(25) “Who Will You Choose?”
“Who will you choose this time?” Every Morse in the entire underground parking garage spoke at once, their voices overlapping. They sounded like one person, and like countless people.
The air inside the security office instantly froze. Morse stood in the doorway, staring at those “selves”—twenty years old, twenty-nine, thirty-nine, and even one whose hair had already gone completely white. They wore clothes from different eras. Some had blood on them, some held train tickets, and some wore attendant badges around their necks. But every one of them had the same eyes: tired, calm, and carrying something Morse himself refused to admit—fear.
“You’re all me?” Morse asked.
The twenty-nine-year-old Morse at the front answered, “No.”
“Then what are you?”
“We’re the results of the choices you didn’t make.”
Morse fell silent. Asti stepped up beside him. “So everyone here is one possibility?”
“Not a possibility,” the young Morse said. “A failure.”
Asti frowned. “You too?”
“Especially me.” He looked at the Morse standing before him. “I failed the first time, the second time, and the third time. Every time you thought you were making a choice, you were really just sending another version of yourself in here.”
Morse looked across the parking garage and suddenly understood. This wasn’t a place where “the Morses” had gathered. It was a cemetery, burying all the lives that had never been chosen.
The white-haired Morse took a step forward. “You have three options now.”
Morse looked at him. “The first?”
He pointed at Asti. “Choose her, and let her become the complete Aida again.”
Asti froze.
“The second.” He pointed at his partner. “Choose her, and let her become a real person.”
His partner’s expression shifted slightly.
“The third.” The white-haired Morse looked at Morse himself. “Choose yourself.”
“What does that mean?”
“Leave.”
Morse frowned. “Leave whom?”
“Everyone. The train. the Archive. The Absent. Asti. Your partner.” The white-haired Morse looked at him. “Even yourself.”
Asti immediately grabbed Morse’s hand. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Why not?”
“Because anything that sounds like that is obviously a trap.”
His partner nodded too. “I agree.”
Morse looked at her. “You know that too?”
“I don’t.”
“But whenever there’s a three-way choice involving you,” his partner said expressionlessly, “it usually means nothing good.”
Morse actually couldn’t argue with that.
A car horn suddenly sounded in the underground parking garage. BEEP—Every Morse turned their head at once. A car slowly approached from the distance, its headlights glaring, and stopped in front of the security office. The driver’s door opened, and someone stepped out. When Morse saw her face, he froze again. It wasn’t him. It was—Aida.
She wore that purple coat and carried a birthday cake, exactly as she had in the security-camera feed. Only this time, she wasn’t smiling. She stood in front of all the Morses. “You’re still choosing?”
No one answered. Aida walked up to Morse. “I didn’t send you here to find me.”
Morse looked at her. “Then what did you send me here for?”
“To look.”
“At what?”
Aida looked at Asti, then at his partner, and finally back at Morse. “To see how much you actually remember.”
Morse frowned. “I remember you.”
“Wrong.”
“I remember your name.”
“Wrong.”
“Then what am I supposed to remember?”
Aida didn’t answer. She simply opened the cake box. Inside wasn’t a cake, but a photograph.
Morse reached in and picked it up. There were four people in the photograph—younger Morse, Aida, Asti, and his partner. The four of them stood at the entrance to the underground parking garage, all of them smiling.
Morse stared at the photograph. “Impossible.”
“Why?”
“They…” He pointed at Asti and his partner. “They weren’t supposed to have split apart yet.”
Aida nodded. “That’s right.”
“Then why are there four people in the photograph?”
“Because…” Aida looked at him. “You two were never separate to begin with.”
Asti went white. His partner froze too.
Morse stared at the photograph. “Then what is this?”
Aida reached out and pointed to the center of the photograph. Between the four people was another empty space. “The fifth person.”
Morse froze. “The fifth?”
“Yes.”
“There are only four people in the photograph.”
“That’s why he’s the most important.”
The photograph began to heat up, and the image on its surface slowly twisted. A figure gradually emerged from the empty space—first the shoulders, then the hands, and finally—the face. Morse stopped breathing. Because that face wasn’t Morse, Asti, Aida, or his partner. It belonged to someone completely unfamiliar. And yet the instant Morse saw him, he knew his name.
“…Shen Lü.”
