目录

    北京折叠 | Floding Beijing

    中文版

    壹

    贰

    叁

    肆

    伍

    The English Edition

    ONE

    TWO

    THREE

    FOUR

    FIVE

    中英对照

    壹 | ONE

    贰 | TWO

    叁 | THREE

    肆 | FOUR

    伍 | FIVE

    制作者北京折叠 | Floding Beijing

    中文版

    壹

    清晨4:50，老刀穿过熙熙攘攘的步行街，去找彭蠡。

    从垃圾站下班之后，老刀回家洗了个澡，换了衣服。白色衬衫和褐色裤

    子，这是他唯一一套体面衣服，衬衫袖口磨了边，他把袖子卷到胳膊

    肘。老刀四十八岁，没结婚，已经过了注意外表的年龄，又没人照顾起

    居，这一套衣服留着穿了很多年，每次穿一天，回家就脱了叠上。他在

    垃圾站上班，没必要穿得体面，偶尔参加谁家小孩的婚礼，才拿出来穿

    在身上。这一次他不想脏兮兮地见陌生人。他在垃圾站连续工作了五小

    时，很担心身上会有味道。

    步行街上挤满了刚刚下班的人。拥挤的男人女人围着小摊子挑土特产，大声讨价还价。食客围着塑料桌子，埋头在酸辣粉的热气腾腾中，饿虎

    扑食一般，白色蒸汽遮住了脸。油炸的香味弥漫。货摊上的酸枣和核桃

    堆成山，腊肉在头顶摇摆。这个点是全天最热闹的时间，基本都收工

    了，忙碌了几个小时的人们都赶过来吃一顿饱饭，人声鼎沸。

    老刀艰难地穿过人群。端盘子的伙计一边喊着让让一边推开挡道的人，开出一条路来，老刀跟在后面。

    彭蠡家在小街深处。老刀上楼，彭蠡不在家。问邻居，邻居说他每天快

    到关门才回来，具体几点不清楚。老刀有点担忧，看了看手表，清晨5点。

    他回到楼门口等着。两旁狼吞虎咽的饥饿少年围绕着他。他认识其中两

    个，原来在彭蠡家见过一两次。少年每人面前摆着一盘炒面或炒粉，几

    个人分吃两个菜，盘子里一片狼藉，筷子扔在无望而锲而不舍地拨动，寻找辣椒丛中的肉星。老刀又下意识闻了闻小臂，不知道身上还有没有

    垃圾的腥味。周围的一切嘈杂而庸常，和每个清晨一样。

    “哎，你们知道那儿一盘回锅肉多少钱吗？”那个叫小李的少年说。

    “靠，菜里有沙子。”另外一个叫小丁的胖少年突然捂住嘴说，他的指甲

    里还带着黑泥， “坑人啊。得找老板退钱!”

    “人家那儿一盘回锅肉，就三百四。”小李说，“三百四!一盘水煮牛肉

    四百二呢。”

    “什么玩意？这么贵。”小丁捂着腮帮子咕哝道。

    另外两个少年对谈话没兴趣，还在埋头吃面，小李低头看着他们，眼睛

    似乎穿过他们，看到了某个看不见的地方，目光里有热切。

    老刀的肚子也感觉到饥饿。他迅速转开眼睛，可是来不及了，那种感觉

    迅速席卷了他，胃的空虚像是一个深渊，让他身体微微发颤。他有一个

    月不吃清晨这顿饭了。一顿饭差不多一百块，一个月三千块，攒上一年

    就够糖糖两个月的幼儿园开销了。

    他向远处看，城市清理队的车辆已经缓缓开过来了。

    他开始做准备，若彭蠡一时再不回来，他就要考虑自己行动了。虽然会

    带来不少困难，但时间不等人，总得走才行。身边卖大枣的女人高声叫

    卖，不时打断他的思绪，声音的洪亮刺得他头疼。步行街一端的小摊子

    开始收拾，人群像用棍子搅动的池塘里的鱼，倏一下散去。没人会在这

    时候和清理队较劲。小摊子收拾得比较慢，清理队的车耐心地移动。步

    行街通常只是步行街，但对清理队的车除外。谁若走得慢了，就被强行

    收拢起来。

    这时彭蠡出现了。他剔着牙，敞着衬衫的扣子，不紧不慢地踱回来，不

    时打饱嗝。彭蠡六十多了，变得懒散不修边幅，两颊像沙皮狗一样耷拉着，让嘴角显得总是不满意地撇着。如果只看这幅模样，不知道他年轻

    时的样子，会以为他只是个胸无大志只知道吃喝的怂包。但从老刀很小

    的时候，他就听父亲讲过彭蠡的事。

    老刀迎上前去。彭蠡看到他要打招呼，老刀却打断他：“我没时间和你

    解释。我需要去第一空间，你告诉我怎么走。”

    彭蠡愣住了，已经有十年没人跟他提过第一空间的事，他的牙签捏在手

    里，不知不觉掰断了。他有片刻没回答，见老刀实在有点急了，才拽着

    他向楼里走。“回我家说，”彭蠡说，“要走也从那儿走。”

    在他们身后，清理队已经缓缓开了过来，像秋风扫落叶一样将人们扫回

    家。“回家啦，回家啦。转换马上开始了。”车上有人吆喝着。

    彭蠡带老刀上楼，进屋。他的单人小房子和一般公租屋无异，六平米房

    间，一个厕所，一个能做菜的角落，一张桌子一把椅子，胶囊床铺，胶

    囊下是抽拉式箱柜，可以放衣服物品。墙面上有水渍和鞋印，没做任何

    修饰，只是歪斜着贴了几个挂钩，挂着夹克和裤子。进屋后，彭蠡把墙

    上的衣服毛巾都取下来，塞到最靠边的抽屉里。转换的时候，什么都不

    能挂出来。老刀以前也住这样的单人公租房。一进屋，他就感到一股旧

    日的气息。

    彭蠡直截了当地瞪着老刀：“你不告诉我为什么，我就不告诉你怎么

    走。”

    已经5点半了，还有半个小时。

    老刀简单讲了事情的始末。从他捡到纸条瓶子，到他偷偷躲入垃圾道，到他在第二空间接到的委托，再到他的行动。他没有时间描述太多，最

    好马上就走。

    “你躲在垃圾道里？去第二空间？”彭蠡皱着眉，“那你得等24小时啊。”

    “二十万块。”老刀说，“等一礼拜也值啊。”

    “你就这么缺钱花？”

    老刀沉默了一下。“糖糖还有一年多该去幼儿园了。”他说，“我来不及

    了。”老刀去幼儿园咨询的时候，着实被吓到了。稍微好一点的幼儿园招生前

    两天，就有家长带着铺盖卷在幼儿园门口排队，两个家长轮着，一个吃

    喝拉撒，另一个坐在幼儿园门口等。就这么等上四十多个小时，还不一

    定能排进去。前面的名额早用钱买断了，只有最后剩下的寥寥几个名额

    分给苦熬排队的爹妈。这只是一般不错的幼儿园，更好一点的连排队都

    不行，从一开始就是钱买机会。老刀本来没什么奢望，可是自从糖糖一

    岁半之后，就特别喜欢音乐，每次在外面听见音乐，她就小脸放光，跟

    着扭动身子手舞足蹈。那个时候她特别好看。老刀对此毫无抵抗力，他

    就像被舞台上的灯光层层围绕着，只看到一片耀眼。无论付出什么代

    价，他都想送糖糖去一个能教音乐和跳舞的幼儿园。

    彭蠡脱下外衣，一边洗脸，一边和老刀说话。说是洗脸，不过只是用水

    随便抹一抹。水马上就要停了，水流已经变得很小。彭蠡从墙上拽下一

    条脏兮兮的毛巾，随意蹭了蹭，又将毛巾塞进抽屉。他湿漉漉的头发显

    出油腻的光泽。

    “你真是作死，”彭蠡说，“她又不是你闺女，犯得着吗。”

    “别说这些了。快告我怎么走。”老刀说。

    彭蠡叹了口气：“你可得知道，万一被抓着，可不只是罚款，得关上好

    几个月。”

    “你不是去过好多次吗？”

    “只有四次。第五次就被抓了。”

    “那也够了。我要是能去四次，抓一次也无所谓。”

    老刀要去第一空间送一样东西，送到了挣十万块，带来回信挣二十万。

    这不过是冒违规的大不韪，只要路径和方法对，被抓住的几率并不大，挣的却是实实在在的钞票。他不知道有什么理由拒绝。他知道彭蠡年轻

    的时候为了几笔风险钱，曾经偷偷进入第一空间好几次，贩卖私酒和

    烟。他知道这条路能走。

    5:45。他必须马上走了。

    彭蠡又叹口气，知道劝也没用。他已经上了年纪，对事懒散倦怠了，但他明白，自己在五十岁前也会和老刀一样。那时他不在乎坐牢之类的

    事。不过是熬几个月出来，挨两顿打，但挣的钱是实实在在的。只要抵

    死不说钱的下落，最后总能过去。秩序局的条子也不过就是例行公事。

    他把老刀带到窗口，向下指向一条被阴影覆盖的小路。

    “从我房子底下爬下去，顺着排水管，毡布底下有我原来安上去的脚

    蹬，身子贴得足够紧了就能避开摄像头。从那儿过去，沿着阴影爬到边

    上。你能摸着也能看见那道缝。沿着缝往北走。一定得往北。千万别错

    了。”

    彭蠡接着解释了爬过土地的诀窍。要借着升起的势头，从升高的一侧沿

    截面爬过五十米，到另一侧地面，爬上去，然后向东，那里会有一丛灌

    木，在土地合拢的时候可以抓住并隐藏自己。老刀没有听完，就已经将

    身子探出窗口，准备向下爬了。

    彭蠡帮老刀爬出窗子，扶着他踩稳了窗下的踏脚。彭蠡突然停下

    来。“说句不好听的，”他说，“我还是劝你最好别去。那边可不是什么

    好地儿，去了之后没别的，只能感觉自己的日子有多操蛋。没劲。”

    老刀的脚正在向下试探，身子还扒着窗台。“没事。”他说得有点费

    劲，“我不去也知道自己的日子有多操蛋。”

