Broken Stars: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction in Translation

1. CLAIRVOYANT

Mark was a very special person—when he told me that he was going to take me to see a clairvoyant, I wasn’t too surprised.

“But you are a scientist!” I couldn’t help pointing out.

“That doesn’t mean I worship science.” My expression made him laugh, so he added by way of explanation, “It’s like how a butcher doesn’t worship pork.”

I chuckled. This is what made Mark special. He was an interesting person, and he always took me to see interesting people.

“Remember to be polite when you meet her.” We were standing in front of an ordinary apartment building. Mark looked reverential, a rare expression for him. “She cares about that.”

A bit uneasy, I followed him up the stairs, trying to imagine what a clairvoyant would look like. The light in the stairwell brightened and dimmed as we wound our way up, and the air was redolent of dust…. This was not where I envisioned finding a clairvoyant.

He stopped at the top of the staircase—a second later, the door opened. I saw a slender girl whose face was tender and kind.

Yes, a girl, maybe fourteen years of age. Her hands and feet were thinner and more elongated compared to an adult’s. She was dressed in a black leotard and a pair of black tights, and her pale neck rose like a stalk, topped by a round, childish face. But contrary to her general appearance, her gaze was sharp and tolerant, like an old woman’s.

“Ed! You’re here!” She wrapped me in a tight hug as though we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. Abruptly, she let me go, took two steps back, and gracefully nodded. “I’m sorry—I forgot that we don’t know each other yet.”

I wasn’t sure what was going on. How did she know my name? Admiringly, Mark said, “I’m so glad you know Ed Lin already. I was worried about disturbing you with a stranger.”

“It’s good that you brought him. Thank you.” She hesitated, as if trying to recall something. “… Mark?”

“That’s right!” Mark’s grin was exaggerated. “You remember me!”

She smiled and gestured for us to come in. “Ed, I prepared your favorite chai.”

Her home was as unusual as her person. The bed was filled with books, while her desk was covered with snack trays and a tea set. The round dining table’s legs had been sawed off, and the top was then covered with a variety of cushions. The eccentric furnishings appeared odd at first, but gave off a sense of comforting familiarity after a while.

“It’s too messy,” she said apologetically. Then she muttered to herself, “What was I doing?” Turning to me, she smiled and indicated the cushioned dining table. “Please have a seat.”

I sat down on the table gingerly while Mark remained standing. I was amused by his hesitancy. Mark was forty-three, with dual doctorates in molecular biology and psychology, and had just been granted tenure. He had always strutted around with a swagger, like an energetic crab—oh, he had been my dissertation advisor, too. But in front of this girl he appeared as awkward and deferential as a kid in elementary school. She poured a cup of chai for me and brought it over.

She stopped and stared at Mark suspiciously. “Who are you? When did you get in here?”

“Just now—”

“No!” Her voice was shrill. Then she turned to me and asked in a much softer voice, “Ed, who is he? Why is he here?”

I was utterly baffled. “Um… Mark brought me here….”

“Oh, so it’s Mark.” She seemed at ease again. “Thank you,” she said to him.

Mark scratched his head, embarrassed. “No problem. I came to ask you—”

“I can’t answer your question.” She handed the chai to me. “I don’t know your daughter’s test score.”

“Right, that’s why I came.” Mark looked even more anxious than before. “Her grades are dropping…. Is there anything I can do?”

“How can I possibly know the answer to that?”

“Because you’re a clairvoyant. You can see the future.”

She frowned, an expression that mixed youthful arrogance with aged authority. “Fine. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a scientist.”

“All right, Mr. Scientist, tell me: what is the principle behind warp drives?”

“That… ah…”

Mark’s face turned red.

“Just as you can’t tell me what I want to know about science, I can’t tell you—”

I started to laugh at her retort when she cried out, “Watch the cup!”

The scalding hot liquid spilled out of the cup onto my hand as I shook from laughing. I winced from the pain.

She took the cup from me in a hurry, muttering, “I’m so sorry. I should have reminded you.”

She blew on my hand, her expression focused and tender.

“Have we met before?” I asked, even more confused than before.

She paused for a moment. “We will.”

2. THE INTERVIEW

After graduation, I didn’t want to pursue a career in science; instead, I became a reporter. I wanted my life to always be filled with the new and exciting. The clairvoyant didn’t strike me as particularly interesting, other than the fact that she made Mark behave like a mouse in front of a cat. The episode soon faded in my memories.

One day, three years later, the editor in chief summoned me into his office.

“Lin, I have an assignment for you.” He handed me a slip of paper. “They call her the greatest psychic of this century.”

I recognized the address. “The greatest psychic?”

