The Dark Forest

by Cixin Liu

  Kent stared at Shi Qiang for a long moment, and at last shook his head, unsure whether or not he understood that last sentence. “Fine. I’ll make the report. But can you let me see that dream lover of his first?”

  When he saw the woman on the screen, Kent’s old face grew gentle for an instant. He rubbed his jaw and said, “Oh … my god. I don’t believe for a moment that anyone like that exists, but I hope you find her soon.”

  * * *

  “Colonel, do you find it a little abrupt for me to inspect the political and ideological work of your military in my capacity?” Tyler said when he met Zhang Beihai.

  “No, Mr. Tyler. There’s precedent for it. Rumsfeld once visited the Central Military Commission’s Party School when I was studying there.” Zhang Beihai lacked the curiosity, caution, and distance that Tyler had observed in the other officers. He appeared sincere, and that made the conversation easier.

  “You’ve got good English. You must be from the navy.”

  “That’s right. The US Space Force drew an even larger proportion from the navy than we did.”

  “That venerable old branch of the services would never have imagined that its warships would be sailing into space.… I’ll be frank. When General Chang Weisi introduced you as the finest political cadre in the space force, I thought you would be army, because the army is the soul of your military.”

  Zhang Beihai clearly did not agree, but he laughed graciously. “The same soul is found throughout the different branches of the military. In every country’s nascent space force, the military culture bears the imprint of its various branches.”

  “I’m quite interested in your political and ideological work. I was hoping I could do some in-depth investigation.”

  “Not a problem at all. My superiors have instructed me to hold nothing back, within the scope of my work.”

  “Thank you!” Tyler hesitated before going on. “My purpose in this trip is to obtain an answer. I’d like to ask you first.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.”

  “Colonel, do you believe that we can restore the spirit of armies of the past?”

  “What do you mean by ‘past’?”

  “A wide range of time, from perhaps ancient Greece through the Second World War. What’s key is the spiritual commonalities I mentioned: duty and honor above all, and, in time of need, to unhesitatingly lay down one’s life. You may have noticed that after the Second World War, this spirit vanished from the military in democratic and authoritarian countries alike.”

  “The army is drawn from society, so it would mean that the past spirit you speak of would need to be restored throughout society.”

  “Our views agree on this point.”

  “But, Mr. Tyler, that is impossible.”

  “Why? We have four hundred years. In the past, human society used exactly that amount of time to evolve from the era of collective heroism to one of individualism, so why can’t we use the same amount of time to evolve back?”

  Zhang Beihai considered this for a moment, then said, “This is a profound question, but I think that society has grown up and can never return to its childhood. In the four hundred years that led to the formation of modern society, we see no cultural or mental preparation for this sort of crisis.”

  “Then from what do you draw your confidence? As far as I’m aware, you are a committed triumphalist. How will a space fleet brimming with defeatism face a powerful enemy?”

  “Didn’t you just say we have four hundred years? If we can’t go backward, then we must move resolutely forward.”

  Zhang Beihai’s answer was opaque. Tyler obtained nothing else from the ensuing conversation but a feeling that the man’s thoughts went deeper than a brief visit could reveal.

  Tyler passed a sentry as he left the space force headquarters. When their eyes met, the sentry greeted him with a shy smile. It was something he hadn’t seen in other countries’ militaries, whose sentries stared intently straight ahead. Looking at the young man’s face, Tyler once again repeated that line to himself:

  Mom, I’m going to be a firefly.

  * * *

  It began to rain that evening for the first time since Luo Ji had arrived at the estate, and the living room was quite cold. He sat beside the unlit fireplace and listened to the rain outside, feeling that the house was located on a lonely island in the middle of a dark ocean. He wrapped himself in the boundless solitude. With Shi Qiang gone, he had been restlessly waiting, and this lonely wait was itself a kind of happiness. Then he heard a car pull up to the porch and caught snatches of conversation. The soft, gentle voice of a woman saying “Thank you” and “Good-bye” jolted him like an electric shock.

  Two years ago, he had heard the same sound day and night in his dreams. The ethereal sound, a wisp of gossamer floating through the blue sky, brought a fleeting sunshine to the gloomy evening.

  Then there was a light knock at the door. He sat stiffly in place and only after a long while did he finally open his mouth and say, “Come in.” The door opened. A slender figure floated in on a breath of rain. The sole light in the living room was a floor lamp with an old-fashioned lampshade that cast a circle of illumination beside the fireplace but lit the rest of the room only dimly. Luo Ji couldn’t make out her face, but noticed that she wore white trousers and a dark jacket that stood in stark contrast to her white collar and made him think of lilies.

  “Hello, Mr. Luo,” she said.

  “Hello,” he said, standing up. “Is it cold outside?”

  “Not in the car.” Although he couldn’t see her clearly, he knew she was smiling. “But here”—she looked around her—“here it’s a little cold.… Er, I’m Zhuang Yan, Mr. Luo.”

