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墨書 Inktalez
Zhou Hang's eyelashes trembled like withered leaves torn by a fierce wind, and the smell of disinfectant stung his nostrils painfully.
When he opened his eyes, the pale ceiling swayed in his vision, and the fluid in the IV drip crawled through the blue veins on the back of his hand.
"The patient is awake!"
The nurse's exclamation was accompanied by the sharp sound of a metal tray hitting the floor. He tried to prop himself up, but the back of his head felt as if someone had stuffed it into a glowing iron block, and a bitter taste of bile rose in his throat.
The IV needle on the back of his right hand was pulled askew, and blood oozed from the edge of the medical tape, soaking into the dark red flowers blooming on his blue and white striped hospital gown.
When the attending physician pressed the stethoscope against his chest, the cold steel sent a shiver through him.
"On March 11th, you collapsed on the rooftop of the Laboratory Building. When the cleaner found you, your body was burning hot."
The doctor flipped through the medical records, and the ballpoint pen made a scratching sound on the paper.
"The EEG shows you experienced severe sleep disturbances. Do you know what it means to have lucid dreams for five consecutive days?"
Outside, the shadow of a Wutong tree shattered into green spots before Zhou Hang's eyes, and his memories felt like a puzzle washed away by heavy rain.
He only remembered Lin Xue's hair fluttering as she fell from the building and the blood-red icon of the Judgment APP flashing wildly on his phone screen.
Suddenly, the heart monitor at his bedside emitted a piercing alarm, and he realized he had been gripping the sheets tightly, with cotton fibers embedded under his nails.
"Here’s today’s morning paper."
The nurse handed him a newspaper that still smelled of ink; the headline in the social section boldly read: "Police Dismantle Transnational Hacking Organization; 'Judgment' APP Identified as Criminal Tool."
In an accompanying image, a silver USB drive glinted coldly in an evidence bag atop a server rack blurred by pixelation—exactly like one he had seen countless times in loops.
As he unlocked his phone, the date March 16th stabbed at his eyes painfully.
In local news pushed by social media, Lin Xue's name sliced through the screen like a rusty blade: "...Lin, who exposed school bullying incidents, has passed away last month..."
The accompanying image was a female profile photo; beneath her short hair, her almond-shaped eyes curved in a smile that seemed worlds apart from her tear-streaked face at the edge of the rooftop in his memory.
"It can't be..."
Zhou Hang's knuckles struck against the bedside table with a dull thud, knocking over the warm water that the nurse had just placed down.
He clearly remembered that last day in the loop when Lin Xue wore a mint green dress and pinned her hair with a pearl hairpin, saying to him in the morning light, "This time we really have to say goodbye."
The water stain spread across the newspaper, causing the words "passed away" to swell and wrinkle grotesquely.
As the setting sun painted the hospital room in a honeyed hue, he slipped out of the building.
The freshly painted exterior of the Laboratory Building could not conceal certain charred marks, and a brand-new caution tape fluttered on the rooftop railing, rustling in the wind.
When he crouched down to explore the base of the seventh railing, his fingertips brushed against an engraving—next to the crooked names "Zhou Hang" and "Lin Xue," there was an additional line: "Thank you for visiting my eternal night."
Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket; it was a message from an unknown number.
The photo showed Lin Xue's silhouette in the library, with the date of capture marked as March 10th. In front of her lay an open copy of "A Brief History of Time," specifically on the chapter about black holes. The edges of the pages were highlighted with a note: "When black holes evaporate, where does the information that was swallowed go?"
The night breeze lifted the hem of his hospital gown, and from afar came the clamor of students leaving their evening classes.
Zhou Hang gazed at the twinkling stars at the edge of the rooftop and suddenly laughed until tears streamed down his face.
In his palm lay a Pearl Hairpin, pressing painfully against his skin; it was something he had just discovered in the gap of the railing, still carrying the scent of dew where strands of hair were entwined.
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