指定的地点飞去。”

这就是他每晚要做的事情。

给夜总会的客人开车，送他们回去。他求了很多情才谋来这份兼职，送一次，有十个点的报酬。那些老板，大部分都喝多了，一身酒气。有时候，老板并不会回家，而是搂着衣着暴露喷满香水的女人，目的地是宾馆。他不介意，只要能挣着钱。

这些事情，他没有告诉她。

他想给她一个惊喜。

五个月前，他去运货，签发的时候，负责人告诉他：“这是LW型的新款家用机器人，家里的所有杂事，它都能搞定。”他笑笑，问：“那照顾婴儿呢？”负责人用鼻子喷出一口气，说：“别说婴儿，这款机器人，使用期长，能把一个人从小照顾到大，直到老死。”

这句话让他动了心。

她笨手笨脚的，不擅长家务，更别说养小孩子了。要是有个机器人帮着她，自己就不用每天上班时惦念着了。接着他又问了价钱，两万个联盟点。这不是小数目。

所以这几个月，他一直在外面奔波。按照他的算法，五个月的剩余工资，3000点，加上每晚额外挣100点，到现在总共有了18000点。孩子就快出生了，得加紧点儿。

这一晚，他载了一对男女去酒店。一路上，男人的手在女人身上不停地摸索，女人发出吃吃的笑声。他不在意，只顾开车，酒店不远，霓虹灯在低空闪烁。

“有人呢。”女人到底有些害羞，将男人伸向裙子里面的手拿开。男人不高兴了，嚷嚷说：“有人怕什么？”说是这么说，但男人还是抬头，看了看他的背影，目光落在车窗上的照片上。

照片上是一对男女，他和她，都喜笑颜开，她把头靠在他肩上，他温和地看着她。背景是一簇凌雪怒放的梅。

男人怔了怔，问：“这照片……”

他抬头看了照片一眼，语气有压抑不住的喜悦：“是我和我老婆。很漂亮吧，呵呵，我的福气。她怀孕了，是个女孩儿，长大了肯定跟她一样漂亮。”

那你怎么不在家里陪她？

我得挣钱，给她买份礼物。一个机器人，有了它之后，她就不用每天干活了。

男人沉默了。

女人刚才也只是欲拒还迎，此时看男人真的不摸了，心里纳闷，把男人的手拉过来。男人却抽回手，点了根烟。烟雾在狭小的车厢里环绕。一支抽尽，男人缓缓开口：“别去酒店了，送我回家吧。”

女人问：“去你家？我不上门的……”

“你现在就可以下去。”男人拿出转点器，按了几个数字，把女人的手指放在屏幕上，点数传了过去。女人不满地嘟囔着嘴：“钱是够了，但我是有职业道德的，我不能半途而……”

“下去。”

女人下了车。他继续开着，到了男人家，一个面容平庸的女人出来，给男人接了大衣，说：“你不是说今晚要开会吗？”

“不开了。什么会都没有你重要。”男人摸着女人的头，怜爱地说。

他看着这一幕，心里翻滚起一些莫名的情绪。他笑笑，启动引擎，慢慢退出这个豪华小区。他突然很想她。他今晚不想再挣钱了，想早点儿回去陪她。她一个人，家里冷，她觉着冷的时候会搓手，会皱着鼻子。那个样子很可爱，那个样子是他一生的牵挂。

他笑着想，今晚一定要用自己的手包住她的手，慢慢地搓，直到温度从血液里升起来。

心里想着事，他就没有留意到两边。一辆失控的飞车从悬浮轨道上翻下来，从右边撞到了他。两辆飞车翻滚着，自高空坠下，爆炸，绽放成两朵艳丽的花。

她睡得很迟。她一直在等他，可他迟迟没有回家。她干脆起床，来到街边，站在梅花树下。他回来的话，一定会路过这里，到时候，他会看见梅花下的她，一如彼时初见，人面梅花相映。

夜寒如水，她裹紧了衣裳。她决定原谅他，不管他做了什么，她都决定原谅他。他是她在这个世上唯一的牵挂。这样打算着，她笑了起来，她想，到时候，他一定会握着她的手，来回搓，让温度从血液里升起来。

她就这么等着，看着街的尽头，希望他会从那里出现。在她头上，夜色里，一簇梅花正开得灿烂。

“对不起……我很遗憾。”LW31歉意地低下头。

格里芬太太摇摇脑袋，说：“不关你的事……我妈妈是个苦命的人，生下我不久后，她就去世了。但她也是个幸福的人。后来她还是用那笔钱把你买回来了，说明她没有怪任何人。”

LW31顿了顿，把手放在格里芬太太肩上，说：“那我现在可以帮您进行另一种死法。您想怎么去死？”

“吃安眠药吧，那样没有痛苦的知觉。”

“好的。”LW31答应道，“只是，目前我们有两个问题。”

“你说。”

“第一，过量服用安眠药之后的48个小时内，您不仅不会睡着，还会出现胃痉挛、腹痛、口吐白沫等症状，这是因为您身体的各器官都在行使毒后应激功能。很多服用安眠药自杀的人，最后都因为忍受不了疼痛而打电话求救……太太，我不认为您会愿意承受那种痛苦的。”

格里芬太太闭上眼睛，过了好半天，才颤抖着嘴唇，“我只是想去死而已。只要死后不那么难看，就算吐白沫，你也会为我打理我的尸体，是不是？”

“当然，我的存在就是为了给您提供服务。”

“那就好。”格里芬太太点头，“至于痛苦……我这一生，承受了太多痛苦，早就麻木了。你打开抽屉看看，现在还有多少安眠药？”

“太太，这就是第二个问题了。我们的安眠药不够多。”LW31打开抽屉，拿出药品，晃了晃，说：“一共17片。这是处方药，药店一次最多卖20片，而要致死的话，以您的体质，可能需要86片”。

“你不能出去替我买吗？”

“太太，您可能忘了——现在大移民已经开始，人基本上都走完了，外面已经没有药店。”

格里芬太太叹口气，灯光照在她脸上，脸色微微泛黄。岁月在她脸上留下了沟壑。LW31礼貌地说：“太太，不如您再给我讲讲，除了父母，还有人爱过您吧？”

“是的。”格里芬太太再次拂过照片，这次浮现出来的，是一个高瘦的青年。格里芬太太看着他，眼角泛出浊泪，多年前的那个夜晚浮上眼前。

深夜。

寂静。

彼得和杰尔森沉默地站在街口。

像这样一条街，

本不该站人。

像这样一条街，

本不该在深夜还站着两个穿名牌西装的人。

街口破。

街中寒。

街尾暗。

这是城里最破败的一条街，平常都少有人走。它是罪恶的街，无数只眼睛在暗处张着，窸窸窣窣，像涌动的食道，等着猎物进入。

然后吞没，消化，不吐渣。

但彼得和杰尔森站在街口，神情自若，好像一切都那么理所当然。好像这里是他们的家。

彼得很瘦，个子高，站着不动时像一支削尖的铅笔。

杰尔森胖，身材矮，活像地上乱滚的冬瓜。

杰尔森在抽烟，一口深吸，火光从烟头窜到烟尾。整支烟都燃尽了。

彼得问：“走？”

彼得吐出浓烟，道：“走。”

两人走进黑暗的长街里。

街上的门一扇扇关紧。

风吹过。呜咽，如鬼泣。

街上的人，都不安分。

他们身份各异。乞丐的邻居是小偷，小偷的楼上住着妓女，妓女的阳台对面，是经常失手的骗子。

但他们有个共同点——穷。

穷得只能蜗在这条破败残旧的街上。

穷是罪，是能把人心浸得冷如冰硬如石的罪。

所以，通常有人走上这条街，也就走进了乞丐、小偷、妓女和骗子的目光里。

他们曾经骗光了老人的衣服，抢走了小孩的糖果。

每一分钱，他们都不会放过。

但现在，他们不敢打主意。他们关闭门窗，躺在床上，磨牙吮血，却不敢声张。

因为，走在街上的彼得和杰尔森。

他们不紧不慢地走着，哒哒哒，每一步，都沉稳结实。

彼得一共走了659步，杰尔森则走了1315步。

他们在街尾的一间屋子前停下来了。

屋子里很黑，没开灯。

但杰尔森听到呼吸声。

慌乱，急促，像小鹿猎人枪口下的喘息。

杰尔森扬起一丝冷笑。

他们没有找错。

咚，咚，咚。

没有人回应。

杰尔森继续敲门。

咚咚咚，单调而沉闷，在浓夜里让人发慌。

“是谁？”里面终于传出了声音，是女声，清脆如铃，却在颤抖。

杰尔森道：“是我。”

彼得道：“还有我。”

屋里的女人道：“你们是谁？”

彼得和杰尔森道：“我们是联盟城邦治安管理局探员。”

女人道：“你们不应该来的。”

彼得道：“可是我们已经来了。”

女人道：“难道你们不可以回去吗？”

杰尔森道：“上一个想让我们回去的人，现在已经躺在监狱里了。”

女人在屋里叹了口气。

是祸躲不过。

女人打开门。

女人打开门的时候看到了矮矮胖胖的杰尔森，也看到了高高瘦瘦的彼得。

彼得也看见了女人。

他不得不承认，这是个很美丽的女人。

评判女人的美丽，有很多种标准。有人喜欢长相，看重眉眼鼻嘴。有人喜欢身材，挑剔乳腰臀腿。但无论是谁，只要看到眼前这个女人，都不会否认她的美丽。

因为，无论是相貌还是身材，她都毫无瑕疵。

秀眉媚眼琼鼻樱桃嘴。

丰乳纤腰翘臀细长腿。

完美的结合。

杰尔森看的却是女人背后的房间。

房间很小，墙壁陈旧，但干净，让人看上去有说不出的舒服。屋子里摆设不多，但看得出，每一样东西都经过主人精心的挑选。每一样东西都在它最应该在的地方。

女人道：“你们半夜来我家，要做什么？”

杰尔森道：“你岂非不知道我们要做什么吗？”

女人道：“你们要做什么，我一个弱女子怎么会知道？”

杰尔森道：“那你总该知道那本书吧？”

女人颤抖了一下，马上又镇定下来，道：“哪本书？”

杰尔森把一切看在眼里。他不动声色地把手伸进怀里，掏出一个便携记事本，屏幕在他手指下变化。

一本书的封面在屏幕上浮现出来。

封面是古铜色的，正上方是一行书名。

书名，只有十个字。普通而简单的十个字。

但女人仿佛看到了鬼，脸色顿时变了，大变。

《家用机器人管理修正法》。

一直沉默的彼得开口了。

他的话像他的人一样简洁干瘦：“我们收到消息，你私藏了一款LW型号的机器人。”

杰尔森道：“而根据此修正法，所有的机器人都要回收。”

女人道：“我不知道你们在说什么。”

杰尔森道：“你肯定知道，你的表情出卖了你。”

女人不说话。

彼得仔细看了她一眼，声音变得温柔，道：“一个月前，一台PWR型的家用机器人，趁主人熟睡时，割断了他的喉咙。而死去的人，恰恰是联盟议员。联盟已经出台法案，所有的机器人都要回收。”

女人摇摇头，道：“我这里没有机器人。”

杰尔森冷笑道：“恐怕这不是你能说了算的。”

说完，杰尔森推开女人，走进屋子。

女人撞到墙壁上。

她求助地看着彼得，而彼得低下头，看不清表情。

杰尔森眯起眼睛，在屋子里环视一周。没有机器人。

彼得道：“既然没有，那我们走吧。”

杰尔森抬起手。他的目光落到了床前，雪白的床单，叠得整齐的被子，床腿是合金制品，一些灰尘散在床腿边。

一个精心整理房间的女人，怎么会容忍床前有灰尘呢？

杰尔森笑了，笑得很开心。

他指着床，道：“床下面是不是藏了东西？”

女人的脸色一瞬间变得煞白。

杰尔森点燃另一支烟，道：“现在你有两个选择。”

女人连忙点头。

杰尔森道：“第一，我把机器人带回去，它被销毁，而你因为私藏罪也得进监狱。”

女人道：“求求你，不要把LW31带走。它是我父母唯一留给我的。”

杰尔森道：“那你有第二个选择，就是给我5000点，我当作没有看见。”

女人皱起眉头。道：“可是我没有那么多钱。你可以把我家里的东西全部拿走，只要把LW31留下就行了。”

杰尔森嘴角扬起一丝笑容，目光从女人的脸上滑下，道：“你家里的东西，我会全部拿走，但这些不够。”

女人感觉杰尔森的目光像蛇，湿黏而阴凉，在自己的皮肤上游动。

女人心里一紧。

杰尔森不慌不忙地看着女人。他很欣赏女人现在露出的恐惧神情，这让他得意，而他一得意，身体的某个部位就会有反应。

过了很久，他才道：“我要你十个晚上。”

女人使劲摇头。

杰尔森惋惜地叹了口气，道：“那你跟你的机器人说再见吧。”

他的话还没说完，女人就突然出手。

只要一招。一招，就足以将对方制住。

她在工厂里装配机器，每天的工作，就是伸出手，把底盘卡进机器里。

所以，这一招她已练过四年五个月零二十八天，她完全有把握相信这间屋子里没有任何人可以抵挡得了这一招。

可这一次她错了。

惊愕在她的脸上渐渐凝固，一只手，一只肥白而有力的手扼住了她的咽喉。

手的主人是杰尔森。

没有人想到，矮胖的他能出手如此之快。

女人哀求道：“LW31没有危险，它只负责照顾我，已经很久了。我不能失去它，求求你。”

杰尔森道：“我会给你机会求我的，但那要在我们都没有穿衣服的情况下。对我出手的人，从来没有好下场，你很快就会知道生不如死是什么样子了。”

他没有说假话，杰尔森从来不说假话。所以，如果有一天你碰到杰尔森，他对你说，他要杀了你。那你唯一要做的事情，就是回家去写好遗嘱。

你不能反抗，也无法逃避。因为，他是杰尔森。

女人的脸上布满了绝望。这时，她的眼睛突然睁大了。她看到了一件本来绝不应该看到的事。

一支枪从后面伸出来，抵住了杰尔森的后脑勺。

彼得道：“放开她。”

杰尔森道：“你要为她背叛我？”

彼得面无表情，道：“我已经不能再忍受了。借着搜查机器人的便利，你已经勒索了近20万联盟点，逼奸了7个女人，逼死了19个市民。”

杰尔森道：“你难道是个好人吗？”

彼得道：“我不是，但我现在想当好人了。”

杰尔森嗤笑道：“我赌你不会杀我。”

彼得笑了，道：“为什么？”

杰尔森道：“因为你不敢杀我。”

彼得按下了扳机。

血，飞溅。

人，倒下。

女人诧异地看着彼得，上下打量。半晌，她眼角流下泪来，道：“谢谢你。”

彼得耸耸肩，道：“彼得为卿行义事，劝卿切莫把泪流。人间若有不平事，纵酒挥刀斩人头。”

女人点点头，道：“只是，你杀了他，而他死在我家里。恐怕我们都要准备逃亡了。”

彼得道：“只是，一个人逃亡，会很寂寞。”

女人道：“你有什么建议呢？”

彼得深深地看着女人。

在长久的对视中，两个人都笑了。彼得伸出手，道：“你好，我叫彼得，彼得·格里芬。”

女人道：“我叫雪逸。”

彼得上前一步，抱住了女人。

女人感受着他的拥抱。

他很高。

很瘦。

他的脸很冷。

他的手臂很僵硬。

但他的胸膛是暖的。

“那天晚上，我们花了很长时间，挖了一个洞，把你埋了进去。然后他带着我东奔西逃，直到联盟解体，对我们的通缉令撤销了才回来。”格里芬太太回忆起往事，脸上带着笑，仿佛多年前的景象再度浮现。

LW31安静地看着她。

过了好久，格里芬太太才默然叹息，轻轻说：“唉，只是好景不长，安定不久后，他就患病离开了。逃亡的那些年，他总是把好东西留给我和女儿，自己却积累了一身的伤病……”

“我记得他，尽管时间不长。他很沉默，很能干，很爱您。”

格里芬太太晃了晃脑袋，把悲伤甩出脑袋，说：“我要用割脉的办法，你来帮我吧。”

LW31点点头，从抽屉找出薄刃刀。刀锋上寒光流转，仿佛镀上了一层光的漆。

格里芬太太把手腕伸出去。刀刃随即压在了她苍老褶皱的脉搏上，寒意顺着皮肤，渗进血管里。她打了个寒颤。

“我要开始划了，您准备好了吗？”LW31问。

“好的，你动手吧。”格里芬太太咬咬牙，闭上眼睛，但随即又睁开，颤抖着问，“割脉之后会出现什么情况？”

“那得看我割破的是您的哪条脉搏。如果是静脉，那您的血会随即流出，但不会形成血流成河的局面，因为您体内的血小板已经在伤口处凝结了。而如果是动脉，那您会死得很快。不过，那样的话，血会像喷泉一样喷出来，这分寸很难掌握，我全身都被血淋到。您看上去，恐怕会是血肉模糊的样子。”LW31不紧不慢地说完，“现在，我可以划了吗？”

“那，有没有别的法子？”

“有。有个很合适您的方法，不过，在告诉您之前，你得再给我讲一个爱您的人。”

照片屏上光影闪动，很快，一个背着行李笑容明艳的女孩浮现出来。屏上有三条短弧线，这是有声照片的标志，格里芬太太颤抖的手指点在上面，立刻，一阵优雅平淡的声音在房间里环绕。

2335年的冬天，我拖着行李箱，回到了阔别七年的小城。

机场空荡荡的，风从遥远的地方吹来。我的头发在风中飘飞，我的眼睛开始晕眩，我看到天空中的云朵以优美的姿势大片大片地蔓延过城市。我开始了解，当一个女子在看天空的时候，她并不想寻找什么。她只是寂寞。

寂寞是我渗进血液里的情绪，如冰冷的唇，吻在我骨头上。

午夜的出租车并不多，偶尔有几辆悬浮而过，车灯在夜色里划出一道道流光。

我站在路边，看流光曳影。一辆出租车停在我身前，车窗上的“黑夜”退却，露出司机的脸。这是一个好看的男人，他的牙齿很白，笑起来的时候，唇角温柔地倾斜。他有干净的眼神。水一样干净而流动的眼神。

“去哪里？”他问。

我上车，说了目的地。

一路无话。

我把脸贴在车窗上，调稀了色泽，能看到城市以灰暗的面目出现在我眼里。七年，什么都没有改变，这个小城，依然破旧得让人心里荒凉。

“现在都去移民了，回来的倒少。”司机在前面说。

我点点头：“我也打算走，我申请的是天马星系KG6号行星，已经通过了。”

“那你回来做什么？”

“告别。”

司机于是不再说话。

出租车停在了城北，一栋熟悉的房子。我下了车，司机却没急着走，停在路边。我想他肯定想对我说什么。但最终，他只是启动了引擎，出租车慢慢滑进夜色里。

我敲门。咚咚声传出来，好像胸腔里寂寞的心跳。

吱呀，门开了，一个机器人的脸露出来。黑色面罩上，有用刀子刻出来的五官，线条稚嫩，组成了奇怪的笑脸。

机器人走出来，接过我的行李，说：“小姐，你回来了？”

我朝屋里看去，里面黑洞洞的，“她，在吗？”

“太太在家，她等你很久了。我们进去吧。”

我却踌躇了。我站在门前，脚下似乎裂开了一道深沟，距离深远，巨大而寒冷的风在沟上吹荡。我无法逾越。我干脆坐了下来。屋里面的她，也是坐着，睁开一双眼睛，似乎与我对视。

她是我的母亲。或者说，曾经是我的母亲。

我生命的前17年，都是在她身边度过的。记忆里，这间小屋子永远那么阴冷而潮湿，像我不堪的年华。带着隐约的腐烂气息，让年少的我深恶痛绝，却在逃离后，于每一个夜晚暗自思念。

我出生于地球枯竭末期，人人自危，小时候，我看到了太多张慌乱的苍白的脸。出于我不知晓的缘由，五岁之前，我都跟着父母在全世界流浪，或者说，逃亡。

五岁之后，曾经如庞然大物般的联盟政权解体，我们也得以安居，并且还多了一台机器人帮助做家务。然而不久后，父亲在床上咽下了最后一口气息。我记得他的眼睛，枯瘦而浑浊，久久地看着我和她。这眼睛里埋着深深的忧伤。

父亲走后，她变得脆弱而顽固。她不准我出门，不准我和男孩子交往。如果我违逆了，她不会动手，也不骂我，只是长久地看着我。她的眼睛在黑暗中亮得如一匹狼。

就这样，我跟在她身边。时光如流水，将我清洗得白皙修长，却把她冲刷得脸皱发苍。时光在替我报复吗？我从不敢想象。

我无声地叹了口气。黑夜笼罩下来，狂风呼啸，城市发出洪亮而寂寞的鸣声。是的，城市也寂寞，人们陆续移民，城市的胸腔空荡荡，像失去了心脏的巨兽，悲鸣不已。

“小姐，我们进去吧？”机器人沉默许久，最终说道。它的声音永是这般平淡，但此刻，我却似乎听到了恳求的语气。

然而，我摇摇头。她不先开口，我便不会进屋。我和她，是麦田里的两束麦芒，彼此相依，却永远针锋相对，无法拥抱。

17岁那年，我决定离开。

那个暑假，我在城里到处打工，每一分钱，我都小心地收好。那个闷热绵长的夏天过后，我已经有了能够买一张车票的钱。对我来说，只需要一张车票，我就可以开始流浪。

于是，9月的时候，我对她说：“妈，我去买本书。”

“嗯。”她在黑暗里说道。

我转身走出门，就这样，我离开了家。拿到车票的那一刻，我泪流满面，无声痛哭。

而她，一直在家里等我回去。这一等，便是7年。

7年间，我走过了很多地方。我见过温暖的阳光，淋过阴湿的细雨，我从未停止过我的脚步。直到，我遇见他。

那是在南方的一条大街，他站在讲台上，一边向路人分发传单，一边大声宣扬星际移民政策的种种好处。当他把传单递给我的那一刹那，我看到了他的眼睛。眼角有好看的弧度，额上皱起川字纹，瞳孔清澈如泉水，叮咚咚，流过沸腾的阳光和人群，越过空气，流进我的眼睛里。

就这样，我沦陷了。

这个男人总喜欢用宽大的手掌包住我的脸颊，用鼻子蹭我的额头，然后取笑我像一只小兽。我从不拒绝他，后来，他说要带我离开地球，我也没有拒绝。

他说，这颗星球的资源已经枯竭了，人类再也活不下去了。

他说，我们一起离开，飞船会飞越宇宙，我们能一起看到群星闪烁，看到银河流转。

他说，我们会在天马星系定居下来。那里的人类居住地已经改造好了，空气新鲜得就像是你的呼吸。那里六颗卫星环绕着，你晚上走到街上，脚下会有六个散开的影子。

我说，好。

我唯一的要求，就是回来再看看她，同她道一声别。

但现在，我踟蹰在门前，夜凉如水，我不敢进入。

屋里的人与我对视着。不知过了多久，我站起来，说：“LW31，把行李给我吧，我要回去了。”

“小姐，你真的不去看看太太吗？”机器人急忙说，“这些年，太太很想你。”

我点点头，“我也很想她，替我转告，有机会的话，我会再回来看她的。”

机器人沉默着，露水凝在它的外壳上，像是泣下的泪珠。

她还没有出来，我决定不再等待。我提着行李箱，转身离开，天空中有云层幽浮而过，有大风呼啸而过。

我知道她肯定在后面看着我，但我没有回头。

“后来的事情我也知道。”LW31说，“小姐乘坐的飞船被陨石击中，气舱损毁，所有的船员乘客都窒息而死了。”

格里芬太太没有说话，良久，两滴浊泪落下，打在照片上。显示屏慢慢消隐下去。

“所以，爱我的人，全部离开了。”格里芬太太把照片放进口袋里，说，“那我也没有活下去的意义了。告诉我方法，让我去死吧？”

“如您所愿。最适合的办法，是触电。”

“那样不疼吗？”

“触电是最美的自杀方式，尸体的原貌也可以保存得最完整。事实上，如果顺利的话，甚至连灼伤的痕迹都不会留下。在触电的那一刻，您会有尖锐的疼痛，之后，呼吸和心跳就会停滞，过程很短暂，几乎感觉不到痛苦。”LW31认真地说，“但需要注意的是，电流必须经过心脏才有可能致死，其他部位则不行。不过这一点，我可以帮助您。我会使用胶布，把铜丝固定在您的心口位置，保证电流通过心脏，并且用沾着食盐水的脱脂棉降低电阻。太太，您需要现在就实行吗？”

格里芬太太点点头。

“那好吧，我为了给您服务而存在。”LW31转身去找铜丝胶带和脱脂棉，但走到门口时，它又停了下来，“太太，在您触电而死前，我想提醒您一下，您有句话说错了。”

“哪句？”

“您说，爱您的人全部离开了，只剩下您一个人孤苦伶仃地活着。”LW31背对着格里芬太太，背部锈蚀，声音缓慢，“您错了，还有一个人，从始至终，一直爱着您。”

“是谁？”

LW31转过身，灯光下，面罩上的笑脸竟像是会流动一样。它看着格里芬太太，刻出的眼神无比温柔，身体里传出滋滋的电流传动声。

过了很久，它说：“是我。”

格里芬太太愣住了。

往事如雪片般纷至沓来，逐渐清晰，没错，在她漫长的人生中，LW31的确自始至终地在陪伴她。小时候，母亲体弱，不会做家务，LW31将格里芬太太照料得无微不至，让她顺利成长。她有次调皮，嫌它的面罩太冰冷，就用刀子在上面刻了笑脸。它没有生气，安静温顺。长大后，LW31总是把家里收拾得干干净净，做好饭菜，然后静静地站在屋子里，等格里芬太太下班回来。女儿出生后，它更加忙碌了，几乎没有闲下来的时候。等格里芬太太老了，它依然在家里打点一切，陪格里芬太太出去晒太阳，讲从网上下载来的笑话。

如果，能照料一个人的一生，并且从始至终无怨无悔，体贴入微，那这不是爱又是什么呢？

格里芬太太哽咽了，走上前去，抱住了LW31。她的手碰到了LW31的背部，在那里，LW31的外壳比格里芬太太的皮肤还要粗糙。

“对不起，我一直忽略了你。”

“没关系，太太。”LW31依旧是那副笑脸，声音如以往般平静，说，“太太，您的晚餐已经凉了，要不我再去热一下？”

“好的。”格里芬太太抹去眼泪，点头说道。

饿塔

潘海天

日暮时分，他们看见了那座塔。

纯白色的塔很高，又尖又长，甚至高出了那些山的暗影。它在西斜的三个太阳的余晖里，在四围浓厚的暗黛山色里，像是一根又细又长的亮线。

他们仰望亮线，仿佛仰望一个沉默的希望，没有人想过他们会全体毙命于斯。为了到达此地，他们已经不停不休地走了两个星期。他们穿过了整个沙漠，一路上扔下掉队者和体力不支死去的人，扔掉被太阳晒得神经错乱者，而狰狞兽则掠去了他们中间最肥美、最可口的队员，剩下的人全都筋疲力尽，严重营养不良，宛若行尸走肉。

两周前，他们的飞船坠毁在沙漠里，当时就死了一半的人。飞行员很幸运地当场毙命，变成一团辨认不清形状的肉泥，否则在随后而来的绝望日子里他可能被愤怒的幸存者施以说不出口的酷刑。

从沾满血和残肉的机械残骸中爬出来后，从20000尺（约6666米）高空像大铅锤一样直坠着地的震惊和歇斯底里中复苏过来后，从哀悼死者和赞美上帝对自己的仁慈中回味过来后，所有的人同时抬头看着四周一望无际的茫茫戈壁，众多大大小小的石头一直排列到目力难及的远方，在炽热的三个太阳的光辉下，如同骷髅一样，在沙地上反射着银色的细小的光。

幸存者沉默不语。上帝让他们中间的一半人直奔天国，可是未必打算就此放过其他人。

绝大部分飞船职员摔死了，乘客只能起来自救，一名来自特种部队的上尉军人成了理所当然的领袖。他检查完飞船残骸后告诉他们，发报机完蛋了，无法求救，也无法报告他们的确切位置。这样一来，最乐观的救援也将来自三个月后，更别提搜索这个贫瘠、荒芜然而又是巨大无比的星球所要耗费的时间了。

“我要求你们去寻找所有有用的物品，把它们贡献出来——时节危难，我们需要团结一心，才能得救。”上尉说，他有一双坚毅的灰色眼睛、肌肉发达的脖子和厚实的胸膛，看到他那结实的样子就让人觉得有所倚靠。

“要相信上帝，神不会抛弃我们的，”来自太空加尔文教派的神父如是说，此刻他是那根维系上帝的仅有细线，“只要我们坚信，就必获拯救。”

幸存者开始极其热心地搜索飞船上所有的角落，哪怕是毁坏最严重的，一名乘客也未能逃出来的前舱也没放过。那儿现在活像一口被摔满草莓冰淇淋的搅拌锅。负责搜索它的旅客不停地做噩梦，在梦中呕吐。

水不是问题，那些咕噜作响、扭曲变形的管道正在往外漏冷却水，虽然带着机油味儿，但没有毒。他们还找到了不少食品，都是旅游者从各星球上带回的土特产，但无论这些食品花样如何繁多，口味如何鲜美，也不可能维持60个人3个月的生活——何况这班幸存者中还有不少体形肥胖者，必是些胃口奇好的饕餮之徒。

在一个摔死的朝圣者的旅行袋中，他们发现了一张古旧的破地图。上尉和幸存的飞船锅炉工、一位休假的化学教授，加上神父四个人拿着罗盘和计算尺研究了半天后宣布，决定带领大家前往一个临时避难所，那是著名的苦修者冥修教派的修道院，是地图上唯一一个有人迹的标记点。

14天艰苦的行军后，他们才看到了修道院的塔。它远在天边，被夕阳镀上一层金色的光。

在夕阳的光洁下，每一个人都开始疯狂地奔跑。扬起的沙尘粘在他们细细的小腿上，黏重的呼吸从干瘪的肺里冲出，没有人说话，他们挺直身躯，埋下头颅，甩下没用的背包，扔掉空空如也的水壶，踢掉沉重的已经脱了线的破烂皮靴，光着脚在滚烫的沙砾上跑得飞快。

他们知道，凶猛的狰就跟在他们的队伍后面紧追不放。每到太阳落山的时候，它就必然出现，在这班衣衫褴褛、垂头丧气的旅行者中选择一名受难者。两个星期里，他们损失了14个人，始终对这头怪兽束手无措。

无法预知狰这次将选择他们中的哪一个，显而易见的理由使人们认为，落在最后的人将大大增加被选中的概率，在离得救还有一步之遥的时候，谁希望做那位不幸者呢。他们争先恐后地逃窜，沉默的疯狂低头奔跑的姿态感染了队伍里的每一个人，即便是年轻的神父也不能例外，他带着一种深切的耻辱感跑了起来，一边跑一边回忆达尔文那残酷的生存法则，自它出现以来，就不停地让宗教和人的尊严蒙受着莫大的羞辱。现在跑吧跑吧，只要不是落在最后，就有活下去的希望。

刚出发的时候，他们组织得很好。有人负责探路，有人负责照顾妇孺病弱，有人负责每晚的安全警戒。即使在落难之中，大家依旧表现得彬彬有礼，相互谦让，仿佛这次艰苦的行军只是城市背包族的一场度假冒险。一直到狰的出现，一瞬间，脆弱的文明的纽带断裂了，秩序崩溃，活命的本能回到每个人身上。那天晚上，在营地里，年轻的神父在一片惊慌中看到粗壮的锅炉工踏翻了两个帐篷，把一位肥胖的女人撞翻在地；化学教授跃入火堆，几乎把自己全身点着；上尉在远距离里朝猛兽开了两枪，随后不见踪影；所有的人都觅处而藏，一次假日进军演化成了混乱的大溃逃。

狰实在是一种极度可怕的猛兽，事实上这是一种整个大星云区都少见的凶狠的噬人兽，它的速度快如鬼魅，弯曲的利爪犹如闪闪发光的匕首，钢鞭一样的尾巴在末梢分成了毒蛇信样的三个分叉，比它的外形更恐怖的是它那对人刻骨的仇恨，一旦发动攻击，它就会扑击撕咬到底，绝无怜悯和收口的可能。

唯一值得苦中寻乐的是，狰懂得替自己挑选最佳的口粮。它会掠去逃难者中最肥胖的人，而他们消耗更多的食物，同时又行走缓慢——现在他们剩下来的人全是青壮男女，身体强健，意志坚定，不必有人催促，他们的行走速度也快多了。

上尉跑在队伍的中间。他手里紧攥着自己的激光枪，脖颈笔直，吐气长缓，跑得不紧也不慢——离开人群是危险的——他第一个领悟到在他们混杂的脚步中多了另外一个声音，那是厚厚的肉垫落在沙砾上的声音。他闻到一股畜生身上特有的骚动不安的热气。他转过脸去，在月影下看到那个悄无声息跟随着他们的毛皮光滑的影子，它那扁平的大脸上满是卷毛，逆着风儿微微抖动。它正眯缝着瘦长的因为斜吊而显得格外凶狠的大眼，悄无声息地上下打量着队伍中的每一个人。它又来了，正在慢吞吞地策划发动攻击。而他们对此无能为力，这种居高临下的蔑视和鄙视对他的尊严形成了一种可怕的伤害。“早晚会干掉你的”，上尉恨恨地想，捏紧了无用的激光枪。

他们在奔逃中看到了峡谷的隘口，看到了围绕谷中的林子，成片低矮的小屋围成的小广场，广场中心那个小小的喷水池，一个异教徒的白度母女神盘腿跌坐在水池中心的莲花宝座上，圆如满月的脸上带着大慈大悲的神秘微笑。他们冲进去了。有人跪倒在地，像孩子一样放声哭泣。有人木头一样待在当地，既不哭也不笑。

没有一间屋子有灯光，没有一座烟囱有炊烟，所有的地方都静悄悄的，没有一个人。没有人出来欢迎他们。这儿已经荒废啦。希望像大肥皂泡沫一样升上天空，然后炸破了。现在，哭吧，哭吧。他们紧紧地挤在一起，度过了整个晚上。

天亮的时候，三颗带着各自色差的太阳先后跃上了天空：土黄色的领先，把谷中照得一片金灿灿的；蓝色那颗后来居上，它的个儿最大；最后是橘红色的缺乏热度的一颗。他们清点人数，发现在昨晚的混乱中又少了两个人。来自月球的塞奥尼和艾米丽夫妇。神父回忆起两张年轻的沾满雀斑的脸，叹了一口气。

他们在依然流淌着的喷水池中取水。长途的亡命跋涉之后，短暂的喘息让所有的人都情绪平稳下来。他们开始观察四周，林子不大，也不算密集，都是些当地的树种：向左盘旋的蕨类盘成紧紧的环，一圈圈地旋转着升向天空，在树的顶部，从根上分成三片的针叶摇曳着，在风中咕哝着轻柔的沙沙声。这儿显露出来的是一副静谧的园林景象，他们却三三两两地紧靠在一起，不敢深入探究。

快到中午的时候，上尉把他们四个领头的人——化学教授、锅炉工和神父召集起来。他把他们带到一个低矮的半地下室去。那儿大概是一个砂岩砌筑的酒窖，里面摆放着大量的空玻璃瓶。上尉原先身体健壮，皮肤黝黑，如今蹲坐在一堆极不牢靠的瓶子上，披着毛毯，胡子拉碴，皱巴巴的面孔又干瘪又苍白，活像一颗失去水分的萎蔫的蔬菜。“食物已经没有了。”他向大家透露了这个可怕的消息：“我们没剩下一点食物。今天早上，我搜索了整个修道院，显然它是被废弃了。我转遍了所有的屋子，希望能够找到藏匿的食物——但是没有。没有。”

所有的人都沉默不语了。救援要两个半月后才能到达，没有食物他们只能饿死。相比这个威胁，狰倒是件小事了。

“我们要对付它，我们会对付它的，”上尉说，“枪对它没有用。我面对面地对它开过枪，它抖了抖肩膀，好像我手里拿的是把玩具水枪似的。”他说着，愤愤不平地抽了抽鼻子，“但是我们能把它拦在外面。我四处转悠过了，这儿四周都是直上直下的峭壁——只有一个出入口。我们要在那儿修建一道篱笆。工具这儿有的是。”

“是的，激光枪没有用，”化学教授蔫头蔫脑地说，由于瘦了，他的招风耳朵看上去大得惊人，“我碰巧看过一本旅游简介，这颗星球上云母岩中长晶体的含量高得惊人——由于那些晶体原子的共振——这是颗奇特的充满超声的星球，上面的生物天生有一种本领，它们能够利用并且控制物体的振动。看到那只大猫脑袋边的绒毛了吗，它就是用来感应振动的——激光说到底也是一种振动。你的攻击大概会让它难受，但不可能伤害到它。”

“振动？你是说，用枪对付不了它吗？如果它冲进来，我们就只有跟它肉搏了——好吧，那我们就跟它肉搏！”上尉恶狠狠地说。

“这儿有不少的树，或许这些植物也可以吃？”锅炉工说。他是个有着扁平大脸的强壮家伙，一颗犬牙突兀地伸在嘴外，打破了一点外貌上死鱼一样的呆滞感，说：“俺在老家的时候听说过有人吃树皮。”

“不行。”教授沮丧地摇头，仿佛在宣判自己的死刑，“这是所有星际旅行者遇到的难题，大部分外星植物的DNA螺旋式和我们的基本结构不同，假使它们对我们没毒的话，吃下去也无法分解出对我们有用的蛋白质分子。”

“我们的肉对它们的猛兽倒是挺适用的？”上尉讽刺地说，他转身面对神父，“这样吧，神父，你来负责搜索。看这些和尚的布置，仿佛只是要离开一小会儿。没有留下一点点的食物，这是不可能的，”他歪曲着嘴角重复道，“不可能的。或许你们信神者另有思路，你们不都是信神的吗？”

“这是不一样的。”神父抗议说。

“就这样吧。”上尉说。

冥修教派是个快要消亡的古老宗教。他们的教义宣称抛弃所有欲望，就能立地成佛，白日飞升。创建这个教派的是一位古代东方僧侣，据说他们能展现神迹给大家看，然而他们的流传范围很小，只限于大星云区的几个偏远星球。根据古老的地图介绍，这儿是冥修者的一个圣地。

既然领受了找寻食物的任务，神父就开始顺着谷地转悠。除了他们进来的缺口外，谷地四周都是高大的绝壁，上面是一条条流水冲出的沟壑，露出岩石内里红色的沉积层。站在谷中央看，这些巨大、沉默、冰冷的巨岩像幕布一样伸向天际，只露出了一块近乎圆形的天空，他们犹如置身井底。

神父正在犹豫从哪儿开始着手搜索食物的时候，就看见锅炉工带着砍伐树林的那一群人尖叫着从林中跑了出来。

他们第一次看到了幻泡鱼。它们圆鼓鼓的，在阳光下反射着五颜六色的光，在空气中甩着尾巴，上下游动，逆风而动，仿佛一些脆弱的肥皂气泡，或者像是一些飘浮在空中的儿童五彩气球。它们看上去柔弱、漂亮，毫无危险，而且确实也只是些观赏宠物，但他们现在犹如惊弓之鸟。

那些幻泡鱼的透明肚皮在空气中以看不到的频率振动着，它们利用振动吸收阳光中的能量，不停地吸入空气中轻或重的气体，使自己维持在某个高度上。它们巨大的眼泡傲然自若地盯着下面那些显然太过慌乱而丢了自己脸的人们，然后摆了摆尾巴，升到更高的天空中去了。

出去探路的上尉和几个强壮的男人带回了塞奥尼的尸体，他是在昨天夜里的狂奔中踩到了沟里，摔断了自己的脖子。除了塞奥尼之外，他们还找到了一条干涸的车辙道，弯弯曲曲地通向不知道是天国还是何处的远方。痕迹被消磨得几乎看不见了，说明路上很长时间没人走了，看来这个修道所确实被废弃了。

神父替死人作了祷告。他们把他埋在了树林间。那些蕨树一圈圈地盘旋着，围绕在他们的上空。上尉和锅炉工拿着铲子，像两根残破的石柱，矗立在红褐色的泥土松松垮垮堆起来的巨大坟头边上。

剩下来半个白天，他们都在砍伐树木，修建栅栏。他们把坚固、粗大的树干的顶部削尖，深深地埋入地下；用针叶编造带刺的索网，填充每一道缝隙；所有可能被攻击的薄弱点都用巨大的石头在后面加了固。他们忍饥挨饿，辛苦工作，终于完成了这项伟大的工程，这多少带给了他们一点虚假的安全感。

与此同时，神父以无比的耐心搜遍全谷，却只发现了一点点发霉的面包，此外还有一些葡萄干。在酒窖的后面，他发现了一些干枯的葡萄藤，他们也许是自己酿酒的。他没找到片纸只字，也没有任何书籍或者记录。他努力回忆曾经读过的一些关于冥修者的书，记得他们喜爱劳作，冥想，但是没有什么书籍提到过他们吃什么。

饥饿开始咬啮神父的胃，他两眼发花，在再一次绕到塔下的时候，他正在想那个令他充满焦躁不安的感觉，他们吃什么呢？

塔是他唯一还未搜寻过的地方。当然啦，它很高，大约有100米高，600个台阶。在此刻的身体状态下去爬它实在是件辛苦的事。

他还是开始爬了。楼梯在塔内，向左盘旋，一圈又一圈，绵亘的石砌梯级一级又一级，永不停息。塔仿佛还在不停地升高，像那些蕨类植物一样，在阳光下静悄悄地生长，往高空攀升。神父不得不几次坐下来休息，休息的时候他可以看到遍布塔身的白色壁画。上面刻画着一些恐怖景象，也许是反映异教里的地狱景象；此外，还有拿着宝剑、乐器和老鼠的甲士，一些婆娑的仙女，长满果实的树，睡莲和漂亮的雌鹿，而在所有这些图案的下面，则是一个沉睡的人形。也许这个繁复的世界，只是存在于佛的梦之中。在古代印度人的眼光中，世界本身不就是由梦组成的吗？

他花了很长时间才爬到高塔的顶端，那儿只有一个空荡荡的一无所有的房间。大块砌构的白色石头围成了一个奇特的圆形空腔，像是花房，又像是子宫。在这个石造子宫的正中央留下了冥修者长年累月席地而坐形成的凹坑。圆室的弧形墙上开了三个狭长的开口，权充是窗户。三扇窗户间是六幅壁画，他注意到其中的一幅：那是一些骨瘦如柴的人。他们的肚子胀得像面大鼓，眼中却闪动着饥饿的充满欲望的光芒，他们像蜘蛛那样伸手摄取、抓挠，乞求着。

饥饿之塔。这四个字突然不请自来地跳入他的脑中，让他心神俱悚。他逃也似地离开了高塔。

夜里，狰又来了，在篱笆外面呼呼地喘着气，喷着食肉动物特有的腥味，眼睛像两盏明灯。谷口一整夜都传来可怕的撞击声。在怪兽的撞击下，整座石壁都在吱嘎作响，埋在地里的树干以吓人的幅度摇摆着。那天晚上狰没能闯进来，让许多彻夜不眠的饥饿的灵魂松了一大口气。

现在只有修复篱笆的时候能让大伙齐心协力，其余的时候，他们就分散开来，挖地三尺，发疯似地搜遍了所有的房屋和空地。葡萄藤在第一时刻被掘起来吃掉了，然后是各种皮制品——皮鞋、皮带、皮水囊，这座该死的星球上没有蚯蚓和老鼠，否则它们也要一起遭殃。

上尉忘了告诉神父没找到食物是否该停下来，他就坚持不懈地拖着疲惫的身子在谷中游荡。在一间暗屋子里，他看见教授在把一些干草根和树枝状的东西收拢起来，塞在他那件大衣的夹层里。看见神父的时候，教授的脸上泛起了一抹涩红。

教授是个脸色苍白的瘦长个儿，鼻子突兀，眼睛很大，像两个蓝汪汪的水泡，这让他总是带上一丝儿惊恐的神情。他眨了眨眼睛，表达善意地递了两块植物块茎给神父，说那是中国人治病用的药材。“对我的疟疾症状应该会有好处。”他支支吾吾地说。

在转遍了整个谷地那些平庸无奇的房屋之后，神父开始坚信冥修者唯一的秘密就在塔上。虽然虚弱，他再一次爬上塔去研究壁画和那间空荡荡的冥想室。他发现了建造石塔的材料不是当地的砂岩，它们是从远处运来的白色云母岩，仔细观看，它们与地球上的云母岩却又不同，那里头闪动着无数微小的细密的亮闪闪的晶体，犹如恒河沙砾。

那三扇窗窗口极窄小，只容一人挤出去，外面是小小的一环瞭望平台，可以望见谷外那空旷扎眼的沙漠，风毫无阻隔地在其上肆行，卷起滚滚沙尘。沙尘的上面则是那广漠无垠、寂然无声、深不可测的天空，它显得出奇的空旷与蔚蓝。三个太阳带着五彩的光芒滑过天空。他们就待在这个被遗忘的角落。他们确实被遗忘啦。

这期间上尉上塔看了一眼，他对这空荡荡的房间不感兴趣，他很忙，要带人去修复篱笆。栅栏那儿的反复争夺已经成了一场战争。晚上狰来破坏，白天人在加固，到后来夜里也需要有人值班加固它了。狰的攻击愈发地凶猛，它咬断那些不够粗的树干，撕裂结实的针叶扎编的索网，用结实的身躯撞击得整个樊篱抖动不止，让所有蹲在栅栏后面的人心惊胆战，暂时忘掉肚子中的火烧感。

锅炉工尤其喜爱这种战斗，他把脸涂抹成印第安人的战斗花纹，拿削尖的长杆从缝隙里往外猛捅，又唱又跳，他的狂热精神激励着大家。他确实是名勇敢的家伙。其他人呼喝着，用韧枝条编织的网格填补空洞，后面加固上大石块，他们用土埋上栅栏间的缝隙，用不知名的外星藤蔓把那些树干捆扎得牢牢的，坚不可摧的样子。

但他们依旧没有找到任何食物。另有一些人也开始爬塔探看，但这样的人不多，毕竟爬100米高的塔对饥饿无力的人来说是个可怕的挑战。教授就是这样的一个人，他饿得半死，一路上休息了16次，还治疗了两次自己的疟疾。一到顶部，他眯着眼睛敏锐地扫了一遍空荡荡的石室，外面的瞭望台也没有放过，毫不掩饰脸上流露出的失望神情。他向神父解释说，并非自己不相信神父的话，但上来看一眼为了打消他心中猫爪抓挠般的痛苦责任感。

教授下去后，几乎再没人来打扰神父的工作。神父对那个室中央的空洞越来越好奇，他知道冥修派的历代高僧就坐在这个凹槽上渡过了1000年。也许有人就在此飞升成佛了。左右无事，他便也坐在其上尝试著名的冥想，也许是冥想室包容一切的圆形结构让他安逸，他很快沉浸到一种似梦非梦的境界里，他几乎要睡着了。在睡梦里，他仿佛听到怪兽呼呼的喘气声，看到恶魔一样黄色的目光，它的利爪几乎搭在了他的喉咙上。

他醒了过来，觉得自己头痛欲裂，口渴得厉害。也许是出于想象，冥想室里仿佛充满了狰那野性的骚味。他昏昏沉沉地走下塔去，被告之昨天夜里，狰终于冲了进来，咬死了3个人。其中马修的尸体被他们抢了回来。马修是一个18岁的年轻孩子，那天晚上，在怪兽的口中，他拼命挣扎，如同一只拍打着翅膀的飞蛾，篱笆上的洞太小，它没来得及把他拖出去，上尉跳过去，拉住了他的腿，其余的人朝篱笆外开枪，用削尖的树枝捅它的嘴和脑门，他们拼命地把他往回拉，结果弄折了他的脖子。

太阳出来的时候，狰带着战利品跑掉了。化学教授说，太阳是个巨大的超声源，它会搞乱狰的感知系统。

葬礼相当简陋。马修仰卧在地，褴褛的衣服下露出瘦削的臀部和嶙峋的胸，他的一条胳膊被咬断了，如同乱砍之后的树桩，尖锐的茬口处血肉交错翻腾，皮肉七零八落地耷拉在地。望着那些苍白因而显得无比柔软的肉，每个人都眼冒青光。神父祷告的时候，一股难说出口的暗流在背地里骚动着。他们窃窃私语，或者还进行了秘密投票，最后他们没有把他埋掉。“他还有用。”他们阴沉着脸说。上尉点了头。神父闭上眼睛没有吭声。

那个白天里，他们烧起了篝火，架起了大锅。香气从广场上向四处飘溢。他们用砍树的斧头和锯子肢解男孩的身体。上尉的手极稳当，他的刀子走得笔直。男孩的胸腔像瓜一样裂开，干枯的皮下是一层薄薄的黄色脂肪，里面有星星点点的红点。胸筋交间处的软骨被切断以后，内脏就像一堆红色的、扭动的蛇滑落在地。随后那孩子的内脏和头被放在大锅里煮汤，四肢和肌肉则被烧烤烘干后保存起来作为存粮。

他们排队等候分配，手里端着各种各样的容器：敲掉瓶颈的玻璃瓶、铁铲、帽子和塑料袋，把皮靴吃掉了的人颇有些后悔，香气让他们的嘴里不停地往外冒酸水。

锅炉工掌着大勺，用一根草绳勒着少了皮带的裤子，他精细得近乎苛求地平均分配着每一份口粮，这种容易理解的公平是他目前唯一能够掌控的事，除此之外，他绝不多想。这种人总是现实的，他们的生活令人羡慕，因为他们总是快乐到最后的时刻。

有些人激动得吐了酸水，他们紧攥着手里的塑料袋不放。在面对缺盐少蒜，但又丰盛得令人不敢奢想的午餐的时候，不能肯定，他们其中是否有人默念了“主啊，感谢你赐我食物”这句祷词。

那个午后，他们以更大的热情加固篱笆，在有粮食的基础上，他们又精神百倍，充满信心了。

神父没有去参加排队，饥饿宛如蜘蛛啃丝般缓慢地咬啮着他的内脏，但他没去领他的那份肉。

上尉其实挺喜爱这位年轻人的。神父还算是个英俊的小伙子，他有一副讨人喜爱的、十分敏感的脸，像砂岩一样白和脆弱。第一次看到这个年轻人的时候，上尉就总觉得以前在什么地方见过他。在他的印象中，仿佛在此之前，在某个遥远的、被时间的烟尘所淹没的场合，他就见到过这个苍白、瘦弱的，为拯救别人而会牺牲自己的好年轻人。他见过很多这样的年轻人，在部队里或者在其他地方，他们最终都被战火所吞吃。“主并不会指责人们在这样的环境下用如此手段求生吧？”他说。“我明白，我当然明白，”神父低着头说。上尉给他带去了一些烘制好的干肉，那些肉片看上去很干净，切得齐齐整整的，凝聚着酱黑色的香气，确实熏制得很好。“可是你这样做会增加人们的压力，他们以为你在指责他们什么，”上尉好心地劝告他说，“你应该收下它。”他看出神父明显地在犹豫。“我明白。”神父说，最后还是拒绝了那份归他的食物。上尉盯着他的眼睛看了半天。

他依然去爬他的塔，那座令人充满无穷无尽欲望的塔。现在他自己也不知道希望在里面找到些什么，奇怪的是他并不觉得饥饿。白色的石壁在黑暗中发出温润的荧光，每一粒晶体都在微弱地振动着。或许冥想可以帮助冥修者进行辟谷？他端坐在凹槽上，抚摸着墙上那些文字，那些古老的画一样的象形文字，试图通过想象来明白它们是什么意思。

有那么几秒钟，他的头脑迷迷糊糊地涌现出了一种神秘的离奇的感觉，他竭力想抓牢并留住这一印象，以便预测或者控制将要发生的事，但正如他所猜想的那样，它跑掉了。幻泡鱼在空中飘荡，它们的皮肤绷得紧紧的，像是透明的膜片，它们就是些橘黄的、橘红的、湖蓝的、金光闪闪的转瞬即逝的泡沫啊。

虽然有严格的份额限制，食物还是在一瞬间就被饥饿的人群吞食干净。与以往不同，现在在谷中梭巡的这些皮包骨头的人身上多了点什么东西。他们的颧骨高耸在上，脸颊如井一样深陷，他们的目光来回扫射地上而不敢相交，因为那让他们自己害怕。

他们几乎是盼着狰的进攻了，但是篱笆很结实。狰在篱笆外呼呼地喘着气。它也有好多天没有食物了。饥饿让它的肋骨从干枯的皮毛下一根根突兀出来。它用发红的、无力的眼睛盯着篱笆后的人，然后转身跑掉了。也许它就此退缩了，放弃了这群同样饥饿的人，这令守候在篱笆后的人感到一丝莫名失望。

虽然他们尽量节约，两天后，食品危机再一次开始了。强壮者带头抢夺剩下的骨头，他们砸开腿骨，吞吃了年轻人的骨髓和筋节，但这些东西远远不够拯救大伙，所以有一天早上，上尉带上一群人重新埋葬了塞奥尼。

头天夜里有人挖开了他的坟，想打死尸的主意，然而在如此恶劣的火热天气下，塞奥尼早已经腐烂成一团食腐鬼也难以下咽的烂肉，于是清晨的时候，人们发现他臭气熏天，横躺在红色的坟头上，眼窝变成了蓝汪汪的两泡水，额头上满是黑色的烂斑，他的牙呲出来，由于颊后的皮肤收缩而显得眉开眼笑。没有更多的人指责这桩暴行，他们只是挖了个更深的坑重新埋了他。目睹着如此大量的卡路里，氨基酸、蛋白质白白地腐烂，也许更多的人在暗自后悔呢。

其他的人也没闲着，他们试图尝试那些蕨类植物。他们砍倒它，把树皮上的刺去掉，剁成小条的细枝，用小火煮它，然而它发出了比腐烂的尸体更强烈的恶臭。还没等化学教授再次警告他们，就有人去进攻幻泡鱼了。两个来自大角星的钻石矿矿工拿叉子捅它们，结果被炸开的鱼肚皮里喷出的氨水毒瞎了眼睛。他们的脸腐烂了，躺在喷水池边一整夜呻吟不止。

无穷无尽的阶梯让神父仿佛在爬一座通往天国的巨塔。上帝是永生的，他无所不能，无所不知；他仁慈宽厚，为世间万物所共有。那么万能的上帝，以他那无穷的智慧，真的会害怕以前的人修建直通天国的那座巨塔吗？天国究竟在何方，在上面吗，在这座有限的但不断扩展的宇宙中吗？科学每一次发展，都让宗教摇摇欲坠，最后却总能找到与它相容的地方。这是否说明了科学永远也拯救不了人类呢？只是现在这些问题远远也不及去哪儿寻找食物更重要。

他怀念第一次参加弥撒时领的圣餐，酒和饼象征着耶稣的血和肉，他们每个人都吃了他因而与他同在。皮带又老又韧，根本就嚼不动，但他还是想办法把它切碎，用唾液泡软后吞了下去。克罗洛斯嚼吃了他的子女，独眼巨人烧烤奥德塞的同伴，张巡将妻妾给部下分食，当然啦，还有乌哥利诺伯爵，在一座高塔里啃食了自己的骨肉——历史上早已人人相食，他们还在自相残食呢。成群结队的幻泡鱼浮游在冥想室的外面看他，仿佛大气是一个巨大的透明玻璃鱼缸。

恶臭一直萦绕在谷地上空。

两位矿工死了。猎食者终成被食者。那几乎是谷中人人等待已久的一场盛筵。大火烧起来了，锅里的水骨碌碌地冒着白色的泡。借助这两位矿工的牺牲精神，他们又熬过了一个星期。救援依旧显得遥遥无期。神父几乎是奇迹般地熬了下来，他发现教授给他的植物块茎确实有无穷的妙用，一小片就能带给他长时间的热量。此刻教授已是形销骨立，眼睛血红，几乎一阵风就能刮倒，然而他精神旺健，脸色红润得出奇。他不停地喝水，干裂的嘴唇边还是起了一串燎泡，这大概都是治疗疟疾引起的副作用。