  “Hello, Zhuang Yan. Let’s light the fireplace.”

  And so Luo Ji knelt down and put some of the neatly stacked fruitwood into the fireplace. He said, “Have you ever seen one before? Here, come have a seat.”

  She came over and sat on the sofa, still in the shadows. “Oh … only in the movies.”

  Luo Ji struck a match and lit the fire-starter under the wood pile. The flame stretched like it was alive, and the woman gradually took shape in its soft golden glow. Luo Ji gripped tightly to the match with two fingers as it burnt down. He needed the pain to tell him this wasn’t a dream. It was like he had ignited the sun, which now shone on a dreamworld-turned-reality. Outside, the sun could remain forever hidden by clouds and night, so long as his world had her and the firelight in it.

  Da Shi, you really are a devil. Where did you find her? How the hell were you able to find her?

  Luo Ji looked away, back into the fire, and tears came unbidden to his eyes. This made him a little scared to look at her, until he realized there was no reason to hide—she would probably think it was the smoke that made him cry. He rubbed his tears away with a hand.

  “It’s really warm, and nice…” she said with a smile as she watched the flames.

  Her words and her smile made Luo Ji’s heart tremble.

  “Why is it like this?” She looked up and glanced around the dim living room a second time.

  “It’s not the same as you imagined?”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “It’s not…” He thought about her name. “It’s not ‘dignified’ enough for you?”

  She smiled at him. “My name is the ‘yan’ that means color, not dignity.”

  “Oh, I see. Perhaps you think there ought to be lots of maps, and a large screen, and clusters of uniformed generals, and I’d be here pointing at things with a stick?”

  “That’s it exactly, Mr. Luo.” Delighted, her smile blossomed like a rose in bloom.

  Luo Ji stood up. “You must be tired from the journey. Have some tea.” He hesitated. “Or would you care for some wine? It’ll ward off the cold.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” She accepted the goblet with a quiet “Thank you,” and took a small sip.

  Looking at her innocently holding the wineglass stirred the most delicate p
arts of his mind. She drank when invited. She trusted the world and had no wariness about it at all. Yes, everything in the world was lying in wait to hurt her, except here. She needed to be cared for here. This was her castle.

  He sat down and looked at her, and then said, as calmly as he could, “What did they tell you before you came?”

  “That I’d be coming to work, of course.” She flashed him that innocent smile that dashed his heart to pieces. “Mr. Luo, what will I be working on?”

  “What did you study?”

  “Traditional painting, at the Central Academy of Fine Arts.”

  “Ah. Have you graduated?”

  “Yes. I just graduated, and have been looking for work while I prepare for grad school.”

  Luo Ji considered this for a while, but he couldn’t come up with anything for her to do. “Well, as for work, we’ll talk about that tomorrow. You must be tired. First you must sleep well.… Do you like it here?”

  “I don’t know. There was a lot of fog when I came from the airport, and then it got dark, so I couldn’t see anything.… Mr. Luo, where is this?”

  “I don’t know either.”

  She nodded and chuckled to herself, clearly not believing him.

  “I really don’t know where we are. The land looks like Scandinavia. I could call and ask right now.” He reached for the phone next to the sofa.

  “No, don’t, Mr. Luo. It’s nice not knowing.”

  “Why?”

  “Once you know, the world turns narrow.”

  My god, he exclaimed to himself.

  All of a sudden, she exclaimed, “Mr. Luo, look at how lovely the wine is in the firelight.”

  The wine, soaked in the light of the fire, shone with a glistening crimson found only in dreams.

  “What do you think it looks like?” he asked nervously.

  “Well, I think it looks like eyes.”

  “The eyes of twilight, no?”

  “The eyes of twilight? That’s a marvelous way to put it, Mr. Luo.”

  “Dawn or twilight? You prefer twilight, do you?”

  “That’s right. How did you know? I love painting the twilight.” Her eyes shone crystalline in the firelight, as if asking, What’s wrong with that?

  The next morning, after the rain had cleared, Luo Ji felt as if God had washed out this Garden of Eden to prepare for Zhuang Yan’s arrival. When she saw its true appearance for the first time, what Luo Ji heard was not the squeals and fussing and exclamations that young women like her usually made. No, in the face of such a magnificent vista, she fell into an awed and breathless state and was unable to speak even one word of praise. He could tell that she was far more sensitive to natural beauty than other women.

  “So you really like to paint?” he asked.

  She stared speechless at the distant snow peak, and it was some time before she recovered her senses. “Oh, yes. But if I’d grown up here, I probably wouldn’t.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve imagined lots of wonderful places, and when I paint them it’s like I’ve been there. But this place has everything from my dreams and imagination, so what would a painting do?”

