HAO JINGFANG

RETIRE

translated byAna Padilla Fornieles

Day One / Morning

Lu Yuanyin had become used to living on her own. After turning 110, she no longer went out much. 

“What progress, you ask, have I made? I have begun to be a friend to myself.” —Alain de Botton (Quote 987)

She woke up every morning to Stravinsky’s gentle Le Sacre du printemps and the smart windows gliding open, letting the first thread of light penetrate the room with calculated precision. It usually took her ten minutes to wake up. Eventually, her focused gaze would be detected by a glass probe, which then triggered the mattress device to raise her upper body slowly. Once she was sitting up, the bedside medicine dispenser would produce a half-full glass of water and two small capsules, the water having been heated and kept at the appropriate temperature for twenty minutes before the alarm was due to go off. The capsules were products endorsed by Liluoaixi Pharmaceuticals, packed with detoxifying nanobots that strengthened one’s daily metabolism. Upon completion of this automated process, a retractable bedside lamp would stretch out and take her temperature. 

Yuanyin would then get out of bed to wash her face and rinse her mouth, slowly making her way past an arrangement of acrylic flowers, still and beautiful, a despondency hidden in their leaves.

“Find me something else today,” Lu Yuanyin requested, standing in front of the washroom mirror. “I don’t want to listen to The Peony Pavilion anymore.”

The mirror selected a piece from The Plum in the Golden Vase. She was growing increasingly fond of old-fashioned plays at her age. 

In the kitchen, Lu Yuanyin took her usual serving of lily and wolfberry porridge from a small pot. The nurse’s aide, who came once a week to tidy up, also added ingredients for her daily porridge into a rotating series of containers. Yuanyin just had to wait for the pot to automatically begin cooking a batch each night, always on time, with different sets of ingredients.

She took small sips from her bowl with a ceramic spoon. The prattle of distant stories lingered in the quiet air. 

A new sequence of words emerged along the window’s glass—“To this I reply that these trivial matters—diet, locality, climate, and one’s mode of recreation, the whole casuistry of self-love—are inconceivably more important than all that which has hitherto been held in high esteem.” —Nietzsche (Quote 988)

As her daughter, Chu Wei, stepped in, Lu Yuanyin was spreading out a piece of paper by the window, preparing to do some calligraphy. 

“Mom! Didn’t I tell you to replace the cabinet door last time? Why haven’t you changed it yet? Look, it’s falling apart.” The daughter immediately proceeded to check the items around her. 

“Ah, it’s too much trouble.” Yuanyin stared at the ink grinding robot in motion. 

“No it’s not,” the daughter replied, sticking her head out of the kitchen. “I told you already, didn’t I? Everything is self-assembled. You buy it, unpack it, plug it in, and forget about the rest. The AI puts it together in no time. This doesn’t even require any remodelling, it’s just replacing two cabinet doors. It’s not like I’ll miss the bit of money—I just don’t know what colour you want. If I buy it, who knows if you’ll like it. But if you think it’s that much trouble, I can just go ahead and get it for you.”

“No need, no need.” Yuanyin turned off the ink grinding robot. “I’m okay with the doors as they are.”

“Mom. . .” the daughter walked over to Yuanyin and said, “How about you take another look at the retirement community I mentioned last time?”

“Shh.” Yuanyin, suddenly hearing a bird’s distant call, stretched out a hand.

Through the window, Lu Yuanyin saw a flight of wild geese taking off from the lake’s shoreline. As winter left and spring came, they were due to depart.

The automatic feeder he had built for the geese was still there, sturdy even after seventeen years of service. 

She still remembered the first time they went to hang the feeder. It was an early autumn morning, and the leaves by the lake had glimmered faintly gold at their edges. When he stepped on the stepladder, the pain from an injury on his right knee flared up. With one unsteady step, he slipped off. Though he didn’t quite fall, his right cheek took a hit, and the wound had wept. Still, he had kept a steady grip on that automatic feeder.

