Tales of the End of the Century

When the man in gray and Vasily left, it was still dark. Bai Ye stood at the gate, watching the jeep's taillights bounce a few times on the dirt road, round the poplar stump, and disappear into the gray morning mist. They didn't say much. The man in gray stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe, patted Bai Ye on the shoulder, and said, "Spring will return." Vasily, sitting in the passenger seat, clutched Korsak's toothbrush wrapped in red cloth, and nodded through the car window.

The engine noise faded into the distance. Only the rustling of poplar leaves in the wind remained on the dirt road. Bai Ye stood at the gate for a while, then turned and went back into the yard. A thin layer of frost clung to the branches of the jujube tree, gleaming grayish-white in the morning light. The firewood that Tie Niu had chopped was neatly stacked at the base of the wall, and the axe rested beside the door frame, the sweat stains on the handle having seeped into the wood grain, turning it a dark brown.

Old Hu brought out an enamel mug from the kitchen, squatted on the doorstep, took a sip of water, and slowly swallowed it. "Two more have left," he said.

"Spring will return," Bai Ye said.

Old Hu placed the jar on the windowsill, stood up, dusted off his trousers, and walked to the small vegetable patch in the corner of the yard. The soil was still frozen, hard as a rock, and it took several taps with a hoe to break open a small piece. Bai Ye walked over, squatted down, and pinched the clod of soil with his hands; it was bone-chillingly cold.

"Can you translate it?" Bai Ye asked.

"Wait a few more days." Old Hu leaned his hoe against the wall. "Once the frost melts and the soil loosens, we can turn it over. We still have some chili seeds left over from last autumn, enough to plant one row."

Bai Ye stood up, walked to the jujube tree, and reached out to touch the axe marks on the trunk, some new and some old. The deepest mark was made by Tie Niu with his left hand; the bark was peeled back, and the sap that flowed out had congealed into an amber color, as hard as pine resin. The shallower marks next to it were left by the gray-clad man and Vasily during their practice. The gray-clad man's axe-throwing technique was softer, and there were dragging marks at the edges of the axe marks; Vasily, on the other hand, was too hasty, and several of his marks didn't penetrate the wood, only scraping off a small piece of grayish-brown old bark.

Tie Niu came out of the house, holding the reflecting mirror in his hand. He was still wrapped in his trench coat, the four corners tucked in neatly. He walked up to Bai Ye and placed the mirror on the stone.

"Where should I put this?"

Bai Ye looked down at the dusty, gray trench coat. Since being brought from the backup vault, this mirror had traveled with them to countless places—the metal cabinet in the backup vault, next to the metal barrel at the relay station, the basement of the air-raid shelter. Each time it was opened, several more scratches would appear in the mirror. Not cracks, but curved lines left by repeated pressing with fingernails, as if someone had pressed their fingers against the mirror for a long time, the position of their fingers mirroring the position of their own fingers in the mirror.

"Let's put it inside," Bai Ye said, "under the metal bucket. No need to leave it drying anymore."

Tie Niu nodded, carried the mirror into the house, and placed it in the corner under the half-filled metal bucket. A corner of his trench coat dangled from the rim of the bucket, making it look no different from the rest of the house—an enamel basin, an old quilt, a few well-worn magazines, and a mirror that didn't reflect anyone.

Bai Ye picked up his enamel mug, took a sip of water, sat down on a rock, and pulled Sergei's photograph from his pocket. The photograph showed a middle-aged man with a scar above his left eyebrow, wearing a white lab coat, standing next to a resonator prototype, his head slightly tilted, his gaze fixed on something off-screen. The inscription on the back of the photograph was worn almost illegible—"It gets a little closer to me every day."

He turned the photograph over so it was face up and placed it on the rock. A gust of wind blew from the north, causing the photograph to flutter slightly, which he pressed down with his hand.

"Sergei," he said. Not a whisper, but a call. Like calling someone you've known for years. Not a colleague, not a mentor, not an enemy. A fellow traveler—one who has walked the same path, one who has seen the same reflection in the mirror.

He released his grip. The photograph remained still.

Lan Susu emerged from the east wing, carrying a stack of freshly organized notes. She sat down beside Bai Ye, spreading the notes on her lap. The first page was a comparison table; on the left were Sergei's "Stages One, Two, Three," and on the right, the corresponding names of her traditional realms—"Observing the Microscopic, Condensing Form, Resonating." Below the table, a line of small print in pencil read: "Two systems, the same forest."

"Sergei's red ink only went up to stage four," Lan Susu said. "He speculated that stage five existed, and for stage six he could only lightly sketch a name with a pencil. He didn't write about stage seven. It wasn't that he forgot; he felt that putting it into words would close that door."

Bai Ye took the notebook and turned to the last page. There was only one line of text at the bottom of the page, written very lightly, as if afraid of tearing the paper—"Hun Yuan. Question mark. Crossed out again."

He closed the notebook and handed it back to Lan Susu.

Tie Niu came out of the house, having already removed his left glove. He walked to the jujube tree and waved his left hand across the trunk—no axe, just his palm. The edge of his palm brushed against the bark, making a very soft rustling sound.

"Not throwing axes today?" Bai Ye asked.

"No throwing today." Tie Niu took his gloves out of his back pocket, rolled them up, and placed them on the stone. "That's enough. My left and right hands are both mine."

Bai Ye reached into his pocket and touched the small round mirror. The bird on the back of the tin was still there, wings folded, head tilted. He took the mirror out and turned it right side out. A crack cut his face in two, his left and right eyes separated by a slit. He looked at the face in the mirror, then raised his right hand. The person in the mirror also raised his right hand, simultaneously, without delay. He lowered his right hand, and the person in the mirror lowered it as well.

He turned the mirror over so that the back was facing up and placed it next to the enamel mug.

The courtyard was quiet. Tie Niu's chopped firewood was neatly stacked at the base of the wall, and the soil in the vegetable patch was beginning to loosen. The bare branches of the jujube tree stood suspended in mid-air, their buds covered in a layer of grayish-brown fuzz, swaying gently in the wind. Lan Susu opened her notebook and wrote a line on the last page. After finishing, she closed the notebook and tucked her pen into the title page. Tie Niu pulled a log that wasn't fully chopped from the base of the wall and placed it on the woodpile. Bai Ye bent down, picked up a pebble from beside her feet, and placed it on top of the pebble that had been sitting there next to the jujube tree. The two pebbles overlapped perfectly.

The new year has begun. Not with the midnight bells, not with fireworks and cheers, but with the chopping of wood. With turning the soil in the vegetable patches. With a morning when no longer requiring a ritual of confirmation. With the man in gray and Vasily boarding the northward-bound jeep. With the reflecting mirror being tucked away under the iron bucket. With the buds of the jujube trees quietly swelling in the frost.

Bai Ye stood up, brushed the dust off his trousers, and walked to the courtyard gate. The frost on the dirt road had melted, and the new branches on the poplar stumps were a pale green. Smoke rose in the distance; he wondered whose house was cooking. He glanced back at the courtyard. Tie Niu was piling up the chopped firewood, Lan Susu was sitting on the threshold writing something, and Lao Hu was clanging and banging as he washed pots and pans in the kitchen. An enamel mug sat on a stone, its surface calm and empty.

He took his hand out of his pocket, placed it on the doorframe, and didn't look back. Then he stepped out with his left foot and walked towards the town.