Asti whipped her head around. “You know him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why do you know his name?”
Morse didn’t answer. The man in the photograph was smiling, one hand resting on younger Morse’s shoulder and the other on Aida’s. Asti and his partner stood behind them, as if the four of them were protecting him.
The white-haired Morse suddenly said, “Finally.”
Morse looked up. “What?”
“You remembered him.”
“Who is he?”
Every Morse took a step back at the same time. Only the white-haired one remained still. “He isn’t anyone.”
Morse frowned. “Then what is he?”
The white-haired Morse looked at the photograph. “He’s the first person you forgot.”
Morse’s fingers instantly went rigid. “I’ve forgotten a lot of people.”
“Not like this.”
“Then what kind of forgetting was it?”
The white-haired Morse looked up. “The first time you forgot someone, it wasn’t because of the train, the Archive, or the world deleting them. It was because…” He pointed at Morse. “You chose to forget them yourself.”
Morse’s chest suddenly sank. “Why?” This time, Asti was the one who asked.
The white-haired Morse looked at her. “Because Shen Lü knew the truth.”
“What truth?”
“He knew Aida wasn’t the first.”
Asti froze. Morse looked at Aida, but she didn’t deny it. “Then who was the first?”
No one answered. Aida slowly turned around and looked toward the deepest part of the underground parking garage. There had been a wall there, but now a door had appeared. The plaque on it had no date and no number, only one character: “Before.”
Aida said, “He wasn’t the first.”
“Then who was?”
“Before him…” She paused. “There was someone else.”
Morse walked toward the door. Aida suddenly grabbed him. “Don’t.”
“Weren’t you the one who told me to look?”
“I told you to look. I didn’t tell you to go inside.”
Morse lowered his eyes to her hand. “Are you afraid?”
Aida fell silent. It was the first time Morse had ever seen her afraid. Not of the train, not of death, but of that door. “Who’s inside?”
Aida slowly released him. “You.”
Morse froze. “Me again?”
“Not the you who exists now.”
“Then who?”
Aida looked at him. “The first Morse.”
BOOM—Every light in the underground parking garage went out at once. In the darkness, countless Morses all took a step back. Only the door lit up, a sliver of white shining through the crack. Then a voice came from behind it, very young, so young it barely sounded like Morse at all.
“You came looking for me?”
Morse stood before the door. The voice sounded again. “Then come in.”
The door slowly opened. There was no room or hallway beyond it, only a field of white, so white it had no end. Morse saw someone standing in that white expanse with his back to him, wearing clothes completely different from his own.
The person slowly turned around. When Morse saw his face, his heart jolted violently. Because that face—looked even more like “Morse” than his own.
The man looked at him and smiled. “Hello. I’m the first.” He paused. “And the only time you were never split apart.”
Asti and his partner stepped behind Morse at the same time. Aida remained where she was, unwilling to approach.
Morse looked back. “Aida?”
She shook her head. “I can’t go in.”
“Why not?”
Aida looked at the “first Morse,” and for the first time, real fear appeared in her eyes. “Because if I go in…” She lowered her head. “You’ll remember why I killed you.”
Morse went rigid. But the first Morse smiled from within the white space. “No. She didn’t kill you. You…” His gaze fell on Asti and his partner. “You killed yourself for the first time and turned yourself into three people.”
(26) “Three Morses”
“You killed yourself for the first time and turned yourself into three people.” After those words fell, Morse didn’t move, and neither did Asti. But his partner suddenly raised her head. “…Three?”
The first Morse nodded. “That’s right.”
“Not two?”
“Not two.”
His partner frowned. “Then who’s the third?”
The first Morse looked at her. “You’ve always seen him. You just didn’t recognize him.”
Morse’s gaze slowly swept across the security office—Asti, his partner, Aida, and himself. Four people. Where was this third Morse supposed to be? “Who is it?”
The first Morse didn’t answer. He only raised his hand and pointed behind Morse. Morse turned around. There was no one there. “There’s nothing there.”
“Not now,” the first Morse said. “Look farther back.”
Morse paused. “What does that mean?”
“Haven’t you always been looking for the first version?”
“I have.”
“Then don’t look forward. Look back.”
