1

Wednesday. 00:02.

Xia Mang’s biological clock woke him from a deep sleep.

His daughter Weiwei was one month old today, and today would be her dormancy test. Starting tomorrow, she would be a Wednesday citizen of Shenli City, like Xia Mang and his wife Xiao An. 

Weiwei was still asleep.

Xiao An got up and stretched, then went to the kitchen to fire up the coffee maker. Xia Mang sat on the sofa, yawning as he poked around on his mobile. TV images appeared on the opposite wall.

The COG TV logo flashed in the upper right corner of the screen, and morning news headlines revolved eye-grabbingly in the lower left.

The familiar face of the Wednesday announcer appeared:

“Yesterday, the Statistics Bureau released last year’s Shenli Economic Development Findings Report. The numbers show last year’s per capita GDP at 137,654 U.S. dollars, for a growth rate of 113 percent, surpassing Shanghai for the third year in a row, and holding onto first place in the world for a city’s per capita GDP. At the same time, the report’s questionnaire investigations, considered highly reliable, indicated a satisfaction rate exceeding 85 percent with regard to a composite index of our city’s economic development, environmental quality, public security, crime rate, and so on. Shenli, the first city in the world to implement a Cyclic Freedom-of-Movement System, and an experimental pilot city using dormancy technology, shows favorable momentum by all indicators, drawing attention and approval from various governments around the world…”       

            Xia Mang changed the channel.

            “… the Shenli City Immigration Bureau cracked down on 323 cases of illegal entry this month. Illegal immigration numbers have risen little by little in recent months. The Population Management Bureau reminds city residents to maintain heightened safety awareness. On your Freedom-of-Movement days, keep your eyes open for suspicious strangers.”

            A montage of fierce law enforcement illustrated the announcer’s words.

            Xiao An sat down beside Xia Mang and gave him a coffee.

“Scary!” she said, brow furrowed. “These people will do anything to get in.”

“And for what?” Xia Mang said. “Without dormancy qualification, it’s not like life on the outside of the city. Six days a week you’d be shut indoors, unable to venture out on the streets. So why even come to Shenli?”

Xiao An stared at him in amazement. “Are you thick? Of course there are good reasons! How about Shenli’s clean air? How about taking a subway without getting packed in like sardines, or seeing a doctor without queuing up, or not having to worry about turning around to find a pickpocket fumbling for your wallet? How about high wages, a good environment, a higher quality of people? Even without dormancy qualification, life here is just better!”

“Alright alright, my mistake,” Xia Mang said, growing contrite.

“Of course it’s your mistake!” Xiao An stared at him, coldly contemplative. “But to be fair, in Shenli, the dormancy qualification really makes all the difference. I mean, all that hard work back then was worth it.” Xiao An took a deep breath, then smiled in perfect contentment. “You don’t even know… in our company, people without dormancy qualification are forever consigned to odd jobs, errand running, unskilled labor with no tech element. Promotion will never be a prospect for them. You wouldn’t understand, Mr. Relaxation…”

Xia Mang was an influential and bestselling science fiction author. When Shenli City was first established, the then-subversive Cyclic Freedom-of-Movement System, along with dormancy tech, triggered global controversy. To win support, Shenli offered a batch of free dormancy qualifications to attract interest from various spheres. In particular, the elite of forward-looking domains moved to Shenli and gave their endorsements. Xia Mang was among them.

“You got dormancy in order to get promoted?” Xia Mang jokingly asked.

“Of course not!” Xiao An glared at him. “Do you remember Yaya? She entered the company at the same time I did. She still hasn’t qualified for dormancy. We were born in the same year, but now she looks just over forty.” Xiao An touched her cheek. Her tone relaxed and cheerful, charm dialed to ten, she said, “And me, I still look twenty-eight.”

“Pff.” Xia Mang couldn’t help laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Xiao An punched his shoulder.

Seeming to cater to their conversation, another news item came up on the screen:  

“Last month, Shenli received 7,680 new dormancy applications. Fifty-three qualifications were signed and issued. This issuance rate is a new low, indicative of tightening standards for investigating dormancy applications in our city…”     

            Ding-dong!

            The doorbell rang, interrupting the news.

            Xia Mang opened the door.

