Chapter Two: Reality Has No Such Frame

Beyond it was not a wall but an inverted city street. Towers hung downward from above. Neon signs trembled in a sky that looked like standing water. The people on countless billboards turned their heads together and looked at Shen. Far away, a clock tower struck ten. “Shen Zhao.” Someone inside the doorway called his name. The voice was older, urgent. A woman in a gray work coat stood at the entrance to the inverted street, carrying a lamp made from coils of old film. “Don't use that composition again,” she said. “You've already forgotten yourself once.”