Ah, Chu Dong, that stubborn man…

The glass had a new message on display. “The young must not be conceited, nor should the old give up hope.” —Feng Menglong (Quote 989)

“. . . Look at this big balcony. Isn’t it better than our little one?” Yuanyin’s thoughts were interrupted by the daughter’s voice as she changed the window to screen mode, temporarily obscuring the view of the lake. The picture on display now was the image of some villa looking directly over the sea. “That’s a real seaside view! It faces east, so you can watch the sunrise over the water in the morning. There’s also a revolving restaurant, and they’ll adjust the angle of your table according to the time of the sunset. Plus, they accept trade-ins. The seventy-year ownership right of this place is about to expire, and once that happens, the value of the property will plummet, but if we switch over to the retirement community, we’ll get another term of seventy years too—it’s like an immediate extension. Mom, why don’t we give it a try?”

“Forget it,” Yuanyin shook her head. “I told you I don’t want to flutter around anymore.”

“It’s a once-and-done deal,” the daughter said. “You move and you can stay there for the next twenty years. There’s food, drinks, friends, medical care, all under the same ceiling—so convenient. Just a bit of trouble, then it’s all easy from there.”

“What are you saying, twenty years? I probably won’t last more than one or two. . .” Yuanyin responded.

“Hey, don’t talk like that! Medical treatment has advanced like crazy. Over the past two years, serious illnesses have been basically eradicated. If you just listen to me and get yourself checked annually at the retirement community, I’m sure you can go on for another thirty years, even. Mom, really. Trust me, trust technology. You know, you could start by not eating just porridge. . .” the daughter started off excitedly. 

But Yuanyin was no longer listening.

Afterwards, Lu Yuanyin couldn’t even remember how she’d finally brought her daughter’s visit to an end. 

She went back to the window and picked up her brush, only to sit there blankly, unsure of what to write. An old science fiction novel that she’d read many years ago came to mind, called The Star Maker or The Star Master, and a line in it: “We give one another other a measure of freedom, so that we can endure one another’s closeness.”

Chu Dong had found that book in the secondhand arena of the Metaverse. Though he had been excited to share some of the ideas and arguments in the book with her, she found it of little interest. Like him, the book focused too much on theory, moving from one idea to the next, raving about purely conceptual speculations—much too highbrow, but she could see why he liked it. A universe formed by concepts. The joys of his life were found in deciphering concepts and their mysteries, one after another. The universe of the concept. The concept of the universe.

That book seemed to centre around a very interesting question: can the love between a man and a woman prove that the human race is prone to love rather than hatred? Was that a 1937 problem? It was kind of silly, yet also kind of deep, Yuanyin thought to herself.

At that time, they had been arguing by the window. He had said that she relied too much on intuition, which was just an unconscious hostage to experience. She’d stated that he was far too dogmatic, attempting to ascribe a unified formula to the entire spectrum of humankind, an inherently impossible task.

They were only in their fifties at that time, young and buzzing with agile, active thoughts. Ah, time.

The afternoon sun was very pleasant. Yuanyin leaned on the sofa and gradually succumbed to sleep. Before going to bed, she noticed the next string of words: “When you are old and grey and looking back on your life, you will want to be proud of what you have done.” —Steven Chu (Quote 990)

Day One / Twilight

The alarm for her afternoon medications woke Yuanyin up.

Each day, there were two doses of cardiovascular and cranial nerve rehabilitation drugs, all to be taken at a specific time. The bedside device dispensed the medicines according to her doctor’s prescription, alerting Yuanyin through a series of alarms. When she slept soundly enough to render them unsuccessful, the bed would vibrate gently. 

Yuanyin got up and took her medicine. She felt that some coil in her body was becoming increasingly loose—one day it would all fall apart entirely. The dim afternoon sun stirred the branches and the thin clouds outside the window, merging them.

In her muddled state, the face of Yuanyin’s son, Chu Li, appeared on the curtain wall. 