  “That’s true. When the beauty in your imagination becomes reality, it’s really…” He trailed off, and glanced at Zhuang Yan against the sunrise, the angel who had stepped out of his dream. The happiness in his heart rippled like the waves on the lake sparkling in the light. The UN and the PDC never imagined that this would be a consequence of the Wallfacer Project. If he died now, he wouldn’t care.

  “Mr. Luo, if it rained so much yesterday, why hasn’t the snow on that mountain been washed away?” she asked.

  “The rain fell below the snowline. That mountain has snow year-round. The climate here is very different from back in China.”

  “Have you been to the mountain?”

  “No. I haven’t been here very long.” He noticed that the girl’s eyes never left the mountain. “Do you like snowcaps?”

  She nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Really? When?” she exclaimed in excitement.

  “We can set off now. There’s a simple roadway that runs to the foot of the mountain, and if we go now, we can be back by evening.”

  “What about work?” Zhuang Yan tore her eyes from the mountain and looked at Luo Ji.

  “Work can be set aside for now. You just arrived,” he said perfunctorily.

  “Well…” She tilted her head, giving his heart a jolt. The naïve expression was one he had seen on her countless times before. “Mr. Luo, I’ve got to know what it is I’m doing.”

  He looked into the distance and thought for a few seconds, then said with finality, “I’ll tell you when we’ve reached the mountain.”

  “Great! Then we should be off, shouldn’t we?”

  “Right. It’s easier if we take the boat to the other side of the lake and then drive from there.”

  They walked to the end of the pier. Luo Ji noted that the wind was favorable, so they could take the sailboat. The direction would change at night so they would be able to catch it again coming back. He took her by the hand to help her into the boat. It was the first time he had touched her, and her hands were exactly like the ones he had first clasped on that winter night in his imagination, so soft and cool. She was pleasantly surprised when he raised the white spinnaker. When the boat left the pier, she plunged a hand into the water.

  “The lake water is very cold,” he said.

  “But it’s so clean and clear!”

  Like your eyes, he said to himself. “Why do you like snowcaps?”

  “I like traditional painting.”

  “What’s that got to do with snowcaps?”

  “Mr. Luo, are you aware of the difference between traditional painting and oil painting? Oil paintings are brimming with rich colors. A master once said that in oil painting, white is as precious as gold. But it’s different with traditional painting. There’s lots and lots of blank space, and blank space forms the painting’s eyes. The scenery is just the border for that blank space. Look at that snowy peak. Doesn’t it look like the blank space in a traditional painting?”

  This was the most she had ever said to him. She lectured the Wallfacer, pouring out words and turning him into an ignorant schoolboy, without any sense of being out of line.

  You’re like the blank space in a traditional painting: pure, but to a mature appreciation, infinitely appealing, he thought as he looked at her.

  The boat docked at a pier on the opposite shore, where an open-top Jeep was parked next to the trees. The driver who had parked it there was gone.

  “Is this a military car? I saw troops around when I arrived, and had to go past three sentry points,” she said as they got into the car.

  “That doesn’t matter. They won’t bother us,” he said, starting the engine.

  The road passing through the forest was narrow and rough, but the car drove smoothly on it. In the forest, where the morning mist had not yet lifted, the sun penetrated the tall pines with shafts of light, and even through the engine sound they could hear the calls of birds in the trees. A sweet breeze whipped up Zhuang Yan’s hair and tossed it about on Luo Ji’s face, and the itching made him think of the winter road trip two years ago.

  Everything about their surroundings was completely remote from Mount Taihang and the snowy northern China plains, but his dreams from that trip were so seamlessly connected to today’s reality that he found it hard to believe that it was actually happening to him.

  He turned to look at Zhuang Yan and found her looking back at him. She had been for a long time, it seemed. The look in her eyes was one of slight curiosity mixed with goodwill and innocence. Sunbeams flickered over her face and body. When she saw Luo Ji looking at her, she did not turn away.

  “Mr. Luo, do you really have the ability to defeat the aliens?” she asked.

  He was completely overcome by her childlike nature. The question was one that no one but her would ev
er ask a Wallfacer, and they had known each other so briefly.

  “Zhuang Yan, the core meaning of the Wallfacer Project is to encapsulate humanity’s real strategy in the mind of one person, the only place in the world that’s safe from sophon spying. They had to choose a few people, but that doesn’t mean those people are supermen. Superman doesn’t exist.”

  “But why were you chosen?”

  That question was even more abrupt and outrageous than the previous one, but it sounded natural coming from Zhuang Yan’s lips, because in her transparent heart, every sunbeam was transmitted and refracted with crystalline clarity.

  Luo Ji slowed the car to a stop. She looked at him in surprise as he stared straight ahead at the patches of sun on the roadway.

  “Wallfacers are the most untrustworthy people in history. The world’s greatest liars.”

  “That’s your duty.”

  He nodded. “But, Zhuang Yan, I’m going to tell you the truth. