FRAGMENT 76
A Curious Resonance
Fragments: A Strange Resonance I Trusted Completely | A Certain Eternal Reference Frequency
Time & Location: Spring 2008 · The "Metaphysical Arena," Chegongzhuang, Beijing | Kansai Ki-in, Osaka
I had complete faith in the strange resonance that existed between Orchid and me.
The moment I thought of her, a text message arrived.
I immediately called her.
“Hey. Just now, that old guy grabbed my butt.”
The image flashed before my eyes.
Orchid's waist-to-hip ratio resembled that of a Latin woman—elegant and undeniably attractive.
I had intended to explain the primitive forces that drive human behavior.
Instead, the first thing that came out of my mouth was simple concern.
“What else did he do?”
“Just grabbed me once and walked away. Then he gave me this disgusting smile.”
Her voice trembled.
“Don't panic. Don't panic.”
“What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to stay at the academy like this?”
She sounded close to tears.
My legs suddenly weakened.
I sat down and lit a cigarette.
“Well? Say something.”
“Little one,” I said.
I had no idea why I chose that form of address.
“Don't make a scene. Japanese men have a reputation for this sort of thing. I've worried about it from the beginning.”
“So what should I do?”
“Listen carefully. If he ever does it again, shout immediately.”
“Huh?”
“Don't shout that someone touched you. Instead, shout that something bit you. Then turn around and pretend you're looking for an insect. Say you can't find it.”
She burst out laughing.
“Hahaha. You're unbelievably sneaky.”
Did she truly understand that mature, powerful men are often terrified of public humiliation?
That before a man reaches the point of reckless desperation, he is usually consumed by insecurity?
A few days later, she called again.
“Hahaha! You're amazing. That old guy did it again the other day. I shouted exactly like you told me to and started looking around for a bug. Everyone nearby laughed. He looked like he wanted to crawl into a crack in the floor.”
“Good.”
“Then nobody will dare try anything else.”
I let out a long breath.
My fingernail scraped across Matteo Ricci's gravestone.
The faint scratching sound was so subtle that only I could hear it.
Strangely enough, I felt as though I could still hear the hand that had touched Orchid.
It carried the same frequency.
And in the end, what it had touched was stone.
Moonlight drifted in and out of the clouds.
I sat before the gravestones, smoking.
One exhale after another.
The smoke drifted toward the stone monuments.
As it spread, complex fluid-dynamic curves seemed to generate themselves before my eyes.
Those missionaries had once been extraordinarily intelligent human beings.
Yet only after their flesh and bones had vanished did the physical truths of the world reveal themselves with complete clarity.
At that moment, the Latin inscriptions on the gravestones—and the Chinese characters added by later generations—ceased to be carvings.
The stones themselves, and the bones beneath them, ceased to be physical objects.
To my ears, they had become something else entirely:
an eternal reference frequency,
stretching outward in immense wavelengths.
Before I finished the cigarette, I tossed it to the ground and crushed it beneath my shoe.
Then I lit another.
Holding it between my fingers, I traced circles in the air before the gravestones.
Amen.
Amitabha.
Achoo.
Hahaha.
FRAGMENT 77
The Earth Trembled
Fragments: A Trace of Panic Hidden in an Ultra-Low Frequency | Suddenly, an Extraordinary Voice Emerged
Time & Location: Summer 2008 · The "Metaphysical Arena," Chegongzhuang, Beijing
The catastrophic disaster was more than eighteen hundred kilometers away.
Yet the force of it shook blood from my ears.
Several minutes later, after recovering from a physical agony that defied description, I climbed back into my chair and turned on the television and computer.
Every waking moment, I followed the live broadcasts from Wenchuan.
The earthquake.
The rescue operations.
The endless search for survivors.
Someone called to arrange a fortune-telling session.
I was staring at the disaster coverage and was about to tell him to get lost.
Then I heard the unmistakable accent.
The taste of Sichuan peppers seemed to ride inside every syllable.
I immediately changed my tone and invited him to visit.
Several hours later, the man arrived.
He was young.
Behind him walked a woman in her fifties or sixties.
Well preserved.
Carrying the unmistakable bearing of authority.
“Xiao Wang, wait outside.”
Those were her first words.
Calm.
Firm.
Confident.
Yet buried beneath the confidence was a faint tremor of panic vibrating at an extremely low frequency.
The young man snapped to attention like a soldier.
He turned sharply and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Master, hello.”
“The person who introduced me to you is someone you know well.”
“He believes you'll understand the importance of this matter.”
Her opening words resembled her face.
Ordinary.
Yet somehow distinctive.
Clear.
Steady.
Without deception.
I nodded and gestured toward a chair.
Please sit.
I lowered my eyes toward the Go board.
Meanwhile, my mind concentrated on her frequency.
She sat motionless.
Like still water.
She reached into her handbag and placed a photograph before me.
I recognized the face immediately.
One of the founding marshals of the People's Republic.
Then she produced a second photograph.
A middle-aged man in civilian clothing.
Clearly related to the marshal by blood.
“Master, please help save this man.”
We talked for a while.
Soon both of us understood exactly what the other wanted.
The following day, the young man returned.
He delivered a military canvas bag.
Inside were several USB drives and a specialized decoding device.
Late that night, I lay flat on the floor.
My ear pressed against electrical conduits and water pipes hidden inside the walls.
I searched carefully for the frequencies I had memorized.
Listening.
Listening.
Listening.
A headache overwhelmed me.
My vision blurred.
I could hear nothing clearly.
Sweat poured from my body until my clothes were soaked through.
I concentrated every ounce of willpower on awakening the White Crow.
I thought of the abandoned building hidden in the corner of Compound No. 7.
I thought of the snow-covered mountains outside Songzanlin Monastery.
I thought of the shadows inside Gao Yong's home.
I even remembered the toothbrush in a prison cell.
Anything that might summon the bird.
The woman had not told a single lie.
Not one.
In decades, I had never encountered such a person.
Someone who knew me well—someone powerful—had obviously instructed her how to behave, ensuring she would earn my trust.
And she had.
I trusted her.
The matter concerned both human lives and the foundations of the state.
I could not refuse the responsibility she had placed in my hands.
I had to find what she was looking for.
Yet for the first time in years, I found myself powerless.
I needed to relax.
To think about something else.
I switched off the television and turned on the radio.
I wanted only news from Wenchuan.
I changed channels again and again.
Nothing held my attention.
Then suddenly—
an extraordinary voice emerged.
Like a phoenix descending through layers of cloud.