    “好自为之吧。”彭蠡最后说。

    老刀顺着彭蠡指出的路径快速向下爬。脚蹬的位置非常舒服。他看到彭

    蠡在窗口的身影，点了根烟，非常大口地快速抽了几口，又掐了。彭蠡

    一度从窗口探出身子，似乎想说什么，但最终还是缩了回去。窗子关上

    了，发着幽幽的光。老刀知道，彭蠡会在转换前最后一分钟钻进胶囊，和整个城市数千万人一样，受胶囊定时释放出的气体催眠，陷入深深睡

    眠，身子随着世界颠倒来去，头脑却一无所知，一睡就是整整40个小

    时，到次日晚上再睁开眼睛。彭蠡已经老了，他终于和这个世界其他五

    千万人一样了。

    老刀用自己最快的速度向下，一蹦一跳，在离地足够近的时候纵身一

    跃，匍匐在地上。彭蠡的房子在四层，离地不远。爬起身，沿高楼在湖

    边投下的阴影奔跑。他能看到草地上的裂隙，那是翻转的地方。还没跑

    到，就听到身后在压抑中轰鸣的隆隆和偶尔清脆的嘎啦声。老刀转过

    头，高楼拦腰截断，上半截正从天上倒下，缓慢却不容置疑地压迫过来。

    老刀被震住了，怔怔看了好一会儿。他跑到缝隙，伏在地上。

    转换开始了。这是24小时周期的分隔时刻。整个世界开始翻转。钢筋砖

    块合拢的声音连成一片，像出了故障的流水线。高楼收拢合并，折叠成

    立方体。霓虹灯、店铺招牌、阳台和附加结构都被吸收入墙体，贴成楼

    的肌肤。结构见缝插针，每一寸空间都被占满。

    大地在升起。老刀观察着地面的走势，来到缝的边缘，又随着缝隙的升

    起不断向上爬。他手脚并用，从大理石铺就的地面边缘起始，沿着泥土

    的截面，抓住土里埋藏的金属断茬，最初是向下，用脚试探着退行，很

    快，随着整快土地的翻转，他被带到空中。

    老刀想到前一天晚上城市的样子。

    当时他从垃圾堆中抬起眼睛，警觉地听着门外的声音。周围发酵腐烂的

    垃圾散发出刺鼻的气息，带一股发腥的甜腻味。他倚在门前。铁门外的

    世界在苏醒。

    当铁门掀开的缝隙透入第一道街灯的黄色光芒，他俯下身去，从缓缓扩

    大的缝隙中钻出。街上空无一人，高楼灯光逐层亮起，附加结构从楼两

    侧探出，向两旁一节一节伸展，门廊从楼体内延伸，房檐延轴旋转，缓

    缓落下，楼梯降落延伸到马迷途上。步行街的两侧，一个又一个黑色立

    方体从中间断裂，向两侧打开，露出其中货架的结构。立方体顶端伸出

    招牌，连成商铺的走廊，两侧的塑料棚向头顶延伸闭合。街道空旷得如

    同梦境。

    霓虹灯亮了，商铺顶端闪烁的小灯打出新疆大枣、东北拉皮、上海烤麸

    和湖南腊肉。

    整整一天，老刀头脑中都忘不了这一幕。他在这里生活了四十八年，还

    从来没有见过这一切。他的日子总是从胶囊起，至胶囊终，在脏兮兮的

    餐桌和被争吵萦绕的货摊之间穿行。这是他第一次看到世界纯粹的模

    样。

    每个清晨，如果有人从远处观望——就像大货车司机在高速北京入口处

    等待时那样——他会看到整座城市的伸展与折叠。清晨六点，司机们总会走下车，站在高速边上，揉着经过一夜潦草睡眠

    而昏沉的眼睛，打着哈欠，相互指点着望向远处的城市中央。高速截断

    在七环之外，所有的翻转都在六环内发生。不远不近的距离，就像遥望

    西山或是海上的一座孤岛。

    晨光熹微中，一座城市折叠自身，向地面收拢。高楼像最卑微的仆人，弯下腰，让自己低声下气切断身体，头碰着脚，紧紧贴在一起，然后再

    次断裂弯腰，将头顶手臂扭曲弯折，插入空隙。高楼弯折之后重新组

    合，蜷缩成致密的巨大魔方，密密匝匝地聚合到一起，陷入沉睡。然后

    地面翻转，小块小块土地围绕其轴，一百八十度翻转到另一面，将另一

    面的建筑楼宇露出地表。楼宇由折叠中站立起身，在灰蓝色的天空中像

    苏醒的兽类。城市孤岛在橘黄色晨光中落位，展开，站定，腾起弥漫的

    灰色苍云。

    司机们就在困倦与饥饿中欣赏这一幕无穷循环的城市戏剧。

    贰

    折叠城市分三层空间。大地的一面是第一空间，五百万人口，生存时间

    是从清晨六点到第二天清晨六点。空间休眠，大地翻转。翻转后的另一

    面是第二空间和第三空间。第二空间生活着两千五百万人口，从次日清

    晨六点到夜晚十点，第三空间生活着五千万人，从十点到清晨六点，然

    后回到第一空间。时间经过了精心规划和最优分配，小心翼翼隔离，五

    百万人享用二十四小时，七千五百万人享用另外二十四小时。

    大地的两侧重量并不均衡，为了平衡这种不均，第一空间的土地更厚，土壤里埋藏配重物质。人口和建筑的失衡用土地来换。第一空间居民也

    因而认为自身的底蕴更厚。

    老刀从小生活在第三空间。他知道自己的日子是什么样，不用彭蠡说他

    也知道。他是个垃圾工，做了二十八年垃圾工，在可预见的未来还将一

    直做下去。他还没找到可以独自生存的意义和最后的怀疑主义。他仍然

    在卑微生活的间隙占据一席。老刀生在北京城，父亲就是垃圾工。据父亲说，他出生的时候父亲刚好

    找到这份工作，为此庆贺了整整三天。父亲本是建筑工，和数千万其他

    建筑工一样，从四方涌到北京寻工作，这座折叠城市就是父亲和其他人

    一起亲手建的。一个区一个区改造旧城市，像白蚁漫过木屋一样啃噬昔

    日的屋檐门槛，再把土地翻起，建筑全新的楼宇。他们埋头斧凿，用累

    累砖块将自己包围在中间，抬起头来也看不见天空，沙尘遮挡视线，他

    们不知晓自己建起的是怎样的恢弘。直到建成的日子高楼如活人一般站

    立而起，他们才像惊呆了一样四处奔逃，仿佛自己生下了一个怪胎。奔

    逃之后，镇静下来，又意识到未来生存在这样的城市会是怎样一种殊

    荣，便继续辛苦摩擦手脚，低眉顺眼勤恳，寻找各种存留下来的机会。

    据说城市建成的时候，有八千万想要寻找工作留下来的建筑工，最后能

    留下来的，不过两千万。

    垃圾站的工作能找到也不容易，虽然只是垃圾分类处理，但还是层层筛

    选，要有力气有技巧，能分辨能整理，不怕辛苦不怕恶臭，不对环境挑

    三拣四。老刀的父亲靠强健的意志在汹涌的人流中抓住机会的细草，待

    人潮退去，留在干涸的沙滩上，抓住工作机会，低头俯身，艰难浸在人

    海和垃圾混合的酸朽气味中，一干就是二十年。他既是这座城市的建造

    者，也是城市的居住者和分解者。

    老刀出生时，折叠城市才建好两年，他从来没去过其他地方，也没想过

    要去其他地方。他上了小学、中学。考了三年大学，没考上，最后还是

    做了垃圾工。他每天上五个小时班，从夜晚十一点到清晨四点，在垃圾

    站和数万同事一起，快速而机械地用双手处理废物垃圾，将第一空间和

    第二空间传来的生活碎屑转化为可利用的分类的材质，再丢入再处理的

    熔炉。他每天面对垃圾传送带上如溪水涌出的残渣碎片，从塑料碗里抠

    去吃剩的菜叶，将破碎酒瓶拎出，把带血的卫生巾后面未受污染的一层

    薄膜撕下，丢入可回收的带着绿色条纹的圆筒。他们就这么干着，以速

    度换生命，以数量换取薄如蝉翼的仅有的奖金。

    第三空间有两千万垃圾工，他们是夜晚的主人。另三千万人靠贩卖衣服

    食物燃料和保险过活，但绝大多数人心知肚明，垃圾工才是第三空间繁

    荣的支柱。每每在繁花似锦的霓虹灯下漫步，老刀就觉得头顶都是食物

    残渣构成的彩虹。这种感觉他没法和人交流，年轻一代不喜欢做垃圾

    工，他们千方百计在舞厅里表现自己，希望能找到一个打碟或伴舞的工

    作。在服装店做一个店员也是好的选择，手指只拂过轻巧衣物，不必在

    泛着酸味的腐烂物中寻找塑料和金属。少年们已经不那么恐惧生存，他们更在意外表。

    老刀并不嫌弃自己的工作，但他去第二空间的时候，非常害怕被人嫌

    弃。

    那是前一天清晨的事。他捏着小纸条，偷偷从垃圾道里爬出，按地址找

    到写纸条的人。第二空间和第三空间的距离没那么远，它们都在大地的

    同一面，只是不同时间出没。转换时，一个空间高楼折起，收回地面，另一个空间高楼从地面中节节升高，踩着前一个空间的楼顶作为地面。

    唯一的差别是楼的密度。他在垃圾道里躲了一昼夜才等到空间敞开。他

    第一次到第二空间，并不紧张，唯一担心的是身上腐坏的气味。

    所幸秦天是宽容大度的人。也许他早已想到自己将招来什么样的人，当

    小纸条放入瓶中的时候，他就知道自己将面对的是谁。

    秦天很和气，一眼就明白老刀前来的目的，将他拉入房中，给他热水洗

    澡，还给他一件浴袍换上。“我只有依靠你了。”秦天说。

    秦天是研究生，住学生公寓。一个公寓四个房间，四个人一人一间，一

    个厨房两个厕所。老刀从来没在这么大的厕所洗过澡。他很想多洗一会

    儿，将身上气味好好冲一冲，但又担心将澡盆弄脏，不敢用力搓动。墙

    上喷出泡沫的时候他吓了一跳，热蒸汽烘干也让他不适应。洗完澡，他

    拿起秦天递过来的浴袍，犹豫了很久才穿上。他把自己的衣服洗了，又

    洗了厕所盆里随意扔着的几件衣服。生意是生意，他不想欠人情。

    秦天要送礼物给他相好的女孩子。他们在工作中认识，当时秦天有机会

    去第一空间实习，联合国经济司，她也在那边实习。只可惜只有一个

    月，回来就没法再去了。他说她生在第一空间，家教严格，父亲不让她

    交往第二空间的男孩，所以不敢用官方通道寄给她。他对未来充满乐

    观，等他毕业就去申请联合国新青年项目，如果能入选，就也能去第一

    空间工作。他现在研一，还有一年毕业。他心急如焚，想她想得发疯。

    他给她做了一个项链坠，能发光的材质，透明的，玫瑰花造型，作为他

    的求婚信物。

    “我当时是在一个专题研讨会，就是上回讨论联合国国债那个会，你应

    该听说过吧？就是那个……anyway，我当时一看，啊……立刻跑过去跟

    她说话，她给嘉宾引导座位，我也不知道应该说点什么，就在她身后走

    过来又走过去。最后我假装要找同传，让她带我去找。她特温柔，说话细声细气的。我压根就没追过姑娘，特别紧张，……后来我们俩好了之

    后有一次说起这件事……你笑什么？……对，我们是好了。……还没到

    那种关系，就是……不过我亲过她了。”秦天也笑了，有点不好意

    思，“是真的。你不信吗？是。连我自己也不信。你说她会喜欢我吗？”

    “我不知道啊。”老刀说，“我又没见过她。”

    这时，秦天同屋的一个男生凑过来，笑道：“大叔，您这么认真干吗？

    这家伙哪是问你，他就是想听人说'你这么帅，她当然会喜欢你'。”

    “她很漂亮吧？”

    “我跟你说也不怕你笑话。”秦天在屋里走来走去，“你见到她就知道什

    么叫清雅绝伦。”