太长时间没有人去关注篱笆了，那儿不知道被什么人连掏带挖地弄了一个小洞，直到狰的咆哮又回响在谷地中央的时候，他们才发现这一点。这一次没有人恐惧，他们在上尉的带领下极度亢奋地战斗，胜利的火焰缭绕在他们发烧的大脑四周。他们用铲子、木棍、刀子、指甲和牙齿，与饥饿得缺乏力量的怪兽争夺着嘴里的尸体。

上尉用刀子从怪兽口旁努力砍下了一条大腿，他觉得自己又控制住了局面。他曾经犹豫和迷茫过，也害怕过。对他的训练让他对这种感觉感到羞耻——现在好了，在知道要走什么道路后，他就不用再担心，他知道自己将坚持到救援的到来。这种胜利的快乐冲昏了他的头脑，在狰钻出篱笆的洞跑掉之后，他持着化学教授那条毛茸茸的还在滴血的大腿纵声而笑。

他看到神父就站在近旁，神情古怪地看着他，骷髅一样的脸上呈现一副痛苦的样子。上尉一下僵住，他收敛笑脸，对自己和对神父都怒火中烧。他凭什么那样看他。在生存受到威胁的时候，信仰有什么用？不论是信神者还是无神论者，灾难降临在他们身上的时候还不是一样的残酷无情。他狠狠地对付手中的教授，又剁又砍，奢侈地让那些血肉碎末飞溅在地。不用去调查，他知道神父的做法在大家中间引燃了怒火。

他们在喷水池里清洗教授剩下的残骸，教授的身体中萦绕着一股奇异的药香，即使漂洗了半天依然如此，渗透肌肤肉髓的香气让他显得格外好吃，他那瘦削的半具尸体只在一夜间就被吃得点滴不剩，他们根本就没尝出味儿来呢。他们还是饥饿，需要食物。

神父在凹槽上盘腿而坐，思潮喷涌，围绕着他的恒河沙数的白亮的晶体在振动，共鸣，那些声音极广阔又极微小，如蚕嚼桑叶，如雨打芭蕉，包含着如宇宙般宽广的讯息在这间小屋中回旋流动，通过弧形的花房腔室灌入他的头顶，让他想起了幼年的、过去的，甚至没有经历过的记忆。欲望从何而来？振动，振动，像蝴蝶那样拍打着翅膀。这个世界是虚幻的。一位白发的老人跟他说：“我梦见了蝴蝶，蝴蝶才是真实的啊。”

他睁开眼睛，看见了两片黑红相间的翅膀在室内拍打着。那是地球上才有的蝴蝶啊，它飞出了狭长的窗户，翅膀上的金粉在晨光下画出一条弧形的轨迹。

会是幻觉吗？一种神赐的顿悟充斥着他的身体。突然间，他极度害怕起来。这也许是想象中的想象，他只是想象着自己看见了幻觉。不过害怕只是一瞬间的，有什么关系吗？既然世界就是虚幻，虚幻的虚幻也不过是虚幻而已。在幻觉中，他看懂了墙上的画，或者说是字。

佛告须菩提：“凡所有相，皆是虚幻。”

这句话如果是对的话，那么反过来，虚幻也可生出有相。我的天，这可能吗？神父闭上眼睛。世界真的只是黄粱一梦中吗？他开始在心中画一块烤得喷香焦黄的饼。他的头在那些晶体的共鸣中剧烈地疼痛了起来，然而他睁开眼睛确实看到一块饼躺在他的面前。那确实是一块饼，芝麻粒烤得焦黄焦黄，在地上冒着袅袅的热气。

眼泪从他干枯的眼眶中一滴滴流出。画饼确实是可以充饥的。他找到了食物！这就是冥修教派的秘密，他曾经以为摒弃所有欲望才是绝欲，然而他错了，有什么比满足各种欲求而告诉你欲求的痛苦更直接的呢？

他把饼留在空气中继续冷却。他觉得脑袋中金星乱冒，嗡嗡作响。这是神迹吗？还是科学？一个充满振动的星球。什么是思想，什么是物质？柏拉图说。他早该理解，思想本来就是一种振动。电火花在神经元间来回跳跃。这座高塔特殊的构造和材质，甚至要加上这整个星球，它们放大了思想的力量。只要坚信和细心刻画，它们甚至可以创造世界。

他忍受着剧烈的头痛在头脑中构想了一个发报机。它在雾中浮现，越来越清晰，随后地一声落在了地上，那声响坚实，簇新，发着蓝光，像尖锐的刀子一样捅进他的脑中。他用发热的手抚摩着它。他将下去找他们，他们一定知道怎么使用这东西。而这期间，他们可以通过冥想和信仰来得到食物。他站了起来，却打了一个趔趄，几乎摔死。长时间苦思冥想已经让他不堪虚弱。

发报机太重了。他根本无法背负起这80磅（约36千克）的重量下600级台阶，于是他跌跌撞撞地爬了起来，顺着向左盘旋的楼梯慢慢地一圈圈地走了下去。

空气中飘荡着柔和的风。其他的人在广场上支着的锅边围成了一圈，火焰跳跃，水滚开着。他没有考虑又有谁死了。他快步上前，要告诉上尉，告诉他们他完成了任务。食物！他找到食物了。只要我们坚信，就必得救。多么简单啊，哈利路亚。

他们站成一个弧形，仿佛教堂唱诗班的大合唱队伍。所有的人目光柔和地看着他。现在，牺牲的那个人也在巨大的天幕上低下头来看着他，目光悲悯。上尉站在中央的高处，他歪过头去看谷的另一边，锅炉工手里拿着半截铁锹制成的狼牙棒逼近过来。他们站得笔直。他明白过来，那是一个审判台。是有另一人为大家牺牲的时候了。他明白要抓紧最后的时光，他举起手指，指向上方，用嘶哑的嗓子说道：“我发现了……”

那话被后脑上沉重的一击堵塞在了他的咽喉中，最后的意识里有水滚动的声音，人群那白色的牙齿，大气中游动的鱼。远处有一声狰的咆哮，仿佛神的号角在召唤。

在这一切的上面，饥饿的高塔直刺穹天。

安检

韩松

1

今天是我和妻子结婚20周年纪念日。下班后我到商场为她选购了一条项链。然后我走到商场里的地铁站，坐车回家。地铁站如今修到了纽约市的各个角落，连接起了富人区和贫民窟，每座商场、办公楼、剧院、餐厅、夜总会、酒吧、教堂……都设了地铁站。

地铁入口处站了一群穿黑衣的安检员，臂佩袖标，两手倒剪腰后，叉开双腿，把冰冷的目光扫向乘客。我试图若无其事地从安检员面前走过去，但一看到他们的目光，就腿软了，自觉把外套脱下，连同衣袋里的项链，与手中包包一起，扔进X光机那张黑洞洞的大嘴。安检完毕，我的胸前被贴上“无害”的粘胶标签。

我昏沉沉地上了地铁。乘客们胸前也都贴了标签，大家一语不发，心事重重的样子。到站了。我回到家。妻子已经回来。我哆嗦着把项链取出来，送给她。她勉强挤出一个笑容，戴上试了试，就取下放一边了。吃饭时，我们像往常一样，沉默无语，没有交流。然后，上床，背对背，很快睡着了。

回想起来，我们认识，是20年前，那正好是在一个地铁车站。当时，社会很乱，秩序都没有了。那天，忽然有人说地铁里砍人了，大家立即狂奔。我前面一个女人跌倒了。我就上去把她扶起来……后来她说：“再乱的世道，有了你，我便感到安全。”20年过去了，生活中没有了危险，百分百安全了，但也好像什么都没有了。

2

凌晨4点，我被小区的喇叭唤醒。它开始播报当天的安全指数。朦胧中，我习惯性地往枕边摸手机。但立即意识到，手机早已弃用。互联网掐掉了，移动公司也停止了营业。这都是为了确保安全。我和妻子从床上爬起，出门分头去坐地铁上班。她没有戴我送的项链。我装作没看见。

我与妻子分别后，就一个人静悄悄走着。很多人老鼠一样行进，路灯下灰压压的，拎着包包，鸦雀无声。不一会儿到了地铁站。等候进站的队伍很长。虽然科技进步大大加快了安检速度，但人还是太多了。如今，地铁是美利坚合众国唯一的交通工具。其他的出行方式都依法禁止了。

一个多小时后，终于排到了X光机跟前。我又一次咬紧牙关，心里幻想着不经安检就直接进站，行动上却做不到。我以前见过有人这么干，那家伙马上被安检员拉走，拖到站台上的一个小房间，很快被打死了。

车到曼哈顿，我通过连接地铁站台的通道走进写字楼。同事们陆续来了，满脸疲惫。有多少人是像我一样，想象过在光天化日下不经安检就上车的呢？我很清楚，他们心中也藏有同样奇怪的念头。

上厕所时，霍夫曼小声问我：“怎么样，今天试了吗？”我摇摇头。我问他：“你为什么也想不经安检就进站呢？”“自由。”这个词汇每次从霍夫曼口中吐出来，都很陌生、寒冷。我已经听了无数遍。他说：“也就是不受管束、能被信任的生活……你呢，刘易斯？”“我想送妻子一件礼物。我们结婚20年了。”这时我又难受了。我问霍夫曼：“什么时候，我才能把一件原汁原味的礼物送给她呢？”“女人不会在乎这个的。她知道你已尽力了。”霍夫曼安慰我。“不，她在乎的。这样下去，终有一天我们会离婚的。我和她不能生活在空气中，我们的关系要靠日用物品维系。但只要买下它们，回家路上首先就要经过地铁安检，食物和水也好，茶杯和书也好，电视机、电冰箱和电脑也好，还有我们睡的那张床，乃至结婚戒指和避孕套……你懂的。”我的泪水流了下来。

霍夫曼有一天告诉我，安检X光机实际上是一种特殊机器。行李物品放进去，就马上被吞噬，收归国有了。随后吐出来的，跟之前放进去的，外观上看不出区别，却已重新设计过了，一个原子一个原子排列整合出来，经过打印，返还乘客手中。这个过程瞬间就能完成，因为我们的科技已经可以做到了。此时东西已然是完美地符合美国国家安全标准的了，被判定为危险的内容都去除了。如果有汽油，那它变成了水；如果是手枪，则子弹替换成了橡皮……

我和霍夫曼都企望有一天能够不经安检就进入地铁，但这个努力总是失败——最后一刻双腿发软，鼓不起勇气来。霍夫曼曾对我说，有人不经安检，就进了地铁。“我亲眼见过，有天早上，排在我前面的一个女人，拎着包包很大方、自然地从安检员的眼皮下走了过去。而安检员跟木头一样，毫无反应。”“她是怎样的一个人？”“只看到很是年轻、漂亮。她过去后，还回头看了一眼我们这些老老实实排队的人，得意地笑了一笑。”霍夫曼神往地咂咂嘴。“她一定使用了障眼法。”“是啊，障眼法。也许是隐身衣，或者，能避过电磁波的什么干扰器？”

3

已经20年了。20年前的许多事情都不太记得了，只知道那时的国家是极不安全的：爆炸、枪击、刀砍、游行、冲撞……人们如惊弓之鸟，风声鹤唳。有好几次，在第五大道，随便一声呼喊，甚至一个表情，就引发了整条大街的集体狂奔，在踩踏中，伤亡枕藉。到处布满不安全的因素。到处是暗藏的敌人。911电话随时被打爆。于是白宫动用很多资源来健全安检系统。由联邦调查局牵头，华尔街和硅谷的大公司都参与了，采用PPP方式，也就是政府与私人企业伙伴关系模式，投入资金和技术，把整个城市的基础设施改造成一套安检系统。这太重要了。内忧外患，风雨飘摇，美国已从巅峰下滑。它不再是世界霸主。老人说，这个国家本来可能在一个夜晚崩溃掉。多亏了地铁，多亏了安检。这让美国维系到今天。不仅是确保安全，乘客的物品上携有的各种信息，国家也都通过安检系统掌握了。谁都不敢乱来了，连腐败也清除了。不仅腐败，其他什么都不敢了。但即便这样，替换还是每天照常进行。国家始终有不安全感。安全和不安全感，这两个概念有时不同，但常常就是一回事。

霍夫曼说，这是以恐怖对恐怖。安检构筑起来的恐怖，是更加强大的恐怖，足以把别的恐怖打得粉碎。

可是，分明有漏洞。霍夫曼亲眼见到有人不经安检就进站了。那个轻轻松松就闯过安检系统的女人，是何来历呢？霍夫曼想要找到她。她却再未出现。

“妻子把我告发了，她打了911。”

4

这天下班后，我去超市买了菜，垂头丧气坐地铁回到家。死寂的餐桌上，我像个罪人般惭愧地一口口吃着，背上冒出虚汗。我想，要有个孩子，也许好些。但我和妻子已经失去了对性生活的兴趣……匆匆吃完，又上床睡了。半夜，妻子忽然醒来，对我说：“刘易斯，我们分手吧。”她很久没有对我说话了，这时却说了这么一句。我理解这正是由于我的懦弱，由于我不够勇敢，20年了，也未能为她带回一件真实的礼物。由于联系我们的物品变得越来越陌生，我们二人也变得越来越隔膜。

但我还是怀有侥幸地对她说：“同事讲了，有人不经安检，就进地铁了。我也想试一试。”她吃惊地瞧着我。“20年了，你终于把这个想法说出来了。你下了很大决心，是吧？”她眼里噙满泪水。她不知道，我试图这么做，已经有很多次了。

第二天，我被拘捕了。妻子把我告发了。她打了911，说我试图闯安检。她怀疑我是一名潜藏的恐怖分子。

5

三年后，我从监狱出来，发现世界依旧，只是妻子已与我离婚。我找到霍夫曼。他像以前那样安慰我：“没什么，这几年我琢磨出一个道理：人生就是一场安检。不是人人能通过的。你只是运气不好。”我问他找到那个神秘女子了吗？他摇摇头。随后他建议我出国。“什么，出国？”我喊出声。这个国家很少有人想到出国。他耸耸肩：“既然无法通过安检，那就只好出国了。我打听到，有些国家的地铁是不安检的。”我觉得这很滑稽。从内心讲，我从不曾想过离开美国。倒也谈不上爱不爱它，只是习惯了，过一天是一天。“婚已离了，又坐过牢，现在你再闯安检，已无意义。”霍夫曼劝告道。“你呢？也出国吗？”失去了生活目的，我无力地问。“不，我还要坚守，也许某一天，我能闯过安检的，靠自己的努力，在自己的国土上争取到自由。”他孩子似的执犟地说。

我缺乏霍夫曼的勇气和毅力，而且那时我的身体和精神快要崩溃了。我于是尝试办出国手续。我以为这很难，但实际上挺容易。他们其实希望你到国外去，最好永远不回来。但这一定要自愿。他们从来不向海外流放美国公民。

6

我选择了去中国。在评级指标上，这才是世界上安全度最高的国家。我在上海办了外国人临时居留证，靠救济金生活。中国的地铁果然不进行安检。他们有这样的自信，但我已对地铁失去了兴趣。无所事事时，我会到网吧上网，看美国的消息。

网上果然有很多关于美国的信息。我才知道，我的祖国，看上去还是那张熟悉的面孔，但实际上每天都不相同。原来，被替换掉的，不仅仅是乘客随身携带的物品。为了最大限度保障安全，整个国家每天都被替换一次。中国人一直在饶有兴趣地观察和研究美国，他们发现，美国国土上遍布纳米机械，它们具有智能，能快速繁殖、玩命工作，这样每天都把美国从里到外改头换面一遍，从城市到乡村，从江河到山岳，都苟日新日日新，有害的东西在这个国家无处藏身。

但这种情况，只能从外界观察到。因为没有人能进得去美国。理论上，谁也无法通过美国的安检系统。而美国人待在自己的国家，是体会不到的，他们还以为一切跟昨天一样呢。

有时，我猜测，中国人观察和研究这个，是不是因为他们担心，美国会不会有一天，用这种技术替换掉别的国家，乃至替换掉整个世界呢？

但我的想法多余了，美国只针对它自己进行安检，只替换它自己。它忙这还忙不过来，哪里顾得上别人呢。

从大洋彼岸回头看，这的确是奇观。替换中的美国，千变万化。某一刻像朵野花儿，怦然开放，又收缩，又枯萎，又变色换彩，从红转为黑，从黄切入白。这也很像是一颗晚年的恒星。变化中的，也包括我的同胞们。他们每天被替换掉，从血液到肌肉，从生命到思想，成为新人，自己却不知晓。置身内部，什么也没有变。人们仍像老鼠一样，每天坐地铁上班。但在中国，看得一清二楚。这就是参照系的不同吧。

变化的，还有野生动物，包括北美棕熊和秃鹫，以及加州红木等各种植物，真菌和细菌，每一块泥土，每一滴水。有时，国家会呈现出热带雨林一样的层次感。有时又如冰晶，东北方向流淌着模糊的血泊，而西部沙漠发出鬼魂般的蓝光。常常鸦雀无声，全国唯一只剩下震天动地的地铁轰鸣，成为地球上最奇特的声音。美国已经变得与世界上其他所有国家不同。我待在中国，把这一切看得明明白白，震撼无比，惊诧莫名，又悲伤起来，潸然泪下。

7

新的研究表明，基于安检系统本身的演化，美国发展出了更复杂的技术。参与安检的，不仅仅是纳米机器人和3D打印机，不仅仅是大数据分布式重置器，还加入了自组织技术和人工世界拼贴机，无数元胞自动机在卖力工作，又融入量子传输，分分秒秒进行着大规模的原子搬运。白宫被改造成了一台巨型的机器，接替了几千万名工程师，来实现全程控制。整个美国变成了一个巨大的智能活性缸。

后来有一天，美国的自我变化忽然停止了。它不再替换自己了。这个国家完全消失了。中国人记录下了这个情况，分析说，这意味着美国的安检技术取得了新的重大突破。一个事物最安全的时候，不是被替换掉，而是它根本就不存在了，谁也找不到它了。这是一种地球上少数精英人士才能理解的高深的科学哲学。于是，从这个意义上讲，美国终于恢复到了它最强大的状态。

我又想到前妻。她也随美国一起消失了吗？但愿她在另一个世界，从此一切都好。她就再没有任何的思想包袱了，也不会讨厌我了。然而我却独自出国了，回不去了。祝她在强大的美国享受到自由和幸福。

8

有一天，我在人民广场闲逛，遇上一个白人女孩，长得很漂亮。她也是离开美国跑到中国来的。我们坐在草坪上聊起来。这是20多年来，第一次，没有压力地聊天。

我说：“你是我在国外见到的第一个美国人。”女孩名叫丽莎，她说：“世上已经没有几个美国人了。美利坚作为一个民族早被替换掉了。”“你呢？”我还记得霍夫曼给我讲的故事，有个神奇的女孩不经安检就进了站。她说：“我仍是真正的美国人，没有被替换。从一开始，我就没过安检。”“为什么你能？”“没有什么隐身衣和防电磁波装置。只需大摇大摆，当着安检员的面，面不改色心不跳，径直走过去就是了。视若无物，就真的无物。”“但是，不是说连人也被替换掉了吗？不是说整个国家都被替换掉了吗？”“是的。最开始，我也觉得奇怪，但正是如此，闯过安检的人都不会被替换掉。我们马上被送到了一个保质区，那是在佛罗里达附近的海下300米处。”“像你这样的人，还有多少？”“全美大概有1000名。”“你们为什么没有待在国内呢？听说美国又变强大了。”“在我们的国家消失之前，中国人帮助把我们撤了出来。”“中国人？”我实在无法理解这一切。

丽莎带我去新天地玩。那儿早被改造成了一个国家实验室。有许多像丽莎一样的来自美国的少女，做起了实验志愿者。一位穿白大褂的中国大叔欢迎我们的到来。中国人正在验证一件惊人的事情。他们发现，地球正经过一个安检。这发生在太空中，它与宇宙的终极秘密有关。银河系其实是一台超级安检器。“宇宙难道不安全吗？”我吃惊地问。“是的，它很不安全。现在才弄清楚了，地球上产生生命，进化出人类，就是为了维护宇宙的安全。”他一边说，一边趴到一台天文望远镜前，认真观察。后来我才明白，中国是地球上唯一为宇宙的安全而操心的国家。关于这次行动的更多奥秘，我还不太明白，而中国人也不愿对我们透露详情。

我冲动地对丽莎说：“我也希望做一名实验志愿者。”她怜惜地看着我：“哦，中国人暂时不会要你的，你跟我不是一种人。你是自动申请到中国来的，属于避难者。你已被替换掉了。你不再是标准美国人，确切说，不再是美国人，甚至不再是人。”我想，值此宇宙的安全成为最为迫切的命题时，那1000名像丽莎一样被保留下来的所谓真正的美国人，将发挥什么作用呢？我自卑而困惑地低下头。我不禁又想，丽莎是中国人设计的吗？而中国又是谁设计的呢？听说以前在中国也发生了许多恐怖的天灾人祸，那又是怎样来的呢？唉，宇宙太神秘了。谁设计了它？

“不过，没有关系。你现在不再需要安检。从形式上看，你至少很像一个中国人了。你不是还领了救济金吗？”丽莎安慰我说。我难过地又想到了前妻。是的，这些国家都存在下来了，将参加宇宙的安检。我的国家和家庭却没有了。而我与丽莎又不是一类人。

丽莎拉住我的手，带我离开新天地。我们坐上了地铁。上海的地铁比纽约的地铁拥挤多了。在人群中，我和女孩临时性地紧紧贴在一起，像要进入彼此。车厢里云集了世界上的各色人种，来自各个大陆。乘客像地下河一样从我们的身体上流过，没有方向感，彼此间却开始了新的融合。

留下她的记忆

宝树

这是个有记忆黑匣子的时代，于是，人们，特别是名人的死因不再成谜，当大明星从300层的高楼跃下，记忆被提取，蝴蝶效应产生了。

凌晨一点，大雨如注。

浑身早已湿透的叶琳站在300层的未来大厦楼顶边缘，从1100米的高处俯视着脚下这座在夜雨中仍然灯火辉煌的不夜城。

脚下的都市中，千百条无法分辨细节的街道如一根根金光闪闪的细线，将整座城市编织成一张金色的大网。是的，一张欲望和名利之网，将这座城市中3000万浮世男女牢牢地裹在里面，她当然也是其中之一，而且是被裹得最为牢固的一个，她的人生曾经是那么光辉灿烂，自以为得到了人间幸福，却丝毫没有注意到身后命运的蜘蛛已经开始收网。

好在，这一切就快要结束了。很快，她将获得永久的自由和平静。

叶琳深深地吸了口气，向前走了一步，坠向灯火通明的城市，却也是坠向死亡的深渊——

侦缉队队长江勇摘下头盔，长出了一口气：“你们大半夜把我找来，就是为了这个？是谁发现的？”

“是我，头儿。”一个长发姑娘说。她是队里刚分来的新人刘宁宁，眼睛红肿，显然是刚刚哭过，“死者摔得血肉模糊，不知道身份，DNA检测也没那么快出结果，我第一个读取了死者的记忆，证明是……是著名影星叶琳，就立刻向上级报告了。”

“怪不得局里叫我来处理，”江勇打了个哈欠，“大明星叶琳居然死了，估计记者很快会蜂拥而至，明天大概就会上所有新闻的头条了……不过这事看来并不复杂，从记忆来看应该是自杀，你们按程序办就可以了。”

“但死者是全国著名的演艺明星，影响很大，局里怕出岔子，指定要您这个专家复核。”一名××说。

“大名人也好，普通人也好，在我这儿都一样，”江勇冷哼着说，“我对自杀者一贯不同情。”

“不，这是谋杀，赤裸裸的谋杀！”刘宁宁忽然悲愤地喊了出来。

江勇皱了皱眉头：“小刘，我知道你一直是叶琳的粉丝，但案子终归是案子，不要把个人感情带进来。”

“可是……唉，您继续读取记忆就知道了。”刘宁宁擦了擦眼泪说。

江勇也起了兴趣，又戴上了感应头盔，记忆黑匣子中的信息又如潮水般涌来。

记忆黑匣子是21世纪脑科学、信息技术和纳米技术等多学科研究的结晶，这是一种比针尖还小的生物芯片，隐藏在人脑中的海马体里
[1]

，传感器分布于身体各处，平时处于休眠状态，但在人遭遇极大危险或濒临死亡时，一旦它检测到人脑中各项指标开始严重偏离正常值，会进行自动报警并通过分子扫描瞬时抓取海马体中储存的短期记忆信息，事后通过复杂的记忆解码，可以恢复死者死前一两分钟左右的记忆，对于案件侦查、事故调查和保险理赔等事务的作用有着无可比拟的重要性。

这种芯片虽然价格高昂，但并不需要开颅手术，只需将一种分子大小的纳米机器注射进体内，就可自动在相关部位组装，不痛不痒。所以许多名人和富豪都安装了这种黑匣子，不仅便于处理死后事务，更可以有效吓阻企图谋害他们的潜在罪犯。自从记忆黑匣子问世以来，凶杀案的犯罪率急剧下降，破案率迅速飙升。而感应头盔源自虚拟游戏装备，不仅能最大限度地恢复当时的视听感觉，还能够通过人造生物电场作用于特定脑区，传递死者临死前的感受和回忆。佩戴者会身临其境地感到自己正用死者的眼睛和耳朵去感受一切。

……

叶琳在坠落中感觉自己似乎也变成了一滴雨滴，但她比雨滴坠落得更快，疾风吹着大雨，反击在她脸上，大厦的一扇扇或明或暗的窗户飞快地从她身边闪过，窗内的场景一闪而逝，像是一串串记忆的碎片。

江勇从心底感到了恐惧、绝望，以及深深的怨恨。

许多人死前都会经历一个“回光返照”的阶段，无数记忆从脑海深处上升到意识表层，完成最后的告别演出。叶琳也不例外，在下坠中，千万记忆的碎片飞舞着、闪现着，如同万花筒一样纷繁杂乱，变化万千。在记忆黑匣子中，最令人感到奇妙的就是这种临死追忆，戴上感应头盔的记忆读取者，会感到连时间都变慢了。虽然一幕幕场景朦胧破碎，但是投射其上的死者的情绪感受却能有效地让人深深进入死者的人生。为此，被解码的濒死记忆，经过合法途径出售后，就成了一种令人心醉神迷的奇特商品。

江勇看到了叶琳少女时代母亲的葬礼，看到她怎样和酗酒的父亲生活在贫贱中，流着眼泪在镜子前发誓，一定要以自己出众的美貌改变命运。然后有一天，在大街上，星探拦住了她，江勇感受到了叶琳当时的心跳。

片场上，极具天分的叶琳迅速融入了自己的表演，时而在古代宫廷中和后宫的妃子钩心斗角，时而是现代都市中的娉婷丽人，时而又在外星球的丛林中演绎浪漫传奇……她成功了，站在一个个电影节的领奖台上，成了家喻户晓的明星。她摆脱了贫困，在全世界飞来飞去，和各界名流觥筹交错，言笑晏晏……

然后那个男人出现了。他最初只是一个小摄影师，在拍电影时含羞带怯地借故接近叶琳。某天，他鼓起勇气递给了她一封情书，她拆也没拆就扔进了垃圾桶。但那个男人并没有因此而放弃，他一直在她身边，努力上进，体贴而周到地照顾她，她也渐渐注意到了他，终于在一次偶然的酒醉后，两人燃起了爱火……

江勇读过叶琳的基本资料，他知道那个男人就是著名导演薛凯，叶琳的前夫。这些经历和她的访谈传记中提到的差不多，但其中有许多栩栩如生的细节却是文字中没有的。毫无疑问，这些解码的私密记忆如果上市，会被人立刻抢购一空。

叶琳似乎仍然在无休无止的坠落中，从上千米高的大厦顶上坠下，加上大风和空气的阻力，需要好几十秒的时间，有充分的时间让那些重要的回忆一一展现。甜蜜的记忆一闪即逝，剩下的只有深深的痛苦和怨恨。

江勇看到叶琳不顾公司的反对决定息影
[2]

，披上了白色的婚纱，和薛凯一起出现在盛大的礼堂中，这时候，薛凯已经是颇有名气的导演。叶琳不久后怀孕，沉浸在幸福的孕期中，然而不幸接踵而来：她在电脑里看到了薛凯和其他女人的亲密合影……一幕幕争吵在江勇的眼前划过，她的震惊、愤怒和绝望也在他的心中翻滚着，然后薛凯搂着另一个女人走进她的家门，和她摊牌，一番推攘后她滚下楼梯，下身血流如注，薛凯吓得跑了……

“这个人渣。”江勇心里暗暗骂道。孩子流掉了，薛凯似乎怕了，在她面前发誓和情人一刀两断，在医院衣不解带地照顾她，叶琳终于原谅了他。然而半年后，残酷的真相浮现：薛凯忽然消失，好几天不见踪影，很快就有消息说他和情人出现在另一座城市，叶琳去银行查账，发现3000多万元的夫妇共同财产已经不翼而飞，当场晕倒。

法律诉讼毫无结果，直到离婚了，钱也没有讨回来。事情被披露到媒体上，薛凯却反咬一口，说叶琳污蔑他。网上匿名抛出了当年叶琳拍的几张私密照，各种流言随即而起，说她是这个高官的情妇、那个富商的玩物，八卦报纸上不断刊登出不利于她的谣言，威胁和谩骂接踵而来，本来谈好的协议也被撕毁。虽然知道这是薛凯搞的鬼，但她也毫无办法，话语权全在对方手里，她几乎要疯了……

水泥地面已经近在眼前，一瞬间的恐惧绝望后就是永久的黑暗，记忆到此结束。

江勇摘下感应头盔，长长地出了一口气，纵然见惯了人间悲剧，在读取这样凄楚的记忆后也很难不被打动。那些令人心碎的场面似乎还萦绕在他眼前挥之不去，他理解了刘宁宁，心里似乎有一团怒火在燃烧。

“真没想到叶琳的生活是这样的。”江勇长叹一声，“以前常看到她的负面新闻，只觉得她生活奢侈糜烂，没什么好感，想不到背后还有这些不为外人知道的曲折。”

“还不是薛凯那个贱男人害的！”刘宁宁愤愤地说，“叶琳等于是被他杀死的，为什么这种畜生不去死！”

“可惜他也没有犯法，法律制裁不了这种行径。”江勇叹息。

“人在做，天在看，我倒要看看他有什么好下场！”刘宁宁恨声说。

叶琳父母双亡，离异又无子女，财产的继承人是她的姑妈，她很快就宣布要拍卖记忆黑匣子。许多记忆制品公司蜂拥而至，最后，黑匣子以1500万元的高价被卖给了一家大公司，随即上市发行。任何人只要在付费后戴上感应头盔，都可以下载读取叶琳的濒死记忆。

就这样，叶琳在世时被种种流言包裹的真相浮出水面，薛凯的种种丑行被公之于天下，无论他怎么解释反驳，但记忆胜于雄辩，他很快就被公众愤怒的口水淹没了，成了人人喊打的过街老鼠。多家公司和他及他的女友解约，朋友大都和他划清界限，许多影迷上门抗议，还有人给他寄死亡威胁，他甚至不敢在公共场合露面。一次在街头被人认出，被民众围住质问甚至追打，差点被打了个半死，这种风潮持续了半年。

半年后，潦倒的薛凯厚着脸皮出来参加一个娱乐节目，其他嘉宾对他都“敬而远之”，主持人还好几次拿他开涮，好在观众中有一个15岁的女孩说是他的忠实粉丝，请他签名，让他挽回了一点面子。薛凯正在笑着签名的时候，女孩却从怀里掏出了一把匕首，当众捅进了他的腹部。然后，她在目瞪口呆的主持人和全国直播面前，把薛凯捅成了一个血人……

薛凯当众死去，后来那个小姑娘被判了16年徒刑，但舆论普遍同情她，甚至有不少人认为，杀死一个人渣，她根本无罪。

又过了几个月，叶琳的周年祭到了。身为资深影迷的刘宁宁白天和朋友去给叶琳扫了墓，晚上又独自去了叶琳自杀的现场。

凌晨一点，刘宁宁推开未来大厦屋顶的门，一股大风迎面而来，冷得令人颤抖。刘宁宁想着叶琳当日的感受，向她跳楼的地方走去，今天倒是没有下雨，一轮弯月挂在天边，月光下的霓虹都市光怪陆离。

刘宁宁忽然看到楼顶边缘站着一个朦胧的人影，她吓了一跳，差点惊呼出来，仔细一看，那人竟是江勇。

“头儿，你怎么在这里？”刘宁宁惊讶地说，“你不会是想不开吧？”

“没事，只是看到你在微博上说打算来这里，我也想来看看。”江勇淡淡地说。

“嗯，转眼一年了。薛凯也得到了报应，希望叶琳姐能够安息。”

“我不知道读取过几百份濒死记忆，但尤以这份最为惊心动魄，到现在只要一闭上眼睛，还好像和叶琳一样，在空中坠落。”江勇望着远方的天际喟叹着。

“头儿，平常看你总板着一张脸，真想不到你也这么懂感情。”刘宁宁感慨。

“怎么，在你的眼里我就是个铁面无私，只会查案的机器人吗？”江勇苦笑着说，“不，即使为了查案，也必须懂得人的感情，不是吗？否则很多事情会看不清楚，比如这起案子。”

“您看清楚什么了？”

“小刘，记得一年前你说过这是一起谋杀案吗？你是对的。”

“是啊，虽然叶琳姐是自杀的，但其实是被薛凯害死的。”刘宁宁叹道。

“不，恰恰相反，这是一起精心策划的谋杀案，但薛凯是被害者。”江勇说。

“这是……什么意思？”刘宁宁瞪大了眼睛。

“我是说，叶琳是用自己的死来向背叛她的薛凯复仇，一切都是设计好的。”

“什么？”

江勇笑了笑：“我是说，叶琳已经算好了自己死后记忆黑匣子会被广泛传播，因此有意安排和调动了自己的记忆。甚至从未来大厦跳下去都是计划好的，因为这座楼最高，这样才能在漫长的坠落中给人强烈的心理冲击。在她掉下高楼时，是特意在回想和薛凯有关的那些事件，唤起内心的强烈仇恨。这些记忆会被亿万人读取，他们可不是像看电影那样置身事外，而同样会在内心体验到叶琳的强烈情感，从某种意义上说，叶琳是用自己的情感倾向感染了每一个人，那个一时冲动杀人的女孩子就是受感染者。”

“可难道她的记忆不是真的？”

“当然是真的，但不是全部的真实。”江勇悠然地说，“在薛凯死后，我也读到了他的记忆。其中颇有和叶琳不相吻合之处，才让我对整件事产生了怀疑。这些天我搜集了许多资料，一桩桩去伪存真，发现叶琳自己也不是那么无辜：比如她当初拍戏可不仅仅是被星探发现那么简单，实际上是她和剧组的许多人上床才争取到的机会，此后也长期和那些人保持着不正当的关系；她也曾为了自己的事业对竞争对手下黑手，甚至在圈内干过拉皮条的勾当……”

“但她至少没有对不起薛凯，她是那么爱他！”刘宁宁打断了他。

“是的，她真心爱着薛凯，但人性是复杂的，她也向薛凯隐瞒了很多事情。薛凯知道后怒火中烧，加上叶琳的性格善妒霸道，把财政大权都抓在自己手里，也导致了夫妻感情的破裂……当然，薛凯那些做法肯定也是太过分了，但还罪不至死。”

“这么说……”刘宁宁若有所思，“叶琳是出于仇恨，以自己的死为代价，将薛凯拖下深渊？薛凯其实是被叶琳害死的？”

“不，真正害死薛凯的另有其人。”

“还有谁？难道是那个女孩？”

“小刘。”江勇转过身，凝视着她的眼睛说，“真正把薛凯送上不归路的人，是你。”

“头儿，你……你开什么玩笑？”刘宁宁的脸色一下子变得惨白。

“过度的愤恨一开始也蒙蔽了我，但自从发现疑点后，我又重新读取了几次叶琳的记忆。结果发现她的记忆数据被篡改过，被删除了最后一段内容，也就是叶琳落地后到断气之前那短短几秒，篡改者做得很高明，但仍然留下了蛛丝马迹。你知道叶琳被删除的记忆是什么吗？”

刘宁宁咬着下唇，没有说话。

有刚才说的让叶琳自己良心不安的事、和薛凯关系中更多不为人知的细节、生活中一些幸福的场面、童年的回忆，以及死前最后一刻深深的懊悔。叶琳犯了一个错误，她以为自己足够仇恨薛凯，可以用自己的死亡向他复仇，但她错了，死亡使得一切都变得没有意义，包括复仇本身。她苦苦建立的人为意识最后崩溃了，在临死之前，她已经不恨薛凯了……如果人们看到的是她完整的记忆，对整件事的看法会理智得多。

但第一个读到她记忆的人是你，你是她的忠实粉丝，因为伤心叶琳的死，也为了维护她的形象，你删去了她临死记忆中一些不利的内容。你不该这么做的，小刘。

“我……”刘宁宁的嘴唇颤抖着，想辩解什么，但终于放弃了，“是，是我干的。不管叶琳自己有什么问题，我只知道薛凯这个人渣该死！我只是把这个事实更清楚地呈现出来。”

江勇痛惜地摇摇头：“你错了，部分的真实等于虚假，每个人的记忆和情绪都是主观的，会令人陷入其中而不自知，只有人与人的看法不同才造成了客观。你无权把自己的看法加给他人。你对薛凯的死或许没有法律责任，但你身为警务人员，篡改证物，必须接受法律制裁，走吧！”

在被江勇带回××局的路上，刘宁宁一直没有说话，但走进拘留室前，她忽然回头，疑惑地说：“头儿，我能不能再问你一个问题？我实在想不通，你是怎么恢复那些数据的？我自信已经把它们全部删去了，技术上无懈可击。”

“我没有恢复那些数据，只找到了删除的痕迹，除了你，没有人知道被删去的回忆是什么。”

“那你是怎么知道那些内容的？”

“那些被删除的记忆？猜也能猜得到，不是吗……”江勇叹了一口气，“没有人会在死前最后一刻还抱着仇恨不放，他们总会想起自己童年最早的记忆，想起父母慈爱的容颜，想起那些幸福和快乐的瞬间……那些对生命中美好事物的爱，总会比仇恨更有力，这才是生命的意义。叶琳在临死前的一刻终于知道了，对她来说来得太晚，但总比没有好。”

[1]
海马体：在人们的日常生活里，短期记忆都储存在了海马体中，这是类似计算机内存一样的存在。存进海马体里的记忆，如果长时间不被“使用”，就会自动删除，也就是说我们会忘记很多我们“不使用、不回想”的过去，但是如果某段记忆被反复提取，那么就会被转存进大脑皮层，成为长期的甚至是永久记忆。

[2]
息影：这个词用于现代媒体中只有一种解释，就是说某个演员不再接受演出工作，不再出现在大小荧屏、银幕中，就意味着他息影了。李亚鹏、张曼玉等明星都曾高调息影。可能这个“影”字容易让人联想到电影、影视剧，其实息影就是退隐闲居的意思，作家封笔不写了也可叫“息影”，官员退休了也可叫“息影”。

祖母家的夏天

郝景芳

他默默地凝思着，成了他的命定劫数的一连串没有联系的动作，正是他自己创造的。

经历过这个夏天，我终于开始明白加缪说西西弗的话。

我从来没有像现在这样看待过“命运”这个词。以前的我一直以为，命运要么是已经被设定好只等我们遵循，要么是根本不存在而需要我们自行规划。

我没想过还有其他可能。

1

8月，我来到郊外的祖母家，躲避喧嚣就像牛顿躲避瘟疫。我什么都不想，只想要一个安静的夏天。

车子开出城市，行驶在烟尘漫卷的公路上。我把又大又空的背包塞在座位底下，斜靠着窗户。

其实我试图逃避的事很简单，大学延期毕业，跟女朋友分手，再加上一点点对任何事都提不起兴趣的倦怠。除了最后一条让我有点恐慌外，一切都没什么大不了的。我不喜欢哭天喊地。

妈妈很赞同，她说找个地方好好整理心情，重整旗鼓。她以为我很痛苦，但其实不是。只是我没办法向她解释清楚。

祖母家在山脚下一座二层小别墅，红色屋顶藏进浓密的树丛。

木门上挂着一块小黑板，上面写着一行字：“战战，我去买些东西，门没锁，你来了就自己进去吧。冰箱里有吃的。”

我试着拉了拉门把手，没拉动，转也转不动，加了一点力也还是不行。我只好在台阶上坐下来等。

“祖母真是老糊涂了”，我想，“准是出门时顺手锁上了自己都不记得。”

祖父去世得早，祖母退休以后一直住在这里，爸爸妈妈想给她在城里买房子，她却执意不肯。祖母说自己独来独往惯了，不喜欢城里的吵闹。

祖母一直是大学老师，头脑身体都还好，于是爸爸也就答应了。我们常说来这里度假，但不是爸爸要开会，就是我自己和同学聚会走不开。

不知道祖母一个人能不能照顾好自己，我坐在台阶上暗暗地想。

傍晚时分，祖母终于回来了，她远远看到我就加快了步子，微笑着问：“战战，几点来的？怎么不进屋？”

我拍拍屁股站起身来，祖母走上台阶，把大包小包都交到右手，同时用左手推门轴那一侧——就是与门把手相反的那一侧，结果门就那么轻描淡写地开了。祖母先进去，给我拉着门。

我的脸微微有点发红，连忙跟了进去。看来自己之前是多虑了。

夜晚降临。郊外的夜寂静无声，只有月亮照着树影婆娑。

祖母很快做好了饭，浓郁的牛肉香充满小屋，让颠簸了一天的我食指大动。

“战战，替我到厨房把沙拉酱拿来。”祖母小心翼翼地把蘑菇蛋羹摆上桌子。

祖母的厨房大而色彩柔和，炉子上面烧着汤，热气氤氲。

我拉开冰箱，却大惊失色：冰箱里是烤盘，四壁已经烤得红彤彤，一排苹果派正在扑扑地起酥，黄油和蜂蜜的甜香味扑面而来。

原来这是烤箱。我连忙关门。

那么冰箱是哪一个呢？我转过身，炉子下面有一个镶玻璃的铁门，我原本以为那是烤箱。我走过去，拉开，发现那是洗碗机。

于是我拉开洗碗机，发现是净水器；拉开净水器，发现是垃圾桶；拉开垃圾桶，发现里面干净整齐地摆满了各种CD。

最后我才发现，原来窗户底下的暖气——我最初以为是暖气的条纹柜——里面才是冰箱。我找到了沙拉酱，特意打开闻了闻，生怕其中装的是炼乳，确认没有问题，才回到客厅。

祖母已经摆好了碗筷，我一坐下就开始狼吞虎咽。

2

接下来的几天，我一直在为认清东西而努力斗争。

祖母家几乎没有几样东西能和它们通常的外表对应，咖啡壶是笔筒，笔筒是打火机，打火机是手电筒，手电筒是果酱瓶。

最后一条让我吃了点苦头。当时是半夜，我起床去厕所，随手抓起了客厅的手电筒，结果抓了一手果酱，黑暗中黏黏湿湿，吓得我睡意全无。待我弄明白原委，第一个念头就是去拿手纸，然而手纸盒里面是白糖，我想去开灯，谁知台灯是假的，开关原来是老鼠夹。

只听“啪”的一声，我陷入了尴尬的境地：左手是果酱蘸白糖，右手是涂着奶酪的台灯。

“奶奶！”我唤了一声，但是没有回答。我只好举着两只手上楼。她的卧室黑着灯，柠檬黄色的光从走廊尽头的一个小房间里透出来。

“奶奶？”我在房间外试探着叫了一声。

一阵细碎的桌椅声后，祖母出现在门口。她看到我的样子，一下子笑了，说：“这边来吧。”

房间很大，灯光很明亮，我的眼睛适应了一会儿，才看清这是一个实验室。

祖母从一个小抽屉里拿出一把形状怪异的小钥匙，将我从台灯老鼠夹里解放出来，我舔舔手指，奶酪味依然香气扑鼻。

“您这么晚了还在做实验？”我忍不住问。

“做细菌群落繁衍，每个小时都要做记录。”祖母微微笑着，把我领到一个乳白色的台面跟前。台面上整齐地摆放着一排圆圆的培养皿，每一个里面都有一层半透明的乳膏似的东西。

“这是……牛肉蛋白胨吗？”我在学校做过类似的实验。

祖母点点头，说：“我在观察转座子在细菌里的活动。”

“转座子？”

祖母打开靠边的一个培养皿，拿在手上：“就是一些基因小片断，能编码反转录酶，可以在DNA间游走，脱离或整合。我想利用它们把一些人工的抗药基因整合进去。”

说着，祖母又把盖子盖上：“但不知道能不能成功。这个是接触空气的干燥环境，旁边那个是糖水浸润，再旁边那个出入了额外的APT。”

我学着她的样子打开最靠近的一个培养皿，问：“那这里边是什么条件呢？”

我把沾了奶酪的手指在琼脂上点了点，我知道足够的营养物质能促进细胞繁衍，从而促进基因整合。

“战战！”祖母迟疑了一下，说，“那个是对照，隔绝了一切外加条件的空白组。”

我总是这样，做事想当然，而且漫不经心。

静静和我吵架的时候，曾经说我做事莫名其妙，考虑不周，太不成熟。我想她是对的。尽管她是指我总忘记应该给她打电话，但我明白，我的问题绝不仅仅是这一件事。静静是一个有无数计划而且每一个都能稳妥执行的人，而我恰好相反。我所有的计划执行起来都会出错，就像面包片掉在地上一定是黄油落地。

由于缺少了对照，祖母的这一组实验只能重做。虽然理论上讲观察还可以继续，但至少不能用来发表正式结果了。

我很惶恐，不知道该做些什么。但祖母似乎并没有生气。

“没关系，”祖母说，“我刚好缺少一组胆固醇环境。”

然后祖母就真的用马克笔在培养皿外面做了记号，继续观察。

3

第二天早上，祖母熬了甜香的桂花粥，郊外的清晨阳光明媚，四下里只听见鸟的声音。

祖母问我这几天有什么计划。我说没有。这是真的，如果说我有什么想做的，那就是想想我想做什么。

“你妈妈说你毕业问题是因为英语，怎么会？你转系前不就是在英语系吗？英语应该挺好的呀。”

“四极没考，忘了时间。”我咕哝着说，“大三忘了报名，大四忘了考试日期。”

我低着头喝着粥，用三明治塞满嘴。

我的确不怕考英语，但这可能也是我为什么压根儿没上心，至于转系，现在想想也可能是个错误。转到环境系却发现自己不太热衷于环境，大三学了些硬件技术，还听了一年的生物系课，然而结果就是现在：什么都学了，却好像什么都没学。

祖母又给我切了半片培根，问：“那你来之前，你妈妈怎么说？”

“没说什么，就是让我在这儿安静安静，有空就念点经济学的书。”

“你妈想让你学经济？”

“嗯，她说以后不管进什么公司，懂点经济学总会有点帮助。”

妈妈的逻辑是定好一个目标需要什么就学什么。然而这对我来说是最缺乏的。我定下目标总是过不了几天就自己否定，于是首肯的事就没了动力。

“你也不用太担心以后。”祖母见我吃完，开始收拾桌子，“好像鼻子不是为了戴眼镜才长出来的。”

这话静静也说过。“鼻子可是为了呼吸才长出来的。”她说上帝把我们每个人塑造成了独特的形状，所以我们不要在乎别人的观念，而是应该坚持自己的个性。所以静静出国了，很适合她。然而，这也同样是我缺乏的，我从来就没听见上帝把我的个性告诉过我。

收拾桌子的时候我心不在焉，锅里剩下的粥都洒在了地上。我的脸一下子红了起来。

“没关系，没关系。”祖母接过我手里的锅，拿来拖把。

“……流到墙角了，不好擦吧？您有擦地的抹布吗？”我讪讪地说。

我想起了妈妈每次蹲在墙边仔细擦拭的样子。我家非常干净，妈妈最反感的是我这样毛手毛脚。

“真的没关系。”祖母把餐厅中央擦拭干净，“墙边的留在那就行了。”

她看我一脸茫然，又笑笑说：“我自己就总是不小心，把东西洒得到处都是。所以我在墙边都铺了培养基，可以生长真菌的。这样做实验就有材料了。”

我到墙边俯下身看，果然一圈淡绿色的细茸一直延伸，远远地看只像是地板的装饰线。

“其实甜粥最好，说不准能长出真菌。”

祖母看我还是呆呆地站着，又加上一句“这样吧，你这几天要是没什么特别的事，就帮我一起派样真菌怎么样？”

我不假思索地点点头。

不仅仅是因为接连闯祸想要弥补，更是因为我觉得生活需要有一变化。到目前为止，我的生活基本上支离破碎，我无法让自己投身于任何一条康庄大道，也寻找不到方向。也许我需要一些机会，甚至是一些突发事件。

4

祖母很喜欢说一句话：“工是后成的。”

祖母否认一切形式的目的论，无论是“万物有灵”还是“生机论”。她不赞成进化有方向，不喜欢“为了遮挡沙尘，所以眼睛上长出睫毛”这样的说法，甚至不认为细胞膜是为了保护细胞而生的。

“先有了闭合的细胞膜，才有了细胞这回事。”祖母说，“G蛋白偶联受体，在眼睛里是感光的视紫红质，在鼻子里是嗅觉受体。”

我想这是一种达尔文主义，先变异，再选择。先有了某种蛋白质，才有了它参与反应。先有了能被编码的酶，才有了这种酶的器官。

存在先于本质？是这么说吧？

在接下来的一个晚上，祖母的实验室传来好消息：期待中能被NTL试剂染色的蛋白质终于在细胞质中出现了。离心机的分子测定量测定也证明了这一点。转座子反转录成功了。

经过了连续几天的追踪和观察，这样的实验结果让人长出一口气。我帮祖母打扫实验室，问东问西。

“这次整合的究竟是什么基因呢？”

“自杀信号。”祖母语调一如既往。

“啊？”

祖母俯下身，清扫实验台下面的碎屑：“其实我这一次主要是希望做癌症治疗的研究。你知道，癌细胞就是不死的细胞。”

“这样啊。”我拿来簸箕，“那么是不是可以申报专利了？”

祖母没有马上回答。她把用过的试剂收拾了，把台面擦干净，我系好垃圾袋，跟着祖母来到楼下的花园里。

“你大概没听说过病毒的起源假说吧？转座子在细胞里活动可以促进基因重组，但一旦在细胞之间活动，就可能成为病毒，比如HIV。”

夏夜的风温暖干燥，但是我还是不得打了个寒噤。

原来病毒是从细胞自身分离出来的，这让我想起了王小波写的用来杀人的开平方机。一样的黑色幽默。

我明白了祖母的态度，只是心里还隐隐地觉得不甘。“可是，毕竟能治疗癌症的重大技术，您就不怕其他人抢先注册吗？”

祖母摇摇头：“那有什么关系呢？”

“呯！”就在这时，一声闷响从花园的另一侧传来。

我和奶奶赶过去，只见一个胖胖的脑袋从蔷薇墙上伸出来，满头汗珠。

“您好，对不起，我想收拾我的花架子，但不小心手滑了，把您家的花砸坏了。”

我低头一看，一盆菊花摔在地上，花盆四分五裂，地下躺着祖母的杜鹃，同样惨不忍睹。

“噢，对了，我是新搬来的，以后就和您是邻居了。”那个胖子大叔不住地点头，“真是不好意思，第一天来就给您添麻烦了。”

“没关系，没关系。”祖母和气地笑笑。

“对不起啊，明天我一定上门赔你一盆。”

“真的没关系。我正好可以提取一些叶绿素和花青素。您别介意。”祖母说着，就开始俯身收拾花盆的碎片。

夏夜微凉，我站在院子里，头脑有点乱。

我发觉祖母常说的一个词就是“没关系”，可能很多事情在祖母看来真的没关系，名也好，利也好，自己的财产也好，到了祖母这个阶段的确没什么关系了。一切图个有趣，自得其乐就足够了。

然而，我该怎么样呢？重新回到学校，一切和以前一样，再晃悠到毕业？

我知道我不想这样。

5

转天下午，我帮祖母把前一天香消玉殒的花收拾妥当，用丙酮提取了叶绿素，祖母又兴致勃勃地为自己庞大的实验队伍增加了新队员。

整个晚上我都在做心理斗争，临近中午终于做出个决定。我想无论如何，先去专利局再说。刚好下午隔壁的胖大叔来家里道歉，我于是揪个空子一个人跑了出来。

专利局的位置网上说得很清楚，很好找。四层楼，庄严而不张扬，大厅清净明亮，一个清秀的女孩子坐在服务台看书。

“你，你好。我想申报专利。”

她抬起头笑笑：“你好，请到那边填一张表。请问是什么项目？”

“呃，生物抗癌因子。”

“那就到3号厅，生物化学办公室。”她用手指了指了右侧。我转身时，她自言自语地加了一句：“奇怪，怎么今天这么多报抗癌因子的？”

听了这话，我立刻回头：“怎么，刚才还有吗？”

“嗯，上午来了位大叔。”

我心里咯噔一下，隐隐觉得情况不大对劲。

“那你知道什么技术吗？”

“那我就不清楚了。”

“是一种药还是什么？”

“哎，我是这儿的实习学生，不管审技术。你自己进去问吧。”说着，女孩又把头低下，写写画画。

我探过头一看，是一本英语词典，就套近乎说：“你也在背单词呀？我也是。”

“哦，你是大学生？”她抬起头，好奇地打量着我，“就有专利了，不简单啊。”

“嗯……不是，”我脸有点红，“我给导师打听的。你还记不记得上午那位大叔长什么样？我怕我的导师来过来了。”

“嗯……个子不高，有点胖，有一点秃顶，好像穿黄色，其他就记不起来了。”

果然，怪不得我出门的时候觉得有什么地方不对劲了。

当时隔壁大叔带来了花，我主动替他搬，而他直接用手推向门轴那一侧。第一次来的人绝不会这样。原来如此。前一天晚上肯定不是单纯的事故，一定是偷听我们说话才不小心砸到了花。

也亏得他还好意思上门，我想，我一定得快告诉祖母。大概他以为我们不会报专利，也就不会发现了吧。幸亏我来了。

“这就走了呀？”我转身向门走去，女孩在背后叫住我，“给你个小册子吧。专利局的介绍、申请流程、联系方式都在上面了。”

我勉强笑了一下，接过来放进口袋，大步流星地走了出去。

6

当我仓皇回家，祖母还在实验室，安静地看着显微镜，宛如纷乱湍急的河流中一座沉静的岛。

“奶奶……”我忍不住气喘，“他偷了您的培养皿……”

“回来了？去哪跑了一身土？”祖母抬起头，微笑着拍拍我的外衣。

“我去……”我突然顿住自己的气喘，“隔壁那个胖子偷了您的培养皿，还申报了专利。”

出乎我的意料，祖母只是笑了一下：“没关系。我的实验可以继续，而且之前不是也说过，前几天的实验很粗糙，根本无法直接应用。”

我看着祖母，有点哑然。人真的可以如此淡然吗？祖母仿佛完全不想考虑知识产权经济效益之类的事情。我偷偷掏出口袋里的小册子，揣在怀里，叠了又展开。

“先别管这件事了。先来看这个。”祖母指了指面前的显微镜。

我随意地往里面瞅瞅，心不在焉地问：“这是什么？”

“人工合成的光合细菌。”

我的心一动，这听起来有趣。“怎么做到的？”

“很简单，把叶绿素基因反转录到细胞里。很多蛋白质都已经表现出来了，不过肯定还有技术问题。如果能克服，也许可以用来代替能源。”

