nature” utopian groups in the West, his “Pastoral China” wasn’t located in the wilderness, but in the midst of one of its largest cities. The community had no property of its own. Everything needed for daily life, including food, came from urban trash. Contrary to the predictions of many, Pastoral China not only survived, but thrived. Currently, it had more than three thousand permanent members, and countless others had joined for short stints to experience the lifestyle.
Based on these two successes, Pan’s opinions on social issues had grown more and more influential. He believed that technological progress was a disease in human society. The explosive development of technology was analogous to the growth of cancer cells, and the results would be identical: the exhaustion of all sources of nourishment, the destruction of organs, and the final death of the host body. He advocated abolishing crude technologies such as fossil fuels and nuclear energy and keeping gentler technologies such as solar power and small-scale hydroelectric power. He believed in the gradual de-urbanization of modern metropolises by distributing the population more evenly in self-sufficient small towns and villages. Relying on the gentler technologies, he would build a new agricultural society.
“Is he in?” Pan asked Shen, pointing to the house.
Shen didn’t answer, but blocked his progress.
“I have to warn him and also warn you. Do not force our hand.” Pan’s voice was cold.
Shen called to the taxi driver, “You can go now.” After the taxi started, Wang couldn’t hear any more of the conversation between Shen and Pan, but he glanced back and saw that Shen did not let Pan into the house.
* * *
By the time Wang arrived home, it was already after midnight. As Wang got out of the taxi, a black Volkswagen Santana braked to a stop next to him. The window rolled down and a cloud of smoke emerged. Shi Qiang’s thick body filled the driver’s seat.
“Professor Wang! Academician Wang! 14 How’ve you been the last couple of days?”
“Are you following me? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Now, don’t misunderstand me. I could have just driven past you, but instead, I chose to be polite and stop to greet you. You’re making being nice a thankless task.” Shi revealed his trademark roguish smirk. “Well? Did you find out any useful information over there?”
“I’ve told you already, I don’t want anything to do with you. Please leave me alone from now on.”
“Fine.” Shi started the car. “It’s not like I’m going to starve without the overtime for doing this. I’d rather not have missed my soccer match.”
* * *
Wang entered the apartment. His wife was already asleep. He could hear her tossing and turning in bed, mumbling anxiously. Her husband’s strange behavior during the day was surely giving her bad dreams. Wang swallowed a few sleeping pills, lay down on the bed, and, after a long wait, fell asleep.
His dreams were chaotic, but there was one constant: the ghostly countdown, suspended in midair. Even before he fell asleep, he had known he would dream of it. In his dreams, he attacked the countdown. Crazed, he tore at it, bit it, but every attempt failed to leave a mark. It continued to hang in the middle of his dream, steadily ticking away. Finally, just as the frustration became almost intolerable, he woke up.
Opening his eyes, he saw the ceiling, indistinct above him. The city lights outside the window cast a dim glow against it through the curtains. But one thing did follow him from dream into reality: the countdown. It was still hovering before his eyes. The numbers were thin, but very bright with a burning, white glow.
1180:05:00, 1180:04:59, 1180:04:58, 1180:04:57 …
Wang looked around, taking in the blurry shadows around the bedroom. He was now certain that he was awake, but the countdown did not disappear. He shut his eyes, and the countdown remained in
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