    秦天突然顿住了，不说了，陷入回忆。他想起依言的嘴，他最喜欢的就

    是她的嘴，那么小小的，莹润的，下嘴唇饱满，带着天然的粉红色，让

    人看着看着就忍不住想咬一口。她的脖子也让他动心，虽然有时瘦得露

    出筋，但线条是纤直而好看的，皮肤又白又细致，从脖子一直延伸到衬

    衫里，让人的视线忍不住停在衬衫的第二个扣子那里。他第一次轻吻她

    一下，她躲开，他又吻，最后她退无可退，就把眼睛闭上了，像任人宰

    割的囚犯，引他一阵怜惜。她的唇很软，他用手反复感受她腰和臀部的

    曲线。从那天开始，他就居住在思念中。她是他夜晚的梦境，是他抖动

    自己时看到的光芒。

    秦天的同学叫张显，和老刀开始聊天，聊得很欢。

    张显问老刀第三空间的生活如何，又说他自己也想去第三空间住一段。

    他听人说，如果将来想往上爬，有过第三空间的管理经验是很有用的。

    现在几个当红的人物，当初都是先到第三空间做管理者，然后才升到第

    一空间，若是停留在第二空间，就什么前途都没有，就算当个行政干

    部，一辈子级别也高不了。他将来想要进政府，已经想好了路。不过他

    说他现在想先挣两年钱再说，去银行来钱快。他见老刀的反应很迟钝，几乎不置可否，以为老刀厌恶这条路，就忙不迭地又加了几句解释。

    “现在政府太混沌了，做事太慢，僵化，体系也改不动。”他说，“等我

    将来有了机会，我就推快速工作作风改革。干得不行就滚蛋。”他看老

    刀还是没说话，又说，“选拔也要放开。也向第三空间放开。”老刀没回答。他其实不是厌恶，只是不大相信。

    张显一边跟老刀聊天，一边对着镜子打领带，喷发胶。他已经穿好了衬

    衫，浅蓝色条纹，亮蓝色领带。喷发胶的时候一边闭着眼睛皱着眉毛避

    开喷雾，一边吹口哨。

    张显夹着包走了，去银行实习上班。秦天说着话也要走。他还有课，要

    上到下午四点。临走前，他当着老刀的面把五万块定金从网上转到老刀

    卡里，说好了剩下的钱等他送到再付。老刀问他这笔钱是不是攒了很

    久，看他是学生，如果拮据，少要一点也可以。秦天说没事，他现在实

    习，给金融咨询公司打工，一个月十万块差不多。这也就是两个月工

    资，还出得起。老刀一个月一万块标准工资，他看到差距，但他没有

    说。秦天要老刀务必带回信回来，老刀说试试。秦天给老刀指了吃喝的

    所在，叫他安心在房间里等转换。

    老刀从窗口看向街道。他很不适应窗外的日光。太阳居然是淡白色，不

    是黄色。日光下的街道也显得宽阔，老刀不知道是不是错觉，这街道看

    上去有第三空间的两倍宽。楼并不高，比第三空间矮很多。路上的人很

    多，匆匆忙忙都在急着赶路，不时有人小跑着想穿过人群，前面的人就

    也加起速，穿过路口的时候，所有人都像是小跑着。大多数人穿得整

    齐，男孩子穿西装，女孩子穿衬衫和短裙，脖子上围巾低垂，手里拎着

    线条硬朗的小包，看上去精干。街上汽车很多，在路口等待的时候，不

    时有看车的人从车窗伸出头，焦急地向前张望。老刀很少见到这么多

    车，他平时习惯了磁悬浮，挤满人的车厢从身边加速，呼一阵风。

    中午十二点的时候，走廊里一阵声响。老刀从门上的小窗向外看。楼道

    地面化为传送带开始滚动，将各屋门口的垃圾袋推入尽头的垃圾道。楼

    道里腾起雾，化为密实的肥皂泡沫，飘飘忽忽地沉降，然后是一阵水，水过了又一阵热蒸汽。

    背后突然有声音，吓了老刀一跳。他转过身，发现公寓里还有一个男

    生，刚从自己房间里出来。男生面无表情，看到老刀也没有打招呼。他

    走到阳台旁边一台机器旁边，点了点，机器里传出咔咔刷刷轰轰嚓的声

    音，一阵香味飘来，男生端出一盘菜又回了房间。从他半开的门缝看过

    去，男孩坐在地上的被子和袜子中间，瞪着空无一物的墙，一边吃一边

    咯咯地笑。他不时用手推一推眼镜。吃完把盘子放在脚边，站起身，同

    样对着空墙做击打动作，费力气顶住某个透明的影子，偶尔来一个背

    摔，气喘吁吁。老刀对第二空间最后的记忆是街上撤退时的优雅。从公寓楼的窗口望下

    去，一切都带着令人羡慕的秩序感。九点十五分开始，街上一间间卖衣

    服的小店开始关灯，聚餐之后的团体面色红润，相互告别。年轻男女在

    出租车外亲吻。然后所有人回楼，世界蛰伏。

    夜晚十点到了。他回到他的世界，回去上班。

    叁

    第一和第三空间之间没有连通的垃圾道，第一空间的垃圾经过一道铁

    闸，运到第三空间之后，铁闸迅速合拢。老刀不喜欢从地表翻越，但他

    没有办法。

    他在呼啸的风中爬过翻转的土地，抓住每一寸零落的金属残渣，找到身

    体和心理平衡，最后匍匐在离他最遥远的一重世界的土地上。他被整个

    攀爬弄得头晕脑胀，胃口也不舒服。他忍住呕吐，在地上趴了一会儿。

    当他爬起身的时候，天亮了。

    老刀从来没有见过这样的景象。太阳缓缓升起，天边是深远而纯净的

    蓝，蓝色下沿是橙黄色，有斜向上的条状薄云。太阳被一处屋檐遮住，屋檐显得异常黑，屋檐背后明亮夺目。太阳升起时，天的蓝色变浅了，但是更宁静透彻。老刀站起身，向太阳的方向奔跑。他想要抓住那道褪

    去的金色。蓝天中能看见树枝的剪影。他的心狂跳不已。他从来不知道

    太阳升起竟然如此动人。

    他跑了一段路，停下来，冷静了。他站在街道中央。路的两旁是高大树

    木和大片草坪。他环视四周，目力所及，远远近近都没有一座高楼。他

    迷惑了，不确定自己是不是真的到了第一空间。他能看见两排粗壮的银

    杏。

    他又退回几步，看着自己跑来的方向。街边有一个路牌。他打开手机里

    存的地图，虽然没有第一空间动态图权限，但有事先下载的静态图。他找到了自己的位置和他要去的地方。他刚从一座巨大的园子里奔出来，翻转的地方就在园子的湖边。

    老刀在万籁俱寂的街上跑了一公里，很容易找到了要找的小区。他躲在

    一丛灌木背后，远远地望着那座漂亮的房子。

    8:30，依言出来了。

    她像秦天描述的一样清秀，只是没有那么漂亮。老刀早就能想到这点。

    不会有任何女孩长得像秦天描述的那么漂亮。他明白了为什么秦天着重

    讲她的嘴。她的眼睛和鼻子很普通，只是比较秀气，没什么好讲的。她

    的身材还不错，骨架比较小，虽然高，但看上去很纤细。穿了一条乳白

    色连衣裙，有飘逸的裙摆，腰带上有珍珠，黑色高跟皮鞋。

    老刀悄悄走上前去。为了不吓到她，他特意从正面走过去，离得远远的

    就鞠了一躬。

    她站住了，惊讶地看着他。

    老刀走近了，说明来意，将包裹着情书和项链坠的信封从怀里掏出来。

    她的脸上滑过一丝惊慌，小声说：“你先走，我现在不能和你说。”

    “呃……我其实没什么要说的，”老刀说，“我只是送信的。”

    她不接，双手紧紧地搅握着，只是说：“我现在不能收。你先走。我是

    说真的，拜托了，你先走吧好吗？”她说着低头，从包里掏出一张名

    片，“中午到这里找我。”

    老刀低头看看，名片上写着一个银行的名字。

    “十二点。到地下超市等我。”她又说。

    老刀看得出她过分的不安，于是点头收起名片，回到隐身的灌木丛后，远远地观望着。很快，又有一个男人从房子里出来，到她身边。男人看

    上去和老刀年龄相仿，或者年轻两岁，穿着一套很合身的深灰色西装，身材高而宽阔，虽没有突出的肚子，但是觉得整个身体很厚。男人的脸

    无甚特色，戴眼镜，圆脸，头发向一侧梳得整齐。男人搂住依言的腰，吻了她嘴唇一下。依言想躲，但没躲开，颤抖了一

    下，手挡在身前显得非常勉强。

    老刀开始明白了。

    一辆小车开到房子门前。单人双轮小车，黑色，敞篷，就像电视里看到

    的古代的马车或黄包车，只是没有马拉，也没有车夫。小车停下，歪向

    前，依言踏上去，坐下，拢住裙子，让裙摆均匀覆盖膝盖，散到地上。

    小车缓缓开动了，就像有一匹看不见的马拉着一样。依言坐在车里，小

    车缓慢而波澜不惊。等依言离开，一辆无人驾驶的汽车开过来，男人上

    了车。

    老刀在原地来回踱着步子。他觉得有些东西非常憋闷，但又说不出来。

    他站在阳光里，闭上眼睛，清晨蓝天下清凛干净的空气沁入他的肺。空

    气给他一种冷静的安慰。

    片刻之后，他才上路。依言给的地址在她家东面，3公里多一点。街上

    人很少。8车道的宽阔道路上行驶着零星车辆，快速经过，让人看不清

    车的细节。偶尔有华服的女人乘坐着双轮小车缓缓飘过他身旁，沿步行

    街，像一场时装秀，端坐着姿态优美。没有人注意到老刀。绿树摇曳，树叶下的林荫路留下长裙的气味。

    依言的办公地在西单某处。这里完全没有高楼，只是围绕着一座花园有

    零星分布的小楼，楼与楼之间的联系气若游丝，几乎看不出它们是一

    体。走到地下，才看到相连的通道。

    老刀找到超市。时间还早。一进入超市，就有一辆小车跟上他，每次他

    停留在货架旁，小车上的屏幕上就显示出这件货物的介绍、评分和同类

    货物质量比。超市里的东西都写着他看不懂的文字。食物包装精致，小

    块糕点和水果用诱人的方式摆在盘里，等人自取。他没有触碰任何东

    西。不过整个超市似乎并没有警卫或店员。

    还不到十二点，顾客就多了起来。有穿西装的男人走进超市，取三明

    治，在门口刷一下就匆匆离开。还是没有人特别注意老刀。他在门口不

    起眼的位置等着。

    依言出现了。老刀迎上前去，依言看了看左右，没说话，带他去了隔壁

    的一家小餐厅。两个穿格子裙子的小机器人迎上来，接过依言手里的小包，又带他们到位子上，递上菜单。依言在菜单上按了几下，小机器人

    转身，轮子平稳地滑回了后厨。

    两个人面对面坐了片刻，老刀又掏出信封。

    依言却没有接：“……你能听我解释一下吗？”

    老刀把信封推到她面前：“你先收下这个。”

    依言推回给他。

    “你先听我解释一下行吗？”依言又说。

    “你没必要跟我解释，”老刀说，“信不是我写的。我只是送信而已。”

    “可是你回去要告诉说的。”依言低了低头。小机器人送上了两个小盘

    子，一人一份，是某种红色的生鱼片，薄薄两片，摆成花瓣的形状。依

    言没有动筷子，老刀也没有。信封被小盘子隔在中央，两个人谁也没再

    推。“我不是背叛他。去年他来的时候我就已经订婚了。我也不是故意

    瞒他或欺骗他，或者说……是的，我骗了他，但那是他自己猜的。他见

    到吴闻来接我，就问是不是我爸爸。我……我没法回答他。你知道，那

    太尴尬了。我……”

    依言说不下去了。

    老刀等了一会儿说：“我不想追问你们之前的事。你收下信就行了。”

    依言低头好一会儿又抬起来：“你回去以后，能不能替我瞒着他？”

    “为什么？”

    “我不想让他以为我是坏女人耍他。其实我心里是喜欢他的。我也很矛

    盾。”

    “这些和我没关系。”

    “求你了……我是真的喜欢他。”

    老刀沉默了一会儿，他需要做一个决定。“可是你还是结婚了？”他问她。

    “吴闻对我很好。好几年了。”依言说，“他认识我爸妈。我们订婚也很

    久了。况且……我比秦天大三岁，我怕他不能接受。秦天以为我是实习

    生。这点也是我不好，我没说实话。最开始只是随口说的，到后来就没

    法改口了。我真的没想到他是认真的。”

    依言慢慢透露了她的信息。她是这个银行的总裁助理，已经工作两年多

    了，只是被派往联合国参加培训，赶上那次会议，就帮忙参与了组织。

    她不需要上班，老公挣的钱足够多，可她不希望总是一个人呆在家里，才出来上班，每天只工作半天，拿半薪。其余的时间自己安排，可以学

    一些东西。她喜欢学新东西，喜欢认识新人，也喜欢联合国培训的那几

    个月。她说像她这样的太太很多，半职工作也很多。中午她下了班，下

    午会有另一个太太去做助理。她说虽然对秦天没有说实话，可是她的心

    是真诚的。

    “所以，”她给老刀夹了新上来的热菜，“你能不能暂时不告诉他？等

    我……有机会亲自向他解释可以吗？”

    老刀没有动筷子。他很饿，可是他觉得这时不能吃。

    “可是这等于说我也得撒谎。”老刀说。

    依言回身将小包打开，将钱包取出来，掏出五张一万块的纸币推给老

    刀。“一点心意，你收下。”

