Light in the Darkness Chapter Twenty-Seven: Nightmare

Nightmares gnawed at the deepest recesses of thought; the more one fears something, the more likely it is to occur.

This profound terror is like Schrödinger’s cat—half real, half illusory.

False reality, real illusion. Schrödinger’s cat as well: it’s impossible for a cat to be both dead and alive. To know what lies within Pandora’s box, one must open it first.

Probability of life plus probability of death equals one. This experiment was meant to demonstrate the uncanny understanding quantum mechanics provides of the microscopic world, but it turned the uncertainty principle of the microcosm into one that applies to the macrocosm. Objective laws do not bend to human will; a cat that is both alive and dead defies logic.

Although what Jiang Li was experiencing couldn’t be explained by quantum mechanics, at this moment, Jiang Li was precisely Schrödinger’s cat.

A reality that is purely half true, with a layer of fantasy draped over it.

The nightmare’s invasion, false yet eerily real, made Jiang Li feel as if he were trapped between two absolute paradoxes.

To escape the nightmare before him, he had to find the right key.

One key opens only one lock; only the right key can unlock the right lock.

In other words, if you can’t be sure whether the reality before your eyes is truly real, you can at least be certain that what you see as false is definitely false.

What matters is not whether the result is correct, but your own perception.

Suppose you believe Schrödinger’s cat is alive—some will disagree, insisting the cat is dead.

Whether the cat is truly alive or dead is ultimately unimportant.

Schrödinger’s cat lies beyond our understanding—it is impossible for something to be half real, half illusory.

A thing that is alive but should be dead—when a conclusion exceeds the bounds of our theoretical cognition, what is the point of debating truth or falsehood?

Perception is difficult to alter; anything beyond the range of human understanding is an unknown, an X, and people tend to fall into self-imagination when faced with the unknown.

Instinctively, we use what we know to fashion an imagined explanation for the unknown X.

In truth, it is all self-deception; the unknown remains unknown. When something surpasses our understanding, it is futile to use familiar theories to forcibly explain it.

One truth, one illusion—two paradoxes unfolding before Jiang Li.

Or to put it another way, is Schrödinger’s cat not akin to the black and white of the Taiji diagram? Taiji is neither purely white nor purely black.

Rather, it is an existence where you are within me and I am within you. An insoluble problem for which some, with minds unlike the rest, insist on finding a solution. (Is the black before your eyes truly black? Is the white you seek truly white?)

Jiang Li recognized that he was likely caught in a nightmare, but realization alone was useless without a means of escape.

He was like an actor on stage after all the lights had gone out.

Only a beam of light shone on Jiang Li’s head—in fact, three beams.

And at this moment, Jiang Li was like a scene from Detective Conan as he sought the final answer, indifferent to whatever changes happened in his surroundings outside himself. (Does anyone understand? Do you get the gist of my lengthy explanation? This reminds me of reading Black Fireworks, where I sometimes found myself bewildered.)

As the protagonist in his own world, Conan sought the riddle’s answer.

We all know that one plus one equals two, but what if someone tells you that one plus one equals two is wrong? You’d think they were mad.

From our earliest school days, one plus one equals two has been our fundamental knowledge.

But if someone suddenly claims that one plus one equals two is wrong, that’s beyond our comprehension.

He might say one plus one equals three—now that is outside our understanding.

One plus one equals two is not wrong, but neither is one plus one equals three.

In mathematics, one plus one certainly equals two and can equal nothing else.

But step outside mathematics and, in other contexts, one plus one may very well equal three.

Where you stand makes all the difference; right and wrong are not absolute.

“One truth, one falsehood, or was it all false from the very beginning?” Jiang Li murmured in contemplation.

He guessed this must be the third round of the game, but why, unlike before, was there no one—or no spirit—joining in? He could not say.

Two Bei Lings: one with a gloomy expression who, when the scene changed, became a vengeful spirit; the other, appearing perfectly normal, in every way like the real Bei Ling.

Applying the Schrödinger’s cat formula, it was certain: one was real, one was fake.

The question was, which was which?

What if the one who looked most like the real Bei Ling was, in fact, the fake? Would a spirit reveal the truth so easily?

Moreover, Jiang Li could not be sure if only he was trapped in the nightmare, or if both he and Bei Ling were.

If only he was, then perhaps neither of the two Bei Lings was real.

