Every year, on the third Saturday of June, Taiwan gets strange.
It isn't a day off, and it isn't a holiday.
But starting at eight in the morning, the entire city takes on the atmosphere of some kind of massive carnival.
People carrying cameras appear along the streets. Someone with a telephoto lens will stake out a spot near a Metro station exit. In shopping malls, people even hold up their phones and film strangers without the slightest hesitation.
No one stops them.
Because this day is called Transparency Day.
Its official name is very long.
The Annual Exemption Day of the Public Information Transparency Special Act.
Ordinary people have no interest in remembering the whole thing.
They only remember one point.
From eight in the morning until eight at night, secretly filming, secretly recording, following and observing, and most other acts that would normally infringe on privacy rights are temporarily decriminalized within certain limits.
You can't break into someone else's home.
You can't install a pinhole camera.
You can't forcibly take someone's private device.
You can't involve minors.
But as long as you're in a public place, or filming a place visible from a lawful vantage point, you can basically shoot whatever you want.
During the first few years after the system was introduced, society erupted in debate.
Some people said it was a step backward for civilization.
Some said the government was encouraging perverts.
Others supported it, reasoning that since anyone could be watched, everyone would be more honest.
Ten years later, there were still voices of opposition.
But most people had gotten used to it.
Some even looked forward to the day.
Because every Transparency Day was guaranteed to produce a big scoop.
A business owner cheating.
An influencer badmouthing their followers in private.
A politician accepting something in a parking lot.
Husbands and wives each cheating on the other.
Celebrities smoking, drinking, and fighting.
Ordinary people's secrets were worth just as much.
There were even dedicated platforms online where people could upload Transparency Day footage.
Popular videos could earn a share of the revenue.
So whenever this day came around, it was as if Taiwan suddenly gained several million paparazzi.
I'd always thought it was boring.
Until this year.
At 7:40 in the morning, I was still lying in bed.
My phone wouldn't stop vibrating.
People in the group chat had already started sharing photos.
"Some trainer in Xindian got busted last night."
"Someone's going to stake out a certain news anchor this year."
"There are a ton of streamers around Ximen right now."
I scrolled twice and closed the chat.
The bed beside me was empty.
Lin Ruoqing was already up.
I could hear water running in the bathroom.
I glanced at the time.
7:42.
"Aren't you off today?" I called toward the bathroom.
The water stopped for a moment.
"Yeah."
"Then why are you up so early?"
"I have something to do."
Her answer was short.
I didn't think much of it.
Ruoqing and I had been together for four years.
She worked in administration at a medical equipment company, and I was in sales for an interior renovation company.
Neither of us was particularly interesting.
Usually, we'd get dinner after work. On weekends, we'd walk around department stores, see a movie, and occasionally spend a night somewhere.
There was nothing dramatic about us.
But there weren't any major problems, either.
At least, that's what I'd always thought.
A few minutes later, Ruoqing came out of the bathroom.
She was wearing a white top and jeans, her hair tied back.
She rarely wore makeup on her days off.
But today, she had done a full face.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
She picked up the bag on the table.
"To meet a friend."
"Which friend?"
Her movements paused.
Only for a moment.
"Someone from my old company."
"Do I know them?"
"No."
After saying that, she lowered her head and put on her shoes.
I didn't know why, but something suddenly felt wrong.
It wasn't because she was going out.
It was because today was Transparency Day.
A day when everyone knew people outside would be filming whatever they could.
Most women avoided going out unless they had to.
Ruoqing used to, too.
The year before last, she hadn't even stepped outside all day on Transparency Day.
I still remembered something she'd said then.
"I don't like strangers staring at me."
And yet this year, she was heading out not long after seven.
"What time will you be back?"
"This afternoon."
"Where are you going?"
She had already opened the door.
"Taipei."
The door closed.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
A few seconds later, I suddenly sat up.
Taipei.
We lived in Banqiao.
That answer was practically meaningless.
I picked up my phone, intending to text her and ask.
I typed a few words, then deleted them.
Forget it.
Maybe she really was just meeting a friend.
I washed my face and made coffee.
At exactly eight, the TV news switched to its Transparency Day special.
A news anchor stood near Taipei Main Station, with a crowd of people behind him wildly filming on their phones.
A caption scrolled along the bottom of the screen.
"The eleventh Transparency Day officially begins."
"Police reminder: The public must still respect residential and bodily boundaries."
I watched while drinking my coffee.
The host had even brought in a law professor to explain this year's new regulations.
I wasn't listening at all.
My phone suddenly lit up.
It was a message from my friend Gao Wei.
"Is your girlfriend going to Taipei today?"
I stared at the sentence for two seconds.
"How do you know?"
He replied with a photo.
It had been taken on the Metro.
Ruoqing stood beside the train doors.
There was a man next to her.
He looked around forty, wearing a hat and a gray jacket.
They weren't holding hands.
They weren't even standing particularly close.
But they were clearly talking.
I zoomed in on the photo.
"Where was this taken?"
"A friend sent it to me."
"Your friend knows her?"
"No. I only realized it looked like her when I saw it."
I called him directly.
Gao Wei answered right away.
"What? Don't tell me you actually caught something."
"Which station is this?"
"I think somewhere around Zhongxiao Xinsheng."
"Who is that guy?"
"How would I know?"
I said nothing.
He laughed instead.
"Hey, it's Transparency Day."
"Don't mess around."