“Look at her record: the World Cup, the US presidential election, the South American earthquake, and so on. She predicted the result perfectly every time. Oh, and look at this, a Weibo post she made the day before yesterday: ‘Blood and fire tomorrow at 4:00 p.m.’”

I shuddered. The words were probably a bit too obscure two days earlier, but now it was clear that they were about the plane crash yesterday.

Even the hour was exactly right.

“She never talks to the media. However…” The editor paused deliberately. “When I sent her an email query, she agreed to talk to us immediately, provided that we send you.”

I was thrilled. “Did she say why?”

He shook his head. “Maybe she’s interested in you.”

I laughed. “I’m going to demand better treatment around here. Maybe I’m going to be the president someday.”

He squinted. “Even if you’re the president, I’m still going to hold you to your deadlines.”

Once again, I stood in front of the building. I was feeling slightly nostalgic for that younger version of myself when a window above me opened.

“Ed!” she called out.

I was pleased by the familiarity in her voice. It calmed me.

She was still living by herself, and a delicious-smelling pot of soup was simmering on the stove. She was taller than I remembered, and more filled out. I was amazed that I remembered her so clearly. Her room had been rearranged, though the furniture remained eccentrically familiar. I sat down and got up again. “I’m here for work.”

She grinned. “Grab your list of questions then.”

I took out my notepad. It was my habit to draft an outline of questions ahead of time. Apparently, she had foreseen it.

She glanced at the list and turned to rummaging in the pile of books on her bed. Returning, she handed me a sheet of paper. “I remember them well. These should do it.”

I read the sheet, growing more astonished with each sentence. She had written out answers to every question I was going to ask.

“How did you know what I was going to ask?”

“Have you forgotten my profession?”

It was a most impressive demonstration.

“You’re only allowed to quote from that sheet,” she added.

I read the answers with more care. She had been cautious and meticulous, phrasing everything in a way that was ambiguous. The answers seemed to at once say everything and nothing.

“You can’t expect me to write a profile with so little—”

“They’re more than enough for your article.” Her tone brooked no disagreement.

I looked at her helplessly. “Are you telling me to leave?”

“Well…” She smiled. “You can stay if you promise that everything we say from this point on is off the record.”

“I promise.”

“Swear by the name of your father.” She raised a hand solemnly.

I almost laughed. But I held up my hand and copied her. “I swear by the name of my father.”

She laughed. “I know you’ll keep your word, Ed. But I needed you to say it.”

“Why?”

“Although the future cannot be changed, I’m still terrified… ,” she said, handing me a steaming cup.

I could make no sense of her non sequitur. Sitting down, I tried to make myself comfortable and took a sip. The chai was sweet and just the right temperature. “It’s delicious.”

She smiled with satisfaction. “I know.”

“Since you can see the future, you must already know what I want to ask you.”

“True. But you should still ask the questions so that we can have a conversation.” She sat down and looked into my eyes. “It’s better to follow the custom.”

“Fine. Can you tell me how you tell the future?”

She took a sip from her cup. Instead of answering me directly, she asked, “Is this the first time we’ve met?”

“Of course not.”

“But I don’t remember ever seeing you.”

“You don’t?” I felt oddly disappointed. “Mark brought me here.”

“I don’t remember him at all,” she said. “I guess that means I’ll never see him again.”

I couldn’t make sense of this. “What?”

“I don’t know how to explain this—” She picked up my notepad. “All right, let’s suppose that this notebook represents a lifetime.”

I waited patiently while she collected her thoughts.

She flipped to the page with my interview questions. “This is today, right now, this moment.” Then she turned to the first page of the notepad. “This is the moment of birth, the past.”

I could see where she was going. She turned to the last page. “This is death, the future. Most people fill the notepad from front to back. Every page after today is blank. It’s possible to recall the past, but impossible to know the future.” She flipped the notepad over so that the stiff backing was on top. “I’m different. I fill my notepad from the back to the front. My memories are filled with the future. For me, remembering what will happen tomorrow is like you recalling what happened yesterday.”

She paused and took another sip of chai.

I stared at the notepad, stunned. I couldn’t accept her explanation.

“Your predictions are… your memories?”

“That’s right. All the predictions are in my mind. The closer to the present, the clearer they become. Similarly, the past that you recall is the unknown future for me.”

“Are you saying”—I licked my lips—“that you’ve forgotten the past?”

“Yes.”

“Then…” I struggled to find a logical flaw in her words. “If you’ve forgotten what has happened, how can you possibly converse with me? How can you even remember what I asked you?”

“The immediate past and future are both deducible from the present,” she said. “Look, you can predict that my soup will be ready soon; you can foretell where you’ll sleep tonight; you know that I will answer your questions; indeed, sometimes you can even anticipate my answers. That is also how I can guess what you’ve just asked me.”

