by Cixin Liu
The god remained silent.
“Esteemed god, you visited the Devouring Empire not long ago. The scenery there is almost identical to that of the world known to this poem’s author bug-bug, with mountains, rivers, and seas, so…”
“So I understand the meaning of the poem,” said the god. The sphere suddenly moved so it was right above Bigtooth’s head. Yi Yi thought it looked like a giant pupilless eye staring at Bigtooth. “But, didn’t you feel something?”
Bigtooth shook his head, confused.
“That is to say, something hidden behind the outward meaning of that simple, elegant array of square symbols?”
Bigtooth looked even more confused, so the god recited another Classical poem:
“Qian bu jian gu ren,
Hou bu jian lai zhe,
Nian tian di zhi you,
Du cang ran er ti xia.”
Bigtooth hurried eagerly to explain. “This poem means, looking in front of you, you can’t see all the bug-bugs who lived on the planet in the distant past. Looking behind you, you can’t see all the bug-bugs who will live on the planet in the future. So you feel how time and space are just too big and end up crying.”
The god brooded.
“Ha, crying is one way for Earth bug-bugs to express their grief. So at that point their visual organs—”
“Do you still feel nothing?” the god interrupted Bigtooth. The sphere descended further, nearly touching Bigtooth’s snout.
Bigtooth shook his head firmly this time. “Esteemed god, I don’t think there’s anything inside. It’s just a simple little poem.”
Next, the god recited several more poems, one after the other. They were all short and simple, yet imbued with a spirit that transcended their topics. They included Li Bai’s “Downriver to Jiangling,” “Still Night Thoughts,” and “Bidding Meng Haoran Farewell at Yellow Crane Tower”; Liu Zongyuan’s “River Snow”; Cui Hao’s “Yellow Crane Tower”; Meng Haoran’s “Spring Dawn”; and so forth.
Bigtooth said, “The Devouring Empire has many historical epic poems with millions of lines. We would happily present them all to you, esteemed god! In comparison, the poems of human bug-bugs are so puny and simple, like their technology—”
The sphere suddenly departed its position above Bigtooth’s head, drifting in unthinking arcs in midair. “Emissary, I know your people’s greatest hope is that I’ll answer the question ‘The Devouring Empire has existed for eight million years, so why is its technology still stalled in the Atomic Age?’ Now I know the answer.”
Bigtooth gazed at the sphere passionately. “Esteemed god, the answer is crucial to us! Please—”
“Esteemed god,” Yi Yi called out, raising a hand. “I have a question too. May I speak?”
Bigtooth glared resentfully at Yi Yi, as if he wanted to swallow him in one bite. But the god said, “Though I continue to despise Earth insects, those little arrays have won you the right.”
“Is art common throughout the universe?”
The sphere vibrated faintly in midair, as if nodding. “Yes—I’m an intergalactic art collector and researcher myself, in fact. In my travels, I’ve encountered the various arts of numerous civilizations. Most are ponderous, unintelligible setups. But using so few symbols, in so small and clever an array, to encompass such rich sensory layers and subtle meaning, all the while operating under such sadistically exacting formal rules and rhyme schemes? I have to say, I’ve never seen anything like it.… Emissary, you may now throw away this insect.”
Once again, Bigtooth seized Yi Yi with his claw. “That’s right, we ought to throw it away. Esteemed god, we have fairly abundant resources on human civilization stored in the Devouring Empire’s central networks. All those resources are now in your memory, while this bug-bug probably doesn’t know any more than a couple of the little poems.” He carried Yi Yi toward the incinerator as he spoke.
“Throw away those pieces of paper too,” the god said. Bigtooth hurriedly returned and used his other claw to collect the papers. At this point, Yi Yi hollered from between the massive claws.
“O god, save these papers with the ancient poems of humanity, as a memento! You’ve discovered an unsurpassable art. You can spread it throughout the universe!”
“Wait.” The god once again stopped Bigtooth. Yi Yi was already hanging above the incinerator aperture, feeling the heat of the blue flames below him. The sphere floated over, coming to a stop a few centimeters from Yi Yi’s forehead. Yi Yi, like Bigtooth earlier, felt the force of the enormous pupilless eye’s gaze.
“Unsurpassable?”
