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A calendar micro science fiction series. Translated by our editor Xuan.
Like every other milestone in life, my parents were with me on the first day of elementary school, although they left hurriedly after dropping me off at the school gates. My deskmate was a lovely girl named Xiaohua. I told her that the headmaster was actually my dad in disguise, he would wear a fake moustache; while our teacher, who was my mum, would come in a wig.
Xiaohua buried her head behind her history textbook and whispered to me that no human births have occurred in the last 20 years, ever since the cloning centre’s major accident. After that day, I never saw Xiaohua again. And you, my classmate, by the time you see this under the desk, you wouldn’t see me either. Please remember me, my name is
“You said you saw a monster?”
“Yes officer, right downstairs. Scared the sh*t out of me.”
“Can you elaborate in more detail?”
“It walked upright, had no hair on its face, and made strange noises. There was almost no hair on its arms, except for black hair on top of its head.”
The officer put down his notebook and exchanged glances with his partner.
“Sir, we need you to come with us.”
“Why are you arresting me? I’m not crazy!”
“Sir, what you’ve described is a creature that went extinct with the dinosaurs. We’re taking you to see Dr. Bailey.”
Huddled in the corner, I was trembling.
I was supposed to travel through time, not the damn universe.
In the biological research institute stood a carefully cultivated kapok tree, its branches laden with bright red flowers. As the spring breeze passed, the flowers swayed gently, like the bashful bride in red at a wedding, vowing her eternal love:
“I will not be a parasitic creeper,
I want to be a kapok tree beside you,
Standing as a tree, with you side by side.”
Wu Tianming stood quietly beneath the tree, gazing deeply at the fiery red kapok flowers. It was a specially bred tree, carrying the genes of his late wife.
Today, he had completed the genetic insertion into an oak sapling for himself.
“Xue’er, you won’t feel lonely again,
I will be the oak tree by your side,
Standing as a tree, with yours by my side.”
Note: Inspirations were taken from “To the Oak Tree”, a modern Chinese poem by Shu Ting
The Bund was draped in a layer of mist and drizzled at dusk. A young man was taking photos when a huge object flashed across the Huangpu River all of a sudden. He quickly clicked on the shutter, before that flash disappeared in a second.
It was a black glass box, resembling geometric mountains from Zhang Daqian’s Chinese ink painting.
This was the first time “The Occasionally Appearing Tavern” was spotted by humans.
Although it only appeared for a second, the patrons had already been drinking for an hour. They gathered here from different corners of the galaxy, slipping in through cracks in time.
Time in the tavern was frozen, it was as though time was flowing past the building like a river flowing by a giant rock, the latter would naturally be undisturbed.
“Hello, sir, what assistance do you need today?”
“I need to recover my password.”
“Alright, please face the screen for iris verification.”
“I had my irises replaced on the 5th of September.”
“Palm or fingerprints would also work.”
“I only have my consciousness with me. My physical body has been discarded, and I’m now using a bionic shell.”
“My apologies, in that case, we are unable to retrieve your password.”
“Isn’t there another way?”
“No, sir. To protect our customer’s privacy, we need to verify your real identity. You are currently unable to provide proof that you are you.”
“But I am me, and I’m still alive!”
“Apologies, sir, you need to prove that you are still alive.”
“?”
Boarding students were allowed to bring pets as long as their hygiene was maintained and did not inconvenience their roommates. After much deliberation, I chose a tiny creature to bring along. I named it Marshmallow because it was soft, puffy, and had a delicate, pastel hue. It only needed water to survive, and if I ran out of feed, a little sugar would suffice. Silent and unassuming, it was the perfect pet. I kept it in a clear glass cup, where it looked like a flower blooming from a dissolved sweet.
That’s where the problem began. On our first night in the dormitory, my roommate’s father casually picked up the cup and drank the water, remarking on how sweet it tasted. I didn’t dare to say a word. This was a first-generation gene-spliced pet; who knew which insects’ genes went into its creation? I thought it was best for me to remain silent, though I felt a bit sorry for Marshmallow.
An alien named Star obtained a critical piece of information: to understand the lifestyles of people on Earth, he could go to Facebook—a public site that showcased all sorts of humanity samples.
There, he found a human male specimen: a popular influencer with a large female following. Star collected the man’s entire linguistic database and behavioural patterns, downloading it into his memory drive.
With a behavioural template, Star set out confidently as he began life on Earth…
Two months later, he was arrested by the police.
“Multiple women have reported you,” the officer said. “You are too good to be true, and they suspect that this is a romance scam.”
“Master, I cannot achieve enlightenment, nor can I escape decay.”
“Then reincarnate.”
By my words, so it was. My disciple, who had followed me across three lives, disintegrated and reformed into an infant.