我听着祖母平和而欢娱的声音，突然有一种奇怪而不真实的感觉。仿佛眼前罩了一层雾，而那声音来自远方。我低下头，小册子在手里摩挲。我需要做一个决定。

祖母的话还在继续：“……你知道，我在地上铺了很多培养基，我打算继续改造材料，用房子培养细菌。如果成功了，吃剩的粥什么都有用了。至于发电问题，还是你提醒了我。细胞膜流动性很强，叶绿素反映中心生成的高能电子很难捕捉。不过，添加大量胆固醇以后，膜基本上就固定了，理论上讲可以用微电极定位……”

我呆呆地站着，并不真能听懂祖母的话，只零星地抓到了只言片语。这似乎是一个更有应用前景的创造，我的脑袋更乱了。我没办法集中精力听祖母说话，潺潺地说：“您倒是把我做错的事又都提醒了一遍呀。”

祖母摇摇头：“战战，我的话你还不明白吗？”她停下来，看着我的眼睛，“每天每个时刻都会发生无数偶然的事情，你可以在任何一家吃晚饭，也可以在任何一辆公交车上，看到任何一则广告，而任何的时间都没有好坏对错之分。它们产生价值的时刻是未来。是我们现在做的事情给过去的某一时刻赋予了意义……”

祖母的声音听起来飘飘悠悠，我来不及反应。偶然、时刻、事件的意义、未来，各种词汇在我的头脑里盘旋。我想起博尔赫斯的《小径分岔的花园》。我想主人公余准的心情应该和我一样吧，一个决定在心里游移酝酿，而耳边传来缥缈的关于神秘的话语……

“生物学只有一套法则：无序事件，有向选择。那么是什么在做选择？是什么样的事件最终能留下来成为有利事件呢？答案只有连续性。一个蛋白质能留下来，那么它就留下来了，它在历史中将会有一个位置，而其他蛋白质就随机生成又随机消失了。想让某一步正确，唯一的方法就是在这个方向上再踏几步……”

我想到我自己，想到邻居家的胖子，想到妈妈和静静，想到我之前混乱的4年，想到我的忧郁与挣扎，想到专利局明亮的大厅。我知道我需要一个机会。

“……所以，如果能利用上，那么奶酪，撒在地上的粥和折断的花就都不是什么坏事了。”

于是我决定了。

7

在那个夏天以后，我到专利局找了份实习工作。这是我在小册子上读到的。

在那里找份正式工作不容易，但他们总会找一些在校学生做些零碎工作——还好我没毕业。专利局的工作并不难，但各个方面的知识都要懂点。还好，我在大学里学习也是漫无目的的。

安安——我第一次来这里遇到的女孩，已经成了我的女朋友。我们的爱情来自一同准备英语考试——还好我没过英语四级。安安说她对我的第一印象是礼貌而羞涩，感觉很好。我没告诉她那是因为做亏心事而心里紧张。一切都像魔力安排似的，就连亏心事都帮了我的忙。

再进一步，我甚至可以说之前心情如麻都是好事——如果不是那样，我不会来到祖母家，而后面的一切都不会发生。现在看来，过去所有的事都连成了串。

我知道这不是任何人的安排。没有命运存在，一切都是我自己的选择。

这是一种奇怪的感觉：我们总以为我们能选择未来，然而不是，我们真正能选择的是过去。

是我的选择把几年前的某一顿饭挑选出来，成为与其他1000顿饭不同的一顿饭，而同样也是我的选择决定了我的大学是正确还是错误。

也许，承认自己的事情就叫作听从自我吧。因为除了已经发生的所有事情的总和，还有什么是自我呢？

一年过去了，由于心情好，所有的工作都很好。现在专利局已经愿意接受我做正式工，从秋天开始上班。

我喜欢这里。我喜欢从四面八方了解零星的知识。而且，我不善于制订长远的计划，也不善于执行长远的计划，而在专利局工作处理的刚好是一个个案例，不需要长远的计划。更何况，像爱因斯坦一样工作，很酷。

经过一年的反复实验和观察，祖母的抗癌因子和光合墙壁都申请了专利。已经有好几家大公司表示对此感兴趣。祖母没有心情和他们交谈，我便充当了中间人的重任。幸亏我在专利局。

说到这里还忘了提，祖母隔壁的胖子根本没有偷走祖母的抗癌因子培养皿。他自以为找到了恒温箱，却不知道那只是普通的壁橱，真正的恒温箱看上去像是梳妆柜。

所以你永远不知道一样的东西的真正用处是什么，祖母说。原来她早就知道。原来她什么都知道……

寒冬夜行人

夏笳

缅怀一个人有许多种方式，没有人说得出哪一种方法最好——恐怕连逝者本人也说不出。

我现在想要讲的，或许是你们从未听说过的最奇怪的一种。

我的父亲是一名图书管理员。许多年前，当我还小的时候，他经常把我带到他上班的地方，让我跟那些散发灰尘气味的旧书架做伴。或许因为这样的耳濡目染，我对那些纸质书从小培养出一种亲近感，哪怕没有别的娱乐，也能捧着一本大部头津津有味地看上一整天。随着年纪渐长，我发现图书馆外面的世界远比书本要复杂，复杂到有些难于适应。我成了一个性格孤僻的书呆子，不喜欢社交，也没有什么朋友。大学毕业后，我回到故乡小镇，去父亲工作过的图书馆里上班。那感觉是如此自然而然，就好像一本书按照书脊上的编号，找到了架子上属于自己的那个位置。

图书馆的工作很清闲，在电子化阅读的时代，热衷于泡图书馆的人已经寥寥无几。我像一个守墓人一样，照看这些无人问津的书本，偶尔接待一下前来扫墓的人，却不用与他们多说一句话。阳光安静地从一排排书架中间滑过，周而复始，日子就这样一天一天过去。我每天来到这安静得像坟墓一样的地方，随便从架子上抽一两本书来读。如果说有一种梦想中的天堂生活的话，那么或许就应该是这个样子。

博尔赫斯曾说过：“上帝在克莱门蒂诺图书馆的40万藏书中某一卷某一页的某一个字母里。我的父母、我的父母的父母找过那个字母；我自己也找过，把眼睛都找瞎了。”我不信上帝，但有时候也觉得自己像是在寻找什么。

一个秋雨绵绵的午后，图书馆收到了一批赠书。我翻开一本，看见扉页上一枚小小的红色藏书印，便知道又有某一位嗜书如命的老先生去世了。子女们将他积攒一生的藏书摊放在楼下，值钱的被书贩子挑走，剩下的论斤卖或者送人，也有一部分会被捐赠给图书馆。这样的事情每年都会发生。我将这些书整理登记，编撰条目，贴上索书号与条形码，擦拭灰尘，一层层码放整齐等待上架。

我一口气干了两个小时，感觉到头晕眼花，决定停下来休息一下。烧水泡茶的间隙，我随手从书堆最上面捡起一本薄薄的小书，翻开一看，是一本诗集。

我读了起来，从第一首诗的第一行第一个字开始，我就依稀感觉到，自己像是找到了一直在找的东西。在淅淅沥沥的雨声中，我细细咀嚼那些诗句，像饿了太久的人手捧琼浆玉液，舍不得一口气咽下。

那些诗来自一位我从未听说过的诗人，关于她的介绍只印了寥寥两行，连张照片都没有。只知道她用笔名写作，真实姓名不详，死于20年前，年仅31岁。我掏出手机查询这位诗人的相关信息和其他作品，却一无所获，仿佛从来不曾存在这样一个人。一瞬间我感觉到有几分毛骨悚然。一位生活在信息时代的诗人，居然没有在网络上留下任何蛛丝马迹，像个幽灵般来去匆匆，这简直是不可思议的事情。

在诗集中间，我发现了一张图书馆的索书单。纸张很薄，微微泛黄，但依旧保存完好。索书单上写有书的名字和一个借书证号，笔迹工整有力。我将相关信息输入电脑中查询，发现借书人曾经是这座图书馆的常客，却有好几个月没来了。诡异的是，借书人的借还记录中并没有这本诗集，因为在此之前图书馆里根本就没有这本书。

为什么图书馆的索书单会夹在老人的私人藏书中，又为什么会在绕了一大圈后回到这里？单子上的借书人是谁，与老人是什么关系？又或者他们其实是同一个人，只是用了不同的名字？

我将读完的诗集与其他赠书一起按照编码顺序上架。第二天，我又鬼使神差般走到那一排架子前面。诗集仍在那里，孤零零一本夹在其他书中间，像一个躲在阁楼上的神秘女子。我将它抽出来，从第一页开始重读。虽然是几十年前的诗，但从那些丰富暧昧的意象中间，我分明感觉到将这个时代绝大多数人都裹胁其中的巨大悲痛，像寂寥的呼喊，从残垣断壁的缝隙间流淌而过，绵绵无绝期。

写诗的人究竟是谁，长什么样子，曾住何处，过着怎样的一种生活？除了我、过世的老人、那位同样神秘的借书人之外，她还有其他读者吗？

我找不到答案，只能反复地读，像鱼潜入水底。诗人和她的诗变成我黑而幽深的梦境，隐藏住所有秘密。

三个月后，当第一场冬雪悄然落下时，我竟然见到了那位借书人。他大约40多岁，中等身材，面庞清瘦，衣着朴素。当我在借书证上看到那串熟悉的数字时，激动得差一点叫出声来。但图书馆巨大的寂静提醒了我，让我咽下了呼喊。

我用监控设备偷偷观察他的行动，看他像个幽灵般在走廊与楼梯间穿行。我看着他走进空无一人的旧报刊区，从架子上找出装订在一起的报纸，小心地摊放在桌上，一页一页慢慢浏览。我不明白，这些报纸大多数都有电子版，只要去电子数据库中检索，随便哪一天哪一版的信息都能找到，为什么还要这样大费周折地跑到图书馆来翻阅？或许他仅仅是在重温那种手指翻开旧报纸的感觉？

突然间，监控器里的借书人抬起头来环顾四周，盯着摄像头的方向看了一眼，然后巧妙地挪动坐姿，让身体挡住面前的报纸。几秒钟之后，他把报纸翻到下一页，像是什么都没发生过。但在那短短一瞬间，我确定他干了什么不可告人的事情。也许是偷拍照，但对着已经电子化的报纸原件拍照又有什么意义呢？

闭馆之前，借书人来到我桌前，将那本薄薄的诗集轻轻放下。我刷了条码，却不着急立刻递还给他。那一瞬间，对谜团的好奇心占了上风，我决定打破沉默，冒险与陌生人说话。

“你喜欢这些诗吗？”我问。

借书人显得很是吃惊，好像图书管理员在他眼中一直是个隐形人，现在却突然凭空出现一样。

“还……可以。”他谨慎地回答。

“我觉得很美。”我说，“仅仅说美也不太准确，它们是非常有力量的，好像能够重新赋予沉睡千百年的废墟以秩序。”

我讲了我如何看到这些诗，讲了博尔赫斯对于上帝的比喻，讲了我为何对那位神秘的诗人念念不忘，甚至讲了我为何会当上一个图书管理员。

我的话在借书人脸上激荡起一丝涟漪，像雨点落入池塘中。

等我讲完后，他从桌上的小纸盒里抓起一张索书单放在我面前，说：“请留下你的联系方式。”

我写了自己的姓名和电话号码。写好之后，他并不多看一眼就将纸条夹入诗集中，说了一声“我会联系你”，便大步向着门外走去。

我又等了一个多星期。一个暴风雪肆虐的傍晚，电话铃声突然响起。我按下接听键，听筒那边传来借书人低沉的嗓音。

“今晚有一个聚会，我们想邀请你参加。”

“今晚？”我下意识地抬头望了一眼窗外密不透风的雪片，“我们？”

他说出一个地址和时间，又说了一句“希望你能来”，就把电话挂掉了。

最后那句话对我似乎有着难以言喻的魔力——已经很多年没有听到别人对我说“希望”这个词了。我简单收拾了一下，撑伞走出图书馆大门。

雪下得纷纷扬扬、密不透风，街上几乎没有行人，也没有几辆车。这座小镇里没有地铁，交通依旧维持着几十年前的格局。我踩着齐踝深的积雪，步行走到附近的公交车站。车来了，上面乘客很少。我坐了七八站地，又下车走了一段路，来到借书人告诉我的地址，是一间看上去有年头的酒吧。

我推开厚重的木门，掀开棉布门帘，暖烘烘的空气迎面扑来，有一股似曾相识的气味。我看见酒吧里已经坐了大约十几个人，像开会一样围成松散的圆圈。圈子中央竟然有一只古老的蜂窝煤炉子，上面架着铝制水壶，正咝咝地冒出白气。

借书人拎起水壶，泡了一杯热茶递给我，我惊奇地注意到他冷冰冰的脸上居然有一丝笑意。他把我一一介绍给其他人，我很快看出坐在这里的人大多和我一样不善交际，但每个人的眼神都是真诚、友好的，仿佛已经把我当作自己人看待。这让我变得没有一开始那么紧张了。

我找了一把椅子坐下。借书人（他显然是今晚聚会的主持人）站起来，用低沉的嗓音说道：“各位晚上好，欢迎新朋友的加入。今天是一个特别的日子，看见大家冒着风雪而来，我很高兴。”

人们安静下来，手捧热茶静静地听他说话。

“今晚我们相聚在一起，是为了悼念一位诗人。”他说道，“20年前，正是这样一个风雪交加的寒夜里，她永远离开了这个世界。”

“今晚坐在这里的，都是她的读者。我们深爱她的作品，却对她的生平经历所知甚少。据说她性格内向，深居简出，几乎不用电脑不上网，也少有照片和影像资料留下。她的诗在生前没有引起广泛关注，只零星发表于几个小众文学刊物，偶尔有刊物的编辑向她索要照片或者约做访谈，大多没有得到回音。”

“这其中，只有一位编辑因为喜欢她的诗歌，多年来一直坚持与她通信。她们在手写的信件中谈论诗歌与生活，谈论清贫与卑微，谈论时代给予每个人的恐惧和希望。这是一段质朴的友谊，只靠书信中的三言两语维系。终其一生她们都没有真正见过面。”

“诗人离世之前，将自己已发表和未发表的全部手稿一起寄给编辑。编辑读完这些诗后，决定编一本诗集以悼念亡友。然而她深深知道，为了宣传诗集，必须将诗人的生平包装成一个人们喜闻乐见的故事，必须放大她的神秘和孤僻，挖掘她的家庭关系与教育背景、她贫苦而饥饿的生活、她隐秘的情感经历、她悲惨的死亡现场。必须让所有读诗或不读诗的人都能够为英年早逝的女诗人掬一把同情泪，让他们一同诅咒这个冷漠浮华的时代对一位天才的戕害，让他们在她身上看到另一个自己。唯有这样，诗集才能卖出去，才能大红大紫，流芳百世。”

“但这恰恰是诗人所不喜欢的。”

“最终编辑决定用另外一种方式来悼念诗人。她自费编印诗集，寄给她认识的朋友，那些有可能会愿意读这些诗的人，那些穷作家、翻译家、教师、编辑、青年学生、图书管理员。她在信中写道，如果有人想要更多诗集转送他人，她愿意免费邮寄。但与此同时，关于诗人的生平，她所知甚少，也无可奉告。”

“年复一年，喜爱这些诗的读者渐渐自发形成了类似我们这样的俱乐部。我们阅读并传播她的作品，从一个人的书架到另一个人的书架，从一座图书馆到另一座图书馆。但我们不去博取徒有其表的关注，不编造催人泪下的故事，不制造流行的幻象。我们只希望读者通过诗歌理解和欣赏她，而不去兜售添油加醋的评论、传记、照片和访谈。我们甚至以消灭那样的东西为己任——如果有人在哪里看到与她有关的文字或影像记录，我们就想方设法偷偷将其抹去。网络上的信息可以删除，数据库可以小心地篡改，胶片和磁带可以剪掉再粘好，印在纸上的内容可以裁下来销毁。”

“很少有人注意到我们的所作所为。相比起制造新闻，减少关注的工作进行得悄无声息。但完全不为人知也是不可能做到的。总会有好奇的人刨根问底，希望挖掘诗歌背后的故事，像透过谜面去猜谜底。对此，我们无权阻拦，只想说出我们的看法：对于那些所谓的秘密，我们并不知道，也不想知道。在我们看来，诗歌本身已说出一切。”

借书人说完这些话，翻开手中的诗集，摊放在我面前。我看到书页中间夹着一张泛黄的纸片，像是从旧报纸上剪下来的一小块。

“这是在你工作的图书馆里找到的一张照片，我剪下来带走了。很抱歉损坏了图书馆财物。我现在把它交还给你，应该怎样处理，请你看着办吧。”

我低头看着那张纸片，上面有一张模糊不清的合影。十几二十几张苍白的脸像是暴露在阳光下，显得面目不清。诗的作者就在其中吗？是哪一张脸呢？我找得到吗？

谜底早已在谜面之中。

我用指尖捻起那张纸片，走到煤炉子旁边，将它扔了进去。火苗舔着纸片，发出橘红色的光焰，转眼间便将它烧成一小撮黑色的纸灰。

我看着借书人，他微笑着，向我伸出一只手。我握住他大而温暖的手掌，想起自己很久没有跟陌生人握手了，一瞬间竟然双眼湿润。

“现在，让我们来读一首诗吧。”他提议道。

我们各自在椅子上坐下，翻开诗集第一页，从第一首诗第一行的第一个字开始读起。声音缓缓飘起，穿过天花板，逆着纷纷扬扬的鹅毛大雪扶摇直上，回到高处不胜寒的漆黑天宇中去。

圆圆的肥皂泡

刘慈欣

1

很多人生来就会莫名其妙地迷上一样东西，仿佛他的出生就是要和这东西约会似的，正是这样，圆圆迷上了肥皂泡。

圆圆出生后一直是一副无精打采的样子，连哭啼都像是在应付差事，显然这个世界让她很失望。

直到她第一次看到肥皂泡。

圆圆第一次看到肥皂泡时才五个月大，立刻在妈妈怀中手舞足蹈起来，小眼睛中爆发出足以使太阳星辰都黯然失色的光芒，仿佛这才是第一次真正地看到这个世界。

这是一个西北的正午，已经数月无雨，窗外，烈日下的城市迷漫着沙尘，在这异常干燥的世界中，那飘浮在空中绚丽的水的精灵确实是绝美的东西，看到小女儿能认识到这种美，为她吹出肥皂泡的爸爸很高兴，抱着她的妈妈也很高兴。圆圆的妈妈放弃了还有一个月的产假，明天就要回实验室上班了。

2

时光飞逝，圆圆进幼儿园大班了，她仍然热爱肥皂泡。

这个星期天和爸爸出去玩儿，她的小衣袋中就装着吹泡泡的小瓶儿，爸爸许诺要让妈妈带她坐飞机吹泡泡。这并不是吹牛，他们真的去了近郊的一个简易机场，妈妈做飞播造林研究用的飞机就停在那里。那飞机让圆圆很失望，这是一架破旧的双翼农用飞机，圆圆觉得它是旧木板做的，像童话中的猎人在森林中住的破木屋，真不相信这玩意儿能飞起来。但就这破飞机，妈妈也不让圆圆坐。

“今天是孩子生日，你还加班不回家，让圆圆坐坐飞机，总能给她个惊喜嘛！”爸爸说。

“惊喜什么呀，她这么大分量，我要少带多少树种？”妈妈说着，又把一个沉重的大塑料包吃力地搬进舱门。

圆圆觉得自己没有多少分量，咧嘴大哭起来。妈妈于是赶紧来哄女儿，她从仍放在地上的一堆大塑料袋中的一个里拿出一件奇怪的东西，样子和大小与胡萝卜差不多，头儿尖尖的呈流线型，屁股上还有一对用硬纸板做的尾翼，看上去像个小炸弹，却是透明的，很好玩儿的样子。圆圆伸手去抓，但小手立刻又松开了，这玩意儿是冰做的。妈妈指着小炸弹中心的一个小黑粒，告诉圆圆那就是树种：“飞机从好高的地方把这些冰炸弹扔下去，它们落到地上时会扎进沙土中。春天来了，冰弹就会在沙土里悄悄地化开，化出的水会让种子发芽出苗。把好多好多这样的冰炸弹投下来，沙漠就会变绿，沙子就不会吹到我圆圆的小脸儿上了……这是妈妈的研究项目，它能使西北干旱地区飞播造林的成活率提高一倍……”

“孩子懂什么成活率，真是，圆圆，咱们走！”爸爸抱起圆圆，气鼓鼓地走了，妈妈没有留他们，只是赶紧用两手又捧了一下女儿的脸蛋儿。

圆圆感到妈妈的手比爸爸的粗糙多了。

圆圆伏在爸爸的肩膀上看到“猎人木屋”轰鸣着起飞，她对着飞机吹出一串肥皂泡，看着它消失在沙尘迷漫的空中。

爸爸抱着圆圆走出了机场，在公路边的车站等着回市里的汽车，圆圆感到爸爸的身体突然颤抖了一下。

“爸爸，你冷吗？”

“不……圆圆。你没听到什么？”

“嗯……没有呀。”

但他听到了，那是一声沉闷的爆炸，从飞机飞向的远方传来，隐隐约约，他几乎是用第六感听到的。他猛地回头看着那个方向，在他和女儿面前，大西北干旱的大地冷酷地凝视着苍穹。

3

时光继续飞逝，圆圆上了小学，她仍然热爱肥皂泡。

清明节，当她和爸爸来到妈妈墓前时，仍拿着吹泡泡的小瓶，当爸爸把鲜花放到那朴素的墓碑前时，圆圆吹出了一串泡泡。爸爸正要发作，女儿的一句话使他平静下来，双眼湿润了。

“妈妈会看到的！”圆圆指着飘过墓碑的肥皂泡说。

“孩子啊，你要做一个妈妈那样的人，像她那样有责任感和使命感，像她那样有一个远大的人生目标！”爸爸搂着圆圆说。

“我有远大的目标呀！”圆圆喊道。

“说给爸爸听听？”

“吹——”圆圆指着已飞远的肥皂泡，“大——大——的——泡——泡！”

爸爸苦笑着摇摇头，拉着女儿走去。这里距几年前飞机坠毁的地点不远，当年由自天而降的冰弹播下的种子确实都成活了，长成了小树苗，但最后的胜利者仍是无边的干旱，飞播林在干旱少雨的第二年都死光了，沙漠化仍在继续着它不可阻挡的步伐。爸爸回头看，夕阳将墓碑的影子拉得好长好长，圆圆吹出的肥皂泡已经一个都不见了，像墓中人的理想，像西部大开发美丽的梦幻。

4

时光继续飞逝，圆圆上了中学，仍然喜欢肥皂泡。

这天，圆圆年轻的女班主任来家访，递给爸爸一把新奇漂亮的玩具手枪，说是圆圆在课上玩，让物理老师没收的。那把枪有个大肚子，枪管顶部固定着一个天线似的圆圈，爸爸翻来覆去地看着，很迷惑它怎么玩，“这是泡泡枪。”班主任说着，拿过来一扣扳机，随着一阵嗡嗡的轻响，从枪口的小圆圈上飞出一长串肥皂泡。

班主任告诉爸爸，圆圆的学习成绩一直在同年级中领先，她最大的长处是有很强的创造性思维，班主任说自己还是第一次看到思想这么活跃的学生，告诉爸爸要珍惜这个苗子。

“你不觉得这孩子……怎么说呢，有些轻飘飘的吗？”爸爸手拿着泡泡枪问。

“现在的孩子嘛，都这样儿……其实在这个新时代，轻松洒脱一些的思想和性格也不一定就是缺点。”

爸爸叹口气，挥挥泡泡枪结束了谈话，他觉得和这个班主任没什么可谈的，她自己几乎还是个孩子呢。

送走了班主任，回到只有他们父女两人的家中，爸爸想和圆圆谈谈泡泡枪的问题，但立刻发生了另一件让他不快的事：

“又换了一个？今年你已经换了一个了！”他指着圆圆挂在胸前的手机问。

“没有呀爸爸，人家只是换了个壳儿嘛！看，这能给我新鲜的感觉。”圆圆说着，拿出了一个扁盒子，爸爸打开来，看到一排鲜艳的色块，最初以为是绘画颜料一类的东西，仔细一看才发现那是12个手机外壳，12种色彩。

爸爸摇摇头，把盒子放在一边，说：“我正想和你谈谈你的这种……嗯，思想倾向”。

圆圆看到了爸爸手中的泡泡枪，一把抢了过来：“爸爸，我保证以后不再带它去学校了！”说完，她对着爸爸射出一串泡泡。

“我要说的不是这个，我要说的问题比这深刻得多，圆圆，你看你这么大了还喜欢吹肥皂泡……”

“不行吗？”

“哦不，这本来不算什么大问题，我是说，你的这种喜好反映出了你的一种，嗯，刚才说过的，思想倾向。”

圆圆不解地看着父亲。

“这说明你倾向于追求美丽、新奇而虚幻的东西，容易对远离现实的幻影着迷，你的双脚将离开大地，会将你的人生引向一个错误的方向。”

圆圆看看满屋飘浮着的肥皂泡，显得更迷惑了。那些肥皂泡像一群透明金鱼，在空气中幽幽地游着。

“爸爸，咱们还是谈一些更有趣的事吧！”圆圆靠到爸爸的肩膀上，语气变得神秘起来，“爸，我们的班主任漂亮吗？”

“没注意……圆圆，我刚才的意思是……”

“显然，她很漂亮！”

“也许吧……我刚才要说的是……”

“爸爸，您真没注意到她和您说话时的眼神？她好像被您吸引了耶！”

“我说你这个孩子，就不能少想些无聊的事？！”爸爸生气，把女儿的手从肩上拨开。

圆圆长叹一声：“唉，爸爸呀爸爸，您已经变成了一个对什么都提不起兴趣的人了，您这没有新鲜、没有新奇、没有激动的日子，有什么劲呢？还好意思当别人的人生教师。”

一个肥皂泡飘到爸爸脸前爆裂了，他隐约感到了一小股弱的不能再弱的湿润水气，这一场转瞬即逝的微型毛毛雨令他感到片刻的陶醉，不可思议，这竟让他想起了自己遥远的南方故乡。他不为人察觉地叹息了一下。

“我年轻的时候也追逐过缥缈的梦想，和你妈妈从上海来到这里，天真地把大西北看作实现自己人生价值的地方。我们那批建设者用了那么短的时间，就让荒漠上出现了这座崭新的城市，我们曾把它当作一生的骄傲，想到当离开人世之前，这城市能作为自己的没有虚度一生的证明。谁能想到，她不过是我们这一代人用青春甚至生命吹出的一个肥皂泡。”

圆圆很吃惊：“丝路市怎么是肥皂泡呢？它可是实实在在的，总不会啪一下消失吧？”

“它将消失，中央已经认可了省里的报告，停止为丝路市引水的一切规划和努力。”

“那要把我们渴死吗？现在已经是两天来一次水，每次只来一个半小时！”

“正在制订一个为期十年的拆迁计划，整座城市将全部分散迁移，丝路将成为现代世界第一座因缺水而消失的城市，一个现代的楼兰……其实，曾让年轻的我们热血沸腾的整个西部大开发，现在已经变成了恶梦般的西部大开矿，谁知道，这是不是一个更大的肥皂泡呢？”

“哇，太棒了！”圆圆欢呼起来，“早就该离开这地方了！一个平淡乏味的地方，我真的不喜欢这里耶！迁移！迁移到一个全新的地方，开始全新的生活，这是多美妙的事啊，爸爸！”

爸爸默默地看了女儿一会儿，站起身来走到窗前，呆呆地看着外面黄沙中的城市，他双肩下垂的背影，看上去一下子老了许多。

“爸——”圆圆轻轻叫了一声，父亲没有回答。

两天后，圆圆的爸爸成为这即将消失的城市的最后一任市长。

5

高考结束了，圆圆取得了全省理科第二名的成绩。爸爸难得彻底地高兴了一次，慷慨地问女儿有什么要求，过分些也行，圆圆冲他张开一个手掌。

“5……5个什么？”

“5块雕牌透明皂。”说完她又张开另一个手掌，“10袋汰渍洗衣粉，”两手翻了一下，“20瓶白猫洗洁精，”最后拿出一张纸，“最重要的是这些化学药剂，照清单上的分量买。”

那些化学药剂让父亲费了些事，他让一个在北京出差的办公室副主任跑了一天才买齐。

拿到这些东西后，圆圆一头扎进了卫生间，在那里面忙活了三天，配制了整整一浴池的溶液，怪味迷漫在家里的每个房间。第四天，两个男生送来了她定做的一个直径一米多的圆环，那圆环是用一根钻了许多小眼的长金属管弯成的。

第五天，家里早早就有一群人来访，他们中包括两个电视台的摄像师，市长还认出了其中的一位漂亮女士，是省电视台一个娱乐节目的主持人，还有两个穿着花里胡哨的家伙，自称是吉尼斯中国分部的人，昨天刚从上海飞来，其中一位沙哑着嗓子说：

“市长先生，您的女儿……咳咳……这地方空气真干燥……您的女儿要创造吉尼斯纪录了！”

市长随着一行人爬到开阔的楼顶上，他发现女儿和她的几个同学已经上来了，圆圆扛着那个大圆环，他们面前放着的那个大澡盆中盛满了她配的那种溶液。那两个吉尼斯的人开始架设两根有长度刻度的标杆，后来才知道那是用于测量肥皂泡直径的。

一切准备就绪后，圆圆把那个圆环伸进澡盆，再提出来时环面已附着了一层液膜。她小心地把带液膜的圆环固定在一根长杆顶端，走到楼顶边缘，挥动长杆使圆环在空中画了一个大圈，吹出了一个巨大的肥皂泡。那个大泡在空中颤颤地变着形状，像是在跳舞。后来才知道，这个大泡的直径竟达4.6米，打破了由比利时人凯利斯保持的3.9米的吉尼斯纪录。

“液体的配方是很重要的，但窍门还在这个大环上。”圆圆在回答主持人提问时说，“那个比利时人用的只是一个普通的液膜环圈，而我这个，是由钻了一排洞的铅管弯成的，管里面充满了发泡液体，在大泡的形成过程中，这些液体不断地从管上的小孔中泄出，以使尽可能多的液体参与成泡，这样自然就可以形成更大的泡泡了。”

“那么，你还有可能制造出更大的泡泡来吗？”主持人问。

“当然会的！这就要研究肥皂泡形成的几个要素，它包括液体黏度、延展性、蒸发率和表面张力，但对于形成超大的泡泡来说，最需要改进的是后两项。蒸发率必须降低，因为蒸发是泡壁破裂的主要原因之一；表面张力嘛……你知道为什么纯水不能吹出泡泡？”

“当然是它的表面张力太小了。”

“恰恰相反，是因为水的表面张力太大了，形不成气泡。再问一句，你知道肥皂泡形成以后，它的表面的张力与直径大小有什么关系？”

“那……照你说的，张力越小泡就越大呗。”

“NO，NO！当泡形成后，随着直径的增大，它反而需要增大自己的表面张力，以维持泡壁的强度。这就出现一个问题：液体的表面张力是恒定的，那么要想吹出超大的泡泡，我们该解决什么样的问题呢？”

主持人茫然地摇摇头，她属于外形漂亮、口齿伶俐、头脑简单的那一类，圆圆看出了这点，“算了，我们还是给观众们再吹几个大泡泡吧！”

于是，又有几个直径四五米的大肥皂泡顺风飘行在城市上空，在这沙尘迷漫的干旱世界中，它们显得那么不真实，仿佛是来自另一个世界的幻影。

一星期后，圆圆离开了这座她出生、长大的西北城市，到中国那所最好的理工科大学去学习纳米专业了。

6

时光继续飞逝，但圆圆不再吹肥皂泡了。

圆圆读完了学士、硕士和博士，然后以令她父亲头晕目眩的速度开始创业。她以做博士课题时创造的一项技术为基础，开发了一种新的太阳能电池，成本仅为传统的单晶硅电池的几十分之一，可以作为马赛克贴到整个建筑表面上。仅三四年时间，她的公司就发展到几亿元资产的规模，成为纳米技术的东风催生的一大批急剧膨胀的奇迹企业之一。

圆圆的父亲由此陷入了一个尴尬的境地。以事业的成功程度而言，女儿现在已经有资格教导父亲了。看来圆圆当年的那个漂亮班主任说的有道理，轻飘洒脱的思想和性格不一定就是缺点。这是一个令父亲这一代人恼火的时代，现在的成功需要的是逼人的思想灵气，经验、毅力和使命感之类的东西不起决定作用，凝重和沉重更是显得傻乎乎的。

“很久没有过这种感觉了，这是我听过的最好的歌唱，他们确实比上一代那三个强。”在国家大剧院广阔的出口平台上，市长对女儿说。圆圆知道父亲喜欢听古典美声，这是他不多的爱好之一，就趁他到北京开会之际，请他听新一代世界三大男高音为即将到来的奥运会举办的演唱会。

“早知道我该买最好座位的票，怕您又嫌我浪费，就买了两张中等的。”

“这样的票多少钱一张？”父亲随口问。

“便宜多了，好像每张两万八吧。”

“嗯……啊，什么？！”

看着父亲目瞪口呆的样子，圆圆笑了起来：“如果您能找回很久没有过的感觉，就是28万也值得。看这座大剧院，投资几十个亿，还不是为了人们从艺术中得到或找回某种感觉？”

“也许你有道理，我还是希望你的钱能花到更有意义的地方。圆圆，我想与你谈谈有关丝路市的事，你能不能进行一项它的市政投资？”

“是什么？”

“一个大型的水处理工程，建成后能够大大提高城市用水的循环利用率，还能够用太阳能淡化一部分盐湖的水。如果这个系统能够实现，丝路市就能在缩小规模后继续存在下去，避免完全消失的命运。”

“投资是多少？”

“初步规划，大约16个亿吧。大部分资金已有来源，但到位时间很长，怕来不及了，所以现在需要你投入一笔启动资金，约一个亿吧。”

“爸爸，不行，我目前能周转的资金也就这么多了，我想用它搞一个研究项目……”

父亲举起一只手打断女儿的话说：“那就算了。圆圆，我丝毫没想影响你的事业，其实，我本来没打算向你提这个要求的，虽然你的投资能保证收回，但利润回报微乎其微。”

“呵，那倒无所谓，爸爸，我这个项目更惨，别说盈利，投资都肯定会打水漂！”

“你想搞基础研究吗？”

“不，但也不是应用研究，是好玩儿的研究。”

“……”

“我将研制一种超级表面活性剂，已为它想好了名字，叫飞液。它的溶液黏性和延展性比现有的任何液体都大几个数量级，蒸发速度仅是甘油的千分之一。这种表面活性剂溶液还具有一个魔鬼般的特性——它的表面张力能够随着液层的厚度和液面的曲率自动调节，调节范围从水的张力的百分之一到一万多倍。”

“它是干什么用的？”父亲惊恐地问，他已知道答案，但还是不敢相信。

年轻的亿万富翁搂住父亲的肩膀大声说：“吹——大——大——的——泡——泡！”

“你不是开玩笑吧？”

圆圆看着长安街上的灯火，沉默了好久：“谁知道呢？也许我的整个生活就是一个大玩笑，但，爸爸，我觉得这也没有什么不好，一个人用一生开一个玩笑也是一种使命吧。”

“用一亿元吹泡泡？有什么用吗？”父亲的语气好像觉得自己在做梦。

“没什么用，好玩呗。不过，比起你们当年用几百个亿建起一座很快就拆掉的城市，我的奢侈微不足道。”

“可你现在能救这城市，它也是你的城市，你在那里出生、长大。可你却用这笔钱吹肥皂泡！你……也太自私了！”

“我在过自己的生活，无私奉献并不一定能推动历史，您的那座城市就是证明！”

直到圆圆把车开上长安街，父女俩都没有再说话。

“对不起，爸爸。”圆圆轻声说。

“这些天我总是想起拉着你小手儿的那些日子，那是多好的时光啊。”灯光中，父亲的双眼一闪一闪的，似乎有些湿润。

“我知道让您失望了。您一直想让我成为妈妈那样的人，如果我能有两次人生的话，其中的一次会照您的做，把自己奉献给责任和使命，可是，爸爸，我只能活一次。”

父亲没有说话。当这沉默的路程快结束时，圆圆拿出一个大纸袋递给父亲。

“什么？”父亲不解地问。

“房产证和钥匙。爸，我给您买了一幢别墅，在太湖边上，您退休后可以回到南方了。”

父亲把纸袋轻轻地推了回来：“不，孩子，我会在丝路的废墟上渡过余生，我和你妈妈的青春和理想都埋在那儿，离不开了。”

北京在夏夜里尽情地闪烁着，看着这绚丽的光海，圆圆和父亲竟同时联想到肥皂泡，这无边的灿烂似乎在极力向他们展示着什么，是生命之重还是生命之轻？

7

两年后的一天，市长在办公室里接到了女儿的电话。

“爸爸，生日快乐！”

“呵，圆圆吗？你在哪儿？”

“离您那儿不远，我给您送生日礼物来了！”

“嗨，我好多年没想起生日这回事儿了，那中午回家吧，我也有一个多月没回家了，就保姆在那儿照看着。”

“不，礼物现在就送给您！”

“我在工作，马上要开市政周例会了。”

“没关系，您打开窗向天上看！”

今天的天空万里无云，蓝得清澈，这种天气在这一地区是很少见的。空中传来引擎的轰鸣声，市长看到有一架飞机在城市上空缓缓地盘旋，在蓝天的背景上很醒目。

“爸爸，我在飞机上呢！”圆圆在电话中喊道。

这是一架老式双翼螺旋桨飞机，在空中像一只懒洋洋的大鸟。时光瞬间闪回，一种熟悉的感觉闪电般出现，市长浑身颤抖了一下，20多年前他也这样过，那时女儿问他是不是冷了。

“圆圆，你……干什么？！”

“要送礼物啦爸爸，注意飞机下面！”

市长刚才就发现，飞机机腹下面吊着一个大环，那环的直径比飞机还长，显然是升空以后才展开的。整体看去，飞机和大环组成了一个在空中飞行的戒指。后来知道，那个大环的结构同圆圆破吉尼斯纪录时的用的环一样，由轻型金属管制成，管内充满了那种叫飞液的魔鬼液体。环面上罩着一层飞液的液膜，环上有无数的小洞，使飞液能够不断地从围成大圆环的细管中流出。

令人震惊的景象出现了，在那个大环后面，吹出了一个大肥皂泡！它反射着阳光，形状时隐时现。肥皂泡在急剧膨胀，很快，飞机与它相比只是透明西瓜上的一粒小芝麻。

下面的城市广场上所有人都在驻足仰望，市政府办公大楼里也开始有人跑出来看。

飞机拖着巨泡在城市上空缓缓盘旋，肥皂泡的膨胀速度大大减慢，但仍在继续着。最后，它脱离了飞机下的大环，独自在空中飘浮着。虽然巨泡的进气口已经消失，它的膨胀却没有停止，这是由于阳光的热量在泡内聚集使其中的空气膨胀的缘故。渐渐地，巨泡占据了半个天空！

“这就是礼物啦，爸爸！”圆圆在电话中兴奋地喊着。

蓝天上晃动着大片的闪光，仿佛整个天空就是一张平滑的玻璃纸，正被一双无形的大手在阳光下抖动着。细看去，那些闪光勾勒出了一个巨大的球体形状，那个透明球体此时占据了大部分天空，下面的人们得将头转动近180度才能看全它。它仿佛是地球在天空的镜面上投下的一个晶莹的幻影。

城市骚动起来，大街上开始出现交通堵塞。

巨泡缓缓从空中降下来，当它降到足够低时，地面上的人们竟然在泡壁上看到了城市的高楼群的镜像，由于泡壁在风中的波动，高楼群扭曲变形，像是海中的植物林。这广阔的泡壁从上方气势磅礴地压下来，人们不由得捂住了脑袋。当巨泡接触地面时，地面上暴露在外的人们在身体穿过泡壁时感到脸上痒痒了一下。

巨泡没有破碎，而是成一个直径近十公里的半球形立在大地上。这座城市，连同边缘的一座火力发电厂和一个化工厂，全被巨泡扣在其中！

“我们不是故意的，真的不是故意的！”圆圆对着摄像机说，“本来，按一般的情况，大泡是会顺风飘走，谁想到今天这里的风力竟这么弱，这儿的风一贯是很大的！所以它才掉了下来，把城市扣住了！”

市长看着市电视台中断了正常节目插进的紧急现场报道，他看到女儿身穿航空皮夹克，拉链敞开着，露出里面的蓝色工作服。她的身后，是那架老式双翼飞机……时光再次闪回，太像了，太像了……市长的心融化了，泪水夺眶而出。

两个小时后，市长同刚刚成立的紧急小组一起，驱车来到了城市边缘巨泡泡壁的位置，圆圆和她的几个工程师早已等在那里。

“爸爸，我的肥皂泡很棒吧？！”圆圆没有了刚才的恐慌，不合时宜地一脸兴奋。

市长没理女儿，抬头打量着泡壁，这是一张在阳光下发着多彩霓光的大膜，它表面上那结构极其精细的衍射条纹，令人迷惑地变幻着，构成一个疯狂展示宇宙间所有色彩的妖艳的海洋。大膜是全透明的，这使得透过它看到的外部世界也蒙上了一层霓彩。向上到一定的高度，霓彩消失了，从空中看不出膜的存在。

市长伸出一只手，小心地触摸泡壁，他的手背感到一阵极其轻微的搔痒，手已在膜的另一面了，这膜可能只有几个分子的厚度。他抽回手来，膜瞬间恢复原状，那一处的霓彩光纹仍是完整的形状，仿佛根本没有中断过。

现在，他一贯认为是虚幻象征的肥皂泡已是这样一个实实在在的巨大现实，而透过它看到的现实世界反倒变得虚幻了。

其他人也开始触摸大膜，后来挥手试图撕裂膜面，最后发展成对大膜拳打脚踢。市长的司机从车里拿出一根铁棍，抡得呜呜作响，击打膜面……但这一切对大膜没有丝毫影响，所有的打击物都毫无阻碍地穿膜而过，之后膜面完好无损。市长挥手制止了大家的徒劳，接着指指远处的高速公路，人们看到，公路上的车流正在不间断地高速穿过大膜。

“这同肥皂泡膜的性质一样：固体可以穿过，但不透气。”圆圆说。

“正是因为它不透气，现在城市里的空气质量在急剧恶化。”市长瞪了一眼女儿说。

众人抬头看去，发现城市上空出现了一个巨大的半球状白色顶盖。这是由于城市和工厂产生的烟雾被大膜限制在泡内，使大泡的形状显现出来，这时如果从远处看城市，恐怕只能看到一个顶天立地的乳白色半球了。

“可能需要关闭发电厂和化工厂，以减缓空气污染的速度。”紧急小组组长说，“但最严重的问题是泡内气温的上升，现在城市实际上处于一个密闭极好的温室内，与外界没有空气流通，阳光的热量在很快聚集，现在正值盛夏，据测算，泡内气温最终将达到摄氏60度！”

“到现在为止，都进行了哪些方面的尝试来打破它？”市长问。

一名驻军指挥官回答：“一小时前，我们曾调用陆军航空兵的直升机在泡顶反复穿过，试图用螺旋桨撕裂它，没有用；后来又用炸药在泡壁与地面的交接处进行爆破，爆炸只是使大膜波动了一会儿，不能造成任何破坏，更邪乎的是，这张膜居然瞬间延伸到爆炸产生的大坑中，天衣无缝地横穿过坑的底部！”

市长问圆圆：“大泡要多长时间才能自然破裂？”

“大泡的破裂主要是由于泡壁液体的蒸发，这种物质的蒸发速度是极慢的，即使日照良好，大泡也得五六天才能破。”圆圆回答，令父亲气恼的是，女儿的语气显得很得意。

“那只有全城紧急疏散了。”紧急小组组长叹了口气说。

市长摇摇头：“不到万不得已，不能走这一步。”

“还有一个办法，”一名环境专家说，“赶造许多长筒，口径越大越好，把这些筒的一头伸出泡外，在筒的底部装上大功率换气扇，以实现与外界的空气交换。”

“哈哈哈哈……”圆圆大笑起来，把大家吓了一跳，她在众人气愤的目光中笑得直不起腰来，“这想法真……真够滑稽的！哈哈……”

“这都是你干的好事！”市长厉声喝道，“你要为此负责的，必须赔偿对本市造成的一切损失！”

圆圆两眼看天止住笑说：“那是，我们会赔的。不过我刚想出一个使大泡破裂的简单方法——烧。在泡壁与地面交接线的内侧，挖一条一二百米长的壕沟，沟中灌满燃油并点燃，火焰会大大加速泡壁的蒸发，可以在三个小时左右使大泡破裂。”

市长命令抢险队照圆圆的方案做了。城市的边缘出现了一道100多米长的火墙，在那一排冲天烈焰的上方，被火舌舔着的泡壁变幻着各种怪异的色彩和图案，从图案的纹路可以看出，大膜上其他部分的飞液正在涌过来补充已被火焰蒸发掉的部分，这使得大膜上被烧灼的位置像一个大旋涡，绚丽妖艳的色彩洪水般从四面八方涌来，消失在火焰中。火焰的黑烟顺着泡壁上升，在天空中形成了一个黑色巨掌，令大泡中的百万市民惊恐不已。

三个小时后，大泡破裂了，城市里的人们听到天地间发出一声轻微的破碎声，清脆悠扬深远，仿佛宇宙的琴弦被轻轻拨动了一下。

“爸爸，我很奇怪，您并没有像我想象的那样暴跳如雷。”圆圆对父亲说，这时，他们正站在市政府大楼的楼顶看着大泡破裂。

“我一直在思考一件事……圆圆，你认真回答我几个问题。”

“关于大肥皂泡的？”

“是的。我问你，既然泡壁是不透气的，那大泡也能保持住内部的湿润空气了？”

“当然。其实，在飞液的研制即将完成时，我不经意想到了它的一项可能的用途：用大泡作为超大型温室，可以在冬季制造小型气候区，为大片的土地提供适合作物生长的湿度和温度。当然，这还要使大泡更持久些。”

“第二个问题：你能让大泡随风飘很远吗？比如说几千公里？”

“这没问题，阳光的热量在泡内聚集，使其内部空气膨胀，会产生类似于热气球的浮力。至于今天这个大泡的坠落，只是因为它生成的位置太低，风也太小了。”

“第三个问题：你能让大泡在确定的时间破裂吗？”

“这也不难，只需调节飞液内的一种成分，改变其溶液的蒸发速度就行了。”

“最后一个问题：如果有足够的资金，你能够吹出几千万甚至上亿个大泡吗？”

圆圆吃惊地瞪大双眼：“上亿个？天啊，干什么！？”

“想象这样一幅图景：在遥远的海洋上空，形成了无数个大肥皂泡，它们在平流层强风的吹送下，飞越了漫长的路程，来到大西北上空，全部破裂了，把它们在海洋上空包裹起来的潮湿的空气，都播散在我们这片干旱的天空中……是的，肥皂泡能为大西北从海洋上运来潮湿的空气，也就是运来雨水！”

震惊和激动使圆圆一时间说不出话来，只是呆呆地看着父亲。

“圆圆，你送给我一件伟大的生日礼物，说不定，这一天也是大西北的生日！”

这时，外界清凉的风吹过城市，上空那个由烟雾构成的巨大白色半球失去了大膜的限制，在风中缓慢地改变着形状，东方的天空中有一道色彩奇异的彩虹，这是大泡破裂后，构成它的飞液散布到空中形成的。

8

向中国西部空中调水的宏大工程进行了十年。

这十年，在中国南海和孟加拉湾，建成了许多巨大的天网。这些天网是由表面布满小孔的细管构成，每个网眼有几百米甚至上千米的直径，相当于那个十多年前曾吹出超级肥皂泡的大圆环。每张天网有几千个网眼。天网分陆基和空中两种，陆基天网沿海岸线布设，空中天网则由巨型系留气球悬挂在几千米的高空。在南海和孟加拉湾，天网在海岸线和海洋上空连绵两千多公里，被称作“泡泡长城”。

空中调水系统首次启动的那天，构成天网的细管中充满了飞液，并在每个网眼上形成一层液膜。潮湿而强劲的海风在天网上吹出了无数巨型气泡，它们的直径都有几公里，这些气泡相继脱离天网，一群群升上更高的天空，升向平流层，随风而去，同时，更多的气泡从天网上源源不断地被吹出来。大群大群的巨型气泡浩浩荡荡地飘向大陆深处，包裹着海洋的湿气，漂过了喜马拉雅山，飘过了大西南，飘到大西北上空，在南海、孟加拉湾和大西北之间的天空中，形成了两条长达数千公里的气泡长河！

9

在空中调水系统正式启动的两天后，圆圆从孟加拉湾飞到大西北的一座省会城市。当她走下飞机时，看到一轮圆月静静地悬在夜空中，从海上启程的气泡还没有到达。在城市里，月光下挤满了人群，圆圆也在中心广场停下车，挤在人群中，同他们一起热切地等待着。一直到午夜，夜空依旧，人群开始同前两天一样散去，但圆圆没走，她知道气泡在今夜一定会到达这里。她坐在一把长椅上，正在睡意朦胧之际，突然听到有人喊：

“天啊，怎么这么多的月亮！”

圆圆睁开眼，真的在夜空中看到了一条月亮河！那无数个月亮是由无数个巨型气泡映出的，与真月亮不同，它们都是弯月，有上弦的，也有下弦的，每个都是那么晶莹剔透，真正的月亮倒显得平淡无奇了，只有根据其静止状态才能从浩浩荡荡流过长空的月亮河中将它分辨出来。

从此，大西北的天空成了梦的天空。

白天，空中的气泡看不太清楚，只是蓝天上到处出现泡壁的反光，整个天空像阳光下泛起涟漪的湖面，大地上缓缓运行着气泡巨大而清晰的影子。最壮丽的时刻是在清晨和黄昏，当地平线上的朝阳或夕阳将天空中的气泡大河镀上灿烂的金色时。

但这些美景并不会存在很久，空中的气泡相继破裂。虽然有更多的气泡滚滚而来，天空中的云却多了起来，使气泡看不清了。

接着，在这个往年最干旱的时节，天空飘下了绵绵细雨。

圆圆在雨中来到了自己出生的那座城市。经过十年的搬迁，丝路市已成了一座寂静的空城。一座座空荡的高楼在小雨中静静地立着。圆圆注意到，这些建筑并没有真正被抛弃，它们都被保护得很好，窗上的玻璃还都完整，整座城市仿佛在沉睡中，等待着肯定要到来的复活之日。

小雨掩盖了尘埃，空气清新怡人，雨撒在脸上凉丝丝的很舒服。圆圆慢慢地行走在她熟悉的街道上，那些街道，爸爸曾拉着她的小手儿无数次走过，曾撒落过她吹出的无数个肥皂泡，圆圆的心里响起了一支童年的歌。

突然她发现，这歌真的在响着。这时天已黑了，在整座浸没于夜色中的空城里，只有一扇窗户亮着灯，那是一幢普通住宅楼的二楼，是她的家，歌声就是从那里传出的。

圆圆来到楼前，看到周围收拾得很干净，还有一小片菜地，里面的菜长得很好。地边有一辆小工具车，车上装有大铁桶，显然是用来从远处运水浇地的。即使在朦胧的夜色中，这里也能感觉到一股生活的气息，它在这一片死寂的空城里，像沙漠中的绿洲一样令圆圆向往。

圆圆走上了扫得很干净的楼梯，轻轻地推开家门，看到灯下头发花白的父亲，仰在躺椅上，陶醉地哼着那首童年老歌，他手里拿着那个圆圆在孩提时代装肥皂液的小瓶儿，还有那个小小的塑料吹环，正吹出一串五光十色的肥皂泡。

Ether
[1]

by Zhang Ran，translated by Carmen Yiling Yan and Ken Liu

1

All of a sudden，I’m thinking about an evening from the winter when I was twenty-two.

A pair of pretty twin sisters sat to my right，chattering away；at my left sat a fat boy clutching a soft drink that he kept refilling.My plate contained cold chicken，cheese，and cole slaw.I don’t remember how they tasted，only that I’d reached for the macaroni and dropped some on my brand-new pinstripe trousers.I spent the entire second half of the meal wiping at the crescent-shaped stains on my trousers as the chicken cooled in my plate，untouched.To hide my predicament，I tried to strike up a conversation with the twins，but they didn’t seem very interested in college life，and I wasn’t knowledgeable about pontytail-tying techniques.

The dinner seemed to last forever.There was one toast after another，and I would raise my long-stemmed glass with whomever was standing，and drink my apple juice，perfectly aware that no one was paying attention to what I did.What was the banquet for，anyway？A wedding，a holiday，a bumper crop？I don’t recall.

I sneaked peeks at my father，four tables away.He was busy chatting，drinking and telling dirty jokes with his friends，all his age，with the same thick whiskers and noses red from too much alcohol.He didn’t glance at me until the banquet was over.The fiddler tiredly packed his instrument，the hostess began to collect the dirty dishes and glasses，and my inebriated father finally noticed my presence.He staggered over，his bulky body swaying with every step.“You still here？”he slurred.“Tell your ma to give you a ride.”

“No，I’m leaving on my own.”I stood，staring at the ground.I scrubbed at the stain on my trousers until my fingers were numb.

“Whatever you want.Did you have a good time talking with your little friends？”He looked around for them.

I said nothing but clenched my fists，feeling the blood rush to my head.They weren’t my friends.They were just kids，eleven or twelve years old，and I was about to graduate from college.In the city，I had my friends and my accomplishments.No one treated me like a little boy there，seating me at the children’s table，pouring apple juice into my long-stemmed glass in the place of white wine.When I walked into restaurants，a server would promptly take my jacket and call me Mister；if I dropped macaroni on my trousers，my dining companion would wet a napkin and gently wipe it clean.I was an adult，and I wanted people to talk to me like one，not treat me like a grade schooler at some village banquet.

“Fuck off！”I said at last，and walked off without looking back.

I was twenty-two that year.

I open my eyes with effort.The sky is completely dark now，and the neon lights of the strip club across the street fill the room with gauzy colors.The computer screen flashes.I rub my temples and slowly sit up on the sofa.I down the half glass of bourbon resting on the coffee table.How many times have I fallen asleep on the sofa this week？I ought to go online and look it up：what does holing up at home in front of a computer and falling into dreams of bygone youth mean for the health of a 45-year-old single man？But the headache tells me I don’t need a search engine to know the answer.This aimless way of life is murder on my brain cells.

<Hey，you there？>Roy’s words appear on the LCD screen.

<I’m here.>I find half a cigar in the ashtray，flick off the ash，and light it.

<You heard？They opened a discussion group on how to tell the difference between bluefin and southern bluefin tuna sashimi by sight，>Roy says.

<Did you join？>I exhale a mouthful of grassy smoke from my Swiss-manufactured cigar.

<Nah.It looked even more boring than the last discussion group.You know，the“Long-Term Observation of the Probability Distribution of Heads vs.Tails in Coin Flips”group.>Roy adds an emoticon：a helpless shrug.

<But you joined that one.>

<Yeah.I flipped a coin twenty times every day for fifteen days and reported my results to the group.>

<And then？>

<Turned out we got closer and closer to 50%.>Roy sends me a pained smiley.

<You knew that would happen from the start，>I say.

<Of course.But it’s so boring online that you have to find something or other to do，>Roy says.<Want to join the“Visually Differentiating Bluefin and Southern Bluefin Tuna Sashimi”group？>

<I’ll skip it.I’d rather read a book.>The cigar has burned to a stub.I pick up the whiskey glass and spit out foul-tasting saliva.

<Books，magazines，movies，TV...they all drive me crazy.The sheer dullness of everything will be the death of me.>Roy taps out a sticker—a big period—and disconnects.

I close the chat window and sign into a few literary and social network sites，hoping for something interesting to read.But just as my online friend said，everything seems to grow duller by the day.When I was young，the Internet was full of opinion，thought，and passion.Exuberant youths filled the virtual world with furious Socratic debate，while the brilliant but misanthropic waxed lyrical about their dreams of a new social order.I could sit unmoving in front of a computer screen until dawn as hyperlinks took my soul on whirlwind journeys.Now，I sift through front pages and notifications and never find a single topic worth clicking on.

