by Hao Jingfang
The study was like an empty stage, and the night was a play without actors. Slowly, Luoying walked to the middle of the stage, stepping along the wall. Against the backdrop of bookcases, she delivered a voiceless monologue.
Mom, Dad, can you hear me? Everything you’ve told me, I still remember. I went to Earth; I learned to walk on my own; everything that I thought I had forgotten, I still remember.
There was no answer.
She was back by the side of the crescent table, where the lilies had been placed on the floor. Nothing took the bouquet’s place: no sculpture, no decoration, no secret door.
But there were two lines of writing.
She bent down. The silvery moonlight illuminated the edge of the floor, and two faint strings of symbols, perhaps carved with a pocketknife, glinted in the light. Tensing, she examined them closer. The first sequence had nine letters, and the second sequence had thirteen symbols, a mix of letters and numbers.
She sucked in a breath. Those were the required lengths for the username and password used to access someone’s filed personal space.
She leaped up and retrieved pen and paper. Kneeling on the floor, she carefully copied down the symbols one by one. Then she ran to the nearest terminal and logged in to her personal space. From there, she searched for records containing the username she had copied down.
It was her mother’s name. She tapped it, entered the password, and waited.
The screen showed a room, blurred. It was meant to be viewed in full fidelity.
She went to get her glasses. A personal space could be displayed in 2-D or 3-D; 2-D was easier for browsing, but 3-D gave a more immersive experience. Ateliers and academic papers typically used 2-D, while personal spaces and artistic creations often used 3-D. In a full-fidelity space, sculpture and films were shown as holographic recordings, while electronic diaries could be browsed in the form of books or voice narrations or even carved into simulated stone like a record for eternity.
Her mother’s archived personal space appeared as a room with stone walls. It was nothing like the transparent walls on Mars or the spherical rooms popular on Earth; rather, it resembled the old European buildings Luoying had seen: a rectangular hall with granite walls, with a mural painted on the ceiling and plaster angels all around. The room wasn’t large, but the floor-to-ceiling windows glowed between the pillars, giving a sense of depth. Over the carpeted floor stood a forest of pedestals and display cases on which sat holograms of her mother’s sculptures. The whole place gave off the air of an alien and ancient past.
Luoying’s heart pounded. These were her mother’s memories.
She walked slowly around the room, her hand gently caressing the soul captured within each sculpture. The frozen bodies twisted and stretched toward the sky, their muscles tensed, as though yearning for something tantalizingly out of reach. Simulated sunrays poured through the tall windows and washed the statues in light, making them seem like figures in some doomed tragedy.
She picked up a vase with a thin neck and a wide belly, like something from ancient Egypt or the Mayan civilization.
Examining it carefully, she noticed that it was a page from her mother’s journal. Tiny letters were etched into the side of the vase.
Luoying is the light-bringing angel.
Luoying devoured the words.
Sometimes you think you’ve got life all figured out, but then a ray of light appears and makes you doubt everything. It’s impossible for us to ever master life, and understanding is an ongoing, interminable process of self-reflection. Only connect. Conversation is soul.
No matter what happens, his coming is a big deal. Our teacher! The year I gave birth to Luoying will be forever special in the annals of Mars.
Luoying tried to remember. What had happened eighteen years ago? And who is this teacher?
Her heart pounded so hard that it felt like the virtual room shook with it. There was no additional explanation of her mother’s journal entry. She looked around the vase and saw a porcelain bowl and a plate, and each artifact was etched with tiny letters, like ripples left by a dragonfly skimming across the water.
She wanted to read every page of her mother’s journal with care. Instinctively, she knew that she was close to some great secret that she had not known.
But a noise outside the gallery told her that someone else had logged in to her mother’s space. She hesitated only a moment before putting down the plate and stepping outside.
THE TOWER
Eko was not expecting to find Luoying here.
He was on a vast virtual plaza, uncertain where to go. Just then Luoying emerged from a gray door at the side of the plaza, and her red dress was striking against the gray stone wall.
He had no idea where he was. He had come here by following a link found in Davosky’s journal.
We often come here to air our views, to bridge distances. Wonderful times.
Eko saw that “here” was in a slightly different color, and he had tapped his hand against the word. The next thing he knew, the world had changed around him.
He found himself in the middle of a vast rectangular plaza, and the ground was made of giant blocks of stone. Stone buildings lined the sides of the rectangle, fronted with long open galleries filled by stately statues. The plaza was deserted, though there was a fountain in the middle, dry at the moment. The buildings loomed somberly, full of sharp edges and keen angles. At the corners of the plaza, four tall towers surveyed the space like gods. Under their gazes, he felt utterly insignificant and alone.
At one end of the plaza was a narrow exit between the buildings, while at the opposite end stood an edifice resembling a Gothic cathedral, with a narrow profile, airy vaulted ceiling, tall locked doors, and flying buttresses that shot up like unsheathed swords. He started for the cathedral, but as he walked, the light beyond the exit at the other end seemed to grow brighter and pull at his attention as he looked back. Halfway to the cathedral, he changed his mind and turned around.
