(21) <February 18>
There was no station behind the door. No platform, no tracks, not even a train. Only sunlight—ordinary sunlight, warm enough to make a person briefly forget that just moments ago, they had been standing somewhere that shouldn't exist.
Morse stood in front of the door without going in. He only stared at the sunlight. “February eighteenth…” he murmured, saying the date aloud.
Asti stood beside him. “Your birthday?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why would the door use your birthday?”
Morse shook his head. “I don't know.”
But his partner suddenly said, “Because it isn't your birthday.”
Morse turned. “What?”
His partner pointed at the doorplate. “It doesn't have a year.”
Morse froze. The doorplate really did only say: February 18. No year, no time, not even a location.
His partner looked at the door. “So this isn't February eighteenth of any particular year. It's a place where all February eighteenths overlap.”
Morse fell silent. Asti suddenly chuckled. “Sounds like a pain.”
Morse looked at her. “You're not scared?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
Asti answered as though it were obvious. “Because we've already come this far.” She patted Morse on the shoulder. “And it's your birthday. Maybe there's cake inside.”
Morse stared at her for two seconds. “…You want cake at a time like this?”
“What else?” Asti glared at him. “Do you think I followed you into a nonexistent station, Market Zero, and that weird train because I like solving mysteries?”
“I thought you liked me.”
“That’s a separate matter.”
“Oh.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh’?”
“Nothing.”
Beside them, the partner said expressionlessly, “Could you two not flirt while the world is about to be deleted?”
Morse looked at her. “You're not Asti?”
“…” Asti froze. So did the partner.
Morse added, “Then your jealousy is perfectly reasonable.”
“I’m going to push you through that door right now.”
“See?” Morse said to Asti. “It really is you.”
Partner: “…” Asti: “…”
Asti suddenly burst out laughing. Her laughter echoed through Platform Zero, brief enough to make the place look like the normal world. Only the conductor didn't laugh. He stood in the distance, staring at the door as if he were looking at somewhere he never wanted to see again.
“You're not going in?” Morse asked.
The conductor shook his head. “This door isn't meant to open for me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I came into existence later.”
Morse frowned. “Then who can go in?”
The conductor looked at him. “You. Asti. And—” His gaze fell on the partner. “Her.”
The partner was silent. “I count too?”
“You need to go in more than they do.”
Her brow furrowed even deeper. “Why?”
The conductor didn't answer. He only said, “Because there's something inside that you never got back.”
The partner didn't ask anything else. She walked up to the door and reached out. The door gave no response. She tried again. Still nothing.
Morse watched her. “Can't get in?”
“Shut up.”
“I was just asking.”
“Your face looks like it needs punching.”
Asti stood to the side. “I agree.”
Morse turned to her. “Whose side are you on?”
“The pretty side.”
Partner: “Both of you, shut up.”
At last, all three stood together in front of the door. Morse reached out. Asti reached out. The partner reached out too. Three hands touched the door at the same time.
Boom—the world suddenly went silent. It wasn't that sound had disappeared. Rather, everything that “existed” had stopped.
Morse saw his hand begin to turn transparent. Asti's hand began to turn transparent too. The partner was the first to disappear.
“Partner!” Asti grabbed her, but her fingers passed straight through.
The partner lowered her head and looked at her own hand. She didn't panic. She only gave a bitter smile. “Just as I thought.”
Morse looked at her. “What do you mean, ‘just as you thought’?”
“I knew it.” She raised her head. “I can't go in.”
“Why?”
“Because inside…” The partner looked at Morse. “There is no me.”
The next second, the sunlight behind the door suddenly vanished, replaced by a basement. Morse recognized it at a glance: the underground parking garage where he worked now, but not quite. The walls were older, the lights dimmer, and there were only three security cameras. The desk held none of the modern equipment.
Sitting behind the desk was a young man—Morse, much younger than he was now, probably in his twenties. He was sorting through a stack of papers, with a cup of coffee beside him.
Someone knocked on the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Young Morse looked up. “Come in.”
The door opened, and a girl walked in. She had short black hair and a petite build, wore a purple jacket, and carried a paper bag in her hands. She set the bag on the desk. “Happy birthday.”
Young Morse froze. “Today?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “You don't know your own birthday?”
Morse looked at her without answering. The girl sighed. “You're really weird.” She took a small cake out of the bag and set it on the desk. “Twenty-nine years old. Stop pretending you're still twenty.”
Morse's breathing caught for a moment. The Morse of the present froze too. Twenty-nine. Not the first time they met. Not thirty-nine, but twenty-nine.
The girl sat across from him. “Make a wish.”
Young Morse shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Birthday wishes are stupid.”
“If you don't make one, I'll eat it.”
“Then eat it.”
The girl immediately picked up a fork. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Then I won't hold back.” She lowered her head and began eating the cake.