“But… but your answers are beyond my guesses.” I held up my hands and gestured wildly to show my confusion and amazement.

She continued in a patient tone. “You have to understand that as the only one living against the stream of time among you, I must dedicate myself to the art of how to converse with you. I have to deduce and guess what you said every moment of every conversation. You don’t need to learn a comparable skill.”

“So you really don’t remember the last time we met?”

“I don’t remember that we’ve seen each other, but I know we will meet again.”

Oddly, her answer calmed me. She didn’t ask me to stay for dinner, and so I missed the sweet, fragrant pumpkin soup. I wrote the profile at home. It was easy with her predrafted answers.

I closed my laptop and gave Mark a call.

He sounded pleased. “You saw her again?”

I told him about our meeting, including the source of her predictions. Mark grew excited. “She predicts the future from her memories? Fascinating!”

I didn’t share his enthusiasm. “Don’t you understand? If what she told me is true, then the future is unchangeable. Everything we do is wasted effort. How can you not despair at such a world?”

“So what are you going to do?” That was always Mark’s style: teaching by asking us to find the answers ourselves.

“I choose to not believe in such a world.”

3. THE FIRST MEETING

After that, I visited her often, and grew more familiar with her home. She always greeted me like an old friend, which made me happy, as I knew that meant we would continue to see each other. I rarely asked her about the future, not even my own—so long as I got to see her, what did it matter?

Though she lived alone, she didn’t know how to take care of herself well. One weekend, I helped her rearrange things to be more comfortable, and she gladly accepted my help. To thank me, she cooked a meal of my favorite dishes: chicken curry, stir-fried broccoli and beans, and plenty of white rice. I wolfed down everything, sat down on the sofa, and picked up the cup of chai she specifically brewed to my taste. She sat next to me and leaned her head on my shoulder like a cat.

My mistake was taking this gesture as a hint.

Before my hands had even moved, she jerked away. Her gaze was slightly frightened. “Why?”

She never asked questions like “What are you trying to do?” She knew.

“I thought you wanted me,” I said.

“No!” My heart clenched at the certainty in her tone. “I meant… I want you, but not the way you’re thinking.”

“Why?” We seemed to be always asking each other this question.

“Because we won’t be together. It’s impossible. Because—” She stopped, her eyes wide open. Then she went on, emphasizing each syllable. “I. Can’t. We. Can’t.”

A surge of helpless anger. “You have to give me a reason.”

“Ed…” She looked at me and did not continue.

“Why not?” I wouldn’t let it go.

She sighed and sat back on the sofa. “Because… because I can’t remember the past. Don’t you understand? I’m seeing you for the first time in my life right now.”

A perpetual first meeting.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a light in her eyes I had not seen before—unfamiliarity.

She frowned. “Why are you here?”

It was the same expression she had worn years ago when she asked the same question about Mark.

“I came to see you.” My voice faded, panic growing in the pit of my stomach.

“Why did you come to see me?” she asked, her voice guarded.

“To talk… To have tea.”

“You will never come again,” she said with absolute certainty.

I tried to contact her several times more, but she wouldn’t return emails or phone calls. Even her Weibo stopped being updated. I went to her apartment, but there was a FOR RENT sign. I realized that I had so many questions to ask her, though, as she had said, every question had a predictable answer. Sometimes I hallucinated conversing with her, only to realize that I was talking to myself.

My days were a chaotic, unmemorable mess. I asked the editor in chief whether he knew where she was, but he wouldn’t answer me, only looking at me with a pitying expression. Finally, I had to go back to the university to find Mark.

After listening to my account, he asked, “Lin, what questions did you ask yourself? What answers did you get?”

“I just want to know where she is!” I was impatient.

“If you can’t answer my questions, I can’t help you.” He looked regretful.

This was, if I recall correctly, the first argument we had. He had always been solicitous of me, despite the fact that I wasn’t an outstanding student, and my dissertation was undistinguished. He, on the other hand, was one of the most sought-after advisors in the department.

“Lin, everyone’s future is in their heart,” he said. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Lost? I didn’t know what he meant.

I needed her. That was the only thought in my mind. The thought wouldn’t leave me alone, and it was driving me crazy. I needed her; I had to see her; I must see her….

I felt dizzy, and Mark steadied me. “I think you need help.”

“I have to see her… ,” I whispered.

He helped me down on a lounge chair. “You need to rest.”

His words seemed to cast a spell over me, and I felt exhausted. “You need to sleep,” he said.

I closed my eyes. In my dream, I sought her in a mirror maze. Everywhere I saw my own reflection, but I couldn’t see the person I needed.