Bigtooth laughed, holding up Yi Yi. “Can you believe the pitiable bug-bug, saying these things in front of a magnificent god? Hilarious! What remains to humanity? You’ve lost everything on Earth. Even the scientific knowledge you’ve managed to bring with you has been largely forgotten. One time at dinner, I asked the human I was about to eat, what were the atomic bombs used by the humans in the Earth Defense War made of? He told me they were made of atoms!”
“Hahahaha…” The god joined Bigtooth in laughter, the sphere vibrating so hard it became an ellipsoid. “It’s certainly the most accurate answer of them all, hahaha…”
“Esteemed god, all these dirty bug-bugs have left are a couple of those little poems! Hahaha—”
“But they cannot be surpassed!” Yi Yi said solemnly in the middle of the claw, puffing out his chest.
The sphere stopped vibrating. It said, in an almost intimate whisper, “Technology can surpass anything.”
“It has nothing to do with technology. They are the quintessence of the human spiritual realm. They cannot be surpassed!”
“Only because you haven’t witnessed the power of technology in its ultimate stage, little insect. Little, little insect. You haven’t seen.” The god’s tone of voice became as gentle as a father’s, but Yi Yi shivered at the icy killing edge hidden deep within. The god said, “Look at the sun.”
Yi Yi obeyed. They were in the vacuum between the orbits of Earth and Mars. The sun’s radiance made him squint.
“What’s your favorite color?” asked the god.
“Green.”
The word had barely left his lips before the sun turned green. It was a bewitching shade; the sun resembled a cat’s eye floating in the void of space. Under its gaze, the whole universe looked strange and sinister.
Bigtooth’s claw trembled, dropping Yi Yi onto the plane. When their reason returned, they realized a fact even more unnerving than the sun turning green: the light should have taken more than ten minutes to travel here from the sun, but the change had occurred instantaneously!
Half a minute later, the sun returned to its previous condition, emitting brilliant white light once more.
“See? This is technology. This is the force that allowed my race to ascend from slugs in ocean mud to gods. Technology itself is the true God, in fact. We all worship it devotedly.”
Yi Yi blinked his dazzled eyes. “But that god can’t surpass this art. We have gods too, in our minds. We worship them, but we don’t believe they can write poems like Li Bai and Du Fu.”
The god laughed coldly. “What an extraordinarily stubborn insect,” it said to Yi Yi. “It makes you even more loathsome. But, for the sake of killing time, let me surpass your array-art.”
Yi Yi laughed back. “It’s impossible. First of all, you aren’t human, so you can’t feel with a human’s soul. Human art to you is only a flower on a stone slab. Technology can’t help you surmount this obstacle.”
“Technology can surmount this obstacle as easily as snapping your fingers. Give me your DNA!”
Yi Yi was confused. “Give the god one of your hairs!” Bigtooth prompted him. Yi Yi reached up and plucked out a hair; an invisible suction force drew the hair into the sphere. A while later, the hair fell from the sphere, drifting to the plane. The god had only extracted a bit of skin from its root.
The sphere roiled with white light, then gradually became clear. It was now fi
lled with transparent liquid in which strings of bubbles rose. Next, Yi Yi spotted a ball the size of an egg yolk inside the liquid, made pale red by the sunlight shining through, as if it were luminous in and of itself. The ball soon grew. Yi Yi realized that it was a curled-up embryo, its bulging eyes squeezed shut, its oversized head crisscrossed with red blood vessels. The embryo continued to mature. The tiny body finally uncurled and swam frog-like in the sphere of liquid. The liquid gradually became cloudy, so that the sunlight coming through the sphere revealed only a blurry silhouette that continued to rapidly mature until it became that of a swimming grown man. At this point, the sphere reverted to its original opaque, glowing state, and a naked human fell out of it and onto the plane.
Yi Yi’s clone stood up unsteadily, the sunlight glistening off his wet form. He was long-haired and long-bearded, but one could tell that he was only in his thirties or forties. Aside from the wiry thinness, he didn’t look at all like the original Yi Yi.
The clone stood stiffly, gazing dully into the infinite distance, as if completely oblivious to the universe he’d just joined. Above him, the sphere’s white light dimmed, before extinguishing altogether. The sphere itself disappeared as if evaporating. But just then, Yi Yi thought he saw something else light up, and realized that it was the clone’s eyes. The dullness had been replaced with the divine gleam of wisdom. In this moment, Yi Yi would learn, the god had transferred all his memories to the clone body.