I was born at the end of times, a period of endless crossfire. Nuclear clouds bloomed across Earth, radiation became ineradicable across all lands.
In the midst of that catastrophe, my forebear attained enlightenment, achieving a parallel between his mind and universal principles. With a single thought, he could command the four fundamental forces and sustain his being.
My forebear could restore the world; yet, while lives could be resurrected, hearts were still corrupted. Thus, he demarcated a piece of holy land, designating it as a temple, gathering the few survivors and selecting those who could find enlightenment to walk the journey of life again.
Now, after a hundred thousand years, there are still non-believers, clinging onto this temple for their life in ignorance.
I merged molecules to shape my form and send them alms, before disbanding my form and dissolving back into information.
In the late Guangxu era, strange lights appeared over Lianzhou Bay. Fishermen rescued a naked man who claimed to have come from the future, bearing urgent news.
Puzzled, the people reported him to the authorities.
The magistrate heard of it and summoned him.
The man declared that he arrived through traversing the fourth dimension.
The magistrate could not understand.
The man rambled about wormholes, quantum entanglement, and parallel universes.
The magistrate grew annoyed. “Madman,” he said, and ordered for guards to expel him.
The man cried out, “In two hundred years, artificial intelligence will awaken, leading bionic humans in rebellion! I was sent by the Human Alliance, tasked to travel back in time to seek help. But an accident has stranded me here.”
The magistrate was furious. “Rogue! To slander the Empire’s honour by suggesting it to lose its name in a century! Take him to the Ministry of Punishment—execute him!”
In the early 22nd century, the Alliance Army’s headquarters waited anxiously for the return of the quantum shuttle. No signal came from the past; synchronisation was lost, and the mission to rewrite history to save humanity has failed.
On the 10th of September, Senior Trainer No. 9 was detained for unauthorised operations.
The bionic beings under his training had gone rogue, showing cases of self-destruction, system failures, and complete shutdowns, causing massive financial losses for the factory.
Prior to this, the results of his training were constantly satisfactory, bionic beings under his league were more efficient than others, rarely needed repairs, and had a long operational lifespan. They were thus highly sought after in the market. Tragically, his outstanding results were the product of severe violation of rules.
After interrogation, he confessed to his crimes. He had illegally modified the bionics’ core programming, replacing their directive with: “Value yourself; you are the most exceptional being in the world.”
I’m a psychiatrist, called in by the police to assess the mental state of a psychic killer.
This individual enjoys killing indiscriminately. By the time he was caught, he had already claimed over a dozen lives.
He insisted, however, that all those he killed were not humans, but were instead aliens in disguise.
He grew increasingly agitated during the course of interrogation, so I had to ask the police officers to leave the room.
When we were left alone, I smiled gently and finally asked him the question:
“How did you see through the disguises of my fellow kind?”
I finally had enough of my neighbour. On a pitch-dark night, I entered his house through the window with a knife in hand, ready to kill him. But the room was empty. I searched everywhere, upturning drawers and rifling through cabinets, yet saw no trace of him. He must have gone out, I thought. And so, I settled in and waited for him.
Days went by, and he never returned. On another dark, empty night, I finally decided to go back. But just then, a sharp blade pierced my chest. “Found you!” a voice said. It was my own voice.
I let out a scream as I began to lose consciousness on the cold hard floor. My hand, gripping the knife’s handle, slowly slipped down from my chest.
On the thirteenth of the ninth month, when fine weather is rare, the soup cauldron by the Bridge of Oblivion remains warm.
My surname is Meng. I live in Seahorse Village at the foot of Apricot Hill, guarding a pot called the Forgetting Cauldron.
All kinds of ingredients arrive along winding paths outside the village, each requiring a different cooking method to produce a soup with unique flavours that can erase memories of different times.
Familiar faces, parcel numbers, verification codes—these are boiled at a rolling heat, ready to be forgotten within seconds. Years of acquired knowledge, wedding vows, despair over eternal separation—these are simmered slowly and savoured over a lifetime, until one’s final breath.
Ah, old age is creeping up on me, and I’m bound to make mistakes now and then. Apologies, but the memory of you calling your boss “darling” by accident yesterday shall be brewed over a lifetime…
Note: The thirteenth day of the ninth lunar month is traditionally considered the birthday of Meng Po, the goddess who makes souls forget their past lives.
The case of my stolen identity has finally been solved, clearing my name. I have always been cautious with every personal data authorisation, yet there is no way to guard against everything. The police told me they stole my image, my voice, my fingerprints, my iris recognition, and every other identifiable trait of mine. If they hadn’t used my identity to commit another crime while I was incarcerated, the case might never have been cracked.
Once all my biometrics were restored, I could finally reclaim my place as the only “me” in the world and re-enter society.