“Mom, my sister told me you’re moving to some nursing home in Hainan?” He got straight to the point. “I’m telling you right now, those places are no good. The brochures make them sound like paradise, but people who actually end up there always regret it. Don’t go. Residents in those places are never seen as actual human beings.”

“Now, don’t exaggerate. . .” Yuanyin said.

“Really, I’m telling the truth!” The son’s expression was exaggerated to strike fear, the lines in his forehead gathering. “Look, one of my former classmates wasn’t in very good health, and he retired to this nursing home when he was just eighty. Just one year younger than me, and he moved out within days. That tells me it’s definitely not a good place. From morning to night, it’s only robots down there. Even the physical examinations are carried out by robots, and careless ones at that.”

“Robots aren’t necessarily careless. . .” Yuanyin started, but Chu Li raised his voice over hers.

“Mom, I’ve told you so many times already. You should buy an ABS package before our old house gets scrapped. The asset value of asteroid mines is soaring, quadruple what it used to be, and it’s only going to keep rising this year. If you can manage to get on, the payoff will be huge. I know people who specialise in this field, and their products are usually very hard to buy. It was a lot of effort to apply for this opportunity on your behalf. Mom, I promise you, this is really a good chance, totally reliable. Normally, those people incurring huge losses with asteroid securities, it’s all because of blind bidding. I have privileged information, people have promised me that the asteroid available this time is a gold mine, and high-resolution telescopes have already shown us how much gold there is in the soil. Mom, the seventy years on our estate ownership rights is about to expire. If you can get on buying this ABS, you might be able to move to a bigger house next year, right near our place. Your old friends are all there. . .”

Yuanyin looked towards the window, where her gaze was met by a new message: “Words are no use after all. Holding hands for a long time is a more apt consolation, because not many people talk well and still fewer really have anything to say.” —Eileen Chang (Quote 991)

When the image of her son disappeared, Lu Yuanyin felt as though she had travelled back from another world. A buzz lingered around her head, and she rubbed her temples with the base of her palm.

“How are you feeling now?” a deep voice suddenly enquired from the wall.

“I’m okay,” Yuanyin said.

“Your body temperature is a little over the threshold, and the delta waves of your brain are also signalling a disturbance. Would you like to get in touch with a community doctor?” the voice asked.

“There’s no need. I’m fine,” Yuanyin replied.

“You have an appointment at 5:30 this afternoon. A rehabilitation nurse will come to your door to treat your leg. Would you like to keep this appointment?” 

“Yes, let’s keep it,” Yuanyin said.

She listened to this deep, magnetic voice, warm yet flat, and a movie she’d watched in her youth came to mind. The voice from the wall sounded like the male lead in that movie, which told the story of some musicians who performed amidst the ravages of war, healing the populace. Yuanyin recognized that feeling. Sometimes, the relationship between people and machines came close to the bond between people themselves. 

“Would you read me a poem?” Yuanyin asked.

“Of course,” said the voice in the wall. “Which would you like to hear?”

Yuanyin thought for a while: “Anything by Wisława Szymborska will do.”

The voice began to read steadily:

We call it a grain of sand,
but it calls itself neither grain nor sand.
It does just fine, without a name,
whether general, particular,
permanent, passing. . .

The soothing voice almost made Yuanyin sink once again into asleep.

Yuanyin was awoken by a rush of incoming ringtones. The talking heads of her daughter and son appeared on the glass screen simultaneously.

The entire wall was filled with life-sized figures of the two, their expressions impassioned, almost menacing.

The daughter was the first to attack: “Chu Li, you’ve only been home a handful of times in the past few years, and now suddenly you care about our mother? Don’t play the hero, like you can help mom manage her finances. You just want to gamble, and since you’ve got no money, you’ve set your eyes on our old house. Don’t you have a conscience?”