Luoying emerged just then.
Both of them stopped. For a long time they looked at each other, uncertain what to say or do.
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
Eko decided to be frank. “I came here from a link in my teacher’s personal space.”
“Your teacher?”
“Eighteen years ago my teacher came to Mars and lived here for eight years. I got to know the woman he loved.”
“Eighteen years ago?”
“Yes,” said Eko. “I think he was among the first group of Terrans to visit Mars after the war.”
Luoying’s eyes widened. She bit her bottom lip, looking astonished and a bit confused.
“What is this place?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“From my mother’s space.” Her eyes were still gazing at him with shock. “My mother … also mentioned a teacher.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Adele Sloan.”
Eko shook his head, unfamiliar with the name. “Do you know Janet Brook?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said. “She’s my mother’s best friend.”
“She’s the woman my teacher loved, and also the one who gave me the password to enter his space.”
Considering the friendship between Janet and Adele, it seemed likely that the teacher Adele Sloan had mentioned was also Arthur Davosky. But given Luoying’s look of consternation, he wasn’t sure whether there was some more complicated history involving the three of them. Tentatively he asked, “Which atelier does your mother work at?”
“She used to work at the Third Hydroelectric Atelier,” Luoying said, her voice tense. “But during the last two years of her life, she wasn’t registered with any atelier.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she had passed away.”
“Both of my parents are dead. My father was at the First Optical-Electrical Atelier.”
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br /> “Wait!” It was now Eko’s turn to be astonished. “He was at the First Optical-Electrical Atelier?”
“Yes, before his punishment.”
“What punishment?”
“He was exiled to Deimos as a miner.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Eko felt his throat run dry. “Did they die because of the punishment?”
Luoying nodded. “Yes. A mining ship accident.”
Eko was too shocked to talk. Luoying asked him what was wrong, but his mind was like a chaotic snowstorm. First Optical-Electrical Atelier. Punishment. Death.
He didn’t know if Davosky’s death and the deaths of Luoying’s parents were related. He didn’t know if this was a tragedy brought about by a tiny chip. A deep sense of regret arose in his heart. If Arthur Davosky’s request had led to the punishment of Luoying’s parents, then he didn’t know how to face this girl.
She looked so delicate, but she had grown up alone in the shadow of death. He forced himself to hold his emotions at bay as he explained to her why he had come to Mars and what he had found out.
“Arthur Davosky left with the plans and designs for your central archive,” he said at the end.
Luoying looked stupefied. At length she muttered to herself. “So that’s what happened …”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Eko. “I know it’s useless, but I want to apologize on behalf of my teacher.”
Luoying ignored him. “So that’s what happened …” She seemed crushed by grief.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head hard. Though her face was scrunched up, he couldn’t tell if she was crying. Virtual reality could replicate the user’s facial expressions, but not tears. He wanted to comfort her, but he felt as helpless as he had with Janet Brook. He approached and put a hand on Luoying’s shoulder.
“Why? Why?” Luoying muttered.
Why, indeed? Eko was overwhelmed by sorrow. Why is there no place anywhere on two worlds for a few friends united by ideals?
“Welcome, my friends!”
The loud voice made both Luoying and Eko jump.
“Is this your first time here?”
They looked for the source of the voice and found that it came from the narrow exit at the end of the plaza. From where they stood, the plaza resembled a fish, with the exit as the fish’s mouth. Outside the exit was a long alley full of toothlike protrusions. A white light shone beyond, like an ocean that was too bright for anything to be discerned within. From one side of the mouth of the alley, a tall, white-haired old man was walking toward them, his face red and grinning, his voice booming across the empty plaza. He opened his arms wide as he approached, showing his strong, welcoming hands.
“Grandpa Ronen!”
Luoying cried and ran up to him. Eko followed.
But the old man didn’t appear to recognize Luoying.
“My friends, welcome! Forgive me, I don’t recognize all of you yet. It’s only my second day here, after all. But rest assured that I will soon know every one of you. I won’t forget even if you’ve been here only once.”
“Grandpa Ronen?” Luoying didn’t understand what was going on.
“I am the guardian here, and I watch over the tower. Are you here to see the tower?”
“Tower?”
“Our tower! It’s my job to point the way for you.”
Luoying refused to give up. “Grandpa Ronen, why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” The old man smiled again. “Ever since my death, my memories have lived here.”
Eko couldn’t believe it. “What? You are—”
“That’s right.” The old man chuckled heartily. “I’m dead. Don’t ask me how I know I’m dead, since I don’t know either. You’re talking to me, but you’re also not talking to me. I’m a membody. Although my membody can’t understand you, it can converse with you in the same manner I would have. Although I’m dead, I can fulfill my duties as guardian for years to come.”
“Grandpa Ronen, don’t you know me anymore? I’m Luoying!”