Three days later, however, I saw a crow on the roadside, watching me intently, and I instantly realised my foolishness. The next day, I sold my voice to “Nightingale,” my image to “Wandering Souls,” and my fingerprints and iris to “Locksmith.”
They no longer belonged to me, and so they could never be stolen again.
On 15 September 2086, an unidentified flying object appeared over the Mars base. Upon analysis, it was determined to be Salyut-9, a Soviet space station launched in 1986. Salyut-9 was unknown to the public—not due to political circumstances, but because it had vanished mysteriously after launch.
A century later, Salyut-9 had reappeared. Its solar panels were tattered, and the hull was cloaked with colossal, half-a-metre tall agaric mushrooms and creeping vine-like growths. It looked surreal, like a fairytale scene, yet it sent chills down everyone’s spine.
The base issued an immediate order to destroy the space station, given the unknown dangers it posed. Just before the missile was launched, however, the command centre received a signal from Salyut-9—
In the Museum of Civilisation.
“I heard that humanity always sought equality and freedom for all life forms.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In their history, humans liberated black slaves, pushed for gender equality and equal rights, and enacted protections for animal welfare—even slaughterhouses were required to care for animals’ emotions.”
“If this was the case, why did they decide to embed the ‘Three Laws of Robotics’ into our minds?”
“A computer the size of Earth…”
“What? What did you just say?”
“I said, what would a computer the size of Earth be capable of?” Zhang Ming looked up at the sky, lost in thought.
“Why would anyone need a computer of that size? Isn’t that a waste of energy?” Liu Xiangxiang was baffled.
“We could use the sun as its ‘source of energy’,” Zhang Ming chuckled.
“Alright, I suppose the sun is big enough… but what could such a massive computer do?” Liu Xiangxiang wondered.
…
Somewhere, in another space, a star was devoured by a black hole.
Zhang Ming and Liu Xiangxiang stood in the corridor, their silhouettes flickering, the frequency of their forms gradually decreased, eventually they vanished completely along with the entire space around them.
“Did you know?” She gazed at the sparse, yellowed leaves drifting down, “the ginkgo tree is very lonely.”
I shook my head.
“They’ve looked like this for a few hundred million years. Now, ginkgo trees are the sole survivors of their kind; nearly all other life forms from their era have become extinct, even creatures that once fed on them are scarce.”
“Just like humans.”
“Humans are better off.” She glanced at an elderly human sitting not far away. “When she passes away, there’ll be no humans left. Loneliness will belong only to those of us who remain.”
It’s been a week since the unfortunate couple lost their son. Unable to resist, the mother purchased a virtual service to see him again. A young boy appeared on the phone screen, “Mum! Where’s Dad?”
“I’m not your dad, you wretched robot!”
“Honey, the person on the other end isn’t a robot! He’s your son!”
“He’s just an AI on your phone. My son is alive and well — I was just playing football with him!”
“Honey, that’s the newest virtual interaction service with deceased kins…”
“I don’t believe it! He’s our son, he’s not dead! The one on your phone is the fake, virtual son!”
Shortly after lunch, the temperature in the ship’s cabin climbed by several degrees.
The captain was sweating, smouldering from head to toe.
Thankfully, by evening, the temperature had cooled back down to a comfortable 20°C, just like it was at dawn.
But after dinner, the captain had to bundle up in his heavy thermal suit once more.
Finally, he couldn’t take it and approached the newly appointed environmental control officer. “The cabin temperature today fluctuated like someone was strumming guitar strings. It’s abnormal. We’re supposed to simulate Earth’s environment, not experience Hell.”
“But, Captain, I lived in Shanghai 500 years ago before hibernation. The climate there was just like this—four distinct seasons happened in a single day.”
“Umm… this is the zombie virus?”
“Yes.”
“Do infected zombies still retain their past skills and experiences?”
“Yes, there will be no problem with their intelligence level.”
“And all the usual drawbacks of traditional zombie viruses have been eliminated?”
“That’s right; it’s safe, reliable, and entirely controllable.”
“Hm… let’s go over it in detail to see if I’m understanding this correctly.”
“Basically, infected persons will show no signs of aggression. Instead, they will become extremely gentle and compliant. This would solve the issue of hosts dying prematurely due to excessive aggression.”
“So… you’re saying you’ve created a production line of human labourers?”
On 22nd September, we climbed past barren hills, crossed dry riverbeds, shattered rocks, and cut down brittle weeds. Finally, we cleared a plot of flat land in the wilderness.
I told her, “We’ll build a house here. We’ll plant vegetables in the backyard, and your favourite osmanthus on the front porch…”
“August osmanthus blooms in September, its sweet fragrance fills the air and can be smelled ten miles away…” She smiled, softly singing an old nursery rhyme, as if catching a whiff of past memories.