            “Good morning… very early morning, that is, Mr. and Mrs. Xia. I’m the service worker sent to conduct your daughter’s dormancy test run.” The man at the door was dressed in the SIP company red-and-white uniform. He held a compact, pink dormancy module at his side.

            Xiao An gave Weiwei a thorough bath, breast fed her until she was full, and, reluctant to part with her, played with her a bit.

            Xia Mang was a bit uneasy as he placed Weiwei in the dormancy module. “Can you guarantee that dormancy tech is safe for an infant her age?”

            The worker smiled. “Rest assured, dormancy tech has been used on newborns for more than a decade. There’s never been a problem. Our company guarantees the absolute safety of this technology.”

            Xia Mang nodded.

            “But, if you have misgivings about dormancy tech, you may consider postponing this—”

The worker had not even finished his sentence when Xiao An and Xia Mang interrupted him:

            “No need!”

            Weiwei, sated on milk, gave a satisfied burp, then directed a confused expression at her diffident, guilty-looking parents.

            Due to health and safety concerns, newborns under one month couldn’t be dormancy-induced. Xia Mang and Xiao An had been obliged to forgo dormancy themselves for the past month, to care for this annoying little tyke all day, every day. They had never been so tired in their lives. They’d just about reached their limit.

            “Okay then,” the worker said, smiling. “I will now begin to induce.”  

            “Weiwei… see you next week.” Xia Mang kissed her little face.

            “See you after a good sleep,” Xiao An said, following suit.

            She said that deliberately, forcing the sense of separation from her words and her tone. Xia Mang could hear it.

            Weiwei was sent into a deep sleep, her plump little hands beside her tiny round face, the corners of her mouth sometimes drawing back in a sweet smile, no different than any normal, peaceful time.

            The worker closed the dormancy module and showed the parents the display data.           

            “Everything’s normal. She’ll have a good sleep.”

            Xiao An and Xia Mang felt relieved, and they felt guilty for feeling relieved. She would sleep six days a week now. They were her parents and they’d barely have to care for her anymore.  

The two of them accompanied the worker to the door, and they were just about to close it.

            “Waaaa!”

            The familiar cry echoed through their home. The three adults stood dumbfounded at the door. Xia Mang was the first to react, rushing back inside.

            Weiwei was red-faced, crying angrily and kicking at the module. Xia Mang hastily retrieved her and got her gently rocking in his arms. “Okay okay, good little Weiwei. Daddy’s here.”

            “This… how is it possible?” The worker stared wide-eyed. “The data showed all was normal just now.” He examined the module. “Strange…” Confronting Xia Mang and Xiao An’s vigilant, uneasy gazes, he said in haste, “I… I’ll just give the company a call. I’ll get a tech specialist to come have a look. Sorry!”

            The following week, five groups of people came from SIP, not just dormancy tech specialists, but also neuroscience medical professionals. They examined Weiwei carefully, conducting no less than a dozen tests. All results came back normal, suggesting Weiwei should be able to enter dormancy fast and without complication, but every time they tried, she would wake naturally within five minutes.

            Finally, SIP put out its report, verifying that the current dormancy system was unable to induce sustainable dormancy in Weiwei. As for the cause, the medical experts’ preliminary opinion was that Weiwei’s brain, in some regions, experienced physiological stress in response to the dormancy command. They’d never seen anything like it, and for now at least, had no solution.

            “No solution? Really?” Xiao An couldn’t restrain her anger. Just after receiving the report, she had called SIP. “My daughter has her qualification and yet she can’t enjoy dormancy, and you’re telling me there’s no solution!?”

            Xia Mang hunted down a phone number left by a doctor who had come to examine Weiwei a few days before.

            “In other words, this physiological stress response to the dormancy command… it had no other ill effects on her growth or health, right?”

            With the doctor’s affirmative reply, Xia Mang allowed himself to relax a little. He hung up.

Xiao An was still roaring into her phone: “It’s not just her with the problem! My husband and I can’t go dormant either! Do you get that? In Shenli this is a serious matter! Are you understanding me? How can your company treat clients so irresponsibly?”

Xia Mang entered the bedroom. Weiwei’s sleep had been disturbed by her mother’s tirade. She was rolling over in the middle of her crib. Xia Mang patted her lightly and crooned a song.