“Like you’re such a saint,” the son retaliated. “Chu Wei, others may not know you, but you think I don’t? Do you really want to buy that house at the retirement community for mom, or is it because you’re involved with the owner and you want to help out his little business? You’re already eighty-four, can you stop being so predictable?”

“What did you just say, Chu Li?” The daughter was incensed. “Don’t go around measuring others with your own stingy little mind. You really think everyone’s like you? Chasing after this and that, has it ever done you even a little bit of good? Have you forgotten about all those junk stocks you bought in the past? Now you’re on this whole asteroid business. Only idiots like you are still getting conned.”

“Still better than you,” the son retorted. “Being blinded by love at your age. Haven’t men played you enough?! We just have this one old house and you still can’t let go of it!”

“What the hell are you talking about? You know who can’t let go of our old house!” The daughter’s frown made her wrinkles look like the lines on a dried jujube. “All I want is for mom to enjoy her later years, to live in a comfortable place with a view of the ocean. Is that so wrong of me?”

“Come on,” the son curled his lips. “Our mom has lived in this house all her life, all her friends are here. Have you even asked her where she wants to live? Our mom is a nostalgic woman, the best way to go about this is to just find another place around here—” 

Yuanyin interrupted their bickering with an outstretched hand, murmuring, “Stop arguing, you two. Let me think.”

“Okay, mom, just give it some thought,” said the daughter. “Just think of it like getting out for a bit, come take a vacation with me.”

“Mom, just trust me this one time—” urged the son.

“Okay, okay, just go.” Yuanyin waved her hand. 

She really did not want to say another word.

A new quote took shape on the window: “You will instantly come through every difficult situation, if you only keep in mind that your life is in your soul, not your body, and that something stronger than anything else in the world is within you.” —Leo Tolstoy (Quote 992)

Day One / Evening

Lu Yuanyin took her scheduled medication. Unable to sleep, she lay in bed and looked out into the night.

“Are you there?” She asked the ceiling.

The voice that had recited poetry to her in the afternoon came down. “Yes.”

“I can’t sleep,” Yuanyin said. “Play some music for me.”

The ceiling played a guqin song, faintly reminiscent of bitter rains and clear breezes. It was much too sad for Yuanyin, and she requested a change. The ceiling switched to Bach’s Cello Suites. Yuanyin finally settled down. No matter the occasion, Bach’s music never failed to soothe her.

The ceiling swapped out the usual aqua blue sleeping lights for a soft orange reading light, warming up the room.

“Do you require some medication to help you sleep?” the voice came again from the ceiling.

“No, not now.” Yuanyin said, “I’ll just lie here for a while.”

“Would you like me to talk to you?” responded the ceiling. 

“Hmm,” Yuanyin affirmed. “Can you tell me what the moon is like?”

“The topography of the moon is predominantly composed of craters,” explained the ceiling. “It has a relatively simple geology. The makeup of the lunar soil itself is similar to that of Earth, with an uneven terrain caused by the impact of asteroids, as well as deposits of lunar basalts. The rocks are dark in colour and hard in texture.”

“It’s very cold on the moon, right?” Yuanyin asked.

“There have been more settlers in the last two years,” replied the ceiling. “On both sides of the moon, facing to and away from the Earth, there are human settlements. Since 2056, a total of twenty-five exploration teams, consisting of three hundred and eighty-two people, have made it to the base on the lunar surface.”

“Can we send a message to the moon?”

“Yes,” the ceiling said. “I can connect us to the geosynchronous relay station, and then to the lunar signal station. Would you like to send a message? You can convey it to me, and I will send it out.”

Yuanyin said, “I’ll think about it.”

She looked at the moonlight outside, listening to the Bach’s soothing melody, and, as if sinking into a deep sea, the drowsiness gradually overcame her. Just before she fell asleep, she saw the last words of the day displayed on the window: “Walking meditation is not a means to an end; it is an end. Each step is life; each step is peace and joy.” —Thich Nhat Hanh (Quote 993)

Day Two / Morning

“Reminder: you have not taken your scheduled medication,” the dutiful drill of the bedside dispenser ceaselessly reminded Yuanyin.

