Tales of the End of the Century

Three days after returning from the mining area, Bai Ye discovered he could hear the roots of the jujube tree drinking water. Not just hearing the sound—he could sense the entire process of water seeping from the root tips into the vascular bundles, slowly ascending along the xylem. Each root absorbed water at a different pace: the side closer to the vegetable patch drank more quickly because Old Hu had just watered it; the side closer to the wall drank more slowly because the soil there was still compacted, preventing the water from seeping down. This perception wasn't something he actively sought out; it surfaced on its own while he sat under the tree, like a fallen leaf on water, uninvited.

He placed the enamel mug on the rock, gazing at his reflection. Since entering the realm of resonance, his perception had been slowly expanding, but this time, returning from the mines, it wasn't the scope that expanded—it was the depth. Before, he could sense the jujube trees breathing, the friction of the grinding wheel when Tie Niu sharpened his knife, the sound of garlic peels falling into the enamel basin when Lao Hu peeled garlic. Now he could perceive even more subtle layers within these things—not farther away, but closer. Close enough that he could discern the pressure difference between Tie Niu's index and middle fingers when he gripped the axe; the index finger used half a bit more force than the middle finger because the scar was pressing against the axe handle.

He shared this feeling with Lan Susu. Lan Susu sat on the threshold of the east wing, Sergei's notebook spread out on her lap. After listening, she turned to the page with the dried pine needles, then flipped back a few pages, finding the passage Sergei had marked in red ink—"Stage Four: Light becomes a hand. The hand can touch. I haven't touched it yet." She looked up at Bai Ye. "Sergei said he hasn't touched it because his perception can only expand outwards. Your perception goes inwards. Not touching outwards, but looking inwards."

Tie Niu squatted under the jujube tree, making an empty grip with his left hand on the trunk—no axe, just his hand. The edge of his palm brushed against the bark, making a soft rustling sound. Since returning from the mining area, he had stopped practicing axe throwing. It wasn't that he had neglected his studies; the barrier between his left and right hands had simply disappeared. He picked up the pebble that the gray-clad man had clutched before leaving, gently flipped it between his knuckles, and placed it back on top of the pile of pebbles.

Lan Susu moved the oscilloscope from inside the room and placed it on the stone table. On the screen, the waveform of the resonant realm of White Night was changing slowly and steadily—the amplitude hadn't increased, the frequency hadn't changed, but the waveform envelope was denser than before. So dense that there were no gaps between each wave crest, like breathing: shrinking from the outside in, not like a mirror reflecting light outwards, but like someone first gathering inwards the perception that originally belonged only to White Night, gathering it thoroughly before reflecting it outwards to others. She turned the screen around to show them, saying that this wasn't moving to the next realm, but completing the step that Sergei hadn't had time to complete within the resonant realm. It wasn't turning light into a hand, but turning the hand into a non-dazzling mirror, placing it in front of others—letting them light their own lamps in front of this mirror.

At noon, the young man surnamed Ji from the supply and marketing cooperative arrived. He was still wearing that gray work uniform with faded cuffs, and carrying that worn-out canvas bag over his shoulder, inside which was the tin bird-shaped round mirror. Ever since Bai Ye brought him back from the supply and marketing cooperative's bench, he had come every few days, rarely speaking, just sitting under the jujube tree watching Tie Niu chop wood, watching Lao Hu peel garlic, and watching Lan Susu copy notes in the east wing. This time, he stood before Bai Ye, took the mirror out of the canvas bag, and placed it face up.

"I saw my reflection in the mirror yesterday, and it was different from before. Before, it was always a beat behind—it hesitated when I raised my hand, and wasn't ready when I blinked. This time it was synchronized, not a moment late." He looked up at Bai Ye and turned the mirror over so the back was facing up. "I don't know what I did. I didn't do anything. I just sat in the supply and marketing cooperative for an afternoon, then came back and slept for a long time. After I woke up, it stopped acting up against me."

Bai Ye handed his enamel mug to the young man surnamed Ji. Inside was fresh tea that Old Hu had just changed, with a small piece of chili oil still floating in the water. Ji took a sip, unaccustomed to the spiciness, and coughed softly, choking. Bai Ye knew why he was no longer being chased by his reflection—not because he had done anything special, but because someone had already traversed the most difficult path. "You no longer need to practice any transformations. The path awaits everyone who will continue forward. You just haven't seen it yet, but it has already moved this way on its own."

The young man placed the enamel mug on the stone, looked down at the white lines on his palms from being soaked in chalk dust, and spoke again after a long while. "I had a dream last night. I dreamt that there was a light at the end of the alley behind the supply and marketing cooperative, not very bright, but enough to see the road. When I woke up, there was no light in the alley, and it seemed like there was no need to go there anymore."

Bai Ye walked to the jujube tree and reached out to touch the 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 one left after his first mishanded chop with his left hand—had somehow become the same depth. He bent down, picked up a pebble, and placed it next to the pile of pebbles. "The supply and marketing cooperative used to be a transfer point for Project Aurora. When you were waiting there, you didn't know what you were waiting for. Now you know—you weren't waiting for someone, you were waiting for yourself."

The young man surnamed Ji took the stones and placed them back on the outermost edge of the pile, aligning them with the side facing the supply and marketing cooperative. Then he sat down, leaning against the root of the jujube tree, and closed his eyes. Old Hu placed his enamel mug on the stone, squatted on the threshold, lit a cigarette, and gazed towards the vegetable patch for a while. "The people on the bench at the supply and marketing cooperative never come here on their own. The people from the mining area quietly pointed him in the right direction—without disturbing him, without urging him, just keeping the light on at the end of the alley, waiting for him to wake up and walk this way on his own."

Bai Ye looked down at the row of pebbles beside the jujube tree—the one placed there by the young man surnamed Ji still bore the remnants of chalk dust. The first time he came, there were only a few scattered pebbles under the jujube tree; now they were piled up, new and old, round and flat, each one placed by a single person. He took the small round mirror out of his pocket and turned it over; the tin bird folded its wings and tilted its head. He put the mirror back in his pocket, bent down, picked up a new pebble, and placed it next to the young man surnamed Ji's pebble. Before the pebble was even settled, footsteps sounded again outside the courtyard gate. It wasn't the man in gray—Vasily—his steps were heavy, as if he were dragging something heavy. It wasn't White Dove. White Dove never stopped outside the gate. This time, the footsteps paused for three seconds beside the poplar stump before resuming, as if trying to recognize the faces of those in the courtyard.