Because of this issue with Weiwei’s dormancy, Xiao An had been fretful for the past few days, like the sky was about to fall. But Xia Mang didn’t share this feeling.

Because one thing science fiction writers are expert in is being used to a world different from what they imagined.    

2

            Weiwei’s issue soon became news.

            “Dormancy tech has perhaps run into a stumbling block, and the Shenli City myth has encountered a challenge.”

            This was not just Shenli news sensationalism; it was causing a huge controversy outside the city.

            For a brief time, Xia Mang’s family became a beleaguered media focal point. Journalists hung around outside their apartment block and kept watch, hungry to land an interview.

Xia Mang, unable to go dormant, sometimes got bored. He would stand beside the window and watch the journalists downstairs. The interesting thing was, no matter how dedicated to their work, in Shenli City, Tuesday journalists always had to hurry home before midnight, before Wednesday, while their Wednesday colleagues couldn’t turn up early for their shifts. Around 11:40 PM, Xia Mang would start to see journalists beating a hasty retreat, and starting at ten past midnight, the new batch would begin to turn up.    

            As if separated by time, like two different worlds, Xia Mang thought to himself.

            Regardless of how Xiao An would have preferred it, Weiwei’s dormancy issue couldn’t be resolved, in the end. Thus, SIP proposed a compensation plan, while vowing to continue regular examinations and dormancy tests of Weiwei. Shenli City even made exceptions for the family, granting an extraordinary privilege: total freedom of movement.

            This meant they were no longer bound by days of the week. They could walk out of their front door any day they liked, and venture about the city. This was just about the highest status one could achieve in Shenli.

            Xia Mang and Xiao An agreed that while Weiwei’s issue remained unresolved, they would temporarily renounce dormancy. The two of them would care for Weiwei together.

            “If Weiwei can never go dormant,” Xiao An said, late one night in the darkness, “what’ll we do?”

            “We move forward with her, awake. What else?” Xia Mang held Xiao An. “We make it work, just like all the unqualified of Shenli.”

            “But we worked so hard to be different from them.” Xiao An turned over, escaping Xia Mang’s arm.

            The two of them were silent, and already worlds apart.

            The following year was actually not so bad for Xia Mang.

            Xiao An wasn’t comfortable going out on any day but Wednesday. She said it made her feel unsafe. Xia Mang knew that she would, one day, return to her former way of life. She did not want to connect with the world beyond her Wednesday domain.  

            Actually, Xia Mang did have some trouble adapting at first.

            The first time he brought Weiwei out on a non-Wednesday, it was a Saturday.

            The media’s short-lived enthusiasm had finally receded. There were no reporters lurking downstairs. It had been too long since Weiwei had been outside, and Xia Mang had decided to take her to the park to get some sun.

            Before going out the door, Xia Mang subconsciously glanced at his mobile. In gaming terms, although the government had removed obscuring fog and cleared the entire map for them, the enchantment that had harnessed Xia Mang’s psyche to Wednesdays was not so easily dispelled.    

            They’d gone out for some sun, but the world seemed dark to Xia Mang. Everyone he should have known well was unfamiliar: the convenience store clerk, the apartment building security guard, the cleaning lady, the café barista.

            The worlds of Wednesday and Saturday were completely different.

            Xia Mang felt like a stranger in this city for the first time. It was as if he’d always been gazing at one face of a Rubik’s Cube, completely ignorant of what was happening on the other faces.    

            “Oh, what a little cutie!” Two women pushing a baby stroller through the park had spotted Xia Mang holding Weiwei, and were heading over.

            “We like to come here on Saturdays for a little fun,” said the thinner, older one, a woman with a warm tone but doubtful eyes. “How have we never seen you two before?”

            Xia Mang recalled the illegal immigration warnings on the news. This woman was on high alert.

            “We’re…” Xia Mang found himself tongue-tied, not knowing how to explain himself.

            The other woman, the young mother, wasn’t paying attention to the exchange. She lifted her son from the stroller so he could play with Weiwei. The two children grabbed each other with glistening, saliva-smeared hands.

            The thin woman gave the young mother a stealthy poke.

