w.a.n.g took out the film from the Leica and went back into the darkroom. He shut the door and worked. After the film was developed, he examined the images carefully. Because his hands were shaking, he had to hold the magnifying gla.s.s with both hands. On the negatives, the countdown continued.

w.a.n.g rushed out of the darkroom and began to look through the digital images on the Kodak. On the LCD, he saw that the pictures his son had taken did not have the numbers, but in the pictures that he took, the countdown showed clearly and was synchronized with the numbers on the film.

By using different cameras, w.a.n.g was trying to eliminate problems with the camera or the film as possible explanations. But by allowing his son and his wife to take some pictures, he discovered an even stranger result: The countdown only appeared on the pictures he took!

Desperate, w.a.n.g picked up the pile of film rolls, like a tangled nest of snakes, like a bunch of ropes tied into an impossible knot.

He knew that he could not solve the mystery on his own. Who could he turn to? His old cla.s.smates from college and his colleagues at the Research Center were hopeless. Like him, they were all people with technical minds. Intuitively, he knew that this went beyond a technical problem. He thought of Ding Yi, but that man was now in a spiritual crisis of his own. Finally, he thought of the Frontiers of Science. These were deep thinkers who remained open-minded. So he dialed Shen Yufei's number.

"Dr. Shen, I have a problem. I must see you."

"Come over," Shen said, and hung up.

w.a.n.g was surprised. Shen was a woman of few words. Some in the Frontiers of Science jokingly called her the Female Hemingway. But the fact that she didn't even ask him what was wrong made w.a.n.g uncertain whether he should be comforted or even more anxious.

He stuffed the mess of film into a bag, and, taking the digital camera, rushed out of the apartment as his wife watched him anxiously. He could have driven, but even with the city being full of lights, he wanted to be with people. He called for a cab.

Shen lived in a luxury housing development reachable by one of the newer commuter rails. Here, the lights were much dimmer. The houses were set around a small artificial lake stocked with fish for the residents, and at night the place felt like a village.

Shen was clearly well off, but w.a.n.g could never figure out the source of her wealth. Neither her old research position nor her current job with a private company could earn that much income. But her house didn't show signs of luxury on the inside. It was used as a gathering place for the Frontiers of Science, and w.a.n.g always thought it resembled a small library with a meeting room.

In the living room, w.a.n.g saw Wei Cheng, Shen's husband. Wei was about forty years old and had the look of a staid, honest intellectual. w.a.n.g knew little about him other than his name. Shen hadn't said much when she introduced him. He didn't seem to have a job, since he stayed home all day. He never showed any interest in the Frontiers of Science discussions, but seemed used to the sight of so many scholars coming to their house.

But he wasn't idle. He appeared to be conducting some kind of research at home, always deep in thought. Whenever he met any visitor, he would greet them absentmindedly and then return to his room upstairs. Most of his day was spent there. One time, w.a.n.g glanced into his room through the half-open door and saw an astonishing sight: a powerful HP workstation. He was sure of what he saw because the workstation was the same model as the one he used at the Research Center: slate-gray cha.s.sis, model RX8620, four years old. It seemed very strange to own a machine costing more than a million yuan just for personal use. What was Wei Cheng doing with it all day?

"Yufei is a bit busy right now. Why don't you wait a while?" Wei Cheng walked upstairs. w.a.n.g tried to wait, but he found that he couldn't be still, so he followed Wei Cheng. Wei was about to enter his room with the workstation when he saw w.a.n.g behind him, but he didn't seem annoyed. He pointed to the room across from his. "She's in there."

w.a.n.g knocked on the door. It wasn't locked, and it opened a crack. Shen was seated in front of a computer, playing a game. He was surprised to see that she wore a V-suit.

The V-suit was a very popular piece of equipment among gamers, made up of a panoramic viewing helmet and a haptic feedback suit. The suit allowed the player to experience the sensations of the game: being struck by a fist, being stabbed by a knife, being burned by flames, and so on. It was also capable of generating feelings of extreme heat and cold, even simulating the sensation of being exposed in a snowstorm.

w.a.n.g walked behind her. As the game was displayed only on the inside of the panoramic viewing helmet, there were no colorful images on the computer monitor. w.a.n.g suddenly remembered Shi Qiang's comment about memorizing Web and e-mail addresses. He glanced at the monitor. The game site's URL caught his attention: www.3body.net.

Shen took off the helmet and stripped off the haptic feedback suit. She put on her gla.s.ses, which appeared extra large against her thin face. Without any expression, she nodded at w.a.n.g and said nothing. w.a.n.g took out the mess of film rolls and began to explain his strange experience. Shen paid full attention to his story, picking up the rolls of film and only casually looking at them. This surprised w.a.n.g, but further confirmed for him that Shen wasn't completely ignorant about what he was going through. He almost stopped speaking, but Shen kept on nodding at him, indicating that he should continue.