The feeling is at once sickening and familiar.

On a social media site I frequent log in，I click the top news article，“Citizens gather at city hall to protest hobbyist fishermen’s inhumane treatment of earthworms.”A video window pops out：a gaggle of young people in garish shirts，beers in their left hands and crooked signs in their right，standing in the city square.The signs read“Say NO To Earthworm Abuse，”“Your Bait Is My Neighbor，”“Earthworms Feel Pain Just Like Your Dog.”

Did they have nothing else to do？If they really wanted to march and protest，couldn’t they have found an issue actually worth fighting for？My headache is returning in force，so I turn off the monitor.I flop onto the worn brown couch and tiredly shut my eyes.

2

In the scheme of an enormous aggregation of resources like this city，a low-income，45-year-old bachelor is utterly insignificant.I work three days a week，four hours a day，and my main duty is to read welfare petitions that meet basic requirements and pick the ones I empathize with most.In an age where computers have squeezed people out of most employment opportunities，using my“emotional intuition”to approve or reject government welfare requests is practically the perfect job，no training or background knowledge required.The Department of Social Welfare thought some measure of empathy was needed beyond the rigid rules and regulations to select the few lucky welfare recipients（from petitions that had already passed the automated preliminary checks，of course），and therefore invited individuals from all strata of society—including failures like me—to participate in the process.On Monday，Wednesday，and Friday mornings，I take the subway from my rented apartment to the little office I share with three coworkers in the Social Welfare Building.I sit in front of the computer and stamp my e-seal on petitions I take a liking to the quota varies day to day，but my work typically ends after thirty stamps.I use the remainder of the time to chat，drink coffee，and eat bagels until the end-of-shift bell rings.

Today’s a Monday like any other.I finish my four hours of work and swipe my card to leave.I walk toward the subway station，not far away，the grey granite edifice of the Social Welfare Building behind me.The performer is there at the subway entrance as usual，a one-man band whose repertoire consists of ear-splitting trumpeting accompanied by a monotonous drumbeat.As always，he glares at me balefully as I approach，perhaps because I haven’t given him a cent these few years.It makes me uncomfortable.The trumpet begins，the sound of a cat scratching at a glass pane.My lingering headache from yesterday begins to stir.I decide to turn away and catch the subway one station up.

The ground is still wet from the drizzle earlier this morning.Ponytailed youths whiz by me on skateboards.Two pigeons perch on a coffeeshop sign，cooing.The storefront windows reflect me：a thin，balding middle-aged man in a yellow windbreaker that used to be fashionable，with a brandy nose just like my father’s.I rub my nose and can’t help but think of the father I haven’t seen for so long.More precisely，I haven’t seen him since the banquet when I was twenty-two.My mother sometimes mentions him in her calls：I know that he still lives at the farm，that he’s raising cows，that he’s kept a few apple trees to brew hard cider，even though alcohol had destroyed his liver，and the doctors say that he’ll never drink again till science can cure his liver cancer.

To be honest，I don’t feel a bit of sorrow for him.Although my red nose and big-framed body are all inherited from him，I’ve spent my adult years trying to escape his shadow，trying to prevent myself from turning into a fat，selfish，bigoted old drunkard like him.Today，however，I find that the only thing I’ve successfully avoided is the fat.The greatest achievement of his life was marrying my mother.I don’t even have anything close to that.

“Stop right there！”A shout cuts short my self-pity.Several figures in black hoodies are sprinting my way，dodging and weaving through traffic.Two cops waving police batons stumble past braking cars in hot pursuit.One blows his whistle；the other is shouting.

The drivers’curses and the blaring of horns fill the air.I press myself against the coffee shop window.[Keep out of trouble.]In my mind’s eye，I see my father’s cigar-yellowed teeth flash amidst his whiskers.

The people in black hoodies knock over the trash bin by the street.They run past me—one，two，…a total of four people.I pretend I don’t see them，but I notice that they’re all wearing canvas shoes.They’re all young.Who hasn’t worn dirty canvas shoes in their youth？I look down at my own feet，encased in dull brown leather lace-ups.The surface of my shoes is covered in creases from long wear，like the wrinkles on my forehead I try valiantly to ignore when I look in the mirror.

Suddenly，someone’s hand blocks my view of my feet.He’s reaching into the pocket of my windbreaker，pulling out my right hand.I feel strange tickling sensations—he’s drawing something on my palm with his finger.Surprised，I raise my head.In front of me is the fourth person in black，small and thin，his eyes covered by his hoodie.He rapidly sketches something out on my palm，then pats my hand.“Do you understand？”

“Hurry！”the other three people in hoodies are hollering.The fourth person tosses a glance back at the steadily nearing police and leaves me to run after his friends.The cops are right behind，puffing and panting.“Stop right there！”one of them shouts hoarsely.The other has his whistle in his mouth，blowing raggedly.I’m certain they turn and look at me as they pass by，but they don’t say anything，only run into the distance，waving their batons.

The pursuers and the pursued turn the corner at the flower shop and leave my sight.On the damp street，the cars begin to move again，the pedestrians weaving among them as if nothing has happened.But the warmth of a stranger’s fingertip still lingers on my right hand.

3

“The usual？”the waitress in the diner below my apartment asks me.Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah—”I say automatically—“wait，add smoked salmon to the order.”The waitress，who already turned and started walking，makes an OK sign over her shoulder.

“Did something happen？You changed your order.”Slim is a coworker at the Social Welfare Building，and my only acquaintance close enough to call a friend.He has the ability to sniff out the pheromones other people give off without fail.In the five minutes since he’s sat down，he’s identified a middle-aged virgin，a pair of gay paramours，an aging housewife desperate enough to bed the pizza boy，a debauched teenager buying beer with his big brother’s ID card，and a sexually fulfilled paraplegic.

“For real，though，how would someone in a wheelchair have a fulfilling sex life？”I pick up my beer glass and take a sip.

“The higher the paralysis goes，the more likely he’s impotent.”Slim gestures at his own spine with a long，crooked arm.“Anyway，what about you？You’ve met the one，haven’t you？She’s a blonde，right？”His greyish eyes gleam with the pleasure of prodding at my privacy.

“Stop kidding.I ran into some demonstrators this afternoon.You know，the sort of hooligans you see crying out on the news for earthworms’rights.”I shake my head.“Thanks，”I say，taking the plate from the waitress.A meatball sandwich with pickles on the side—my dinner，forever and always.

“Kids with too much time.”Slim shakes his head.“Speaking of which，did you know...the word‘potato’comes from the Arawak language of Jamaica.”

Dimly，I think his voice sounded strange just then，when he was saying the second half of his sentence，as if something got stuck in his throat or the cold beer caused a relapse of my tinnitus.“No，I didn’t know.Not that I’m interested in some language no one speaks anymore.”I stick a slice of pickle in my mouth.

Slim widens his eyes in surprise.“You don’t care about this？”

His voice is back to normal.It was tinnitus，then.I should go see a doctor，if I haven’t reached my health insurance coverage limit this year.“I don’t give a damn，”I say with my mouth full.

“Fine，then.”He lowers his head and toys with his beer glass.The waitress brings his dinner to the table，and passes me my smoked salmon as well.

“Seriously，you two should go out and have some fun.Go to the strip club or something.”The waitress looks at our expressions，frowns，and leaves.

Slim and I wordlessly turn our heads toward the gaudy club front across the street.I take two fries from his plate and stuff them into my mouth，then push my smoked salmon toward him.“Have you felt that we haven’t had any interesting topics to talk about lately？”I say.

“You’re feeling it too？”Slim exclaims.“Beyond the sex lives I’ve sniffed out，I can barely find anything to talk about.I’ve found conversations so boring these last few years.”

“Maybe we’re just getting old？”I unhappily retrieve my right hand from the plate of fries.There’s a noticeable age spot on the back of my hand.It appeared just recently，awkward like the stain on my trousers the year I was twenty-two.

“I’m only forty-two！Jimenez was forty-one when he won the Welsh Open！”Slim cried，waving a French fry wildly.“The drudgery of work is making us this way.It’ll all be different once we retire.Don’t you agree，old buddy？”

“I sure hope so，”I answer distractedly.

4

I drink two more bottles of cold beer tonight.Waves of dizziness assault me once I’m through my apartment door.I make for my bedroom and collapse on the bed without bothering to shower.

The sheets smell strangely earthy.I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t changed them in so long，but on the bright side，the smell makes me think of the farm when I was little—not the farm that reeked of my father’s animal stench，but from before he started drinking，before he started abusing my mother.I’m thinking of the tranquil，peaceful farm where my mother，my sister，and I lived.

I remember my older sister and me playing in the newly-built granary，airy and filled with the clean fragrance of earth and fresh-cut wood.Sunlight spilled in through the little loft window，accompanying the smell of the cookies my mother baked.

When we got tired from running，we sat down with our backs against the wall.My sister pulled my right hand over.“Close your eyes，”she told me.I obediently shut my eyes，the sunlight glowing dusky red on the inside of my eyelids.My palm tickled.I giggled and tried to pull my hand back.“Guess what word I’m writing.”My sister was laughing too，her finger scratching around on my palm.

I thought a bit.“I don’t know.Write slower！”I complained.My sister wrote the word again，more slowly.

“Horse？”I slowly answered，looking at her.

“That’s right！”My sister laughed and ruffled my hair.“Let’s play again！If you can get five words right，I’ll let you ride my pony for two days.”

“Really？”I excitedly closed my eyes.

My palm started to tickle again.I barely held back my giggles.“It’s...‘crow’this time？”

“That was‘road’，dumb-butt！”My sister flicked my nose，laughing，and jumped to her feet.“First one there gets the biggest frosting cookie！”

“Wait for me—”

I stretch out an arm.I open my eyes to fluorescent lighting and the ceiling，one corner stained with water.The family living above me forgot to turn off their bath tap again.I’ll get the apartment managers to teach them a lesson this time，I think，realizing that I’d woken up from my dream of childhood.My shirt smells sour from alcohol after a day of wear.My neck and back ache from my awkward sleeping position.It takes me five minutes to sit up，look at the alarm clock，and see that it’s only one in the morning.

I feel better after a shower and a few glasses of water，but I don’t feel like sleeping anymore.I put on pajamas and sit on the living room couch.I flick on the TV；as usual，there’s nothing interesting at all on the late night shows.As I flip through the channels，I notice the ugly blotch on my right hand again.I scrub at it with my left hand，even though I know something like that can never be rubbed off.

The sudden faint itching on my palm makes me shiver.Wait，what’s this feeling？I—I recognize it from the dream，my sister scrawling childish characters on my hand...

Today at noon，the stranger in the black hoodie wasn’t tracing some mysterious symbols or gang signs on my palm.

He was writing.No，she was writing.The stranger was a woman.The black hoodie had hidden her other features，but that slender finger couldn’t have belonged to a man.What had she written？

I frantically dig out pencil and paper and set them on the coffee table.I try with all my might to recall what I felt.The last word had been written by my sister before...yes，it’s“ROAD.”

I write“ROAD”on the sheet of paper.

There was another word in front of it.She had written it quickly，very quickly.From my long years approving petitions，I’ve found that people will write words with pleasant associations that way，fast and fluid，words like“smile”“forever”“hope”“fulfillment”.She’d written a short word，standing for something good，with two vowels...aha！“EDEN.”That’s right，the garden of paradise.

I write“EDEN”before“ROAD.”

Even before those words had come a string of numbers，Arabic numerals.She wrote them twice over for emphasis.I wrinkle my brow，carefully recalling every movement of her fingertip.7，2，9，5？No，the first number traced the outside edge of my palm，so there should have been another bend at the end.It was 2，then 2，8，9，5.I check my recollections again.That’s it.

I write“2895”on the left.

The paper reads“2895 Eden Road”.

I flop down in front of the computer，open up a map site，and enter“2895 Eden Road”.The page shows Eden Road to be on the other side of the city from me，far from the downtown area and the slums near the financial center.But Eden Road doesn’t have a 2895.The building numbers end at 500.

I rub my temple，translating each number back to a sensation on my skin，a tingling line traced on my palm.I stare at my hand.2，8，9，that was right.5...oh，of course，it could have been an“S.”I type in“289S Eden Road，”and the map site shows me a four-story apartment building halfway down Eden Road.It’s at the outskirts of the city，forty-five kilometers from here.“Got it！”I triumphantly smack my keyboard and leap to my feet，only to fall back on my ass，dizzied by the blood rushing into my head.

What would I find there？I haven’t a clue.But I do know that in the forty-five years I’ve lived by the book，I’ve never had an adventure where a woman in a black hoodie left me a contact address in a cloak-and-dagger manner—well，my path never seemed to cross with the ladies at all，loser that I am.Something interesting has finally appeared in my dull and listless life.Whether driven by the urging of my hormones，as sharp-nosed Slim would say，or my aroused curiosity，I decide to put on a windbreaker and go to 289S Eden Drive to find something new.

Don’t make trouble，kid.As I prepare to leave，I see my father in the mirror opposite the door，his belly bulging，a bottle of gin in hand.

Oh，fuck you.I stride out the door like I did twenty-three years ago.

5

I own a motorcycle，long unused.In college，I’d been as captivated by the latest high-tech toys as all the other young people were：the newest phone，tablet，plasma TV，electricity-generating sneakers，high-horsepower motorbike.Who doesn’t love Harley-Davidson and Ducati？But I couldn’t afford such expensive brand-name motorcycles.When I was twenty-six，I found a Japanese exchange student about to return home because his visa was expiring，and at last managed to buy this black Kawasaki ZXR400R with only 8000 miles from him.She was in excellent condition，her brake disks gleaming like new，the roar of her exhaust pipes mesmerizing.I couldn’t wait to ride over to my friends and show her off，but they’d long since grown bored of motorcycles.They came to the bars and talked about women with their brand-new Mercedes-Benzes and Cadillacs parked outside.

From then on，I didn’t really have friends anymore.When I put on my tie and rode my Kawasaki to work，everyone would look askance at me and my ride，smacking of youthful rebellion.In the end，I gave up and locked my beloved motorbike away in storage.There she stayed as I grew older and met one failure after another in my career.In the blink of an eye，I’d turned into a forty-five-year-old single alcoholic.Sometimes，on a sunny day，I’d ask my beloved Kawasaki as I cleaned her：Old buddy，when do you want to go out for a ride again？She never answered me.Every time I thought I could work up the courage to take her out for a ride，the grotesque mental picture of a balding middle-aged man hunched over the sleek motorcycle turned my stomach.It reminded me of the sickening way my drunken father would self-assuredly hit on every woman he saw.

I make my way down the battered apartment stairwell and unlock the dusty doors to the public storage room.I find my motorbike half buried in empty beer cans and pull the tarp aside.The Kawasaki 400R’s jet-black paintwork is covered with dust，but the tires are still full of air，and all the gears still gleam with oil.I uncap a small spare gas can and pour the contents into the tank，then turn the key，testing the ignition.The four-cylinder four-stroke engine howls to life without hesitation.My old buddy hasn’t let me down.

“Asshole，do you know what time it is？”When I walk my motorbike out of the storage room，a beer bottle smashes to pieces at my feet.I look up and see the landlady yelling from the second story window，a nightcap on her head.I don’t apologize like I would have usually done.I just get on my motorcycle and rev the engine，the roar reverberating up and down the street.I loose the clutch at her shouts of“Are you crazy？”Amidst the squeal of tires and the smell of burning rubber，I whoop with excitement，and my apartment and the strip club retreat from me at breakneck speed.

The wind howls.I’m not wearing a helmet；I feel the air resistance mold the flabby flesh of my face into comical shapes，and the hair I grow long for my comb-over whips behind me.But I don’t care how many people might be around at one in the morning to see an ugly middle-aged man racing by on a motorcycle.At this moment，the endless monotony of my life has at least been broken by thirst for the pursuit of happiness.

The ride is over too quickly.The sign for Eden Road appears before I’ve had my fill of racing through the empty city streets.I decelerate and shift to second gear，turning my head to read the numbers on the doors.Looking at the map，the subway and light rail stations closest to Eden Road are two kilometers away；this is a place forgotten by the city’s development.The street isn’t wide，and dingy old cars line both sides of the road.The rundown three-and four-story buildings beyond them are crammed against each other，the majority looking more dilapidated than my own apartment building.Most of the streetlights are dark，and the Kawasaki 400R’s headlamps sketch an orange halo against the black street.A feral cat jumps out of a trash bin，eyes me，and pads off.

At this point，I’ve calmed down enough to wonder whether crossing the city at night for an unfamiliar district in search of a stranger’s cryptic address was a rational decision.Every telephone pole could conceal a knife-wielding mugger，maybe even a black market doctor in search of organs to steal.I want to escape my dreary life，but I definitely don’t want to escape it only to end up as a gory crime scene photo in tomorrow’s newspaper.

I decelerate as much as I can，but it’s too quiet here，and the rumble of the Kawasaki’s engine sounds louder than a B-52 pressed back into active duty.Luckily，at this point，a bronze door plate appears in the headlights：289A/B/C/D/S Eden Road.

I stop by the roadside，kill the engine，and turn off the headlights.A deathly silence instantly engulfs me.On both sides，Eden Road has fallen into darkness.In front of the door to the apartment building at 289 is the only light，a weak incandescent lamp；its shade wobbles in the wind，making muffled metallic scraping noises.

Dammit，I should have brought a flashlight.Cold sweat seeps from my back.Right，my cell phone.My cell phone.I pat my windbreaker all over and finally find my old-fashioned phone in an inner pocket.I turn on the flash；the football-sized spot of white light comforts me somewhat.

I walk up and gently pull open the doors to 289 Eden Street.The doors aren’t locked.The glass pane in one door is broken，but there’s no glass on the floor.

It’s even darker inside.My cell phone barely illuminates a long-unused front desk with a yellowing ledger tucked behind it：this used to be a hotel.There are stairs on the right.I walk closer，shining my light on the walls.The letters A through D are written crookedly on the walls，followed by an arrow pointing up.There’s no“S”.

I point my cell phone light up.The stairs lead into a pitch black second floor，and I can’t see anything.Don’t make trouble！my father repeats idly.I wave the irritating memory away.When the beam of light swings behind the staircase，I see that there are no stairs down.Typically，there would be a closet in the triangular region below a set of stairs，and I spot its door，painted discordantly green.The doorknob is unexpectedly shiny，seemingly at odds with the dilapidated building around me.

I step toward the door，my old brown leather shoes tapping against the badly worn terrazzo.The brass doorknob is as smooth and oily as it looks.I try to turn it.There’s no lock on the door，and I push it open，revealing a long set of narrow stairs.My cell phone light doesn’t penetrate far enough for me to see how deep they go.

I don’t hear anything.It’s as quiet as a grave.Should I go down？I weigh my options，looking at the battery percentage icon on my phone display.I make up my mind and start down.

The stairs are only wide enough for one person，and the walls press in on me.I shine the cell phone at my feet and count about forty steps before a wall appears in front of me，where the stairs double back.I continue forward—down toward the center of the earth，I suppose.

It’s not a fun experience.My heart thumps loudly，and my blood presses at my eyes.The sound of my footsteps bounces off the walls，echoing at times in front of me，at times behind me，and I look back more than once.Another forty steps later，my cell phone reveals a green wooden door ahead，slightly ajar.A big brass letter hangs on it：“S”No.light shines through the crack.

I’m here，then，at 289S Eden Road.For a second，I’m not sure if I should knock.If the strange woman’s message was intended as a personal invitation，I’d be amiss to come at two in the morning，whether I knocked or not.If the message was an invitation for some sort of secret organization，how else was I supposed to enter？I lick my dry lips.I need a glass of whiskey.I’ll even settle for beer.

I push the door open all the way and walk in.All I see is darkness.I raise my cell phone in my left hand to better illuminate my surroundings.In that moment，my scalp prickles so hard I can feel the plates of my skull being squeezed together.I can’t help but turn my tensed neck like a searchlight，shining my phone over each corner of the room.

This is pretty big as basements go，the walls plain，pipes and concrete everywhere，the air damp and moldy.A couple dozen—maybe a couple hundred—people in black hoodies sit cross-legged on the floor，hand in hand.No one’s talking.Even the sound of their breathing is as faint as the beat of a mosquito’s wings.Their eyes are closed.

My light shines on one face after another.Under the hoods，there are men，women，old people，young people，whites，blacks，Asians，and on each face is the same eerie expression of joy.No one reacts to my unexpected entrance；their eyes don’t even move under their eyelids.The air in the basement congeals in my lungs.I stand frozen at the doorway，my throat working uselessly.

I need a drink.In my mind’s eye，my father always carries that bottle of gin，the clear alcohol sloshing against the glass.I’ll leave here first.Get out，ride my motorbike back to the apartment，then pour myself a full glass of whiskey.I swallow，feeling my Adam’s apple bob jerkily，and start to back out of the room，slowly，one step at a time.I reach out my right hand to pull the door shut.I stare at my hand to avert my gaze from the strange gathering，at the ugly splotch.I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow and get that damn laser surgery done，I decide，and have a doctor to look at my tinnitus while I’m there.

Then a hand suddenly descends onto mine.The black-clad arm comes from the other side of the door，and the fingers are slender but strong.I feel every hair on my body stand on end.The flashlight falls from my left hand and goes dim.I’m left in darkness.I can’t move.I can’t think.

A finger gently reaches for my palm.The familiar tingling sensation begins again.It was the mysterious woman from yesterday；I think I can read her fingerprint from her fingertip.Or is it just bioelectricity？I mentally read the words she writes：“Don’t be afraid.Come...share...transmit.”

Don’t be afraid.Share what？Transmit what？Did I miss words between these？The hand pulls me forward，and I follow unthinkingly with clumsy steps，reentering the silent room.The air is like thick printer’s ink.The mysterious woman tugs me through the darkness slowly，toward the depths of the room.I’m afraid that I’m going to step on one of the sitting strangers in black，but our circuitous path is free from obstacles.At last，the woman stops and writes，“Sit”.

I grope around，but there’s nothing around me.I sit down on the ice-cold cement，my eyes wide open，but I still can’t see anything.The woman’s breathing flutters at the edge of my hearing.Her left hand still rests against my palm，cold，the skin smooth.Her finger starts moving.I close my eyes and read the words she traces onto my palm：“Sorry.Thought.Knew.Don’t.Afraid.Friends.”

“Sorry，I thought you already knew what this is about.Don’t be afraid.We’re friends.We’re all friends here.”With a bit of imagination，her touch could be translated into eloquent words.I still don’t understand why she didn’t just talk，but this isn’t bad either.My fear melts away like hail in sunlight.Slowly，I adjust to the blinding darkness and the touch in the center of my hand.

She moves closer and finds my left hand，pressing my finger against her right palm.I understand immediately.I write in her palm，“I’m fine.This is one heck of an experience.”

“Slower，”she writes.

I slow down and write one character at a time，“I’m.Great.Fascinating.”

“You learn fast.”She draws a shallow crescent shape that I interpret as a smiley.

“You.Meet.Here.”I write，followed by a question mark.

“Yes，the society meets daily，”she replies.

“What for？What kind of organization are you？Why did you invite me？”

“We hold discussions through finger-talking.You’ll love it.I saw you on the street staring at that window，lost in thought，and supposed you must be lonely like me.You must find the world so dull.”

“Me？Yes，I suppose.To tell the truth，I do find life stifling.But before I met you，I never thought to do something about it.”

“Start now，then.”She draws another smiley.It’s at that moment that I think I’ve fallen in love with her，even though I’ve never seen her face，never smelled a woman’s perfume on her.

“What am I supposed to do now？”I ask.

“Members arrange themselves in a circle，each person linked to two others.Write with your left hand and let someone else write on your right.Whatever you want to hear about，whatever you want to say，is up to you.I left the ring just then to meet with you，”she replies.

“I think I understand the gist.”I think some more.“Then I won’t be able to converse with someone like I’m doing now？I can only speak to the person on my left，and listen to the person on my right.”

“That can’t be helped in the general gathering.But privately...whatever you want.”

“If—just out of curiosity—I were interested in the person to the right of me.If we alternate writing between my right hand and his left，couldn’t we have a one-on-one conversation？”

“That’s not allowed.The rules of the finger-talking gathering require facilitating a unidirectional flow of information.But you can make a topic and transmit it so that the person you’re interested joins.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Say you want to talk about the president with the person on your right.Spread the topic“What does everyone think of the president’s foreign exchange reserves policy？”to the person on your left.They might add in their viewpoint，or transmit the original topic unchanged.When the topic goes around and reaches the person to your left，he can now give you his opinion.Finger-talking gatherings aren’t meant for dialogues.The fun lies in sharing thoughts and transmitting opinions.I’ve been told this resembles the old，extinct topological structure of the Internet.”

“Sounds complicated.”I don’t understand why they had to invent such a strange mechanism for having conversations.There are plenty of forums and discussion groups on the Internet，and chatting over a beer at bars is even better.But since my bizarre experiences have led me to this mysterious gathering，I’m not going to pass on a chance to try it out.“Can I join the gathering right now？”

“There’s too much info being passed around for a beginner.Your slow speed of transmission will clog up the entire circle.We use a lot of abbreviations and references to increase efficiency，and you’ll need time to learn them，”she replies，and spends the next five minutes demonstrating those special abbreviations.“You don’t seem like a newbie，”she says，surprised at the speed at which I pick them up.She draws a big letter P to represent sticking out her tongue.

My sister’s and my little secret，I think.“Don’t worry，let me try it.”

“Okay，”she says eventually.“I’ll move to your left.We’ll step forward three steps to one of the nodes in the ring.Pat the shoulder of the person on your right，and he’ll break the connection.Take his left hand in your right hand.Remember，you have to be quick.”

We exchange positions.She holds my left hand in her right and leads me forward until I can dimly feel the body heat of the person in front of me.I kneel，feel someone’s shoulder come into contact with my hand，and pat it.The person immediately moves to the right to leave me a spot.I sit down with the woman hand in hand，and the person finds my right hand and takes it.

The hand is a man’s，hard and knobby and powerfully muscled，but his finger is astonishingly nimble.My palm is instantly covered with rapid writing.He’s so fast that I can’t even identify every letter.I focus on capturing the keywords and abbreviations，and guessing the meaning of the sentence from there.Before my brain has time to take in each message，the next sentence assaults me—my skin evidently hasn’t become sufficiently sensitive for the flood of finger-talking information.As I frantically decipher the words，I pass on what I can to her on the left.“Opposition party...scandal...resignation crisis...secret police...pursuit...”I can only retransmit some of the keywords in the message，but I’m hooked.No one brings up politics in my online groups anymore.I want to add my own viewpoint for her，but the next message has arrived already.“Spaceplane wreck...Jamaica.Scandal.Fuel leak.NASA’s lost government support？Russian attack.”The first part is the topic，and after it are everyone’s opinions.I think I’m getting used to this method of receiving information.She’s right，I’m not a newbie.But the fingers on my left hand can’t quickly and clearly transmit information no matter how hard I try.After a few attempts，I write dejectedly，“Sorry.”

Her palm is cool and smooth，like the fresh new blackboard in my elementary school classroom.In response，she extends a finger and stealthily writes three words on my left hand：“I forgive you.”

I can feel the corners of my mouth lift.“You just told me this is against the rules，”I write.

“You’re getting better.”She breaks the rules again and adds a smiley face.

6

Knocking on my door wakes me.I cover my ears with my pillow，hoping that whoever is at my door will go away.But five minutes later，I have no choice but to put on a night robe，shuffle into my slippers，and walk toward the living room.The knocker is persistent but unhurried.I look out the peephole；the brim of a policeman’s cap blocks my view.“Damn，”I mutter.I unlock the door and open it.“What can I do for you？”

“Good morning.”The cop leaning against the wall takes off his cap and shows me his badge.“Can I have five minutes of your time，sir？It’s purely protocol，”he says listlessly.

“Sure，five minutes.”I return to the living room and flop down on the couch.I pour myself half a glass of bourbon.The clock reads Tuesday 1：30 PM，and my night of tossing and turning has reactivated my headache.I pour the amber-colored alcohol down my throat and exhale slowly.My computer screen brightens—Roy left a message：I joined that discussion group after all.It’s a little more interesting than I thought.

The cop looks to be about thirty，short，with an old-fashioned mustache.He makes himself at home in my armchair.He looks around，sizing up my little apartment.“Nice place.”

“It was nicer twenty years ago，”I reply.

The cop sets his cap on my coffee table and takes out a tablet and stylus from his pocket.After a moment of consideration，he tosses them aside and falls against the armchair’s backrest.“Even I know this is completely pointless，”he sighs.

“Just doing your job，right？”I say sympathetically.

“Yes，job.”He frowns as he unwillingly picks up the tablet.“Let’s see...you work at the Social Welfare Building.Mondays，Wednesdays，Fridays，”he reads.

“That’s right，”I reply.

“You’re forty-five and single.Last year，you were convicted of medical insurance fraud and sentenced to two weeks of community service.”He sounds mildly surprised.

“The hospital got my coverage limits wrong！They apologized afterward，”I explain irritably.

“We received a complaint today at 1：12 AM saying you were disturbing the neighbors？”The policeman idly combed at his mustache with the tip of his stylus.

“Uh...”Remembering the experiences of last night，I feel a surge of apprehension.Is the cop’s visit tied to the finger-talking gathering？I don’t think sitting in the dark in large groups and scribbling against one another’s palms is illegal，but my instincts tell me to say nothing，to keep this secret.Don’t make trouble，as my father used to say to me.“I had some beers last night.When I woke，I thought I’d take my motorcycle out for a spin，nothing more.I apologize if I disturbed the neighbors.”

“I see.You were taking your motorcycle out for a spin.”The cop lethargically writes something on the tablet.“I understand a man’s need for adventure.Well，that’s it，then.You know we don’t take those neurotic old ladies’complaints too seriously，but protocol is protocol.”He stands，sticks his cap under his arm，and stuffs the tablet and stylus back into his pocket.

“That’s it？”I stand，in disbelief.

“Thank you for your cooperation，”the cop recites，and turns to leave.I follow after him with my whiskey glass in hand.Just as I prepare to close the door，the short policeman turns and raises his black eyes to mine.“Right，you didn’t take your motorbike anywhere you shouldn’t go，I hope.”

“Somewhere I’m shouldn’t go？Of course not，”I reply quickly.

“Oh，your motorcycle went southeast，out of surveillance camera coverage.You must have come across some really unique little neighborhood.Crime rates may have fallen to their lowest in fifty years，but in my job you learn that there’s still all sorts of bad people in this world.Have a nice day，sir.”He pats my shoulder with a not-quite smile，puts on his cap，nods in farewell，and trots down the squeaking wood steps.

I slam in the deadbolt and lean against the door，gasping for breath.Was the cop really onto something？Are the woman and the finger-talking gathering doing something illegal？That’s right.I’m an idiot.I smack my forehead，remembering that when I met her yesterday，she and her friends were being chased by two policemen.

I need to see her again.The strange and strangely fascinating conversations of the finger-taking gathering ended at three in the morning.The people in black hoodies streamed out of the spartan basement of 289S Eden Road in silence，and I’d lost her among the crowd.I obeyed the rules of the gathering and didn’t call out for her.Later，I realized that I didn’t even know her name.

I need to see her again.

7

By the time I log in，Roy has left.I sigh and turn off my computer.

The finger-talking gathering begins at midnight.I’d never waited so anxiously for sundown.I stand up，sit down，change the TV channel，sit blankly on the toilet staring into space.I repeatedly check my watch.To while away the time，I take the Bolívar No.2 cigar I’d secreted away for so long out of the humidor.I open the precious aluminum cigar tube，carefully cut the closed end，and light it with a match.I take a deep drag and exhale it slowly.The rich，intense smoke of premium Cuban cigar makes me dizzy with pleasure，but guilt quickly follows.A thirty-dollar cigar？I don’t deserve it.A thing so splendid should remain forever in my crude humidor，to be admired from a distance the same way as the beautiful Kawasaki.

And my motorcycle…it had functioned less smoothly on the ride home，the engine coughing weakly.I think the aging carburetor’s losing efficiency；my old buddy’s getting along in years，after all.I ought to use a safer，less traceable method of transportation to go to Eden Road.I turn my mind to that problem，idly clicking the TV remote through channels.The TV shows are as boring as the Internet.None of the topics from yesterday’s gathering appeared at all，never mind the accompanying bold discussion and critiques.Impatient and restless，I suck away at my cigar until the stub burns my fingers，then go to my bedroom and dig in my closet until I find a dark blue hoodie from my college years.I put it on，flip up the hood，and walk in front of my mirror.

The wrinkled hoodie bears the image of Steve Jobs—someone that this generation of young people might never have heard of—printed in black and white on its front.It fits well：I haven’t gained a pound since I graduated.From the depths of the hood floats the bloodless，hollow-cheeked，baggy-eyed face of a middle-aged man.It tries to smile，but coupled with the big brandy nose，it looks comical.

This is why I long for the finger-talking gathering.In darkness，no one needs to see your ugly face.All you have is the touch of a fingertip and a thought put into writing.I push back the hood and carefully comb my hair to the right，but I can’t cover the balding top of my head no matter what I do.

The sky is finally dark.I stack crackers and cheese，press down，and heat it in the oven.Then I open a bottle of beer and have myself a simple dinner.The cheese gives me heartburn.I can’t suppress the pounding of my heart.In my hoodie，I pace in the living room.The TV shows some guy with too much time carrying a massive sign in front of the city hall.The protestor is surrounded by a sizable audience，but no one seems to be joining him.I think I see a few people in black hoodies in the crowd.Is it them？I toss down the remote and pull up my hood，determined to go take a look.

There aren’t many people on the subway.A number of them pretend to be watching the commercials on the display screens while secretly sizing me up.

Two teenagers with fashionable mushroom-shaped hair discuss me quietly.“Who’s the guy on that old geezer’s sweatshirt？”

“Some religious leader，probably.Like Luc Jouret or something.”

“Uh，who’s that？”

You’re half right，ignorant kids.I pull my hood lower.In my time，Steve Jobs was as good as a religious leader，until the Internet degenerated into senselessness and everyone tossed aside their complicated smartphones for basic phones that could only make calls.

I arrive at the city square half an hour later.The protestor stands in the middle of the brightly-lit lawn.His sign is ridiculously huge，covered with several rows of garishly colored writing.I can’t see what it says with my deteriorating vision.Is this a side effect of overdrinking，like the tinnitus？My mother says that my father is blind as a mole now.I can’t imagine what he looks like，what remains of his bushy beard，red face，brawny arms，his massive beer belly，and I don’t care to find out.

A crowd has gathered to watch him afar.A few cops are leaning against the side of their police car，chewing gum.Skater kids are showing off their tricks on the steps.In front of a TV van，a reporter and a camera man are chatting.In contrast，the protestor seems all alone.I walk closer，squinting at the sign.The red text on the top reads，“Wood-burning fireplaces are the leading cause of global warming.”Below it，“For every traditional fireplace you tear down，Mother Earth lives another day”is written in blue.

I wrinkle my brow.The First Amendment wasn’t made for idle crap like this.Where are the incisive opinions from the finger-talking gathering？I approach the crowd，trying to find the people in black hoodies，but at this time the police come up and ask the protestor to leave for the sake of the grass，and the crowd disperses too.I can’t find anyone I recognize.Two cops turn their gazes on me questioningly.One of them points at the portrait on my hoodie，and the other guffaws in realization.I quickly turn and leave.

Without thinking，I ride the subway eastward and get off at the terminal station.I hail a taxi，telling the driver，“289 Eden Road.”

“Eden Road？”the driver grumbles.“I hope you’re planning to tip well.”

The car turns onto a side road.The city around us grows more and more run-down，and the streetlights dwindle.When the taxi stops in the middle of the darkened Eden Road，my anxiety and hope rise as one.“Thinking of going elsewhere，pal？I know some good hotels.”The taxi driver takes my fee and opens the door for me.

“No，it’s fine.I like quiet.”I get off，shut the car door，and wave.The taxi’s taillights brighten，then quickly diminish and disappear into the distance.It’s nine o’clock right now，but Eden Road is already silent as a grave.I walk toward the front door of 289 Eden Road with its missing glass panel.After some thought，I open the door and enter.

I know I’ve arrived too early，but I thought that the anticipation would add to tonight’s gathering.Like yesterday，my heart is thumping，but this time it’s out of excitement rather than fear.I find the door at the back of the stairs by the light of the wobbly incandescent lamp and turn the brass doorknob.The dark，narrow forty steps appear before me.I’ve lost my cell phone，and neither do I have a flashlight.I adjust my hood，close my eyes，and walk into the deepening darkness.One，two，three，four，five...thirty-nine，forty.There’s a wall in front of me now.The stairs double back here.I grope around，exploring with my right foot until I find the next stair.One，two，three...thirty-nine，forty.Both my feet are on flat ground.The green door with the brass letter S should be in front of me.Filled with hope，I reach out.

My fingers touch cold concrete.

Had I misremembered？I summon last night’s experiences to my mind.There was only this door at the end of the stairs.This door，and nothing else.I’m sure of it.I clearly recall the gleam of the brass S.I shuffle to the left and right，but touch only concrete wall on either side.The place directly in front of the stairs，where the door should have been，is also rough wall.The stairs have taken me to a dead end.

I can feel the blood pounding in my head.My ears feel hot，and the headache is returning.Calm，I tell myself.I need to calm down.Breathe deeply.Breathe deeply.I take off my hood and suck in a slow breath.The cold，damp basement air fills my lungs，and my overheated brain cools down a little.

Once I’ve taken a few minutes to calm down，I start to look for the vanished door again，but there are no signs that there had ever been a door here.The rough wall scrapes my fingertips raw.I sit down，despairing.

Where are your friends now？My father’s face appears in the darkness，sneering carelessly.

Shut up！I yell.I bury my head in the crook of my arm and cover my ears.

I told you，don’t make trouble.My father wipes a trickle of beer from the corner of his mouth.His breath is hot and foul.His arm is around my sister，whose blue eyes glisten with tears.My mother is to the side，crying.

Shut up！I scream.

You’re eighteen now.Get the hell out of my house.Get a job，or go to your goddamn university，but I don’t have to let you live under my roof anymore，my father roared，throwing the suitcase at my feet.My sister hides herself in the kitchen，tears running down her face as she looks at me.My mother is holding a pot；her face is expressionless.

Shut up！I scream hysterically.

I don’t know how much time passed.You can’t tell time accurately in the dark.It might have been a nightmare，or maybe I’d never fallen asleep in the first place.I stand up slowly，letting the wall take some of my weight.I’ve been curled up too long；every joint cries out in protest.All I want to do is go back to my little apartment，down a big glass of whiskey，no ice，and turn on the TV.Forget my absurd dream from last night.Forget the lingering sensation on my palm.Forget that there ever was such a thing as the ridiculously named finger-talking gathering.

I stride forward.My left foot strikes something.It rolls，then glows to life，a spot of white light illuminating the narrow space.It was the cell phone I lost at the door last night，my ridiculed，one-of-a-kind old fashioned smartphone.

It wasn’t a dream.Strength surges into me instantly.I pick up the phone；the battery is almost depleted，but it’s enough to let me properly examine the wall in front of me.Yes.This portion of the wall is brand-new，troweled together in a hurry with fast-setting concrete.Where the wall meets the floor，I see a wooden doorframe buried in the depths of the crack.The door is there，just hidden by people trying to keep it secret.

I knock on the wall and find that the cement is too thick for me to break through.The people in black hoodies weren’t some hallucination.They’d simply changed their meeting place and forgot to tell me.I comfort myself with that.

I wait there until two in the morning，but no one comes.I climb back up the stairs，walk to the subway station two kilometers away，and hail a taxi back to my apartment from there.Step by step，I climb up the squeaking stairs.My thoughts are in a muddle，but I still need to work Wednesday morning.As I open the door to my apartment，I plan to drink a glass，take a shower，and get some proper sleep.

I freeze at the doorway.Someone in a black hoodie is sitting on my couch.

8

I pick up the e-seal and stamp the social welfare petition on my display：a newly immigrated family with six children.The green indicator light on the e-seal turns red，telling me that I’ve used up today’s approval quota.I relax into my chair and work the cramp out of my wrist.There’s still half an hour until my shift ends.

The pretty blonde girl who shares my cubicle stands up to invites everyone to her birthday party.“We’d...welcome you too，if you have the time，”she says belatedly to me，out of what I know is forced courtesy.

“Sorry，I have an important date the next day.But happy birthday！”I reply.She visibly gives a sigh of relief and puts her hand to her chest.“Thanks.That’s a pity.I hope the date goes well.”

To a girl her age，I’m from another generation，and I understand an out-of-place old man at a party can be a disaster.But the date wasn’t an empty excuse.I can still feel her message on my right palm：Tomorrow in the city square at 6 AM.

I don’t know how she found me，how she got in my apartment，or how long she waited there.After a moment of surprise，I walked over and took her hand.The neon lights of the strip club flashed through the window，splashing her black hoodie with radiant colors.I still couldn’t see her face properly.“Sorry，we changed the meeting place.We couldn’t contact you in time，”she wrote.

“Did I cause trouble for you？”I ask.

“No.The situation’s complicated.Only a few core members went to the finger-talking gathering just now.We’ve had some internal disagreements.”At the end of the sentence，her finger tapped out a few hesitant ellipses.

“About what？”

“About whether to do something stupid.”She drew two wavy lines under“stupid.”

“I don’t understand，”I write honestly.

“If you’re willing to listen，I can tell you how the finger-talking gathering came to be，how we’re organized，the struggles between the factions，and our ultimate goal.”She wrote it in one long sentence.

“I don’t want to know，”I reply.“I don’t want to turn these interesting conversations into politics.”

“You don’t understand.”She draws a greater than sign，a sigh.I’m realizing that she expresses even the most basic emotions through writing.“You must have noticed how the Internet，TV，books have lost any semblance of intelligence.”

“Yes！”I feel a rush of excitement.“I don’t know why，but every topic worth arguing over has disappeared.All that’s left is pointless bullshit.I’ve tried tossing provocative topics out in discussion more than once，but no one would reply.Everyone’s more interested in sashimi and earthworms.I noticed it years ago，but no one believed me.The doctor gave me pills to get rid of the hallucination.But I know this isn’t a hallucination！”

“It’s not just these.Conversations with friends and the things you see on the street are becoming as bland as the Internet and the media.”

“How do you know？”I nearly stood.

“It’s all a conspiracy.”She pressed hard writing this，hard enough to hurt.

“A conspiracy？Like the moon landing thing？”

“Like Watergate.”Her writing grew agitated，harder to decipher.

“I think you need to tell me everything.”

“Then we’ll start with politics.”

“Hold on...when’s the next gathering？Can I join？”

“This is what we’re arguing about.Those in support of action think we should hold our next gathering in a public place，like the city square.We shouldn’t keep running and hiding.We should show what we believe in，no compromises”she tells me.

“I’m guessing that the police don’t like you guys very much.”I once again recalled the first time I saw her，chased by two panting cops.

“They don’t have anything on the organization as a whole.It’s just some individual members who have criminal records，especially the activists，”she answers frankly.

“You have a criminal record？”I ask，curious.

“It’s a long story.”She was unwilling to say anything more.

I work up my courage and ask the question at last.“What’s your name？”

Her finger stilled.I tried to scrutinize her face under the hood，but the hood concealed her face entirely.It even hid any sex characteristics.I suddenly realized that my only evidence that she was female was her slender fingers.She could just as easily be a young man，I thought，though my heart utterly rejected the idea.I wanted her to be a woman like my big sister，flaxen-haired and soft-voiced and a little mischievous，freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose.The sort of woman I’d been seeking all my life.

“You’ll know it in time，”she said eventually，avoiding my question.

“Actually，I’m more curious about—”the exquisite sensation of my left finger on her right palm was interrupted by the sudden howl of a police siren approaching rapidly.She straightened，alert，and pulled her hood lower.“I’m leaving now，”she wrote rapidly.“If you want，be there tomorrow in the city square at 6 AM.Remember，this is your choice.This is your chance to change the world，or more likely，regret it to the end of your days.Either way，don’t blame anyone else，especially not me，for your own decision.And I might as well add，I think bald men are sexier.”

She squeezed my right hand with her delicate but strong fingers，got off the sofa，and vaulted out of the living room window.I hurried over to look down.She’d already climbed down nimbly from the fire escape and disappeared around the corner.I touched my balding head，somewhat dazed.

9

For a variety of reasons，I sank into a deep depression the year I was thirty-seven.The landlady persuaded me to go to her shrink，threatening that if I didn’t get treatment，she’d kick my ass out of the apartment.I knew that she just didn’t want me to overdose and leave my corpse in one of her rooms，but I’m grateful to her all the same after the fact.

The man was a Swede with a beard like Freud’s.“I’m not a psychologist，”he said，once we’d talked some.“I’m a psychiatrist.We don’t consult here.We fix problems.You’ll need to take medications if you don’t want to dream every night of your sister’s grave.”

“I’m not afraid of pills，doctor，”I reply.“As long as the insurance covers it.I’m not afraid of dreaming of the sister I love，either，even if she crawls out of the grave every time.I’m afraid of what’s happening around me.Do you feel it，doctor？Tick-tock，tick-tock，like the second hand on a clock.Here，there，endlessly.”

The psychiatrist leans over，full of interest.“Tell me what you feel.”

“Something’s dying，”I say in a low voice，glancing around me.“Can’t you smell it rotting？The commentary on the news，the newspaper columnists，the online forums，the spirit of freedom is dying.It’s dying en masse like mosquitoes sprayed with DDT.”

“All I see is the advancement of society and democracy.Have you thought whether some paranoia-inducing mental disorder may be causing this suspicion toward everything，including the harmonious cultural atmosphere？”The psychiatrist leaned back，fingers interlaced.

“You were young once too，doctor.You once had the courage to question everything.”My voice rose anxiously.“Back then，when we didn’t know who we’d become，but understood who we didn’t want to become.When there were battles and heroes all around us.”

I reminisce sometimes of my youth too.Everyone should.But we’re all grown people now，with responsibilities toward our family，our society，even our civilization and our descendants.I suggest you take these pills regularly when you go home to get rid of your unreasonable fantasies.Find an undemanding job，fish on the weekends，take a vacation once a year.Find a nice girl when the time is right—we haven’t discussed your sexual orientation yet，I realize，please don’t take that the wrong way—and start a family.The psychiatrist put on his glasses，flipped open his notebook，and cut my protests off with a hand before I could voice them.“Now，let’s discuss the problems relating to your father and sister.Your childhood traumas had significant influence on my choices of medication.Is that fine with you？”

The treatment was effective.I gradually grew used to the tepid TV programs and online forums.I grew used to society being peaceful，simple，nice，indifferent.I grew used to seeing the shade of my father，and tried not to argue over things past.Then this person in a black hoodie barges into the monotony of my bachelor’s life and hands me a choice，a choice whose meaning I don’t understand.But I do know that finger-talking has brought me a sense of groundedness I haven’t had in a long time，made the things I felt that had slowly died off eight years ago return from the grave like beetles bursting from their underground cocoons in spring.

I don’t know what“tomorrow in the city square at 6 AM”will signify.Normally，when I’m faced with a choice，I toss a coin.The answer naturally appears as the coin whirls through the air：which side do you hope will land face-up？But this time，I don’t toss a coin，because when I get off from work，leave the Social Welfare Building，I unthinkingly walk in the opposite direction from the subway station.Next to a spinning pole，I push open the glass door.I say to the fat man across from the mirror，“Hey.”

“Hey，long time no see.”The fat man waves me in.“Same as usual？”

“No.”I smile.“Shave me bald.The sexy kind of bald.”

10

I startle awake at 3：40 in the morning and can’t sleep after that.I take a hot bath，change into my Steve Jobs hoodie and khaki pants，put on my sneakers，put in my earphones，and listen to the metal bands of olden days.At 5：00 exactly，I leave Roy a message，drink a cup of coffee，and leave my apartment.The sun hasn’t risen yet.The early morning breeze caresses my freshly shaved scalp，cooling my feverish brain.I take the first subway that comes，unperturbed by the strange looks I get from the sparse fellow travelers.At 5：40，I arrive at the city square.I stand in the middle of the green.The streetlights are bright，and the morning mist is rising.

At 5：50，the streetlights go out.The first ray of dawn illuminates the thin mist.People are slowly gathering.Someone in a black hoodie takes my right hand，and I pick up the arm of the stranger next to me.“Good morning”spreads palm to palm.More and more people are appearing in the city square，silently forming themselves into a growing circle.

At 6：10，the ring stabilizes with more than a hundred people in it.The participants of the finger-talking gathering begin to rapidly transmit information.I close my eyes.A drop of dew falls from the brim of my hoodie.

The person to my right is an old gentleman，by his flabby skin and the refined construction of his sentences；the person on the left is a well-preserved lady with a plump，smooth palm and a large diamond ring on her finger.The topic arrives：“Compared to the gutless bands of today，what bands ought we to remember forever？”

“Metal.U2.And rock and roll，of course.”I immediately add my own opinion.

“The Velvet Underground.”

“Sex Pistols.”

“Green Day.Queen.Nirvana.”

“NOFX.”

“Rage Against the Machine.”

“Anti-Flag.”

“Joy Division.”

“The Clash.”

“The Cranberries，of course.”

“Massive Attack.”

“Hang on，does dance music count？Add Pussycat Dolls，then.”

I grin knowingly.The second topic appears，then the third.I’ve missed this sort of easy，organic discussion，even if it’s via a mode of information exchange out of a kids’game.The fourth and fifth topics appear.My fingertip and palm are hard at work，avoiding typos while trying to use as many abbreviations as possible.I think I’m slowly mastering the skill of finger-talking conversation.The sixth topic appears，followed by the seventh.This seems to be the bandwidth limit for finger-talking gatherings.The commentary appended to each topic would steadily grow until everyone interested has finished speaking.The creator of the topic has the right and responsibility to end its transmission at a suitable time to make room for a new topic.The first and third topics have disappeared.The second topic，on the First Amendment，is still gaining comments.The creators of the other topics independently choose to stop transmitting.Only the second topic is left in the circle，and the participants come to unspoken agreement to stop carrying the topic itself，transmitting the commentary only to save bandwidth.

It’s an inefficient use of the network to transmit only one data packet at a time.Someone realizes this and starts a new topic in the lull.The network is occupied once again，but soon the data clogs up at one of the nodes.

A memory from my distant college years suddenly surfaces.“Let’s look at a now-obsolete network topology structure，”the network systems professor had said behind the lectern，“the token ring network，invented by IBM in the seventies of the last century.”So the finger-talking gathering was really an unscientific token ring network reliant on the members’responsible behavior.I hurriedly finish sending the enormous data packet of the second topic and use the bit of free time to consider how the system might be improved.

A very brief message appears.It’s uneconomical，I think，but its contents make me gape.“To the sexy bald guy：my name is Daisy.”

I can feel the serotonin forming in every one of my hundred billion neurons，the ATP sending my heart pounding furiously.Every living bit of me is jumping and hollering in victory.In the place of this message，I send out：“Hello，Daisy.”

The size of the second topic has slowed down the network so that it takes me ten minutes to receive the data from upstream.It’s clear that someone’s stripped down the commentary to the second topic to the essentials.After the compressed file is my topic“Hello Daisy”and its legion comments.

“We love you，Daisy.”“Our daisy blossom.”“Pretty lady.”Then“hello，Uncle Baldy！”

I recall how I’d looked in the mirror before I let home：my skinny body，drooping cheeks，red nose and comical bald head，my outdated sweatshirt.I look like a clown.I smile.

I’m writing my reply when a commotion ripples through the network.I open my eyes.The sun has long since risen，and the mist has disappeared without a trace.Every blade of grass in the city green sparkles with dew.The members of the finger-talking gathering have formed an irregular circle，linked hand in hand into a silent wall.Many people watch from a distance：morning joggers，commuters on their way to work，reporters，policemen.They look perplexedly at us，because we have no signs，no slogans，none of the characteristics they expect of a protest.

A police car is stopped at the edge of the green，its exhaust pipes billowing white smoke.The car doors open，and cops get out.I recognize their leader，the short policeman who’d interviewed me.He’s still wearing the same apathetic expression and walking in the same careless swagger.He strokes his neat little mustache，considering us，then makes a beeline for me.“Good morning，sir.”He takes off his cap and presses it to his chest.

I look at him and don’t say anything.

“I’m afraid you’re all under arrest，”he says without energy.Six hulking black police vans glide silently into the city square.Riot police in full gear flood out，approaching us with batons and riot shields raised.Our onlookers don’t react at all.No one shouts，no one moves，no one even looks in the direction of the neat marching phalanx of riot police.

I can tell the people beside me are anxious by the sweat on their palms.The second topic’s data package has disappeared.A single short message replaces it，traveling at the highest speed our network can sustain.

“Freedom.”many fingers write rapidly and firmly into many palms.

“Freedom.”Our eyes are open.Our mouths are shut.

“Freedom.”We shout to the black machinery of the government in the loudest form of silence.

“I love you，Daisy.”I send my last message before the riot police slam me roughly to the ground.The network has collapsed.I don’t know if the message will get to Daisy.Where was she in the network？I don’t know.Will I ever see her again？I don’t know.I’ve never really seen her before，but I feel as if I understand her better than anyway.

Don’t make trouble.My father looks down at my squashed face.The riot cop is doing his best to mash me and the lawn into one.

Fuck you.I spit out grassy saliva.

11

I’m getting ten minutes on the phone，and I don’t want to waste them.But beside Slim and Roy，I can’t think of anyone to call.Strangely，Slim spends the call talking about the Arawak language of Jamaica.Roy doesn’t pick up.I put down the receiver，at a loss.

“Hey，old man，how much time do you have left to waste anyway？”The line behind me is getting impatient.

I dial the familiar number without thinking.Like always，the phone rings three times before someone picks up.“Hello？”

“How are things，Mom？”I say.

“I’m well.How about you？Do you still get the headaches？”Through the receiver，I hear the scrape of a chair being dragged over.My mother sits down.

“I’m much better nowadays.And...and what about him？”I say.

“You never ask about him.”My mother sounds surprised.

“Ah.I was just wondering...”

“He passed away last month，”my mother says calmly.

“Oh.Really？”

“Yes.”

“Do you have anyone to take care of you？”

“Your aunt is with me.Don’t worry.”

“His grave...”

“Is in the church cemetery.A long ways from your sister.”

“That’s good，that’s all I wanted to make sure.Then...have a good weekend，Mom.”

“Of course，and you too.Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

She hangs up.I rub the age spot on my right hand as if trying to wipe those memories away.My father，reeking of alcohol.My sister sobbing，my mother growing withdrawn and numb.The memories from my college breaks are far enough downstream in my life that they no longer seem so unbearable.“Old man，time is money！Tick-tock，tick-tock！”The person behind me taps at his wrist，imitating the tick of watch hands.I hang up the receiver and walk off.

For lunch，I end up sitting next to a red-haired guy with a man’s name tattooed on his face.His arms are garishly patterned，as if he were wearing a Hawaiian shirt.“That guy’s gay！Don’t go near him.And don’t let him grab your hand，”the Mexican who shared my cellmate had warned me—I’m guessing he meant well.I take my tray and move a bit aside.

Redhead scoots closer，smirking.“Want to share my goat milk pudding？I’m not a big fan of lactose.”

“Thanks，but I’m fine，”I say as politely as I can.

Redhead reaches over.I snatch back my hand as if jolted on a live wire，but he manages to grab it anyway.He grips my right hand tightly and tickles at my palm with a fingertip.

I can feel every hair on my body standing on end.“I don’t think I’d be very suited to this type of relationship.If you don’t mind...”I struggle in vain.The bystanders are laughing raucously，smacking the dining tables like a drum.

The sensation becomes familiar.It’s finger-talking，the same abbreviations，rapid and precise.“If you understand，tell me.”

I calm down and give Redhead a careful look over.He still wears the same stomach-turningly lecherous expression as before.I hook my finger and tell him，“Received.”

