Deep Sea Embers

Zhou Ming made his way back to his solitary apartment, finding everything untouched, frozen in time just as he had left it.

He walked over the familiar, slightly worn floorboards, surrounded by the unaltered setting of his living quarters. His gaze fell on the items that had remained static, their familiarity lending a sense of constancy. The steady hum of his always-on computer fan served as the soundtrack to his return, gradually calming his tumultuous thoughts. A unique emotion, hard to pinpoint, fluttered in the recesses of his heart at this.

Weaving his way around the sundry items strewn across the floor, Zhou Ming made his way towards the window, its panes shut tight, revealing a sea of undulating white fog outside.

His gaze remained fixed on the haze for what seemed like an eternity, after which he extended a hand to push at the window. As anticipated, it remained steadfast, not yielding an inch. The flour and a handful of cans artfully stacked on the windowsill mirrored the window’s stubbornness as if they were silent sentinels, custodians of a serene and lonely ambiance.

He lingered there for what felt like an eternity, standing silent and motionless before the window. His gaze was seemingly lost in the dense fog, yet his mind was a blank canvas. It was only after an indeterminate amount of time that he blinked, akin to a statue being roused from slumber, and turned his head to one side.

Adjacent to his unkempt bed, the computer monitor perched on his desk emitted a faint glow. The persistent pop-up of the unconnected network notification occasionally disrupted the tranquility in the lower-right corner of the screen. The notebook, a relic of his earlier note-taking endeavors, lay discarded in the corner of the desk, its pages untouched for quite a while.

Methodically, Zhou Ming strolled over and took a seat in front of the table. He fixated on the screen’s blank expanse for a while before he dragged the keyboard and mouse from the corner they were pushed into. He opened the browser and nonchalantly typed a question into the search box: “Does the world still exist beyond the fog?” As expected, the browser returned no useful search results.

After hitting the enter key, the on-screen cursor flickered a few times before error pages for network interruption and unresponsive remote servers cropped up.

The outcome didn’t surprise him. Zhou Ming had already attempted to reach the outside world via his frail computer system when the fog first encapsulated his room.

He hadn’t hoped for a different screen display this time around. His intention was merely to articulate that question, not necessarily seeking any answers or attempting to communicate with anyone.

Amid the dull, continuous hum of the fan ringing in his ears, Zhou Ming let out a sigh. Casually, he tossed the keyboard and mouse back into their corner. Then, picking up the notebook, he flipped it open to an untouched page and began to write with a certain seriousness:

“To the world beyond the fog, greetings from the solitary dweller of this room. In the not-too-distant future, I will find myself crossing the threshold, heading towards a city-state that lies on the frontier.

I am journeying there in search of answers. Yet, I suspect I already know what they are. In that peculiar world beyond the door, countless incredible events unfolded for real, and my instincts have always proven astute in that realm.

Given this, I’ve ceased to anticipate any responses from the other side of the fog, nor do I hold any expectations of someone tapping at my window or door through the dense haze. I am yet uncertain of what has befallen this world, but perhaps it’s not me who has transformed but you, the world residing in my tranquil, constrained abode.

Everything here remains unaltered. I have my bed, a sofa, a coffee table, a desk, chairs, my wardrobe beside the bed, and a sizable shelf, which is largely vacant now.

It has been some time since I last cleaned the room, yet dust is surprisingly absent. I am aware that about half of the dust in human homes originates from human skin shedding and the pollution resulting from day-to-day activities, but most of the time, I am not here to contribute to it.

Hence, a major portion of this place maintains a clean state… Despite the absence of dust, the room appears somewhat disordered due to my previous hurried visits and subsequent departures without tidying up.

It’s not particularly appealing to see this mess all the time… If things are as I suspect, I believe it’s time to spruce up this room.

Although perhaps it’s redundant to say this, and maybe uttering these words holds no significance now, I do hope you’re faring well in the realm beyond the fog. Farewell… now I am setting off to clean this room.”

Zhou Ming exhaled softly, dropped the pen back into its holder, perused his freshly penned words with careful attention, then shut the notebook and deposited it in the corner of the desk.

Then, in solemn silence, he rose to his feet and embarked on implementing the plan he had inscribed in his notebook – cleaning and organizing this room. He initiated the process with the somewhat disheveled bed, folding the quilt and adjusting the pillows and sheets. Next, he turned his attention to the items on the desk and the coffee table, followed by the wardrobe and bookshelf, and finally, the scattered belongings on the sofa and floor.

There wasn’t a significant accumulation of dust, so mopping was unnecessary. All Zhou Ming needed to do was take a piece of paper and sweep away the scant dust that had settled on the furniture surfaces before casually discarding the paper into a waste bin.

