Tales of the End of the Century

That night, after returning from the mining area, Bai Ye had a dream. The dream was short, barely enough for a person to emerge from the darkness, stand before him, place something in his hand, and then turn and walk back into the darkness. The person was wearing old Aurora Project work clothes, a silver badge pinned to his left breast pocket, with a string of numbers engraved on the back that Bai Ye couldn't make out. Bai Ye wanted to call out to him, but his mouth wouldn't open. He looked down at what was in his hand—a piece of chalk, worn down to the point of being difficult to hold, the tip still bearing the last speck of white ash from his writing on the cave wall. There was a deep, crooked fingernail mark on the chalk, skewed to the right.

When he woke up, it was still dark. The branches of the jujube tree outside the window swayed gently in the wind, and the enamel mug sat calmly on the bedside table. He pulled his hand out from under the covers and held it up to his eyes. There was no chalk dust on his fingers, his nails were clean, the scabs on his palms had long since fallen off, and the new skin was a shade lighter than the surrounding skin, tinged with a faint pink in the morning light. He clenched and unclenched his fist, clenched and unclenched again. Each time, he started with a different finger. Then he sat up, put on his shoes, and opened the door.

In the courtyard, Tie Niu was already chopping wood. The axe swung and fell, the wood cracking with a resounding crack that carried far in the cold morning air. Today he was using his left hand, his grip on the axe handle loose, as if he no longer needed to think about how tight to hold it, when to loosen it, or from what angle to chop. Bai Ye stood on the threshold watching for a while, then suddenly remembered the chalk writing on the mine tunnel wall—"Today, I'll use my left hand to hold the cup. The reflection hesitated for a moment." The person who wrote on the tunnel wall had also gone through the same practice. Left hand for the cup, right hand for the chopsticks, switching hands to do everything that used to be done without thinking. Not because he needed that hand, but because he needed to break all the habits that could be imitated by the reflection. He had never met this person, but he knew what that person's reflection looked like in the mirror—it must have been like his own reflection, from initially being out of sync, to later being synchronized, and finally no longer needing to be checked.

Old Hu brought out an enamel mug from the kitchen, squatted on the doorstep, took a sip of water, and slowly swallowed. "The three of you looked terrible when you came back yesterday. Did you run into something again down the mine?"

Bai Ye took the jar from Tie Niu and drank a mouthful. The hot water contained ginger that Lao Hu had brewed; the spiciness burned from the tip of his tongue all the way to his stomach. He placed the jar on a rock and slowly recounted what had happened in the cave. The ashes in the fire pit, the reflection in the mirror on the table, the writing on the wall, the work clothes photo, collar insignia, and ballpoint pen in the tin box, and the note—written by Sergei in blue ink—indicated someone was in the direction of the mining area; the frequency was stable, and there was no distress signal, just a light on. After he finished speaking, the courtyard was quiet for a long time, with only the sound of Tie Niu chopping wood echoing.

Old Hu placed the enamel mug at his feet, took out his old-fashioned lighter from his pocket, slowly flicked the flint with his fingers, and bent down to light a cigarette. He never smoked with breakfast in the past, but today he smoked very slowly, holding his puff for a long time before exhaling. "This man has sealed himself in the mine tunnel, not to hide. He's waiting."

Tie Niu placed the axe beside the doorframe, took off his gloves, and walked over. He pulled a folded piece of old paper from his pocket and spread it on the stone table. It was a hand-drawn map he had found under the minecart table in the cave. He had added new markings—several collapsed forks in the road, a ventilation shaft crossed out, and a route circled in red, stretching from Research Institute No. 17 all the way to the old mining area directly north of Yushugou. He pointed to a mark on the far east side of the map, circled in black ink and then mostly erased, saying that he had neatly organized the Aurora Project work clothes from the cave, along with the badges and photos, and placed them on the windowsill of the east wing. He also said that he had carved a mark on the crossbeam at the bottom of the mine so that anyone who went down there, no matter how many years had passed, would be able to recognize it.

Lan Susu turned on the oscilloscope and showed Bai Ye the waveforms she had recorded during the last few minutes in the cave yesterday. That wasn't the frequency of the sparks—the sparks had burned out before they entered the cave. This was another one, weaker, slower, and less distinct, like a small piece of charcoal separated from the same ash, already mostly cooled. She said that since returning yesterday, she had been scanning the entire perimeter of the mine area, and around four o'clock this morning, a signal that had never appeared before briefly lit up for more than ten minutes, in a different direction and frequency than Lao Wei's signal. She placed the two waveforms side-by-side on the screen: on the left was the faint residual rhythm from Lao Wei in the mine area, and on the right was this newly appeared and then disappeared pulse. The envelope curves of the two waveforms were almost identical, as if the same person had said the same thing at two different times.

Bai Ye looked down at the hand-drawn map on the stone table. Yushugou was at the southernmost point, north of which lay the mining area, and beyond that, in all directions, barren beaches, birch forests, and the remnants of the sealed Aurora Project. None of the six known remaining traces were complete; the only one that had remained lit had now moved into this courtyard—not brought back, but automatically followed its owner when he entered. The other resealed old signals were also converging on Lao Wei from different directions. He placed his enamel mug on the map, pressing it against the location of Yushugou. The bottom of the mug left a damp circle on the paper, perfectly enclosing the three characters "Yushugou."

Lan Susu turned off the oscilloscope and looked up at Bai Ye. "After you brought this back, it didn't burn out in the cave. It just knew someone had been here, and it slowly began to gather itself together."

Bai Ye stood up and walked to the jujube tree, reaching out to touch the various axe marks on the trunk. The one Tie Niu had cleaved with his left hand was the deepest, the bark peeling back and already scabbed over; the last few marks left by the gray-clad man and Vasily before they left were still shallow, the edges not yet peeling; his own mark—the mark left on the bark after his first mishanded chop—had somehow become the same depth. He withdrew his hand from the trunk, bent down to pick up a pebble at his feet, and placed it next to the base of the jujube tree. There was already a small pile there, new and old, round and flat, all collected one by one over the days. Everyone who passed by the courtyard had placed one there. Then he walked to the courtyard gate and glanced at the window of the east wing. The work clothes were folded neatly, the Aurora Project badge pinned to the pocket, the back of the badge engraved with a number. Next to it was the black and white photograph, the sunlight in the birch forest in the photo still as bright as it had been many years ago. On the outermost corner of the windowsill sat that enamel mug—not for drinking water, but for weighing down paper.

Old Hu stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe, stood up, and brushed the ash off his trousers. "When the dates ripen, offer her a bowl." Tie Niu didn't turn back and continued chopping wood. Sunlight streamed over the courtyard wall, the first rays falling on the windowsill of the east wing, making the silver badge on his work clothes pocket gleam slightly. Bai Ye quietly closed the courtyard gate and walked towards the jujube tree. He picked up the jar and placed it on a stone; the pebble, illuminated by the sparks, was still pressed at the bottom of the jar, waiting for the dates to ripen.