Chapter One: September Thirty-Fifth

Lin did not answer. Nine years conserving rare books had taught him how damp could lift old pigment and insects could carve accidental characters. Paper did not invent dates, however, nor did it write warnings tailored to the present moment. His phone displayed not October 5 but THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 35. In the calendar, ten pale squares had been inserted after October 4: 35 through 44. They had no lunar dates or festivals. They looked like teeth sewn into flesh. Uncle Chen's voice abruptly changed position. “Lin Mo.” It was now directly behind his left ear. He could hear air escaping between its teeth. Lin stared into the reflection on a glass cabinet. Behind him stood a navy security uniform.