    老刀愣住了。他从来没见过一万块钱的纸钞。他生活里从来不需要花这

    么大的面额。他不自觉地站起身，感到恼怒。依言推出钱的样子就像是

    早预料到他会讹诈，这让他受不了。他觉得自己如果拿了，就是接受贿

    赂，将秦天出卖。虽然他和秦天并没有任何结盟关系，但他觉得自己在

    背叛他。老刀很希望自己这个时候能将钱扔在地上，转身离去，可是他

    做不到这一步。他又看了几眼那几张钱，五张薄薄的纸散开摊在桌子

    上，像一把破扇子。他能感觉它们在他体内产生的力量。它们是淡蓝

    色，和一千块的褐色与一百块的红色都不一样，显得更加幽深遥远，像

    是一种挑逗。他几次想再看一眼就离开，可是一直没做到。

    她仍然匆匆翻动小包，前前后后都翻了，最后从一个内袋里又拿出五万

    块，和刚才的钱摆在一起。“我只带了这么多，你都收下吧。”她说，“你帮帮我。其实我之所以不想告诉他，也是不确定以后会怎么

    样。也许我有一天真的会有勇气和他在一起呢。”

    老刀看看那十张纸币，又看看她。他觉得她并不相信自己的话，她的声

    音充满迟疑，出卖了她的心。她只是将一切都推到将来，以消解此时此

    刻的难堪。她很可能不会和秦天私奔，可是也不想让他讨厌她，于是留

    着可能性，让自己好过一点。老刀能看出她骗她自己，可是他也想骗自

    己。他对自己说，他对秦天没有任何义务，秦天只是委托他送信，他把

    信送到了，现在这笔钱是另一项委托，保守秘密的委托。他又对自己

    说，也许她和秦天将来真的能在一起也说不定，那样就是成人之美。他

    还说，想想糖糖，为什么去管别人的事而不管糖糖呢。他似乎安定了一

    些，手指不知不觉触到了钱的边缘。

    “这钱……太多了。”他给自己一个台阶下，“我不能拿这么多。”

    “拿着吧，没事。”她把钱塞到他手里，“我一个礼拜就挣出来了。没事

    的。”

    “……那我怎么跟他说？”

    “你就说我现在不能和他在一起，但是我真的喜欢他。我给你写个字

    条，你帮我带给他。”依言从包里找出一个画着孔雀绣着金边的小本

    子，轻盈地撕下一张纸，低头写字。她的字看上去像倾斜的芦苇。

    最后，老刀离开餐厅的时候，又回头看了一眼。依言的眼睛注视着墙上

    的一幅画。她的姿态静默优雅，看上去就像永远都不会离开这里似的。

    他用手捏了捏裤子口袋里的纸币。他讨厌自己，可是他想把纸币抓牢。

    肆

    老刀从西单出来，依原路返回。重新走早上的路，他觉得倦意丛生，一

    步也跑不动了。宽阔的步行街两侧是一排垂柳和一排梧桐，正是晚春，都是鲜亮的绿色。他让暖意丛生的午后阳光照亮僵硬的面孔，也照亮空

    乏的心底。

    他回到早上离开的园子，赫然发现园子里来往的人很多。园子外面两排

    银杏树庄严茂盛。园门口有黑色小汽车驶入。园里的人多半穿着材质顺

    滑、剪裁合体的西装，也有穿黑色中式正装的，看上去都有一番眼高于

    顶的气质。也有外国人。他们有的正在和身边人讨论什么，有的远远地

    相互打招呼，笑着携手向前走。

    老刀犹豫了一下要到哪里去，街上人很少，他一个人站着极为显眼，去

    公共场所又容易被注意，他很想回到园子里，早一点找到转换地，到一

    个没人的角落睡上一觉。他太困了，又不敢在街上睡。他见出入园子的

    车辆并无停滞，就也尝试着向里走。直到走到园门边上，他才发现有两

    个小机器人左右逡巡。其他人和车走过都毫无问题，到了老刀这里，小

    机器人忽然发出嘀嘀的叫声，转着轮子向他驶来。声音在宁静的午后显

    得刺耳。园里人的目光汇集到他身上。他慌了，不知道是不是自己的衬

    衫太寒酸。他尝试着低声对小机器人说话，说他的西装落在里面了，可

    是小机器人只是嘀嘀嗒嗒地叫着，头顶红灯闪烁，什么都不听。园里的

    人们停下脚步看着他，像是看到小偷或奇怪的人。很快，从最近的建筑

    中走出三个男人，步履匆匆地向他们跑过来。老刀紧张极了，他想退出

    去，已经太晚了。

    “出什么事了？”领头的人高声询问着。

    老刀想不出解释的话，手下意识地搓着裤子。

    一个三十几岁的男人走在最前面，一到跟前就用一个纽扣一样的小银盘

    上上下下地晃，手的轨迹围绕着老刀。他用怀疑的眼神打量他，像用罐

    头刀试图撬开他的外壳。

    “没记录。”男人将手中的小银盘向身后更年长的男人示意，“带回去

    吧？”

    老刀突然向后跑，向园外跑。

    可没等他跑出去，两个小机器人悄无声息挡在他面前，扣住他的小腿。

    它们的手臂是箍，轻轻一扣就合上。他一下子踉跄了，差点摔倒又摔不

    倒，手臂在空中无力的乱划。“跑什么？”年轻男人更严厉地走到他面前，瞪着他的眼睛。

    “我……”老刀头脑嗡嗡响。

    两个小机器人将他的两条小腿扣紧，抬起，放在它们轮子边上的平台

    上，然后异常同步地向最近的房子驶去，平稳迅速，保持并肩，从远处

    看上去，或许会以为老刀脚踩风火轮。老刀毫无办法，除了心里暗喊一

    声糟糕，简直没有别的话说。他懊恼自己如此大意，人这么多的地方，怎么可能没有安全保障。他责怪自己是困倦得昏了头，竟然在这样大的

    安全关节上犯如此低级的错误。这下一切完蛋了，他想，钱都没了，还

    要坐牢。

    小机器人从小路绕向建筑后门，在后门的门廊里停下来。三个男人跟了

    上来。年轻男人和年长男人似乎就老刀的处理问题起了争执，但他们的

    声音很低，老刀听不见。片刻之后，年长男人走到他身边，将小机器人

    解锁，然后拉着他的大臂走上二楼。

    老刀叹了一口气，横下一条心，觉得事到如今，只好认命。

    年长者带他进入一个房间。他发现这是一个旅馆房间，非常大，比秦天

    的公寓客厅还大，似乎有自己租的房子两倍大。房间的色调是暗沉的金

    褐色，一张极宽大的双人床摆在中央。床头背后的墙面上是颜色过渡的

    抽象图案，落地窗，白色半透明纱帘，窗前是一个小圆桌和两张沙发。

    他心里惴惴。不知道年长者的身份和态度。

    “坐吧，坐吧。”年长者拍拍他肩膀，笑笑，“没事了。”

    老刀狐疑地看着他。

    “你是第三空间来的吧？”年长者把他拉到沙发边上，伸手示意。

    “您怎么知道？”老刀无法撒谎。

    “从你裤子上。”年长者用手指指他的裤腰，“你那商标还没剪呢。这牌

    子只有第三空间有卖的。我小时候我妈就喜欢给我爸买这牌子。”

    “您是……”

    “别您您的，叫你吧。我估摸着我也比你大不了几岁。你今年多大？我五十二。……你看看，就比你大四岁。”他顿了一下，又说，“我叫葛大

    平，你叫我老葛吧。”

    老刀放松了些。老葛把西装脱了，活动了一下膀子，从墙壁里接了一杯

    热水，递给老刀。他长长的脸，眼角眉梢和两颊都有些下坠，戴一副眼

    镜，也向下耷拉着，头发有点自来卷，蓬松地堆在头顶，说起话来眉毛

    一跳一跳，很有喜剧效果。他自己泡了点茶，问老刀要不要，老刀摇摇

    头。

    “我原来也是第三空间的。咱也算半个老乡吧。”老葛说，“所以不用太

    拘束。我还是能管点事儿，不会把你送出去的。”

    老刀长长地出了口气，心里感叹万幸。他于是把自己到第二、第一空间

    的始末讲了一遍，略去依言感情的细节，只说送到了信，就等着回去。

    老葛于是也不见外，把他自己的情况讲了。他从小也在第三空间长大，父母都给人送货。十五岁的时候考上了军校，后来一直当兵，文化兵，研究雷达，能吃苦，技术又做得不错，赶上机遇又好，居然升到了雷达

    部门主管，大校军衔。家里没背景不可能再升，就申请转业，到了第一

    空间一个支持性部门，专给政府企业做后勤保障，组织会议出行，安排

    各种场面。虽然是蓝领的活儿，但因为涉及的都是政要，又要协调管

    理，就一直住在第一空间。这种人也不少，厨师、大夫、秘书、管家，都算是高级蓝领了。他们这个机构安排过很多重大场合，老葛现在是主

    任。老刀知道，老葛说的谦虚，说是蓝领，其实能在第一空间做事的都

    是牛人，即使厨师也不简单，更何况他从第三空间上来，能管雷达。

    “你在这儿睡一会儿。待会儿晚上我带你吃饭去。”老葛说。

    老刀受宠若惊，不大相信自己的好运。他心里还有担心，但是白色的床

    单和错落堆积的枕头显出召唤气息，他的腿立刻发软了，倒头昏昏沉沉

    睡了几个小时。

    醒来的时候天色暗了，老葛正对着镜子捋头发。他向老刀指了指沙发上

    的一套西装制服，让他换上，又给他胸口别上一个微微闪着红光的小徽

    章，身份认证。

    下楼来，老刀发现原来这里有这么多人。似乎刚刚散会，在大厅里聚集

    三三两两说话。大厅一侧是会场，门还开着，门看上去很厚，包着红褐色皮子；另一侧是一个一个铺着白色桌布的高脚桌，桌布在桌面下用金

    色缎带打了蝴蝶结，桌中央的小花瓶插着一只百合，花瓶旁边摆着饼干

    和干果，一旁的长桌上则有红酒和咖啡供应。聊天的人们在高脚桌之间

    穿梭，小机器人头顶托盘，收拾喝光的酒杯。

    老刀尽量镇定地跟着老葛。走到会场内，他忽然看到一面巨大的展示

    牌，上面写着：

    折叠城市五十年。

    “这是……什么？”他问老葛。

    “哦，庆典啊。”老葛正在监督场内布置，“小赵，你来一下，你去把桌

    签再核对一遍。机器人有时候还是不如人靠谱，它们认死理儿。”

    老刀看到，会场里现在是晚宴的布置，每张大圆桌上都摆着鲜艳的花

    朵。

    他有一种恍惚的感觉，站在角落里，看着会场中央巨大的吊灯，像是被

    某种光芒四射的现实笼罩，却只存在在它的边缘。舞台中央是演讲的高

    台，背后的布景流动播映着北京城的画面。大概是航拍，拍到了全城的

    风景，清晨和日暮的光影，紫红色暗蓝色天空，云层快速流转，月亮从

    角落上升起，太阳在屋檐上沉落。大气中正的布局，沿中轴线对称的城

    市设计，延伸到六环的青砖院落和大面积绿地花园。中式风格的剧院，日本式美术馆，极简主义风格的音乐厅建筑群。然后是城市的全景，真

    正意义上的全景，包含转换的整个城市双面镜头：大地翻转，另一面城

    市，边角锐利的写字楼，朝气蓬勃的上班族；夜晚的霓虹，白昼一样的

    天空，高耸入云的公租房，影院和舞厅的娱乐。

    只是没有老刀上班的地方。

    他仔细地盯着屏幕，不知道其中会不会展示建城时的历史。他希望能看

    见父亲的时代。小时候父亲总是用手指着窗外的楼，说“当时我们”。狭

    小的房间正中央挂着陈旧的照片，照片里的父亲重复着垒砖的动作，一

    遍一遍无穷无尽。他那时每天都要看见那照片很多遍，几乎已经腻烦

    了，可是这时他希望影像中出现哪怕一小段垒砖的镜头。

    他沉浸在自己的恍惚中。这也是他第一次看到转换的全景。他几乎没注意到自己是怎么坐下的，也没注意到周围人的落座，台上人讲话的前几

    分钟，他并没有注意听。

    “……有利于服务业的发展，服务业依赖于人口规模和密度。我们现在

    的城市服务业已经占到GDP85%以上，符合世界第一流都市的普遍特

    征。另外最重要的就是绿色经济和循环经济。”这句话抓住了老刀的注

    意力，循环经济和绿色经济是他们工作站的口号，写得比人还大贴在墙

    上。他望向台上的演讲人，是个白发老人，但是精神显得异常饱

    满，“……通过垃圾的完全分类处理，我们提前实现了本世纪节能减排

    的目标，减少污染，也发展出成体系成规模的循环经济，每年废旧电子

    产品中回收的贵金属已经完全投入再生产，塑料的回收率也已达到80%

    以上。回收直接与再加工工厂相连……”