"How am I messing around? It's legal. If you want to know, go look for yourself."
I hung up.
I sat on the couch, staring at the photo.
Ruoqing looked perfectly normal.
She wasn't smiling.
There was no sign of intimacy between them.
Logically, there was nothing to worry about.
But I couldn't stop thinking about that pause in the morning.
When I asked which friend she was meeting, she had paused.
I checked the time.
8:23.
In the end, I still picked up my jacket.
Before leaving, I even thought I was being ridiculous.
Four years together, and I was going to follow my girlfriend because of one photo on the Metro.
But once I reached the ground floor, the need to know the answer only grew stronger.
Transparency Day had a strange kind of magic.
Things you normally felt you shouldn't do suddenly had someone telling you they were allowed today.
Once something was allowed, people started finding reasons to justify it to themselves.
I wasn't spying.
I was just checking.
I didn't distrust her.
I just wanted to know where she was going.
I took the Metro into Taipei.
Gao Wei sent another screenshot.
His friend had just seen it on a Transparency Day live-sharing platform.
Ruoqing appeared in the background of another video.
The location was Songjiang Road.
I made my way to Songjiang Road.
A little after nine, I really did see her.
Ruoqing was walking alone along the sidewalk.
The man from the Metro was gone.
She walked quickly.
I followed about fifty meters behind.
The feeling was strange.
I'd known her for four years.
She ground her teeth in her sleep.
She ate dumplings without dipping them in soy sauce.
When she was angry, she kept rearranging things on the table.
When she bought clothes, she always looked at black first.
We'd lived together for two years.
I thought I knew her very well.
But that morning, I saw her from a stranger's perspective for the first time.
She crossed the street.
I followed.
She went into an alley.
I went in, too.
Finally, she stopped in front of a very old apartment building.
It was a five-story building.
The tiles on its exterior walls had already turned black.
The first floor was closed off by a metal security gate.
The wall beside it was plastered with advertisements for plumbers, electricians, and moving companies.
Ruoqing stood at the entrance and pulled out her phone.
I had no idea what she sent.
In less than a minute, the metal gate opened.
She walked inside.
The door closed behind her.
I stood at the other end of the alley.
My heartbeat began to quicken.
It wasn't a hotel.
It wasn't a restaurant.
It wasn't a café.
It was a residence.
I walked over to look at the address plaque.
An old alley off Songjiang Road.
There was no building manager at the entrance.
There wasn't a business sign, either.
I took a photo and sent it to Gao Wei.
"Help me look this place up."
He replied quickly.
"You really followed her?"
"Look it up."
A few minutes later, he sent me old information from a real estate website.
The entire building was residential.
It had no commercial registration.
I stood at the entrance for nearly ten minutes.
I didn't know whether I should leave.
I didn't even know whether, if Ruoqing really had something going on with someone else, I wanted to see it with my own eyes.
Then I heard a camera shutter beside me.
Click.
I turned around.
A young man in a black tank top stood behind me.
He was holding a camera.
The lens was pointed straight at me.
"Why are you filming me?"
He smiled.
"It's Transparency Day."
"Delete it."
"No need."
After saying that, he turned and walked away.
I almost chased after him.
But in the end, I held myself back.
That was how things were today.
You had no right to ask other people why they were watching you.
Just as I had no right to ask myself why I was standing there.
I circled around to the side of the apartment building.
There was an even narrower alley back there.
Looking up, I could see part of the windows.
The curtains were drawn in one unit on the second floor.
Someone had laundry hanging on the third floor.
A fourth-floor window was half open.
The fifth floor had metal bars installed.
I didn't know which unit Ruoqing was in.
Just as I was about to leave, I saw something.
On the rooftop of the building across from us.
Someone was there.
A man was lying behind a low wall, with a camera fitted with a telephoto lens set up in front of him.
The lens wasn't aimed across the street.
It wasn't aimed at the pedestrians.
It was pointed straight at this apartment building.
I instinctively looked up.
The man saw me, too.
We stared at each other across the alley.
He didn't hide.
Instead, he slowly turned the lens toward me.
I stood there without moving.
A few seconds later, he waved at me.
Like he was saying hello.
Then he pulled out his phone.
My phone vibrated almost at the same time.
A message came from an unknown account.
There was no text.
Only a photo.
It was a picture of me.
Right now.
I was standing in the alley beside the apartment building, looking up at the camera.
The image was so clear that even my expression was visible.
I looked up again.
The man across the way had already left the low wall.
I immediately replied.
"Who are you?"
The message was read.
There was no answer.
Then he sent a second photo.
This one wasn't from today.
In the photo, I was wearing my high school uniform.
I was standing outside a convenience store.
My hair was very short.
I was holding a bottle of something to drink.
I stared at the photo, my mind going completely blank.
That had been at least fifteen years ago.
I didn't know when the photo had been taken.
I knew even less about why it was in a stranger's hands.
A third message appeared.
It contained only one sentence.
"You finally came."
I looked up.
There was no one left on the rooftop across the way.
But suddenly, a series of camera shutters rang out around me.
Click.
Click.
Click.
I turned around.
Someone behind the third-floor window was holding up a phone.
A lens protruded beside the fifth-floor bars.
Someone was standing on the balcony diagonally across from me, too.
Only then did I realize something that sent a chill down my spine.
The people in this alley weren't randomly filming whatever they could during Transparency Day.
They were all filming the same place.
This apartment building.
And now—
Half of those lenses had already turned toward me.