Lin Yuan sat up in bed.
The back of his hand was glowing. Not a dream. Gold lines crawled across his skin like snakes, brightening and dimming, brightening and dimming — like a heartbeat. He turned his hand over. Nothing on his palm. Only the back. He shoved his hand under his pillow. The light went out. He pulled it out again. The light came back.
Zhao Lei turned over on the top bunk. The bed frame creaked. "...what time..." His voice was thick, like bubbles rising from underwater. Lin Yuan didn't answer. Zhao Lei didn't ask again. His breathing deepened again.
Lin Yuan pulled his hand under the blanket. The light didn't go through, but he could feel it. Hot. Not the heat of a burn — a warmth rising from his bones. He stared at the blanket. Blue, faded, patched at the corners by his mother's hands. The light didn't show, but he knew it was there.
His phone screen lit up. 3:07 AM. Three days ago, also 3:07. Three days before that, also 3:07. Every time. He didn't know why.
He closed his eyes. In the dream, that figure stood before the crack, said "Come." Wind rushed from the crack, snapping his coat. His face was hidden by hair.
He woke. The back of his hand was still hot. He pressed it under his pillow for a long time. The pillow was damp in one spot.
---
The cafeteria was crowded in the morning. Lines at the windows. Lin Yuan stood last. In front of him was a girl — short hair, black-rimmed glasses, white hoodie. She glanced back at him, then turned away. He'd seen her many times. Didn't know her name.
When it was his turn, the auntie asked, "What'll you have?" "Porridge." She ladled out a bowl of porridge, a steamed bun, a dish of pickled vegetables. He carried his tray looking for a seat. Zhao Lei sat in a corner, a bowl of soy milk and two fried dough sticks in front of him. When he saw Lin Yuan, he waved.
Lin Yuan walked over and sat down.
"You look terrible," Zhao Lei said.
"Didn't sleep well."
"You haven't slept well lately." Zhao Lei bit into a dough stick, chewed, swallowed. "Something going on?"
"Nothing."
Zhao Lei didn't press. He lowered his head and drank his soy milk. Halfway through, he stopped and looked at Lin Yuan's bowl. "That's all you're eating?"
"Yeah."
Zhao Lei picked up one of his own dough sticks and put it in Lin Yuan's bowl. "Eat. You're too skinny."
Lin Yuan looked at the dough stick. Golden brown, flecks of soy milk clinging to it.
"Eat," Zhao Lei said.
He picked it up and took a bite. Crisp. Chewed a few times, swallowed. Took another bite.
"Your mom out of the hospital?" he asked.
"Yeah," Zhao Lei said. "Resting at home. My dad says she's recovering well."
"That's good."
"Yeah."
They ate in silence. The cafeteria was noisy. Clatter of bowls and chopsticks, chairs scraping the floor. Someone walked past carrying a tray, brushed Lin Yuan's shoulder, didn't apologize.
Halfway through the meal, Zhao Lei put down his chopsticks.
"Lin Yuan."
"Yeah."
"What's wrong with your hand?"
Lin Yuan looked down. The lines on his hand were hidden by his sleeve. He pulled his sleeve down. "Nothing."
"I saw it," Zhao Lei said. "Glowing."
Lin Yuan froze. "You're seeing things."
Zhao Lei stared at him for a few seconds. Then he put down his chopsticks. Not set them down — threw them down. They bounced on the table, one fell to the floor. He didn't pick it up.
"Fine." Zhao Lei stood up, picked up his tray, and walked away. Didn't look back. Lin Yuan called "Zhao Lei," but he didn't answer. At the return station, he put down his tray and left. Not fast, but didn't stop. Lin Yuan watched his back. Zhao Lei's shoulders were slumped, like he was carrying something heavy.
He lowered his head and finished the dough stick. It had gone cold, no longer crisp, chewy.
---
Morning class was Chinese History. The teacher wrote on the blackboard. A piece of chalk broke and fell to the floor. Lin Yuan stared at it. It rolled twice and stopped at the edge of the platform. No one picked it up. He sat in the last row, propped his textbook upright, pretending to read. His mind was on the dream. That figure. That voice. "Come."
"Lin Yuan." The teacher called him.
He stood up.
"During Emperor Wu of Han's reign, who was sent as an envoy to the Western Regions?"
He didn't know. Silence. The whole class was quiet. A few people turned to look at him. He stood there, saying nothing. The broken piece of chalk still lay on the edge of the platform.
"Zhang Qian." Zhao Lei's voice came from the front. Not loud, but clear. He didn't turn around, just said those two words.
"Zhang Qian," Lin Yuan repeated.
The teacher glanced at him, nodded. "Sit down. Pay attention."
He sat down. Zhao Lei didn't look back. Lin Yuan stared at the back of Zhao Lei's head. His hair was getting long. Needed a cut.
When the bell rang, Lin Yuan gathered his things and walked to Zhao Lei's seat. Zhao Lei was stuffing his book into his bag, not looking up.
"Thanks," Lin Yuan said.
"Whatever." Zhao Lei zipped his bag, stood up, and walked away. Didn't wait for him.
Lin Yuan stood there, watching Zhao Lei leave the classroom. The hallway was crowded. Zhao Lei hugged the wall, quickly swallowed by the stream of people.
His phone buzzed. A message from Old Zhou: "Come to the library."
---
The Abyss library door was open. Dark inside. He walked in. His combat boots made no sound on the wooden floor. The books on the shelves glowed — blue, green, gold — their light spilling onto the floor like light underwater. Old Zhou sat behind his desk, a cup of tea steaming in front of him. The cup had a chipped rim.
"You're here?" Old Zhou didn't look up.
"Yeah."
Lin Yuan walked over and sat down.
"The lines on your hand," Old Zhou said, "have they been glowing often lately?"
Lin Yuan held out his hand, pulled up his sleeve. The lines weren't glowing now, but he could see them. Dark gold, like dried blood.
"Yeah."
"Does it hurt?"
"No. Just hot."
Old Zhou picked up his cup, took a sip, put it down. The chipped part faced Lin Yuan.
"The fragments are calling you," Old Zhou said.
"What fragments?"
"The ones you have. The one from Southeast Road, the one from the clock tower. And the ones you haven't found." Old Zhou looked at him. "Five fragments. You and those things are tied together on the same rope. If you don't go to them, they'll come to you. And then you'll have real trouble."
"What happens?"
"You won't last long." Old Zhou's voice was flat. "Three months. From the day you first came to the Abyss."
Lin Yuan was stunned. Three months. He'd counted. From that night to now, more than fifty days had passed. Forty days left. He put his hands on his knees. The lines weren't glowing, but they were hot.
"Where do I look?" he asked.
"The Abyss is only the beginning." Old Zhou stood up, walked to a shelf, and pulled out a book. He opened it. No text — just a map. The lines were moving, like they were alive. "There are other places. You don't need to know about them yet."
"Why?"
"Because you're not ready." Old Zhou closed the book and put it back. "Find the fragments you can first. The rest, later."
Lin Yuan was silent for a few seconds.
"Old Zhou."
"Yeah."
"Are you hiding something from me?"
Old Zhou looked at him. His eyes were complicated.
"When you find the fifth piece," he said, "you'll know."
(Continued in Part 2)