    老刀有远亲在再加工工厂工作，在科技园区，远离城市，只有工厂和工

    厂和工厂。据说那边的工厂都差不多，机器自动作业，工人很少，少量

    工人晚上聚集着，就像荒野部落。

    他仍然恍惚着。演讲结束之后，热烈的掌声响起，才将他从自己的纷乱

    念头中拉出来，他也跟着鼓了掌，虽然不知道为什么。他看到演讲人从

    舞台上走下来，回到主桌上正中间的座位。所有人的目光都跟着他。

    忽然老刀看到了吴闻。

    吴闻坐在主桌旁边一桌，见演讲人回来就起身去敬酒，然后似乎有什么

    话要问演讲人。演讲人又站起身，跟吴闻一起到大厅里。老刀不自觉地

    站起来，心里充满好奇，也跟着他们。老葛不知道到哪里去了，周围开

    始上菜。

    老刀到了大厅，远远地观望，对话只能听见片段。

    “……批这个有很多好处。”吴闻说，“是，我看过他们的设备了……自

    动化处理垃圾，用溶液消解，大规模提取材质……清洁，成本也低……

    您能不能考虑一下？”

    吴闻的声音不高，但老刀清楚地听见“处理垃圾”的字眼，不由自主凑上

    前去。

    白发老人的表情相当复杂，他等吴闻说完，过了一会儿才问：“你确定溶液无污染？”

    吴闻有点犹豫：“现在还是有一点……不过很快就能减低到最低。”

    老刀离得很近了。

    白发老人摇了摇头，眼睛盯着吴闻：“事情哪是那么简单的，你这个项

    目要是上马了，大规模一改造，又不需要工人，现在那些劳动力怎么

    办，上千万垃圾工失业怎么办？”

    白发老人说完转过身，又返回会场。吴闻呆愣愣地站在原地。一个从始

    至终跟着老人的秘书模样的人走到吴闻身旁，同情地说：“您回去好好

    吃饭吧。别想了。其实您应该明白这道理，就业的事是顶天的事。您以

    为这种技术以前就没人做吗？”

    老刀能听出这是与他有关的事，但他摸不准怎样是好的。吴闻的脸显出

    一种迷惑、懊恼而又顺从的神情，老刀忽然觉得，他也有软弱的地方。

    这时，白发老人的秘书忽然注意到老刀。

    “你是新来的？”他突然问。

    “啊……嗯。”老刀吓了一跳。

    “叫什么名字？我怎么不知道最近进人了。”

    老刀有些慌，心砰砰跳，他不知道该说些什么。他指了指胸口上别着的

    工作人员徽章，仿佛期望那上面有个名字浮现出来。但徽章上什么都没

    有。他的手心涌出汗。秘书看着他，眼中的怀疑更甚了。他随手拉着一

    个会务人员，那人说不认识老刀。

    秘书的脸铁青着，一只手抓住老刀的手臂，另一只手拨了通讯器。

    老刀的心提到嗓子眼，就在那一刹那，他看到了老葛的身影。

    老葛一边匆匆跑过来，一边按下通讯器，笑着和秘书打招呼，点头弯

    腰，向秘书解释说这是临时从其他单位借调过来的同事，开会人手不

    够，临时帮忙的。秘书见老葛知情，也就不再追究，返回会场。老葛将

    老刀又带回自己的房间，免得再被人撞见查检。深究起来没有身份认证，老葛也做不得主。

    “没有吃席的命啊。”老葛笑道，“你等着吧，待会儿我给你弄点吃的回

    来。”

    老刀躺在床上，又迷迷糊糊睡了。他反复想着吴闻和白发老人说的话，自动垃圾处理，这是什么样的呢，如果真的这样，是好还是不好呢。

    再次醒来时，老刀闻到一碟子香味，老葛已经在小圆桌上摆了几碟子

    菜，还正在从墙上的烤箱中把剩下一个菜端出来。老葛又拿来半瓶白酒

    和两个玻璃杯，倒上。

    “有一桌就坐了俩人，我把没怎么动过的菜弄了点回来，你凑合吃，别

    嫌弃就行。他们吃了一会儿就走了。”老葛说。

    “哪儿能嫌弃呢。”老刀说，“有口吃的就感激不尽了。这么好的菜。这

    些菜很贵吧？”

    “这儿的菜不对外，所以都不标价。我也不知道多少钱。”老葛已经开动

    了筷子，“也就一般吧。估计一两万之间，个别贵一点可能三四万。就

    那么回事。”

    老刀吃了两口就真的觉得饿了。他有抗饥饿的办法，忍上一天不吃东西

    也可以，身体会有些颤抖发飘，但精神不受影响。直到这时，他才发觉

    自己的饥饿。他只想快点咀嚼，牙齿的速度赶不上胃口空虚的速度。吃

    得急了，就喝一口。这白酒很香，不辣。老葛慢悠悠的，微笑着看着

    他。

    “对了，”老刀吃得半饱时，想起刚才的事，“今天那个演讲人是谁？我

    看着很面熟。”

    “也总上电视嘛。”老葛说，“我们的顶头上司。很厉害的老头儿。他可

    是管实事儿的，城市运作的事儿都归他管。”

    “他们今天说起垃圾自动处理的事儿。你说以后会改造吗？”

    “这事儿啊，不好说，”老葛砸了口酒，打了个嗝，“我看够呛。关键

    是，你得知道当初为啥弄人工处理。其实当初的情况就跟欧洲二十世纪

    末差不多，经济发展，但失业率上升，印钱也不管用，菲利普斯曲线不符合。”

    他看老刀一脸茫然，呵呵笑了起来：“算了，这些东西你也不懂。”

    他跟老刀碰了碰杯子，两人一齐喝了又斟上。

    “反正就说失业吧，这你肯定懂。”老葛接着说，“人工成本往上涨，机

    器成本往下降，到一定时候就是机器便宜，生产力一改造，升级了，GDP上去了，失业也上去了。怎么办？政策保护？福利？越保护工厂越

    不雇人。你现在上城外看看，那几公里的厂区就没几个人。农场不也是

    吗。大农场一搞几千亩地，全设备耕种，根本要不了几个人。咱们当时

    怎么搞过欧美的，不就是这么规模化搞的吗。但问题是，地都腾出来

    了，人都省出来了，这些人干嘛去呢。欧洲那边是强行减少每人工作时

    间，增加就业机会，可是这样没活力你明白吗。最好的办法是彻底减少

    一些人的生活时间，再给他们找到活儿干。你明白了吧？就是塞到夜

    里。这样还有一个好处，就是每次通货膨胀几乎传不到底层去，印钞

    票、花钞票都是能贷款的人消化了，GDP涨了，底下的物价却不涨。人

    们根本不知道。”

    老刀听得似懂非懂，但是老葛的话里有一股凉意，他还是能听出来的。

    老葛还是嬉笑的腔调，但与其说是嬉笑，倒不如说是不愿意让自己的语

    气太直白而故意如此。

    “这话说着有点冷。”老葛自己也承认，“可就是这么回事。我也不是住

    在这儿了就说话向着这儿。只是这么多年过来，人就木了，好多事儿没

    法改变，也只当那么回事了。”