            The younger woman glanced uncertainly from Xia Mang down to Weiwei. “Huh… why does she look a bit familiar?” Having recalled something, she cried out, “Ah ha!” then fiercely seized her son’s hand, swung him away from Weiwei, and retreated several steps.

            “No, not in your mouth!” She pulled the little hand that had just touched Weiwei away from the boy’s lips, and went to vigorous work on it with a wet wipe.

           The woman was taken aback by the young mother’s reaction and moved the pram into a flight-ready position. The younger woman seemed to become aware of her rudeness and forced an embarrassed smile. “It’s her, right?” she said, seeming to speak to the woman but also as if asking Xia Mang. “The one on TV who can’t go dormant, right?”

            “Well, yes.” Xia Mang shifted Weiwei and held her close to his chest.

            “Oh!” the thin woman shouted, wide-eyed, like a squawking chicken. She lowered her voice and said, “Such a pity…” She shook her head, yet managed not to look very sympathetic.

            “It’s not so pitiful,” Xia Mang said, suppressing his temper. “All children grow up. Some grow up fast, some a bit slow, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

            “Well that’s nice,” the woman said. “Trying to look on the bright side and take things philosophically is best. Hey, by the way…” She seemed to recall something. “This disease of hers, is it contagious?”

            The young mother pricked up her ears.  

            “She doesn’t have a disease,” Xia Mang began, but saw the women weren’t really interested, and let it pass. “I don’t know, the doctors didn’t say.”

            Xia Mang smiled with grim anticipation.

            “Well, we have to go,” the woman said. “I do hope we have the chance for another play date…” The two women, faces utterly changed, hurried away with their pram.

            “We need to get back and sterilize his hands.” The old woman’s words floated back to him from a distance. “Some people… well, they’re just doomed that way, and there’s nothing for it!”

            Okay then, Saturday was not so inviting, Xia Mang thought to himself.         

3

            Although Saturday had not left a good impression, Xia Mang and Weiwei ran into some interesting people on other days.

            Their Monday citizen neighbor was an idol celebrity. He explained that being an idol in Shenli didn’t leave much opportunity for advancement. There was never a way to make a Tuesday citizen love a Monday idol. The gap wasn’t just a day’s time, but more like a dimension.

            “No matter how I go about it, I just can’t raise those fan numbers. There’s no heat, it’s boring, really. But there are benefits too.” He ran a hand casually through his bangs, shaking them out, and smiled handsomely. “One time at a news conference, I had chosen a striped outfit. I was about to go on stage when my manager said that the previous Wednesday, a famous fashion critic had decreed stripes the most out-of-date thing of the season. This manager wanted me to go change. Guess what I said.” He reached out and tickled Weiwei’s chin. She gurgled cheerfully. “No way! Monday people live in Monday, so who cares what Wednesday people say!”

            “No wonder you’re popular,” Xia Mang said merrily. “That’s character, the it factor!”

            “Yeah, well whatever, who cares!” The idol threw up his hands. “I don’t want to stay here anyway. This is supposed to be temporary. I want to be successful back outside the city, make movies, get awards.”

            “You can’t make movies here?”

            “How? Think about it… with cast and crew working one day a week, a movie would take, what?  Decades? You start out shooting a young, fresh film, and by the time it’s done it’s a nostalgia piece.”

            The two of them laughed together.

            “Well then, if you’re pursuing that sort of career,” Xia Mang said, “why on Earth did you come here?”

            “Well…” The idol seemed a bit embarrassed, but went on: “Careers have their ups and downs, you know. My last down was an actress who spread the rumor that I am a cheating two-timer. The media and anti-fans were out for my blood! I was pretty stressed, so I came here to hide. The idea is to wait several years and go back out, not having aged. The fans meanwhile have moved on to new scandals while mine vanishes and disperses like smoke. As far as Out There is concerned, I’ll be like a new person. I’ve got my acting skills. Going out and getting popular again is no problem.” 

            “Very slick!” Xia Mang said after some thought.  

4

            Auntie Li, responsible for Thursday cleanings of the apartment building, came to trouble Xia Mang again to take soup to her daughter.

            Her daughter, Miss Chen, had Friday Freedom-of-Movement. When they wanted to meet, they had to apply in advance for temporary Freedom-of-Movement allowances. Auntie Li didn’t like to waste money, preferring to hoard it for her daughter’s dormancy application. It had been several years since the two of them had met face to face.