Young Morse watched her and suddenly smiled. The sight stunned the Morse of the present, because he hadn't smiled like that in many years. It wasn't polite, it wasn't a bitter smile, and it wasn't the relief of a case ending. It was genuine happiness.
“Who is she?” Asti stood outside the door, looking at the girl as her eyes gradually grew confused.
Morse didn't answer, because he didn't know either.
But after eating a few bites of cake, the girl suddenly looked up. “Morse.”
Young Morse looked at her. “Yeah?”
“If one day…” The girl suddenly became very serious. “What if you forget me?”
Morse frowned. “I won't.”
“But what if you do?”
“Then we'll get acquainted again.”
The girl stared at him for a moment. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What if you forget again?”
“We'll get acquainted again.”
“What if you keep forgetting?”
Young Morse looked at her. After a long while, he said, “Then I'll keep getting acquainted with you.”
The girl said nothing more. She only lowered her head and smiled. Outside the door, Asti suddenly began to cry.
Morse looked at her. “What's wrong?”
Asti didn't answer. She only stared at the girl inside as tears streamed down her face. “I don't know… But I'm so sad.”
Morse slowly walked over to her. “You know her?”
Asti shook her head. “No.” She raised a hand and touched her chest. “But I feel like… I've forgotten her so many times.”
Inside the room, the girl suddenly lifted her head. She didn't look at young Morse. Instead, she looked straight outside the door, at the Morse of the present. Those eyes pierced through time, through twenty-nine and thirty-nine, through trains, Market Zero, and every world that had already been Archived, looking directly at him.
The girl smiled. “You came.”
Morse went rigid. The girl continued, “Ten years late this time.”
His heart clenched painfully. “You…”
The girl stood and walked toward the door. With every step she took, the world around her began to peel away—the basement, the cake, the desk, young Morse. All of it gradually became sheets of paper. At last, the girl stood in front of the door, separated from the Morse of the present by only a thin panel.
She reached out her hand. “Hello.”
Morse looked at her. “…Who are you?”
The girl didn't answer. She only smiled and said, “Didn't you say it yourself? If you forget, we'll get acquainted again.”
Her hand pressed against the door. Words began to appear across its surface. Not “Asti,” and not “partner,” but a name that had never appeared before—“Aida.”
Morse's pupils contracted. Asti covered her mouth. The partner's figure began to flicker violently.
And the girl said at last, “Hello, Morse. I'm—”
A black line suddenly slashed across the words on the door. “Aida” was deleted. The girl's voice warped in an instant, leaving behind only one final sentence: “…your first Asti.”
The door slammed shut. At that same moment, the date on the doorplate changed—February 18 became March 18.
Morse stood where he was. At some point, a small cake card had appeared in his hand. It contained only one sentence: “The second time we meet, please don't call me by the wrong name again.”
(22) <The Wrong Name>
“Aida.” Morse spoke the name softly, but it was like dropping a stone into Platform Zero. There was no echo, no answer of any kind. The door had disappeared. All that remained where it had been was a cold wall with nothing on it.
Morse lowered his head. The cake card was still in his hand, but the sentence grew more piercing the longer he looked at it—The second time we meet, please don't call me by the wrong name again.
“Aida…” He said it once more. Asti suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Don't say it again.”
Morse looked at her. “Why?”
“I don't know.” Her fingers tightened around his wrist. “It's just that when I hear this name, I feel like…” She paused. “Someone is going to be taken away from me.”
Morse didn't ask anything else. He simply put the card in his pocket.
The partner, however, remained silent. She stood by the wall, her body still flickering from time to time like an image with a bad signal. Morse walked over. “Are you okay?”
The partner raised her head. “I saw her.”
“Aida?”
“Yeah.” She lowered her head and looked at her hands. “I remember now too.”
Asti stepped closer. “Remember what?”
The partner didn't answer immediately. Several seconds later, she said, “The first time I met Morse.”
Morse froze.
“Not the underground parking garage, not the train, and not Market Zero.” The partner raised her head. “When he was twenty-nine.”
Morse said nothing. The partner continued, “It was his birthday. I brought him a cake.”
Asti stared at her. “But… that wasn't you.”
The partner looked at her. “Right. It wasn't me, and it wasn't Aida.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “But I remember the taste of that cake.”
Asti's eyes slowly widened. “I remember it too.”
The two of them fell silent at the same time. Morse suddenly understood. They weren't sharing the same memory. Rather, the same memory had been cut into different people.
The Bookkeeper suddenly walked over. “Do you understand now?”
Morse turned. “Understand what?”
The old man looked at the two Astis. “Why you two have never been able to tell which one of you is real. Because from the very beginning, there was no ‘real’ one.”
Morse frowned. “What about Aida?”
The old man fell silent. “She was only one version too?”
“No.” The old man shook his head. “She was the original.”
“The original?”
“The first person you came to know.”