Yuanyin ignored it and kept eating her morning porridge while reading a scholarly text on The Plum in the Golden Vase.

“Reminder: you have not taken your scheduled medication.”

The medicine that Yuanyin had declined was one meant to control the irregular beating of her heart, which had recently started to resemble a motor on the verge of failure, spasming now and again. The consequences of the spasms, which included shortness of breath, were becoming more serious. But the issues subsided when she took her medicine on time, which she’d been doing for over two years now.

Once she finished the porridge, she put the dishes in the dishwasher and walked into the study, where she opened her tablet and picked up the electronic pen.

“To Qinghan Law Firm,
My intentions regarding my property are as follows.”

Yuanyin lifted the pen only for her hand to pause in the air, and an inexplicable sense of bitterness came over her. Raising her head, she looked around the room again. Three years ago, when the automated system was installed, some general renovations had also been done on the house. As a result, the ceiling and walls were coated with TTW polymers, which enabled the fixture of microelectronic circuits. The circuits in turn allowed for real-time data collection and AI interactivity in every corner. After this round of renovations, the mottled water stains and peeling walls disappeared. Besides the microelectronic materials, decorative accents in tan woodgrain imbued the room with an ancient charm. Every detail had been carefully designed and outlined. Her eyes swept past the corner of the ceiling, witnessing the power of science, as well as the power of time.

A sudden tremor of her hands rendered her unable to write. 

Yuanyin looked up at the words on the glass. “Everything has its own mystery, and poetry is the mystery in everything.” —Federico García Lorca (Quote 994)

When her son came over, Yuanyin had already finished the letter to the lawyer’s office. She didn’t show him the document, but the name of the freshly edited file was visible on the tablet’s screensaver. “Basic Considerations on the Management of My Estate—To Qinghan Law Firm.” She left the screen on, and saw her son’s gaze lingering over the words for a few seconds. 

“Mom, I brought a few photos for you.” He deliberately avoided mentioning Yuanyin’s letter. “Images of the asteroid.”

He took out a foldable device from his pocket, flipped the cover open, and pulled an image up on the screen. It was a close-up of some asteroid—more specifically, a zoomed-in photo of the surface. Whether real or edited in for added effect, golden speckles were vaguely visible, embedded in the greyish, earthy landscape. 

“Look. Look, right here,” said the son. “It’s really reliable this time, mom.”

Yuanyin looked at him: “Chu Li, you’re eighty-one this year, right?”

“Why are you bringing that up, mom?” The son was taken aback.

“Looking back on the past eight decades, is there anything you regret?” Yuanyin asked.

“Why are you asking?” the son said uneasily, “I don’t even remember. . . Just stuff in my youth, I guess.”

“Son,” Yuanyin said, “your father and I have spent our whole lives seeking stability. Always drilling you with some version of ‘better safe than sorry.’ Did you ever feel like our words kept you down?”

Chu Li scratched his head. In his slight embarrassment, he returned instantly to his middle school self, which felt somewhat inconsistent with his head of white hair. He seemed to mull over the question awhile before stammering, “Mom, do you think I’m untrustworthy? I’m. . . I’m not. . .”

“That’s not what I mean,” Yuanyin replied. “I’m going to sell the house. I’ll give you the funds to arrange it all for me.”

This unexpected turn of events left Chu Li dumbfounded for a moment, his mouth gaping. He had likely prepared a hundred lines to persuade her, but was left with nothing to say in response to her assent. 

“I sent a letter to my lawyers today, but their reply will take two business days.” Yuanyin added, “You can come back in three days.”

Watching her son’s back as he hesitantly began to leave, Yuanyin felt a surge of sadness. She called to him, stood up, and walked over. With a brief look, she patted him on the back and said, “Don’t walk all hunched over. I’ve told you so many times.”

