Chương 2: Notes on a Second and Third Life

There are documented cases, Lin Che thought, standing in his bathroom with his hands still on his tie, of people experiencing very vivid dreams. There are also documented cases of psychogenic blackouts with false memories. There is, theoretically, a framework in which everything I just experienced is a neurological event and I am fine. He looked at himself in the mirror. He raised his hands — perfectly fine, no marks.

He had fallen down a flight of stairs, and was quite sure that something had gone very wrong with his spine. He was absolutely fine. He stood there, finished knotting his tie, and went to the wedding.

Shen Yue was at the window of the civil affairs office, exactly as before: green qipao, staring out, shaking hands, carefully placing the certificate. He said the same things he had said before because they were still the right things to say, and they went for dinner. This time, he decided to ignore his reservation and ask her where to eat. She suggested a Thai restaurant she frequents. He couldn't complain about having that meal again. It was divine.

She asked him just two questions during dinner — what did he do for a living, and how long had he been at the same company for? He answered both questions the same way he had the first time, because they were still the right answers, and then he asked her two questions in return. She said she was a consultant, but this time Lin Che asked her what kind.

"Resource management," she replied.

"Old assets and finding uses for things that have been overlooked." He didn't push any further. He had learnt, in eleven days of a life that had apparently not happened, that she answered questions to the precise edge of what she was willing to give, and then stayed quiet with a composure that put him off from asking further. So, he let it go and ate his food.

The food was, in fact, extraordinary — he opted for a green curry this time round, and made a note to remember to order this exact meal again for another special occasion. He typically wasn't a big fan of coconut, but the flavours paired well in this dish. The walk home was about the same: silent. He had Shen Yue lead the way this time, despite now knowing the route by memory. Had he led, she would have taken him for a stalker of sorts. Outside the building, she restated: "There's a back room on the left.

I use it for work, and ask you not to go in there."

The first few days went exactly as last time, with the two eating dinner and exchanging few words between them. On day four, Lin Che noticed he had run out of coffee, so took a trip to the local supermarket to restock on supplies. Before leaving the house, he stood by the door and called out to his wife, asking if she wanted him to pick up any supplies. She was in her office and did not reply, so he bought what he pleased. The supermarket was a ten-minute walk away.

Inside, he picked up a shopping basket and went through the aisles with a rumbling stomach and dry throat. He picked up the basic necessities: rice, eggs, tea, coffee, and a couple of vegetables. He stopped in front of the fruit section. Plums. He put three boxes in the basket. He paid the cashier and stepped back into the evening air. When he got back, the apartment was quiet, and the back left office had its lights off. Shen Yue was probably on the roof again.

He set the groceries down on the counter and filled the fruit bowl, before texting his wife to ask what she would like for dinner. One minute later, Shen Yue was back in the kitchen, saying she didn't trust Lin Che's cooking skills. She moved to the cupboard and scooped out rice into a bowl before running it under the sink.

"I wasn't sure what to buy. You didn't respond when I asked." She looked up.

"Oh, I was busy with work and couldn't hear you." Shen Yue opened the fridge and brought out a metal bowl containing a mystery meat lathered in sauce and covered with cling film. She brought out a knife and raised it to pierce through the plastic.

"There are plums in the bowl," said Lin Che.

"If you want them." Shen Yue paused, knife still midair.

"I didn't ask for any."

"No," he agreed.

"But you seem to like them." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. They made eye contact for a beat before Lin Che broke it. Thankfully, Shen Yue was looking at him with curiosity rather than suspicion.

"How do you know that?" Lin Che's eyes darted from place to place as his mind scrambled to come up with an excuse.

"The fruit bowl," he said.

"Smelt faintly of plums and nothing else." She looked away.

"I see."

The ninth day came, and this time Lin Che arrived home early. Having previously experienced the problem at work, he managed to resolve things quickly much to the joy of his supervisor, and was rewarded with an early night home. This time, Shen Yue was still at home, sipping on a cup of tea in the living room whilst relaxing under an electric blanket. He felt warm just looking at her. She looked the very definition of cosy.

"You're home early," she greeted him, motionless.

"I'm a bit tired today, so I'll be heading outside for some fresh air and an early night in. You can order dinner online or heat up leftovers — whatever's easiest." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Alright," he said, setting his bag down by the door and loosening his tie. She still hadn't moved, cocooned in the blanket, with both her hands around the cup. Dinner was reheated braised pork. He decided not to follow her up to the rooftop. On day eleven, Lin Che decided to not walk straight towards destined death and left the package on the stairs. One of the neighbours will hand it over. Still, he was not careful enough.

He woke up at three in the morning on day fourteen with his stomach cramping in a way more gruesome than it had ever done before. It was much worse than simple food poisoning, and he was already too weak to get to his phone. The last thing he was aware of was the bedroom ceiling and his vision blurring as the room clouded over. I should have— The tie was giving him trouble.