When he finished, Shen spoke for the first time. "How's the nanomaterial project you're leading proceeding?"

This non sequitur disoriented w.a.n.g. "The nanomaterial project? What does that have to do with this?" He pointed at the rolls of film.

Shen didn't answer, but continued to stare at him, waiting for him to answer her question. This was always her style, never wasting a single word.

"Stop your research," she said.

"What?" w.a.n.g wasn't sure he heard right. "What are you talking about?"

Shen remained silent.

"Stop? That's a key national project!"

Shen still said nothing, only looking at him calmly.

"You have to give me a reason."

"Just stop. Try it."

"What do you know? Tell me!"

"I've told you all I can."

"I can't stop the project. It's impossible!"

"Just stop. Try it."

That was the end of the conversation about the countdown. After that, no matter how hard w.a.n.g tried, Shen only repeated, "Just stop. Try it."

"I understand now," w.a.n.g said. "The Frontiers of Science isn't just a discussion group about fundamental theory, like you claimed. Its connection to reality is far more complicated than I had imagined."

"No. It's the opposite. Your impression is due to the fact that the Frontiers of Science concerns matters far more fundamental than you imagine."

Desperate, w.a.n.g got up to leave without saying good-bye. Mutely, Shen accompanied him to the door and watched as he got into the taxi.

Just then, another car drove up and braked to a hard stop in front of the door. A man got out. By the faint light leaking from the house, w.a.n.g recognized him immediately.

The man was Pan Han, one of the most prominent members of the Frontiers of Science. A biologist, he had successfully predicted the birth defects a.s.sociated with long-term consumption of genetically modified foods. He had also predicted the ecological disasters that would come with cultivation of genetically modified crops. Unlike the prophets of doom who regularly warned of catastrophes without any particulars, Pan made predictions that always gave many specific details that later turned out to be correct. His accuracy was such that there were rumors that he came from the future.

The other cause for his fame was that he had created China's first experimental community. Unlike the "return to nature" utopian groups in the West, his "Pastoral China" wasn't located in the wilderness, but in the midst of one of its largest cities. The community had no property of its own. Everything needed for daily life, including food, came from urban trash. Contrary to the predictions of many, Pastoral China not only survived, but thrived. Currently, it had more than three thousand permanent members, and countless others had joined for short stints to experience the lifestyle.

Based on these two successes, Pan's opinions on social issues had grown more and more influential. He believed that technological progress was a disease in human society. The explosive development of technology was a.n.a.logous to the growth of cancer cells, and the results would be identical: the exhaustion of all sources of nourishment, the destruction of organs, and the final death of the host body. He advocated abolishing crude technologies such as fossil fuels and nuclear energy and keeping gentler technologies such as solar power and small-scale hydroelectric power. He believed in the gradual de-urbanization of modern metropolises by distributing the population more evenly in self-sufficient small towns and villages. Relying on the gentler technologies, he would build a new agricultural society.

"Is he in?" Pan asked Shen, pointing to the house.

Shen didn't answer, but blocked his progress.

"I have to warn him and also warn you. Do not force our hand." Pan's voice was cold.

Shen called to the taxi driver, "You can go now." After the taxi started, w.a.n.g couldn't hear any more of the conversation between Shen and Pan, but he glanced back and saw that Shen did not let Pan into the house.

By the time w.a.n.g arrived home, it was already after midnight. As w.a.n.g got out of the taxi, a black Volkswagen Santana braked to a stop next to him. The window rolled down and a cloud of smoke emerged. Shi Qiang's thick body filled the driver's seat.

"Professor w.a.n.g! Academician w.a.n.g!14 How've you been the last couple of days?"

"Are you following me? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Now, don't misunderstand me. I could have just driven past you, but instead, I chose to be polite and stop to greet you. You're making being nice a thankless task." Shi revealed his trademark roguish smirk. "Well? Did you find out any useful information over there?"

"I've told you already, I don't want anything to do with you. Please leave me alone from now on."

"Fine." Shi started the car. "It's not like I'm going to starve without the overtime for doing this. I'd rather not have missed my soccer match."

w.a.n.g entered the apartment. His wife was already asleep. He could hear her tossing and turning in bed, mumbling anxiously. Her husband's strange behavior during the day was surely giving her bad dreams. w.a.n.g swallowed a few sleeping pills, lay down on the bed, and, after a long wait, fell asleep.