“Thank God！”His expression doesn’t change，but he writes an abbreviation for a strong exclamation.“I’ve finally found another one.Now，after lunch，go to the reading room.The philosophy section is against the east wall.No one ever goes there.On the bottom of the second shelf，between Hegel and Novalis，there’s a copy of the 2009 edition of Overview of the History of Philosophy.Read it.If you don’t understand how，pages 149 to 150 explain the basics.I’ll contact you afterward.For reasons of safety...I suggest you prepare to be thought of as gay.Now，hit me.”

“What？”I say，caught off guard.

Redhead leers with utmost lasciviousness and reaches for my ass.I flail out a fist and punch him in the nose.

“Ow！”The bystanders burst into laughter so loud the guards look our way.Redhead scrambles upright，a hand over his bleeding nose，and leaves cursing with his meal tray.

“What did I tell you？”My cellmate appears with tray in hand and gives me a thumbs-up.“But you’ve got guts！”

I ignore him and stuff food into my mouth.Once I finish，I go to the reading room alone.On the bottom Philosophy shelf，between Hegel and Novalis，I find the clothbound 2009 edition of Overview of the History of Philosophy.I sign it out from the librarian and take it back to my cell.The Mexican isn’t back yet.I lie on my cot and flip open the heavy covers.I don’t see anything special.From a glance，it’s just a yawning pit of references and citations.

I flip to page 149，and see that someone’s replaced this page.In the midst of headache-inducing philosophy-related proper names is a sheet of yellowing paper clearly torn from another book.The front is covered with completely irrelevant medical information on joint protection，while the back is mostly methods of head massage and corresponding diagrams.At the bottom is a three hundred word simple overview of a newly invented type of low-error，high-efficiency Braille.However，the development of more practical visual surgery techniques had led to the decline of Braille，the book informed me.The new type of Braille was made obsolete before it was ever implemented.

Oh，of course.Braille.I shut the book and close my eyes.The outside covers only have the big embossed gold lettering，but on the inside cover，I find little bumps arranged in some sort of dense pattern.If you weren’t paying attention，they’d seem like some oversight in quality control left the paper unevenly textured.I refer to the instructions and slowly decipher the Braille.The information is heavily compressed；it takes me almost two hours to understand the text on the cover.

“The finger-talking gathering welcomes you，friend，”the unknown author greets.“You’ve certainly felt the changes，but you don’t understand them.You’re lost，angry，considered crazy by other people.Maybe you’ve bowed to the way things are.Maybe you’re still looking for the truth.You deserve the truth.”

I nodded.

“This was an enormous program.The secretly ratified 33rd Amendment allowed the formation of a Federal Committee for Information Security to filter and replace information that could pose a threat to social stability and national security.After lengthy test trials，a high-efficiency system called‘Ether’slowly came together.At first，Ether only functioned to automatically monitor the Internet through network and Wi-Fi equipment.All text，videos，and audio it considered to be subversive would be put through hacking，sampling，and semantic network analysis.Once it found the forum hosting it，Ether would infiltrate all related conversations on that server.Everyone except the poster would see an altered post.In addition，the poster would be recorded by the database.For example，if you posted the topic‘Senatorial Luncheon’，it would be flagged as harmful.Ether’s supercomputers had free legal rein to override all network firewalls，and would intercept the data packet at the interface and replace all keywords.Everyone else would see your topic as the uninteresting‘KFC Super Value Lunch’.This way，the federal government gained total control over the Internet.The tragedy is that most people never realized what had happened.They only pessimistically believed that the spirit of liberty was gradually disappearing on the Internet—exactly what the government wanted.”

I feel a chill at my back.The Mexican comes in at this time and throws his dirty towel on my stomach.“Buddy，you should join the group exercises now and then.”

“Shut up！”I yell with all my might.The Mexican looks blankly at me.His expression shifts from surprise and anger to fear.He looks away，afraid to meet my bloodshot eyes.My fingers move shakily across the flyleaf of Overview of the History of Philosophy.

“Following the success of Ether，the federal government’s control over radio，television，and print were a foregone conclusion.The few members of the media who refused to collaborate with the Information Security Bill were isolated using a technology from the same origin as Ether.Nanoelectronic technology had been used to tamper with data exchange，and the people in power soon realized that nanobots could similarly tamper with data exchange through visible light.Seven years after the enactment of the 33rd Amendment，they decided to release nanobots into the atmosphere.These tiny machines could remain suspended in air，using the silicon in soil and construction materials to self-replicate until the desired density was achieved.They were simple devices，activating once they reached the requisite density.They would detect subversive text—information in visible light waves—and subversive speech—information in sound waves—replace them with harmless data，and log their source.They could adhere to printed text and signs，polarizing light so that all observers beside the source would receive false optic data；they could alter the spread pattern of sound waves so all listeners except the source received false acoustic data.Since the source can receive the sound traveling through their bones，they’d hear the message they intended.These little demons floating the air made Ether omnipotent and omnipresent，like the mysterious substance undetectable to mankind that the philosophers said occupied all space—the original ether.”

I remember the psychiatrist’s words，“All I see is the advancement of society and democracy.”I clench my fists and grind my teeth hard enough to be audible.

This is the era we live in，friends.Everything is a lie.The online forums are lying.The TV programs are lying.The person speaking across from you is lying.The protesters’signs raised up high are lying.Your life is surrounded by lies.This is a golden time for the hedonists：no conflicts，no war，no scandal.When the conspiracy theorists are locked away in the mental hospitals，when the last revolutionaries fade away in front of their lonely computer screens，only our fragile and perfect tomorrow awaits.We will dance our stately，well-mannered waltz at the cliff’s edge，build our magnificent castle on quicksand.

“Who am I？I’m a nameless soldier，one of the criminals who created Ether.I’m not important.The important thing is that you should see these changes.You should know the truth.Now the truth is yours，and you can choose the path that lies ahead.Our fingers are our most precious resource，because in the next twenty years，within the range of foreseeability，nanobots won’t be able to deceive humanity’s sensitive sense of touch.If you make the choice，you can join the finger-talking gatherings through your mentor at any time，and enter the last and only resistance group under Ether’s omnipresent surveillance.You will enter the only truth left in this world of lies.”

“The finger-talking gathering welcomes you，friend.”

I close the heavy covers.Thoughts and images are stringing themselves together in my mind.I’ve seen the truth，but I have even more questions now，and only whoever wrote these words can answer them.I brush my palm across the short grey bristles of my scalp，knowing I’ve already made my choice.

At dinner，when I see Redhead，I make a beeline for him and take his hand.The cafeteria is instantly in an uproar.We’re going to be the butt of every joke，but I don’t care.I write in his palm，“I’m in.”

His smile is full of stories.“Welcome.The first gathering is in two days during group exercises，northeast of the woodwork factory.Our internal publications are in the Philosophy section，second shelf，bottom layer，flyleaf of Nietzsche’s collected works.Right，there’s a flax-blonde，freckled young lady in the female wing who wants me to ask’the sexy old bald guy’how he’s doing.I think I’m talking to the right person.”

I gape.

In that moment，I think of many things.I don’t think of how to change the world with our primitive method of communication，but of all the things my father left me.I thought my father’s beatings and curses had made me incapable of loving，but I’ve found that love is a piece of the human soul that can never be cut out，not just the tremble of hormones.I’d so hated my father，tried to reject every memory that included him year after year，but I’ve found that the child of an abusive father doesn’t have to stay broken.The pain at least is real.I hate lies，even well-meaning lies，more.

I need to do as I did twenty-three years ago.I need to shout as loudly as I can to the guy trying to control my life，“Fuck you！”

She gives me courage，flax-haired，blue-eyed her.I grip Redhead’s hand tightly，as if I can feel the warmth of her body through his skin.On our palms are written love and freedom，burning hot.Love and freedom，searing through the skin，branding the bone.

“I love you，Daisy—not you，don’t get the wrong idea.”Under countless eyes，I write it on Redhead’s palm.

“Of course.”Redhead is ready with his familiar，mischievous smirk.

[1]
First published in Chinese in Science Fiction World, 2012.

Coming of the Light

by Chen Qiufan（a.k.a Stanley Chan），translated by Ken Liu

0

My mother told me about a Buddhist monk she and I met while shopping on my first birthday.

The monk caressed my head—back then as bald as his—and chanted a few lines that sounded like poetry.

After we returned home，my mom recited a few fragments to my father.Dad，who had had a few more years of schooling than my mom and completed middle school，told her that the lines weren’t poetry，but from a Buddhist koan.Only by consulting the village schoolmaster did he finally discover the origin of those fragments，words which would come to determine my life.

As clouds drift across the sky，so Master in the void is seen.

Dust clings to everything but what is true.

Over and over the monk queries：“What does your visit mean？”

Master points to cypress which in courtyard has taken root.
[1]

They thought these lines must contain some deep meaning，and so they renamed me Zhou Chongbo，which means“Repeat-Cypress.”

1

I’m sitting in a steamer.I’m a dumpling being steamed.

Everyone keeps on inhaling and exhaling and then staring at the white smoke coming out of everyone else’s mouths，like cartoon characters with thought bubbles drifting over their heads containing logical musings，naked women，or frozen obscenicons.Then the smoke dissipates，revealing coarse，swollen faces.The air purifier screams as though it’s gone mad，and the young women sitting in chairs along the wall silently put on their face masks，slide their fingers across the screens of their phones，and frown.

I don’t need to look at the time to know it’s past midnight.My wife won’t even respond to my WeChat messages anymore.

I was dragged here at the last minute.My wife and I were on our way home after taking a stroll when we encountered a man dressed in an army coat on the pedestrian overpass.With a booming voice that startled both of us，he said，“The Quadrantid meteor shower will come on January 4.Don’t miss it—”

I waited for him to finish with what is known to us marketing professionals as the“call to action”—e.g.，“Join the Haidian Astrology Club”“Call this number now”，or even pulling out a portable telescope from his pocket and telling me“Now for only 88 yuan”—which would have made this a reasonably well executed bit of street peddling.

But like a stuck answering machine，he started again from the beginning：“The Quadrantid meteor shower will come on January 4…”

Mission failed.

Disappointed，we left him.That was when my phone rang.

It was Lao Xu.I glanced apologetically at my wife，who gave me her usual unhappy look when my work intruded on our time together—this was certainly not the first time.I answered the call，and that was how I ended up here，sitting in this room.

The last thing my wife said to me was：“Tell your mother to quit pestering me about a grandchild.Her son is such a pushover he might as well be a baby.”

“Chongbo！”Lao Xu’s voice drags me back to this room filled with cancer-inducing smoke.“You’re in charge of strategy.Contribute！”

Peering through the obscure haze，I struggle to make sense of the confusing notes on the whiteboard：user insights，key selling points，market research…dry erase marker lines in various colors connect the words like the trails left by the finger on some mobile picture-matching game：triangle，pentagon，hexagram，the seven Dragon Balls…

It’s all bullshit.Meaningless bullshit.

The pressure in the steamer is rising.Beads of sweat form on my forehead，slide down my face，drip.

“Is it too hot in here？”Lao Xu hands me a wrinkled paper napkin whose color is rather suspect.“Wipe yourself！”

I obey，too terrified to object.

“Mr.Wan wasn’t happy with the marketing plan last time and wanted to switch agencies.I begged and pleaded to get him to stay.If we don’t succeed this time，I think you all understand what that means.”

The cheap napkin comes apart in my hand and bits of paper are stuck to my sweaty face.

Mr.Wan is our god，the CEO of an Internet company.Out of any ten random people who accost strangers in the streets of Zhongguancun—“China’s Silicon Valley”—one would be engaged in“network marketing，”two would be trying to hook you on pyramid schemes，three would be trying to talk to you about Jesus，and the rest would all be founders or C-whatever-Os of some startup.

But if you got these individuals to engage in one-on-one conversion bouts—time limited to three minutes—I’m sure the last group would achieve complete victory.They’re not interested in selling you a mere product，but an idea that would change the world.They’re not there to speak for some deity；they’re gods already.

Mr.Wan is just such a god.

Due to Lao Xu’s persistence and luck，our little agency managed to land Mr.Wan as a client.We are supposed to spend the euros，dollars，yen，and yuan flowing in from angel investors，from private equity funds，from rounds A-B-C-D，and help Mr.Wan’s company expand the market for their mobile app，raise product awareness，and improve daily engagement levels so that Mr.Wan could then use the new numbers to attract even more investment.

The flywheel goes round and round.

So where is the sticking point？

“Where is the sticking point？”Lao Xu’s dry and thin voice screeches like a subway train shrieking through a tunnel，and an invisible force presses against me until I’m about to blackout.Trembling，I stand up，avoiding the gazes of others on purpose.I’m like some two-dimensional inhabitant of a mathematical plane：my body is made up of points，but I can’t see any.

“It’s…a problem with the product.”I lower my head shamefully，prepared for an angry tirade from Lao Xu.

“This is your insight？”

I hold my tongue.

Mr.Wan’s co-founder—let’s call him Y—is a former classmate from USTC who had worked in America for many years.Mr.Wan convinced him to return to China，bringing with him valuable key patent rights to build a business.Y’s patent covers a digital watermarking technology，which，because it involves information theory and complex mathematics，is a bit hard to explain.

I’ll use a simple example.Let’s say you take a picture and use the patented technology to add a watermark invisible to the naked eye；then，no matter how this photograph is subsequently modified or edited—even if 80 percent of the image were cropped—you would still be able to apply a special algorithm to recover the original image.The secret is that the invisible watermark itself carries all the information in the photo at the time it’s applied.

This is，of course，only the most basic application for the technology.It could become an authentication/anti-tampering mechanism with many uses in fields such as media，finance，forensics，military security，and medicine—the possibilities are endless.

However，after Y returned to China，the two co-founders discovered that all the core industries they were interested in had barriers to entry—the difficulty wasn’t so much that the fences were high，but that they couldn’t even tell where they were.After bumping into walls multiple times，they decided that they had to make an end run around the difficulties by starting with entertainment，hoping to popularize the technology first through grassroots consumer acceptance before gradually infiltrating enterprise business use cases.

Mr.Wan is always emphasizing the word“sexy，”as though this is the only yardstick by which everything should be judged.But their product rather resembles a punctured，crumpled blowup doll left to dry in the shade.

“Why don’t you use our client’s product？”Lao Xu screams at the young women sitting along the wall.Blood drains from their faces as they pretend to be busy taking notes.

Mr.Wan’s mobile app is called“Truthgram，”and it automatically applies the special digital watermark to every picture the user takes.No matter how many times the image is transmitted，photoshopped，or otherwise altered beyond recognition，a simple button press would restore the original image.At first，the marketing angle focused on safety：as long as you stick to Truthgram，Mom will never have to worry about your face showing up in some photoshopped pornographic image.

Besides priming the sales channels，we also planned a web marketing event called“The Big Reveal.”We recruited a hundred women and helped them take selfies with Truthgram，which we then retouched until everyone looked like a supermodel.We posted the photos on the web along with an animated GIF explaining how to use Mr.Wan’s app to reveal the truth：“Turn Beauty to Beast in less than one second！”

Male users—maybe losers would be more accurate—responded to the gimmick with extraordinary exuberance，recommending the app to each other and coming up with a veritable flood of variations that fulfilled the promise of user-generated content.Women，on the other hand，detested the marketing trick.They filled the forums with negative commentary about the company，arguing that the app vilified and insulted women by playing up the hoary trope of treating women’s right to pursue beauty as a twisted form of narcissistic deceit.The marketing event became a PR crisis.

If it were up to me，I would have declared victory.Developing a market is all about pressing the key point，like plunging a sharp needle into the hypothalamus，the emotional center of the brain.If you don’t see some blood spill，it probably means your needle is too dull or maybe you haven’t stabbed at the right spot.

But Mr.Wan thought our little exercise could only grab some eyeballs temporarily at the cost of damaging the long-term brand value.As it turned out，the data proved him right.After a brief spike，the number of downloads went down and stayed down，and the losers we managed to attract eventually stopped using the app because we couldn’t keep them stimulated with a constant stream of new content.

“I’m more interested in whether others see me from the most beautiful angle than in the security of my photos，”a perfectly ordinary girl stated in an interview we conducted with our customers.Her phone’s photo album was filled with selfies that showed signs of excessive retouching，all of them similar and none resembling her.Still，every half hour or so，she would hold her phone overhead at a 45-degree angle，pout her lips like a duck，and snap a shot.

If a tower’s foundations are built on the shifting sands of a beach，how can you expect it to stay standing until the tides come in？

Lao Xu stares at me；I stare at the whiteboard；the whiteboard stares at everyone；everyone stares at their phone.We are like a flock of birds lost in fog，constantly drawn to flashing screens until we’ve forgotten the direction we were headed in.Yet，cold night has fallen，and hungry predators are approaching in the dark.

My phone beeps，indicating that it’s nearly out of battery.My instinctive reaction is not to conserve，but to rush to look through WeChat Moments posted in my network.Every last drop of juice must be used to its fullest extent and not be wasted with invisible background processes.Now you get a glimpse of my values，my philosophy.

I see the latest posts by Mr.Wan.All of a sudden，the dumpling skin has burst，and the fillings spill out.

“I’ve got it！”I slam my hand down on the table.Everyone jerks awake from their somnambulant state.

I hold my phone under Lao Xu’s nose.

Under Mr.Wan’s profile，he has posted a new photo，accompanied by the following caption：

On Saturday，the fifteenth of the month under the lunar calendar，I’m going to perform the Buddhist good deed of freeing captive animals on the shore of Wenyu River.I’ll purchase and free river snails laden with eggs，birds，reptiles，fish，and other animals.By this compassionate deed，I hope the Buddha brings blessings to everyone so that the aged may live longer，the middle-aged may have harmonious families，and children may gain wisdom and health！Happy Saturday！（Donations to help purchase more animals to free gratefully accepted：more animals=more good karma for all！Funds may be sent to this account：XXXXXXX.Sharing and reposting this message will also gain you blessings）.

“Err—I hadn’t realized that they were running so low on funds.”Lao Xu’s eyes are wide as teacups.“They haven’t paid us our last invoice yet！”

“Keep on reading，”I say.I continue to slide my finger up the screen.Mr.Wan’s dynamic timeline is woven from high-tech news and pop-Buddhism，a mixture of concentrated caffeine pills and chicken soup for the soul.“I think we’ve discovered his other passion.”

“So what？”

“Let’s think about why，every day，so many people share and forward these posts about how to do good deeds to build up merit and gain the Buddha’s protection.Are they really that faithful？I doubt it.Maybe preventing their photographs from being tempered with isn’t a core need for people，but the anxious contemporary Chinese are obsessed with personal security，especially the psychological sense of being safe.We have to connect Mr.Wan’s product with this psychological need.”

“Be specific！”

“Everyone，what kind of posts would you share to feel more secure？”I ask.

“Powerful mantras！”“Pictures of buddhas！”“The Birthday of the Buddha，and other festival birthdays！”“Wise sayings by famous master monks！”

“What sort of posts would make you believe and willingly hand over money？”

There’s a pause as everyone in the room ponders my question.Then，one of the girls timidly speaks up，“Something that’s been con…consecrated…um，you know，when the light has been—”

“Bingo！”

The room falls silent.Lao Xu gets up，and，poker-faced，walks behind me.I hear a loud slam，and a chill wind pours into the back of my shirt as though a bucket of ice has been emptied into it.The haze in the room instantly dissipates.

“Awake now？”Lao Xu closes the window.“Explain what you mean again，but stop being so damned mystical.”

I hold his gaze and speak slowly.“Let’s find a famous and respected monk to consecrate this app—’bring light into it’—so that every picture it takes becomes a charm to ward off evil.We’ll create a sharing economy of blessings.”

Everyone shifts their gaze from the phone screen to me；I gaze at Lao Xu；Lao Xu says nothing but gazes at the phone.

After a while，he lets out a held breath.“You know，all those Rinpoches in Chaoyang District are going to get you for this.”

I have no idea what’s in store for me.

2

My wife is a Neo-Luddite.

Once，she had been a heavy gamer.She spent so much time on the computer that her parents sent her to a summer camp that specialized in curing Internet addiction.The experience caused her attitude toward technology to turn a hundred and eighty degrees.

Many times I asked her，what really happened in that campground located on Phoenix Mountain called“The Nirvana Plan”？

She never answered me directly.

This was the biggest philosophical difference between us.She believed that despite the appearance of unprecedented novelty，the high-tech industry was ultimately no different from another ancient trade：they both took advantage of the weaknesses of ordinary men and women，and，under the guise of words like“progress”“uplift”and“salvation”，manipulated their emotions.Whether you put your hand on a Bible or an iPad，in the end you were praying to the same god.

We only give the people what they want.They desire comfort，joy，a sense of security.They want to improve themselves，to see themselves stand out in the crowd.We can’t take such desires away from them.That was how I always argued back at her.

Oh，please！Don’t give me that.You’re just playing a game to satisfy your own yearning for control，she said.

Come on，give people a little credit！I said.Everyone’s got a brain.How can anyone“control”anyone else？

There are always NPCs.

What are you talking about？

Non-Player Characters.What if everything is controlled from behind the scenes by some invisible background process？Then every action you take will affect the game logic.The system will react with NPCs and they will carry out their predetermined programming.

I stared at her face as though I’d never really known her.I even wondered whether she had just joined some new cult.

You don’t really believe that，do you？

I’m going to walk the dog.There shouldn’t be much dog poop in the streets this early in the morning.

3

Every day，as the temple bell tolls five，I have to get up to sweep the grounds.I sweep the wooden floor of the gallery from the new library to the stone steps，and thence to the temple gates，where the ancient pagoda tree grows，its gnarled branches spread like the talons of a rampant beast.

As for whether I will be quietly reciting the Surangama Sutra，the Lotus Sutra，or the Diamond Sutra as I sweep，that depends on the day’s PM2.5 air quality index.My throat hurts when I breathe the polluted air；I don’t need the distraction.

Any of the faithful coming to the temple to make offerings can see that I haven’t been truly called by the Buddha.Just like all the other“disciples”flocking here on weekends to study Buddhist doctrine，I’m here to hide from the real world.

In a way，I’m not too different from the throngs of shoppers at the Buddhist shop outside Yonghe Lamasery vying to buy electronic“Buddha boxes”.They bring the box home，push a button，and the box starts chanting sutras.On the hour（or at designated times），the box will even emit a tranquil，meditative duannnnng，like the ringing of the bell in a temple.The purchasers apparently think this will bring them blessings and cleanse bad karma.I often imagine all the passengers squeezed like canned sardines into the number 2 subway train leaving from the lamasery station，all of their Buddha boxes ringing harmoniously together on the hour.Perhaps the so-called Chan state of mind refers to the detachment of such a moment from real life.

And now that I have to commit to a Buddhist vegetarian diet，I miss the restaurant at Beixinqiao where they serve chitterlings soup made from ancient stock that has supposedly been accumulating flavor for years.

I’ve canceled my mobile number and deleted all my accounts on social media；my wife has left me and returned to her hometown；I’ve even been given a Dharma name：“Chenwu”–“Free of Worldly Dust.”All I want is for those crazy people to never find me again.

I’ve had enough.

Everything began that night with the crazy marketing scheme that seemed to make no sense.

Mr.Wan bought my idea.Overnight he summoned the engineers to develop the new product.Lao Xu laid out the marketing plan and strategy.The most important piece of the project，of course，was assigned to me，the originator.

I had to go find a respected master monk willing to consecrate our app，to bring it light.

Lao Xu demanded that the entire process be filmed and turned loose online to go viral.I ran through every excuse I could think of：my family have been Christians for three generations；my wife is pregnant and can’t come in contact with raw foods，animal fur，or anything having to do with spirits…

Lao Xu responded with only one line：This is your baby.If you don’t want to see it through，get out and don’t come back，you get me？

I visited every temple in Beijing，begging and pleading with the master monks，and I sought out every lama secluded in spiritual solitude in the city’s various nooks and crannies.Each time，however，even after having come to an agreement on the price，as soon as I brought out my camera，the monks’faces turned stony，and after a few Amitabhas，they would cover their faces and escape my presence.

We tried using hidden cameras a few times，but the combination of incense haze and camera shake made the results unwatchable.

As the deadline approached，I could no longer sleep，but tossed and turned all night.My wife asked me what I was doing.

“Rolling dough for pancakes，”I said.

She kicked me.“If you want to do that，get on the floor.Don’t pretend you’re a rolling pin in bed.I’m trying to sleep.”

The kick managed to free my clogged neural pathways.Instantly，I was inspired.

Mr.Wan’s new app went on sale on time.Lao Xu，energized like his Land Rover，shifted into high gear and whipped us into a frenzy.Videos，new concepts，and new campaigns were released one after another.Soon，a video depicting a master monk consecrating a mobile phone went viral，and Buddhagrams began to conquer Weibo and WeChat.The number of downloads and daily engagement level rose exponentially like rockets heading for the clouds at escape velocity.

Don’t ask me the impact of such growth on the long-term brand value；don’t ask me what this meant for the subsequent development and application of the digital watermark technology.Those are problems Mr.Wan had to solve.I was only a strategist for a third-rate marketing company who had some crazy ideas.I could only work on problems that I was capable of solving with my own methods.

In the end，we underestimated the creativity of users.It turned out that Buddhagram pictures，due to the presence of the watermark，could be recovered from even low-resolution copies or cropped fragments.This meant they could be shared and forwarded without taking up much bandwidth or time.Trying to take advantage of the situation，we released a series of new ads touting this newly advantage.

Downloads spiked again，but no one anticipated what happened next.

It started with a picture of an apple taken with Buddhagram.A week later，the poster shared a second picture of the same apple：it was apparently rotting at a much slower rate than other apples.

Next came the various pictures of pets that miraculously recovered their health after having had their pictures taken with Buddhagram.

Then，an old lady claimed that after she had taken a Buddha selfie，she managed to survive a deadly car accident.

Rumors multiplied.Taken individually，each seemed some preposterous April Fool’s joke，but behind every story stood a witness who swore it was true，and the number of believers snowballed.

The posts grew stranger.Patients with terminal cancer posted selfies showing their tumors diminishing daily；couples who had trouble conceiving took nude selfies and became pregnant；migrant laborers took group selfies and won the lottery.The kind of news that one would normally expect to find only on tabloids on the subway filled every social media platform.All the pictures had the Buddhagram watermark，and all of us thought they were from astroturfers hired by the company.

We thought wrong.

Supposedly，Mr.Wan’s phone was ringing nonstop with calls from interested investors.Other than asking about a chance to invest，the next most popular question was：Who is the master monk who brought light to the app？

The logic was simple：if a consecrated mobile app could have such magical effects，then asking the monk himself to perform some rite would surely result in earthshaking miracles.The investors thought of this，and so did millions and millions of users.

In this age，truth was as rare as virtue.Even more tragic，when faced with the truth，most people preferred to doubt its veracity because they would rather believe the truthy mirage created by their own minds.

Soon，my contact details were leaked.Email，phone，text…everyone screamed the same question at me：Who is the master monk？

I refused to answer.I knew they would figure it out sooner or later.

Crowdsourcing the search，they finally managed to locate the master monk and the disciples in the viral video—a bunch of actors my friend had found for me among the crowd of extras congregated at Hengdian World Studios，hoping to get a role.They were supposed to portray commoners during the Qing Dynasty，which meant they were already shaved bald—just like Buddhist monks.This made negotiations rather easy.The extras who harbored dreams of making it big in the movies were especially diligent，and the lead even argued with the makeup artist over the correct placement of the burn marks over his head to indicate his ordained status.Watching the scene，I grew concerned.

They were all good people.The fault was entirely mine.

The poor actors who had been located by the“human flesh search engine”could no longer live in peace.The enraged netizens hounded them and their families using the vilest language，forcing them to acknowledge what was obviously true：they were mere extras hired by the company to portray the master monk and his disciples.

Except that the crowd still wasn’t quite on the same page as me：they continued to believe that my company—or more precisely，I—was hiding the real master monk.Out of greed or selfishness，I was refusing to disclose his identity to the public so that everyone could benefit from the master’s powers.

I really wasn’t.

Lao Xu closed the company temporarily.Every day，groups of middle-aged women congregated at the foot of the building，holding up protest banners.Even if we could endure the pressure，the building’s property manager couldn’t.Lao Xu put us all on paid leave，hoping that the storm would quickly blow over.Kindly，he told me that it was best for me to leave the city and return to my parents’home for a few days.It was just a matter of time before one of the netizens who was terminally ill might arrive at my door with his family，pleading with me to give up the master monk’s WeChat ID.

I realized that Lao Xu was right.I couldn’t put my family at risk.

And so，after I settled my affairs，I came to this ancient temple to become a grounds sweeper.

The bell tolls nine times，indicating the end of morning lessons.The staff of the temple，including me，assume our positions.The temple is open to the public today，and the abbot，Master Deta，will be greeting a group of VIP faithful from the Internet industry and conducting a salon to discuss the connections between Buddhist doctrine and the Web.

My assigned job is to hand out the visitor’s badges.On the list of VIPs，I see more than a few familiar names，including Mr.Wan.

Though it’s thirty-eight degrees Celsius，I put on my cotton medical face mask.Sweat pours off me as though I’m drenched by rain.

4

The faithful，now dressed in the yellow robes and yellow shoes normally reserved for monks，stream in one after another，their colorful badges swaying on lanyards before their chests.For a moment I suffer the illusion of having returned to my old life from a few months ago：the China National Convention Center，JW Marriott Beijing，798 D Park…I was either at meetings or on my way to meetings，handing out my business card，adding people’s WeChat IDs，puffing up our clients，sketching incredible visions，peppering my speech with“Internet thinking”buzzwords—like some updated version of a Red Guard clutching his Little Red Book.

The faces before me are still the same，but now their badges have been stripped of the eye-catching titles.“CXO”“Co-Founder”，and“VP of Investment”have been replaced by“Householder”“Believer”and“Benefactor”.At least for the moment，they’ve retracted their typical arrogance and protruding bellies.Mumbling mantras，they take their seats，and piously hand their phones，iPads，Google Glasses，smart wristbands，and so on to the waiting novice monks in exchange for a numbered ticket.

I see Mr.Wan.His face looks pallid and thin，but his gaze is steady and his steps airy.Placidly，he places the palms of his hands together and bows to the guests on either side of him，showing no trace of his former domineering air.As he passes me，I lower my head，and he lowers his in turn to acknowledge my greeting.

Many things must have happened in the intervening months.

Supposedly，Master Deta had once been a promising student at the Computer Science Department of Tsinghua University.However，as a result of his enlightenment，he gave up offers for graduate study at Stanford，Yale，UC Berkley and other ivy-clad campuses，took up vows，and became ordained as a monk.With him as an example，a group of other graduates of elite colleges also joined our temple and began to spread the teachings of Buddhism online，bringing relief to all mortal beings with methods adapted to the Internet age.

The master’s lecture today roams over many subjects—so many that I barely remember any of them.I do see Mr.Wan holding a pious pose and nodding frequently.When the master discusses how big data techniques could be used to help locate the young reincarnations of tulkus，his eyes even grow tearful.

I’m trying to hide from him，but I also can’t suppress the urge to go up to him and ask if the storm has finally blown over.I don’t miss my old life，but I miss my family.

Here，only monks who have achieved a certain status have the right to use the Internet.The layered green branches of the ancient cypress grove，like a firewall，separate us from the noise and dust of the secular world.My daily life，however，is not boring at all：sweeping，working，chanting，debating，and copying.Uncluttered by material possessions，I’ve been sleeping without trouble for the first time in years，and no longer live in constant dread of sudden vibrations from my phone—though occasionally my right quadriceps still suffers phantom pulses.But my teacher tells me that if I count my prayer beads—all one thousand and eight hundred of them—every day for a hundred eighty days，I shall be fully cured.

I think it’s because we want too much，more than what our bodies and minds are designed to withstand.

My old job was all about creating need，encouraging people to pursue things that didn’t matter for their lives，and then I used the money they gave in exchange to purchase illusions others had created for me.Round after round，we never seemed to tire of the game.

I think about my wife’s words：Her son is such a pushover he might as well be a baby.I’m even more useless than a baby.

This is my sin，my bad karma，the blockage I need to clear for my progress.

I’m starting to understand Mr.Wan.

After the lecture，Mr.Wan and a few others surround Master Deta，apparently because they have many questions that need his insight.Master Deta beckons to me.I gird myself and walk over.

“Would you bring these honored guests to meditation room three？I’ll be over in a moment.”

I nod，and lead the group to the room in the back reserved for VIPs.

I ask them to sit，and I pour tea for everyone.They nod and smile at each other，but their conversation is restricted to small talk.I’m guessing that they are competitors outside the temple.

Mr.Wan doesn’t look at me directly.He sips his tea and closes his eyes，meditating.His lips move as he silently recites some mantra，and his hands are busy with a string of rosewood prayer beads.After the forty-ninth time through the beads，I can’t hold myself back any longer.I walk up to him，bend down，and whisper next to his ear，“Do you remember me？”

Mr.Wan opens his eyes and scrutinizes me for half a minute.“You are Zhou…”

“Zhou Chongbo.You have excellent memory，sir.”

Mr.Wan grimaces and lunges at me，wrapping the string of prayer beads about my neck and pushing me to the floor.

“You fucking idiot！”He curses and strikes me.The two guests next to him stand up，startled，but they don’t dare to intervene.“Amitabha.Amitabha”，they murmur.

I protect my face with my hands，but I don’t know what to say.“Mercy！”I cry.“Mercy！”

“Stop！”Master Deta’s voice booms.“This is a sanctified place！Such violence has no place here.”

Mr.Wan’s fist，suspended in midair，stops.He stares at me，and tears suddenly spill from them and fall onto my face，as though he’s the one wronged.

“All gone…I’ve lost everything…”he murmurs.Then he falls back into his seat.

I get up.I guess someone who’s lost everything can’t even strike very hard.My body isn’t hurting at all.

“Amitabha.”I put my palms together and bow to him.I know he’s not feeling much better compared to me.Just as I’m about to leave the meditation room，the abbot stops me，and strikes me with his ferule：twice on the left shoulder，once on the right.

“Don’t discuss what happened today with others.You still have too much worldly arrogance about you and cannot handle important tasks.You must study harder and reflect on your actions.”

I’m about to argue the point but then remember that I once tolerated much worse from Lao Xu and Mr.Wan.Master Deta is basically the temple’s CEO.I have to swallow my pride.

I bow to him and back out.

I lean against the wall of the gallery and watch the woods in the setting sun.Smog glistens above the city like the piled layers of a sari.The bell tolls on the hour，and startled birds take to the air.

A thought flashes through my mind.I am reminded of how Master Subhuti once struck Monkey three times on the head with a ferule and then walked away with his hands held behind him，which was a message for Monkey to come to the backdoor of the master’s bedroom at the hour of the third watch for special lessons.

But how am I supposed to interpret two strikes on the left shoulder and one on the right？

5

At around nine o’clock at night—that’s when first watch turns to second watch under the ancient time system—I head for the abbot’s chambers via backwoods trails.My journey through the dark woods is accompanied only by the gentle susurration of pines，with not even a chirp from a bird.

I knock twice on the door，and then once.Someone seems to be stirring inside.I knock again.The door opens automatically.

Abbot Deta is sitting with his back to the door.Before him is a giant screen，completely dark.I seem to hear the low-frequency buzzing of electronics.He sighs loudly.

“Teacher！Your student is here！”I fall to my knees and prepare to kowtow.

“I think you’ve read Journey to the West too many times.”The abbot gets up，and I can see that his expression isn’t one of joy.“I told you to come at one minute past ten o’clock.”

I’m stumped for words.Apparently the master was using binary notation.

I hurry to hide my embarrassment.“Um…this afternoon—”

“It wasn’t your fault；I know what happened.As soon as you stepped into this temple，I learned everything about you.”

“…then why did you accept me？”

“Though your heart wasn’t directed towards the Buddha，you have within you the root of wisdom.If I didn’t take you in，I’m afraid you might have sought refuge in suicide.”

“Master is indeed merciful.”I’m still completely as a loss.

“I know you don’t understand.”Master Deta isn’t actually that old.He’s barely in his forties.As he laughs with his glasses perched on his nose，he resembles a college professor.

“Forgive your foolish student，master.Please enlighten me.”

Master Deta waves his hand.The giant screen，apparently controlled by body motion，lights up.The image on the screen is difficult to describe：a gigantic，compressed oval whose background is various shades of blue，studded with irregular patches of orange-red dots.Or maybe it’s the other way around.I think the image resembles the false-color version of some planet’s topographic map，or maybe a slide full of multiplying mold seen through a microscope.

“What is this？”

“The universe.Or more precisely，the cosmic microwave background.This is the image of the universe about 380，000 years after the Big Bang.You’re looking at the most precise photograph of it so far.”His enthusiastic admiration contrasts sharply with his humble monk’s garb.

“Um…”

“This was made by computation based on the data gathered by the European Space Agency’s Planck space observatory.Look here，and here—do you see how the pattern is a bit odd？…”

Other than patches of orange-red or cobalt mold，I can’t see what’s so special.

“Are you saying that…um…the Buddha doesn’t exist？”I ask tentatively.

“The Buddha teaches that the great trichiliocosm consists of a billion worlds.”He glares at me，as though forcing me to retract my words.“This picture proves that multiple universes once existed.After so many years of effort，humanity finally proved，through technology，the Buddhist cosmology.”

I should have realized this would happen.The abbot is just like the pyramid schemers in Zhongguancun—anything，no matter how unrelated，could be seen by them as powerful proof for their point of view.I try to imagine how a Christian might interpret this picture.

“Amitabha.”I put my palms together to show piety.

“The question is：why has the Buddha chosen now to reveal the truth to all of humanity？”He speaks slowly and forcefully.“I pondered this question for a long time，but then I saw your scheme.”

“Buddhagram？”

Master Deta nods.“I can’t say I approve of your methods.However，since you ended up coming here，that proves that my guesses were correct.”

Cold sweat seeps onto the skin at my back，not unlike that night so long ago that it seems unreal.

“This world is no longer the same as its original form.Put it another way：its creator，the Buddha，God，Deity—no matter what name you give it，has changed the rules by which the world operates.Do you really believe that the consecration was what allowed Buddhagram to perform miracles？”

I hold my breath.

“Suppose the universe is a program.Everything that we can observe is the result of the machine-executable code.But the cosmic microwave background can be understood as the record of some earlier version of the source code.We can invoke this code via computation，which means that we can also use algorithmic processing to change the version of the code that’s currently running.”

“You’re saying that Mr.Wan’s algorithm really caused all of this？”

“I dare not jump to conclusions.But if you forced me to guess，that would be it.”

“I’m pretty science-illiterate，master.Please don’t joke with me.”

“Amitabha.I am a Technologist-Buddhist.I believe in the words of Arthur C.Clarke：’Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable at first glance from Buddhist magic.’”

I know there’s something not quite right here，but I don’t know how to debate him.“But…but that project failed.Look at what a sad state Mr.Wan is in.I don’t think I have anything more to do with this.”

“What is not real？That which form possesses.

The Tathagata will be seen.

When mind past form progresses.”
[2]

“Master，please allow me to leave the temple and return to the secular world.I miss my wife.”A nameless fear suddenly seizes me like a bottomless pit rising out of the screen on the wall，trying to pull me in.

Master Deta sighs and smiles wryly，as though he has long since predicted all this.

“I was hoping that by studying Buddhist doctrine with me，you would be sufficiently calmed to stay here and wait out the catastrophe.But…you and I are both caught in the wheel of samsara，so how can we escape our destinies？All right.Take this as a memento of our time together.”

He hands over a gold-colored Buddha card.On the back is a toll-free number as well as a VIP account number and security code.

“Teacher，what is this？”

“Don’t lose it！The resale value of this card is 8888 yuan.If anything happens，you can give me a call.”

Master Deta turns and waves his hand，and the moldy image on the screen is replaced by regular TV programming.An American quantum physicist has been killed by gunshot.Bizarrely，the shooter claims that it was an accident because he thought the victim was someone else.

6

Half a year passes.I meet Lao Xu at Guanji Chiba，a popular barbecue restaurant in Zhongguancun.

Lao Xu hasn’t changed much.He’s still pathologically in love with barbecued lamb kidneys.Like a stereotypical Northeasterner，after a few bottles of beer，his face glowing with grease and jittering with emotion，Lao Xu begins to say what’s really on his mind.

“Chongbo，why don’t you come and join me again？You know I’ll take care of you.”

Animatedly，Lao Xu tells me what’s been going on with him，spewing flecks of spittle through the smoky haze.After he hid and rested for a while at home，another phone call drew him back into the IT world.This time，he didn’t start a marketing company with no future，but became an“angel investor”.With all the contacts he made among entrepreneurs，now he gets to spend other people’s money—the faster the better.

He thinks I have potential.

“What’s going on with Mr.Wan？”I change the subject.My wife has just found out that she’s pregnant.Although my current job is boring，it’s stable.Lao Xu，on the other hand，isn’t.

“I haven’t heard from him for a while…”Lao Xu’s eyes dimmed，and he took a long drag on his cigarette.“Fortune is so fickle.Back when Buddhagram was on fire，a whole bunch of companies wanted to invest.An American company even wanted to talk about purchasing the whole company.But at the last minute，an American man showed up claiming that Y’s core algorithm was stolen from one of his graduate school research labmates.The American sued，and he just wouldn’t let it go.So the patent rights had to be temporarily frozen.All the investors scattered to the wind，and Lao Wan had to sell everything he owned…but in the end，it still wasn’t enough.”

I drain my cup.

“It wasn’t your fault，”Lao Xu said.“Honestly，if you hadn’t come up with that idea，I bet Lao Wan would have failed even earlier.”

“But if they hadn’t made Buddhagram，maybe the Americans wouldn’t have found out about the stolen algorithm.”

“I’ve finally got it figured out.If what happened hadn’t happened，something else would have.That’s what fate means.Later，I heard that the labmate Y stole from was shot and killed in America.So now the patent case is in limbo.”

Lao Xu’s voice seems to drone on while time stands frozen.My gaze penetrates the slight crack between his cigarette-holding fingers，and the background of noisy，smoky，shouting，drinking patrons of the restaurant fades into the distance.I remember something，something so important that I’ve managed to forget it completely until now.

I thought everything was over，but it’s only starting.

After saying goodbye to Lao Xu，I return home and begin to search，turning everything in the house upside down.My wife，her belly protruding，asks me if I’ve had too much to drink.

“Have you seen a golden card with a picture of the Buddha on there？”I ask her.“There’s a toll-free number on the back.”

She looks at me pitifully，as though gazing at an abandoned Siberian husky，a breed known for its stupidity and difficulty in being trained.She turns away to continue her pregnancy yoga exercises.

In the end，I find it tucked away inside a fashion magazine in the bathroom.The page I open to happens to be the picture of a Vaseline-covered，nude starlet lounging amongst a pile of electronics.Each screen in the image reflects a part of her glistening body.

I dial the number and enter the VIP account number and security code.A familiar voice，sounding slightly tired，answers.

“Master Deta，it’s me！Chenwu！”

“Who？”

“Chenwu！Secular name Zhou Chongbo！Remember how you struck my shoulders three times and told me to go to your room at ten-oh-one to view the picture of the cosmic microwave background？”

“Er…you make it sound so odd.Yes，I do remember you.How’ve you been？”

“You were right！The problem is with the algorithm！”I take a deep breath and quickly recount the story as well as give him my guess.Someone is working really hard to prevent this algorithm from being put into wide application，even to the point of killing people.

The earpiece of the phone is silent for a long while，and then I hear another long sigh.

“You still don’t get it.Do you play games？”

“A long time ago.Do you mean arcade，handheld，or consoles？”

“Whatever.If your character attacks a big boss，the game’s algorithms usually summons all available forces to its defense，right？”

“You mean the NPCs？”

“That’s right.”

“But I didn’t do anything！All I did was to suggest a stupid fucking marketing plan！”

“You misunderstand.”Master Deta’s voice becomes low and somber，as though he’s about to lose his patience.“You’re not the player who’s attacking the boss.You’re just an NPC.”

“Wait a second！You are saying…”Suddenly my thoughts turned jumbled and slow，like a bowl of sticky rice porridge.

“I know it’s hard to accept，but it’s the truth.Someone，or maybe some group，has done things that threaten the entire program—the stability of our universe.And so the system，following designated routines，has invoked the NPCs to carry out its order to eliminate the threat and maintain the consistency of the universe.”

“But I did everything on my own！I just wanted to do my job and earn a living.I thought I was helping him.”

“All NPCs think like that.”

“So what should I do？Lao Xu wants me to go work for him.How do I know if this is…Are you there？”

Strange noises are coming out of the earpiece，as though a thousand insect legs are scrabbling against the microphone.

“When you are confused…hiss…the teacher helps…Enlightened…hiss…help yourself.All you have to do…hiss…and that’s it…hiss…Sorry，your VIP account balance is insufficient.Please refill your account and dial again.Sorry，…”

“Fuck！”I hang up angrily.

“What’s wrong with you，screaming like that？If you frighten me and cause me to miscarry，are you going to assume the responsibility？”My wife’s voice drifts to me slowly from the bedroom.

In three seconds，I sort though my thoughts and decide to tell her everything.Of course，I do have to limit it to the parts she can understand.

“Tell Lao Xu that your wife is worried about earning good karma for the baby.She doesn’t want you to follow him and continue to do unethical work.”

I’m just about to argue with her when the phone rings again.Lao Xu.

“Have you made up your mind？USTC’s quantum lab is making rapid progress！Their machine is tackling the NP-completeness problem now.Once they’ve proved that P=NP，do you realize what that means？”

I look at my wife.She places the edge of her palm against her throat and makes a slicing motion，and then she sticks her tongue out.

“Hello？You there？Do you know what that means—”I hang up，and Lao Xu’s voice lingers in my ear.

Every program has bugs.In this universe，I’m pretty sure that my wife is one of them.Possible the most fatal one.

7

I still remember the day when Lailai was born：rose-colored skin，his whole body smelling of milk.He’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.

My wife，still weak from labor，asked me to come up with a good name.I agreed.But really，I was thinking：It really makes no difference what he’s named.

I’m no hero.I’m just an NPC.To tell the truth，I’ve never believed that all this was my fault.I didn’t join Lao Xu；I didn’t come up with some outrageous idea that would have caused the whole project to fail；I didn’t prevent that stupid quantum computer from proving that P=NP—even now I still don’t know what that means.

If this is the reason that the universe is collapsing，then all I can say is that the Programmer is incompetent.Why regret destroying such a shitty world？

But I’m holding my baby son，his tiny fist enclosed in my hand，and all I want is for time to stop forever，right now.

I regret everything I’ve done，or maybe everything I haven’t done.

In these last few minutes，a scene from long ago appears in my mind：that guy wearing the army coat on the pedestrian overpass.

He’s staring at me and my wife，and like some stuck answering machine，he says，“The Quadrantid meteor shower will come on January 4.Don’t miss it…”

No one is going to miss this grand ceremony for going offline.

I play with my son，trying to make him laugh，or make any sort of expression.Suddenly，I see a reflection in his eyes，rapidly growing in size.

It’s the light coming from behind me.

[1]
The koan behind the verses is attributed to Zhaozhou Congshen(C.E.778-897),a Chan(origin of the Japanese “Zen”)Buddhist master,sometimes considered the greatest master of the Tang Dynasty.In the koan,a monk repeatedly asks the meaning behind Master Zhaozhou’s visit,and each time Master Zhaozhou replies:“The cypress tree in the courtyard.”

[2]
This is a quote from the Diamond Sutra.

Mrs.Griffin Prepares to Commit Suicide Tonight

by A Que，translated by John Chu

When LW31，a domestic model robot，brought Mrs.Griffin’s dinner into her bedroom，it found her preparing to commit suicide.She was trying to tie a rope to the pendant lamp，but，at her age，her eyes were too weak and her hands were no longer steady.She tried again and again but she couldn’t loop the rope around the lamp.

“Do you need any assistance，Mrs.Griffin？”LW31 set down Mrs.Griffin’s meal tray，then walked to her side.

Mrs.Griffin put her hands on her waist.She caught her breath then handed LW31 the rope.“Help me tie this rope to the pendant lamp.”

LW31’s waist spun on its axis.The upper half of its body rose until it hit the ceiling.At the same time，he asked，“What are you planning to do，Mrs.Griffin？”

“I want to commit suicide.”

“Oh，in that case，I should tie both ends.”LW31 nodded its head and said no more.

It tied both ends of the rope to the lamp’s curved pendant holder，tugged on it with both hands and judged the knots sufficiently secure.It turned its head to her.

“Mrs.Griffin，the rope has been tied.You may commit suicide now.”

Panting with each step，Mrs.Griffin walked to just under the pendant lamp.LW31 brought her a chair.Trembling，she climbed the chair，feeling as though everything around her was rocking and swaying.Seeing this，LW31 stabilized her on the chair.Even though it’d been in continuous service for sixty-five years now and many places on its body have been corroded with rust，its mechanical arms were still steady.One hand pushed down on the chair and the other supported her at the waist.

Mrs.Griffin stood still.She stretched her head then then strapped the loop of rope around her neck.

“Wait，wait，Mrs.Griffin.I would like to ask you.”As it had always been，LW31’s voice was the smooth surface of water in an ancient well.“Why did you pick hanging as the way to commit suicide？”

“Because it’s effective…and，to anyone who finds me，a hanging corpse won’t look so horrible.”

“Oh.”

LW31 raised its head.It was a black glass cover.Knives had cut facial features that formed a smiling face.But time had rendered them indistinct to the point where the smile seemed odd and harsh.

It said，“Actually，Mrs.Griffin，you’re as mistaken as those who had thought the Earth was the center of the universe.As a matter of fact，hanging is the most shameful way to commit suicide.Once you kick away the chair，your bodyweight will crack your trachea and your cervical vertebrae will shift.It’s not like in the movies.You won’t have a chance to struggle.You’ll die in a split second.The problem is what happens after you die.”

Mrs.Griffin firmly shook her head.“Don’t try to convince me.I won’t change my mind.”

“After you die by hanging，your eyeballs will jut out like light bulbs，and your face will grow red from suffocation.As for the state of your body，if no one takes down your body within ten hours，the blood vessels in your face will break apart.Your head will be like a tomato，cracked to bursting.The most unseemly is your bodyweight will cause anal prolapse.Urine and feces will overflow…”

After two minutes of this，Mrs.Griffin climbed down from the chair.She sat on her bed，sobbing.

“Why do you want to commit suicide？”LW31 approached her，uncertain.

“It came to me all of a sudden.Everyone who ever loved me is dead，leaving my life friendless and wretched.The idea to commit suicide tonight，it just grew stronger and stronger in my mind…no one’s left who loves me.What’s the point of living？”Mrs.Griffin took a digital photo frame out of her pocket.Her aged fingers swipe across it and the transparent display transformed into pictures of people，one after another.“It’s been twenty-five years since my child died.Now，I can’t bear even one more day of life.”

“Why don’t you tell me about those people who loved you，Mrs.Griffin？”LW31 said.“Once you finish telling me about them，then I can help you commit suicide.”

The endless night painted the world outside the window black.Mrs.Griffin stopped crying.Her fingers pressed the photo’s display，freezing it on a picture of a young husband and wife.

She set down the phone in a daze.A burst of secret pain went through her.Maybe the kid in her belly kicked.

He didn’t come home until the small hours of the morning.It was a cold night and he exhaled icicles with each breath.His hands cold and his feet cold，he dug himself under the bed covers.He huddled up for a while before he could do anything else.

She was still awake.“Back so late again？”

Slowly，his body relaxed in the warmth.The chill faded and he grew sleepy.He answered，his words indistinct，“Yeah，overtime.Also，this week’s pay，three hundred fifty points，I’ve already deposited…”

He didn’t finish his sentence.Instead，he shut his eyes and fell into a heavy sleep.

She，however，couldn’t sleep.This wasn’t the first time he’d lied.

For five months now，he’d come home late every night，usually reeking of alcohol，only to fall asleep as soon as he got into the bedroom.She’d ask him and he’d just say“overtime.”However，he was just an ordinary delivery trunk driver for an AI company.How was he always working overtime？She’d just called his boss and found out the company didn’t have overtime.Not to mention，five months ago，he’d gotten a raise.Five hundred points，not three hundred fifty.

The time and money he hid became her hidden worry.She was a proud woman，though，and never forced the truth from him.With every lie he cast，her heart cooled a little.

He went to work as usual.She convalesced at home.Her fetus was already nine months old.

Her home was cramped and dark.Often，she’d bring out a chair to sit by the curb.The street was lined with plum trees.In the cold weather，each twig exploded with a row of red flowers.She sat under a tree，waiting for him to return home.Car after car，suspended on tracks in mid-air，scratched her gaze as they came and went.

With so much free time，she counted on her memories to pass the days.She’d first met him under this plum tree.Back then，she was still the daughter of a wealthy family.She was set for life.Designer clothes and expensive jewelry covered her from head to foot.She drove a luxury car.As she passed through，the red plum tree caught her attention.Or，rather，the man standing under the tree did.The red plum stood out against snow covered ground.He stood out like a bunch of plums against the snow of the boundless sky.

She stopped her car then walked to his side.He smiled，warm laugh lines filling his face.He broke off a branch，giving it to her，saying，“I was just wondering whether there was anything this winter more beautiful than these plum blossoms.But now that I’ve seen you，I know my answer.”

Right then，she fell in love with him.

Just like a classical romance，this love ran into her parents’violent disapproval.Her father had intended to arrange a business marriage for her.He flew into a rage，scolding her and beating her.He took away her purse and car，froze her card，then shut her inside their house.But it was no use.She was determined to marry him.Finally，with a wave of his hand and with an exhausted sigh，her father said one thing to her：Get out，and stay out.

She spent a long time before she adapted to married life.He drove a truck，delivering robots everywhere.The work was hard and the pay was low.She’d lived in luxury since she was a child，but for him，she threw herself into the oil，salt，soy sauce，and vinegar of a ordinary life.Once，when she was learning to cook，she cut her finger by accident.The spreading blood scared her into tears.He heard her cry and went into the kitchen.Holding her，he said over and over again，“You don’t have to be in the kitchen.I will.Don’t hurt yourself again.”

But，now，he’d changed.He’d learned to lie and hide money.Sometimes，his body carried the scent of alcohol and perfume.Everyone knew what this meant.She’d given up her youth and riches，her fingers now smoked yellow，the corners of her eyes now wrinkled.In exchange，she received only the sight of his back receding into the distance.

The more she thought about it，the more it weighed on her mind.At the foot of the plum tree，she collapsed into tears.

After his shift，his boss called him in.“Yesterday，your wife called me.She said you always come home extremely late.Her stomach is so large now.It’s not easy.Go home earlier and keep her company.”

He hurriedly nodded his head.“Yes，yes，of course.”

After he left work，he didn’t go home.Instead，he went the door of a nightclub in the middle of the city.

Someone had been waiting too long for him.“What took you so long？Quick，Boss Wang is already drunk.Drive him home.”

Obsequiously，he bowed again and again.He got into the flying car，started its engine，then flitted to his assigned location.This is what he did every night.

He drove the nightclub’s customers，delivering them home.He had to beg for a lot of favors before he got this second job.Just one delivery paid at least ten points.Most of those bosses had drunk too much and stank of alcohol.Sometimes，in the embrace of a woman whose clothes were drenched with the spray of perfume，they didn’t go home.Their destination was a guest house.He didn’t mind.He just wanted to be paid.

He didn’t tell her about this second job.He wanted the money to be a pleasant surprise.

Five months ago，as he was signing for his freight，his boss told him，“This is LW’s latest domestic robot.It can do all sorts of household chores.”

He laughed.“What about taking care of a baby？”

The boss snorted.“Not just babies.This robot has a long term of service.It can take care of someone from birth all the way until death.”

This sentence moved his heart.

She was clumsy and not very good at household chores，to say nothing of raising a child.If she had a robot to help her，he wouldn’t spend every work day worrying about her.After that，he asked how much it cost.Twenty thousand Alliance points.This was not a small number.

