“Searching for first generation of species on the subway? Whose idea was this anyway? Would a progenitor ride the subway?” The girl complained in a low voice.
“They can take any form. Didn’t one of them show up on campus in human form?” The boy reassured her. “The subway is the place with the densest crowd. Besides, you’re sensitive to bloodlines and domains.”
“But scanning every subway station every day is just so boring.” The girl sighed.
“We haven’t gone to every station,” the boy said, perhaps trying to amuse her. “There are at least two hidden stations you haven’t been to.”
“Hidden ones?”
“Yeah, not every subway station is open to the public. After reaching the terminal, when you get off, doesn’t the train keep going? There are actually more stations ahead, but they aren’t shown on the map. Those are the hidden stations…” the boy said.
“Next stop, Zhongguancun,” the announcement came over the speaker.
“Let’s go,” the girl said. “Let’s switch to Line 4 and continue scanning.”
Zhao Menghua’s mind stirred, and he quietly followed them. He thought they were acting suspiciously and wanted to know what they were up to. The subway transfer tunnel was nearly empty. He jogged after the pair and suddenly shivered.
The escalator moved slowly downward, the fluorescent lights above flickering.
Zhao Menghua glanced at the frame ads on the wall and was surprised to find that the ads had been removed, leaving only empty slots. The ground was covered with newspaper scraps, as if no one had cleaned up in years. The pair ahead continued talking as they walked, their voices growing fainter. Zhao Menghua hurried forward a few steps but could no longer see their backs—only faint echoes of conversation remained. Zhao Menghua wasn’t used to riding the subway, so he looked up at the signs. Something felt off, but he dismissed it. The underground passage twisted and turned, and the deeper he went, the more paper scraps there were on the floor—it was like a truckload of old newspapers had just passed through.
Up ahead was a ticket gate, but Zhao Menghua remembered he hadn’t exited the station, and transfers didn’t require buying another ticket. But the pair must have gone through the gate. Zhao Menghua checked his pockets—only large bills, no coins to buy a ticket. The ground trembled slightly—it must be the train coming in.
Seeing no one around, Zhao Menghua ducked under the gate. No one came to question him, and he felt a bit smug, running all the way to the platform just as the train came to a stop. With a screeching noise, the rusty bearings turned, and the doors opened.
Zhao Menghua looked up at the subway and felt a chill, stopping in his tracks.
The train was dark, and he couldn’t see whether it was full of people or completely empty. He suddenly realized he was alone on the platform. At some point, the voices of the pair had disappeared. He had assumed there were a few other people scattered around the station, but now he realized it was empty. It was as if everything before had been an illusion.
He was the only person in this subway station!
The station itself seemed wrong… Zhao Menghua slowly looked up. The fluorescent lights flickered, thick pillars supporting a high ceiling, terrazzo flooring, and green-painted iron railings on either side of the staircase. Everything seemed both familiar and strange.
Zhao Menghua quickly looked down and saw the battered exterior of the train, painted with “Line 1” in red.
Line 1? Zhao Menghua shuddered. How could he be seeing a Line 1 train? Zhongguancun Station was on Line 4, and the trains were brand new imports!
But it wasn’t just the train—the station was also like Line 1, Beijing’s oldest subway line, with a Soviet-style design: vast, empty, cold wind blowing on the platform, and fluorescent lights casting a ghostly pale glow.
Zhao Menghua held his head and slowly crouched down, his mind blank. He thought of those empty ad spaces, the scattered newspaper scraps, and the peeling paint on the signs. He remembered all the abnormalities he had ignored, how the modern traces had gradually faded as he went deeper into the station. He had entered Line 1 of the 1970s from Line 4 of 2010. Everything transitioned smoothly; time had slowly been pulled back through the long passage.
The subway train was still there, its open doors seemingly waiting for its only passenger.
Zhao Menghua stepped back, no way he would get on that strange train. Who knew where it would take him? Heaven or hell? Heaven would be out of the question! He turned and ran up the stairs.
The subway station was empty, not a soul in sight. Zhao Menghua couldn’t remember how he had gotten in and had to look for signs in all directions. The once-crowded subway station now seemed like a giant maze. He realized why people with claustrophobia would avoid the subway for life—no matter how much it was decorated with lights and colors, a subway station was still a confined space that isolated you underground. This huge space had countless signs, each pointing back to the platform. Whenever he tried to go against the flow, all he saw were the backs of the signs, painted with giant red Xs, saying “No Entry.”
There was no way out, as if no one who came here could ever leave…
Cold wind poured into the station from the stairway to the platform, like the burst of air when an ancient coffin was opened. Zhao Menghua couldn’t care about anything anymore—he turned and ran, thick dust swirling in his wake. He didn’t dare look back and couldn’t see the changes behind him. The white walls gradually peeled and yellowed, the aluminum ceiling panels turned into old-fashioned plaster, the LED lights in the recesses replaced by harsh fluorescent tubes. The escalator transformed into hard, cold marble steps as he ran past. The bluish mist was like a temporal virus, spreading throughout the station.
“No Entry.”
“No Entry.”
“No Entry.”
Repeated red Xs and repeated “No Entry” signs flashed in front of Zhao Menghua’s eyes. It was like taking the wrong route while driving, and the GPS’s robotic female voice kept repeating, “You are on the wrong road. Please make a U-turn ahead… please make a U-turn… please make a U-turn…”
No way he was making a U-turn now! Zhao Menghua kept running, his head down. Whether it was an illusion or not, it seemed as if the subway station had suddenly expanded dozens of times, the passageways as complex as a spider’s web, each turn leading to another long corridor. All kinds of legends flooded Zhao Menghua’s mind—like how grave robbers would find themselves endlessly running in a tomb full of resentful spirits. To someone not under the influence of illusions, they would just appear to be marching in place with exaggerated movements…
Finally, there was light ahead—a white sign with red lettering saying, “Proceed Forward.”
A surge of joy filled Zhao Menghua’s heart. This was the only different sign he had seen along the way. He mustered his strength and leaped up four or five steps, standing beneath the sign pointing toward the light…
A quiet subway platform awaited him ahead, as if sealed by dust and time for decades. The ground was covered in scraps of newspaper, and the walls were adorned with old ceramic murals of the “Five Virtues, Four Beauties, Three Loves” campaign. Aging fluorescent lights flickered and made a “bang bang” sound. He felt ice forming in his blood—he had returned, back to the platform he had desperately tried to escape from.
He collapsed by the stairs, sitting there for a long, long time. He picked up a handful of newspaper scraps, piecing them together strip by strip, and finally got something resembling a complete newspaper. The publication date was from eighteen years ago!
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