Lin Che stood in his bathroom and tied the knot again. He stood there for a moment, not to recover from his bout of illness, but because he was thinking through something. Two different methods, but the same outcome. First it was the stairs, then it was something else — maybe something he ate or drank? This loop he'd avoided the stairs and been considerably more careful, but he still died on the fourteenth day.

Which means, he thought, that, no matter what I do, something or someone intends to deal with me within two weeks of the wedding. He looked at himself in the mirror. When I tripped, I felt a sort of bump. Like I'd stepped on something that wasn't the staircase, something that could have been placed there on purpose. Just now, I felt sick despite only eating and drinking the food she made…

He opened the notes app on his phone and typed everything he could think of: Shen Yue's habits, his habits, and the basic chronology of what had happened. Working assumption 1: no one knows I'm in this loop. Reason: the plums. Working assumption 2: someone is trying to kill me. Reason: died twice in different ways. He stood there for a while staring at his phone until his neck started to ache from arching downwards. He sat down on the toilet and tried to manage his breathing.

Eventually, his fingers started moving again. Working assumption 3: Shen Yue is the killer Reason:??? Lin Che looked at himself in the mirror once more and thought: what if I just didn't go? It was a reasonable question, scientifically speaking. He had now attended two weddings and lived in the same apartment for just under a month, and died twice. Sure, the sample size was low, but one could inherently establish a pattern of sorts.

The pattern being: he went to the wedding, he moved into the apartment, and something killed him before the two-week mark. What happens, he thought, if I remove the first variable? He put the tie down on the sink, glad to be rid of it. He went and sat on his bed in his shirt and trousers and looked at the wall.

He ordered a takeaway for lunch and changed into a t-shirt and trackpants, and spent the afternoon doing things a man does on a free Wednesday: laundry, some work emails, and a documentary about the Roman conquest of Celtic Britain. He ate his lunch by the window and drank his coffee. By eleven o'clock, he felt just fine. At eleven-fifteen, someone knocked on his door. Lin Che opened the door to a man he had met only once before on the phone.

Shen Bowen was shorter than Lin Che had imagined, but had the kind of frame one would expect from a professional bodyguard.

"Mr Lin," he said.

"Mr Shen," Lin Che replied, leaning against the door.

"I wasn't expecting a home visit." Shen Bowen looked at him dead in the eyes.

"The ceremony was this morning." Lin Che feigned surprise.

"Was it? I could have sworn it was on Wednesday." A pause.

"Today is Wednesday, Mr Lin." Another pause. Shen Bowen's eyes moved over Lin Che's face in a calculating and measuring motion. Then, he said, very calmly: "May I come in?" Lin Che looked at him and the empty corridor behind him.

"Sure," he said, and stepped aside.

Shen Bowen sat at the kitchen table as Lin Che prepared tea. He made tea because it seemed like the appropriate thing to do, and also because making tea gave him something to do with his hands to help stop his fidgeting.

"The arrangement between our families," Shen Bowen said, "is not a casual one." Lin Che set the kettle down.

"Again, Mr Shen, I really do apologise for missing the wedding. Had I realised it was today. I would have been there, I promise."

"It is a commitment with consequences for both parties in the event of non-compliance."

"What kind of consequences?" asked Lin Che, slowly walking over with two mugs of hot oolong.

"The kind that would be significantly more inconvenient than attending a thirty-minute ceremony," he replied tacitly. Lin Che pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He looked at the man across the table and thought about the two deaths he'd experienced.

"Is she in trouble?" he asked. Something moved in the man's expression.

"What makes you ask that?"

"You're here personally," Lin Che said.

"You could have called, but that's not what you do when something is already wrong and you can't afford another variable." Shen Bowen was quiet for a moment.

"You're more observant than expected," he said. It didn't sound like a compliment. Lin Che repeated his question.

"Is she in trouble?"

"My niece is managing a situation that requires stability. The arrangement exists solely to provide that stability for her, and your absence today has introduced a complication that she does not need."

"Then tell me what the situation is."

"That is not information you are entitled to."

"I'm apparently entitled to marry her." Shen Bowen looked at him for a long time, before standing and straightening his jacket.

"Attend the rescheduled ceremony tomorrow morning. Same office at nine o'clock." He walked to the door and left before Lin Che could say another word.

Lin Che sat at the kitchen table for a while, sipping on two mugs of tea given his guest of honour's lack of sipping. He picked up his phone and opened the notes app. He added a line under Working assumption 3. Shen Yue is the killer. Reason: probably not. Working assumption 4: the uncle knows more than the wife He thought about that one for a while. He was still thinking about it when, at some point in the early evening, his front door opened again.

This was strange, as he had locked it after Shen Bowen left, or, at least, believed he had. Two men came in, neither of them Shen Bowen, and they did not introduce themselves nor care to indulge themselves in some of the finest oolong in Lin Che's apartment. It was significantly faster than the stairs. The tie was giving him trouble. He knotted it and looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. Then, he picked up his phone, opened his now-empty notes app, and rewrote all of his assumptions.

At the bottom of the list, he added three words. Don't skip it. He put his phone in his pocket and went to his third wedding.