The next second, the underground parking garage behind Morse began to distort. The walls pulled apart, the floor stretched longer, and all the parking spaces vanished. In their place appeared a long hallway, with photographs covering both walls. One. Two. Ten. A hundred. Every photograph showed Morse—some smiling, some crying, some injured, some wearing a uniform, some dressed in completely unfamiliar clothes, and some—even no longer looking human.
Morse stood at the entrance to the hallway. “What is this?”
The first Morse said, “You.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
Asti walked up to the first photograph. The Morse in it looked about twenty years old and stood outside a convenience store, with no one beside him. In the second, he was twenty-one and sitting at a bus stop, again with no one beside him. In the third, he was twenty-three and standing in a hospital hallway, still alone. In the fourth, he was twenty-five and standing in an underground parking garage, still alone. It wasn’t until the fifth photograph, showing Morse at twenty-nine, that he finally saw Aida.
Asti stared at the photograph. “She was always there.”
“Yes.”
“But she isn’t in the other photographs.”
“Because she hadn’t appeared yet.”
Asti frowned. “Then why did she first appear at twenty-nine?”
The first Morse answered, “Because that wasn’t the first time she appeared. It was the first time Morse saw her.”
Asti froze. Morse walked up to the photograph. “So she’d always existed?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
The first Morse looked at him. “Inside you.”
Morse said nothing. “Before you first met Aida, she was already inside you. You just didn’t know it.”
“Then what exactly is she?”
The first Morse said, “A part of you that you lost.”
His partner suddenly turned around. “What about me?”
The first Morse looked at her. “You?”
“When did I appear?”
“After the first death.”
“And Asti?”
“The second time.”
Asti froze. “The second time?”
“Yes.”
“So I’m not Aida?”
“No.”
“Then what am I?”
The first Morse was silent for several seconds. “You’re the person he created so he could keep living.”
Morse frowned. “Who?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“You from the second time.”
Asti slowly backed away. “So…” She looked at Morse. “You created me?”
Morse didn’t answer. But the first Morse continued. “The first time, you lost Aida. The second time, you refused to accept it, so you gave a new name to the part of her that remained. You called her Asti.”
Asti’s face gradually went pale. “Then what about my partner?”
“The first time.”
“And Aida?”
“Zero times.”
“…” Asti stared blankly at him. “Then what number am I?”
The first Morse smiled. “You? You’re the third time.”
Morse whipped his head around. “The third time?”
The first Morse nodded. “That’s why there are three Morses.”
“Wait.” Morse stepped closer. “You just said I killed myself for the first time and turned myself into three people.”
“That’s right.”
“But there’s only one of me now.”
“No.” The first Morse raised his hand. “You still have two others.”
“Where?”
“One is inside her.” He pointed at Asti. Asti froze.
“One…” His hand turned toward his partner. “Is inside her.”
His partner’s whole body went rigid. Morse’s pupils contracted. “You two…”
The first Morse said, “It isn’t that Asti and your partner each have a piece of Morse inside them. It’s that each of them carries a Morse who was cut away.”
Asti suddenly covered her ears. “Stop talking.”
“Asti?”
“Stop!” She crouched down. “I don’t want to hear this.”
Morse immediately crouched beside her. “Look at me.”
Asti raised her head. “Morse…” Her voice trembled. “Sometimes I dream about things.”
“What things?”
“I dream about you.”
“I know.”
“Not you.”
Morse stopped. “The you in your dreams…”
Asti bit her lip. “He doesn’t like purple.”
Morse froze. “What?”
“He doesn’t like it. And he hates sweet things. He doesn’t drink coffee. He doesn’t even work as a parking garage attendant.”
Morse stared blankly at her. “Then what does he do?”
Asti looked up. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing.” She looked at Morse. “He’s always looking for someone.”
“Who?”
Asti’s tears fell. “Me.”
His partner suddenly let out a laugh. Morse turned around. She was standing in front of another photograph. “Then I know too,” she said. “The Morse in my dreams.”
Morse walked over. “What’s he like?”
“He’s awful.”
“Worse than you.”
“Thanks.”
“He doesn’t smile.”
“That part doesn’t sound like me.”
“He does,” his partner said, looking at the photograph, “but only in front of Aida.”
Morse fell silent. His partner pointed at the photograph. “He also has a habit.”
“What habit?”
“Whenever he’s afraid, he touches his left hand.”