Eventually, Zhou Ming found himself standing in front of the window. He paused to examine the objects scattered on the windowsill. After lingering there for a while, he gathered the tools he had once optimistically hoped to use to pry the window open – items like hammers and wrenches – and stowed them away in a nearby toolbox. He then rearranged the stacked cans and other miscellaneous items, returning them to their designated places.

Next, he moistened a paper towel and held it against the windowsill with his left hand, remaining frozen in this stance for a full ten seconds. Following a deep breath, he proceeded to wipe the windowsill gently. The flour, previously used as a sort of indicator to check if anyone had tampered with the window, was effortlessly erased by the damp paper. At this point, the room had been restored to its immaculate and orderly state.

Zhou Ming exhaled, allowing his gaze to sweep across the room, reviewing his work. He then picked up a black plastic bag containing the trash he had collected during the clean-up. The bag wasn’t particularly heavy, its contents comprised mostly of waste paper and empty cans, but as he lifted it, a tangible weight seemed to counter his grasp.

Clutching the bag destined for disposal, he approached the door of his bachelor apartment and swung it open. The customary sight of the dark, roiling fog greeted him, its undulations appearing to conceal all of the world’s enigmas, simultaneously chaotic and elusive to comprehension.

Faced with the swirling black fog, Zhou Ming hesitated briefly before hoisting the bag of garbage and hurling it into the mist. The instant the plastic bag slipped from his grip, he was seized by a powerful urge to reclaim it.

It was as if the discarded papers and empty cans were the last remaining treasures in this world, and he, the sole gambler left in this decaying world, was adamant about preserving every single gram of material in his room.

Nonetheless, he managed to stifle this instinctive response. His hand opened, and with a sense of detachment, he watched the plastic bag plunge into the foggy abyss beyond the door, disappearing in an instant.

He was aware that those discarded items wouldn’t reach the other side of the door – only he, assuming his alternate identity as Duncan, had that ability. Everything else would vanish without a trace into the spiraling fog upon crossing the threshold.

With the disposal of the items now complete and their existence effectively erased from the world, Zhou Ming cleaned his hands and took a step forward, ready to abandon this familiar place. On the other side of the door, Alice was waiting, a meal prepared for him to share.

However, as he was about to traverse the threshold of the door, an anomalous sound arrested his attention – the whirring of the computer fan abruptly accelerating in speed.

Zhou Ming froze, retracting his foot, and turned his gaze towards the source of the sound. On the computer screen that cast a faint luminescence, the interface, which had previously exhibited notifications of a network disconnection and remote server unresponsiveness, was now pulsating.

Then, the notifications vanished, and immediately after, the loading progress bar at the bottom of the page shifted from red to green, embarking on a sluggish journey towards completion.

Zhou Ming could feel his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to rupture in the intensity of the moment. An almost tangible stillness pervaded the room. The very next second, he forcefully closed the door to his room and bolted towards his desk.

The loading progress bar at the bottom of the browser interface continued its steady advance; the dim green light was slow yet resolute, reminiscent of a flame slowly spreading. On what was once a blank page, the content was now materializing, forming an image.

Zhou Ming fixed his gaze on the emerging image – the moon. It appeared to be a direct perspective shot taken from space. The image displayed a grey-white moon suspended in the inky expanse of the universe, its surface scarred by crater-inflicted gorges.

Despite their alien nature, the intricate display of light and dark patterns was curiously familiar. Even without a background in astronomy, Zhou Ming recognized this iconic depiction.

His encounter with the painting in Tyrian’s office was confirmed – the subject was indeed the moon. Every minute detail in the painting could only have been captured by someone who had observed the moon directly, meticulously sketching it from a close vantage point.

Zhou Ming slowly sank into his chair, leaning back, his expression riveted as if frozen on the image of the moon filling most of the screen. After a prolonged period, his gaze shifted upwards to the line of text he had previously input in the search box.

[Does the world outside the fog still exist?]

He remained silent, frozen in place for what felt like an eternity before he finally snapped out of his statue-like state. His hand shot out to grab the keyboard next to him, and he began to type new words into the search box.

[Is this the answer? Who responded to this?]

Following the swift typing of his inquiries, Zhou Ming directed a hard stare at the computer screen before him, but there was no response. No new images emerged, and no further loading bars made their appearance on the screen. All that was left was the cursor, spinning in place in a mimicry of a silent, lethargic eye.

Aside from the gradually resuming hum of the computer fan, faint and low, the only sounds that permeated the silence were his own rhythmic breathing and pulsating heartbeat.

Moments later, the image of the moon on the screen disappeared, victim to a failed load. The interface reverted to a pallid white, devoid of any content save for the single line of text that had returned: network connection interrupted or remote server unresponsive.