            The habitually quiet Miss Chen took the insulated thermos from Xia Mang, but suddenly said, “Mr. Xia,” just as he was about to leave. “My dormancy application was accepted.”

            “Well that’s good news! You haven’t told Auntie Li? She’ll be over the moon!” Xia Mang couldn’t help being happy on behalf of mother and daughter.

            “You really think so?” Miss Chen lowered her head.

            “Well, you don’t seem so happy.” Xia Mang grew puzzled.

            “I’ll only be able to have mom’s homemade soup once a week.” She twisted open the thermos lid, and fragrant chicken soup vapor floated out. “A few dozen soups, and mom will be a year older. Mr. Xia, if I go dormant, mom will age much faster than me. Can you imagine that?”

            Xia Mang understood well.

            If his own parents had not already passed away, Xia Mang would certainly not have agreed to come live in Shenli. Aging at a different rate than close kin: Although it was only a nominal distance, it could be as unbearable as the permanent separation of death.  

            “I can go over to her and…”

            “No, Mr. Xia. Don’t tell her anything.” Miss Chen lifted her head and smiled briefly. “She has saved all her life for me, just for the chance to live here. I can’t let her down.”

            Xia Mang nodded.

            “Papa,” Weiwei said, lying on his shoulder and looking back as he departed. “She cry.” Not understanding, she pointed at Ms. Chen, who was slowly squatting down in the doorway.

            “Yeah, her chicken soup is too hot.”

            Having learned her daughter had obtained dormancy rights, Auntie Lie was, sure enough, wild with joy. She even became short of breath in her excitement, had to support herself against a wall and breathe heavily for a while, mouth agape. Eventually, something seemed to occur to her. Her smile eased a bit, and she muttered, “I won’t be making as much soup from now on.”

            Xia Mang chose not to interrupt her train of thought. He politely took his leave.

            Time and space self-righteously completed each other. Love between human beings was all too easily obstructed by unrelated things, rendered non-transmissible. And in Shenli City, the conveyance of emotion was all the more intricate and obscure.      

            Weiwei whispered in his ear, “Grandma cry.”

5

            Of everyone Xia Mang and Weiwei encountered, Big Li was Weiwei’s favorite.   

            In the old days of Wednesday Freedom-of-Movement, Xia Mang loved working in the café downstairs from his apartment. Big Li was the shop assistant there.

            He was also Xia Mang’s only friend in Shenli City.

            The first time they’d met, Xia Mang was hiding in the café’s back door alley, sneaking a cigarette. Shenli City had comprehensively banned smoking, but to Xia Mang’s mind this taboo could never reduce the number of smokers. As long as you had money, getting a few packs of cigarettes from outside of the city was no great matter.            

“Hey!”

Xia Mang was interrupted mid-smoke by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to meet Big Li’s penetrating gaze. The man looked not fully awake, perhaps, yet capable of violence at any moment. Dumbfounded, Xia Mang gave an embarrassed smirk and tossed the cigarette on the ground, then crushed it underfoot.

“Oh, come on!” Big Li rolled his eyes, squatted, and grabbed the butt. “Fire hazard.”

From that day on, the two of them often squatted together in the alley behind the café, smoking and chatting.  

            After gradually becoming familiar with each other, Xia Mang knew Big Li had been a popular rock singer outside Shenli. He claimed his mere glance could undo women’s undergarment clasps.

            On hearing this, Xia Mang’s first instinct was to rebuke Big Li for boasting, but then he recalled their first encounter, that look, those eyes, and he swallowed his words.

            “Shouldn’t a rock singer be roaring, ‘I want freedom, and fuck tomorrow!’ to a drunk and hypnotized audience? Why the hell would you leave that life of wild crowds and come here to Shenli to be a waiter?”

            “To wait for death,” Big Li said.

            “Oh, nonsense,” Xia Mang, finally unable to keep from scolding him. “You have dormancy rights. It’s going to take a long time, if you’re really waiting for death. You must be going crazy with boredom.”

            Big Li started laughing. That was first time Xia Mang saw him laugh, though he wasn’t sure what was funny.  