His dreams were chaotic, but there was one constant: the ghostly countdown, suspended in midair. Even before he fell asleep, he had known he would dream of it. In his dreams, he attacked the countdown. Crazed, he tore at it, bit it, but every attempt failed to leave a mark. It continued to hang in the middle of his dream, steadily ticking away. Finally, just as the frustration became almost intolerable, he woke up.

Opening his eyes, he saw the ceiling, indistinct above him. The city lights outside the window cast a dim glow against it through the curtains. But one thing did follow him from dream into reality: the countdown. It was still hovering before his eyes. The numbers were thin, but very bright with a burning, white glow.

1180:05:00, 1180:04:59, 1180:04:58, 1180:04:57 ...

w.a.n.g looked around, taking in the blurry shadows around the bedroom. He was now certain that he was awake, but the countdown did not disappear. He shut his eyes, and the countdown remained in the darkness of his vision, looking like mercury flowing against a black swan's feathers. He opened his eyes, rubbed them, and still the countdown did not go away. No matter how he moved his gaze, the numbers stayed at the center of it.

A nameless terror made w.a.n.g sit up. The countdown clung to him. He jumped off the bed, tore the curtains apart, and pushed the window open. The city, deep in sleep, was still brightly lit. The countdown hovered before this grand background like subt.i.tles on a movie screen.

w.a.n.g felt he was suffocating. He let out a stifled scream. His wife, frightened awake, questioned him anxiously. He tried to force himself to be calm and comforted her, telling her that it was nothing. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and spent the rest of his difficult night under the constant glow of the countdown.

In the morning, he tried to act normal in front of his family, but he could not fool his wife. She asked him whether his eyes were all right, whether he could see clearly.

After breakfast, w.a.n.g called the Research Center and asked for the day off. He drove to the hospital. Along the way, the countdown mercilessly hovered in front of the real world. It was able to adjust its brightness so that, no matter what the background, it showed up distinctly. w.a.n.g even tried to temporarily overwhelm the display by staring into the rising sun. But it was useless. The infernal numbers turned black and showed up against the orb of the sun like projected shadows, which made them even more frightening.

Tongren Hospital was very busy, but w.a.n.g was able to see a famous ophthalmologist who had gone to school with his wife. He asked the doctor to test him, without describing the symptoms. After careful examination of both eyes, the doctor told him they were functioning normally with no signs of any disease.

"There's something stuck in my vision. No matter where I look, it's always there." As w.a.n.g said this, the numbers hovered in front of the doctor's face.

1175:11:34, 1175:11:33, 1175:11:32, 1175:11:31 ...

"Oh, you're talking about floaters." The doctor took out a prescription pad and began to write. "They're common at our age, the result of clouding in the lens. They're not easy to cure, but they're also not a big deal. I'll give you some iodine drops and vitamin D-it's possible that they'll go away, but don't get your hopes up too much. Really, they're nothing to worry about, as they don't affect your vision. You just have to get used to ignoring them."

"Floaters ... Can you tell me what they look like?"

"There's no real pattern. It differs by person. For some, they appear as tiny black dots; for others, like tadpoles."

"What if someone sees a series of numbers?"

The doctor's pen stopped. "You see numbers?"

"Yes, right in the middle of the visual field."

The doctor pushed his pen and paper away, and looked at him sympathetically. "As soon as you came in, I could tell you'd been working too much. At the last cla.s.s reunion, Li Yao told me you were under a lot of pressure at work. We have to be careful at our age. Our health is no longer what it used to be."

"You are saying this is due to psychological factors?"

The doctor nodded. "If it was anyone else, I'd suggest you go see a psychiatrist. But it's nothing serious, just exhaustion. Why don't you rest for a few days? Take a vacation. Go be with Yao and your kid-what's his name ... Dou Dou, right? No worries. They'll go away soon."

1175:10:02, 1175:10:01, 1175:10:00, 1175:09:59 ...

"Let me tell you what I see. It's a countdown! One second after another, it keeps on ticking precisely. Are you saying this is all in my head?"

The doctor gave him a tolerant smile. "You know how much the mind can affect vision? Last month we had a patient-a girl, maybe fifteen, sixteen. She was in cla.s.s when she suddenly lost the ability to see, went completely blind. But all the tests showed that there was nothing wrong with her eyes physiologically. Finally, someone from the Department of Psychiatry treated her with psychotherapy for a month. All of a sudden, her vision returned."

w.a.n.g knew that he was wasting his time here. He got up. "All right, let's not talk about my eyes anymore. I have one last question: Do you know of any physical phenomenon that can operate from a distance and make people see visions?"