    老刀有点明白老葛的意思了，可他不知道该说什么好。

    两人都有点醉。他们趁着醉意，聊了不少以前的事，聊小时候吃的东

    西，学校的打架。老葛最喜欢吃酸辣粉和臭豆腐，在第一空间这么久都

    吃不到，心里想得痒痒。老葛说起自己的父母，他们还在第三空间，他

    也不能总回去，每次回去都要打报告申请，实在不太方便。他说第三空

    间和第一空间之间有官方通道，有不少特殊的人也总是在其中往来。他

    希望老刀帮他带点东西回去，弥补一下他自己亏欠的心。老刀讲了他孤

    独的少年时光。

    昏黄的灯光中，老刀想起过去。一个人游荡在垃圾场边缘的所有时光。不知不觉已经是深夜。老葛还要去看一下夜里会场的安置，就又带老刀

    下楼。楼下还有未结束的舞会末尾，三三两两男女正从舞厅中走出。老

    葛说企业家大半精力旺盛，经常跳舞到凌晨。散场的舞厅器物凌乱，像

    女人卸了妆。老葛看着小机器人在狼藉中一一收拾，笑称这是第一空间

    唯一真实的片刻。

    老刀看了看时间，还有三个小时转换。他收拾了一下心情，该走了。

    伍

    白发演讲人在晚宴之后回到自己的办公室，处理了一些文件，又和欧洲

    进行了视频通话。十二点感觉疲劳，摘下眼镜揉了揉鼻梁两侧，准备回

    家。他经常工作到午夜。

    电话突然响了，他按下耳机。是秘书。

    大会研究组出了状况。之前印好的大会宣言中有一个数据之前计算结果

    有误，白天突然有人发现。宣言在会议第二天要向世界宣读，因而会议

    组请示要不要把宣言重新印刷。白发老人当即批准。这是大事，不能有

    误。他问是谁负责此事，秘书说，是吴闻主任。

    他靠在沙发上小睡。清晨四点，电话又响了。印刷有点慢，预计还要一

    个小时。

    他起身望向窗外。夜深人静，漆黑的夜空能看到静谧的猎户座亮星。

    猎户座亮星映在镜面般的湖水中。老刀坐在湖水边上，等待转换来临。

    他看着夜色中的园林，猜想这可能是自己最后一次看这片风景。他并不

    忧伤留恋，这里虽然静美，可是和他没关系，他并不钦羡嫉妒。他只是

    很想记住这段经历。夜里灯光很少，比第三空间遍布的霓虹灯少很多，建筑散发着沉睡的呼吸，幽静安宁。清晨五点，秘书打电话说，材料印好了，还没出车间，问是否人为推迟

    转换的时间。

    白发老人斩钉截铁地说，废话，当然推迟。

    清晨五点四十分，印刷品抵达会场，但还需要分装在三千个会议夹子

    中。

    老刀看到了依稀的晨光，这个季节六点还没有天亮，但已经能看到蒙蒙

    曙光。

    他做好了一切准备，反复看手机上的时间。有一点奇怪，已经只有一两

    分钟到六点了，还是没有任何动静。他猜想也许第一空间的转换更平稳

    顺滑。

    清晨六点十分，分装结束。

    白发老人松了一口气，下令转换开始。

    老刀发现地面终于动了，他站起身，活动了一下有点麻木的手脚，小心

    翼翼来到边缘。土地的缝隙开始拉大，缝隙两边同时向上掀起。他沿着

    其中一边往截面上移动，背身挪移，先用脚试探着，手扶住地面退行。

    大地开始翻转。

    六点二十分，秘书打来紧急电话，说吴闻主任不小心将存着重要文件的

    数据key遗忘在会场，担心会被机器人清理，需要立即取回。

    白发老人有点恼怒，但也只好令转换停止，恢复原状。

    老刀在截面上正慢慢挪移，忽然感觉土地的移动停止了，接着开始调转

    方向，已错开的土地开始合拢。他吓了一跳，连忙向回攀爬。他害怕滚

    落，手脚并用，异常小心。

    土地回归的速度比他想象的快，就在他爬到地表的时候，土地合拢了，他的一条小腿被两块土地夹在中间，尽管是泥土，不足以切筋断骨，但

    力量十足，他试了几次也无法脱出。他心里大叫糟糕，头顶因为焦急和

    疼痛渗出汗水。他不知道是否被人发现了。

    老刀趴在地上，静听着周围的声音。他似乎听到匆匆接近的脚步声。他想象着很快就有警察过来，将他抓起来，夹住的小腿会被砍断，带着疮

    口扔到监牢里。他不知道自己是什么时候暴露了身份。他伏在青草覆盖

    的泥土上，感觉到晨露的冰凉。湿气从领口和袖口透入他的身体，让他

    觉得清醒，却又忍不住战栗。他默数着时间，期盼这只是技术故障。他

    设想着自己如果被抓住了该说些什么。也许他该交待自己二十八年工作

    的勤恳诚实，赚一点同情分。他不知道自己会不会被审判。命运在前方

    逼人不已。

    命运直抵胸膛。回想这四十八小时的全部经历，最让他印象深刻的是最

    后一晚老葛说过的话。他觉得自己似乎接近了些许真相，因而见到命运

    的轮廓。可是那轮廓太远，太冷静，太遥不可及。他不知道了解一切有

    什么意义，如果只是看清楚一些事情，却不能改变，又有什么意义。他

    连看都还无法看清，命运对他就像偶尔显出形状的云朵，倏忽之间又看

    不到了。他知道自己仍然是数字。在5128万这个数字中，他只是最普通

    的一个。如果偏生是那128万中的一个，还会被四舍五入，就像从来没

    存在过，连尘土都不算。他抓住地上的草。

    六点三十分，吴闻取回数据key。六点四十分，吴闻回到房间。

    六点四十五分，白发老人终于疲倦地倒在办公室的小床上。指令已经按

    下，世界的齿轮开始缓缓运转。书桌和茶几表面伸出透明的塑料盖子，将一切物品罩住并固定。小床散发出催眠气体，四周立起围栏，然后从

    地面脱离，地面翻转，床像一只篮子始终保持水平。

    转换重新启动了。

    老刀在三十分钟的绝望之后突然看到生机。大地又动了起来。他在第一

    时间拼尽力气将小腿抽离出来，在土地掀起足够高度的时候重新回到截

    面上。他更小心地撤退。血液复苏的小腿开始刺痒疼痛，如百爪挠心，几次让他摔倒，疼得无法忍受，只好用牙齿咬住拳头。他摔倒爬起，又

    摔倒又爬起，在角度飞速变化的土地截面上维持艰难地平衡。

    他不记得自己怎么拖着腿上楼，只记得秦天开门时，他昏了过去。

    在第二空间，老刀睡了十个小时。秦天找同学来帮他处理了腿伤。肌肉

    和软组织大面积受损，很长一段时间会妨碍走路，但所幸骨头没断。他

    醒来后将依言的信交给秦天，看秦天幸福而又失落的样子，什么话也没

    有说。他知道，秦天会沉浸距离的期冀中很长时间。再回到第三空间，他感觉像是已经走了一个月。城市仍然在缓慢苏醒，城市居民只过了平常的一场睡眠，和前一天连续。不会有人发现老刀的

    离开。

    他在步行街营业的第一时间坐到塑料桌旁，要了一盘炒面，生平第一次

    加了一份肉丝。只是一次而已，他想，可以犒劳一下自己。然后他去了

    老葛家，将老葛给父母的两盒药带给他们。两位老人都已经不大能走动

    了，一个木讷的小姑娘住在家里看护他们。

    他拖着伤腿缓缓踱回自己租的房子。楼道里喧扰嘈杂，充满刚睡醒时洗

    漱冲厕所和吵闹的声音，蓬乱的头发和乱敞的睡衣在门里门外穿梭。他

    等了很久电梯，刚上楼就听见争吵。他仔细一看，是隔壁的女孩阑阑和

    阿贝在和收租的老太太争吵。整栋楼是公租房，但是社区有统一收租的

    代理人，每栋楼又有分包，甚至每层有单独的收租人。老太太也是老住

    户了，儿子不知道跑到哪里去了，她长得瘦又干，单独一个人住着，房

    门总是关闭，不和人来往。阑阑和阿贝在这一层算是新人，两个卖衣服

    的女孩子。阿贝的声音很高，阑阑拉着她，阿贝抢白了阑阑几句，阑阑

    倒哭了。

    “咱们都是按合同来的哦。”老太太用手戳着墙壁上屏幕里滚动的条

    文，“我这个人从不撒谎唉。你们知不知道什么是合同咧？秋冬加收

    10%取暖费，合同里写得清清楚楚唉。”

    “凭什么啊？凭什么？”阿贝扬着下巴，一边狠狠地梳着头发，“你以为

    你那点小猫腻我们不知道？我们上班时你全把空调关了，最后你这按电

    费交钱，我们这给你白交供暖费。你蒙谁啊你!每天下班回来这屋里冷

    得跟冰一样。你以为我们新来的好欺负吗？”

    阿贝的声音尖而脆，划得空气道道裂痕。老刀看着阿贝的脸，年轻、饱

    满而意气的脸，很漂亮。她和阑阑帮他很多，他不在家的时候，她们经

    常帮他照看糖糖，也会给他熬点粥。他忽然想让阿贝不要吵了，忘了这

    些细节，只是不要吵了。他想告诉她女孩子应该安安静静坐着，让裙子

    盖住膝盖，微微一笑露出好看的牙齿，轻声说话，那样才有人爱。可是

    他知道她们需要的不是这些。

    他从衣服的内衬掏出一张一万块的钞票，虚弱地递给老太太。老太太目

    瞪口呆，阿贝、阑阑看得傻了。他不想解释，摆摆手回到自己的房间。摇篮里，糖糖刚刚睡醒，正迷糊着揉眼睛。他看着糖糖的脸，疲倦了一

    天的心软下来。他想起最初在垃圾站门口抱起糖糖时，她那张脏兮兮的

    哭累了的小脸。他从没后悔将她抱来。她笑了，吧唧了一下小嘴。他觉

    得自己还是幸运的。尽管伤了腿，但毕竟没被抓住，还带了钱回来。他

    不知道糖糖什么时候才能学会唱歌跳舞，成为一个淑女。

    他看看时间，该去上班了。

    The English Edition

    ONE

    At ten of five in the morning, Lao Dao crossed the busy pedestrian lane on

    his way to find Peng Li.

    After the end of his shift at the waste processing station, Lao Dao had gone

    home, first to shower and then to change. He was wearing a white shirt and a

    pair of brown pants—the only decent clothes he owned. The shirt's cuffs were

    frayed, so he rolled them up to his elbows. Lao Dao was forty–eight, single,and long past the age when he still took care of his appearance. As he had no

    one to pester him about the domestic details, he had simply kept this outfit for

    years. Every time he wore it, he'd come home afterward, take off the shirt and

    pants, and fold them up neatly to put away. Working at the waste processing

    station meant there were few occasions that called for the outfit, save a

    wedding now and then for a friend's son or daughter.

    Today, however, he was apprehensive about meeting strangers without

    looking at least somewhat respectable. After five hours at the waste

    processing station, he also had misgivings about how he smelled.People who had just gotten off work filled the road. Men and women

    crowded every street vendor, picking through local produce and bargaining

    loudly. Customers packed the plastic tables at the food hawker stalls, which

    were immersed in the aroma of frying oil. They ate heartily with their faces

    buried in bowls of hot and sour rice noodles, their heads hidden by clouds of

    white steam. Other stands featured mountains of jujubes and walnuts, and

    hunks of cured meat swung overhead. This was the busiest hour of the day—

    work was over, and everyone was hungry and loud.

    Lao Dao squeezed through the crowd slowly. A waiter carrying dishes

    shouted and pushed his way through the throng. Lao Dao followed close

    behind.

    Peng Li lived some ways down the lane. Lao Dao climbed the stairs but Peng

    wasn't home. A neighbor said that Peng usually didn't return until right before

    market closing time, but she didn't know exactly when.

    Lao Dao became anxious. He glanced down at his watch: Almost 5:00 AM.

    He went back downstairs to wait at the entrance of the apartment building. A

    group of hungry teenagers squatted around him, devouring their food. He

    recognized two of them because he remembered meeting them a couple of

    times at Peng Li's home. Each kid had a plate of chow mein or chow fun, and

    they shared two dishes family–style. The dishes were a mess while pairs of

    chopsticks continued to search for elusive, overlooked bits of meat amongst

    the chopped peppers. Lao Dao sniffed his forearms again to be sure that the

    stench of garbage was off of him. The noisy, quotidian chaos around him

    assured him with its familiarity.

    “Listen, do you know how much they charge for an order of twice–cooked

    pork over there?” a boy named Li asked.

    “Fuck! I just bit into some sand,” a heavyset kid named Ding said while

    covering his mouth with one hand, which had very dirty fingernails. “We

    need to get our money back from the vendor!”

    Li ignored him. “Three hundred and forty yuan!” said Li. “You hear that?

    Three forty! For twice–cooked pork! And for boiled beef? Four hundred andtwenty!”

    “How could the prices be so expensive?” Ding mumbled as he clutched his

    cheek. “What do they put in there?”

    The other two youths weren't interested in the conversation and concentrated

    on shoveling food from the plate into the mouth. Li watched them, and his

    yearning gaze seemed to go through them and focus on something beyond.

    Lao Dao's stomach growled. He quickly averted his eyes, but it was too late.

    His empty stomach felt like an abyss that made his body tremble. It had been

    a month since he last had a morning meal. He used to spend about a hundred

    each day on this meal, which translated to three thousand for the month. If he

    could stick to his plan for a whole year, he'd be able to save enough to afford

    two months of tuition for Tangtang's kindergarten.

    He looked into the distance: The trucks of the city cleaning crew were

    approaching slowly.

    He began to steel himself. If Peng Li didn't return in time, he would have to

    go on this journey without consulting him. Although it would make the trip

    far more difficult and dangerous, time was of the essence and he had to go.

    The loud chants of the woman next to him hawking her jujube interrupted his

    thoughts and gave him a headache. The peddlers at the other end of the road

    began to pack up their wares, and the crowd, like fish in a pond disturbed by

    a stick, dispersed. No one was interested in fighting the city cleaning crew.

    As the vendors got out of the way, the cleaning trucks patiently advanced.

    Vehicles were normally not allowed in the pedestrian lane, but the cleaning

    trucks were an exception. Anybody who dilly–dallied would be packed up by

    force.

    Finally, Peng Li appeared: His shirt unbuttoned, a toothpick dangling

    between his lips, strolling leisurely and burping from time to time. Now in his

    sixties, Peng had become lazy and slovenly. His cheeks drooped like the

    jowls of a Shar–Pei, giving him the appearance of being perpetually grumpy.

    Looking at him now, one might get the impression that he was a loser whose

    only ambition in life was a full belly. However, even as a child, Lao Dao had

    heard his father recounting Peng Li's exploits when he had been a youngman.

    Lao Dao went up to meet Peng in the street. Before Peng Li could greet him,Lao Dao blurted out, “I don't have time to explain, but I need to get to First

    Space. Can you tell me how?”

    Peng Li was stunned. It had been ten years since anyone brought up First

    Space with him. He held the remnant of the toothpick in his fingers—it had

    broken between his teeth without his being aware of it. For some seconds, he

    said nothing, but then he saw the anxiety on Lao Dao's face and dragged him

    toward the apartment building. “Come into my place and let's talk. You have

    to start from there anyway to get to where you want to go.”

    The city cleaning crew was almost upon them, and the crowd scattered like

    autumn leaves in a wind. “Go home! Go home! The Change is about to start,”

    someone called from atop one of the trucks.

    Peng Li took Lao Dao upstairs into his apartment. His ordinary, single–

    occupancy public housing unit was sparsely furnished: Six square meters in

    area, a washroom, a cooking corner, a table and a chair, a cocoon–bed

    equipped with storage drawers underneath for clothes and miscellaneous

    items. The walls were covered with water stains and footprints, bare save for

    a few haphazardly installed hooks for jackets, pants, and linens. Once he

    entered, Peng took all the clothes and towels off the wall–hooks and stuffed

    them into one of the drawers. During the Change, nothing was supposed to be

    unsecured. Lao Dao had once lived in a single–occupancy unit just like this

    one. As soon as he entered, he felt the flavor of the past hanging in the air.

