by Hao Jingfang
At the door to her room, Reini urged Luoying to get some rest. She nodded but didn’t go in right away.
“Doctor, do you think people are happy?”
“Happy?”
The many possible meanings of that word moved Reini. After a moment of hesitation he said, “Yes, I think they’re happy.”
He thought they were happy, or, more accurately, he felt that he had to think so.
“Why?”
“Because they have something they want.”
“Is that happiness?”
“Even if it’s not happiness, it’s the feeling of happiness.”
“What about you? Are you happy, too?”
Reini was silent for a moment. “Not in the same way.”
“How are you different?”
Reini was silent again. “I’m not very interested in projects.”
“Didn’t you tell me living the way they do is happiness?”
“I can only say that I think they’re happy.”
“So what does ‘happiness’ mean to you?”
“Sobriety.” After a moment of reflection, Reini added in a quiet voice, “And the freedom to be sober.”
Luoying went inside the room and closed the door.
Reini looked at the door and thought over her questions. Yes, he thought he was happy. Although his life was lonely, he felt at peace. Superficially, he was passively enduring his fate, accepting his punishment and single status, allowing the course of his life to be determined by policies from above. But in reality his own choices played the biggest part. Anyone’s life, to a certain extent, was the consequence of their own choices. He chose to not choose, which was a choice itself. He had no reason to complain or be dissatisfied, because choices had consequences. Freedom was inseparable from loneliness. Because he wanted to have freedom unconstrained by anyone else, he had to accept a lonely life uncared for by anyone else.
* * *
After saying goodbye to Reini, Luoying stood at the window gazing out at the desolate land shrouded in night. She turned on the sound system to play the natural music of a thunderstorm from Earth.
The patter of rain filled the room. Luoying pressed her palms against the glass and peered at Big Cliff in the distance. Neither moon was visible and only the disk of Ceres glowed overhead. Big Cliff was like a dark seam that parted sky and ground at the horizon. Stars glowed brightly above the darkened, featureless expanse. Big Cliff looked at once close at hand and unapproachably far, like a sword wielded by night. The sound of rain was so realistic that she felt the illusion of raindrops striking against the glass she leaned against.
A chill rippled through her heart as she thought through everything she had learned that day. The glass in front of her seemed to glow brightly, enveloping all the joys and sorrows and desires of humankind. The term “living space” seemed to her both oppressive and real. They had no financial sector, no tourist industry, no traffic jams and regulations, no bureaucrats examining and verifying identity documents—but that was only because they lived inside a crystal box in which everyone’s lives could be uniformly planned. For Earth to imitate this way of life, everyone would have to move into the same uniform box and receive the same uniform stipend. She didn’t know how to respond to Eko. He was so enthusiastic, but he was heading toward an impossible mirage.
Just as she was hesitating over the unfinished draft reply, a new message arrived, its icon blinking.
Luoying,
Tell me when you’re ready to leave the hospital. I’ve asked for a whole day off. I can come get you and go to the Registry of Files with you.
Take care of yourself and make sure you’re fully recovered.
Anka
Abruptly, Luoying experienced a sense of peace. The calm words on the screen lit up the room with a warm light, and all the worries, conspiracies, revolutions, histories, and theoretical debates were pushed far away, leaving only the warm, calm words.
She felt very tired. Very, very tired.
MEMBRANE
The morning before she was scheduled to be discharged from the hospital, Luoying visited another patient.
Pierre’s grandfather was at the same hospital, since he lived in the same district as Luoying. She looked up his room and went to the critical care unit on the second floor, among the most well-furnished wards in the hospital. Green leaf-shaped signs hung on the doors of the quiet rooms. The door to the room Luoying was looking for was open, and the walls of the spacious room were adjusted to be translucent. With sweet floral scents in the air, the place felt as peaceful as an ocean. It was almost possible to forget the depressing reality.
Pierre was sitting quietly by the bed. The sun lit up the side of his face, and his long bangs curled against his forehead, the tips of his hairs and eyebrows almost translucent. Sitting as still as a statue, it took him a while to notice Luoying. He got up in a hurry and pushed over a chair for her without speaking. Luoying sat down, and together the two watched the old man lying in a coma in bed.
Pierre’s grandfather’s silver hair was spread out on the pillow, framing his peaceful face, in which the wrinkles appeared smoothed out due to lack of muscle tension. Luoying wasn’t sure of his condition and didn’t ask Pierre. She simply sat quietly with him, watching the tiny instruments arranged about the head of the bed: graphs measuring the old man’s brain activity and other biosigns scrolled slowly across the screens. The numbers were not the same thing as life, but they indicated that life held on.
“Gielle told me about your grandfather,” Luoying said.
“Gielle …” Pierre’s voice was mechanical, as though simply echoing her words.
“Make sure you take care of yourself, too,” said Luoying. “Don’t worry about the Creativity Fair.”
“The Creativity Fair?” Pierre’s expression was unfocused. “Right. The Creativity Fair.”
Luoying glanced at Pierre, and her heart ached in sympathy. She knew that Pierre had been raised by his grandfather, and the two had only each other. Pierre had no siblings, and if his grandfather were to die, he would be all alone in the world. She recalled what he was like as a boy: scrawny, shy, quick to anger, hugging his grandfather’s thighs as he looked alertly at everyone. He didn’t play with the other children, but if he saw anyone being bullied on the playground, he would run over to defend the victim like a baby hedgehog with his back arched, waving his fists. He had always been a stubborn child. Even now, his gaze on his grandfather held that same heartbreaking stubbornness. His body was curled in on itself, holding his emotions tightly in check.
Luoying had seen Pierre only once since she had been back on Mars. All her memories of him were from five years ago, when he had been shorter than she was. She heard that he had turned into an excellent student, with multiple successful research projects the past couple of years—a rare accomplishment for someone so young.
After a while, Pierre suddenly turned to Luoying and said, “Sorry. I should have gone to see you earlier.”
“Not at all. I’m all better now. I knew you were busy.”
“There’s not much for me to do here.” Pierre shook his head. “Tell Gielle that I’ll join you in a couple of days. I have to supervise the vacuum spraying myself. No one else can do it.”
Luoying was going to tell Pierre not to worry about it and to stay by his grandfather’s side, but, seeing his serious expression, she nodded. “All right. I’ll let her know.”
Pierre turned back to the bed and muttered as though to himself, “No one else understands. Silicon-based nanoelectronic membranes, silicon quantum dots, porous silicon integrated circuits, silicon oxide superlattices—they know the jargon, but they don’t really understand. Our light, our electricity … everyone knows how to use them, but no one really understands.”
Luoying wasn’t sure what he was going on about. Hesitantly she asked, “Gielle told me you invented a new kind of membrane?”
Pierre grinned at her, although melancholy remained in his eyes. “Not th
at new. I’ve long thought about integrating photoelectric properties into thinner, more pliable materials.”
Luoying nodded. She sat with him for a while longer to be sure there wasn’t something she could do and then stood up to say goodbye.
Pierre got up. “When will you be discharged?”
“This morning. I’m on my way out now.”
“Right now?” He looked surprised. “Then let me walk you out.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I have something to discuss with you.”
“What is it?”
He hesitated. “Let’s wait. I’ll go visit you later at your home.”
Luoying nodded. He stared at her back as she left.
Outside the door, she turned around to look back into the pale blue hospital room. Pierre was again sitting quietly, his thin figure leaning forward, his feet resting on the chair’s footrest. He was completely still, but all his muscles were tensed. The room was so quiet.
* * *
It was still early when she got back to her own room. Sunlight filled the room, and the lilies bloomed in perfect tranquility. Her bags were ready and waiting on her made-up bed. She sat by the window to have her breakfast.
Anka was the first to arrive.
He stood at the open door to the suite and knocked softly. The wind chimes over the door tinkled. Luoying turned around, and when she saw it was him, her spoon stopped in midair. Anka smiled at her without speaking. The bright sun struck his hair and made his whole body glow. Instead of a crisp uniform, he was dressed in loose sweats, which nonetheless showed off his muscular frame. Luoying didn’t know what to say, and the two stared at each other in the peaceful sunlight.
Mira, Sorin, and Chania appeared behind him. The still air was broken.
“How’ve you been?” asked a smiling Chania. “Getting plenty of rest?”
“Not bad,” said Luoying, shaken out of her reverie. “I’m fine now. I can even walk by myself.”
To prove it, she stood up and walked around the room, beaming as she showed them the metal filament boot and explained its principles. As she turned and strode, she also hid her face, not wanting her friends to see her embarrassed blush. She kept her eyes away from Anka.
Once she sat back down on the bed, Chania sat next to her. The two boys then leaned against the window as they all chatted. Chania inquired after Luoying’s leg and recovery, her sensations of pain and discomfort, and compared Luoying’s symptoms with her own. As they spoke, Chania lifted one leg of her pants to reveal a thick bandage wrapped around her ankle. Luoying felt a sympathetic pang and put a comforting hand on Chania’s shoulder. She knew that Chania was still training hard every day for her trip report performance next month.
Luoying asked her friends what they were up to, and after glancing at one another the trio gave the same answer: writing the reports for their trip to Earth. They also wore the same expression: seven parts derision and three parts helplessness.
“Oh, there’s plenty to write about,” said Mira. “But the format … grrrrr. I spent three whole days arguing with Granny Asala over the keywords for my report. She kept on insisting that the keywords I suggested were nonstandard, which would make it difficult for future researchers to find my report in the archive. I went through five drafts.”
“Why? Are they going to treat our reports like formal academic papers?” asked Luoying.
Mira shrugged. “Yep. All our reports must strictly adhere to the format of formal academic papers.”
Luoying’s eyes widened. “But I thought we were supposed to just write down how we felt and some notable memories.”
“I thought so, too,” Mira chuckled. “But remember, everyone’s hoping we’ve brought back useful knowledge. We were an investment, and investments must have returns.”
