(19) “The First Person to Die”
“The first Morse to die.” After those words fell, no one spoke. Even the train conductor fell silent.
Morse stared at the black driver's cab. The figure behind the glass did not move. It simply sat there, as if it had been waiting for a very long time.
“You said he died?”
The sixth Morse nodded. “The first time—not the first time you rode the train, but the first time... the real you died.”
Morse frowned. “Then what am I now?”
“Don't know.” The answer came without hesitation.
Morse was the one who froze. “You don't know?”
“I only know one thing.” The sixth Morse looked at him. “After that, every ‘Morse’ was incomplete.”
Asti suddenly spoke. “Then what about the first me?” Everyone looked at her. She pointed at the driver's cab. “If he's the first Morse to die, then what about the first Asti?”
The sixth Morse did not answer. But the partner suddenly took a step back. Morse noticed. “You know?”
The partner lowered her head. “...I don't know.”
“Look at me when you say it.”
She raised her head. Her face was still Asti's, but her eyes no longer held their usual lightness. “I really don't know. I only know one thing.” She looked toward the Zero Train. “If the first Morse is in the driver's cab, then he shouldn't be driving.”
Morse frowned. “Why?”
“Because the first train...” Her voice gradually dropped. “...didn't have a driver.”
The Zero Train suddenly gave off a deep rumble. All the doors closed, and the “0” on its black body began to turn slowly, like a massive gear.
The train conductor immediately stepped forward. “Back away.”
Morse did not move. “Didn't you say this was Platform Zero?”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly is this train?”
The train conductor looked at it. “It isn't a train.”
Morse paused. “Then what is it?”
“The first Archive.”
The Keeper of Books went pale. “You finally admit it?”
The train conductor did not look at him. “It wasn't created by the train. It already existed before the train was created.”
The old man tightened his grip on Absence. “Then why has it appeared now?”
The train conductor fell silent, then looked at Asti. “Because the original passenger has returned.”
Asti froze. “Me?”
“No,” the train conductor said. “Her.”
The figure in the driver's cab finally stood. A face slowly appeared on the black glass—Morse, but not the Morse of now. The face was younger, around thirty. It had none of his current weariness, none of the heaviness that came from enduring so many cases. It even carried a hint of the smile Morse himself had long since forgotten.
He looked toward the platform, then knocked three times on the glass.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Morse's heart jolted. That was his own habit. But in the next second, young Morse turned around, revealing another person behind the driver's cab—Asti. She wore a completely unfamiliar white uniform, with a silver badge hanging over her chest. The badge bore only one character: “Zero.”
She moved close to young Morse and whispered something in his ear. Young Morse suddenly turned his head and looked straight at the Asti of the present. Then—he smiled.
Asti's tears fell without warning. “I know him.”
Morse froze. “Who?”
But she was staring at the driver's cab. “I don't remember, but I know him.”
Morse took a step closer. “Asti.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you remember now?”
She shook her head. “It's not a memory.”
“Then what is it?”
Asti raised a hand and pressed it to her chest. “It's like...” She frowned. “I used to work here.”
Everyone fell silent. “Where?”
“On the train,” Asti said. “I used to be one of the people on this train.”
The partner jerked her head up. “Impossible.”
Asti turned toward her. “Why?”
The partner did not answer, because she had suddenly noticed that a silver badge had appeared on Asti's chest. It was not solid; it looked as if it had surfaced from beneath her skin. It bore only one character—Zero.
The Keeper of Books went pale. “The original passenger...”
Morse stared at the badge. “What exactly is the original passenger?”
The old man was silent for a long time. At last, he opened Absence. This time, the book contained no name, only an illustration: a train with no destination, a girl standing beside a train door, and a man standing on the platform. Between them was a door in the process of closing. Beneath the picture was a single sentence:
“The first passenger is responsible for leaving. The first gatekeeper is responsible for staying.”
Morse looked at the train conductor. “Who is the gatekeeper?”
The train conductor did not answer. Morse asked again. “Is it you?”
The train conductor shook his head. “No.”
“Then who is it?”
The train conductor looked toward the driver's cab. “You.”
Morse froze. “Me?”
“The first gatekeeper,” the train conductor said, his voice so calm it was almost cruel, “is the Morse who died the first time.”
