Chapter Two: The Living

When the world reloaded, there was no thunder and no flash. Shen Zhou smelled the faint trace of cooking oil, as though someone were frying fish in a distant kitchen. His cold coffee became a vacuum flask wrapped in a hand-knitted gray sleeve. A crooked character for “Zhou” had been embroidered on it. His phone vibrated three times. The sender was “Mom.” “Still working?” “I saved you some soup. Don't eat instant noodles again.” “Answer me when you see this.” He stared until his eyes hurt. The death certificate, the pale funeral wreaths, the fire-blackened wall of their old home—all had vanished from his photos. In their place were twelve years of impeccable memories: his mother taking him to university, complaining about his graduation cap,