“Don’t cry, young lady. Don’t cry! What’s wrong?”
The old man continued to smile kindly at Luoying with no sign of recognition. Eko admired the bright smile on the membody’s face and the neat silver hair, not a strand out of place. His voice was as full and round as his belly.
Eko was at once assaulted by awe and fear, uncertain of how to face this talking figure. He was conversing with a soul already sealed away and watching the peace of the dead melding with the laughter of the living. The membody was like a cold corpse whose former owner’s will was so strong that it transcended death to persist alongside memories circulating in silicon. The electrons were cold and unfeeling, but the smile was eternally warm.
Eko didn’t know the old man, but he could empathize with Luoying’s grief. The electronic instructions, on the other hand, could evoke tender emotions in a human interlocutor but could not understand, could not truly listen.
“Thank you,” said Eko. “We would like to visit the tower. However, since we were sent here, please excuse us if we don’t seem to know what to do.”
“Don’t worry, young man. Don’t worry. There are no rules before the tower.”
The old man led them toward the exit. Eko saw that Luoying seemed calmer and was following morosely.
“Would you like to know a little more about the tower?”
Luoying gazed at the old man without answering. Eko took over. “Yes, we’d like that very much.”
“The tower is the heart of a set of ideals. It is the integration of generalized language.”
“Generalized language?”
“That’s right.” The old man’s voice was even and steady as he gazed at them. “Every form of expression is a language: perception, logic, painting, science, dreams, proverbs, political theories, passion, psychoanalysis—all are ways to articulate the world. As long as we still care about the form of the world, we must care about every type of language. Language is the mirror of the world.”
Language is the mirror of the Light.
Eko suddenly recalled the last words of Arthur Davosky. He took a deep breath. There was some mysterious link between this tower and his teacher’s death.
The old man went on.
“Every language is a mirror, and every mirror reflects a particular aspect. Every reflection is true, but every reflection is also incomplete. Do you understand the conflict between individualism and collectivism? Do you understand the debate between logos and pathos? Do you understand to what degree they each express the truth? How do they reflect different images of the same unity? This is the Proposition of Reflections. It honors every image in every mirror but worships none of them. It attempts to shift between languages in order to reconstruct the true form of the world through reflections.”
Reflections, Eko thought to himself. Language is the mirror of the Light.
“From reflections, you deduce the source of the light?” he asked.
“Correct. But the premise is faith that the truth exists. Incomplete reflections can be pieced together into the truth.”
Don’t forget the Light by focusing on the mirror. Eko nodded.
They approached the exit. Beyond the narrow alley was the ocean of white light. While the parts of the alley walls closest to them could still be seen, the walls merged into the brightness in the distance. The white light was like a thick cloud in which bright sparks flashed from time to time, giving the whole alley the appearance of a swirling galaxy.
The old man smiled and pointed to the exit. He held up three fingers.
“Every age has its own diseases. In my time, the greatest diseases were three. First, that which could not be shared prevented the sharing of that which could be shared. Second, matter, which must be fought over, constrained the freedom and free exchange of the spirit. Third, the images reflected by different mirrors were fragmented and broken and could not be pieced together or made sens
e of as a whole. Humans forgot about the world. They remembered only the reflections but neglected the subject before the mirrors. Proud and impatient, we divided into tribes that each laid claim to a fragment, isolated from one another. This was why we needed the tower.”
The old man seemed to be chanting more than speaking, and his deep voice rumbled and resonated in his broad chest.
“Go ahead.” The old man smiled and patted Luoying and Eko on their backs. Through the virtual reality rig, Eko seemed to feel the moist palm of that thick, reassuring hand. “Through this alley you’ll find the tower.”
Eko looked at the swirling white mist and then back at the old man. “You won’t be coming with us?”
Ronen shook his head. “No. I can only guide you this far, no farther.”
Eko strode forward. Luoying didn’t follow. He looked back and saw that the girl was still standing by Ronen’s side, as though not giving up on the hope that he would remember her.
He sighed and went back to Luoying and held her hand. Her fingers were cold and twitched in his grip, but she didn’t pull away. She followed him into the alley, looking back from time to time but not stopping.
Soon they were enveloped by the white light, though the ground remained solid beneath their feet. The walls and statues to their sides disappeared, and the white light filled their vision. They seemed to be walking through an abstract tunnel of light.
Slowly and cautiously, they shuffled forward. Suddenly a sentence appeared before them, clear, serene, full of conviction, like a ray projected directly onto the retina and then into the mind and the heart. They did not seem to be parsing or comprehending so much as the sentence was imprinted straight onto their understanding by a steady and certain force.
Our theories are our inventions …
… thoughts built on sense, as windows, not as prison bars …
… objectified spirit from which everyone can take …
… multiplicity of individuals …
Eko thought he was in a tunnel in which there was no spatial or temporal order. Sentence appeared after sentence, emerging from the white light like paintings on a wall. It was impossible to look away, though there was no pressure to look.