So，for these few months，he was always busy outside the house.According to his calculations，in five months，he’d saved three thousand points from his wages.Add to that the hundred extra points he earned every night and he’d now saved eighteen thousand points.Their child would be born soon.He needed to earn money more quickly.

Tonight，he took a couple，man and a woman，to a hotel.On the road，she tittered as the man’s hands never stopped caressing her.He paid no attention to them，focused on his driving.The hotel wasn’t far.Its neon lights flickered below them.

Some people.The woman was a little shy，after all.She pushed aside the man’s hand when he reached for her skirt.

The man was not happy.He roared，“What is there to be afraid of”

Despite those words，the man raised his head and looked around.His gaze fell upon the photo on the car window.

It was of a couple，a man and a woman.Their happiness together shone on their faces.She rested her head on his shoulder.He looked at her with a mild expression.In the background was a cluster of plum blossoms in full bloom among the ice and snow.

The man，staring blankly，asked：“This photo…”

Like the man，he raised head and looked at the photo.With an irrepressible joy，he said，“That’s me and my wife.She’s beautiful，yeah？I’m a lucky man.She’s pregnant.It’s a girl.She’ll grow up to be just as beautiful.”

“Then why aren’t you at home with her？”

“I have to make money so that I can buy her a present：a robot.So she won’t have to work every day.”

The man stayed silent.

The woman，who had just resisted the man’s advances，noticed the man wasn’t touching her any more.Confused，she pulled the man’s hands to her.The man pulled them back，then lit a cigarette.The smoke drifted around the car’s small and narrow cabin.

When he finished smoking，he said slowly，“Don’t go to the hotel.Take me home.”

The woman asked，“To your home？I’m not that kind of—”

“You can go right now.”

The man took out his card.He tapped a few numbers on it，put the woman’s finger on its screen，then transferred over that many points.

The woman grumbled，“It’s enough money，but I have professional ethics.Halfway though，I can’t just—”

“Go.”

The women left.He continued to drive on to the man’s house.

A plain woman came out.She brought the man an overcoat.

“Didn’t you say you had a meeting tonight？”

“I canceled it.”The man ran his hands through her hair.“No meeting is more important than you.”

He watched this play out.His heart roiled with an indescribable feeling.He laughed，started the engine，then slowly left the rich side of town.Suddenly，he thought of her and didn’t want to earn any more money tonight.He wanted to turn in early and spend time with her.Whenever she felt cold—and their house was always cold—she’d rub her hands，wrinkle her nose.The way she behaved was adorable.The way she behaved would worry him for the whole of his life.

Tonight，he’d use his wallet to stop her hands.He’d rub them slowly until they grew warm from the circulating blood.He laughed at the thought.

His mind still preoccupied，he didn’t pay attention in both directions.An out-of-control flying car fell off its suspended track.It hit him from the right.The two flying cars rolled over each other then fell out of the sky.They exploded，blooming into resplendent，beautiful flowers.

She overslept.She waited for him，but he never came home.She got out of bed，went out to the street then stood under the plum tree.If he came back，he’d have to pass through here.When he came back，he’d see her under the plum tree，like when they’d first met，a face set off against plum blossoms.

The night was as cold as water and she wrapped her clothes tight around her.She’d decided to forgive him.It didn’t matter what he’d done.She’d decided to forgive it all.He was her only worry in the world.Her plan now set，she began to laugh.When he came back，he’d definitely grasp her hands in his and rub them，letting circulating blood make them warm.

This is how she waited for him，staring at the end of the street，hoping he’d appear from somewhere.Overhead，a cluster of plum blossoms opened in resplendent beauty.

“I’m sorry…I’m genuinely sorry.”LW31 lowered his head in apology.

Mrs.Griffin shook her head.“It’s not your fault…My mom was an ill-fated person.Not long after she gave birth to me，she died.But she was also a fortunate person.After my father died，she still used the money to buy you.It shows that she never blamed anyone.”

LW31 paused，then put its hand on Mrs.Griffin’s shoulder.“In that case，I can now help you carry out some other way of dying.How would you like to die？”

“Sleeping pills？That way，I won’t feel any pain.”

“OK.”LW31 answered.“Except that，right now，we have two problems.”

“Go ahead.”

“One，within forty-eight hours of overdosing on sleeping pills，not only will you not be able to sleep，but symptoms like gastrospasm，abdominal pain，and foaming at the mouth will emerge.This is because every organ in your body will perform their post-poison stress function.Many people who attempt suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills，because they can’t stand the pain any longer，call for help…Mrs.Griffin，I don’t think you will want to endure that sort of pain.”

Mrs.Griffin closed her eyes.Most of a day passed，it seemed，then her lips quivered.“I’d just like to commit suicide.I just want not to look like a disgrace after I’m dead.Even if I foam at the mouth，you will take care of my corpse for me，right？”

“Of course.I exist to serve you.”

“That’s good then.”Mrs.Griffin nodded.“As for the pain…Throughout my entire life，I’ve endured too much pain.I’ve long gone numb.Open the drawer and check.How many sleeping pills are left？”

“Mrs.Griffin，this happens to be the second problem.We don’t have enough sleeping pills.”LW31 opened the drawer and took out the drugs.“A total of seventeen pills.This is a prescription drug.A pharmacy will sell twenty pills at most.Given your build，to cause death you may need eighty-six pills.”

“Can’t you go out and buy them for me？”

“Mrs.Griffin，maybe you forgot.The great migration has already begun.Practically everyone has already gone.There are no more pharmacies.”

Mrs.Griffin sighed.The lamp lit her face.She seemed a little sallow.The years had left gullies on her face.

LW31 said politely，“Mrs.Griffin，it would be better if you tell me more.Besides your parents，there were other people who loved you，right？”

“Yes.”Mrs.Griffin swiped the photo again.This time who appeared was a lanky young man.Mrs.Griffin glanced at him.Thick tears drifted from her eyes.One night from many years ago floated up to the present.

Late night.

Silence.

Peter and Jason stood silent at the gate at start of the street.

A street like this one，there shouldn’t be anyone standing there.

A street like this one，

there shouldn’t have been two men in designer suits standing there at night.

The start of the street was broken.

The middle of the street was cold.

The end of the street was dark.

This was the most run down street in the city.Normally，few people walked it.It was a crime-ridden street.In dark places，countless eyes opened，stomachs rumbled，waiting for prey to enter.

Afterwards，the prey were swallowed and digested.Nothing left of them to be spit back out.

But Peter and Jason stood at the head of the street，relaxed，as though they belonged there.As though this was their home.

Peter was tall and thin.Standing there，motionless，he seemed like a sharp pencil.

Jason was short and fat，just like a wax gourd that had rolled all over the ground.

Jason was smoking.With a deep drag，the flame fled from the head of the cigarette to the end.The entire cigarette was burnt up.

Peter asked，“Now？”

Jason blew a puff of thick smoke.“Now.”

The two men started down the long，dark street.

The wind blew by.It whimpered like tearful ghosts.

The people who lived on the street，they weren’t law-abiding folk.

They were of all sorts.The beggar’s neighbor was a thief.Above the thief lived a prostitute.Across from the prostitute’s balcony was a reliably blundering cheat.

But they all had one thing common.

They were poor.

So poor that they could only live on this old，dilapidated street like snails in their shells.

To be poor is to suffer.It’s the kind of suffering that freezes the heart stone cold.

So，whenever someone walked down this street，they usually entered the gaze of the beggar，the thief，the prostitute，and the cheat.

They’d swindled old men out of their clothes.They’d taken candy from babies.

They never let even a single cent slip past them.

But，now，they didn’t dare even plan.They shut their windows.They lay on their beds，grinding their teeth until they sucked blood，not daring to make a sound.

Because Peter and Jason were walking down the street.

They walked neither quickly nor slowly.Their every step clicked on the pavement，solid and steady.

Peter walked six hundred fifty-nine steps altogether.Jason one thousand three hundred fifteen.

They stopped in front of a room at the tail of the street.

The room was dark.Its light was out.

But Jason heard breathing.

Panting like a fawn running from a hunter’s gun.

Jason lifted his head and laughed grimly.

They haven’t found the wrong place.

They beat the door three times like drum.

No one answered.

Jason continued to pound the door.

Dull and dreary，the dense dark of the night flustered them.

“Who is it？”At last，a sound from inside.It was a female voice，as clear as a bell，but trembling.

Jason said，“It’s me.”

Peter said，“And me.”

The woman inside the room said，“Who are you？”

Peter and Jason said，“We are detectives from Public Safety Bureau of the Alliance of City-States.”

The woman said，“You shouldn’t have come.”

Peter said，“But we’re already here.”

The woman said，“Can’t you just go back？”

Jason said，“The last person who wanted us to go back is now sleeping in prison.”

The woman in the room sighed.

She couldn’t hide from disaster.

The woman opened the door.

When she opened the door，she saw short and fat Jason and she saw tall and thin Peter.

And Peter looked at the woman.

He couldn’t help but gape at her.She was an extremely beautiful woman.

There were many standards for judging a woman’s beauty.Some preferred the face，particularly the nose and mouth.Some preferred the figure，obsessing over the breasts，waist，ass，and legs.But no matter who the judges were，once they looked at this woman，they couldn’t deny her beauty.

Because，regardless of face or figure，she was completely flawless.

Pretty brows，seductive eyes，a jade nose，a cherry mouth.

Ample breasts，tiny waist，a round ass，long and slender legs.

Combined to perfection.

Jason，instead，looked at the room behind the woman.

The room was small.The walls were old，but clean.It made one unspeakably comfortable just to look at it.The room didn’t have much furniture，but the owner had clearly chosen every piece with care.Every piece was placed exactly where it ought to be.

The woman said，“You’ve come to my home in the middle of the night.What do you want？”

Jason said，“You don’t know what we want？”

The woman said，“How would I，a weak woman，know what you want？”

Jason said，“But you know about the book，right？”

The woman shivered，but quickly composed herself.“What book？”

Jason took everything in his gaze.Calmly，he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his tablet.Its screen changed as he swiped it.

A front cover of a book appeared on the screen.

The front cover was bronze colored，with the title at the top.

The title was only five words.Five ordinary words.

But the woman looked as though she’d seen a ghost.Her face changed expression.

The Domestic Robot Administration Amendment Peter，who’d been silent so far，started to speak.

His words were like his body，lean and taut.“We have information.You’re hiding an LW model robot.”

Jason said，“And according to the amendment，all the robots must be reclaimed.”

The woman said，“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jason said，“Of course you know.Your face betrays you.”

The woman said nothing.

Peter looked at her with care.His voice grew gentle.“A month ago，a PRW model domestic robot，while its owner was asleep，severed his throat.The deceased was an Alliance assemblyman.The Alliance has already passed a law.All robots are to be reclaimed.”

The woman shook her head.“There’s no robot here.”

Jason laughed coldly.“I’m afraid you don’t get the last word here.”

With that，Jason pushed the woman away，then entered the room.

The woman crashed into the wall.

She looked to Peter for help，but Peter lowered his head，his expression difficult to read.

Jason narrowed his gaze.He looked all around the room.No robot.

Peter said，“There’s no robot.Let’s go.”

Jason raised his hand.His gaze fell on the bed，the snow white sheets，the neatly folded blanket.The foot posts were made of a metal alloy.They were coated with dust.

This woman with the meticulously arranged room，how could she put up with the dust on the foot posts？

Jason laughed.His laughter was joyous.

He pointed at the bed.“Is something hiding under the bed？”

The woman’s face instantly went pale.

Jason lit another cigarette.“Now you have two options.”

The woman quickly nodded her head.

Jason said，“Option one，I take the robot back.It’ll be melted down and，for the crime of hiding it，you’ll be put in prison.”

The woman said，“Please，I beg you.Don’t take away LW31.It’s the only thing my parents left me.”

Jason said，“Then you have option two.Give me five thousand points and I’ve seen nothing.”

The woman furrowed her brow.“But I don’t have that much money.Take everything else in my home.Just leave me LW31.”

The corners of Jason’s mouth curled into a slight smile.His gaze slid from the woman’s face down，“Even if I took everything in your house，it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Jason’s gaze felt like a serpent.Clammy and cool，it slithered over her skin.

The woman’s chest tightened.

Calmly，Jason stared at the woman.He enjoyed the fear that spread across the woman’s face.He was pleased，and a certain part of his body began to respond.

A long time had passed before he spoke.“I want you for ten nights.”

The woman violently shook her head.

Jason made an apologetic sigh.“Then say goodbye to your robot.”

Before he’d even finished speaking，the woman raised her hand to hit him.

She only needed one chance.This one chance was enough to subdue him.

She assembled machines at the factory.Her work every day was to reach her hand in to shove motherboards into the machines.

So，she’d already practiced this move for four years，five months and twenty-eight days.She was absolutely certain that no one in this room could stop her.

But，this once，she was wrong.

Astonishment gradually solidified on her face.One hand，one fat，white，and strong hand clutched her throat.

The hand belonged to Jason.

No one had ever thought that someone short and fat could reach his hand out so quickly.

The woman implored him.“LW31 isn’t dangerous.It’s just responsible for taking care of me.For a long time now.I can’t lose it.I beg you.”

Jason said，“I’ll give you a chance to beg，but it’ll be when we’re both naked.People who try to hit me don’t come to a good end.You’ll quickly know how living can be worse than dying.”

He wasn’t lying.Jason never lied.If you met Jason one day and he told you he wanted to kill you，there was only thing you should do：go home and make out your will.

You couldn’t resist and there was no escape because he was Jason.

The woman’s face filled with despair.This time，her eyes suddenly widened.She saw something she absolutely wasn’t supposed to see.

A gun pressed against the back of Jason’s head.

Peter said，“Let her go.”

Jason said，“You want to betray me because of her？”

Peter，his face expressionless，said，“I can’t take it any more.Searching for robots as an excuse，you’ve extorted nearly two hundred thousand Alliance points，raped seven women，hounded nineteen residents of the city to death.”

Jason said，“And you’re a good guy？”

Peter said，“I’m not，but now I want to be.”

Jason sneered.“I bet you can’t kill me.”

Peter laughed.“Why？”

Jason said，“Because you wouldn’t dare.”

Peter pulled the trigger.

Blood splashed.

The man fell.

The woman looked at Peter.Astonished，she sized him up.Tears fell from her eyes.“Thank you.”

Peter shrugged.“Peter upheld justice for you.He begs you not to cry.If the world is unjust，get drunk，wave a sword，then cut off heads.”

The woman nodded.“But you killed him and he died in my home.Maybe I should get ready to flee.”

Peter said，“But，one person fleeing will be very lonely.”

The woman said，“What do you suggest then？”

Peter studied the woman.

For a long time，they looked at each other and laughed.Peter extended his hand.“Hello，my name is Peter，Peter Griffin.”

The woman said，“I’m Xue Yi.”

Peter took a step forward，then held the woman.

The woman felt his embrace.

He was very tall.

Very thin.

His face was cool.

His arms were stiff.

But his chest was warm.

“That night，we spent a lot of time digging a hole and buried you in it.Afterward，he took me and we fled here，there，and everywhere until the Alliance collapsed.We didn’t return until the orders for our arrest were canceled.”

LW31 looked at her serenely.After a while，Mrs.Griffin let out an inaudible sigh.

She said lightly，“But the good times didn’t last.Not long after we settled down，he grew ill and died.In the years when we were on the run，he always gave the good things to our daughter and me.All the injuries and illnesses accumulated in his body…”

“I remember him a little.He was laconic，capable，and he loved you very much.”

Mrs.Griffin exposed her wrists.She tossed the grief from her mind.“I want to open a blood vessel.Come and help me.”

LW31 nodded its head，then took a thin knife from a drawer.It gleamed as though it were lacquered with a layer of light.

Mrs.Griffin held out her wrists.The knife edge immediately pressed down on an old，wrinkled，pulsing vessel.A chill started at her skin then oozed into the blood vessel.She began to shiver.

“I’m going to start cutting.Are you ready？”LW31 asked.

“I’m ready.Just get on it.”Mrs.Griffin snapped.She closed her eyes then immediately opened them again.Shivering，she asked，“What happens after you open a blood vessel？”

“That depends on which one I cut.If it’s a vein，then your blood will flow out right away，but not like a river in volume.That’s because your platelets will have already congealed at the wound.If it’s an artery，then you’ll die quickly.However，in that scenario，blood will spurt like a fountain.It may be hard to keep this within the limits of propriety.Blood will drench your body.I fear that you’ll look horribly mutilated.”LW31 spoke at a steady pace.“Should I start cutting now？”

“In that case，is there some other way？”

“Yes，there’s a way that is highly appropriate for you.However，before I tell you，you have to tell me again about someone who loved you.”

The photo frame’s screen flickered.Quickly，a smiling girl，bright and beautiful，pulling a suitcase behind her appeared.The screen also displayed three short arcs.That indicated that this photo also had sound.Mrs.Griffin’s trembling hand touched the screen.Immediately，a graceful but ordinary voice surrounded the room.

In the winter of 2335，dragging my suitcase，I returned to the small town I left seven years ago.

The airport was deserted.Wind from a distant place blew here and my hair fluttered in that wind.I grew dizzy at the sight of a sky that was filled with clouds，a vast expanse of exquisite grace sweeping past the town.I began to understand that when a woman was looking at the sky，she wasn’t looking for anything.She was just being still.

The stillness oozed into my veins，like ice-cold lips kissing my bones.

There weren’t many taxis at midnight.Once in a while，a few passed by on the suspended tracks，their headlights scratching a line in the dark.

I stood by the side of the street，watching flowing light drag shadow behind it.A taxi stopped in front of me.A dark window rolled down revealing the driver.He was a good-looking man.When he smiled，his teeth were white.The corners of his mouth tilted gently.The expression in his eyes was as clean and flowing as water.

“Where to？”he asked.

I stepped in，then told him my destination.

Once we got on the road，we didn’t speak.

I plastered my face to the car window.Colors faded as I rode.I saw the town through the gray forms that emerged.Nothing had changed in seven years.This small town，old and broken，still made people’s hearts bleak and desolate.

“Everyone is emigrating now.Very few returned.”The driver was the first to speak.

I nodded.“I’m also planning to leave.I applied for the Pegasus star system，the planet called KG6.My application’s already approved.”

“Then what are you returning here for？”

“To say goodbye.”

The driver didn’t say any more.

The taxi stopped in the north end，at a house I knew intimately.I got out.The driver，still stopped by the side of the road，wasn’t in a hurry to leave.I think he must have wanted to tell me something.At last，though，he just started the engine.The taxi slowly glided into the night.

I knocked on the door.The dull thuds sounded like the beating of a lonely heart.

The door opened with a creak.The robot’s face revealed itself.Facial features had been carved on its black face guard.The childish scratches formed a weird smile.

The robot came out and took my suitcase.“Miss，you’ve returned.”

I looked inside.The house was a black cavity.“Is she here？”

“Yes，she’s home.She’s been waiting for you for a long time.Why don’t we go in？”

I hesitated.I stood at the door.Below my feet，it was as if a deep trench had split open.A great and frozen wind blew down that vast gap.I had no way to cross it.I simply sat down.The woman inside the house，who was also sitting，opened her eyes，as though she was looking back at me.

She was my mother.Or，rather，she was once my mother.

The first seventeen years of my life，I spent at her side.In my memory，this little house will always be cold and damp，like the years I can’t bear.The place always carried the faint smell of rot and the young me hated it.After I escaped，though，not a night went by that I didn’t secretly long for this house.

I was born in the final age of Earth’s exhaustion.No one felt secure.When I was small，I saw too many pallid faces grow alarmed and bewildered，but I didn’t know why.Until I was five，I roamed the world with my parents.Or rather，we were fugitives.

Then the once colossal Alliance crumbled.We settled down with lots of robots to help with the housework.But not long after，my father，lying in bed，swallowed his last breath.I remember his eyes，withered and cloudy，staring forever at her and me.Deep grief was buried in those eyes.

After my father died，she became frail and stubborn.She wouldn’t let me out of the house.She wouldn’t let me have any contact with boys.If I defied her，she didn’t hit me or yell at me.She just kept staring at me，her dark eyes shining like a wolf’s.

So I stayed by her side.Time flowed like water.It washed over me until I was clear and slender.However，it wore her down until her face grew ashen and wrinkled.Did time retaliate against her on my behalf I’ve never dared to imagine.

I let go of a silent breath.A fierce wind screamed under the cover of night.The town let out a loud and lonely cry.Yes，the town was also lonely.One after another，people emigrated.The center of town was deserted，like a great beast that has lost its heart，lamenting without end.

“Miss，let’s go in.”The robot had waited a long time before finally speaking.Its voice was as flat as ever.This time，though，I seemed to hear an imploring tone in its voice.

But I shook my head.If she didn’t open her mouth，I wouldn’t go in.She and I were two sheafs of wheat in a wheat field，leaning against each other，but always pushing against each other too.We could never hug.

When I was seventeen，I decided to leave.

That summer，I had worked everywhere in town.I carefully saved every cent.After that muggy summer，I already had enough money for a bus ticket.As far as I was concerned，all I needed was a bus ticket and I could lead my own vagrant life.

So，that September，I told her，“Ma，I’m going to buy a book.”

“Hm，”she said in the dark.

I turned to the door，and just like that，I left home.The moment I bought my bus ticket，tears filled my face.Soundlessly，I sobbed.

And she waited for me to return.It took exactly seven years.

In those seven years，I traveled to many places.I saw warm sunshine and was drenched in dark rain.I never stopped moving.Until I met him.

It was on a main street in the south.He stood on a platform simultaneously passing out leaflets to passersby and，in a loud voice，extolling the virtues of the interstellar immigration policy.The instant he gave me a leaflet，I saw his beautiful eyes.Furrows wrinkled his brow.His gaze，clear like spring water，flowed past the seething sunlight and crowd，surmounted the air，then flowed into mine.

And just like that，I was lost.

The man always liked to hold my face in his large palms，nuzzle my forehead with his nose then tease me like a small animal.I never refused him.Later，when he wanted to take me away from Earth，I still didn’t refuse him.

He said，“We’ll settle down in the Pegasus star system.There’s already a terraformed planet.The atmosphere is as fresh as your breath.Six satellites orbit the planet.When you walk outside at night，six shadows spread out beneath your feet.”

I said，“Fine.”

My only request was to return to see her，to say goodbye.

But，now，I hesitated at the door.It was a chilly night but I didn’t dare go in.

The person in the room and I exchanged gazes.After I don’t know how long，I stood.“LW31，give me my suitcase.I want to leave.”

“Miss，you really don’t want to visit her？”The robot said，hurriedly.“She’s missed you so much these past few years.”

I nodded.I’d also missed her.Instead of sending a message，if I had a chance，I’d come back to visit again.

The robot stayed silent.Dew condensed on it，like tears weeping down its outer shell.

She still hadn’t come out and I decided I wouldn’t wait any longer.I took my suitcase，turned around，then left.Clouds floated across the sky.A strong wind howled past.

I knew she was in the back looking at me，but I never turned around.

“I know what happened next.”LW31 said.“The spaceship she rode on was hit by a meteorite.The ship’s cabin was damaged.All the crew and passengers suffocated to death.”

Mrs.Griffin didn’t say anything.A long while later，two thick tears fell down her face.They hit the photo frame.The display slowly faded to black.

“So，those who loved me，they’re all gone.”Mrs.Griffin put the photo frame back into her pocket.“I no longer have any meaning to my life.Tell me the way to kill myself.Let me die，please？”

“As you wish.The most suitable method is…electrocution.”

“Won’t that hurt？”

“Electrocution is the most beautiful way to commit suicide.It best preserves the original appearance of the corpse.In fact，if it’s done correctly，it doesn’t even leave any burn marks.In the moment of electrocution，you’ll feel a sharp pain then you’ll stop breathing and your heart will stop beating.The process is very quick.Practically no pain at all.”LW31 said earnestly.“But what you need to make sure of is this：the electric current must pass through the heart in order to cause death.No other way will do.But I can help you with this bit.I will use rubber tape to attach copper wire to your solar plexus.I guarantee the electrical current will pass through your heart.Moreover，I will use cotton balls moistened with salt water to lower your resistance.Mrs.Griffin，would you like to do this now？”

Mrs.Griffin nodded her head.

“Very well.I exist to serve you.”LW31 turned to look for copper wire，rubber tape，and cotton balls，but when he reached the door，he stopped.“Mrs.Griffin，before you are electrocuted，I want to give you a warning.You’re wrong about a few things.”

“What things？”

“You said everyone who ever loved you is dead，leaving your life friendless and wretched.”LW31’s back faced Mrs.Griffin.Its back was corroded by rust.Its voice was slow.“You’re wrong.There’s still one person，from start to finish，who has always loved you.”

“Who？”

LW31 turned around.In the light，the smile scratched on its black face guard seemed to move.It looked at Mrs.Griffin，its carved gaze infinitely soft.The electric transmission in its body buzzed.

After a long time，it said，“Me.”

Mrs.Griffin stared dumbfounded.

Events of her past fell thick like snowflakes.Gradually and clearly，she realized it was right.Throughout her long life，LW31 indeed had stuck with her from start to finish.When she was little，her mother was always ill.She couldn’t do any housework.LW31 took care of Mrs.Griffin in every possible way.It allowed her to grow up without any worries or cares.

Once when she was mischievous，she thought its black face guard was too forbidding，so she carved a smile on it.It didn’t get angry.It was peaceful and docile.After she grew up，LW31 always cleaned the house until it was spotless，cooked the meals，then stood quietly in the house，waiting for Mrs.Griffin to come home from work.After her daughter was born，it became even busier.It practically never had any free time.Once Mrs.Griffin grew old，it still took care of everything at home.It accompanied Mrs.Griffin sunbathing，told her jokes downloaded from the internet.

It could take care of a person all her life and，from start to finish，show every possible consideration without even a single complaint.If that wasn’t love，then what was？

Mrs.Griffin choked with sobs.She walked up then hugged LW31.Her hand touched LW31’s back.There，LW31’s outer casing was even rougher than Mrs.Griffin’s skin.

“I’m sorry.I’ve always taken you for granted.”

“Never mind，Mrs.Griffin.”LW31 still had that smiling expression.Its voice was tranquil like before.“Mrs.Griffin，your dinner is already cold.Would you like me to reheat it？”

“Yes.”Mrs.Griffin wiped away her tears，nodding her head.

The Hunger Tower

by Pan Haitian，Translated by Nick Stember

They saw the tower just as the suns were beginning to set.

Pure white and rising to a sharp point，it seemed to soar higher than even the darkly shadowed mountains in the distance.In the west-slanting light of the three suns，the tower stood out as a long，thin line of light against those gloomy mountains which clustered around on four sides.

Gazing reverently at this line，it was if they were looking up at hope itself，and not a single one of them had the thought they might die in this place.To get here they had walked for over two weeks without stopping to rest.Passing through the great desert，they had left behind a trail of those too weak to carry on，the sun-crazed.The beast had taken the choicest morsels，leaving who remained at the point of exhaustion.Starving，they were little better than walking corpses.

Two weeks ago，their vessel had crashed deep in the desert，killing half of the passengers on impact.The pilot was fortunate enough to have been killed on the spot，smashed into a shapeless meaty pulp.Fortunate，because had he lived，he would have most likely been subjected to unspeakable cruelties by the indignant survivors of the crash during the hopeless days which followed.

After climbing free of the bloody carnage of the wreckage，it was a long while before they had set aside the shock and hysteria of falling some 20，000 chi[about 6666 meters]from the sky like a lead weight.After grieving for the dead，and praising God’s benevolence for sparing their lives，almost as one the survivors raised up their heads to take in the boundless expanse of gobi[desert，wasteland]which surrounded them.Stones of varying sizes lay on the ground as far the eye could see，like skulls embedded in the glistening sand，reflecting back the brilliance of the three suns.

The survivors did not speak.Just because God had seen fit to send one half their number straight to His heavenly kingdom，did not necessarily mean he planned to let the other half live.The majority of the vessel’s crew had been killed in the crash，leaving the passengers to fend for themselves.A certain captain from a special forces unit soon emerged as natural leader.After inspecting the wreckage，the captain informed them that the communicator was finished，so there was no way for them to call for help and also no way to know their exact position.At best，they could hope for a rescue mission to arrive in three months，not counting the time it would take the rescue team to search the barren wasteland of this singularly enormous planet.

“Please search the wreckage for things that may be of use to us and share them with the group.If we are to be rescued，then we must band together in this time calamity，”said the captain.It comforted them all a little to look up at his ruggedly unyielding grey eyes，his muscular neck，his sturdy and well-defined chest.

The survivors began to enthusiastically search the vessel，even exploring the severely damaged fore cabin from which not a single man had escaped alive.Coming across that room，which looked like nothing less than a strawberry slurry spattered blender，the searchers found themselves afflicted with constant nightmares，vomiting even while dreaming.

Finding water was not a problem，as the twisted，gurgling pipes of the vessel were still leaking coolant.Despite tasting of motor oil，it was not poisonous.They were also able to find no small amount of food—local delicacies bought by tourists on the various planets they had visited.Still，despite the profusion of flavors，and no matter how tasty these snacks were，it was apparent that it would be impossible to sustain sixty people for three months on these meager rations alone.This was especially true since many of the survivors were so fat that it was all but guaranteed that they were gluttonous gourmands.

Eventually they found a battered and ancient-seeming map in the bag of pilgrim who had been killed in the crash.The captain spent half a day studying the map with a compass and slide rule，together three others：a surviving member of the boiler room crew，a chemistry professor who was on vacation，and the ship’s priest.They announced that they would be leading the group to a temporary shelter，the monastery of an infamous ascetic and a reclusive sect.This was the only sign of human life that was marked on the map.

It was not until after ten days of arduous walking that they finally caught sight of the monastery’s lone spire.Far in the distance，it gleamed like gold in the light of the setting suns.

In the dying light they began to run，setting off a dust storm which stuck to their calves.From withered lungs emerged hot，sticky breath，but not a single person spoke，their bodies erect，their heads bent，casting aside unnecessary bags，empty canteens，kicking off boots that had already come unstitched，running barefoot in the scalding sand.

They knew that a ferocious beast was following close behind.Every day，once the sun had set，it had appeared like clockwork to choose its victim from this band of ragged and weary travelers.In less than two weeks they had lost fourteen of their number，finding themselves helpless before its onslaught.

Equally helpless to predict who among their number the beast would take next，the only obvious conclusion that they could come to was that the odds of being chosen were the greatest for those who straggled the furthest behind.Only steps away from salvation，none among them was willing to take that unfortunate role.Racing against one another as they fled，then ran silently，their heads down，each of them spurred on by the fear of their neighbor.Even the young priest was no exception，despite the deep feeling of shame he felt，thinking of Darwin’s cruel law of survival as he ran.Since the law had first appeared，it had caused man and religion alike to suffer the greatest of humiliations.Now，though，they must run，because they must keep up if they are to survive.

When they had first set off，they had managed to stay organized.Some were responsible for wayfinding，others for taking care of the women，the children，the infirm，while still others took on the night watch.Despite finding themselves in dire peril，the entire party maintained an air of elegant refinement throughout，modestly deferring to one another，acting as if their arduous march was nothing more than a holiday hiking adventure with a bunch of backpack-wearing city slickers.This lasted until the beast appeared，and in the blink of an eye，the weak bonds civilized society suddenly snapped，order broke down，and to a man they reverted to their most basic of instincts.

That evening the young priest saw the boiler tender stomp two tents flat，and smack a fat woman to the ground；the chemistry professor，meanwhile，jumped into the fire，almost burning himself to a crisp；while somewhere in distance，the captain managed to fire two rounds at the beast，before it disappeared into the night；and the people hide all around，their holiday hike having been transformed into a disorderly and chaotic flight for their lives.

Truly，the beast was a terrible horror，a man-eating terror of a sort a rarely seen in this nebula.Devilishly fast，with hooked talons like glittering daggers，its trifurcated tail was like a mace or a flail，coming to three points.Even worse than its appearance，though，was the beast’s seemingly inbred hatred for mankind.Once it began an attack，there was no room for mercy—the beast would tear and chew until there was nothing left.

The only bright spot in all of this was that the beast knew well enough to choose the best portions.Taking first the most overweight of the group，who also happened to eat the most food and walk the slowest，the beast left behind the strongest and youngest of them，with sturdy bodies and steadfast wills.No longer requiring others to urge them on，the speed of the group increased greatly.

The captain ran in the middle of pack.Holding his laser gun tightly，his neck was ramrod straight，his breath slow，and his pace neither hurried nor leisurely—to separate from the group was dangerous.The captain was the first to notice a new sound emerging from the cacophony of footsteps，that of thickly padded feet drumming against the sand.An animal smell，warm and rank，like urine，filled the air.Turning，he saw the glistening fur of the beast，silhouetted against an alien moon，following their little group silently.The squashed face of the beast was covered in matted fur，which moved slightly in the wind，and a single eye，slating fiercely and nearly closed，silently assessed each member of the group in turn.Having arrived once again，the beast was methodically planning its attack，an attack they were helpless to resist.They felt as if they were its subjects and the beast their lord，looking down upon them with disgust，finding themselves shamed by its disregard for them.the captain thought bitterly as he clutched his useless laser gun.Sooner or later he’s gonna get us.

Finally they arrived at the tower，which was located in a narrow valley running up into the mountains.In the thick woods which filled the valley，a cluster of low huts were built around a public square.In the middle of the square there was a fountain which featured apagan goddess sitting on a lotus blossom throne.A mysterious smile of deep compassion and endless sorrow cut across her broad，moon-like face.Some of the men jumped into the fountain，while others fell to the ground and wept like children.Others were frozen in place，neither crying nor laughing.

Not a single hut was lit from the inside，and no smoke issued forth from their chimneys.No one emerged to welcome them，for the entire village was silent，without a soul around.They soon realized that this place was abandoned，and their hopes were dashed like a great soap bubble that has floated up too high in the sky.Sobbing，they spent the night huddled together in a confused mass.

When the dawn broke，three suns of differing colors rose into the sky，first the one the color of yellow-brown earth，filling the pass with brilliant golden light.Sometime later，the blue sun rose into the sky，the largest of the three，and finally，the cold carmine sun.They soon discovered that in the chaos of the previous night，another two of their number had disappeared，Seoni and Ami，a Lunarian couple.Thinking back on their freckled faces，the priest sighed to himself.

They drew water from the still flowing fountain.The short rest after their long trek had improved the spirits of the group，and they soon began to cautiously explore their surroundings.The forest was not large，nor was it especially dense，being made up entirely of trees indigenous to this planet：to their left，spiraling bracken fern trees formed an unbroken chain，their tops reaching up into the heavens.Needle-trees which split three ways from their roots swayed in the breeze，giving off a quiet shushing sound.In the face of this tranquil，garden-like scene，the remaining members of the group stood clumped in pairs，unwilling to explore the woods any further.

When it was almost noon，the captain gathered together other three leaders of the group：the chemistry professor，the boiler tender，and the priest.He led them into a low basement made of rough sandstone blocks.Probably once a wine cellar，the room was filled with a large number of empty bottles the former occupants had left behind.The once swarthy and robust captain sat squatting on the unstable floor of broken bottles，a blanket draped over his shoulders.His thickly stubbled face was cut with deep wrinkles，appearing withered and pale.He looked for all the world like a wilted vegetable that had been sucked dry of all its water.“We’ve already run out of food，”he said，revealing the terrible news to the others.“We don’t have one bit left.I searched the entire monastery this morning.Even though it’s obvious this place has been abandoned，just to make sure I went through each hut to in the hopes of finding some hidden food stores—but there’s nothing here.Nothing.”

The gathered leaders were all silent for a time.Their rescuers wouldn’t be here for another two and half months.The only choice，then，was to starve to death.In comparison to this threat，the beast was only a minor annoyance.

“If we could face the beast，then we would have faced the beast，”the captain said.“The laser guns are useless against it—I shot it right in the face，and he just shook his shoulders，as if I had attacked him with a water pistol.”As he was talking，he rubbed his nose in frustration.“But we can keep him out.I’ve surveyed the area.We are surrounded by high cliffs on all four sides.There is only one way in and one way out of valley—we could build a fence there.There are already plenty of tools in the village.”

“You’re right，our laser guns are useless，”the chemistry professor said wearily.Due to his slender build，his large，protruding ears were quite eye-catching.“I happened to read a short introduction for tourists who visit this planet.The planet is known for the astonishing number of crystals that have formed in the mica，and due to the principle of resonance，the planet is filled with ultrasonic noise.The creatures which have evolved here have an innate ability to make use of and control the vibration of other objects.You’ve seen the fur on the cat-beast’s head，right？It can use that fur to sense vibrations—and really，when you get right down to it，a laser is just a kind of vibration.Your attack probably made the beast uncomfortable，but there’s no way that it could have hurt him.”

“Vibrations？Are you saying that it really is impossible for us to beat it with guns？Well then，if it charges in here，and we can only fight the thing off with our fists，”the captain continued more fiercely now，“if that’s the case then，fine，so be it，let’s use our fists！”

“There’s a helluva lotta trees here，”the boiler tender said.“Maybe we can eat them？”Flat faced and stocky，a single canine emerging from his lips was the sole feature which broke the monotony of his dead fish mien.“Back in the village I’m from you’d hear stories of folks eating tree bark when they ran out of food.”

“No，”the professor said，dejectedly，as if announcing his own death sentence.“Like most space travelers，we face an intractable problem.The helix-type of the DNA of the alien plants is fundamentally different from the structure our own.Even if they aren’t poisonous，if we were to eat them then our bodies would have no way of breaking them down into proteins.”

“Well，our meat seems to be just fine for their wild beasts，”the captain said darkly.Turning to the priest，he said，“How about this，priest，we’ll put you in charge of looking for food.From the looks of things，it seems like the monks only meant to be gone for a short while.It just isn’t possible to imagine that they didn’t leave behind at least some food.”He twisted his mouth，and repeated himself，“It just isn’t possible.Probably you religious types have a different way of look at things，right？You all have faith in God，no？”

The priest protested that that was a different kind of faith.

In reply，the captain said，“I think that’s enough talking for now，priest.”

The reclusive sect belonged to an ancient religion that was on the verge of dying out.Their teachings claimed that if one set aside all desire，then one could become a Bodhisattva，flying up to heaven right on the spot.A monastic order from the Far East founded the religion eons ago，and it is said that they were capable of performing any number of miracles.For some reason，though，their spread had been limited to a few remote planets in the nebula.According to the introduction included on the battered map，this was a holy place for the members of the reclusive sect.

Having accepted his assignment to find food，the priest followed the valley up to its mouth.As the captain had said，aside from the jagged gap where they had entered，the valley was surrounded on four sides by steep cliffs.Water poured forth from narrow ravines，revealing a red sedimentary layer deep in the rocks.Standing miniscule in the middle of the valley，the priest thought to himself that these enormous，coldly silent walls of stone were like the curtains of heaven，leaving only a neat circle of sky above，as if they found themselves in the bottom of a well.

Just when the priest was trying to decide which direction in which to head in search of food，he saw the boiler tender running out of the woods with a group of people who had been sent there to cut timber.

This was the first time they had seen the bubble fish.Round and bulging，they refracted the light into prisms of color，swishing their tails in the air to move up and down.Swimming into the wind，they looked like frail soap bubbles，or colorful balloons for children.Delicate and beautiful，and seemingly harmless，they were little more than attractive house pets.Something，however，soon startled them away.

The transparent stomachs of the bubble fished vibrated to invisible frequencies，using the vibrations to absorb the energy of the suns.They were constantly taking in lighter or heavier air to maintain their altitude.Unyieldingly self-composed，their enormous eyes looked down upon the mess of hurried and shameless people below，and with a flick of their tails，the bubble fish moved even higher up into the sky until they were out of sight.

The captain had also gone out to explore.Along with several other young men，he appeared in camp dragging Seoni’s corpse.While running away the previous night，the Lunarian had broken his neck after falling into a ravine.In addition to Seoni，they managed to find a dried out wagon track that meandered off to parts unknown.The traces of the road had almost disappeared，indicating that it had been a long time since anyone had come this way.It really did seem that this monastery had long since been abandoned.

After the priest said a prayer for the dead man，they buried him in the woods.The bracken ferns spiraled around and around，filling the sky above them.The captain and the boiler tender stood holding their shovels，stationed like two broken stone obelisks on either side of the loose pile of red-brown soil beside the enormous grave.

They spent the rest of the day felling trees and building the fence.After shaping the tops of the heavy timber into sharp points，they planted them deep into the ground；they used the needle-trees to fashion a barbed net to stuff between the gaps；and behind every possible weak point in the fence they piled heavy stones to make it fast.Ignoring their hunger，they put their shoulders into the work and finally the grand project was complete，giving them what would ultimately prove to be a misplaced sense of security.

Meanwhile，the priest searched the valley for foodstuffs with utmost care，but all that he managed to come up with were a few pieces of moldy bread and a handful of raisins，having found several rows of dried up grapevines behind the wine cellar.Most likely，the monks had brewed their own wine.Finding neither paper，nor books，nor diaries，the priest thought back to what he had read of the reclusive sect.They were fond of manual labor and meditation，he recalled，but none of the books he had read mentioned what they ate.

Hunger had begun to gnaw at the priest，and his vision was already starting to blur.Making another circuit of the tower，the nagging question entered his mind a second time：what did they eat？

The tower itself was the only place in the valley that the priest had not searched yet.It was tall，at least 100 meters high，with maybe 600 steps.Given his weakened state it would be an exhausting job to climb all the way to the top.

Nevertheless，he began to climb.The stairs were on the inside of the tower，winding clockwise，one loop after another，forming an unbroken chain of stone steps seemingly without end.The tower seemed to grow ever higher as he climbed，as if made from the same stock as the bracken fern trees which grew quietly in the sunshine outside，seeking to attain heights ever higher.Despite his best efforts，the priest was forced to sit and rest from time to time.Sitting，he found himself fascinated with the mural painted on the white inner wall of the tower.Terrible scenes were depicted in the painting，most likely of the pagan hell；aside from these images were drawings of four heroes：one holding a sword，another some sort of musical instrument，finally the last holding some species of large rodent.There were dancing fairy maidens，trees laden with fruit，water lilies and graceful deer；and beneath them all was the image of sleeping man.Probably it was meant to indicate that the world in all ofits splendor was nothing more than a dream in the mind of the Buddha.Did not the ancient peoples of India believe that the physical world was in fact made up of dreams？

Having spent a great deal of time，when he reached the top of the tower the priest was surprised to discover an empty room.Large white stones surrounded a strange circular cavity which resembled a hothouse，or a womb.On the ground inside the stone womb the monks of the reclusive sect had left shallow depressions，accumulated from many years of sitting in this place.Three narrow openings were cut in the curved wall of the round room，serving as windows.Between the three windows hung six paintings，one of which immediately drew his attention：a group of emaciated men，with distended stomachs like drums，their eyes brilliant with hunger.Arms outstretched，they looked like spiders，taking，grabbing，begging.

The tower of hunger.The four words sprang unbidden to the priest’s mind，filling him with dread.In a panic，he fled from the room.

In the night the beast came again，breathing heavily outside the fence and spraying the air with that stench particular to carnivores，its eyes shining like two lanterns.The sound of the beast attacking the fence with terrible force echoed from the mouth of the valley throughout the night.So intense was the beast’s attack that the stones of the ramparts danced and the wooden posts wavered menacingly.The beast’s inability to break through the fence that night，however，let the hungry souls inside the valley finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Now，the only task left to them to work on with a common purpose was the maintenance of the fence.The rest of their time was spent dispersed throughout the valley，madly searching high and low going through every hut and every patch of bare land for something，anything to eat.The grape vine was the first thing to be eaten，and then all of their leather goods：leather shoes，leather belts，leather canteens.It was fortunate that this accursed planet was without worms or rats，otherwise they too would have been wiped out.

The captain never told the priest if he should stop looking for food，and so he continued to drag his tired body up and down the valley.Once，in a dimly lit room，he came across the chemistry professor who was stuffing something wrapped in dried grass and sticks into the lining of his jacket.When he saw the priest，his face turned red from embarrassment.

The professor was a pale man，tall and thin，with a high nose and big eyes like two bright blue blisters，making him look as if he was always afraid of something.He blinked his eyes and handed two tubers to the priest good naturedly，saying that in China people used them for medicine.“Should be...good for...my malaria，”he said haltingly.

After going through the featureless huts one by one，the priest became convinced that the secret of the reclusive sect lay inside the tower.Although he was even weaker than before，the priest resolved to climb tower a second time to study the murals and the empty meditation room.He discovered that the materials used to build the tower were not the local sandstone，but instead that the tower had been constructed of white mica，quarried from some distance away.After careful inspection，he concluded that it was different from the mica of Earth，with countless tiny grains of crystals flashing from within the rock，as numerous as grains of sand in the great Ganges River.

The three windows of the meditation room were extremely narrow，just large enough to allow a man to pass through.They led a small viewing platform which encircled the tower，from which one could see the wide and empty expanse of the desert beyond the valley.In the desert，the priest could see the wind playing freely，kicking up a sandstorm.Boundless and as empty as ever，the desert was silent，under a sky of unknowable heights.The sky，too，was broad and empty，azure blue.The three suns slipped through the sky giving off prisms of light.This forgotten corner of the universe was where they were to spend the rest of their days.For all intents and purposes though，he thought，they were the ones who had been forgotten.

The captain also climbed the tower once to survey it，but he found nothing of interest in the empty meditation room.Now he was busy leading the others in the upkeep of the fence，where it seemed as if a sort of war had erupted between the men and the beast.At night it would attack and by day they would reinforce the structure.Eventually，a night crew was necessary to keep the wall maintained，as the beast’s attacks became ever more frenzied.Having bitten the weaker tree trunks in two and tore up the needle-tree net，it began to use its body to batter the fence，shaking the structure and causing those stationed on top to tremble with fear and forget the burning hunger in their stomachs.

The boiler tender was especially fond of this battle，having painted his face like an Indian brave and taking up a sharpened pole which he shoved through the chinks in the wall，stabbing wildly at the beast.Singing and dancing，his wild antics motivated the group.He was really quite brave.The others shouted along with him，weaving strong nets of pliable branches to fill the gaps，and backfilling the fence with heavy stones.Other gaps were filled using dirt，and the vines of an unknown alien plant were pressed into service to braid the wooden posts together，creating a firm and immovable barrier.

But they still hadn’t found any food.Others had begun to climb the tower to take a look for themselves，although they’re not many.To ascend a 100 meter tower for a starving man robbed of his strength was，after all，a terrible challenge.The professor was one of the weak ones，half dead from hunger，having passed out sixteen times on the way to the monastery，and treated himself twice for malaria.Upon arriving in at the top of the tower，the professor squinted his eyes tightly，and knowingly scanned the empty stone room.He even explored the viewing platform outside，but was powerless to mask the expression of disappointment on his face.He explained to the priest that it wasn’t that he didn’t believe the priest’s account of the empty tower，simply that he wanted to exorcise something of the gnawing sense of responsibility he bore for their plight.

After the professor descended from the tower，few others came to disturb the priest’s work.The priest was becoming more and more intrigued by the cavity in the middle of the chamber.He had read that the high priest of the reclusive sect had spent more than 1000 years on this very seat.Perhaps someone had become a Buddha and ascended to the heavens here.Out of boredom，he sat on the seat and attempted the famed meditation techniques of the reclusive sect.Due，most likely，to the perfect roundness of everything in the room，the priest felt immediately at ease and quickly slipped into a dream-like state，very nearly falling asleep.In his dream he heard the breathing of the beast，and saw his demonic yellow eyes，his claws coming within inches of the priest’s throat.

When he came to，the priest’s head was pounding and his mouth felt parched.It was probably due to his own imagination，but it seemed as if the mediation room was filled with the stench of the beast.Dizzy，he walked to the base of the tower where he was told that the previous evening the beast had finally broken in，killing three.Of them，they had managed to wrest the corpse of Ma Xiu from the beast’s grasp.Eighteen years old，Ma Xiu’s struggle to free himself from the maw of the beast had been as futile as a moth beating its wings.Fortunately though，the gap in the fence was small enough that the beast hadn’t had enough time to pull the corpse through to the other side before the captain could spring into action and take hold of Ma Xiu’s leg.Meanwhile，other members of the group fired on the beast from the top of the fence，stabbing it in the mouth and forehead with sharpened branches.Ma Xiu died not long.In the course of trying to pull him free they accidentally broke his neck.

When the suns rose the next morning，the beast took what remained of his plunder back with him.According to the professor，the sun was an enormous ultrasonic amplifier which interfered with the beast’s sense organs.

Ma Xiu’s funeral was relatively simple.Lying on the ground，his ragged clothing revealed his emaciated hips and bony chest.One arm had been bitten off by the beast.Looking like a roughhewn tree stump，the mangled flesh emerged from the sharp wound，his broken skin and muscle lying exposed on the earth.Looking upon that pale，tender white flesh，the eyes of the assembled men seemed to shine with a green light.As the priest was saying a prayer，a dark and unspeakable current passed through his unconscious mind.The men began to whisper among each other，perhaps taking a secret vote，and in the end they decided not to bury him.The captain just nodded，and the priest simply shut his eyes，not saying a word.

That day，they built a fire，and set a large pot above it.The fragrant aroma wafted in all directions from the square.Using the axes and saws they divided up the boy’s body.With a steady hand，the captain cut the flesh straight and true.The boy’s chest was split open like a melon.Beneath his withered flesh was a thin layer of yellow fat，speckled with red.After cutting through the cartilage between the ribs，the boy’s viscera slid out onto the ground like a pile of twisting red snakes.His organs and head were then placed into the pot to make a stew，while his four limbs and muscles were dried over the fire to be rationed for later.

Lining up to be served，they brought vessels of all kinds：glass bottles with tops knocked off，hats and plastic bags.Those who had eaten their leather shoes felt a certain amount of regret when the fragrant odors left their mouths filled with bitter bile.

Using a large ladle，the boiler tender stood with his pants held up by a grass cord，doing his best to carefully dole out an equal share to each man.This simple kind of equality was just about all his mind could handle at this point，and he ignored all other thoughts.People always end up envying practical people like this，because they always seem to find a way to stay happy until the bitter end.

Some were so excited that they began to vomit bile，gripping their plastic bags tightly.Despite the lack of salt or garlic，this bland，albeit sumptuous lunch was unthinkably extravagant.Although it is impossible to say for sure，but perhaps some of them said a silent prayer to the Lord，the one that thanks him for giving us food to eat.

That afternoon，they went to the fence with renewed enthusiasm.Given food，their energy was restored one-hundred fold，and they were filled with confidence.

The priest however，had not taken part.Hunger gnawed at his organs like spider chewing on a thread，but he did not take his share of the meat.

Truth be told，the captain was actually rather fond of the young priest.Handsome and charismatic，the priest had a sensitive face，white as sandstone and just as weak.The first time he had seen him，the captain had been convinced that he had seen the man somewhere before.In some distant place，obscured by the smoke and dust of time，he had already seen pale and slender young man just like the priest，who had been willing to sacrifice his own life to save others.He had met many young men like this，actually，while in the army，or in other places，and to the last he saw them swallowed up in the conflagrations of war.

“How could the Lord blame us for wanting to survive？”the captain pleaded.

“I understand，of course I understand，”said the priest，nodding his head.The captain had brought him some smoke-cured meat.The meat looked clean，and was cut into neat slices，thick with a dark aroma.They really had done an excellent job with the smoking.

“The way you’re acting，you’re making everybody uncomfortable，you know.They think that you’re judging them，”the captain urged him good naturedly，“Just take the meat，okay？”

“...I understand，”the priest replied，after obvious hesitation.In the end，however，he refused to take his share，and the captain sat，helpless，staring at the priest for a long while.

The priest continued to climb his tower，the tower that filled men with boundless desire.Even now he didn’t know what he hoped to find there，but strangely，he didn’t feel hungry.In the darkness the white stones gave off a gentle glow，the tiny crystals vibrating weakly.Was it possible that meditation had helped the members of the reclusive sect engage in fasting？Sitting in one of the shallow depressions，he traced the characters on the wall with his finger.The ancient pictures were like hieroglyphics which one could only try to understand.

For a fleeting moment a strange and terrible feeling of prescience suddenly overtook him.Although he did his best to take hold of the impression it left on him，the better to predict what was yet to come，it quickly passed.The bubble fish floated in the sky，their skin stretched taut，a transparent membrane like a bubble，now vermillion，now orange，now the blue of a clear lake，now flashing gold.

Despite strict rationing，the food was quickly devoured by the hungry men.Something was different from before，however，about the emaciated stick-and-bones men who patrolled the valley.Their cheekbones seemed higher somehow，and the hollows of their faces deeper.Their eyes swept the ground，unwilling to meet the gaze of the others，afraid of what they might find there.

They found themselves almost wishing for the beast to attack.But the fence held strong，and beast could only pace outside，breathing heavily.Like them，he had gone without food for several days now，and hunger revealed the lines of his ribcage through his withered fur.Studying the men behind the fence with bloodshot eyes，he was powerless.Turning suddenly，he disappeared.Most likely he was retreating and abandoning these men who no less hungry than he.The men behind the fence felt an indescribable sense of disappointment.

Two days later，the food had reached a critical point.The stronger members of the group led by example，stealing the bones of the dead boy，and breaking them open to devour the marrow inside.Even so，it wasn’t nearly enough food to save them.

The next morning the captain led a group to rebury Seoni.The previous night，someone had dug up his grave，hoping to pillage the corpse.His body，however，had long since begun to decay in the fierce heat，leaving behind a pile of hard to swallow rotten flesh.By daybreak，the fetid smell of his exhumed corpse had filled the valley.Lying on the red dirt of the grave，his eyes bulged like two big blue blisters，and dark splotches of rot sprouted there.His teeth emerged in a grimace，and owing to the contraction of the skin it looked as if he was smiling，with his eyebrows raised high in delight.Few among them were willing to criticize the atrocious act.Instead they simply dug a deeper pit and buried him a second time.The most regretful thing to themen who watched was seeing so many calories，amino acids，and protein rot and go to waste.

The others were not idle，however，having decided to try and eat the bracken fern trees.They cut one down and removed the spines from the bark，cutting them into fine slivers which they boiled over the fire.The stench produced was even worse than that of Seoni’s rotten corpse.Others，ignoring the warnings of the chemistry professor，attacked the bubble fish.When two diamond miners from Arcturus managed to spear one，its transparent stomach exploded，spraying ammonia gas into their eyes，blinding them.Their faces ruined，they lay by the fountain，moaning throughout the night.

The seemingly endless stairs of the tower left the priest feeling as if he was climbing a gigantic structure that ascended to heaven itself.God is eternal，all powerful，all knowing，and his compassion is freely given to all beings in existence，the priest thought.How could it be that an allpowerful being like God，with his boundless wisdom，could have become afraid when people of times past tried to build the tower of Babel？Where，after all，is heaven？Is it up？In this ever expanding universe of ours，is it still up？With every scientific advancement，at first it has always seemed as if religion was on the verge of being overthrown.Eventually，though，people always seem to find a way to compromise.Does this mean science will never be able to truly save humanity？

Only now，none of these questions were as important as the question of where they might go next to find food.

The priest reflected back on his memories of receiving communion for the first time，during mass.The bread and wine symbolized the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ.By eating and drinking Him，then we allowed Him to be one with us.His belt was old and tough，impossible to chew，but he managed to cut it into smaller pieces，which he swallowed one by one after soaking them in his saliva.Kronos ate his children，the cyclops roasted the companions of Odysseus，Zhang Xun cut up his concubine and fed her to his soldiers during the siege of Suiyang，and Count Ugolino ate his own flesh and blood in a high tower—in history，people have long since eaten one another，and even today they are still eating one another.Masses of bubble fish floated outside the tower watching him，as if the sky outside the narrow window was an enormous fish tank.

The stench lingered in the valley.

