by Cixin Liu
When the engineer realizes who she lost her temper to, she masters herself, then turns back to her work.
Ding Yi sighs, shaking his head. He says to the governor, “Yes, like you said, two worlds. Our world.” He waves his hand, drawing a circle around the physicists and cosmologists in the room, then points at the physicists. “Small scale is ten-quadrillionths of a millimeter.” He points at the cosmologists. “Large scale is ten billion light-years. This is a world that you can grasp only through imagination. Your world has the floods of the Yangtze River, tight budgets, dead and living fathers … a practical world. But what’s lamentable is people always want to separate the two worlds.”
“But you can see that they’re separate,” the governor says.
“No! Although elementary particles are tiny, we are made of them. Although the universe is vast, we are inside it. Every change in the microscopic and macroscopic world affects everything.”
“But what is the coming contraction going to affect?”
Ding Yi starts to laugh loudly. It’s not a nervous laugh. It seems to embody something mystical. It scares the hell out of everyone.
“Okay, physics student. Please recite what you remember about the relationship between space-time and matter.”
The governor, like a pupil, recites: “As proved by the theories of relativity and quantum physics that form modern physics, time and space cannot be separated from matter. They have no independent existence. There is no absolute space-time. Time, space, and the material world are all inextricably linked together.”
“Very good. But who truly understands this? You?” Ding Yi first asks the governor, then turns to the observatory head. “You?” Then to the engineer buried in her work. “You?” Then to the technicians in the auditorium. “You?” Then, finally, to the scientists. “Not even you? No, none of you understand. You still think of the universe in terms of absolute space-time as naturally as you stamp your feet on the ground. Absolute space-time is your ground. You have no way to leave it. Speaking of expansion and contraction, you believe that’s just the stars in space scattering and gathering in absolute space-time.”
As he speaks, he strolls to the glass display case, opens its door, then takes out the irreplaceable star atlas plate. He runs a hand lightly over its surface, admiring it. The observatory head nervously holds his hands beneath the plate to protect it. This treasure has been here for over twenty years and no hand has dared to touch it until now. The observatory head waits anxiously for Ding Yi to put the star atlas plate back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he flings the plate away.
The priceless ancient treasure lies on the carpet, smashed into too many pieces to count.
The air freezes. Everyone stares dumbstruck. Ding Yi continues his leisurely stroll, the only moving element in this deadlocked world. He continues to speak.
“Space-time and matter are not separable. The expansion and contraction of the universe comprises the whole of space-time. Yes, my friends, they comprise all of time and space!”
Another cracking sound rings through the room. It’s a glass cup that fell out of a physicist’s grasp. What shocks the physicists isn’t what shocks everyone else. It isn’t the star atlas plate. It’s what Ding Yi’s words imply.
“What you’re saying…” A cosmologist fixes his gaze on Ding Yi. His words catch in his throat.
“Yes.” Ding Yi nods, then says to the governor, “They understand now.”
“So, this is the meaning of the negative time parameter in the calculated result of the unified mathematical model?” a physicist blurts. Ding Yi nods.
“Why didn’t you announce this to the world earlier? You have no sense of responsibility!” another physicist shouts.
“What would be the point? It could have only caused global chaos. What can we do about space-time?”
“What are you all talking about?” the governor asks, bewildered.
“The contraction…” the observatory head, also an astrophysicist, mumbles as if he were dreaming. “The contraction of the universe will influence humanity?”
“Influence? No, it will change it completely.”
“What can it change?”
The scientists are scrambling to recalibrate their thoughts. No one answers him.
“Tell me, all of you, when the universe contracts or when the blueshift starts, what will happen?” the governor, now worried, asks.
“Time will play back,” Ding Yi answers.
“… Play back?” The governor looks at the observatory head, puzzled, then at Ding Yi.
“Time will flow backward,” the observatory head says.
The gigantic screen has been repaired. The magnificent universe appears on it. To better observe the contraction, computers process the image the space telescope returns to exaggerate the effect of the frequency shift in the visual range. Right now, the light all the stars and galaxies emit appears red on the screen to represent the redshift of the still-expanding universe. Once the contraction starts, they will all turn blue at once. A countdown appears on a corner of the screen: 150 seconds.
“Time has followed the expansion of the universe for about fourteen billion years, but now, there isn’t even three minutes of expansion left. Afterward, time will follow the contraction of the universe. Time will flow backward.” Ding Yi walks over to the stupefied observatory head, pointing at the smashed star atlas plate. “Don’t worry about this relic. Not long after the blueshift, its shattered pieces will fuse back together like new. It will return to the display case. After many years, it will return to the ground where it was buried. After thousands of years, it will return to a burning kiln, then become a ball of moist clay in the hands of an ancient astronomer.…”
He walks to the young engineer. “And you don’t need to grieve your father. He will come back to life and you two will reunite soon. If your father is so important to you, then you should take comfort from this because, in the contracting universe, he will live longer than you. He will see you, his daughter, leave the world. Yes, we old folk will have all just started life’s journey and you young folk will have already entered your declining years. Or maybe your childhood.”
