Chapter Two: The Reflection Moves First

A subway driver watched a train arrive in the rearview mirror while the real track remained empty. Shopping centers covered mirrored walls. Online, authorities named it “visual prediction syndrome.” Soon no one remembered the public-health deputy who had coined the phrase. His nameplate remained, but colleagues insisted his office had always stored boxes. The second person had been erased. Su wrote his name in her black notebook. The ink faded gray. Only Chen Shouyi remained dark, held in place by the creases of his paper boat. Lin covered every reflective surface in the center except a full-length inspection mirror. Within it stood the vermilion door, bearing two reversed characters: LOST DAY. “Why does the reflection move first?” Su asked.