After the two miners died，and the would-be hunters became prey for the others.This was the banquet that the men of the valley had been waiting for.A great fire was lit，and the water in the pot was brought to a frothy boil.Drawing strength from the self-sacrificing spirit of the two minors，they managed to survive for another week，but rescue seemed to be just as distant as before.Miraculously，the priest managed to survive，finding the tubers that the professor had given him to have boundless applications，with a single slice providing him sufficient calories to last a great while.The professor himself had become thin and emaciated，his eyes bloodshot.A slight breeze was enough to bring him to the ground，but his spirits remained strong，and his complexion unusually ruddy.Drinking water non-stop，a row of blisters had sprouted on his cracked lips.This was most likely a side effect of the treatments he had given himself for malaria.

It had been a long time since anyone had worked on the fence.It was not until the call of the beast was heard within the valley that they became aware that a small hole had once again been dug in the barrier.This time，instead of being afraid，they struck back at the beast under the leadership of the captain，the flames of victory leaving them feverish.Using shovels，sticks，knives，even their fingernails and teeth，they managed to snatch a corpse from the mouth of the beast，which had been made weak from hunger.

When the captain managed to use a knife to chop a leg free from mouth of the beast he felt like he was finally in control of the situation again.In the past he had had times of hesitation，he had had times of confusion，even fear.His training had taught him to feel ashamed of such emotions—but everything was better now.Now that he knew the path forward，he was no longer worried about anything，because he knew that he would survive to be rescued.Happiness clouded his brain，and as he watched the beast scurry through the hole in the fence，he held the hairy leg of the chemistry professor in one hand，laughing.

He soon realized that the priest was standing nearby，watching him，with his skull-like face twisted up in pain.The captain immediately straightened up and stopped laughing.Anger toward the priest bubbled up，unbidden.what right does he have to look at me like that？When survival is on the line，what’s the point of having convictions？Believer or non-believer，when disaster strikes it doesn’t make a difference either way.The captain began to hack away at the professor’s leg，methodically chopping and slicing，wastefully letting bits of meat fall to the ground.Without checking with the others，he could already tell that they all found the priest’s behavior infuriating.

Even after rinsing the remains of the professor in the fountain，the smell of herbal medicine lingered on his corpse and after a long time they gave up trying.The smell had permeated all the way down into the muscle and bone，making him taste especially delicious.The slender，half-mauled corpse of the professor barely lasted them a single night before every last bit was eaten up.They’d barely had a chance to taste him，but now they were hungry again，and needed more food.

The priest sat cross-legged in the cavity.His awareness spread outwards，encompassing the shining white crystals which surrounded him，countless as grains of sand in the mighty Ganges.Vibrating，resonating，the sound was as vast as it was miniscule，like the sound of silkworms chewing mulberry，or rain falling on the broad leaves of the plantain.A stream of information as expansive as the universe flowed through the room，passing through the arch of the hothouse-like structure and directly into his brain.Images from his childhood flashed in his mind，and then more images，of the distant past，of things he had never experienced.What is the origin of desire？Vibrations，vibrations，like wing-beat of a butterfly.The world is an illusion，a white haired man said to him.I dreamed of a butterfly，but only the butterfly is real.

Upon opening his eyes，the priest was greeted with the sight of a butterfly，its wings patterned in black and red.The butterfly was of a sort found only on Earth，as it passed through one of the narrow windows，the early morning light caught the gold in its wings，sending arcs of light off into void.

Could it be that I’m hallucinating？In a flash，the realization of what had just happened coursed throughout his body and he became extremely frightened.Most likely this was a dream within a dream，an illusion within an illusion.He simply imagined that he was hallucinating.The fear，however，was fleeting.What did it matter if the world was an illusion？An illusion of an illusion was nothing more than an illusion.Looking up at the paintings on the wall，he realized he could read them as if they were text：

The Buddha said to his disciple Subhūti：All that has form is an illusion.[Line from the Diamond Sutra]

If this was true，then things with form could also emerge from illusion.Dear god，is it really possible？The priest closed his eyes.Could the world really like be like the ancient story of the’golden millet dream’？Are we all just poor innkeepers dreaming of becoming of becoming men of wealth and power？He began to imagine a freshly baked bun，yellow and piping hot.A piercing pain racked his brain as his mind resonated with the crystals around him.Upon opening his eyes，the priest discovered that a bun really had appeared，complete with toasted sesame seeds on top，and a curlicue of steam spiraling above it.

Tears sprang forth from his withered eye sockets，falling one at a time.The imagined bun was edible and filling.I found food！This is the secret of the reclusive sect.In the past I thought that forsaking desire was the path to eliminating desire.I was wrong，though.Is there anything that better demonstrates the suffering caused by desire better than having all of one’s desire fulfilled？

He left the bun on the ground to let it cool.Feeling as if his head was full of buzzing stars，he wondered if this was miracle or science，to have a planet filled with vibrations.As Plato once asked，what is thought and what is matter？I should have realized sooner that thought is a kind of vibration，the synaptic spark which passes between neurons.The unique structure and materials of this tower，even the planet itself，serve to amplify the power of thought.With only faith and imagination，and we can create a whole new world for ourselves.

Enduring an intense headache，the priest constructed a communicator in his mind.As the image became clearer and clearer，it emerged as if from the mist，suddenly landed on the floor of the room with a piercing sound，a real，fresh sound，sending out a blue light which pierced his brain like a knife.With feverish hands he stroked the device before deciding to go down to find the others，who knew better than he how to use it.Even better，now they could use meditation and faith to get food.He stood up，staggering，and almost fell back down.His prolonged meditation had left him impossibly weak.

The communicator was too heavy.There was simply no way for him to carry the eighty-pound device down some six-hundred steps.He crawled to the steps and began to slowly make his way down the winding stairwell.

A soft breeze wafted through the air.The others stood around the pot in the square.The fire blazed and the water was already boiling hot，but they hadn’t even decided who was going to die yet.The priest rushed forward to tell the captain that he had completed his task.Food！I found food！All we need to have is faith，and we will have salvation.It was so simple，hallelujah！

They others formed a semi-circle around the priest，like a choir in church.They looked at him kindly.Far above them in the sky，He who had sacrificed himself observed the scene with compassion.The captain stood in middle of the group.From the corner of his eye，the priest saw the boiler tender drawing close，carrying an iron mace fashioned from a shovel.Standing stiffly erect，the priest became aware that he was on trial.Taking advantage of his last chance，he raised his hand and pointed upwards，beginning to say in a raw voice，“I’ve discovered…”

The words were cut short by a heavy blow to the back of his head.His last conscious impressions were the sound of boiling water，the white teeth of the men，the fish swimming through the air，and the beast roaring in the distance，as if beckoning him with a bugle call.

Above it all，the high hunger tower pierced the sky.

Security Check

by Han Song，translated by Ken Liu

1

My wife and I are celebrating our twentieth anniversary today.After work，I walk to the mall and pick out a necklace for her；then I walk to the subway station in the mall to take the train home.

Subway stations are everywhere in New York City，and I do mean everywhere.The lines connect the most expensive neighborhoods with the poorest slums，and stations can be found in every shopping center，office building，theater，restaurant，nightclub，bar，church…

A group of security agents，dressed in black uniforms with red armbands，are stationed at the entrance.They stand with their arms held behind their backs，their feet planted firmly apart，and survey the crowd with cold gazes.I try to go by them nonchalantly，but my legs start going rubbery as soon as I meet their gaze.I take off my jacket without prompting and place it—the necklace nestled in a pocket—and my briefcase into the yawning，dark maw of the x-ray machine.

After the security check，they place a“safe”sticker on my chest.

Dazed and numb，I get on the subway.All the other passengers are also wearing“safe”stickers.Preoccupied，none of us say a word.

We’re at my stop.I walk home.My wife is already there.Trembling，I take out the necklace and hand it to her.She forces a smile and tries the necklace once before putting it away.We eat dinner in silence，as is our habit.And then we go to bed，laying back to back，both of us quickly falling asleep.

We first met twenty years ago，also at a subway stop.Back then，everything was falling apart，and lawlessness reigned.One day，someone shouted that a killer was slashing at people in the subway，and we all panicked and stampeded.A woman in front of me fell；I rushed to help her up…

Later，she said to me，“No matter how chaotic the world becomes，as long as you’re with me，I’ll feel safe.”

Twenty years have passed，and life has been rendered one hundred percent safe，cleansed of all risks，dangers，and perils.It seems we’re left with nothing.

2

The loudspeakers installed in our neighborhood wake me up at four in the morning by blaring out the security briefing for the day.Only half awake，I fumble for my phone.

Old habits die hard.Phones have been abandoned a long time ago，after all the telecom companies ceased operations and the Internet was cut off.All of it had been done to make us safe.

My wife and I get up and leave separately to take the subway to work.She’s not wearing the necklace I gave her，and I pretend not to notice.

I walk by myself quietly.Under the dim streetlamps，pedestrians on the sidewalk scurry like a dull，gray swarm of rats，each clutching a briefcase，completely silent.Soon，I reach the station，where long lines of people wait to enter.Although advancing technology has sped up security checks，there are just too many people who must be processed.In this day and age，the subway is the only means of transportation left in the United States of America，all other modes having been outlawed.

More than an hour later，I finally reach the x-ray machine.Once again，I clench my teeth，and，though I’m fantasizing striding into the stationright past the security checkpoint，I do not even try to step out of line.One time，I did see someone try that stunt，and the security agents had seized him right away and dragged him into a small cell next to the platform where they beat him to death as we all listened.

The train arrives in Manhattan.From the station I enter the office building through a tunnel.One by one，my colleagues arrive，their faces numb with exhaustion.How many of them have entertained the same fantasy of getting on the subway without going through security check？

In the restroom，Hoffman whispers to me，“Did you try it today？”

I shake my head.“Why do we suffer from this peculiar yearning？”

“Freedom.”

Every time Hoffman utters the word it sounds strange and chilling，even though I’ve heard it countless times.

He continues，“I want to live a life in which I am trusted，not watched and controlled…what about you，Louis？”

“I want to give my wife a gift.We’ve been married for twenty years.”Once again，I feel terrible.I ask，“When would I ever get a chance to give her a gift that hasn’t been changed？”

“Women don’t care about that，”Hoffman says，he means to comfort me.“She knows you’ve done your best.”

“No，she does care.If we keep on going like this，we’re headed for divorce.She and I don’t live in a vacuum.The bond between us—the bond between everyone—requires the sustenance of the ordinary objects of daily life.But whatever we buy ends up passing through the security checkpoints：the food we eat，the water we drink，cups，books，televisions，refrigerators，computers，the bed we sleep on，even wedding bands and condoms…you understand.”Tears crawl down my face.

One time，Hoffman told me that the machine they use at security checkpoints isn’t really an x-ray machine.The government confiscates everything you put in；whatever emerges from the machine may look indistinguishable from what went in，but it has in fact been reconstituted.Atom by atom，the new objects are assembled，printed，and returned to the passenger.The process takes but an instant because our technology is so advanced.The new objects conform perfectly to the new American national security standards，with all elements deemed dangerous removed.If the objects contained any gasoline，it would be turned into water；if there were a gun，the bullets would be turned into rubber；if a computer contained harmful knowledge，it would be deleted and replaced with sanitized information.

Hoffman and I both dream of a day when we could ride the subway without going through security checks，but every time we tried to realize the dream，at the last minute，both of us would lose our courage and our legs would turn to rubber.

One time，Hoffman told me that some people did enter the subway without being checked.

“I saw it with my own eyes.One morning，a woman in front of me walked right past the security agents with her purse，bold as you please.The agents stood frozen in place like mannequins.”

“How was that possible？I saw someone try to do the same thing，but he was beaten to death right then and there，”I said.Was Hoffman hallucinating？

“It was true，”Hoffman said solemnly.

“What sort of woman was she？”

“I only saw that she was young and beautiful.After she went through，she looked back at all of us standing in line and smiled triumphantly.”Hoffman clicked his tongue in admiration.

“She must have used magic.”

“Magic，indeed.Perhaps an invisibility cloak…or some machine that jammed electromagnetic waves？”

3

I can’t remember much about the way things were twenty years ago，only that the country was very unsafe back then.I’ve watched special educational documentaries：the terrible explosions，gunshots，slashing knives，protest marches，petitions to the government，conflicts…everyone lived in terror，thinking danger was around every corner.Several times，a random shout or even a single shocked facial expression was enough to cause the crowd on Fifth Avenue to panic and stampede，trampling and injuring hundreds.Security threats were everywhere，as were hidden enemies.The 911 call centers were constantly swamped.

The White House had to mobilize a great deal of resources to enhance and expand the security system.The federal government took the lead，but the big companies on Wall Street and in Silicon Valley all participated.Through a public-private partnership，they invested money and technology to rebuild the entire city’s infrastructure into a system of security checkpoints.This was extremely important：buffeted by civil unrest and foreign threats，America was sliding down from its peak.It was no longer the hegemon of the world.

Those old enough to remember say that the nation almost collapsed overnight，barely avoided the fate of becoming a ward under the guardianship of those Chinese coming from over the Pacific.Thank God for the subway，for the security checks.They saved America.

Not only does the system guarantee safety，but the government is also able to gather all information contained in the objects taken onto the subway by passengers.Now，no one dares to make trouble.Even corruption has been eliminated—not just corruption，but also anything else destabilizing.Even so，the substitution of objects in the machines continues each day.The country still feels insecure.Security and insecurity，the two concepts were sometimes different，but often the same.

Hoffman tells me that this is fighting terror with terror.The terror produced by the security check mechanism is even more terrible，sufficiently powerful to shatter all other terrors.The price we pay is freedom.

But…the system obviously has holes.Hoffman saw someone enter the subway without going through security check.This was undoubtedly a miracle.Who was that woman who managed to bypass security so easily？Hoffman wanted to find her，but she has never reappeared.

4

After work，I go to the supermarket for groceries and then take the subway home，dejected.At the completely silent dinner table，I eat my food，ashamed and with sweat beading on my back like a man who has done something wrong.I think maybe things would be better if we had a child，but my wife and I have lost all interest in sex…

We finish dinner quickly and get into bed.In the middle of the night my wife wakes up abruptly and says，“Louis，we shouldn’t be together anymore.”

It has been a long time since we’ve really talked.I understand that she’s disappointed in my weakness，my lack of courage.For twenty years I haven’t been able to bring her a single，true，unaltered gift.Because the objects that connect us have grown more and more unfamiliar，the two of us have been drifting ever further apart.

Hoping against hope，I say，“A colleague mentioned that someone managed to bypass the security check and got into the subway.I want to try it，too.”

She looks at me as though I’m a stranger，her eyes full of tears.She doesn’t know that I’ve already tried—and failed to carry through—many times.

The next day，I’m arrested.My wife reported me by calling 911，telling them that I was about to try to break through a checkpoint.She said she suspected that I was a terrorist in disguise.

5

Three years later，I’m released from prison.

The world remains the same，except that my wife has divorced me.I find Hoffman.Like before，he tries to comfort me.“It’s not a big deal.I’ve figured something out during the last few years：life is a long security check，and not everyone passes.You just have bad luck.”

I ask him whether he’s found that mysterious woman.He shakes his head.Then he suggests that I leave the country.

“What？Leave America？”Surprise made my voice louder than normal.Very few people ever think of leaving America.

He shrugs.“If you can’t get through security check，you might as well leave.I’ve heard that some countries don’t require so much security on their subways.”

I find the very concept absurd.Deep down，I’ve never thought of leaving America—it’s not that I’m very patriotic，just that I’ve grown used to my country.Life is just surviving one day after another.

“You’re divorced and you’ve been to prison，”says Hoffman.“Even if you try to break through security check again it will be a meaningless gesture.”

“What about you？Will you leave as well？”I ask helplessly，having lost my goal in life.

“No，I’m going to stick it out.Maybe a day will come when I can bypass security check and win freedom in my own country through my own efforts.”He sounds like a stubborn child.

I lack Hoffman’s courage and tenacity，and my body and spirit are on the verge of collapse.So I start the paperwork for leaving the country.Though I fear that it would be difficult，it turns out to be simple.They actually really like it when you leave，and it’s best if you never return.Of course，they want the departure to be voluntary.They’ve never forcefully exiled an American citizen.

6

I choose to go to the People’s Republic of China.

Judging by official statistics，this is the world’s most secure country.I obtain a temporary residence permit in Shanghai and live on government subsidies.The Chinese subway does not require security checks；they really are that confident.But I’ve lost all interest in the subway.When I’m bored，I go to an Internet caféand browse for news about America.In China，anyone is free to use the Internet.China is the freest country in the world.

There’s lots of news about America on the Web.I find out that my motherland，though it still appears familiar，is in fact changing every day.It isn’t just the goods carried by the passengers that are being replaced.To ensure security to the greatest extent possible，each day the entire United States is remade.The Chinese observe and analyze America with great interest.They’ve discovered that the entire territory of the United States is filled with nanomachines：from the rural countryside to the big cities，from the broad rivers to the majestic mountains，everything is renewed daily.Harmful things have no safe harbor in that land.

But this phenomenon can only be observed from the outside and at a distance because no outsiders are allowed to enter the United States.Theoretically，no one can pass through the American border security check system.Americans who are inside its borders cannot detect the changes because they think everyday is the same as the day before.

Sometimes I wonder if the Chinese are observing and analyzing this because they are worried that America might one day deploy this technology to replace another country，or even the whole world.

But my worries are unfounded.America is focusing its security checks inwards，replacing itself.The effort has occupied all of its energy，with nothing left for other countries.

Gazing back from the other shore of the Pacific，I see a truly wondrous sight.The self-substituting America churns in constant transformation：one moment it’s like a wild flower—blossoming with a pop，collapsing，wilting，changing color from red to black，from yellow to white—and the next moment it’s like a dying star.Caught up in the changes are my compatriots.They are replaced and remade daily：from blood to muscle，from life to thought，becoming new people without knowing it themselves.From inside America，nothing is seen to change—every day people ride the subway to work like rats.But from China，the changes cannot be more obvious.I suppose this is a difference in frames of reference.

Also transforming is the wildlife，including the brown bear and the bald eagle，the sequoia and other plants，the fungi and bacteria，and every bit of soil，every drop of water.Sometimes the country displays the layered appearance of a tropical forest，and sometimes it looks like an ice crystal.Murky blood flows in the northeast，and the western deserts glow with a ghostly blue light.Sometimes the whole country is silent，save for the powerful rumbling of the subway system，the strangest sound on the planet.America has become distinct from all the other countries in the world.

From China，I can see all these changes clearly，and after shock and astonishment，I’m left with sorrow，my face drenched by tears.

7

New research indicates that as the security system itself evolves，America has developed even more advanced technology.Now the security system not only consists of nanorobots and 3-d printers，not only big-data-based distributed reassembly devices，but also self-organizing technologies and artificial world collage machines.Countless cellular automata toil away with the aid of quantum teleportation，engaging in mass-scale atomic exchange from second to second.The White House has been rebuilt into a gigantic machine to take over from the millions of engineers who oversee and control every aspect of the process.The United States has become a giant，intelligent，churning vat.

But then，one day，the self-transformation of America suddenly halts.Instead of constantly replacing itself，the country vanishes completely.The Chinese manage to record the phenomenon，and their analysis concludes that America’s security check technology has achieved a major breakthrough.The time when something is completely secure is not when it has been replaced，but when it no longer exists.No one can find it，ever.This is not only science，but also a kind of profound philosophy capable of being understood only by a few elite individuals on the whole planet.Thus，in this sense，America has finally returned to being the mightiest of nations.

I remember my ex-wife.Has she disappeared along with America？I hope she’s in another world，a happily-ever-after one.She will not have any mental baggage，and she won’t hate me.

I’ve left my country，never able to return.I wish her freedom and happiness in a powerful United States of America.

8

One day，as I stroll through the People’s Square，I meet a beautiful Caucasian girl.She had also left America and came to China.Sitting down on a lawn together，we begin to chat.This is the first conversation I’ve had in twenty years where I feel no pressure.

“You’re the first American I’ve seen overseas，”I say.

The girl，whose name is Lisa，says，“There aren’t many Americans left in the world.The nation of America has long been substituted away.”

“What about you？”I ask，suddenly remembering the story Hoffman told me about the mysterious young woman who got into the subway station without going through security check.

“I’m not like the rest of you，”she says.“I’m a real American.I’ve never been replaced.From the very start，I bypassed security checks.”

“How were you able to do it？”My heartbeat speeds up.

“I don’t have an invisibility cloak or an anti-electromagnetic-wave device.All I had to do was to walk calmly past the security agents.If you don’t acknowledge their existence，they don’t exist.”

“But didn’t you say that everyone has been replaced？The entire country has been replaced！”

“That’s right.At first，I was confused as well，but it’s the truth.Anyone who dared to defy the security checks，however，was not replaced.We were sent to a protected area，which was somewhere near the coast of Florida，about three hundred meters under the sea.”

“It sounds like you were chosen by God—”

“—not God.The Chinese.”

The girl tells me that there were about a thousand people like her from all over America.Before the disappearance of America，the Chinese helped with their evacuation.

“The Chinese？”I ask.

“They’ve been part of this business all along，including the security machines.Without the support of the Chinese，America couldn’t have produced those machines by itself.Chinese technicians even helped the American government to design and plan all those terrorist attacks from twenty years ago.If those events hadn’t shifted public opinion and increased the cohesiveness of the population，America might have collapsed a long time ago.Have you heard of the Huawei-Alibaba-ICBC Conglomerate and the Tencent-Baidu-Xiaomi-ZTE Corporation？They had the world’s best scientists and engineers.The White House and Zhongnanhai were extremely close partners，though superficially they pretended not to like each other—it was just a show to fool regular folks.If you look behind the scenes，China helped America design the neo-crony-capitalism of the twenty-first century so that America could act as a reference system…”

Impossible！I can’t believe any of this.I stop thinking.Lisa takes me to Xintiandi district to enjoy myself.The Museum of the First National Congress of the Chinese Communist Party was turned，some time ago，into a national laboratory.Many young women from America，like Lisa，now live here as volunteer subjects for experiments.A middle-aged Chinese man in a white lab coat welcomes us.The Chinese are trying to confirm an amazing discovery：they’ve discovered that the Earth is passing through a security checkpoint in space，which has something to do with the ultimate secret of the universe.The galaxy，it turns out，is a super security check machine.

“Is the universe…not safe？”I ask，astonished.

“That’s right.It’s not safe at all.We’ve only figured this out now.The purpose for life developing on Earth and evolving intelligence is to maintain the security of the universe.”As he explains，he leans into the eyepiece of a giant telescope and makes careful observations.

Later，I find out that as the sole surviving major socialist nation，China is the only country concerned with the security of the universe.America，in fact，was nothing more than an experiment set up by China to help with this mission of protecting the universe’s security.The experiment that China carried out in America is about to be promoted across the whole globe，although there are still many mysteries related to this endeavor that I don’t fully understand，and the Chinese won’t explain the details to us.

Impulsively，I tell Lisa，“I want to be a volunteer subject for the experiments，too！”

She looks at me with pity.“I’m sorry.The Chinese don’t want you for now.You and I are different.You asked to come to China，seeking asylum.You had already been replaced in America during earlier experiments.You’re no longer a standard American—to be more precise，you are no longer an American，or even a person.What you really are and what you can do are matters that the Chinese haven’t decided yet.You’ll have to wait.”

When the security of the universe is the most urgent question，what role will the thousand or so real Americans like Lisa preserved by the Chinese play？That is the greater mystery.

Ashamed and confused，I lower my head.

Was Lisa designed by the Chinese？Who designed China then？I’ve heard that a long time ago，China was also torn by terrible disasters，both natural and man-made—how did they happen？If the rumor I heard was real，then China was once the most insecure country in the whole world.What conclusions can I draw？Oh，the universe is too mysterious.Who designed it？

“It doesn’t matter，”Lisa says to comfort me.“You don’t need to go through security checks any more.At least superficially，you could pass for a Chinese.You even get government welfare checks，right？”

“But had the Chinese already experienced what we experienced？”I blurt out.“How do you know they’re still Chinese？”Sweat soaks the back of my shirt.Sadly，I think of my ex-wife again.Yes，many countries in the world have survived，and they’re about to pass through the universe’s security check.But my country and family are gone.And Lisa and I aren’t even the same kind of human beings.

Lisa smiles awkwardly.Holding my hand，she takes me away from Xintiandi.We get on the subway.The Shanghai subway is far more crowded than the subway in New York.Squeezed in among the throng，she and I are temporarily pressed against each other as though we’re trying to fuse into one.The subway car is filled with every race from every continent.The multitude of passengers presses against and flows over our bodies like an underground river，directionless but melding into one another with every fresh encounter.

Preserve Her Memory

by Bao Shu，translated by Ken Liu

One o’clock in the morning.Heavy rain.

Ye Lin，her clothes drenched，stands at the edge of the roof of the three-hundred-story Future Tower.She shivers uncontrollably as the gale，whipping freezing rain，slices across her skin like an ice knife.From her perch more than a kilometer above ground，she surveys the city that never sleeps，glittering and coruscating in the rain like a metaphor for her glamorous life.

They look up at me like a princess in the heavens.But do they understand how cold and alone I am？

In the metropolis below，a scintillating net woven from thousands of glowing streets，infused with lust，greed，and fame，ensnares thirty million men and women and binds her the tightest of them all.She once thought herself one of the lucky few who found a rare morsel of happiness，but she had not realized that the spider of fate had already closed off all avenues of escape behind her.

All right，it will all be over soon.I’ll have eternal freedom and peace.

Ye Lin takes a deep breath and steps forward.There is nowhere to set her foot down except empty space.

And so she falls.Like a drop of rain，she plunges toward the gleaming city，toward the abyss of death.

Police Captain Jiang Yong，head of the investigations unit，took off his helmet and let out a long sigh.“You dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night for this？Who found her？”

“I did，Captain，”said a young woman with long hair.Liu Ningning was a new addition to the investigations unit.By the looks of her swollen eyes，she had been crying.“The impact damaged the body to such an extent that we couldn’t ID her，and DNA analysis was going to take some time.I decided to access her memories，and found out that…she’s Ye Lin，the actress.I called in a report immediately.”

“No wonder the bureau told me to handle it.”Jiang Yong yawned.“She’s a big star.I imagine those vulture reporters will be swarming here soon，and this is going to be all over the headlines in the morning…But the case doesn’t look that complicated.The memory replay indicates that it was suicide.All you have to do is follow the procedures.”

“But since the deceased is such a celebrity，there will be a lot of attention focused on us，”said another detective.“The bureau didn’t want anything to go wrong，and they specifically asked for you to review the investigation.”

“I don’t care if she’s a celebrity or some average Jane Doe，”Jiang Yong harrumphed.“I have no sympathy for suicides.”

“No！This is murder，pure murder！”Liu Ningning cried out，her voice full of anguish.

Jiang Yong frowned.“Ningning，I know you’re a fan of Ye Lin，but you can’t allow your personal feelings interfere with police work.”

“But…but…”Ningning wiped at her eyes.“You’ll understand if you replay more of her memories.”

Intrigued，Jiang Yong put the helmet back on，and data flooded into his mind from the memory black box.

The memory black box was the product of advanced research in neuroscience，information technology，nanotechnology，and other fields.The recorder consisted of a biochip smaller than the head of a pin implanted into the hippocampus and nanosensors embedded throughout the body.Normally，system lay dormant.But as soon as it detected severe deviations from the norm in various brain activity parameters—indicative of the stress caused by imminent death or great danger—the black box would automatically contact the police and record the short-term memory in the hippocampus via molecular scanning.In the event of death，about one to two minutes of memories preceding the cessation of brain activity could be decrypted from the black box.The device was invaluable for tasks such as criminal investigation，accident inquiry，insurance adjustment，and so on.

Although the chip was expensive，it didn’t require a craniotomy to install；instead，molecule-sized nanomachines were injected into the bloodstream，and they assembled themselves into the recorder and sensors in the requisite areas of the body without causing any discomfort.Many celebrities and the wealthy installed memory black boxes not only for the benefits in the event of death，but also to deter criminals who would wish them harm.Since the invention of the memory black box，the murder rate had plunged，accompanied by a corresponding rise in the percentage of solved murders.

The induction helmet used to replay the memories had originated in virtual reality gaming.Not only could the helmet replicate the recorded visual data and other sensory information with high fidelity，but it could also induce in the wearer the memories and emotions experienced by the deceased through artificial bioelectric fields localized to specific regions of the brain.Someone wearing the helmet would feel as though they were taking the place of the deceased，gazing through her eyes，hearing through her ears，experiencing everything she felt.

…As Ye Lin fell，she seemed to turn into a raindrop，one falling faster than the other raindrops.The blasting wind whipped the rain against her face as the windows of the skyscraper—some lit，some dark—flashed by her，the unconnected scenes seen through them like a string of memory fragments.

From the depths of her soul，Jiang Yong experienced terror，despair，and a profound，unrelenting hatred.

Many on the verge of death experienced a final flash of lucidity during which innumerable memories surfaced from the unconscious in a final farewell performance.Ye Lin was one of them.As she fell，millions of memory fragments danced and flickered like the ever-changing，chaotic patterns found in a kaleidoscope.The most fascinating type of experience recorded by the memory black box was this pre-death recollection.Someone replaying it through the induction helmet would even experience time as passing more slowly.Although the recollected scenes were hazy and fragmentary，when enhanced with the emotions felt by the deceased，they effectively conveyed the hidden depths and meanings behind each memory，allowing the helmet-wearer to empathize intensely with the deceased.Thus，decrypted pre-death recollections，when sold through legal channels，made a mesmerizing，fantastic entertainment product.

Jiang Yong saw the funeral of Ye Lin’s mother when she was a little girl；saw how she had lived in poverty with her alcoholic father，and vowed before a mirror，with tears staining her face，to change her fate with the one gift life gave her—her extraordinary beauty；and then，as she was stopped in the street by a talent scout，Jiang Yong experienced Ye Lin’s ecstatic heartbeats.

Once she entered the movie business，the talented Ye Lin threw herself wholeheartedly into her performances.One moment she was in period dress as she fought against the other empresses and consorts in palace intrigue；the next she was a graceful woman in a modern metropolis；and in another moment she was an adventurer in the jungle of an alien planet…She achieved success，accepted award after award，and became a star known in every household.She left poverty behind as she jetted around the world，hobnobbing with other international celebrities，laughing and chatting at parties…

And then that man appeared.At first，he was only a lowly cameraman in one of her movies who timidly manufactured excuses to be closer to her.One day，he finally found the courage to hand her a letter，which she promptly tossed into the trashcan without even unsealing.But the man didn’t give up.He stayed by her side as he advanced in his career，taking care of her and watching out for her in numerous ways，big and small.Gradually，she began to notice him，and finally，one night，after they were both drunk，the flame of romance sprung into life…

Jiang Yong was familiar with the basic biographical details of Ye Lin’s life，and he knew that the man in her memories was Xue Kai，a famous director and Ye Lin’s ex-husband.The memories weren’t too different from what she had revealed in her interviews and biographies，but the specific，vivid details he experienced had been absent from mere text.There was no question that if the contents of this black box were brought to market，they would become an instant best-seller.

Ye Lin was still falling.For a body to traverse the full distance between the roof of a thousand-meter-plus skyscraper and the ground，impeded by air resistance and the strong wind，would take tens of seconds，plenty of time for those important memories to play through.The sweet memories winked out of existence in a flash，and all that remained were acute pain and deep hatred.

Jiang Yong saw Ye Lin ignore the objections of the studios and retire from her acting career.She put on the white wedding gown and stood by Xue Kai in the cathedral.By now，Xue Kai was gaining some renown as a director.Soon after，Ye Lin became a joyful，expectant mother.But then a string of misfortunes arrived：she found intimate photographs of Xue Kai with other women on the computer…Fights between the couple flashed before Jiang Yong’s eyes；her shock，rage，and despair roiled his heart；and then Xue Kai walked into their home holding the hand of another woman，arrogantly showing her that he didn’t care—and after shoving and pushing and screaming，she rolled down the stairs，blood flowing from between her legs in a torrent.The terrified Xue Kai ran away…

What a shithead，Jiang Yong said to himself.

After the miscarriage，a frightened Xue Kai swore that he would break off all contact with his mistress.At the hospital，he cared for her day and night without complaint.Finally，Ye Lin forgave him.But half a year later，cruel truth revealed itself：Xue Kai abruptly disappeared.After a few days，rumors said that he had been seen with his mistress in another city，and when Ye Lin went to the bank to check her account，she found that more than thirty million yuan in savings—the couple’s joint property—had vanished.She fainted.

Courts and lawyers were useless，and even after the divorce was finalized，she couldn’t get a single yuan back.After her loss was reported in the tabloids，Xue Kai attacked her by claiming that she had defamed him.Nude pictures of her surfaced on the Web from anonymous posters，and rumors spread that she was actually the mistress of some important party official or the sexual plaything of a wealthy businessman.The tabloids printed damaging“news”about her without cease，and she was dogged by threats and hurled abuses.Even contracts she had reached agreement on were rescinded.Though she knew thatXue Kai was the one making trouble for her，she had no recourse.Xue Kai had seized the public narrative.She felt she was being driven insane…

The concrete ground loomed before her eyes.After a momentary flash of utter despair and horror came the eternal darkness.No more memories.

Jiang Yong took off the induction helmet and exhaled deeply.Though he was used to the multitude of tragedies humans put one another through，it was hard not to be moved after experiencing such memories.The heartbreaking scenes seemed to linger before his eyes.He understood how Ningning felt—rage burned in his chest，too.

“I couldn’t believe her life was like that.”Jiang Yong heaved a heavy sigh.“When I used to read the gossip about her，I just thought she was one of those celebrities with an immoral，extravagant lifestyle.I had no idea there were such painful secrets behind the scenes.”

“It was all because of that asshole Xue Kai！”Ningning exclaimed.“He killed Ye Lin.Why can’t that son of a bitch die！”

“He didn’t commit any crimes，”said Jiang Yong.“The law can’t punish him for what he did.”

“There is a cosmic balance at work though，”said Ningning.“Karma will catch up to him.”

Ye Lin’s death shocked the nation—no，the world.Her memory black box，of course，became the focus of media attention.As both of her parents had died，and she had no children，her legal heir，an aunt，soon declared that she would place Ye Lin’s memories on auction.Many memory entertainment companies swarmed to bid，and in the end，the black box was sold for fifteen million yuan to a megacorp，which promptly brought the memories to market.Anyone could pay the requisite fee and then experience the memories of Ye Lin on the verge of death.

And in this manner，the truth of Ye Lin’s life，which had been buried under a flood of ugly rumors while she had been alive，surfaced.Xue Kai’s despicable acts became public knowledge，and no matter what he said to defend himself，the power of those vivid memories triumphed over his rhetoric.Soon，he was buried by the tide of public opinion，and became the favorite target of the shaming mob.Many companies pulled out of contracts with him and his girlfriend；his friends stayed away；fans knocked on his door to give him a piece of their minds；and some even sent him death threats.He dared not show his face in public—one time，he was recognized in the street，and a mob harassed him and attacked him until he was afraid for his life.

This lasted half a year.

And then，Xue Kai，now at the nadir of his career，braced himself and emerged from seclusion to attend a televised gala.The other guests all kept their distances，and even the host made him the butt of several jokes.Fortunately，a fifteen-year-old girl in the audience claimed to be his die-hard fan and asked for his autograph，allowing him to save a bit of face.But as Xue Kai grinned and signed his name，the young woman pulled out a dagger and stabbed it into his belly.Then，as the shocked host and guests watched，she proceeded to stab him again and again on live TV…

Xue Kai died as millions watched.Afterward，the young woman received a sentence of sixteen years.However，public opinion stayed on her side，and many even opined that she should be deemed innocent for eliminating a waste of human flesh.

A few more months passed，and it was the anniversary of Ye Lin’s death.Liu Ningning，being a loyal fan，visited Ye Lin’s grave during the day and then returned to the site of Ye Lin’s suicide at night.

At one in the morning，Ningning opened the door to the rooftop platform of the Future Tower.A blast of wind greeted her，making her shiver.Imagining how Ye Lin felt on that day a year ago，Ningning stepped toward the edge where she had jumped.There was no rain on this night，and a crescent moon hung in the sky，the motley neon radiance of the metropolis spread out under its glow.

Suddenly，Ningning noticed a hazy figure standing at the edge of the roof.Startled，she almost screamed.But as she looked closer，the figure was Jiang Yong.

“Captain，what are you doing here？”she asked.“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of…ending…”

“Nothing like that.”Jiang Yong’s voice was placid.“I saw you post on NanoShare that you were thinking about coming here.I figured I’d join you.”

“Right.Hard to believe it’s been a year already.I guess Xue Kai got what he deserved.I hope Ye Lin can rest in peace.”

“I’ve replayed hundreds of pre-death memory records，but hers affected me the most.Even now，as soon as I close my eyes，I seem to be falling through the air again.”Jiang Yong gazed at the horizon and sighed.

“Your face is always so serious，”said Ningning.“I had no idea that you were…so sensitive.”

“Why？Do you think I’m an emotionless，case-solving robot？”Jiang Yong chuckled without mirth.“No，crime investigation requires understanding the passions that move people.Otherwise，it’s impossible to see through some cases，like this one.”

“What do you mean？”

“Ningning，do you remember how you insisted that this was a murder a year ago？You were right.”

“Of course！Even though Ye Lin jumped from here，Xue Kai was the one who made her do it.”

“No.The truth is just the opposite.This was a meticulously planned murder，but Xue Kai was the victim，”Jiang Yong said.

“What…what are you talking about？”Ningning’s eyes widened in shock.

“Ye Lin used her own death to seek revenge against Xue Kai.Everything was planned.”

“How？”

Jiang Yong smiled.“Ye Lin knew that the contents of her memory black box would be disseminated widely after her death.She thus consciously designed and arranged her recollections.Indeed，even jumping from the Future Tower was part of her plan.This is the highest building in the city，and the long fall gives her the time to marshal her memories for maximum emotional impact.As she fell，she deliberately recalled the events of her life related to Xue Kai and invoked her intense hatred and rage.As millions replayed her memories，they weren’t just a passive audience watching a movie；instead，they experienced the same powerful emotions she did.In a sense，Ye Lin infected everyone with the fervor of her feelings.The girl who killed Xue Kai on impulse was one of the infected.”

“Are you calling her memories untrue？”

“Of course they were real，but they weren’t the entire truth.”Jiang Yong said.“After Xue Kai’s death，I replayed his memories as well.Many of his recollections conflicted with Ye Lin’s，and that was when I became suspicious.I gathered numerous other documents and evidence，and after comparing and contrasting，I discovered that Ye Lin was not entirely innocent of fault.For example，she didn’t become a star merely because a talent scout found her.In fact，she had gotten her break by trading sexual favors with producers and casting directors，and maintained a quid-pro-quo relationship with many of them long after.She also undermined competitors in the business in unethical ways，and arranged sexual liaisons for powerful executives—”

“But she never did anything to hurt Xue Kai.She loved him！”Ningning interrupted.

“True.She really did love Xue Kai.But people are complicated.She also kept many secrets from Xue Kai，who，after finding out about some of them，became angry with her.Ye Lin was also jealous and overbearing，and she insisted on monopolizing all decisions regarding the couple’s finances，which damaged the bond between them…There’s no doubt Xue Kai’s behavior was wrong，but he didn’t deserve to die.”

“So you’re saying…”Ningning’s tone was thoughtful.“Ye Lin sought vengeance，and she used her own death to drag Xue Kai into the abyss？She was responsible for Xue Kai’s death？”

“No，the real killer of Xue Kai was someone else.”

“Who？You mean the young woman who stabbed him？”

“Ningning，”Jiang Yong said as he turned toward her and locked gazes.“The one who really sent Xue Kai down that road from which he would not return was you.”

“What kind of sick joke is this？”Blood drained from Ningning’s face.

“Contempt and resentment for Xue Kai blinded me at first as well.But once I began to suspect Ye Lin’s memories didn’t tell the whole story，I replayed her record several more times.I noticed that the record had been edited，and the final section，the few seconds right before she struck the ground，had been deleted.Whoever performed the edits was very skilled，but still，traces of tempering were left behind.Do you know what the deleted memories were？”

Ningning bit her bottom lip，refusing to answer.

Recollections that troubled Ye Lin’s conscience，additional private details from her life with Xue Kai，happy scenes from her life，memories of her childhood，and a moment infused with deep regret right before her death.Ye Lin made a mistake.She thought she hated Xue Kai enough to desire revenge against him through her death.But she was wrong：death made everything meaningless，including vengeance itself.Her resolve，held together with great effort，collapsed at the end.In that moment before death，she no longer hated Xue Kai…

And if the public had experienced the entirety of her memory record，they would have been able to view this matter with more sense.

“But the first person to decrypt and retrieve her memory was you，the loyal fan.Because of your sorrow at her death，and to protect her image，you censored those parts of her memory that were unfavorable to her.You shouldn’t have done it.”

“I…”Ningning’s lips trembled as though she wanted to argue，but in the end，she gave up.“Yes，I did it！I don’t care what wrongs Ye Lin might have done，all I know is that a scumbag like Xue Kai deserved to die.I wanted to make sure the truth was more clearly presented.”

Jiang Yong shook his head.“You were wrong.A partial truth is the same as a lie.Everyone’s memories and feelings are subjective，and we’re each trapped in our own perspectives.But the differences between perspectives，collectively，create objectivity.You had no right to impose your views on others.Perhaps you had no legal responsibility for Xue Kai’s death，but as an officer of the law，tempering with the evidence subjects you to criminal prosecution.Let’s go.”

Ningning said nothing the whole time Jiang Yong drove her to the police station.But just as she was about to be brought into the detention cell，she turned around and asked，“Captain，may I ask you one more question？I can’t figure out how you managed to recover the data I deleted.I was sure I had erased it completely，and I know I didn’t make any technical mistakes.”

“I didn’t recover the data，”said Jiang Yong.“All I had were traces that deletion had occurred.You’re the only one who knows what the deleted memories were.”

“Then how were you able to tell me the contents？”

“I just guessed.”Jiang Yong sighed again.“No one can hold onto hatred in the moment before death.They always remember the earliest memories of childhood：the kind faces of loving parents，the flashes of joy and happiness—love for the beautiful parts of life always triumphs over hatred，and that is the essence of life.Ye Lin finally figured it out the moment before she died.It was too late for her，but it was better than not knowing that truth.”

Summer at Grandma’s House

by Hao Jingfang，translated by Carmen Yiling Yan

He pondered silently：the chain of unconnected actions that had determined his doom and destiny had been of his own creation.

After this summer，I finally understand what Camus said of Sisyphus.

I never looked at the word“fate”this way before.In the past，I always thought that either it was prearranged，and all we had to do was follow along；or that it didn’t exist at all，so we had to devise our own ath in life.

I didn’t realize there might be a third option.

1

In August，I leave for my grandmother’s home in the country，fleeing ruckus like Newton fled the Black Plague.I want a quiet summer，nothing more.

The taxi drives out of the city，then along the dusty highway.I stuff my big，empty backpack under the seat and slump against the window.

Really，I’m not running away from anything earth-shattering.My graduation from college is going to be delayed a year.I broke up with my girlfriend.On top of that，I’m feeling a touch of ennui，leaving me unable to take interest in anything.The last one scares me a bit，but other than that，there’s nothing big.I’m not given to drama.

Mom approved.Find someplace to fix up your spirits，she told me，and come back ready for another go.She thought I was really tormented，which wasn’t true.There’s no way I could get her to understand that，though.

My grandmother’s little two-story bungalow sits at the foot of the mountain，its red roof hidden in the dense treetops.

A small chalkboard hangs from the wooden door.Written on it is：“Zhanzhan，I’ve gone shopping.The door is unlocked，so come in on your own when you arrive.There’s food in the fridge.”

I try pulling on the door handle，but it doesn’t budge.It doesn’t turn either，even when I twist harder.I can only sit on the steps and wait.

Grandma’s getting muddle-minded with age，I think.She must have locked the door by habit when she left，then forgot about it.

Grandpa passed away early.My grandmother’s lived here ever since she retired.Mom and Dad wanted to buy her a house in the city，but she turned down all their offers.She said she was used to living alone，as she pleased.She disliked the noise and clamor of the city.

For all her life，Grandma was a college professor；her mind and body were still sound.So Dad agreed.We keep saying we’ll spend a holiday here，but either Dad would be busy，or I’d have something planned with my schoolmates and couldn’t cancel.

I hope Grandma can still take care of herself on her own here，I think to myself，sitting on the steps.

Grandmother finally returns in the evening，quickening her strides when she sees me in the distance.She smiles at me.“Zhanzhan，when did you arrive？Why didn’t you go in the house？”

I dust off my butt and stand up.Grandma walks up the steps，shifts all her bags to her right hand，and pushes the door with her left hand，on the side closer to the hinges—opposite from the handle.Just like that，the door swings open，no fuss.Grandma walks in first，holding the door open for me.

My face flushes a little.I hurry in after her.It looks like I was overthinking things earlier.

Night descends.Night in the countryside is quiet and tranquil，just the dance of tree shadows cast by the moon.

Grandma quickly prepares dinner.The rich fragrance of beef fills the small house.After a long day of travel，the smell makes me ravenous.

“Zhanzhan，bring me the mayonnaise in the kitchen，please.”Grandma carefully sets a tureen of steamed eggs with mushroom on the table.

My grandmother’s kitchen is spacious and decorated in soft colors.Soup simmers on the stove，wreathed in steam.

I pull open the fridge，only to get a shock：inside of the fridge is a baking tray，and the inner walls glow red with heat.A row of apple pastries are crisping on the tray.The sweet smell of butter and honey assaults my face.

Turns out this is the oven.I hurriedly push it shut.

Where’s the fridge，then？I turn around.There’s a glass-windowed metal door under the stove—I assumed that was the oven.I walk over and pull it open，and discover that it’s a dishwasher.

So I pull open the dishwasher，and find that it’s a water purifier；pull open the water purifier，and find that it’s a trash can；open the trash can，and find that it’s filled with a broad selection of CDs，neatly sorted.

Finally I realize that the“heating unit”under the window—I thought it looked like a radiator in its ridged casing—is，in fact，the fridge.I locate the mayonnaise，and make sure to open the lid and sniff it，just to make sure the jar doesn’t actually contain condensed milk.Only after I’ve checked do I return to the dining room.

Grandma already has bowls and chopsticks set out.The instant I sit down I start stuffing my face.

2

I spend the next few days furiously learning how to identify everything.

Almost nothing in Grandma’s house has a function that matches what you’d expect from the form.The coffeepot is a penholder，the penholder is a lighter，the lighter is a flashlight，the flashlight is a jam container.

That last one gives me trouble.It’s the middle of the night when I get up to go to the bathroom.I unthinkingly grab the“flashlight”in the living room，only to get a handful of jam.In the darkness，the wet stickiness on my hand scares the sleep right out of me.When the realization dawns，my first instinct is to get a tissue，but the tissue box is filled with white sugar.I reach for the lamp.Who could have guessed that the table lamp is fake，and that the switch is actually a mousetrap？

With a sharp pa，I find myself in an awkward situation.On my left hand is jam dipped in white sugar.On my right hand is a table lamp smeared with cheese.

“Grandma！”I call softly，but don’t hear a reply.I can only climb the stairs，keeping both hands lifted in front of me.Her bedroom is dark，but yellow-orange light seeps from a small room at the end of the hallway.

“Grandma？”I try，outside of the room.

Following muffled scrapes of table and chair，Grandma appears at the door.She looks me over and bursts right into laughter.“Come with me，”she says.

The room turns out to be much larger than I thought.The lights are bright，and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust.Only then do I see that this is a lab.

Grandma takes an oddly-shaped little key from a drawer and frees me from the table-lamp-mousetrap.I lick my fingers.The cheese still smells delicious.

“Why are you doing experiments this late in the night？”I can’t help but ask.

“With bacterial colony growth，I have to take observations every hour.”Smiling，Grandma leads me over to a milk-colored countertop.A neat row of round Petri dishes lie on the counter，each filled with a translucent substance that looks like medicinal cream.

“Is this...nutrient agar？”I’ve done similar experiments at school.

Grandma nods.“I’m observing the movement of transposons in the bacteria.”

“Transposons？”

Grandma opens one of the Petri dishes on her end.She hefts it in her hand and says，“They’re pieces of DNA capable of encoding reverse transcription enzyme，which allows them to migrate along DNA，breaking away or re-integrating themselves.I want to use them to insert synthetic genes for drug resistance.”

Grandma sets the lid back on.“But I don’t know if it will work.This Petri dish is exposed to the air，providing a low-humidity environment.The one next to it is submerged in a sugar solution.The one after that has been enriched with extra ATP.”

I follow her example and open the Petri dish closest to me.“What are the conditions in this one？”

I dab my cheese-covered fingertip on the agar.I know that having plenty of nutrients makes cells reproduce faster，which should speed up the genetic integration.

“Zhanzhan！”Grandma hesitates，then says，“That’s the control sample.It’s not supposed to have any added factors.”

I’m always like that，full of assumptions when I do things，and careless ones at that.

One time，when Jingjing and I fought，she said that I always went about things impulsively，inconsiderately，immaturely.She’s right，I think.She was complaining about the way I always forgot to call her，but I know my problem goes further than that.Jingjing’s a person with lots of plans，and the capability to carry out each one of them reliably，but I’m the total opposite.When I try to carry out my plans，they always go wrong，as sure as bread lands butter-side down.

Without a control，Grandma will have to redo the whole experiment.She can keep observing，technically，but at the least she wouldn’t be able to use it in proper published results.

I’m panicked，unsure of what I should do，but Grandma doesn’t seem to be angry at all.

“It’s no big deal，”Grandma says.“I could use a sample with added cholesterol anyway.”

And Grandma really does take out a marker pen，makes a note on the lid，and keeps on observing.

3

The next morning，Grandma makes sweet osmanthus flower porridge.The morning sun is lovely shining down on the countryside.The only sound for miles around is birdsong.

Grandma asks me if I have any plans for these few days.None，I say.That’s the truth.The only thing I might want to do is think about what I might want to do.

“Your mother says your graduation was delayed because of English，but I don’t see how that could be the case.Weren’t you an English major before you switched？You should be quite good at English.”

“I didn’t test past the fourth level，”I mumble.“I forgot to register in junior year，and this year I forgot the test date.”

I gulp down the porridge with my head lowered，and stuff up my mouth with a sandwich.

I’m not afraid of any English exams，no，but that might have been why I failed to take them seriously.As for my change in major，that’s starting to look like another mistake.I switched to environmental studies，only to discover I didn’t care that much about the environment.Then I fled to hardware engineering in junior year，and attended a year’s worth of biology too.The result was today：I was jack of all majors，master of none.

Grandma cuts me another half slice of bacon.“What did your mother say before you came？”

“Nothing in particular.She just wants me to take a breather here，and read some books on economics if I have the time.”

“Your mother wants you to study economics？”

“Yeah，she says that no matter what company I end up working for，knowing a bit of economics will come in handy.”

My mom thinks that I should set a target，then study whatever I needed to get there.But I was lacking in precisely that department.None of the big goals I set ever lasted more than a few days before I nixed them，which left me without any impetus to work on the tasks at hand.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about the future.”Seeing that I’ve finished eating，Grandma begins to clear the table.“Just like the nose didn’t evolve to prop up glasses.”

Jingjing told me the same thing.“The nose evolved for the purpose of breathing，”she said.God sculpted us all into our own unique forms，so we shouldn’t worry about what other people thought，and stand firm on who we were.So Jingjing left the country，in accordance to who she was.But I was missing that sense of unique purpose too.God never got around to telling me who I was.

My mind is elsewhere as I help clear the table.The leftover porridge splatters all over the floor.My face immediately heats.

“Don’t worry，it’s no big deal.”Grandma takes the pot from me and fetches a mop.

“...It’s flowed into the corner.Won’t that be hard to mop up？Do you have a cloth for cleaning the floor？I’ll do it，”I say，embarrassed.

I think of the way Mom would crouch and meticulously wipe down the crevice where the floor met the wall.Our house was always squeaky clean.Mom hated nothing more than my brand of haphazardness.

“It’s no big deal，really.”Grandma mops up the center of the dining room.“We’ll leave the corner as is.”

She notices that I’m at a loss.“I’m accident-prone myself，”she laughs.“I spill things everywhere.That’s why I laid down culture medium for growing fungi next to the walls.This way I’ll have material for my experiments.”

I bend down to look by the wall.There really is a band of pale green fuzz stretching around the room.From a distance，it looked like decorative trimming along the perimeter of the floor.

“Sweet porridge is ideal，actually.We might even get mushrooms.”

She sees that I’m still awkwardly standing in place，so she adds，“How about this？If you don’t have anything in particular to do these few days，do you want to help me grow fungi？”

I nod without hesitation.

It’s not just because I want to make up for the mess I made.More than that，I feel I need to change how I spend my days.Up until now，my life has been incoherent and scattershot.I haven’t been able to commit to any one of the well-trodden paths in life，or chart my own course.Maybe what I need is opportunity，even accidentally.

4

Grandma likes to say that purpose comes afterward.

Grandma rejects any form of teleology，from animism to vitalism.She doesn’t believe that evolution has a destination and dislikes explanations like“eyes grew eyelashes to keep dust out.”She doesn’t even think cells evolved membranes for self-protection.

“The enclosing membrane came before the cell could exist，”Grandmother says.“Same with G protein-coupled receptors.It became light-sensitive rhodopsin in the eyes and olfactory receptors in the nose.”

It’s a sort of Darwinism，I suppose：first mutation，then selection.First the protein，then the chemical reaction in which to participate.First the ability to encode an enzyme，then the sensory organ that uses the enzyme.

Existence precedes essence，I think the saying goes？

A few evenings later，good news comes from Grandma’s lab：the NTL reagent stain finally reveals the protein we’re looking for in the cytoplasm.A molecular weight test with the centrifuge confirms this.The transposons have successfully reverse transcribed their payload.

After several days of continuous pursuit and observation，you let out a breath at that kind of result.As I help Grandma clean up the lab，I ask，“What gene were we inserting，anyway？”

“A cell suicide signal，”Grandma says placidly.

“Wait，what？”

Grandma bends to sweep up the bits and pieces under the experiment counter.“This experiment was primarily meant as cancer treatment research.Cancer cells are simply cells that don’t die when they should，as you know.”

“Huh.”I pick up the dustpan.“Does that mean you can apply for a patent now？”

Grandma shakes her head.“I don’t want to do that yet.”

“How come？”

“I don’t know if this kind of reverse transcription might have delayed side effects.”

“What do you mean？”

Grandma doesn’t immediately answer.She collects the test tubes and wipes the counter clean.I tie up the trash bag and follow her downstairs to the garden.

“I suppose you haven’t heard the hypothesis of how viruses evolved？Transposons promote genetic recombination inside a cell，but on the loose outside of the cell，they can become viruses，like HIV.”

The summer breeze is warm and dry，but I involuntarily shiver.

So viruses split off from cells themselves.It makes me think of the square root calculator turned execution device in Wang Xiaobo’s book.There’s the same dark humor to it.

I understand Grandma’s attitude，but I can’t help but feel a little dissatisfied deep down.“Still，this technology could cure cancer.Aren’t you afraid someone will beat you to the patent？”

Grandma shakes her head.“What does that matter？”

Peng.At that moment，a thump comes from the other side of the garden.

Grandma and I hurry over，only to see a pudgy，sweaty face emerge from the other side of the garden fence，among the climbing roses.

“Hello...I’m terribly sorry，I was trying to rearrange my flower rack，but my hand slipped，and I smashed up your flowers by accident.”

I look down.He dropped a container of chrysanthemums，the flowerpot lying in pieces.Underneath are Grandma’s azaleas，an equally gory sight.

“Oh，right，I just moved here.I’ll be your neighbor from now on.”The fat middle-aged guy is nodding on autopilot.“I really am very sorry，ma’am.It’s my first day here and I’ve already given you trouble.”

“Don’t worry，it’s no big deal.”Grandma smiles genially.

“I’m terribly sorry.I’ll bring you flowers tomorrow to replace it.”