            After Big Li met Weiwei, he started smiling and laughing more.

            He didn’t talk much, but he could toss Weiwei into weightlessness mid-air, and catch her again with assurance, making her giggle uncontrollably. He could also get on his guitar and sing for her. Weiwei didn’t like his quiet songs, so Big Li resorted to his louder material and frenzied strumming, and Weiwei would recklessly thrash her limbs, until laughter made their centers of gravity unstable and had them rolling on the floor.

            Every time she had to say goodbye to Big Li, Weiwei would cry herself hoarse, or hug his neck and not let go, face covered in tears. It could even make Xia Mang feel a bit jealous.

            “Come!” she would often shout at Xia Mang, as she watched Big Li vanish into the distance.

            “Alright, he’ll be back, he’ll be back. Next Wednesday, Papa will take you to play with Big Uncle Li.”

            “No!” Weiwei protested. “Morrow morrow!”

            “But tomorrow Big Uncle Li will be asleep. And the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, Big Uncle Li will be asleep…”

            “Waaaaa!”

            Shenli City had what amounted to a cement boundary between itself and the outside world. As far as the city was concerned, Xia Mang’s family was a chink in this armor, a flaw in the magical boundary.

            People here lived as in air bubbles in the ocean of time. They followed one of seven non-intersecting trajectories, jumping from one air bubble to another. The lives and times of the other six trajectories were completely cut off from them, had nothing to do with them.

            Xia Mang and Weiwei were like fish in this ocean, darting back and forth. Time flowed along their bodies continuously, dense, adhering them to all that surrounded them. Every change in this world left its mark on their bodies.

            Xia Mang had not felt this in a long time. So long, in fact, that he’d forgotten he liked it.

            Xiao An, however, did not like it.    

6

            “We need to talk.”

            One night, after Weiwei had gone to sleep, Xia Mang discovered Xiao An sitting in the living room waiting for him. She did not seem happy.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Xia Mang… today my company decided to give my post to Yaya.”

            “Why?” Xia Mang was shocked.

            “She landed her dormancy rights.”

            “But you have them too.”

            “Do I? Do I really?” Xiao An raised her head, looking fierce and agitated.

            Xia Mang knew what she wanted to say. “I don’t know what your company’s employment standards are exactly,” he said, his tone harsh, “but are mere dormancy rights so important?”

            “Of course they are!” Xiao An stood up. “The brain is faster with analyses and data after dormancy, several times faster than normal. Don’t tell me you don’t know this! Do you have any idea how my work efficiency has suffered? To be honest, if I were in charge over there I would have made the same decision!”

            “I mean, it’s ridiculous!” Xia Mang said. “No matter how fast a computer computes, it can’t just phase shift into an AI. The difference between people doesn’t lie in their thinking speed, but in their thinking quality.”

            “I’m talking about reality here, not your great abstract truths!” Growing frustrated, suddenly crying, she said: “I can’t go on like this! You know how hard I worked to get where I am. Of course I want to be there properly for Weiwei, but if I continue like this, I’ll go crazy! I don’t want Weiwei to see her mother like this…” The more she spoke, the more upset she became, suffering and squatting on the floor.

            “Okay, I know.” Xia Mang hugged her. “I can take care of Weiwei.”

            “But that wouldn’t be fair to you.” Xiao An wept spasmodically in Xia Mang’s embrace.

            “I love Weiwei, and I love you. Fair doesn’t mean anything to me. I just need the two of you to be happy.”

            Xiao An lifted her head, swollen eyes locked briefly on Xia Mang, and she held him tightly.

            “Oh, that’s right!” She’d suddenly remembered something. “The doctor called today. He says he’s prescribed a new medicine for Weiwei, though he couldn’t say for sure it would regulate her brain’s stress reaction to dormancy. Go get the med from him tomorrow and come back and let Weiwei try it, okay? If she can finally go dormant without issue, then our family’s troubles are over.”  

“Okay,” Xia Mang softly agreed.

            For the next two years, Xiao An returned to a state of normal dormancy. She only woke on Wednesdays, interacting briefly with Xia Mang and Weiwei. She went from being a permanent character in their lives to an honored guest doing cameos.

“Mama’s always sleeping,” Weiwei learned to complain.