He returns to the governor. “If there is no past, the Yangtze River will never overflow its dykes during your term of office because there’s only one hundred seconds left to this universe. The contracting universe’s future is the expanding universe’s past. The greatest danger won’t occur until 1998. By then, though, you will be a child. It won’t be your responsibility. There’s still a minute. It doesn’t matter what you do now. There won’t be any consequences in the future. Everyone can do what they like and not worry about the future. There is no future now. As for me, I now just do what I wanted to do but couldn’t because of my tracheitis.” He digs out a bowl of tobacco from a pocket with his pipe. He lights the pipe, then smokes contentedly.
The blueshift countdown: fifty seconds.
“This can’t be!” the governor shouts. “It’s illogical. Time playing back? If everything will go in reverse, are you saying that we’ll speak backward? That’s inconceivable!”
“You’ll get used to it.”
The blueshift countdown: forty seconds.
“In other words, afterward, everything will be repeated. History and life will become boring and predictable.”
“No, it won’t. You will be in another time. The current past will become your future. We are now in the future of that time. You can’t remember the future. Once the blueshift starts, your future will become blank. You won’t remember any of it. You won’t know any of it.”
The blueshift countdown: twenty seconds.
“This can’t be!”
“As you will discover, going from old age to youth, from maturity to naïveté, is quite rational, quite natural. If anyone speaks about time going in another direction, you will think he’s a fool. There’s about ten seconds left. Soon, in about ten seconds, the universe will pass through a strange point. Time won’t exist in t
hat moment. After that, we will enter the contracting universe.”
The blueshift countdown: eight seconds.
“This can’t be! This really can’t be!!”
“No matter. You’ll know soon.”
The blueshift countdown: five, four, three, two, one, zero.
The starlight in the universe changes from a troublesome red to an empty white …
… time reaches a strange point …
… starlight changes from white to a beautiful, tranquil blue. The blueshift has begun. The contraction has begun.
…
…
.nugeb sah noitcartnoc ehT .nugeb sah tfihseulb ehT .eulb liuqnart,lufituaeb a ot etihw morf segnahc thgilrats …
… tniop egnarts a sehcaer emit …
… etihw ytpme na ot der emoselbuort a morf segnahc esrevinu eht ni thgilrats ehT
.orez,eno,owt,eerht,ruof,evif:nwodtnuoc tfihseulb ehT
“.noos wonk ll’uoY .rettam oN”
“!!eb t’nac yllaer sihT!eb t’nac sihT”
.sdnoces thgie:nwodtnuoc tfihseulb ehT
“.esrevinu gnitcartnoc eht retne lliw ew,taht retfA .tnemom taht ni tsixe t’now emiT .tniop egnarts a hguorht ssap lliw esrevinu eht,sdnoces net tuoba ni,nooS .tfel sdnoces net tuoba s’erehT .loof a s’eh kniht lliw uoy,noitcerid rehtona ni gniog emit tuoba skaeps enoyna fI .larutan etiuq …
…
MIRROR
TRANSLATED BY CARMEN YILING YAN
As research delves deeper, humanity is discovering that quantum effects are nothing more than surface ripples in the ocean of existence, shadows of the disturbances arising from the deeper laws governing the workings of matter. With these laws beginning to reveal themselves, quantum mechanics’ ever-shifting picture of reality is once again stabilizing, deterministic variables once again replacing probabilities. In this new model of the universe, the chains of causality that were thought eliminated have surfaced once more, and clearer than before.
PURSUIT
In the office were the flags of China and the CCP. There were also two men, one on either side of the broad desk.
“I know you’re very busy, sir, but I must report this. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it,” said the man in front of the desk. He wore the uniform of a police superintendent second class. He was near fifty, but he stood ramrod-straight, and the lines of his face were hard and vigorous.
“I know the weight of that last sentence coming from you, Xufeng, veteran investigator of thirty years.” The Senior Official looked at the red and blue pencil slowly twirling between his fingers as he spoke, as if all his attention were focused on assessing the merit of its sharpening. He tucked away his gaze like this much of the time. In the years Chen Xufeng had known him, the Senior Official had looked him in the eyes no more than three times. Each time had come at a turning point in Chen’s life.
“Every time we take action, the target escapes one step ahead of us. They know what we’re going to do.”
“Surely you’ve seen similar things before,” the Senior Official said.
“If it were simply that, it wouldn’t be a big deal, of course. We considered the possibility of an inside job right off.”
“Knowing your subordinates, I find that rather improbable.”
“We found that out for ourselves,” Chen said. “Like you instructed, we’ve reduced the participants in this case as much as possible. There are only four people in the task force, and only two know the full story. But just in case, I planned to call a meeting of all the members and question them one by one. I told Chenbing to handle it—you know him, the one from the Eleventh Department, very reliable, took care of the business with Song Cheng—and that’s when it happened.
“Don’t take this for a joke, sir. What I’m going to say next is the honest truth.” Chen Xufeng laughed a little, as if embarrassed by his own defensiveness. “Right then, they called. Our target called me on the phone! I heard them say on my cell phone, You don’t need this meeting, there’s no traitor among you. Less than thirty seconds after I told Chenbing I wanted to call a meeting!”