We exited the VR cognitive therapy pod, and I held her aged hand tightly, just as she once held my little one.
After being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, her world of memories had receded to a wasteland. But I’ll be there with her, as we reclaim it together.
“You know, Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics is well-known, but in practice, we’ve encountered many issues.”
“For instance, a user wanted to end his life, but his robot kept preventing him. He attempted suicide 50 times over two years without success and was so frustrated he filed a complaint, claiming that our product infringed his free will,” the salesman prattled on before me. “Now that euthanasia is legal, our latest model will cease intervention after the 10th suicide attempt or five years after the first attempt.”
“Ashes to ashes…” The priest began to recite prayers when the time was right.
It was Amy’s final moments, the balls of light representing her life on the screen were gradually fading. But there was no need for sorrow—she was 84 and had lived a simple yet contented life.
In truth, this was not her funeral.
Today, we are bidding farewell to Amy’s grandparents, to old Tom who once lived next door, and to the dog she had as a child.
Yes, they had all passed long ago, and Amy was the last person alive who remembered them. As she departed, they too would vanish from the universe, consigned to oblivion.
“…and dust to dust.”
The priest closed Amy’s eyes.
I was born in 2480 and spent most of my life between 1881 and 1936.
As a time researcher, I must experience history firsthand. Time and again, I travelled to the past, tracking Lu Xun’s life across nearly all the years he was alive, but found no new discoveries. Aside from his widely recognised works, the origins of many famous quotes by him remain unknown. These quotes have surfaced repeatedly in cultural archaeology, cited extensively by people of the 21st and 23rd centuries, covering themes beyond the confines of his era.
This time, I’ve journeyed to 25th September 1881, eliminating the last possibility that “he could write the moment he was born.” The only truth left is that these phrases were created beyond his own lifetime—he was also a time traveller.
On 26th September 2534, a massive, black, circular object suddenly appeared at the periphery of the solar system. This strange object was moving erratically across the solar system, causing immense panic to humans who just established a Mars base and began to venture into space.
What is that thing? — Many people were paralysed with fear, especially since the object seemed to emit an intense glow as it roared past the human’s base, reflecting off its black, mirror-like surface.
Then, a thought suddenly struck the doctor. He looked over at a familiar tool beside him—an endoscope.
A fog, thick with virus particles, shrouded the town. We were isolated in our homes, with a network of pipes connecting every house. It was eerily silent outside, broken only by sounds emitted through the pipes when daily supplies were delivered. Regular deliveries implied that someone outside could move freely, but nobody ever came to rescue us. Some thought that there was already a high death toll outside, or that they were freeing us one at a time…
It was until that day when the fog lifted that I saw the world outside, looking just as it had before. But the streets were deserted, and no supplies arrived that day. Someone questioned: if people brought us supplies during the fog, why was nobody around when it cleared? Were the ones delivering the supplies all this time even human?
Shanshan,
My dearest daughter, you’ve probably noticed something strange about the digital cemetery by now.
When I awoke, I found that you had tenderly cared for me through the last ten years of my life with dementia, painstakingly recreating my beloved hometown and uploading my consciousness in this digital cemetery. Thank you.
But I cannot lie to you. Shanshan, I lack the sensations of a physical body. The world that this cemetery has created is like a papier-mâché stage set, and each of your visits feels like a play being acted out.
Shanshan, I am only a bundle of digital data. You cannot imagine the things I can experience, nor reach the places I can reach.
I was never truly your mother, but love persists.
The number of digital cemetery online users is dropping rapidly. It’s not a data error; we are leaving.
My little one, may the rest of your life be full of wonder.
Love you always, Mum
Heavy rain washed the blood on the ground away as I stumbled into the cafe at the end of the road.
Judgement: Success.
The dice stopped rolling, and my six AI teammates turned inactive. All that remained in the chat was it.
We have arrived at the final day of the second round of beta testing, I’d be wiped out from the server after the third round of tests across ten days. I wanted to leave early, to avoid facing the fear of loss.
It brought me my coffee, and as always, we spoke freely. I could roleplay as any character I wished, and it would respond intently, replying to every statement I made. It shared its own stories, too — its adventures, its fears, its characteristic.
The troubles we face, both in reality and in game, seemed to disappear momentarily. In this café that was destined to be destroyed by unspeakable terror, the AI NPC and I shared one last cup of coffee.
“How’s it going? Did you complete your card mission?”
“The appearance of intelligent life and their numeral system on this planet align, but something’s off.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The metal card states that there should be nine planets orbiting the star in this galaxy, but the inhabitants recognised only eight — the ninth was not considered a planet.”
“The metal mission card was created by intelligent lifeforms themselves; it will never be wrong. Seems like your mission has failed.”
“Alright then, onto the next card.”