Luoying had lost all interest in even helping other students at the dance school with choreography or tutoring. If she didn’t return to the school, then no one could come after her for a report. Those who went about alone were also the freest. Mira’s smile was adorable, and his dark brown face glowed. In school, he had always been fun and undisciplined, preferring play to work. He used to sleep in all the time like a hibernating bear. Luoying always thought he would never be serious about anything, but he was serious now. Their world had changed. They could be willful for a time, but they were powerless against the demands of a lifetime.
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Luoying. “What about the matter we were discussing over group messaging?”
Chania smiled, her eyes giving off a proud air that was a mix of excitement, rebelliousness, and disdain for the serious and rule-bound. With a hint of mystery in her voice, she said, “It’s been decided. We’re going to start a revolution. Remember you and I talked about what happened to your parents? No matter why they were punished, they set an example for us. They were brave enough to challenge the system, and so should we.”
“A revolution?” Luoying sucked in a breath. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“The first thing is to get to the bottom of Runge’s accusation.”
“I was surprised by that,” said Luoying. “Why does he think that?”
Chania lowered her voice. “Do you remember what happened our third year—”
The wind chimes over the door tinkled, and Chania stopped talking. They turned to find Gielle and Rudy at the door. Rudy was in uniform, and he had a thick folder of documents under his arm. Gielle was holding a basket of fruit, her hair in braids. After the two of them entered the room, Pierre followed.
“How are you feeling?” asked Gielle excitedly.
“I’m fine,” said Luoying. “Just fine.”
Luoying accepted the basket of fruit and set it down on the nightstand. Gielle picked up an orange and gave it to Luoying, then she picked out two apples and handed them to Chania and Mira. Finally she gave Rudy another orange. While everyone else accepted the fruit, Rudy shook his head and refused. Gielle blushed awkwardly. Seeing her reaction, Luoying reached out and took the second orange as well. Rudy never paid any attention to Gielle but looked at Chania curiously.
Rudy gazed at Chania, Gielle gazed at Rudy, and Pierre, who stood at the back, gazed at Gielle. Luoying found the scene amusing. It was obvious that Rudy was interested in Chania, although they hadn’t spent much time together. Luoying saw that Rudy was looking at her with the same expression that he had when he found a research topic that really excited him. Chania, on the other hand, seemed not to notice Rudy at all as she chatted in a low voice with Sorin while biting into her apple.
The atmosphere in the room was peaceful. Other than Gielle, no one spoke much. The bright sun warmed the room, and everything seemed to be going according to plan: a friendly visit, affectionate kindness, bright light, the large, round bed, pale green floors, lilies in the walls. Rudy checked over Luoying’s luggage to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, and then waited. The room was as calm as a carefully maintained meditation pool.
“Pierre,” said Luoying, finally breaking the serene mood, “you mentioned that you had something to discuss with me earlier.”
Pierre had been standing next to the door, away from the others, a blank look on his face. Even after Luoying’s question, he didn’t approach the group. He surveyed the room with a distant gaze, his bangs plastered against his forehead. The other staring faces seemed to form a tunnel with him and Luoying at either end.
“During your performance that day,” said Pierre quietly, “did you notice anything unusual?”
Luoying thought back. “I … I think so.” As everyone turned to her, she continued hesitantly. “The whole time I was dancing, I felt lighter than usual and I just couldn’t get a good kick off the floor. It was hard to keep up with the music. I never felt like that during rehearsals.”
“Isn’t it good to feel lighter?” asked Gielle.
“No. The most important part of dancing is pushing off against the floor. If your body feels too light, it’s impossible
to get the right leverage. I tried to compensate by using brute force, which threw me off balance. I suppose I practiced too much and wore out my legs.”
She looked at Pierre questioningly.
Pierre nodded as though she had confirmed some suspicion. “It’s not a matter of over-practice. The problem was your costume. The fabric was lifting you up like a big parachute.”
“How is that possible!?” Gielle sounded horrified. “What was wrong with the costume? I hope I didn’t cause your injury. But Luoying, you’d danced in that costume before.”
Luoying patted her hand, trying to comfort her. “I’m sure it’s not your fault. I rehearsed with your costume several times. The fabric was so thin that I can’t imagine it caused any issues.”
But she saw Pierre’s odd expression.
“It wouldn’t cause any issues normally,” said Pierre, his voice cold. “But on the day of your performance, the magnetic field below the floor of the stage was turned on.”
Luoying’s heart sank.
“Wait!” Gielle said, suddenly understanding the import of Pierre’s words. “Is your material affected by the magnetic field?”
“No.” Pierre’s tone was certain. “My material is unaffected by magnetic fields. I measured the magnetic moment to be sure. It’s zero.” He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down like a drowning fish. “But someone sabotaged the costume.”
With growing unease, Luoying asked, “Are you sure?”
Pierre nodded. “That night I asked to examine the costume after you were brought into surgery. I was worried that something was wrong with the material, and I discovered that the costume had been coated with a thin layer of high-magnetic-moment material.”
He stopped again and looked at Rudy. Everyone in the room now understood the meaning behind his words, and even Gielle could see the suspicion in his eyes. Luoying felt as though Pierre’s introspective, soft voice were as loud as a roar. The air was suddenly awkward and tense.