The Senior Official’s pencil stilled between his fingers.
“You might be thinking that we were bugged, but that’s impossible. I chose the location for the conversation at random to be the middle of a government agency auditorium while it was being used for chorus rehearsals for National Day. We had to talk right into each other’s ears to hear.
“And similar funny business kept happening after that. They called us eight times in total, each time about things we had just said or done. The scariest part is, not only do they hear everything, they see everything. One time, Chenbing decided to search the target’s parents’ home. He and the other task force member were just standing up, not even out of the department office, when they got the target’s call. You guys have the wrong search warrant, they told them. My parents are careful people. They might think you guys are frauds. Chenbing took out the warrant to check, and sir, he really had taken the wrong one.”
The Senior Official set the pencil lightly on his desk, waiting in silence for Chen Xufeng to continue, but the latter seemed to have run out of steam. The Senior Official took out a cigarette. Chen Xufeng hurriedly patted at his coat pockets for a lighter, but couldn’t find one.
One of the two phones on the desk began to ring.
Chen Xufeng swept his gaze over the caller ID. “It’s them,” he said quietly.
Unperturbed, the Senior Official motioned at him. Chen pressed the speaker button. A voice immediately sounded, worn and very young. “Your lighter is in the briefcase.”
Chen Xufeng glanced at the Senior Official, then began to rummage through the briefcase on the desk. He couldn’t find anything at first.
“It’s wedged in a document, the one on urban household registration reform.”
Chen Xufeng took out the document. The lighter fell onto the desk with a clatter.
“That’s one fine lighter there. French-made S. T. Dupont brand, solid palladium-gold alloy, thirty diamonds set in each side, worth … let me look it up … 39,960 yuan.”
The Senior Official didn’t move, but Chen Xufeng raised his head to study the office. This wasn’t the Senior Official’s personal office; rather, it had been selected at random from the rooms in this office building.
The target continued the demonstration of their powers. “Senior Official, there are five cigarettes left in your box of Chunghwas. There’s only one Mevacor cholesterol tablet left in your coat pocket—better have your secretary get some more.”
Chen Xufeng picked up the box of cigarettes on the desk; the Senior Official took out the blister pack of pills from his pocket. The target was correct on both counts.
“Stop coming after me. I’m in a tricky situation just like you. I’m not sure what to do now,” the target continued.
“Can we discuss this in person?” asked the Senior Official.
“Believe me, it would be a disaster for both sides.” With that, the phone went dead.
Chen Xufeng exhaled. Now he had the proof to back up his story—the thought of disbelief from the Senior Official unsettled him more than his opponent’s antics. “It’s like seeing a ghost,” he said, shaking his head.
“I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do see danger,” said the Senior Official. For the fourth time in his life, Chen Xufeng saw that pair of eyes bore into his.
THE INMATE AND THE PURSUED
In the No. 2 Detention Center at the city outskirts, Song Cheng walked under escort into the cell. There were already six other prisoners inside, mostly other inmates serving extended terms.
Cold looks greeted Song Cheng from all directions. Once the guard left, shutting the door behind him, a small, thin man came up.
“Hey, you, Pig Grease!” he yelled. Seeing Song Cheng’s confusion, he continued, “The law of the land here ranks us Big Grease, Second Grease, Third Grease … Pig Grease at the bottom, that’s you. Hey, don’t think we’re taking advantage
of the latecomer.” He pointed his thumb at a heavily bearded man leaning in the corner. “Brother Bao’s only been here three days, and he’s already Big Grease. Trash like you may have held a pretty government rank before, but here you’re lowest of the low!” He turned toward the other man and asked respectfully, “How will you receive him, Brother Bao?”
“Stereo sound,” came the careless reply.
Two other inmates sprang up from the bunks and grabbed Song Cheng by the ankles, dangling him upside down. They held him over the toilet and slowly lowered him until his head was largely inside.
“Sing a song,” Skinny Guy commanded. “That’s what stereo sound means. Give us a comrade song like ‘Left Hand, Right Hand’!”
Song Cheng didn’t sing. The inmates let go, and his head pitched all the way into the toilet.
Struggling, Song Cheng pulled his head out. He immediately began to vomit. Now he realized that the story designed by those who had framed him would make him the target of all his fellow inmates’ contempt.
The delighted prisoners around him suddenly scattered and dashed back to their bunks. The door opened; the police guard from earlier came in. He looked with disgust at Song Cheng, still crouched in front of the toilet. “Wash off your head at the tap. You have a visitor.”
* * *
Once Song Cheng rinsed off, he followed the guard into a spacious office where his visitor awaited. He was very young, thin-faced with messy hair and thick glasses. He carried an enormous briefcase.
Song Cheng sat down coldly without looking at the visitor. He had been permitted a visit at this time, and here, not in a visitation room with a glass partition; from that, Song Cheng had a good guess as to who sent him. But the first words out of his visitor’s mouth made Song lift his head in surprise.
“My name’s Bai Bing. I’m an engineer at the Center for Meteorological Modeling. They’re coming after me for the same reason they came after you.”