If both he and Bei Ling were caught in the nightmare, then one of them must be real.

At this moment, the chief concern was not to judge who was real and who was fake, but to ascertain whether he was the only one in this predicament.

If he was the only one, then neither Bei Ling could possibly be real.

No matter which he chose, death awaited him in the end.

“Jiang Li, what’s wrong?” When he opened his eyes again, everything had reverted to the beginning—Bei Ling heading to the fridge for yogurt. Jiang Li immediately turned to look at the vengeful spirit that had just been hanging above.

The last time he turned, the spirit was gone; this time, it still hung there.

“Jiang Li, are you all right?” Bei Ling noticed Jiang Li had inexplicably closed his eyes, and when she woke him, he turned his gaze swiftly toward the ceiling in the distance.

Baffled, Bei Ling followed his line of sight and saw nothing but emptiness. She had no idea what Jiang Li had seen.

Now the ghost Jiang Li saw remained a ghost, and Bei Ling remained Bei Ling.

The icy chill drew ever closer. The ghost hanging from the ceiling in Jiang Li’s eyes had taken on Bei Ling’s appearance.

It struggled, pointing behind Jiang Li. Sure enough, when he looked over his shoulder, the real Bei Ling had transformed into a fierce ghost.

Her features were twisted, her expression gloomy, pure white pupils staring hollowly at Jiang Li, making his skin crawl and hair stand on end.

But it was not the ghost’s appearance that unsettled Jiang Li; after all, it’s said that if a person is ruthless enough, even ghosts will fear you.

Jiang Li’s bloodthirsty aura was imperceptible to most, except to those of his own kind.

So, in theory, ordinary spirits should fear Jiang Li, and it was not the ghost’s visage that made his hair stand on end.

It was this endless, cyclical nightmare—truth and illusion, real and false—this scene of one real and one fake that was pushing Jiang Li to the brink of losing himself.

“Jiang... Li...” came a faint, broken voice carried by the wind—thankfully, Jiang Li’s hearing was acute, or he might have missed it.

“Hurry...”

“Hurry? Hurry what?” The voice was so indistinct that Jiang Li had to strain to catch it.

It sounded both distant and near.

“Hurry... get... out...”

“Hurry out?”

Now Jiang Li was thoroughly bewildered; it sounded like two people—one a man, one a woman.

The female voice, Jiang Li recognized as Bei Ling’s.

“Hurry... get... out... now!”

Another woman’s voice, still broken but clearer this time.

The sound came from all directions; there was no way to pinpoint its source.

What did “hurry out” mean? Was he being told to leave the dining hall? To get out of there?

“Jiang... Li... it’s... too late...”

Too late? Too late for what?

Was he being warned to leave the dining hall, or to get away from the two Bei Lings?

Since leaving the hiding room, everything had been strange.

First, the endless looping corridors, then, inexplicably, he found himself outside.

At last, he arrived at the dining hall, where one real Bei Ling and one spirit-imposter switched back and forth before his eyes.

One moment it was Bei Ling, the next, the hanged ghost with pure white eyes.

What was going on? And then came the voices—Bei Ling, Song Ai, and Song Zhi.

All three urged him to get away, warning that it was too late.

It took Jiang Li a while to recognize the voices of Song Zhi and Song Ai.

From their hints, he realized the real Bei Ling had been with Song Zhi all along.

From the beginning, Jiang Li had entered the dining hall alone, meaning he and Song Zhi were in different locations—for now, Song Zhi and the other two seemed relatively safe.

With Bei Ling safe with Song Zhi, Jiang Li felt some relief, even though Song Zhi had earlier abandoned him and Bei Ling in a panic.

But from their last mission, it was clear Song Zhi had a soft spot in his heart.

Last time, Jiang Li had rushed ahead to rescue Ling Hen—even if he had ultimately failed, Song Zhi’s actions back then had reassured him.

As for escaping through the haunted door, perhaps Song Zhi, seeing both of them basically safe, had chosen to save himself.

Not only that, he’d dragged the terrified Song Ai along with him.

So now, what Jiang Li had to resolve was his own predicament.

All this time, no spirit had attacked him; perhaps that, too, was part of the game.

But what did Song Zhi and the others mean when they said it was too late?

—This was written yesterday, but last night I drank too much with friends... Well, I forgot to send it. Here’s what I have for now; I’ll add more later.