Chapter Three: Confession Does Not Mean Lightness

The password failed. Xu entered the birthday on Lin’s identification. The system replied: DATE CORRECT. SUBJECT INCORRECT. “It wants someone else born that day,” she said. Lin remembered the inscription—one day before his birth—but stayed silent. They hid in his newspaper’s abandoned printing plant. By daylight the city was more chaotic. Confessions flooded radio lines; suddenly light wedding rings piled outside the registry office. Yet hospitals received new victims. Some people confessed publicly and remained burdened while the phones of their listeners grew heavy. “Who hears the confession matters,” Xu concluded. A food company owner admitted online that he had used expired ingredients. His safe gained two tons.