Chu Li left. Yuanyin turned around. “To grow old is to pass from passion to compassion.” —Albert Camus (Quote 995)

Day Two / Twilight

When Yuanyin woke up in the afternoon, she called her daughter to come over.

As soon as Chu Wei sat down, Yuanyin pulled out two plane tickets and said, “I booked our flights to Hainan, leaving in three days.”

The daughter looked at the tickets and then at Yuanyin, a look of surprise on her face.

“You’re right,” Yuanyin went on, “Hainan is very beautiful. A villa with seaside views does seem like a good place to retire.”

“That’s great, mom,” Chu Wei exclaimed, “I’m so glad you thought it through. You won’t be disappointed, I promise. I’ve been to the community, and the shampoo and hand creams they keep in the bathrooms are all high-end, from Linadaya. Their network of medical facilities and supporting hospitals is also first-class—apparently the administrative board invested over three billion yuan to hire experts from all over the country, and they have the best medical researchers to set them up with every check-up machine imaginable, way better than the hospital here. Mom, I’ll breathe easy if you really do move there.”

“Weiwei, you still have three years to retirement yourself, right?” Yuanyin asked.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” the daughter replied. “It might be delayed until I turn ninety. I’m negotiating with my insurance company—if I can last to ninety, there’ll be a lot of money coming into my pension package.”

“Well,” Yuanyin nodded, “are the children okay?”

Chu Wei smiled: “Everything is fine. Qinqin’s son sat his university entrance exams two years ago, so Qinqin is quite free these days as well. Everything’s just fine.”

“That’s good.” Yuanyin stood up and walked slowly to the head of the bed, where she picked up her medicine dispenser. “Weiwei, you should be thinking about your later years too. There’s plenty more to consider, lots of details. It’s not just about settling down wherever. You also need someone to take good care of you. See, just like this dispenser. Always planning out all my medications for me, all the time.”

“Mom, stop it,” Chu Wei rolled her eyes, “I’m still young.” 

Yuanyin didn’t say much else. “Come and pick me up in three days. I still have some savings in the bank. It’s for you, to buy a house.”

Yuanyin hugged Chu Wei before she left. She felt as though her hunched, thin body was almost incapable of wrapping around her daughter’s. It was no longer the hug that a little girl gets from her mother before leaving for school. Yuanyin read the new sentence on the glass, her chest stinging. “Life goes as it pleases / there are ships at sea that cannot be seen / heading for a spring you have forgotten.” —Paul Éluard (Quote 996)

Day Two / Evening

Facing the dark night, Yuanyin sat on her bed without turning on the light. The room was playing Jacqueline du Pre’s performance of Edward Elgar’s Cello Concerto. Despite being from a century ago, the recording still sounded fresh and crisp, like a tidal wave.

“Have you found it?” Yuanyin asked.

The deep, cinematic voice returned from the ceiling: “I have. There are now 53,024 virtual citizens living on the lunar surface community. It is said that the living environment there is remarkably similar to that on Earth. In fact, it can be customized based on the memories of a previous existence.”

“How do I apply?” Yuanyin asked.

“Firstly, ashes should be scattered on the moon,” replied the voice from the ceiling. “At present, there are, on average, three rockets carrying probes and equipment between Earth and the moon. Each rocket has a modicum of space designed to hold the ashes of those who have arranged to have them released. The fees are about two or three times that of the typical international flight. You may apply directly in the Metaverse space of any major rocket launch company. It just requires the family’s consent.”

Yuanyin nodded. “They’ll agree.”

The voice from the ceiling said, “I haven’t filled out the application form for you yet.”

“It’s okay, they will agree.” Yuanyin said. 

“Would you like me to help you fill out the application form?”

“Yes. Fill it out.”

Those last two words seemed to sap Yuanyin of all her strength, and the surface tension on the calm waters of these last few days broke open, a sorrow rippling wide through her body. Du Pre’s cello swung to a climax, as though the instrument’s strings were on the verge of snapping. But ultimately, the high notes waned, lowering to midrange and leaving a heartbreaking strum of vibrato.