Morse froze. The old man spoke slowly. “The name Asti only appeared later, and the identity of partner also came later. Only Aida—” He looked at the wall. “—was the first.”
“Then where is she now?” Morse asked.
The old man didn't answer. Morse raised his voice. “Where is she?”
“She has already been Archived.”
“So she can't be rescued?”
“No.” The old man lifted his eyes. “It's because she was never Archived in the first place.”
Morse froze. “What?”
“What you just saw wasn't her. It was the first meeting she left behind. The real Aida…” The old man paused. “has never appeared in any file.”
Morse suddenly remembered the first book—all those files, those absentees, those people whose names had been erased. “So we've never been able to find her because she isn't in Absence at all.”
“That's right.”
“She isn't in the Archive either?”
“That's right.”
“Then where is she?”
The old man looked toward the conductor. The conductor closed his eyes. “Outside the world.”
Morse fell silent. Asti suddenly asked, “What's outside the world?”
The conductor answered, “Before the story began.”
The partner said quietly, “Then isn't that…” She suddenly stopped.
Morse looked at her. “What?”
Her expression changed. “We've always assumed that where the first book began was the beginning of the story.” She raised her head. “But it wasn't. The first book was only the beginning we were allowed to remember.”
Boom. Platform Zero suddenly shook. A crack appeared in the ground. It didn't spread outward. Instead, it extended along a strange shape, eventually forming a huge circle. A line of text appeared at its center: “The first meeting has been resealed.”
Morse stared at the words. “The first meeting?”
The old man's face changed. “No. That's wrong.”
“What is?”
“That door just now…” The old man crouched down and carefully examined the words on the ground. “It wasn't showing us the first meeting.”
Morse frowned. “Then what was it?”
The old man reached out and touched the ground. The next second, a girl's laughter suddenly rang through all of Platform Zero—very soft, very distant, but everyone heard it. It was Aida's voice. “You've finally figured it out.”
Morse jerked his head up. “Aida?”
The laughter didn't stop. “I am not the person you first met. I am the first person you—” Her voice abruptly cut off. Then another voice took over: Morse's own voice. “—separated.”
Boom! The circular crack in the center of Platform Zero suddenly opened wide. There was no darkness below, but a street—a street Morse had never seen before, yet one that left Asti completely frozen the moment she saw it.
“…This place.”
Morse looked at her. “You know it?”
Asti didn't answer. She slowly walked to the edge of the crack. “I've been here.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
“With whom?”
She closed her eyes. “With you.”
Morse froze. “I don't remember.”
Asti opened her eyes. “I don't remember either. But I know.” She pointed below. At the end of the street was a little shop with a crooked sign that read: “Mingri Shop.”
Morse's pupils contracted. “Mingri Shop?” Wasn't that a fixed location in the anomalous world? Yet in the first book, Mingri Shop had always been believed to be “a place that could only be reached tomorrow.” Now it was right beneath their feet. And hanging on the door was a new sign—not Open, not Closed, but: “Today Only: The First Meeting.”
Asti suddenly grabbed Morse. “Don't go.”
Morse lowered his head to look at her. “Don't you want to know about your past?”
“I do.”
“Then why don't you want to go?”
Asti looked at the shop, her face growing paler and paler. “Because I remember one thing.”
“What?”
She spoke slowly. “I went in there with you once. And then—only you came out.”
Morse fell silent. The partner stepped behind them. “What about me?”
Asti turned around. “You didn't go in.”
The partner froze. “Why?”
Asti looked at her, her gaze gradually becoming strange. “Because back then…” She paused. “you hadn't been separated out yet.”
The partner went completely rigid.
Morse looked at Mingri Shop beneath his feet and suddenly laughed. Asti frowned. “What are you laughing at?”
“I just suddenly thought of something.”
“What?”
“It feels like we've been trying to solve a mystery whose answer we already knew.”
“Which answer?”
Morse raised his head. “We're not looking for Aida, or Asti, or partner.” He looked at the two women. “We're looking for which version of me separated you two.”
Asti was silent. So was the partner.
In the distance, the door of Mingri Shop suddenly opened on its own, and a wave of heat drifted out. Then someone stood behind the door. Her face couldn't be seen; only one hand was visible, holding three drinks—a black one, a purple one, and a clear one.
The person said softly, “Three guests, you're late.”
Morse stood at the edge of the crack. “Who are you?”
The person behind the door smiled faintly. “Not the person you're looking for.”
“Then do you know where Aida is?”
“I do.”
“Where is she?”
The person set the three drinks on a table. “Where you first separated.”
Morse's gaze darkened. “Where?”
The person behind the door lifted her head. This time, Morse finally saw her face. It wasn't Aida, Asti, or the partner. It was a face Morse had never seen before, yet instinctively knew he had once loved.
She smiled and said, “The underground parking garage, on the day you worked your first overnight shift.”