At that moment, Morse finally understood. The sixth version of himself was not “another self.” He was a failure. And the young Morse in the driver's cab before him—he was the original starting point. The first death, the first split, the first train, Asti's first escape—all of it began here.
Suddenly, the driver's-cab door opened. Young Morse walked out. He did not look at the train conductor, the Keeper of Books, or even his sixth self. He walked straight toward the real Morse. The two stood face-to-face, with identical faces and identical eyes, separated only by six failures.
Young Morse looked at him for a long time, then suddenly asked, “Do you still remember her?”
Morse did not answer. Young Morse pointed at Asti. “The real her. Not this one, not your partner, not the absent one, and not that substitute in the train.” He moved closer to Morse. “I'm asking about—the her you fell in love with the first time.”
A thunderclap seemed to go off in Morse's mind. The next second, all his memories began to run backward—Market Zero, the nonexistent station, the underground parking garage, every case from Part One, even the moment he first saw Asti—all of it rewound like a movie. Until finally, the image stopped at a place that had never appeared before: an ordinary station on an ordinary afternoon. No anomaly, no train, no Market Zero. Only a young girl standing on the platform.
She turned around, looked at young Morse, and said with a smile, “Why are you late again?”
Morse stared blankly at that face. It was not the way Asti looked now, yet there was no doubt—it was her. The real her.
The girl in the image reached out her hand, and young Morse took it. The instant their hands touched, a black hand suddenly tore the image apart.
In reality, Morse suddenly gasped. Young Morse had already stepped away. He looked at Morse, the smile gone from his face. “Do you remember now?”
Morse did not answer, because only one answer remained before his eyes—Asti had not first appeared on the train. The first time she appeared in his life was before the train appeared.
At that very moment, the Zero Train's announcement came over the speakers: “Original passenger confirmed. First gatekeeper confirmed. The first Archive is beginning to reload.”
Young Morse looked up. The lights in every car came on at the same time. Then the announcement spoke its final sentence: “Both passengers, return to the place where you first met. Begin again.”
(20) “Starting Over”
“Begin again.” After the announcement's final two words fell, the lights of the Zero Train went out one by one.
Morse stood in the center of the platform, but his mind held only the image from moments ago—an ordinary station, an ordinary afternoon, no anomaly, no Archive, no train. Only a girl and one perfectly ordinary sentence: “Why are you late again?”
He remembered her face and the way she smiled. He even remembered that she had been holding a drink that day. But—he could not remember her name.
Morse closed his eyes. “...Asti.”
A voice came from behind him. He turned around. Asti stood there, her expression a little bewildered. “Did you call me?”
Morse froze. “You...” He wanted to ask, “Did you remember too?” But the words stopped at his lips. There was nothing unusual in Asti's eyes—no memory, no fear, only simple confusion. “What is it?”
Morse did not answer. For the first time, a thought arose that frightened even him—maybe the person he had just remembered was not Asti at all.
“Stop thinking about it.” The sixth Morse walked over.
Morse immediately looked at him. “You know that memory?”
“I know it.”
“Who was that girl?”
“Don't know.”
Morse frowned. “Didn't you say you'd lived through six times?”
“I did.”
“Then how could you not know?”
The sixth Morse looked at him. “Because every time, I can only remember the previous version. Just like you now.” He pointed at Morse. “You remember that girl, but you don't remember her name.”
“I remember her name.”
The sixth Morse paused. After several seconds, he said, “But I don't remember her face.”
The two men stopped at the same time. This was no coincidence. They finally understood that every reset left certain things behind, but took certain things away at the same time. Some people lost their names, some lost their faces, some lost their memories, and some even lost proof that they had ever existed. And the pieces that remained—those would be assembled into another “person” in the next cycle.
The partner suddenly said, “So Asti...” She stopped. Asti looked at her. “What?” The partner did not answer, because she had suddenly realized something even more terrifying—if she and Asti were two parts of the same existence, then... which cycle had produced the Asti who existed now?
The Keeper of Books suddenly handed Absence to Morse. “Turn to the end.”
Morse took it. “The last page?”
“No.” The old man shook his head. “The real end.” He pointed to the very back of the book, where there were no pages.