I’m finally coming for you, Yuanyin thought.

The words on the glass rolled in, wave-like. “The only true optimism is that which pessimism has washed clean.” —Nietzsche (Quote 997)

Day Three / Morning

On this day, Yuanyin did not take any of her medications.

She gently removed the cup of pills and poured its contents into the sink. After waking up from her afternoon nap, her heart rate monitor showed considerable fluctuations. This abnormality triggered the community hospital’s warning system. The doctor there got in touch with Yuanyin, who assured him that she felt alright. The hospital then proceeded to activate their 24-hour emergency line.

Once the call from the doctor was over, Yuanyin laid alone against her bed’s headboard, holding a book of poetry in her lap, looking out the window.

Inexplicably, she thought back to seventy years ago. She was fighting often with her then-husband, neither of them ever giving in. It seemed there was nothing she could do to satisfy him, and whatever she asked of him was always dismissed as excessive, annoying. That was when she met Chu Dong. 

Despite near-universal reproach, Yuanyin got divorced and married Chu Dong at the age of forty-five, two kids in tow. That winter, she got into a taxi alone, her only luggage a bundle of children’s clothing.

She curled up in bed. The mattress adjusted the angle for her and began to warm up silently.

“Would you like me to calibrate the room temperature?” The voice from the ceiling asked.

“No need, the quilt is fine,” Yuanyin said.

“Are you scared?” The voice enquired. “Your brain waves are showing abnormal movements.”

“No, I’m not scared,” Yuanyin replied.

How could I be, she thought, when I’m looking at all these words you left behind? A new sentence formed on the glass. “Emotions are very difficult to manipulate, it’s a pity to be human.” —Yang Jiang (Quote 998)

Day Four / Evening

That night, it rained heavily. The sky was dark, occasionally torn by lightning. Only the orange floor lamp lit the room.

“Help me cut off all external communication signals,” Yuanyin told the ceiling. 

“But,” the ceiling said, “your physical data indicates you should maintain contact with the doctor.”

“I said, cut it off.” Yuanyin said. 

“But you have a fever,” the voice from the ceiling responded.

“If you don’t cut the signal, I’ll shut off the power supply for the whole house,” Yuanyin threatened.

The AI finally obeyed, and Yuanyin let out a sigh of relief. Music she had saved in the past was playing on shuffle. Yuanyin lay down and looked upwards. She didn’t want to close her eyes.

“Show me some photos and videos from the past,” she requested.

Images began playing on the ceiling. Yuanyin watched a funny clip from when she and Chu Dong went to some talk show, and were invited onstage as extras. She saw Chu Wei and Chu Li falling over while skating at an amusement park. The corners of Yuanyin’s mouth rose, and she fell asleep. The room embraced her, and it felt as safe as being in the womb. 

“To live—isn’t it just to sometimes laugh at others, and sometimes be laughed at in return?” —Lin Yutang (Quote 999)

Day Five / Morning

Lu Yuanyin was already slipping out of lucidity. The ceiling called to her in vain, but she was no longer strong enough to answer. Having skipped her medications for three days now, her heart was throbbing as if caught in a storm. 

Before passing, Chu Dong had set the house up in every way, programming the AI to take care of her just as he would. He had typed in all the lines they read and noted down together, arranging them to appear for her. In the last three years, she had almost gotten used to living alone. The house embraced her for him. She could feel the soft temperature of the cold glass. Yuanyin imagined the virtual community on the moon. Chu Dong’s ashes had already been scattered there, and she was finally going to join him. 

Before closing her eyes, Yuanyin had a vague vision of Chu Wei and Chu Li entering the room, but nothing was clear anymore. She knew they would sign the agreement. After that, they would also be free. No matter what, they were still her babies. Now, she’ll meet Chu Dong on the moon.

“I want to love, to live. To make the life in front of me feel like a hundred lives.” —Wang Xiaobo (Quote 1000)