Chapter Three: No-Light Alley

A handwritten sentence appeared at the bottom: THE RULES CAN ONLY ENSURE THAT YOU SURVIVE AS SOME IDENTITY. THEY CANNOT ENSURE THAT IDENTITY BELONGS TO YOU. “Why tell me now?” Shen asked. Chen polished an old lens. “Because before yesterday, there was no No-Light Alley.” At midnight, the photograph changed again. Beneath the red umbrella was now the face of a boy of seven or eight. The café in the background was gone, replaced by the abandoned clock tower at Linchuan West Station. Its clock had no hands, and all twelve hour marks were zeroes. The reflected Shen remained in exactly the same posture. Behind his shoulder, however, the faceless schoolgirl had reversed her sign: FORTY-FOUR IS NOT AN ADDRESS. IT IS THE NUMBER REMAINING.