“Cold … so this is cold?” A breeze had blown past. The clone had wrapped his arms around his slick shoulders, shivering, but his voice was full of delighted surprise. “This is cold! This is pain, immaculate, impeccable pain, the sensation I scoured the stars for, as piercing as the ten-dimensional string through time and space, as crystalline as a diamond of pure energy at the heart of a star, ah…” He spread his emaciated arms and beheld the Milky Way. “Qian bu jian gu ren, hou bu jian lai zhe, nian yu zhou zhi—” A spate of shivers left the clone’s teeth chattering. He hurriedly stopped commemorating his birth and ran over to warm himself over the incinerator.
The clone extended his hands over the blue flames inside the aperture, shivering as he said to Yi Yi, “Really, this is something I do all the time. When researching and collecting a civilization’s art, I always lodge my consciousness inside a member organism of that civilization, to ensure my complete understanding of the art.”
The flames inside the incinerator’s aperture suddenly flared. The plane surrounding it roiled with multicolored light as well, so that Yi Yi felt as if the entire plane were a sheet of frosted glass floating on a sea of fire.
“The incinerator has turned into a fabricator,” Bigtooth whispered to Yi Yi. “The god is performing energy-matter exchange.” Seeing Yi Yi’s continued puzzlement, he explained again, “Idiot, he’s making objects out of pure energy, the handicraft of a god!”
Suddenly, a white mass burst from the fabricator, unfurling in midair as it fell—clothing, which the clone caught and put on. Yi Yi saw that it was a loose, flowing Tang Dynasty robe, made of snow-white silk and trimmed with a wide band of black. The clone, who had appeared so pitiable earlier, looked like an ethereal sage with it on. Yi Yi couldn’t imagine how it had been made from the blue flames.
The fabricator completed another object. Something black flew from the aperture and thudded onto the plane like a rock. Yi Yi ran over and picked it up. He might not trust his eyes, but his hand clearly registered a heavy inkstone, icy cold at that. Something else smacked onto the plane; Yi Yi picked up a black rod. No doubt about it—it was an inkstick! Next came several brush pens, a brush holder, a sheet of snow-white mulberry paper (paper, out of the flames!), and several little decorative antiques. The last object out was also the largest: an old-fashioned writing desk! Yi Yi and Bigtooth hurriedly righted the desk and arranged the other objects on top of it.
“The amount of energy he converted into these objects could have pulverized a planet,” Bigtooth whispered to Yi Yi, his voice shaking slightly.
The clone walked over to the desk, nodding in satisfaction when he saw the arrangement on it. One hand stroked his newly dry beard. He said, “I, Li Bai.”
Yi Yi examined the clone. “Do you mean you want to become Li Bai, or do you really think you’re Li Bai?”
“I’m Li Bai, pure and simple. A Li Bai to surpass Li Bai!”
Yi Yi laughed and shook his head.
“What, do you question me even now?”
Yi Yi nodded. “I concede that your technology far exceeds my understanding. It’s indistinguishable from human ideas of magic and acts of God. Even in the fields of art and poetry, you’ve astonished me. Despite such an enormous cultural, spatial, and temporal gap, you’ve managed to sense the hidden nuances of Classical Chinese poetry.… But understanding Li Bai is one matter, and exceeding him is another. I continue to believe that you face an unsurpassable body of art.”
A mysterious amusement appeared on the clone’s—Li Bai’s—face, only to quickly vanish. He pointed at the desk. “Grind ink!” he bellowed to Yi Yi, before striding away. He was nearly at the edge of the plane before he stopped, stroking his whiskers, gazing toward the distant Milky Way, descending into thought.
Yi Yi took the Yixing clay pot on the desk and poured a trickle of clear water into the depression in the inkstone. Then he began to grind the inkstick against the stone. It was the first time he’d done this; he clumsily angled the stick to scrape at its corners. As he watched the liquid thicken and darken, Yi Yi thought of himself, 1.5 astronomical units away from the sun, perched on this infinitely thin plane in the vastness of outer space. (Even while it was making things out of pure energy, a distant viewer would have perceived zero thickness.) It was a stage floating in the void of the universe, on which a dinosaur, a human raised as dinosaur livestock, and a technological god in period dress planning to surpass Li Bai were performing bizarre live theater. With that thought, Yi Yi shook his head and laughed wanly.
