The wind had never truly stopped—
he had simply never noticed how it passed through his fingers,
like a calling from the future: soft, slow, and irreversible.
He rose, leaving the shard behind.
Not as an act of remembrance,
but as a silent mark—
a trace that it had once existed.
Not to memorialize,
but to remind himself—
that fracture would never open again,
because he had chosen
not to stand at the edge.
He stepped out of the dim room,
the door closing on its own,
like a chapter time itself had sealed.
No farewell needed—
for the truest goodbyes
are the ones where no glance is cast back.
The street was lit by a faint glow,
not quite dawn, not quite night—
a hue suspended in-between,
like a dawn that had yet to be named.
He no longer asked who he was.
Because at last, he understood—
he was not someone's lingering shadow,
nor a solution waiting in the future,
but the journey itself—
a presence born from every crossing.
He walked across the remnants of restructured time,
each step no longer a repeat;
each breath, the first breath of being alive.
"I remember them," he said to himself.
"But this time, I'll walk for me."
Not to mend the past,
nor to flee from fate,
but to let living
be something more
than an extension of others.
In the distance,
the hum of traffic,
a faint melody,
and a silhouette—
strange yet familiar—stood silently at the corner.
He didn't run after it.
It could've been a fading memory,
or a meeting not yet written.
But this time—
he chose to wait for the future to arrive,
rather than chase the past.
He looked up.
A line of birds crossed the sky,
like a soul finally in motion—
one that no longer needed a name.
---
Sunday: A Room That Isn't His, and Yet Is
It wasn't dusk in a dream,
nor the hollow pause of broken time—
but something wedged
between yesterday and tomorrow.
The air familiar,
the rhythm of breath unfamiliar.
He lay on a minimal bed.
Silence surrounded him.
Only a dim wall lamp flickered,
casting shadows across the white wall,
like pieces of memory he could never restore.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it.
Date: February 23, 2025 (Sunday)
Time: 05:42 AM
Location: Qiyang District, Linzi Precinct Dormitory B, Room 303
He stared at the digits,
as if each one concealed
a truth trying to deceive him.
This wasn't where he first awoke.
But this was where he was meant to awaken.
He sat up. No headache—
just a hollow in his chest,
as if something had been set down,
or was waiting to be picked up again.
A uniform hung by the iron frame.
The name tag read:
Yu Yong-An. Inspector. Prevention Unit.
He touched the name tag,
a complex feeling swelling within—
both familiar and foreign,
both identity and burden.
"So this is… my new life?"
he whispered.
No one replied.
Outside, the world had awakened.
Morning calls echoed,
a garbage truck rattled by.
Everything was ordinary,
neatly staged—
yet it all felt like a scene
rearranged for a script.
He stood, walked into the bathroom.
The sound of running water filled the space.
The mirror reflected his face—
no longer fractured,
no longer a crumbling shadow.
But not someone easily named, either.
He took a deep breath,
and said to the mirror:
"Then live—
not for someone,
not for something—
but for this morning
the world hasn't yet closed."
---
Three Stations After Waking
When he left the dorm,
the sky was just beginning to lighten.
The city remained suspended in a shade of grey.
He didn't check in.
Didn't open his memo.
Unread messages filled his screen—he didn't reply.
He knew where to go—
not from duty,
not from orders,
but something deeper calling him forth.
He boarded a bus bound for Qiyang's heart.
In the window,
half his face was reflected—
a residue of the mirror that refused to fade.
First station: Lin Yao-Qian.
They had worked together once,
shared silent glances over tea.
Yao-Qian had always been quiet,
but quicker than anyone to sense the strange.
When he knocked,
Yao-Qian paused only a second, then smiled softly.
"You're back."
Four words—
like a signal sent from a diverging timeline.
"How long was I gone?"
"281 days. Minus one."
There was no questioning,
no surprise at his exact memory.
Yao-Qian merely brewed two cups of tea, as always—
but within the steam
lingered an unspoken understanding:
Can memory ever be real?
"You know who I'll go to next, don't you?"
"Yes. You'll seek out Chen Lu-Ping."
"…How do you know?"
Yao-Qian looked up, voice calm as still water:
"Because if it were me—
I would've done the same."
A pause.
"But be careful.
Not everyone wants you to remember
what you've forgotten."
---
Second station: Chen Lu-Ping.
The newsstand behind the precinct had long closed.
The old man, as usual, organized his notes in the afternoon.
That was Lu-Ping's ritual—
to hide what he never made public
in the silence of this quieter corner.
"Lu-Ping," he said from the doorway.
The old figure slowly turned.
His eyes didn't recognize him at first.
But after half a second, he spoke, voice low:
"You didn't die, after all."
Strange words,
yet utterly real—
not a greeting,
but a confirmation
of a prophecy buried in time.
"You're here for the cross?"
"No… or maybe not just for that."
"You're here to find out
why you're still alive, aren't you?"
He said nothing,
only watched Lu-Ping's hand—
the one that once penned reports,
now trembling slightly.
"Go to Bai Zi-Ming.
He'll say what you don't want to hear."
"But if you don't,"
"those things will cling to you
for the rest of your life."
---
Third station: Bai Zi-Ming.
The LUOYEH base still hid
beneath Qiyang's old city.
The entrance had changed three times—
yet he remembered the way.
It wasn't memory.
It was a compass from another self.
When he stepped into the corridor's dim glow,
Bai Zi-Ming stood at the far end—
as if waiting all along.
"I thought you'd come later," he said,
his tone calm as ever.
"Last time you left,
you said you'd never return."
He didn't reply.
He only stared into Bai's eyes—
no surprise in them.
Only shadows long expected.
"What do you want to ask?"
"Do you know what I've lost?"
"No.
What you don't understand is—
what you now possess
doesn't all belong to you."
Like a nail hammered into his mind.
"You didn't come here to retrieve anything,"
Bai's voice sliced through the silence.
"You came—
to decide where it goes."
The air froze.
This wasn't a reunion.
It was a silent trial.