Xia Mang had picked up the doctor’s prescription, but he hadn’t given it to Weiwei.

He knew Shenli life was making him feel off, but he couldn’t say exactly how.

            Until he got that call from Big Li.

            It was on a Thursday afternoon.

            Xia Mang stared at Big Li’s name on the mobile screen, and repeatedly glanced at the date, which was clearly a Thursday. The name and day in combination made him feel a practical joke was being played.

“Hey. I’m dying. Was hoping you’d bring Weiwei to see me.”

            Big Li lay in the hospital bed, body invaded by tubes and connected to machines. He gestured weakly with his finger at Weiwei, inviting her closer. Giggling, Weiwei threw herself at his bedside.  

            “Big Uncle Li!”

            “Good kid.” Big Li touched Weiwei’s head, his expression tender like never before.

            “When did you get sick?” Xia Mang asked hoarsely.

            “A while back. On the Outside, I was already late-stage.” Pale, wan, Big Li still managed a smile. “Didn’t I tell you? I came here to wait for death. But coming here to hide like I did, I didn’t expect to just fucking muddle along through my last few years.”   

            Xia Mang moved his lips, but no words came out.

            “It really wasn’t worth it. My years here have been like a prison term.” Big Li’s former expression was back: disdain for a situation beneath contempt.

            “Prison?” Xia Mang said with resentment, knowing Big Li preferred him talking this way. “But no one forced you to stay here.”

            “Time kept me bound here. And the prison cell that held me was called Wednesday.”

            “Look at the state of you!” Xia Mang said. “It’s disgusting, really. Still writing lyrics at this point!”

            The two of them erupted with laughter.

            Xia Mang felt a tickle in his nose. He turned around, not wanting to be seen crying.

            Weiwei had at some point crawled onto Big Li’s bed and was wildly strumming on his guitar.

            “Weiwei, very good. Just as I thought.”

            “What do you mean?” Xia Mang said, confused.

            “When I knew I wasn’t going to live through today, it really scared me. I mean I’ve never been so terrified in my life. The thought of dying on a Thursday… where nobody knows me, a stranger in a strange land, that’s Thursday. I felt this coldness penetrating me to my core. I mean, you live your life, but don’t get to see anyone you know before you die… that’s scary, isn’t it?”

             Xia Mang was stunned by his words.

            “After coming to this lousy place, the more I lived, the more… muddled I became. Sometimes I’d wake up and couldn’t remember why I came, couldn’t remember my plan. To me it was just a series of Wednesdays in a row, but placed in the context of this world, it’s a pile of fragments, smashed and scattered. Like a musical note leaping into existence in a song, and I’m forever unclear on its tone. Such days are really fucking tedious!”

            “There you go,” Xia Mang said, interrupting his dispirited rant, “still handing down judgment on what’s meaningful and what isn’t, even now.”

            “Fortunately, there’s still Weiwei.” Big Li gazed at the ceiling and let out a long exhalation. “Thinking of Weiwei and her free, easy life in this world… it’s like catching hold of a ball of light amid pitch black night. There’s warmth and relief, allowing you to fall asleep. Xia Mang, thank you.” Big Li’s voice grew softer. “Weiwei. Wei—”

            The sound of that final “Wei” became a breath. The light in Big Li’s eyes went out, and they became two orbs of cloudy gray.

            The equipment near the bed emitted a sharp braying. Xia Mang rushed over and picked up a startled Weiwei. He hugged her tightly, as if she were ungraspable light.   

7

            A month after Big Li had died, on a Wednesday, Xia Mang was in his kitchen cooking a nice spread, waiting for Xiao An to get off work.

            “Why did you prepare so much meat?” she said when she arrived. “Weiwei’s teeth haven’t all grown in. She’ll have a tough time chewing.”

            “Sheesh, my teeth have grown in!” Weiwei opened wide to illustrate.

            Xiao An stared, dumbfounded. She didn’t talk much during the meal.   

            Afterward, Xia Mang set Weiwei up in her room with an animated film. Then he and Xiao An cleaned up together.

            “Weiwei’s teeth have grown in…” Xiao An said to the window as she put plates in the sink. It was like she was talking to Xia Mang and thinking aloud at the same time. “When did that happen? Last time I noticed her teeth, I feel like she only had eight. She grinned, showing four little upper teeth, so white, so tiny, like rabbit teeth. How can they have grown in after only a few visits?”