“It’s no big deal，really.I can take the opportunity to extract some chloroplasts and anthocyanin from the leaves and flowers.Don’t mind it.”Grandma bends down as she speaks and starts picking up flowerpot shards.

I stand in the yard，the summer night cool around me.My mind is a jumble.

I’ve discovered that Grandma’s catchphrase is“it’s no big deal.”It might be that most things in Grandma’s eyes really are no big deal.Fame，influence，personal property—none of them matter much at Grandma’s point in life，admittedly.She does whatever she feels like，and to her，it’s enough.

But what about me？I think.

What am I going to do once the summer’s over？Return to school，everything the same as before，and meander around for another year until graduation？

I know that’s not what I want.

5

When next morning comes around，I help Grandma take care of the shattered flowers，extracting the chlorophyll with acetone.With that，Grandma enthusiastically adds a new member to her enormous team of test subjects.

I spend the entire morning mentally battling with myself.Close to noon，I finally make my choice.No matter what，I think，I should first go to the patent office and ask a few questions.Conveniently，the guy next door comes over in the afternoon to make amends.I take the opportunity to run off on my own.

The website gave clear directions to the patent office，and I find it easily.The four-story building is plain but stately，the lobby quiet and well-lit.A graceful，pretty girl sits behind the receptionist’s desk，reading a book.

“H-hello，I’d like to apply for a patent.”

She looks up and smiles.“Hello.Fill out the form over there，please.What are you patenting？”

“Uh，an anti-cancer biological factor.”

“Then you’ll want to head to Hall 3，the Biology and Chemistry Office.”She points toward the right.As I turn，she muses to herself，“Strange，why are there so many people applying for anti-cancer factors today？”

I spin right back around.“Wait，there was someone else before me？”

“Yes，an older man came just this morning.”

My heart lurches.I sense something’s not quite right.

“Do you know what technology he was patenting，specifically？”

“I don’t know，I’m afraid.”

“Was it a drug，or something else？”

The girl sighs.“I’m just a college student working here for the summer.It’s not my business to look at the applications.You should go in and ask yourself.”With that，the girl lowers her head once more and resumes scribbling and underlining.

I bend over to look.It’s a book of English vocabulary.“You’re memorizing vocabulary？”I ask，trying to get her on my side.“I’m doing that too.”

“Oh？You’re a college student？”She raises her head and looks me over curiously.“And you already have something to patent？That’s impressive.”

“Ah...no，you’ve got it wrong.”My face flushes a little.“I’m just looking in on behalf of my academic advisor.Do you remember what that older guy looked like？I think my advisor might have come here already without telling me.”

“Hmm...he was short，on the plump side，kind of bald.I think he was wearing a yellow jacket.I don’t remember anything else.”

Like I suspected.No wonder I noticed something was off when I left the house.

The middle-aged guy next door arrived with his flowers just then.I took the flowerpot from him，and when he went to open the door for me，he pushed on the side of the door closer to the hinges without hesitation.Someone here for the first time wouldn’t have known to do that.I understand now.Last night wasn’t purely chance.He must have accidentally knocked over the flowers while eavesdropping.

He really has no sense of decency，coming over again today，I think.I need to hurry and tell Grandma.He probably thought that we wouldn’t be applying for a patent and would never find out.Good thing I came here.

“Leaving already？”the girl calls out as I head for the door.“Here’s a pamphlet，then.It has an introduction to the patent office and an explanation of the application process，plus contact information.”

I manage a smile.I accept the pamphlet，stick it in my pocket，and stride quickly out the door.

6

I rush home only to find Grandma in her lab like usual，calmly looking through her microscope.She’s a quiet，steady island amid a chaos of river torrents.

“Grandma…”I force my panting and puffing under control.“He stole your Petri dishes…”

“Back from somewhere？Where did you go，to end up so dusty？”Grandma looks up，smiling，and brushes at my jacket.

“I went—”I fall silent，unsure of how to explain my trip to the patent office.I change tack.“Grandma，that fat guy next door stole your Petri dishes and applied for a patent.”

Unexpectedly，Grandma only smiles.“It’s no big deal.I can continue my research just fine.Moreover，like I told you，the experiment we conducted was very crude and preliminary.The results can’t be put into application as they are.”

I look at Grandma，at a loss for words.Is it actually possible for someone to be so easygoing？Grandma doesn’t seem to concern herself with things like intellectual property and monetary gain at all.I silently take the pamphlet out of my pocket and hold it in my hands，folding and unfolding it.

“Don’t worry about that for now.First come and look at this.”Grandma points to the microscope in front of her.

I take a halfhearted peep through it.“What is it？”I ask，offhandedly.

“Genetically engineered photosynthesizing bacteria.”

I perk up.This sounds interesting.“How did you do it？”

“I simply reverse transcribed genes from the chloroplasts into the bacteria.They’ve already expressed many of the proteins，although I’m sure there are still problems present.If we can overcome them，maybe these bacteria can be used as a source of alternative energy.”

As I listen to Grandma’s placid，happy voice，I suddenly get a strange and dreamlike feeling.It’s like I’m cocooned in a layer of fog，while her voice is coming from a long distance away.I look down.I’m rubbing the pamphlet between my fingers.I need to make a choice.

Grandma’s still talking.“As you know，I’ve laid down a lot of culture medium on the floors.I plan to replace more material so I can grow the bacteria all over the house.If it works，we’ll have a use for porridge leftovers and everything.As for the actual electricity generation，you were the one who gave me the inspiration.Cell membranes normally have high fluidity，which makes it difficult to capture the high-energy electrons generated from photosynthesis.However，if we add large quantities of cholesterol molecules，we can just about stabilize the membrane.In theory，we can use micro-electrodes to position…”

I stand there woodenly.I’m not really paying attention to Grandma，just catching fragments here and there.This discovery might have even bigger future applications.But my brain is a worse jumble than before.I can’t concentrate enough to listen anymore.“You’re bringing up all the things I did wrong，”I say awkwardly.

Grandma shakes her head.“Zhanzhan，do you still not understand？”She stops，looking into my eyes.“Every day，every moment，countless random events will occur.You’ll pick one of many possible restaurants to eat at，take one of many possible buses，see one of many possible advertisements.And at that point in time，you can’t classify them as good or bad，right or wrong.They take on worth only in the future.What we do at this moment in the present gives meaning to another moment in the past…”

Grandma’s voice sounds light and drifting.I can’t react to it in time.Chance，time，meaning，future，the words spin in my head.I think of Borges’“The Garden of Forking Paths”.Yu Tsun must have felt what I’m feeling，the decision uncertain but fomenting in my heart，even as enigmatic words wisp into my ear…

“…biology is based on just one set of principles：random events and directional selection.What’s doing the selection？What allows some events to stick around and prove to be beneficial？The answer is perpetuation alone.If a protein can persist，it will persist.It will claim a position in the course of history，while other proteins appear and then disappear at random.The only way to make a step you’ve taken’correct’is to take another step in the same direction...”

I think of myself，of the fat guy next door，of Mom and Jingjing，of the four years I spent in a muddle，of my dejection and conflict，of the bright and shining lobby of the patent office.I know I need an opportunity.

“…that’s why，if we can make use of them，cheese and spilled porridge and broken-off flowers don’t have to be bad things at all.”

And I make my choice.

7

After that summer，I get an internship at the patent office.I learned of the opportunity from the booklet.

It’s not very easy to find a proper job here，but they’re always looking for college students to take care of odds and ends—fortunate，that I haven’t graduated yet.The work at the patent office isn’t hard，but it requires a bit of knowledge from every field—fortunate，that I was so aimless in my studies at college.

An’an—the girl I met the first time I came here—is now my girlfriend.We fell in love while studying together for the English exam—fortunate，that I hadn’t passed the fourth level.An’an says that I seemed polite and shy on first impression，which she found charming—I didn’t tell her that it was due to nervousness and a guilty conscience.Everything seems to have worked out like magic.Even the things I felt bad about ended up helping me.

Taking it a step further，I can even say that my inner turmoil was a good thing—if it weren’t for that，I wouldn’t have gone to Grandma’s house，and everything that came after wouldn’t have happened.Looking back，everything from before was all linked together into one chain.

I know that no one planned this for me.Fate doesn’t exist.I chose all of it.

It’s a strange feeling.We always think we can choose our futures，but that’s not true.What we really can choose is our past.

I chose the lunch I had a couple of years ago，made it a lunch different from the thousand other possible lunches.Likewise，I chose whether my time at college was a mistake.

Maybe accepting reality is just another name for staying true to yourself.Who are you，really，other than the sum of everything that’s happened？

A year has passed.With a happy mindset，I’ve done great at my work.The patent office has accepted me as a full-time employee.I’ll start my job in the fall.

I like it here.I like learning bits and pieces from all sorts of subjects.Besides，I’m no good at making long-term plans，or carrying them out.The work here is just one case after another，no need for looking far ahead.Plus，I have the same job as Einstein，which is pretty awesome.

After a year of repeated experiments and observations，Grandma is applying for patents for her anti-cancer factor and photosynthesizing walls.Several large companies have already expressed interest.Grandma isn’t interested in contract negotiations，so I’ve taken on the responsibilities of a middleman.Fortunate，that I work for the patent office.

Oh，right，I forgot to mention.The fat guy next door didn’t steal the Petri dishes with the anti-cancer factors after all.He thought he found the incubator，but it was actually an ordinary wardrobe.The real incubator looks like a dresser.

So you never know what something’s really meant for，Grandma says.Turns out she knew from the beginning.Turns out she knew everything from the beginning.

If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler

by Xia Jia，translated by Ken Liu

Many are the ways of commemorating the dead，and no one can say which is best—not even the dead.

The method I’m about to tell you is perhaps the strangest of them all.

My father was a librarian.Years ago，when I was a little child，he used to bring me to work and let me loose among the dusty tomes on old shelves.The experience forged an emotional bond between me and paper books.I could spend a whole day with my head buried in a book，careless of the absence of other entertainments.As I grew up，I discovered that the world outside the library was far more complicated，and I had a hard time adjusting.Socially awkward and having few friends，I returned to my hometown after college and started working at my father’s old library.It felt natural，like a book finding the exact place on the shelves assigned to it by the numbers on its spine.

There wasn’t much to do at work.In an age when most reading was done electronically，the library had few patrons.Like a graveyard attendant，I took care of the forgotten books and saw the occasional visitor，but there was little expectation of real conversation.The sunlight glided tranquilly between the shelves，day after day.Every day，I entered this sanctuary，quiet as a tomb，and pulled a book or two randomly off the shelves to read.

This was pretty much my version of heaven.

Borges once wrote，“God is in one of the letters on one of the pages of one of the four hundred thousand volumes in the Clementine.My parents and my parents’parents searched for that letter；I myself have gone blind searching for it.”I didn’t believe in God，but sometimes I felt that I was searching for something as well.

One rainy autumn afternoon，the library received a donation of books.I opened one and saw a small red collector’s seal on the title page，which told me that another old man who had treasured books had died.His children had piled his collection，gathered over a lifetime，in front of his apartment building.Those which were worth something had been picked out by used book dealers，leaving the rest to be sold by the kilogram to a paper mill，to be gifted，or to be donated to the library.This sort of thing happened every year.I sorted the books，recorded and catalogued them，stuck on call numbers and barcodes，wiped off the dust，and stacked them neatly so that they could be shelved.

This took me two hours；I was exhausted，dizzy，and needed a break.While the teakettle was boiling，I picked up a slim volume off the top of the stack.It was a chapbook of poetry.

I started to read.From the first character in the first line of the first poem，I felt that I had found what I had always sought.Accompanied by the faint pitter-patter of rain outside，I chewed over the verses carefully，as delighted as a starving man who had finally been given manna.

The poet was unfamiliar to me，and there was only a short paragraph that passed for her biography.There wasn’t even a photograph.She wrote under a pen name，and her real name was unknown.She had died twenty years ago at the age of thirty-one.I pulled out my phone to look her up，but the Internet gave me nothing，as though she had never existed.

I felt a tingling up my spine.How could a poet who had lived in the information age leave no trace on the Web？It was inconceivable.

In the middle of the chapbook I found a library book request form.The sheet was thin，yellowed，but still well preserved.The borrower had filled out the form with the title of the poetry book as well as his library card number in a neat，forceful hand.I inputted the information into the computer system and found that the borrower had been a regular patron，though he hadn’t come for a few months.The borrower’s records in the database did not contain this book—which made sense，as the library had never had a copy of it.

Why would a book request form from my library be found in the private collection of an old man，and how did it get back here to me？Who was the borrower listed on the form，and what was his relationship to the old man？Or perhaps they were the same person using different names？

I finished the poems in the chapbook and shelved it as well as the other donated books.The next day，for some reason，I found myself in front of the shelf with the chapbook.It was still there，a slim volume squeezed between other books like a mysterious woman hiding in the attic.I pulled it out and re-read it from the first page.Though the poems were decades old，I could clearly sense from the rich，ambivalent images the massive waves of sorrow that had swept up most people in this age，like a lonely cry slipping through the cracks and seams of broken walls and fallen ruins，flowing without end.

Who was the poet？What did she look like and where did she live？What was her life like？Other than me，the dead collector，and the mysterious borrower，had she had other readers？

I had no answers.All I could do was to read the poems over and over again，like a fish diving deeper.The poet and her poems turned into the dark abyss of my dreams，concealing all secrets.

Three months later，as the first snow of winter fell，I met the borrower.

He was in his forties，of medium height，possessing a lean，angular face，and dressed plainly.When I saw the familiar string of numbers on his library card，I got so excited that I almost cried out.But the looming silence of the library reminded me to swallow the cry.

Using the library’s surveillance cameras，I observed him passing through the stacks and up and down the stairs like a ghost.I saw him walk into the room where old newspapers and magazines were kept，the only patron in that space.He retrieved a stack of bound newspapers and carefully laid it out on the desk，where he proceeded to flip through it slowly，page by page.I was puzzled.These newspapers were electronically stored and indexed，and all he had to do was to perform a simple search in the database.Why did he bother to come into the library to flip through them like this？Perhaps he was nostalgic for the sensation of bare fingers against old paper？

Suddenly，the borrower on my closed-circuit TV screen lifted his face and glanced around，staring in the direction of the camera for a second.Then he shifted his position so that his body blocked my view.A few seconds later，he moved away and flipped the newspaper to the next page.

I was certain that he had done something he did not want others to find out during that brief moment.Maybe he took a photograph.But considering all these papers had been digitized，what was the point of sneaking a picture？

Before closing time，the borrower approached me and set down that thin chapbook.I scanned the barcode but held on to the book.My curiosity got the better of me，and I decided to break my habitual silence and risk speaking with a stranger.

“Do you like these poems？”I asked.

He was surprised.It was as if I had been invisible，but now appeared out of thin air.

“They’re…all right.”His tone was cautious.

“I think they’re lovely，”I said.“No，that’s not quite right.They’re powerful，as though they could return order and form to ruins that had been slumbering for thousands of years.”

I told him how I had come across these poems，and repeated to him the quote from Borges.I spoke to him about how I couldn’t forget the mysterious poet，and even recounted for him how I had become the librarian here.

Ripples of emotion spread across his face，as though my words had been drops of rain falling into a pond.

After I was done talking，he picked a book request form from the box on the desk and handed it to me.“Please give me your contact info.”

I wrote down my name and phone number.Without glancing at the form，he picked it up and placed it between the pages of the chapbook.“I will be in touch.”He strode toward the exit.

I waited more than a week.On a stormy evening，my phone rang.I answered it，and the borrower’s low，sonorous voice filled my ears.

“There’s a gathering tonight we’d like to invite you to.”

“Tonight？”I looked up at the dense，swirling snow outside the window.“We？”

He gave me an address and a time.Then he added，“I hope you can make it.”He hung up.

His last words were irresistible—it had been many years since anyone had said“hope”to me.I checked myself in the mirror and left the library，opening my umbrella as I did so.

The snow was so thick that it seemed solid.There were very few pedestrians or cars out on the road.My town was too small to have a subway or tube transport system，and transportation was no different from how it had been twenty，thirty years earlier.I made my way through ankle-deep snow to the bus stop，and the bus also had very few passengers.I rode for eight or so stops，got off，walked some more until I reached the address the borrower had given me：it was a bar that had seen better years.

I pushed open the thick wooden door and swept aside the cotton curtain.Warm air infused with an aroma that I was sure I knew enveloped my face.About fifteen people were seated in the bar in a loose circle，and there was an old fashioned coal stove—the kind that took honeycomb briquettes—in the middle of the circle.On top of the stove sat an aluminum kettle hissing with white steam.

The borrower picked up the kettle and poured me a cup of hot tea.I was surprised to see that there was a hint of a smile on his cold，expressionless face.He introduced me to the others，and it didn’t take me long to realize that most of them were as socially awkward as me，but I could see friendliness and candor in their eyes.They already thought of me as one of them.I relaxed.

I found an empty chair and sat down.The borrower stood up like a host and said，“Good evening，everybody.Let’s welcome our new friend.Today is a special day，and I’m delighted to see all of you make it on a snowy night like this.”

The crowd quieted，holding hot cups of tea and listening.

“Tonight，we gather to remember a poet，”he continued.Twenty years ago，a cold，stormy winter’s night just like this one，she departed our world.

Everyone here tonight is a reader of her work.We love her poems but know almost nothing about her life.It is said that she was an introvert who lived like a hermit.She didn’t use the computer or the Web，and left behind almost no photographs or videos.Her poems received little attention during her lifetime，and were published only in a few obscure literary journals.When the editors of these journals asked for an author photo or an interview，she never responded.

But one editor，who loved her work，managed to maintain a correspondence with her.Through handwritten letters，the two of them discussed life and poetry，poverty and humility，the terrors and hopes of our age.This was a simple，pure friendship，sustained only through the written word.They never met each other in life.

Right before the poet died，she sent all her published and unpublished poems to the editor.After reading through them，the editor decided to publish a collection as a way to commemorate her dead friend.But she knew that the only way to make a collection of poetry popular was to package up the poet’s life into a story that was already popular with the crowd.The story had to exaggerate the poet’s mystery and solitude，dig up the scars of her family life and childhood（Changed for effect），show her poverty and hunger，disclose her hidden life of love，and present her death scene with pathos.It had to be a story that would make everyone—whether they read poetry or not—shed tears of sympathy for a young woman poet who died too young，drive the crowd to curse our cold，commercial age for persecuting genius，allow each and every member of audience to project themselves onto her.This was the only way to sell a collection of poetry，to grow her fame，to make her name last through the ages.

But this was also exactly what the poet would have hated.

And so the editor chose another way to commemorate her friend.She paid to print and bound copies of the chapbook and mailed them to her friends，anyone who was willing to read the poems，the penniless writers，translators，teachers，editors，students，librarians.She wrote in the note accompanying the chapbook that if anyone wanted more copies to gift to others，she would mail them for free.And since she knew so little about the poet’s life，she couldn’t satisfy their curiosity.

Year after year，readers who loved her work formed clubs like this one.We read and pass on her work，from one private shelf to another，from one library to another library.But we are not interested in superficial attention；we do not fabricate tear-jerking tales about her life；we do not manufacture illusions that would be popular.We only wish for readers to admire her through her poetry，and we disdain insincere blurbs，biographies，photographs，or interviews.In fact，we make it our mission to eliminate any material of that sort.If one of us discovers an image or biographical record of her somewhere，we do our best to delete it.Documents on the Web can be deleted，databases can be carefully edited，tapes and rolls of film can be cut and then pasted back together，and anything printed could be torn out and burned.

“Very few people have noticed our actions.Compared to making news，reducing attention was work that could be carried out quietly.Of course，it was impossible to accomplish what we did without anyone noticing.There will always be the curious who wanted to know the stories behind the poems，who needed to pierce the riddle.We have no right to stop them，but we will say：we do not know any secrets，and we do not want to know any.For us，the poems themselves are enough.”

The borrower finished speaking.He opened the chapbook in his hand and placed it in front of me.I saw a yellowed piece of paper between the pages，like a piece cut from an old newspaper.

“I cut this out of the newspapers collected in your library.I’m sorry that I damaged your property.Now I return this to you so that you can decide what to do with it.”

I looked at the piece of paper.There was a blurry photograph on it.Almost twenty pale faces，exposed to the sun，stared at me.Was one of them the poet？Which one？How would I know？

The answer to the riddle was its plain text.

I picked up the piece of paper with the tips of my fingers and brought it to the stove，tossing it in.The flame licked the paper，burst into an orange flare，and in a blink the paper had turned into a curl of ash.

I looked at the borrower，who smiled at me，extending a hand.I held his large and warm hand.I realized that it had been a long time since I last held a stranger’s hand.My eyes grew wet.

“How about we read a poem together？”he said.

We sat down in our chairs and flipped open the chapbooks to the first page.We read from the first character in the first line of the first poem.Our voices floated up，passed through the ceiling，rose against the falling drifts of snow，until they had returned to the eternal，cold，dark abyss.

Yuanyuan’s Bubbles

by Liu Cixin，translated by Carmen Yiling Yan

1

Many people become enraptured by something or other from the moment of their births，as if they came into the world just for the delight of its company.In this way did Yuanyuan become enraptured by soap bubbles.

Yuanyuan was born with an apathetic expression on her face.She even seemed to cry as if she were discharging an obligation.The world was disappointing her greatly，it appeared.

Until，at five months old，she saw soap bubbles for the first time.

Immediately，she began to wave and kick in her mama’s lap，her little eyes alight with a radiance that outshone the sun and stars，as if this was the first time she had truly seen the world.

It was noon in the northwest of China，many months since the last rain.Outside the window，the sun-scorched city billowed with dust.In this world of abnormal drought，the gorgeous apparitions of water drifting through the air were truly creatures of utmost beauty.That his little daughter could recognize their beauty gladdened Baba，who’d blown the bubbles for her.Mama，who was holding her，was very happy too.She had waived her remaining month of maternity leave；the next day，she would return to her lab for work.

2

Time passed.Yuanyuan entered the big kid class of preschool，and she still loved bubbles.

This Sunday，she was on an outing with Baba.She had a little bottle of bubble fluid in her pocket：Baba promised he’d have Mama take her up on her airplane to blow bubbles.This wasn’t play-pretend；they really did go to the crude airfield on the city outskirts.The plane Mama used for her aerial seeding research was parked there.

Yuanyuan was quite disappointed.It was a battered agricultural biplane.Yuanyuan thought it must have been built out of old wood planks，like the hunter’s hut in the forest from fairy tales.She doubted it could fly at all.But even so，this shabby plane was off limits to Yuanyuan，according to Mama.

“Today’s her birthday！”said Baba.“You’re already working overtime here instead of at home with her.At least let her ride on the plane.Give her some fun and excitement！”

“What fun and excitement？She weighs so much already.How many tree seeds will I have to leave on the ground？”Mama said，hauling another heavy plastic sack into the cargo hold.

Yuanyuan didn’t think she was all that heavy.She screwed her face up and wailed.Mama hurried over to comfort her daughter，taking a strange object out of one of the big plastic tarp sacks on the ground.It was about the same size and shape as a carrot，pointy-headed and streamlined behind it，with a pair of cardboard tail fins stuck on its butt.It looked like a little airplane bomb，only transparent.

This might be fun.Yuanyuan reached out and touched it，only to immediately draw back：it was made of ice.

Mama pointed to a black speck at the center of the little bomb.She told Yuanyuan that it was a tree seed.“The plane drops these ice bombs from way high up，and when they fall to the ground，they stick into the soil.When spring comes，the ice melts.The water it forms helps the seed sprout and grow.If we drop lots and lots of these ice bombs，the desert will become green，and the sand won’t blow into Yuanyuan’s face anymore when she plays outside.Mama’s research project will double the aerial afforestation survival rate in the Northwest drought areas—”

“What does a kid know about survival rates？Sheesh.Yuanyuan，let’s go！”Baba picked Yuanyuan up and marched off.Mama didn’t try to keep them，only quickly cupped her daughter’s face in her hands one quick last time.

Yuanyuan could feel that Mama’s hands were much rougher than Baba’s.

From Baba’s shoulder，Yuanyuan saw the“hunter’s hut”take to the air with a rumble of engines.She blew a string of bubbles toward the plane and watched it disappear into the sandy either.

Baba carried Yuanyuan out of the airfield to the roadside bus station.As they waited for a bus back into the city，she suddenly felt Baba shiver.

“Baba，are you cold？”

“No…Yuanyuan，didn’t you hear something just then？”

“Hmm…I don’t think so.”

But Baba had heard it.There had been a low explosion，far off in the direction the plane had been flying，so distant that perhaps he registered it with a sixth sense.He jerked his head around to look back the way they’d come.In front of him and his daughter，the drought lands of the Northwest stared pitilessly toward the vault of heaven above.

3

Time flew onward.Yuanyuan entered elementary school，and she still loved bubbles.

She and Baba visited Mama’s grave on Qingming Festival.Like always，she’d brought along her bottle of bubble fluid.As Baba set his flowers in front of the plain tombstone，Yuanyuan blew out a string of bubbles.Baba would have erupted，but her next words left his eyes wet with tears.

“Mama will see them！”Yuanyuan said，pointing at the bubbles floating past the gravestone.

“Child，”Baba said as he hugged Yuanyuan，“you have to grow up to be like your mother，with her sense of duty and mission，with a high-minded purpose like hers！”

“I already have a high-minded purpose！”Yuanyuan yelled.

“Tell it to Baba？”

“Blow—”Yuanyuan pointed at her bubbles，already flown far into the distance—“big—biiiig—bubbles！”

Baba smiled sadly，shaking his head，and led his daughter away.They weren’t far from where the plane had crashed a few years ago.That year，the seeds in the ice bombs dropped from the sky really did survive，growing into saplings，but the final victor had still been the endless drought.The aerially seeded forest had died to the last tree in the dry，rainless second year.Desertification marched inexorably onward.

Baba turned to look back.The setting sun stretched a long shadow behind the gravestone.The bubbles Yuanyuan had blown were all gone now，like the dreams of the woman in the grave，like the beautiful delusion of the Western Development Project.

4

Time flew onward.Yuanyuan entered middle school，and she still loved bubbles.

Today，Yuanyuan’s young homeroom teacher had come for a home visit.She handed Baba a flashy，novel-looking toy gun.The physics teacher had confiscated it from Yuanyuan for playing during class，she explained.The gun had a fat barrel and a ring like an antenna loop attached to the muzzle.Baba turned it over in his hands，puzzled as to its appeal.

“It’s a bubble gun，”said the homeroom teacher，taking it and pulling the trigger.With a low whirr，a long string of soap bubbles shot from the small ring on the muzzle.

The teacher told Baba that Yuanyuan’s grades were always the best in her year.Her biggest strength was her robust sense of creativity；the teacher had never seen such a lively-minded student before.He should cherish this seedling，she told him.

“Don’t you feel that the child is a bit…how do I say this，a bit effervescent？”Baba asked，hefting the bubble gun.

“Hey，all the kids today are like that.Quite honestly，in this new era，being on the light and airy side isn’t necessarily a flaw.”

Baba sighed，cutting off the conversation with a wave of the bubble gun.He didn’t think he and the homeroom teacher had much to say to each other.She was barely more than a child herself.

Once he saw the homeroom teacher off，leaving just the two of them，Baba decided to have a talk with Yuanyuan about the bubble gun.But immediately he encountered a new source of displeasure.

“You bought another one？”he said，pointing to the cell phone hanging from Yuanyuan’s neck.“But you already got a new one this year！”

“No，I didn’t，Baba，I only changed the case！See，it keeps things fresh for me.”Yuanyuan took out a flat box as she spoke.Baba opened it，revealing a row of colorful rectangles.At first glance，he thought they were a set of paints.Only upon further examination did he discover that they were twelve cell phone cases in twelve different colors.

Baba shook his head and set the box aside.“I wanted to talk to you about this…tendency.”

Yuanyuan spotted the bubble gun in his hand and snatched it over.“Baba，I promise I won’t bring it to school again！”She shot a string of bubbles at him.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about.The problem goes far deeper than that.Yuanyuan，look，you’re a big girl now，and yet you still like to blow soap bubbles—”

“Is that wrong？”

“Oh，no，there’s nothing wrong with that in and of itself.It’s just that，like I said，your fondness reflects a certain，hmm，mental tendency.”

Yuanyuan stared blankly at her father.

“It demonstrates your tendency to chase after pretty，novel，superficial things.You easily lose yourself in mirages.Being so ungrounded in reality will lead you in the wrong direction in life.”

Yuanyuan looked at the soap bubbles filling the room，seeming even more puzzled.The bubbles swam tranquilly in the air like a school of transparent goldfish.

“Baba，let’s talk about something more interesting！”Yuanyuan leaned against Baba’s shoulder and adopted a confidential tone of voice.“Do you think our homeroom teacher is pretty？”

“I didn’t notice…Yuanyuan，what I was saying was—”

“She’s totally gorgeous！”

“I guess…I was about to say that—”

“Baba，you have to have noticed the way she looked at you just then，when you were talking.She was really into you！”

“Child，I swear，can’t you leave off thinking about these silly things？”Baba irritably peeled his daughter’s hand off his shoulder.

Yuanyuan sighed dramatically.“Oh，Baba，you’ve turned into one of those people who are grumpy about everything.What’s the point of living if you never have anything new or interesting or exciting？You should be embarrassed，trying to be a life coach for other people.”

A soap bubble drifted in front of Baba’s face，then burst.He felt a puff of moist air，almost impossibly faint，and yet the ephemeral little misty drizzle granted him a moment of bliss.It made him think of his distant southern homeland，of all things.He sighed imperceptibly.

When I was young，I chased after fantasies too.Your mother and I came here from Shanghai，so naive as to think that the Northwest would be a place where we could show the world our worth.In an unimaginably short time，we architects raised an entire，brand-new city out of the wasteland.We thought it would be our life’s achievement.After we left this world，this city would stand as proof that we didn’t live our lives in vain.Who could have imagined that we’d devoted our best years，and even our very lives，to nothing more than a soap bubble？

Yuanyuan was astonished.“What do you mean，Silk Road City is a soap bubble？It’s right here，rock solid.There’s no way it’s going to vanish with a pop，right？”

“It’s about to disappear.The central government has approved the province’s report and suspended all new projects to divert water to Silk Road City.”

“Do they want us to die of thirst？The taps only work once every two days already，an hour and a half each time！”

“They’re working out a ten-year evacuation plan right now.The entire city will be dismantled and relocated.Silk Road City will be the first city in today’s world to disappear due to water shortages，a modern Loulan…In truth，the entire Western Development Project that once had us aflame with passion has already devolved into a nightmarish Western Mining Project.Who knows，that might be an ever bigger soap bubble.”

“Wow，that’s great！”Yuanyuan cheered.“We should have left this place ages ago！It’s so boring here，I really can’t stand it！Let’s move！Move to a brand new place and start a brand new life！It’s going to be amazing，Baba！”

Baba looked at his daughter silently，then stood and walked to the window.He gazed dumbly outside at the city amid yellow sand.His drooping shoulders made his silhouette suddenly appear much older.

“Baba，”Yuanyuan called softly，but her father didn’t respond.

Two days later，Yuanyuan’s father took office as the last mayor of the fading city.

5

Yuanyuan got second place in science on her province’s college entry examinations.Baba，truly overjoyed in a way that he rarely was，magnanimously asked his daughter if she had anything she wanted as a reward，even something absurd.Yuanyuan stuck her open hand，fingers spread，in his direction.

“Five…five of what？”

“Five bars of Diao（Note for clarification：This is not a misspelling of Dial.Diao is a major soap brand in China.）brand clear soap.”She stuck out the other hand.“Ten bags of Tide laundry powder.”She flipped her hands over.“Twenty bottles of White Cat dish detergent.”Last，she took out a piece of paper.“Most importantly，I need these chemicals.Buy them in the amounts I listed.”

Getting the chemicals took work on her father’s part.He had to ask a bureau deputy director going on a business trip to Beijing，who spent a whole day finding them all.

Once she had everything，Yuanyuan holed herself up in the bathroom for three busy days，filling a big washtub with some sort of liquid whose smell permeated into every room in the house.The fourth day，two classmates came over to deliver a custom-made hoop object more than a meter in diameter，shaped from a long piece of metal pipe pricked with small holes.

The fifth day started with a group of visitors.There were two cameramen from different news stations，and the mayor recognized an attractive lady as the hostess of an entertainment program on the provincial channel.There were also two garishly dressed fellows calling themselves adjudicators from the China branch of Guinness World Records，flown in from Shanghai the previous day.One of them said in a hoarse voice，“Mr.Mayor，your daughter—”he broke off，coughing.“The air’s awfully dry here.Your daughter is about to set a world record！”

The mayor followed the others onto the apartment building’s flat rooftop，where he found his daughter and several of her classmates already there.Yuanyuan was carrying the big hoop.The washtub stood in front of them，filled with the liquid she’d mixed.The two adjudicators went to work erecting two posts with unit markings along their length.Only later did the mayor learn that they were used for measuring the diameter of soap bubbles.

Once the preparations were done，Yuanyuan dipped the hoop into the washtub.When she lifted it out，it was filmed with bubble fluid.She carefully fastened the hoop to the end of a long pole，walked to the building’s edge，and waved the pole so that the hoop drew a wide circle in the air，blowing an enormous soap bubble.The bubble shimmered and undulated in midair as if it were dancing.Later，he learned that it was an incredible 4.6 meters in diameter，breaking the Guinness world record of 3.9 meters previously held by Kaj Loos of Belgium.

“The composition of the bubble mixture is important，but the real trick is in this hoop，”Yuanyuan said in response to the TV hostess’s questions.“The guy from Belgium used an ordinary hoop to blow his bubble，while mine was made by drilling holes along the length of a piece of metal pipe，then bending it into a circle.The pipe is filled with bubble fluid，and as the big bubble forms，the fluid continuously seeps from the little holes，so that as much fluid is available to the bubble as possible.That naturally allows me to blow bigger bubbles.”

“Then，do you think you can blow even bigger bubbles in the future？”asked the hostess.

“Of course！It would take research into several important factors in bubble formation，including viscosity，malleability，rate of evaporation，and surface tension.For forming super-big bubbles，the last two need the most work.Rate of evaporation needs to be lowered，since evaporation is the main reason why bubbles burst.As for surface tension…do you know why you can’t blow bubbles with pure water？”

“Because the surface tension is too small？”

“It’s actually the opposite.The surface tension of pure water is too high to trap air.For my next question，what’s the relationship between a bubble’s surface tension and its diameter？”

“Well，from what you’ve said，the smaller the surface tension，the larger the bubble？”

“Nope！Once the bubble is formed，as the bubble increases in size，it actually needs higher surface tension to maintain its walls.You can see the problem here：the surface tension of a fluid is fixed.In that case，if we want to blow really big bubbles，what problem do we need to solve？”

The hostess shook her head，lost.She was the type hired more for charisma and ease with words than for deeper comprehension.Yuanyuan seemed to realize this.“Never mind，let’s blow some more big bubbles for our audience！”

And thus，several more four-and five-meter bubbles drifted in the wind high above the city.In this dry，dust-suffused world，they seemed terribly surreal，like mirages of another world.

One week later，Yuanyuan left the Northwest city of her birth and childhood for the best school of engineering in the country.She was studying nanoscience.

6

Time flew ever onward，but Yuanyuan didn’t blow soap bubbles anymore.

Yuanyuan completed her bachelor’s degree，master’s degree，and doctorate，upon which she built a business with a speed that dizzied her father.Using a technique from her doctorate thesis as a starting point，she invented a new type of solar cell that could be manufactured at a tiny fraction of the cost of traditional monocrystalline silicon cells and adhered in mosaic fashion to completely cover the surface of a building.In just a few years，her business grew to hold assets in the hundred million range，one of the wildly successful entrepreneurships whisked along by the Nanotech East Wind.

Yuanyuan’s father thus found himself in an awkward situation.In terms of career success，the daughter was now a higher authority than the father.It looked like Yuanyuan’s homeroom teacher from back then was right：being on the light and airy side in thinking and personality wasn’t necessarily a flaw.This was an era to make his generation grit their teeth.Success nowadays took overwhelming creative thinking；experience，hard work，a sense of purpose，and so on were no longer decisive factors.Moreover，single-mindedness and solemnity now looked like foolishness.

“I haven’t felt this way in a long time，”said the mayor to his daughter，standing on the broad exit terrace in front of the National Center for the Performing Arts.“That was the best performance I’ve ever heard.The singers really were better than the big three of the olden days.”

Yuanyuan knew that opera was one of her father’s few pleasures.She’d taken advantage of his business trip to Beijing to invite him to hear a performance by the world’s three best tenors of the new generation，given in honor of the impending Olympics.

“I’d have bought the best seats in the house if I’d known.I was afraid you’d call me profligate again，so I just bought two medium-range seats.”

“How much did they cost？”Baba asked offhandedly.

“They were much cheaper than before.I think they were 28，000 yuan each.”

“Ah…wait，what？！”

Seeing her father’s wide-eyed，slack-jawed expression，Yuanyuan laughed.“If they made you feel in a way you haven’t for a long time，even 28，000 yuan was worth it.Look at this performance center.Why would the government have invested billions in it，if not to help people achieve or recover some kind of emotion through art？”

“Maybe you’re right，but I still hope you can spend your money in more meaningful ways.Yuanyuan，I want to talk to you about something related to Silk Road City.Can you invest in one of its municipal projects？”

“What is it？”

“We want to build a large-scale water treatment plant.It’ll raise the city’s water recycling efficiency by an enormous amount.In addition，it will use solar power to desalinate water from the salt lakes.If this system can be realized，Silk Road City will be able to survive on a reduced scale.It won’t have to disappear entirely.”

“How much will it cost？”

“By our preliminary plans，about 1.6 billion yuan.We have sources for most of the required funds already，but we can’t get our hands on the money for a long time.I’m afraid it might be too late by then.That’s why we need you to make an initial investment of about a hundred million.”

“Baba，I can’t.That’s all the liquid assets I have right now，and I wanted to use them for a research project—”

Father raised a hand to break off his daughter’s words.“Never mind，then.Yuanyuan，I don’t want to hurt your business one bit.To be honest，I hadn’t wanted to ask you in the first place.Your investment would break even，guaranteed，but the profit would be miniscule.”

“Hah，I wasn’t thinking about that，Baba.My project would be even worse.Never mind profit，there’s no way it would even earn back the investment！”

“Are you doing theoretical research？”

“No，but it’s not practical research，either.I’m doing it for the fun.”

“…”

“I’m going to develop a super-surfactant.I’ve come up with the name already，FlySol.Its viscosity and elasticity will be orders of magnitudes better than any liquid existing，and its rate of evaporation will be just a fraction of a percent of glycerin’s.And this surfactant will have a special superpower—its surface tension will change depending on the thickness of the liquid layer and the surface’s degree of curvature，anywhere between one hundredth and ten thousand times the surface tension of water.”

“What is it for？”asked her father in horror.He already knew the answer，but he was afraid to believe it.

The young multi-millionaire put an arm around her father’s shoulder.“To blow—big—biiiig—bubbles！”

“You’re joking，right？”

Yuanyuan looked at the lights of Chang’an Avenue，silent for a long time.“Who knows？Maybe my entire life is a big joke.But，Baba，I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.For a person to use their entire life for a joke is a sort of purpose too.”

“Spending a hundred million yuan blowing bubbles？Is there any point？”her father spoke as if he were in a dream.

“There’s no point.It’s fun，that’s all.I’ve got to say，though，compared to the city your generation spent tens of billions building，only to have to tear it down，my extravagance doesn’t amount to much.”

“But you can save the city right this moment！It’s your city too.You were born there.You grew up there.But you’re using that money to blow soap bubbles！You’re—you’re really too selfish！”

“I’m living my own life.Selfless sacrifice isn’t always enough to change the path of history.Your own city proves it！”

Father and daughter remained in silence until Yuanyuan steered their car onto Chang’an Avenue.

“I’m sorry，Baba，”Yuanyuan said softly.

“These days，I keep remembering the past，leading you by your tiny little hand.It was such a wonderful time.”In the light，Father’s eyes glimmered，as if damp.

“I know I’ve disappointed you.You always wanted me to be someone like Mama.If I could live two lifetimes，I’d use one of them to do what you want，give everything for duty and mission.But，Baba，I only have this one life.”

Father didn’t reply.Near the end of the silent drive，Yuanyuan took out a large envelope and handed it to him.

“What is it？”Father asked，uncomprehending.

“Housing deeds and a key.I bought you a villa by Lake Tai.You’ll be able to go back to the south after you retire.”

Father gently slid the envelope back in her direction.“No，child，I’m going to live out the rest of my life in what remains of Silk Road City.Your mother and I have buried our youth and dreams there.I can’t leave.”

Beijing glittered to its heart’s content in the summer night.Gazing at the gorgeous sea of lights，Yuanyuan and her father both thought of soap bubbles.What was this boundless radiance trying to show to them：the weight of a life，or the weightlessness？

7

One day，two years later，the mayor received a call in his office from his daughter.

“Happy birthday，Baba！”

“Ha，Yuanyuan，is that you？Where are you？”

“Not far from where you are.I’ve brought a birthday present！”

“Hey，it’s been years since I remembered my birthday.Come home at noon，then.It’s been a month since I’ve gone home myself.There’s just the housekeeper there to keep an eye on things.”

“No，I’ll give you the gift right now！”

“I’m at work.The weekly city council meeting is about to start.”

“Not a problem！Open the window and look up！”

The sky today was clear in every direction，a limpid blue，rare weather for the area.The rumble of an engine came from the air；the mayor saw that an airplane was slowly circling in the sky above the city，striking against the blue backdrop.

“Baba，I’m on the plane right now！”Yuanyuan shouted through the phone.

It was an old-fashioned，propeller-driven biplane.In the sky，it looked like a giant bird gliding lazily.Time flashed backward；a familiar sensation struck the mayor like lightning.He shivered all over，as he had done twenty years ago.His daughter had asked him if he was cold.

“Yuanyuan，what—what are you doing？”

“Here’s the gift，Baba，pay attention to the bottom of the plane！”

The mayor had noticed earlier that a big hoop hung from the body of the plane.Its diameter was greater than the length of the plane；clearly，it had unfolded into position only after the plane took to the air.Taken together，the plane and the hoop looked like a flying ring.Later，he’d learn that the hoop was constructed like the one Yuanyuan had used to break the Guinness World Record，made of a tube of lightweight metal filled with the nigh-supernatural FlySol.A film of FlySol stretched across the hoop，and innumerable small holes allowed FlySol to continuously flow out of the thin tube that formed the hoop.

An astounding sight appeared.Behind the giant hoop，a bubble was emerging！Refracting sunlight，its form wavered at the edge of visibility.The bubble swelled rapidly；soon，the plane compared to it was only a sesame seed on top of a transparent watermelon.

In the marketplace below，everyone had stopped to look up.People were starting to run out of the city government headquarters building to watch.

The plane circled slowly above the city，tugging the enormous bubble behind it.The bubble had slowed in its growth，but not completely.Gradually，it came to occupy half the sky.At last，it broke loose from the hoop beneath the airplane，floating independently in the air.

“This is my present，Baba！”Yuanyuan shouted excitedly through the phone.

Huge patches of light shimmered in the blue heavens，as if the entire sky were a slick piece of cellophane being crinkled by invisible hands under the sun.On close inspection，the flashes of light delineated an enormous，transparent sphere that took up most of the sky.The people below had to turn their heads nearly one hundred and eighty degrees to see it in its entirety.It looked as if the mirror of heaven were casting a crystalline reflection of the Earth below.

The city began to grow agitated.Traffic jams formed in the thoroughfares.

The enormous bubble slowly descended from the sky.Once it was at a sufficiently low altitude，the people below could even see the city’s skyscrapers mirrored on the bubble’s surface；as it undulated in the wind，the buildings twisted and distorted，like a kelp forest under the sea.The broad bubble membrane pressed down inexorably.People instinctively shielded their heads with their arms.When the bubble touched the ground，those exposed outside felt a brief itch on their faces as their bodies passed through the membrane.

The bubble hadn’t popped.Instead，it had formed a spherical dome nearly ten kilometers in diameter with the ground.The city and the surrounding industrial plants were now trapped in the bubble！

“It wasn’t on purpose，it really wasn’t！”Yuanyuan said into the camera.“Under normal conditions，the bubble would have floated away in the breeze.Who knew today’s wind would be so much weaker than usual？That’s why it fell and covered the city！”

The mayor watched the emergency report，which had interrupted the city television station’s normal programming.He saw that his daughter was wearing a leather aviation jacket，open at the front to reveal a blue work uniform underneath.Beneath her was the old-fashioned biplane…time flashed backward again.So alike，they look so alike…the mayor’s heart melted，tears spilling from his eyes.

Two hours later，the mayor and the newly established emergency team drove to the bubble wall at the city outskirts.Yuanyuan and several of her engineers were there，well ahead of them.

“Baba，isn’t my superbubble amazing？”Yuanyuan had lost her earlier panic，her face alight with inappropriate excitement.

The mayor paid no mind to his daughter，raising his head to consider the bubble’s surface.The vast sheet of membrane shimmered in rainbow colors under sunlight，intricate patterns of diffraction on its surface shifting and morphing hypnotically in a bewitching sea of all the universe’s colors.The membrane was transparent，so that the outside world seen through it was coated with a layer of iridescence too.A certain distance up，the iridescence disappeared；from the air，it would be impossible to see the membrane.

The mayor reached out a hand and carefully touched the superbubble.The back of his hand itched，very faintly：it was already on the other side of the bubble.The membrane might only be a few molecules thick.He drew his hand back through；the membrane instantaneously returned to its original form.The pattern of iridescence there was unchanged，as if it had never been interrupted.

The others also began to touch the membrane，then waved their hands in an attempt to tear it，then at last devolved into flailing punches and kicks…but none of it made a difference to the membrane.Every assault passed through the bubble without resistance，after which the membrane restored itself perfectly.With a wave of his hand，the mayor halted everyone’s futile efforts.He then pointed to the highway in the distance；the others saw that the traffic on the highway was passing through the membrane undisrupted，even at their high speeds.

“It’s like a soap bubble membrane：solid objects can pass through，but not air，”said Yuanyuan.

“Air not being able to pass through is the problem.The air quality in the city is rapidly deteriorating，”the mayor said，glaring at his daughter.

Everyone looked up and saw that an enormous white dome-shaped cap had appeared in the sky above the city.The membrane was trapping the smoke from the city and industrial plants in the mold of the superbubble.If one were to observe the city from a distance right now，perhaps they’d be seeing a towering hemisphere of milky white.

“We may need to shut down the power plant and the chemical plant to slow down the rate of pollutant release，”said the leader of the emergency team.“But the most serious problem is the rising temperatures inside the bubble.Right now，the city is effectively inside a sealed greenhouse without air exchange with the outside world.It’s the middle of summer，and the heat from the sun is building up quickly.According to our calculations，the temperature inside the bubble will eventually peak at sixty degrees Celsius！”

“Up to now，what methods have we tried for destroying the superbubble？”asked the mayor.

“An hour earlier，we had army aviation people fly their helicopters through the top of the bubble，trying to use the propellers to tear it open，but it didn’t work，”answered an officer from the local garrison.“Then we set explosives where the bubble met the ground.The explosion only made the bubble ripple a while，without causing any damage.Even more incredibly，the membrane instantaneously extended down into the blast crater，traveling right along the bottom without any gap！”

“How long will it take for the bubble to burst naturally？”the mayor asked Yuanyuan.

“Bubble rupture is primarily caused by evaporation of the fluid membrane.This substance has an extremely slow rate of evaporation—even with sunny weather，the bubble will take five or six days to pop，”Yuanyuan answered.To her father’s outrage，she sounded full of pride.

“Then we’ll have to evacuate everyone，”the leader of the emergency team said，sighing.

The mayor shook his head.“I won’t take that step until we absolutely have to.”

“There’s another way，”said an environmental specialist.“Hurry and have a lot of long tubes made，the wider the better.Place the tubes with one end outside the bubble and a high-power ventilation fan on the other end，and we can exchange air with the outside world.”

“Haha—”Yuanyuan started to laugh，startling everyone around her.Surrounded by angry looks，she was laughing so hard she couldn’t stand upright.“That idea’s—that’s hilarious！Haha—”

“This is all your fine work！”the mayor thundered.“You’re going to take responsibility and pay back all the losses you’ve caused the city！”

Yuanyuan looked up at the sky and stopped laughing.“I know，I’ll pay up.But I just thought of a simple way to pop the superbubble—burning.Dig a trench one to two hundred meters long where the bubble meets the ground，pour it full of fuel，then light it.The fire will make the membrane evaporate much faster.The bubble should burst after about three hours.”

The mayor ordered the emergency team to do as Yuanyuan explained.A wall of fire more than a hundred meters long sprung up on the city outskirts.As the row of furious flames licked at the bottom of the superbubble，strange colors and shapes shimmered in the membrane.The patterns of color revealed that the FlySol from other parts of the bubble was rushing over to replace what had evaporated from the fire，as if the portion being burned had become a giant whirlpool，sucking gorgeous，beguiling floods of color from every direction to disappear into the flames.Their black smoke pressed upward along the bubble’s inner surface，gathering into an enormous black hand pressing down，terrifying the millions of city-dwellers within the superbubble.

Three hours later，the bubble popped.People in the city heard a soft tinkle of breaking in the space between heaven and earth，crisp and clear and echoing for a long time after，as if a string in the instrument of the universe had been very gently plucked.

“It’s weird，Baba，you didn’t blow your top like I thought you would，”Yuanyuan said.She and her father stood on the roof of the city government headquarter building，watching the superbubble burst.

“I’ve been considering something…Yuanyuan，I’d like you to answer a few questions for me seriously.”

“About the superbubble？”

“Yes.I want to know，since the bubble membrane is impermeable to air from the outside，would the superbubble also be able to retain moist air on the inside？”

“Of course.In fact，toward the end of FlySol’s development，I thought of a possible practical application for the superbubbles：giant greenhouses.They could form miniature climate zones in winter，providing temperature and humidity levels suitable for crop growth over large areas.Of course，that would require longer-lasting bubbles.”

“The second question：can you make a superbubble float a long way on the wind，for，say，a few thousand kilometers？”

“Not a problem.Heat from the sun accumulates in the bubble，so the air inside expands and creates buoyancy like a hot air balloon’s.The superbubble today fell only because it was formed too low in altitude，with too weak of a breeze.”

“The third question：can you ensure that the superbubbles burst after a specific length of time？”

“That’s doable.We’d only need to adjust the concentration of one of the ingredients to change the solution’s rate of evaporation.”

“The last question：given enough investment money，can you blow millions，or even billions，of superbubbles？”

Yuanyuan’s eyes widened in surprise.“Billions？Heavens，what for？”

“Picture this in your mind：above the faraway sea，countless superbubbles are forming.Propelled by the strong winds of the stratosphere，they’ll set sail on a long journey to ultimately arrive in the sky above northwest China，then burst in unison，scattering the humid ocean air they formed around into our dry air…yes，with superbubbles，we can bring in moist air from the seas to the Northwest！In other words，we can bring in rain！”

Shock and emotion left Yuanyuan speechless for a time.She could only look at her father，stunned.

“Yuanyuan，you gave me a glorious birthday present.Who knows，today might prove the birthday of the Northwest too！”

The cool wind of the outside world was blowing over the city.Without the superbubble to confine it，the white dome of smog above was slowly coming apart in the breeze.In the eastern sky，an odd rainbow had appeared.When the superbubble burst，the FlySol in the membrane had scattered into the air to form it.

8

The enormous engineering project to aerially divert water into western China took ten years.

In these ten years，vast sky-nets were built in China’s southern waters.The nets were constructed from thin tubes covered in tiny holes.Each eye in the net was hundreds，even thousands，of meters in diameter，similar to the hoop that had blown the superbubble ten years ago，and each net had thousands of such apertures.

There were two types of sky-net：land-mounted and aerial.The land-mounted sky-nets were placed along the coastline，while the aerial sky-nets hung from giant tethered balloons at high altitude，several kilometers above.In the South China Sea and the Bay of Bengal，the sky-nets ran continuously for more than two thousand kilometers along the coast and above the sea，and were nicknamed“The Bubble Wall of China.”

The day the aerial water diversion system started up for the first time，the thin tubes in the sky-net filled with FlySol，forming a membrane of fluid over each aperture.Strong，moist sea wind blew into the sky-net，forming countless superbubbles，each kilometers in diameter.The bubbles broke loose from the sky-net one after another，rising in droves to higher skies.Ascending into the atmosphere，they followed the air currents onward，even as more bubbles steadily blew forth from the sky-net.Great flocks of superbubbles glided majestically inland，wrapped around the humid air of the seas.They drifted past the Himalaya Mountains，past the Greater Southwest，into the skies of the Northwest.Between the South China Sea and Bay of Bengal，and northwest China，two rivers of bubbles thousands of kilometers long had formed！

9

Two days after the aerial water diversion system began full-scale operation，Yuanyuan flew from the Bay of Bengal to the capital of a Northwest province.When she stepped off the plane，she saw only a round moon suspended in the night sky：the bubbles that had set out from the ocean had yet to arrive.In the city，crowds were out under the moonlight.Yuanyuan got out of the car at the central square，squeezing her way into the crowd too，to wait fervently along with them.

Even when midnight came，the night sky remained unchanged.The crowd began to disperse as it had the previous two days，but Yuanyuan didn’t leave.She knew the bubbles would arrive tonight for certain.She sat on a bench，at the edge of sleep and wakefulness，when she suddenly heard someone cry out.

“Heavens，why are there so many moons？”

Yuanyuan opened her eyes.She really did see a river of moons in the night sky！The countless moons were the reflections in countless massive bubbles.Unlike the real moon，they were all crescents，some curving up and some curving down，all of them so translucent and jewel-like that the real moon seemed plain in comparison.Only by its unchanging location could it be distinguished from the mighty current of moons crossing the sky.

From that point on，the sky over northwest China became the sky of dreams.

During the day，the drifting bubbles were hard to see.There were just the reflections off the membranes，everywhere in the blue sky，that made it look like the surface of a lake rippling under the sunlight.On the ground，enormous but faint shadows traced the slow passage of the bubbles.The most beautiful moments were at dawn and dusk，when the rising or setting sun on the horizon would limn the river of bubbles in the sky with radiant gold.

But these lovely scenes didn’t last for long.The bubbles above popped one after another.More bubbles were rolling in，but clouds were beginning to gather in the sky，obscuring the bubbles.

Next，in the season that had been driest of all in previous years，a slow，steady drizzle drifted down from the sky.

Amid the rain，Yuanyuan arrived at the city of her birth.After ten years of evacuation，Silk Road City had become quiet and empty.Unoccupied skyscrapers stood silently in the rain.

Yuanyuan noticed that these structures hadn’t truly been abandoned；they were well-preserved，the glass in the windows unbroken.The whole city seemed to be deep in slumber，waiting for the day of revival it knew would come.

The rain tamped down the dust，leaving the air fresh and pleasant.Raindrops tickled deliciously cool on the face.Yuanyuan strolled along streets she knew well，streets through which her father had led her by her small hand countless times，on which countless soap bubbles she’d blown had scattered.A childhood song resounded in Yuanyuan’s heart.

Suddenly，she realized that she really could hear the song.The sun had set now，and in the city descended into night，only one window shone with light from within.It belonged to the second floor of an ordinary apartment building，her home，and the song came from there.

Yuanyuan stopped in front of the building.The surroundings were clean and well-kept.There was even a vegetable patch，the plants in it growing heartily.A tool cart stood to one side，fitted with a big metal bucket，clearly used to carry water from elsewhere for the plants.Despite the obscuring darkness，one could sense the breath of life here.In the dead silence of the empty city，it beckoned to Yuanyuan like an oasis in the desert.

Yuanyuan climbed the well-swept stairs and gently pushed open the door to her home.Her father was reclining on the couch，his hair grizzled under the lamplight，contently humming the old children’s song.He held the little bottle that Yuanyuan had used to carry bubble liquid as a child，and the little plastic hoop，and he was blowing a string of multicolored bubbles.