Morse frowned. “This is already the last page.”
“No,” the Keeper of Books said. “The book's true last page isn't inside the book.”
Morse hesitated. The old man held out his hand. “Give me your hand.” Morse did as he was told. The old man pressed his palm against the book's spine. The next second, all of Absence began to shake violently. The pages started separating layer by layer. The cover split open, and the inner pages peeled away. At last, the thick book became a single thin sheet of paper. It contained only one sentence:
“The absent are not people erased by the world.”
Beneath it was a second sentence:
“They are people who left the world of their own accord.”
Morse looked up. “Of their own accord?”
The old man nodded. “True absence is not death. It is refusing to be defined by this world. So you've all been mistaken from the beginning.”
Morse looked at Asti. “She wasn't taken by the train?”
“No.”
“She left on her own?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The old man did not answer. He only looked toward the Zero Train. Young Morse aboard the train was watching Asti. Their eyes met. Asti suddenly frowned and took a step forward. “You...”
Young Morse smiled faintly. “Finally.”
Asti's expression suddenly changed. She raised a hand to her forehead. “It hurts...”
Morse immediately caught her. “Asti!”
“I remember now...”
“What?”
Asti gripped Morse's hand tightly. “You didn't kill me.”
Morse froze. “What?”
“The first time...” She panted. “You didn't kill me. I...” She raised her head, tears streaming down her face. “I killed you.”
Morse went completely rigid. The sixth Morse whipped his head around. “Impossible.”
Asti looked at him. “You forgot too?”
The sixth Morse's face turned deathly pale. Asti continued, “When the train first appeared... I wasn't the passenger. You were.”
Morse's breath caught. She took his hand. “You died, so I got on the train. I wasn't escaping the train. I was trying to bring you back.”
Everyone fell silent. Young Morse stood in the distance, his expression sad for the first time.
Asti looked at him. “But I failed, so the train kept me. And then...” She looked toward the partner. “It split me into two people.”
The partner's body trembled faintly. “One stayed.”
“One returned to reality,” Asti said softly. “So you're not my other half.” The partner raised her head. “You're the part of me that remained after my first failure.”
The partner froze. But Morse suddenly understood. All this time, they had interpreted “partner” as Asti's split personality. But that was not it. The partner was the Asti the train had kept after the first failure. And the Asti here now was the other part, sent back to reality after that failure. Both of them were Asti, yet neither was the complete Asti.
“Then where is the real Asti?” Morse asked.
No one answered. Until young Morse stepped down from the Zero Train and came before the three of them. He looked at the two Astis, then finally at Morse. “Do you want to know the real answer?”
Morse nodded. Young Morse placed a train ticket in his hand. The ticket had no date and no destination, only a name—Asti. Beneath the passenger field, it read:
“Reason for absence: Refused to become any version.”
Morse looked up. “Where is she?”
Young Morse did not answer. He simply turned and walked back toward the Zero Train. Before stepping through the door, he paused. “If you really want to find her, stop looking for Asti.”
Morse frowned. “What do you mean?”
Young Morse looked back. “Go find the person who—hasn't been called Asti yet.”
The doors closed. The Zero Train began moving backward—not toward anywhere, but straight into that blank space. At last, it vanished completely.
Platform Zero fell silent again. Morse looked down at the ticket in his hand. Asti stood beside him, and the partner stood on his other side. Three people, three figures, yet only two of them truly existed.
Morse suddenly smiled. “Okay.”
Asti looked at him in confusion. “What?”
He put away the ticket. “Find her.”
The partner frowned. “Find who?”
Morse looked toward the blank door that had already closed. “Find Asti before she had a name. Find the day she first truly appeared in my life.”
In the distance, the train conductor suddenly turned around. “Are you sure?”
Morse nodded. “I am.”
The train conductor watched him for a long time, then said only, “Then the first chapter of Part Two...” He raised a hand. A new door slowly appeared on Platform Zero. There was no station name on its sign, only a date—February 18.
Morse looked at the date, his expression gradually hardening. It was his birthday.
And from behind the door came a girl's bright voice: “Why are you late again?”
Morse jerked his head up. Asti and the partner turned around at the same time. The door—opened.