    Peng Li glared at Lao Dao. “I'm not going to show you the way unless you

    tell me why.”

    It was already five thirty. Lao Dao had only half an hour left.

    Lao Dao gave him the bare outlines of the story: Picking up the bottle with a

    message inside; hiding in the trash chute; being entrusted with the errand in

    Second Space; making his decision and coming here for guidance. He had so

    little time that he had to leave right away.“You hid in the trash chutes last night to sneak into Second Space?” Peng Li

    frowned. “That means you had to wait twenty–four hours!”

    “For two hundred thousand yuan?” Lao Dao said, “Even hiding for a week

    would be worth it.”

    “I didn't know you were so short on money.”

    Lao Dao was silent for a moment. “Tangtang is going to be old enough for

    kindergarten in a year. I've run out of time.”

    Lao Dao's research on kindergarten tuition had shocked him. For schools

    with decent reputations, the parents had to show up with their bedrolls and

    line up a couple of days before registration. The two parents had to take turns

    so that while one held their place in the line, the other could go to the

    bathroom or grab a bite to eat. Even after lining up for forty–plus hours, a

    place wasn't guaranteed. Those with enough money had already bought up

    most of the openings for their offspring, so the poorer parents had to endure

    the line, hoping to grab one of the few remaining spots. Mind you, this was

    just for decent schools. The really good schools? Forget about lining up—

    every opportunity was sold off to those with money. Lao Dao didn't harbor

    unrealistic hopes, but Tangtang had loved music since she was an eighteen–

    month–old. Every time she heard music in the streets, her face lit up and she

    twisted her little body and waved her arms about in a dance. She looked

    especially cute during those moments. Lao Dao was dazzled as though

    surrounded by stage lights. No matter how much it cost, he vowed to send

    Tangtang to a kindergarten that offered music and dance lessons.

    Peng Li took off his shirt and washed while he spoke with Lao Dao. The

    “washing” consisted only of splashing some drops of water over his face

    because the water was already shut off and only a thin trickle came out of the

    faucet. Peng Li took down a dirty towel from the wall and wiped his face

    carelessly before stuffing the towel into a drawer as well. His moist hair gave

    off an oily glint.

    “What are you working so hard for?” Peng Li asked. “It's not like she's your

    real daughter.”“I don't have time for this,” Lao Dao said. “Just tell me the way.”

    Peng Li sighed. “Do you understand that if you're caught, it's not just a matter

    of paying a fine? You're going to be locked up for months.”

    “I thought you had gone there multiple times.”

    “Just four times. I got caught the fifth time.”

    “That's more than enough. If I could make it four times, it would be no big

    deal to get caught once.”

    Lao Dao's errand required him to deliver a message to First Space—success

    would earn him a hundred thousand yuan, and if he managed to bring back a

    reply, two hundred thousand. Sure, it was illegal, but no one would be

    harmed, and as long as he followed the right route and method, the

    probability of being caught wasn't great. And the cash, the cash was very real.

    He could think of no reason to not take up the offer. He knew that when Peng

    Li was younger, he had snuck into First Space multiple times to smuggle

    contraband and made quite a fortune. There was a way.

    It was a quarter to six. He had to get going, now.

    Peng Li sighed again. He could see it was useless to try to dissuade Lao Dao.

    He was old enough to feel lazy and tired of everything, but he remembered

    how he had felt as a younger man and he would have made the same choice

    as Lao Dao. Back then, he didn't care about going to prison. What was the big

    deal? You lost a few months and got beaten up a few times, but the money

    made it worthwhile. As long as you refused to divulge the source of the

    money no matter how much you suffered, you could survive it. The Security

    Bureau's citation was nothing more than routine enforcement.

    Peng Li took Lao Dao to his back window and pointed at the narrow path

    hidden in the shadows below.

    “Start by climbing down the drain pipe from my unit. Under the felt cloth

    you'll find hidden footholds I installed back in the day—if you stick close

    enough to the wall, the cameras won't see you. Once you're on the ground,stick to the shadows and head that way until you get to the edge. You'll feel

    as well as see the cleft. Follow the cleft and go north. Remember, go north.”

    Then Peng Li explained the technique for entering First Space as the ground

    turned during the Change. He had to wait until the ground began to cleave

    and rise. Then, from the elevated edge, he had to swing over and scramble

    about fifty meters over the cross section until he reached the other side of the

    turning earth, climb over, and head east. There, he would find a bush that he

    could hold onto as the ground descended and closed up. He could then

    conceal himself in the bush. Before Peng had even finished his explanation,Lao Dao was already halfway out the window, getting ready to climb down.

    Peng Li held onto Lao Dao and made sure his foot was securely in the first

    foothold. Then he stopped. “I'm going to say something that you might not

    want to hear. I don't think you should go. Over there … is not so great. If you

    go, you'll end up feeling your own life is shit, pointless.”

    Lao Dao was reaching down with his other foot, testing for the next foothold.

    His body strained against the windowsill and his words came out labored. “It

    doesn't matter. I already know my life is shit without having gone there.”

    “Take care of yourself,” Peng Li said.

    Lao Dao followed Peng Li's directions and groped his way down as quickly

    as he dared; the footholds felt very secure. He looked up and saw Peng Li

    light up a cigarette next to the window, taking deep drags. Peng Li put out the

    cigarette, leaned out, and seemed about to say something more, but ultimately

    he retreated back into his unit quietly. He closed his window, which glowed

    with a faint light.

    Lao Dao imagined Peng Li crawling into his cocoon–bed at the last minute,right before the Change. Like millions of others across the city, the cocoon–

    bed would release a soporific gas that put him into deep sleep. He would feel

    nothing as his body was transported by the flipping world, and he would not

    open his eyes again until tomorrow evening, forty–hours later. Peng Li was

    no longer young; he was no longer different from the other fifty million who

    lived in Third Space.Lao Dao climbed faster, barely touching the footholds. When he was close

    enough to the ground, he let go and landed on all fours. Luckily, Peng Li's

    unit was only on the fourth story, not too far up. He got up and ran through

    the shadow cast by the building next to the lake. He saw the crevice in the

    grass where the ground would open up.

    But before he reached it, he heard the muffled rumbling from behind him,interrupted by a few crisp clangs. Lao Dao turned around and saw Peng Li's

    building break in half. The top half folded down and pressed toward him,slowly but inexorably.

    Shocked, Lao Dao stared at the sight for a few moments before recovering.

    He raced to the fissure in the ground, and lay prostrate next to it.

    The Change began. This was a process repeated every twenty–four hours.

    The whole world started to turn. The sound of steel and masonry folding,grating, colliding filled the air, like an assembly line grinding to a halt. The

    towering buildings of the city gathered and merged into solid blocks; neon

    signs, shop awnings, balconies, and other protruding fixtures retracted into

    the buildings or flattened themselves into a thin layer against the walls, like

    skin. Every inch of space was utilized as the buildings compacted themselves

    into the smallest space.

    The ground rose up. Lao Dao watched and waited until the fissure was wide

    enough. He crawled over the marble–lined edge onto the earthen wall,grabbing onto bits of metal protruding out of the soil. As the cleft widened

    and the walls elevated, he climbed, using his hands as well as feet. At first, he

    was climbing down, testing for purchase with his feet. But soon, as the entire

    section of ground rotated, he was lifted into the air, and up and down flipped

    around.

    Lao Dao was thinking about last night.

    He had cautiously stuck his head out of the trash heap, alert for any sound

    from the other side of the gate. The fermenting, rotting garbage around him

    was pungent: Greasy, fishy, even a bit sweet. He leaned against the iron gate.

    Outside, the world was waking up.As soon as the yellow glow of the streetlights seeped into the seam under the

    lifting gate, he squatted and crawled out of the widening opening. The streets

    were empty; lights came on in the tall buildings, story by story; fixtures

    extruded from the sides of buildings, unfolding and extending, segment by

    segment; porches emerged from the walls; the eaves rotated and gradually

    dropped down into position; stairs extended and descended to the street. On

    both sides of the road, one black cube after another broke apart and opened,revealing the racks and shelves inside. Signboards emerged from the tops of

    the cubes and connected together while plastic awnings extended from both

    sides of the lane to meet in the middle, forming a corridor of shops. The

    streets were empty, as though Lao Dao were dreaming.

    The neon lights came on. Tiny flashing LEDs on top of the shops formed into

    characters advertising jujubes from Xinjiang, lapi noodles from Northeast

    China, bran dough from Shanghai, and cured meats from Hunan.

    For the rest of the day, Lao Dao couldn't forget the scene. He had lived in this

    city for forty–eight years, but he had never seen such a sight. His days had

    always started with the cocoon and ended with the cocoon, and the time in

    between was spent at work or navigating dirty tables at hawker stalls and

    loudly bargaining crowds surrounding street vendors. This was the first time

    he had seen the world, bare.

    Every morning, an observer at some distance from the city—say, a truck

    driver waiting on the highway into Beijing—could see the entire city fold and

    unfold.

    At six in the morning, the truck drivers usually got out of their cabs and

    walked to the side of the highway, where they rubbed their eyes, still drowsy

    after an uncomfortable night in the truck. Yawning, they greeted each other

    and gazed at the distant city center. The break in the highway was just outside

    the Seventh Ring Road, while all the ground rotation occurred within the

    Sixth Ring Road. The distance was perfect for taking in the whole city, like

    gazing at an island in the sea.

    In the early dawn, the city folded and collapsed. The skyscrapers bowed

    submissively like the humblest servants until their heads touched their feet;

    then they broke again, folded again, and twisted their necks and arms,stuffing them into the gaps. The compacted blocks that used to be the

    skyscrapers shuffled and assembled into dense, gigantic Rubik's Cubes that

    fell into a deep slumber.

    The ground then began to turn. Square by square, pieces of the earth flipped

    180 degrees around an axis, revealing the buildings on the other side. The

    buildings unfolded and stood up, awakening like a herd of beasts under the

    gray–blue sky. The island that was the city settled in the orange sunlight,spread open, and stood still as misty gray clouds roiled around it.

    The truck drivers, tired and hungry, admired the endless cycle of urban

    renewal.

    TWO

    The folding city was divided into three spaces. One side of the earth was First

    Space, population five million. Their allotted time lasted from six o'clock in

    the morning to six o'clock the next morning. Then the space went to sleep,and the earth flipped.

    The other side was shared by Second Space and Third Space. Twenty–five

    million people lived in Second Space, and their allotted time lasted from six

    o'clock on that second day to ten o'clock at night. Fifty million people lived

    in Third Space, allotted the time from ten o'clock at night to six o'clock in the

    morning, at which point First Space returned. Time had been carefully

    divided and parceled out to separate the populations: Five million enjoyed the

    use of twenty–four hours, and seventy–five million enjoyed the next twenty–

    four hours.

    The structures on two sides of the ground were not even in weight. To

    remedy the imbalance, the earth was made thicker in First Space, and extra

    ballast buried in the soil to make up for the missing people and buildings. The

    residents of First Space considered the extra soil a natural emblem of theirpossession of a richer, deeper heritage.

    Lao Dao had lived in Third Space since birth. He understood very well the

    reality of his situation, even without Peng Li pointing it out. He was a waste

    worker; he had processed trash for twenty–eight years, and would do so for

    the foreseeable future. He had not found the meaning of his existence or the

    ultimate refuge of cynicism; instead, he continued to hold onto the humble

    place assigned to him in life.

    Lao Dao had been born in Beijing. His father was also a waste worker. His

    father told him that when Lao Dao was born, his father had just gotten his

    job, and the family had celebrated for three whole days. His father had been a

    construction worker, one of millions of other construction workers who had

    come to Beijing from all over China in search of work. His father and others

    like him had built this folding city. District by district, they had transformed

    the old city. Like termites swarming over a wooden house, they had chewed

    up the wreckage of the past, overturned the earth, and constructed a brand

    new world. They had swung their hammers and wielded their adzes, keeping

    their heads down; brick by brick, they had walled themselves off until they

    could no longer see the sky. Dust had obscured their views, and they had not

    known the grandeur of their work. Finally, when the completed building

    stood up before them like a living person, they had scattered in terror, as

    though they had given birth to a monster. But after they calmed down, they

    realized what an honor it would be to live in such a city in the future, and so

    they had continued to toil diligently and docilely, to meekly seek out any

    opportunity to remain in the city. It was said that when the folding city was

    completed, more than eighty million construction workers had wanted to

    stay. Ultimately, no more than twenty million were allowed to settle.