Once he thought the ink was ready, Yi Yi stood and waited next to Bigtooth. The breeze on the plane had ceased by this time; the sun and Milky Way shone calmly, as if the whole universe were waiting in anticipation.
Li Bai stood steadily at the edge of the plane. The layer of air above the plane created almost no scattering effect, so that the sunlight cast him in crispest light and shadow. Aside from the movements of his hand when he smoothed his beard now and then, he was practically a statue hewn from stone.
Yi Yi and Bigtooth waited and waited. Time flowed past silently. The brush on the desk, plump with ink, began to dry. The position of the sun changed unnoticed in the sky; they, the desk, and the spaceship cast long shadows, while the white paper that was spread out on the desk appeared as if it had become part of the plane.
Finally, Li Bai turned and slowly stepped over to the desk. Yi Yi hurriedly re-dipped the brush in ink and offered it with both hands, but Li Bai held up a hand in refusal. He only stared at the blank paper on the desk in continued deep thought, something new in his gaze.
Yi Yi, with glee, saw that it was perplexity and unease.
“I need to make some more things. They’re all … fragile goods. Be sure to catch them.” Li Bai pointed at the fabricator; the flames within, which had dimmed, grew bright once more. Just as Yi Yi and Bigtooth ran over, a tongue of blue flame pushed out a round object. Bigtooth caught it agilely. Upon closer inspection, it was a large earthen jar. Next, three large bowls sprang out of the blue flames. Yi Yi caught two of them, but the third fell and shattered. Bigtooth carried the jar to the desk and carefully unsealed it. The powerful fragrance of wine emerged. Bigtooth and Yi Yi exchanged astonished looks.
“There wasn’t much documentation on human winemaking in the Earth-related data I received from the Devouring Empire, so I’m not sure I fabricated this correctly,” said Li Bai, pointing to the jar of wine to indicate that Yi Yi should taste it.
Yi Yi took a bowl, scooped a little from the jar, and took a sip. Fiery heat ran past
his throat down into his belly. He nodded. “It’s wine, albeit much too strong compared to the kind we drink to improve our meat quality.”
Li Bai pointed to the other bowl on the desk. “Fill it up.” He waited for Bigtooth to pour a bowlful of the strong wine, then picked it up and glugged the whole thing down. Then he turned and once again walked off into the distance, weaving a stagger here and there along the way. Once he reached the edge of the plane, he stood there and resumed his pondering in the direction of the stars, only this time his body swayed rhythmically left and right, as if to some unheard melody. Li Bai didn’t ponder for long before returning to the desk once more, and on the walk back he staggered every step. He grabbed the brush being proffered by Yi Yi and threw it into the distance.
“Fill it up,” Li Bai said, eyes fixed on the empty bowl.…
An hour later, Bigtooth’s two immense claws carefully lowered a passed-out Li Bai onto the cleared desk, only for him to roll over and fall right off, muttering something in a language incomprehensible to dinosaur and human alike. He’d already vomited a particolored pile (although no one knew when he’d had the occasion to eat in the first place), some of it staining his flowing robes. With the white light of the plane passing through, the vomit formed some sort of abstract image. Li Bai’s mouth was black with ink: after finishing his fourth bowl, he’d tried to write something on the paper, but had ended up merely stabbing his ink-plump brush heavily upon the table. After that, he’d tried to smooth the brush with his mouth, like a child at his first calligraphy lesson.…
“Esteemed god?” Bigtooth bent down and asked carefully.
“Wayakaaaaa … kaaaayiaiwa,” said Li Bai, tongue lolling.
Bigtooth straightened, shook his head, and sighed. He said to Yi Yi, “Let’s go.”
THE SECOND PATH
Yi Yi’s feedlot was located on the Devourers’ equator. While the planet had lain within the inner reaches of the solar system, this had been a beautiful prairie between two rivers. When the Devourers left the orbit of Jupiter, a harsh winter had descended, the prairie disappearing and the rivers freezing. The humans raised there had all been relocated to an underground city. After the Devourers received the summons from the god and returned, spring had come back to the land with the approach of the sun. The two rivers quickly defrosted, and the prairie began to turn green as well.