The doctor gave this some thought. "Yes, I do. A while ago I was part of the medical team for the Shenzhou 19 s.p.a.cecraft. Some taikonauts engaged in extravehicular activities reported seeing flashes that didn't exist. The astronauts on the International s.p.a.ce Station reported similar experiences. It was because during periods of intense solar activity, high-energy particles struck against the retina, causing them to see flashes. But you're talking about numbers-a countdown, even. Solar activity can't possibly cause that."

w.a.n.g walked out of the hospital in a daze. The countdown continued to hover in his eyes, and he seemed to be following the numbers, following a ghost that would not leave him. He bought a pair of sungla.s.ses and put them on so that others would not see his eyes wandering around as though he were sleepwalking.

Before entering the main lab at the Nanotechnology Research Center, w.a.n.g took off his sungla.s.ses. Even so, his colleagues noticed his apparent mental state and gave him concerned looks.

w.a.n.g saw that the main reaction chamber in the middle of the lab was still in operation. The main compartment of the gigantic apparatus was a sphere with many pipes connected to it.

They had made small quant.i.ties of a new, ultrastrong nanomaterial that they'd given the code name "Flying Blade." But the samples so far were all made with molecular construction techniques-that is, using a nanoscale molecular probe to stack the molecules one by one, like laying out bricks for a wall. This method was very resource-intensive, and the results might as well have been the world's most precious jewels. It was impractical to produce large quant.i.ties this way.

At the moment, the lab was attempting to develop a catalytic reaction as a subst.i.tute for molecular construction so that large numbers of molecules would stack themselves into the right arrangement. The main reaction chamber could rapidly run through a large number of reactions using different molecular combinations. There were so many combinations that normal manual testing methods would have taken more than a hundred years. In addition, the apparatus augmented actual reactions with mathematical simulations. When the reaction reached a certain stage, the computer would build a mathematical model of it based on intermediate products and finish the remainder of the reaction via simulation. This greatly boosted the experimental efficiency.

When the lab director saw w.a.n.g, he hurried over and began to report a series of malfunctions with the main reaction chamber-a recent ritual whenever w.a.n.g arrived at work. By now the main reaction chamber had been in continuous operation for more than a year, and many sensors had lost sensitivity, resulting in measurement errors that required shutting down the apparatus for maintenance. But as the lead scientist on the project, w.a.n.g insisted that the machine would not be shut down until the third set of molecular combinations was finished. The technicians had no choice but to jury-rig more and more kludges onto the main reaction chamber to compensate. And now those kludges required their own kludges, a state of affairs that exhausted the project staff.

But the lab director carefully avoided the topic of shutting down the machine and temporarily halting the experiment, as he knew that such discussions tended to enrage w.a.n.g Miao. He just laid out the difficulties before w.a.n.g, though his unspoken desire was clear.

Engineers rushed around the main reaction chamber like doctors around a critical patient, trying to keep it going for a little longer. In front of the whole scene, the countdown appeared.

1174:21:11, 1174:21:10, 1174:21:09, 1174:21:08 ...

Just stop. Try it. Shen's words came to w.a.n.g.

"How long would it take to completely overhaul the sensors?" w.a.n.g asked.

"Four or five days." Now that the lab director saw a ray of hope, he quickly added, "If we work fast, it will take only three days. I guarantee it, Chief w.a.n.g!"

I'm not giving in, w.a.n.g thought. The equipment really needs maintenance, so the experiment must be temporarily stopped. This has nothing to do with anything else. He turned to the lab director and focused on him through the hovering countdown. "Shut down the experiment and perform the maintenance. Follow the schedule you gave me."

"Absolutely, Chief w.a.n.g. I'll give you an updated schedule right away. We can stop the reaction this afternoon!"

"You can stop it right now."

The lab director stared at him in disbelief, but soon he was excited again, as if afraid to lose this opportunity. He picked up the phone and issued the order to stop the reaction. All the exhausted researchers and technicians grew excited, too. They immediately began the procedures to shut down the main reaction chamber, flipping a hundred complex switches. The various control screens became dark one after another, until finally, the main screen reflected the main reaction chamber's halted status.

Almost simultaneously, the countdown before w.a.n.g's eyes also stopped. The final number was 1174:10:07. A few seconds later, the numbers flickered and disappeared.

As the world reemerged, free of the ghostly numbers, w.a.n.g let out a long breath, as though he had just struggled up from underwater. He sat down, drained, and realized that others were still watching him.

He turned to the lab director. "System maintenance is the responsibility of the Equipment Division. Why don't all of you in the research group take a break for a few days? I know everyone's been working hard."

"Chief w.a.n.g, you're tired, too. Chief Engineer Zhang can take care of things here. Why don't you go home and rest as well?"

"Yes, I am tired," w.a.n.g said.