I want to ask her…

“What is it?”

My eyes snapped open. I was sitting in Mark’s office. She was sitting across from me. Older. Beautiful.

“What do you want to ask me?” she repeated.

Mark wasn’t around. Where had she come from?

“Where’s Mark? Did he bring you?” I demanded.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Her gaze was as tender as before. “How are you, Ed? I thought you were doing well.”

“I’m fine.” My voice cracked. “Before you showed up in my life—before you left me, I was always fine.”

“I thought you no longer needed me.” She looked away.

“I do need you. I’ve been thinking about you every moment.”

“Me too.” Her eyes were wet.

“Be with me then,” I begged.

“No.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “No. Although I’ve forgotten the past, I remember one thing.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll know.”

“Damn it! What is this thing that makes you so certain we can’t be together? Tell me!”

“You’ll find out soon.” She pointed at Mark’s desk. “The answer is there.”

4. THE OMNISCIENT

I jumped up and rushed over. A lab notebook lay on the desk. The Omniscient.

I didn’t know this was something Mark was studying.

With a trace of guilt, I opened the notebook.

I’m interested in psychological phenomena that cannot be explained by existing scientific theories. Omniscience in the narrow sense I use the word here is rooted in the proposition that the experience of moving through time from the past to the future is an illusion. Our memories are deceitful because the past and the future coexist in our minds, although the future has been veiled away. The omniscient are those who possess memories of both the past and the future.

I’ve been looking for someone truly omniscient, or a way to trigger omniscience in a subject. The work has been difficult. Most clairvoyants turned out to be frauds.

Until I met Lin.

I looked up. She was gone.

But her voice seemed to linger in my head. The answer is there.

I flipped to the next page.

Lin never knew that he had another personality. But I was lucky enough to meet her, though she never warmed up to me.

To be clear, I never “saw” her. I could only see Lin, and she lived inside his body. I had been under the impression that the clairvoyant was a man until I took Lin to his childhood home (perhaps that was a mistake), where Lin saw her and told me that she was a girl.

I listened to their conversation. Strictly speaking, it was Lin talking to himself. I couldn’t record that conversation in any way, since the clairvoyant personality was extremely distrustful of me.

I knew that I shouldn’t interfere in their relationship, but Lin had become mired in an emotional trap. It was impossible for him to fall in love with himself, though she was a completely distinct personality.

I couldn’t move or speak. Mark was saying that… she was me.

She and I were the same person.

I was the clairvoyant.

How was that possible? Had she always been a mere hallucination?

Scenes from the past flashed before my eyes in a montage: the familiar smell of her home; her demand that I interview her; her knowledge of my preferences…. Yes, if Mark’s daughter’s grades were not within her realm of knowledge, why should everything having to do with me be in her ken? Also, after I ate the food she had made, she had looked so satisfied….

A terrifying chill crawled up my spine. I was a drowning man, and the lab notebook the only piece of driftwood within reach. I flipped through it quickly, though many pages had been torn out. I came to the last page.

As the only known instance of omniscience, Lin proved that the condition was possible—though he exhibited it in an unforeseen manner. True multiple personalities were very rare, and often were associated with extreme trauma. I am thus led to speculate that being omniscient is a condition of great terror and pain, and Lin reacted by splitting himself into two parts: a man who seemed normal, and a woman who predicted the future.

If possible, I would like to interview Lin’s family to find out if in his childhood, before the development of the clairvoyant personality, he had exhibited any unusual behaviors. Unfortunately, Lin was an orphan whose parents had died when he was eight in a car accident. He then grew up in a series of foster families who all agreed that there was nothing unusual about him that they could remember.

5. REFLECTION

My eyes stared at the last page, frozen.

The page turned into a massive stone tied to my feet, dragging me into the murky depths where I couldn’t breathe.

I remembered that familiar building. The apartment at the top was always filled with the fragrance of spicy chai and pumpkin soup.

I was eight.

I told Mom and Dad, Don’t go!

I knew about the accident. I knew they were going to die.

I cried, begged, screamed, threw things on the floor. I tried to cut myself.

They thought I was throwing a tantrum.

They locked me in my room. Their footsteps faded, and never returned.

I knew what had happened. They were dead.

I gazed at myself in the mirror. This is your fault.

The reflection gradually changed. It turned into a little baby with wriggling arms and legs.

She was the clairvoyant. She could see the future, but she was unable to alter it. She had once been me, but she would be me no longer.

I told her, They died because of you. I hate you.

Although she looked like a baby, she could talk. She reached out, trying to grab my hand.

Ed!

I smashed the mirror. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to hear her.

I knew that tomorrow everything would be better.

Everything would be better.