            Xiao An’s voice began to choke with sobs.

            Xia Mang embraced her shoulders. “Xiao An, I’ve decided I want to take Weiwei and leave Shenli City.”

            Xiao An turned around, fierce, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Excuse me? Are you crazy?! This is Shenli City! Outsiders do anything to get in! Residents don’t want to leave!”

            “It’s not that they don’t want to leave, it’s that they don’t dare to. They’re afraid. They wonder what’s to be done if this is the best possible future.”

            “And it isn’t?”  

            “For you it is. For me it isn’t. For Weiwei it definitely isn’t.”

            “I don’t understand,” Xiao An, shaking her head.

            Xia Mang met her gaze.

“When I was a kid out there in the world, there was a peach tree in front of our house. As soon as it was planted, I ran out every day to see it, from germination, growing branches, blooming, pink petals falling, the sprouting of green, slender leaves. The first year, the fruits it bore were small and tart. I took a bite and it was so sour I cried. But by the third year, it was bearing tasty peaches.”   

            Xiao An didn’t interrupt. She seemed to guess his meaning.

            “I liked eating sweet peaches, but more than that I liked the waiting process. I know each and every step of a bud becoming a rosy, perfect peach. I know how it happens, why it’s able to happen. The answers of the world, for me anyway, aren’t hiding in that final sweet peach, but in that waiting process. Xiao An, Weiwei should get to wait for her own sweet peaches.”

            Xiao An shook her head. “I don’t understand. Weiwei wouldn’t miss anything living here.”

            “Really? Didn’t she just miss a…” Xia Mang paused, then said: “A mother who knows when each of her teeth grew in?”

            Xiao An stared blankly for a long time, then smiled bitterly. “So you’re saying I’m no longer qualified to love Weiwei?”

“No. Of course you love her. But Xiao An, Weiwei is my sweet peach. And your sweet peach, that has never been Weiwei.”

            Xiao An’s lip shivered, tears again flowing.

            “I…”

            Xia Mang hugged Xiao An.

            “I want to say you’re wrong,” the woman wailed into his shoulder, “I really do! But I can’t.”

            Xia Mang’s heart grew heavy.

            He recalled that Tuesday night long ago, the heavy rain, Xiao An in a gray sweater standing inside the door, he on the outside.

            “Shouldn’t you be getting back?” Xiao An had yelled over the rain’s clamor. “It’s almost midnight!”  

 “The sun’s old color changes slowly,

Car, horse, and mail all sluggish.

A lifetime is just enough

To love one person.”

            Xia Mang hadn’t answered Xiao An’s question, but recalled this old poem they both adored.

            Xiao An had watched, startled, understanding what was about to happen.

            Bells rang at the arrival of midnight.   

            Xia Mang had extended a hand toward her. “Xiao An, the future is very slow in coming. Would you like to go there together?”

            Clocks still striking midnight, Xiao An had rushed into the rain, and Xia Mang’s embrace.

            Now, Xiao An would continue toward that creeping, slow future, and he and Weiwei could no longer accompany her.

8

            “Xia Mang, have you thought it through?” Xiao An said in the airport lounge. “I mean, the reason you find the world so beautiful, worth Weiwei perceiving every second of it uninterrupted? Maybe it’s because your starting point, yours and hers together I mean, is Shenli City. Here we sacrifice your so-called sense of life’s continuity in exchange for the comfort of less crowded, relaxed streets, for clean air and a safe environment. Maybe a world made of fragments is not sufficiently complete, but at least it’s secure.”

            Xia Mang found himself at a loss. It was like Xiao An was once more that rational young woman who had first captivated him.

            “I don’t know if this is the best future here. But here at least is one possibility. And I will wait for you and Weiwei here. I will wait for the day you two choose this future.”   

            The flight leaving Shenli City was Weiwei’s first time in an airplane. She was very excited.

            “Papa, why isn’t mama coming with us? Where is she?”

            “Mama’s waiting for us in the future.”

            “But Papa, where are we going?”

            Xia Mang thought about this for quite a while, then replied: “Into the past.”