    It had not been easy to get a job at the waste processing station. Although the

    work only involved sorting trash, so many applied that stringent selection

    criteria had to be imposed: The desired candidates had to be strong, skillful,discerning, organized, diligent, and unafraid of the stench or difficult

    environment. Strong–willed, Lao Dao's father had held fast onto the thin reed

    of opportunity as the tide of humanity surged and then receded around him,until he found himself a survivor on the dry beach.

    His father had then kept his head down and labored away in the acidic rottenfetor of garbage and crowding for twenty years. He had built this city; he was

    also a resident and a decomposer.

    Construction of the folding city had been completed two years before Lao

    Dao's birth. He had never been anywhere else, and had never harbored the

    desire to go anywhere else. He finished elementary school, middle school,high school, and took the annual college entrance examination three times—

    failing each time. In the end, he became a waste worker, too. At the waste

    processing station, he worked for five hours each shift, from eleven at night

    to four in the morning. Together with tens of thousands of co–workers, he

    mechanically and quickly sorted through the trash, picking out recyclable bits

    from the scraps of life from First Space and Second Space and tossing them

    into the processing furnace. Every day, he faced the trash on the conveyer

    belt flowing past him like a river, and he scraped off the leftover food from

    plastic bowls, picked out broken glass bottles, tore off the clean, thin backing

    from blood–stained sanitary napkins, stuffing it into the recyclables can

    marked with green lines. This was their lot: to eke out a living by performing

    the repetitive drudgery as fast as possible, to toil hour after hour for rewards

    as thin as the wings of cicadas.

    Twenty million waste workers lived in Third Space; they were the masters of

    the night. The other thirty million made a living by selling clothes, food, fuel,or insurance, but most people understood that the waste workers were the

    backbone of Third Space's prosperity. Each time he strolled through the

    neon–bedecked night streets, Lao Dao thought he was walking under

    rainbows made of food scraps. He couldn't talk about this feeling with others.

    The younger generation looked down on the profession of the waste worker.

    They tried to show off on the dance floors of nightclubs, hoping to find jobs

    as DJs or dancers. Even working at a clothing store seemed a better choice:

    their fingers would be touching thin fabric instead of scrabbling through

    rotting garbage for plastic or metal. The young were no longer so terrified

    about survival; they cared far more about appearances.

    Lao Dao didn't despise his work. But when he had gone to Second Space, he

    had been terrified of being despised.

    The previous morning, Lao Dao had snuck his way out of the trash chute with

    a slip of paper and tried to find the author of the slip based on the addresswritten on it.

    Second Space wasn't far from Third Space. They were located on the same

    side of the ground, though they were divided in time. At the Change, the

    buildings of one space folded and retracted into the ground as the buildings of

    another space extended into the air, segment by segment, using the tops of the

    buildings of the other space as its foundation. The only difference between

    the spaces was the density of buildings. Lao Dao had to wait a full day and

    night inside the trash chute for the opportunity to emerge as Second Space

    unfolded. Although this was the first time he had been to Second Space, he

    wasn't anxious. He only worried about the rotting smell on him.

    Luckily, Qin Tian was a generous soul. Perhaps he had been prepared for

    what sort of person would show up since the moment he put that slip of paper

    inside the bottle.

    Qin Tian was very kind. He knew at a glance why Lao Dao had come. He

    pulled him inside his home, offered him a hot bath, and gave him one of his

    own bathrobes to wear. “I have to count on you,” Qin Tian said.

    Qin was a graduate student living in a university–owned apartment. He had

    three roommates, and besides the four bedrooms, the apartment had a kitchen

    and two bathrooms. Lao Dao had never taken a bath in such a spacious

    bathroom, and he really wanted to soak for a while and get rid of the smell on

    his body. But he was also afraid of getting the bathtub dirty and didn't dare to

    rub his skin too hard with the washcloth. The jets of bubbles coming out of

    the bathtub walls startled him, and being dried by hot jets of air made him

    uncomfortable. After the bath, he picked up the bathrobe from Qin Tian and

    only put it on after hesitating for a while. He laundered his own clothes, as

    well as a few other shirts casually left in a basin. Business was business, and

    he didn't want to owe anyone any favors.

    Qin Tian wanted to send a gift to a woman he liked. They had gotten to know

    each other from work when Qin Tian had been given the opportunity to go to

    First Space for an internship with the UN Economic Office, where she was

    also working. The internship had lasted only a month. Qin told Lao Dao that

    the young woman was born and bred in First Space, with very strict parents.

    Her father wouldn't allow her to date a boy from Second Space, and that waswhy he couldn't contact her through regular channels. Qin was optimistic

    about the future; he was going to apply to the UN's New Youth Project after

    graduation, and if he were to be chosen, he would be able to go to work in

    First Space. He still had another year of school left before he would get his

    degree, but he was going crazy pining for her. He had made a rose–shaped

    locket for her that glowed in the dark: This was the gift he would use to ask

    for her hand in marriage.

    “I was attending a symposium, you know, the one that discussed the UN's

    debt situation? You must have heard of it… anyway, I saw her, and I was

    like, Ah! I went over right away to talk to her. She was helping the VIPs to

    their seats, and I didn't know what to say, so I just followed her around.

    Finally, I pretended that I had to find interpreters, and I asked her to help me.

    She was so gentle, and her voice was really soft. I had never really asked a

    girl out, you understand, so I was super nervous… Later, after we started

    dating, I brought up how we met… Why are you laughing? Yes, we dated.

    No, I don't think we quite got to that kind of relationship, but… well, we

    kissed.” Qin Tian laughed as well, a bit embarrassed. “I'm telling the truth!

    Don't you believe me? Yes, I guess sometimes even I can't believe it. Do you

    think she really likes me?”

    “I have no idea,” Lao Dao said. “I've never met her.”

    One of Qin Tian's roommates came over, and smiling, said, “Uncle, why are

    you taking his question so seriously? That's not a real question. He just wants

    to hear you say, 'Of course she loves you! You're so handsome.'”

    “She must be beautiful.”

    “I'm not afraid that you'll laugh at me.” Qin Tian paced back and forth in

    front of Lao Dao. “When you see her, you'll understand the meaning of

    'peerless elegance.'”

    Qin Tian stopped, sinking into a reverie. He was thinking of Yi Yan's mouth.

    Her mouth was perhaps his favorite part of her: So tiny, so smooth, with a

    full bottom lip that glowed with a natural, healthy pink, making him want to

    give it a loving bite. Her neck also aroused him. Sometimes it appeared so

    thin that the tendons showed, but the lines were straight and pretty. The skinwas fair and smooth, extending down into the collar of her blouse so that his

    gaze lingered on her second button. The first time he tried to kiss her, she had

    moved her lips away shyly. He had persisted until she gave in, closing her

    eyes and returning the kiss. Her lips had felt so soft, and his hands had

    caressed the curve of her waist and backside, again and again. From that day

    on, he had lived in the country of longing. She was his dream at night, and

    also the light he saw when he trembled in his own hand.

    Qin Tian's roommate was called Zhang Xian, who seemed to relish the

    opportunity to converse with Lao Dao.

    Zhang Xian asked Lao Dao about life in Third Space, and mentioned that he

    actually wanted to live in Third Space for a while. He had been given the

    advice that if he wanted to climb up the ladder of government administration,some managerial experience in Third Space would be very helpful. Several

    prominent officials had all started their careers as Third Space administrators

    before being promoted to First Space. If they had stayed in Second Space,they wouldn't have gone anywhere and would have spent the rest of their

    careers as low–level administrative cadres. Zhang Xian's ambition was to

    eventually enter government service, and he was certain he knew the right

    path. Still, he wanted to go work at a bank for a couple of years first and earn

    some quick money. Since Lao Dao seemed noncommittal about his plans,Zhang Xian thought Lao Dao disapproved of his careerism.

    “The current government is too inefficient and ossified,” he added quickly,“slow to respond to challenges, and I don't see much hope for systematic

    reform. When I get my opportunity, I'll push for rapid reforms: Anyone who's

    incompetent will be fired.” Since Lao Dao still didn't seem to show much

    reaction, he added, “I'll also work to expand the pool of candidates for

    government service and promotion, including opening up opportunities for

    candidates from Third Space.”

    Lao Dao said nothing. It wasn't because he disapproved; rather, he found it

    hard to believe Zhang Xian.

    While he talked with Lao Dao, Zhang Xian was also putting on a tie and

    fixing his hair in front of the mirror. He had on a shirt with light blue stripes,and the tie was a bright blue. He closed his eyes and frowned as the mist ofhairspray settled around his face, whistling all the while.

    Zhang Xian left with his briefcase for his internship at the bank. Qin Tian

    said he had to get going as well since he had classes that would last until four

    in the afternoon. Before he left, he transferred fifty thousand yuan over the

    net to Lao Dao's account while Lao Dao watched, and explained that he

    would transfer the rest after Lao Dao succeeded in his mission.

    “Have you been saving up for this for a while?” Lao Dao asked. “You're a

    student, so money is probably tight. I can accept less if necessary.”

    “Don't worry about it. I'm on a paid internship with a financial advisory firm.

    They pay me around a hundred thousand each month, so the total I'm

    promising you is about two months of my salary. I can afford it.”

    Lao Dao said nothing. He earned the standard salary of ten thousand each

    month.

    “Please bring back her answer,” Qin Tian said.

    “I'll do my best.”

    “Help yourself to the fridge if you get hungry. Just stay put here and wait for

    the Change.”

    Lao Dao looked outside the window. He couldn't get used to the sunlight,which was a bright white, not the yellow he was used to. The street seemed

    twice as wide in the sun as what Lao Dao remembered from Third Space, and

    he wasn't sure if that was a visual illusion. The buildings here weren't nearly

    as tall as buildings in Third Space. The sidewalks were filled with people

    walking very fast, and from time to time, some trotted and tried to shove their

    way through the crowd, causing those in front of them to begin running as

    well. Everyone seemed to run across intersections. The men dressed mostly

    in western suits while the women wore blouses and short skirts, with scarves

    around their necks and compact, rigid purses in their hands that lent them an

    air of competence and efficiency. The street was filled with cars, and as they

    waited at intersections for the light to change, the drivers stuck their heads

    out of the windows, gazing ahead anxiously. Lao Dao had never seen somany cars; he was used to the mass–transit maglev packed with passengers

    whooshing by him.

    Around noon, he heard noises in the hallway outside the apartment. Lao Dao

    peeked out of the peephole in the door. The floor of the hallway had

    transformed into a moving conveyor belt, and bags of trash left at the door of

    each apartment were shoved onto the conveyor belt to be deposited into the

    chute at the end. Mist filled the hall, turning into soap bubbles that drifted

    through the air, and then water washed the floor, followed by hot steam.

    A noise from behind Lao Dao startled him. He turned around and saw that

    another of Qin Tian's roommates had emerged from his bedroom. The young

    man ignored Lao Dao, his face impassive. He went to some machine next to

    the balcony and pushed some buttons, and the machine came to life, popping,whirring, grinding. Eventually, the noise stopped, and Lao Dao smelled

    something delicious. The young man took out a piping hot plate of food from

    the machine and returned to his room. Through the half–open bedroom door,Lao Dao could see that the young man was sitting on the floor in a pile of

    blankets and dirty socks, and staring at his wall as he ate and laughed,pushing up his glasses from time to time. After he was done eating, he left the

    plate at his feet, stood up, and began to fight someone invisible as he faced

    the wall. He struggled, his breathing labored, as he wrestled the unseen

    enemy.

    Lao Dao's last memory of Second Space was the refined air with which

    everyone conducted themselves before the Change. Looking down from the

    window of the apartment, everything seemed so orderly that he felt a hint of

    envy. Starting at a quarter past nine, the stores along the street turned off their

    lights one after anothe ......