Morse instinctively lowered his eyes. His left hand was touching his own wrist. He froze. Asti saw it too. “You…”
Morse immediately let go. His partner said nothing, only watched him. “So you’re starting to remember too.”
“I haven’t remembered anything.”
“You have.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re lying right now.”
Morse fell silent.
But the first Morse suddenly said, “Stop looking.”
Morse looked up. “What?”
“You’ve already found the answer.”
“I haven’t found anything.”
“You know who the third is.”
Morse looked at Asti, then at his partner, and finally at himself. “The third…” He suddenly stopped.
The first Morse smiled. “That’s right. It’s you. Not the you who exists now, but the you you’ve always refused to acknowledge.”
The photographs on the wall began to burn. Not with fire, but as the Morses inside them vanished one by one—twenty, twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-five, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-two, thirty-five. Until only three photographs remained. The first showed Aida with a nameless Morse. The second showed Asti with a Morse wearing an unfamiliar work badge. The third showed his partner with a Morse covered in blood. Three photographs, three men, three Morses.
The first Morse stood at the front. “This is who you really are.”
Morse looked at the three photographs. “Then what am I?”
“You?” The first Morse smiled. “You’re the fourth time.”
Morse froze. “What?”
“The first Morse. The second Morse. The third Morse. And only then, you.” He raised his hand and pointed at Morse. “You’re the fourth.”
Morse didn’t move. “Then the me from the first Archive…”
“The fourth time.”
“So I’m not the original me?”
“You never were.”
Morse suddenly laughed. “Great.”
Asti looked at him. “What are you laughing at?”
“At least I don’t have to clean up the mess those first three left behind.”
His partner: “…” Asti: “…” The first Morse: “…”
Morse spread his hands. “Am I wrong?”
His partner said expressionlessly, “Do you realize how much that sounds like something an irresponsible piece of crap would say?”
“Yes.”
“And you still said it?”
“The mood was getting too heavy.”
Asti suddenly laughed. “I think it works.”
His partner looked at her. “He’s corrupted you too.”
“Too late.”
Morse looked at the two of them. In that moment, he suddenly realized that even if he really was only the fourth, even if there had been three versions of himself before him, he was still truly himself now. Not because he was the first, not because he was the original, but because he was standing here at this moment.
The first Morse looked at him. “That’s the biggest difference between you and them.”
Morse looked up. “What?”
“The first three times, you were always thinking about how to turn them back into what they used to be.” He looked at Asti, then at his partner. “You’re the only one who started accepting them as they are now.”
Morse fell silent.
“That’s why you’ve lived longer than they did.”
Aida suddenly walked over. She hadn’t spoken until now. “No.”
The first Morse looked at her. “It isn’t because of that?”
“Then why?”
Aida looked at Morse. “Because the fourth-time you never truly made a choice.”
Morse froze. Aida extended her hand and pointed to the three photographs on the wall. “The first three times, there were choices. The fourth time, nothing was chosen. Because his choice…” She looked at Morse. “Had already been made for him before the first Archive began.”
Morse’s expression slowly darkened. “Who?”
Aida didn’t answer. But the first Morse closed his eyes. “You should ask.”
Morse looked at him. “Ask what?”
The first Morse opened his eyes. “Not who chose for you, but…” The entire hallway began to tremble. Deep within the white space, a train with no tracks slowly approached.
The first Morse looked at the train. “Who decided that you could only be the fourth?”
The train doors opened. There were no passengers inside, only an empty seat. A black train ticket lay on it. Morse approached. Written on the ticket were:
—Passenger: Morse. Number: Fourth time. Status: Complete. Mission: Keep Asti alive. Note: The subject must not learn the truth.
Morse stared at the final line for a long time without speaking. Then he slowly raised his head and looked at the first Morse. “So the first Archive…”
“Yeah.”
“Was fake from the beginning?”
The first Morse shook his head. “Not fake. Just…” He looked at the ticket in Morse’s hand. “Someone knew from the start that you would end up there.”
The train doors suddenly closed. The next second, the intercom inside the train crackled to life. It wasn’t the conductor’s voice, but a woman’s—very familiar, gentle, and carrying even a hint of a smile.
“Fourth time. Welcome back.”
Morse’s expression changed instantly. Because he had heard that voice before. The first time Asti called his name.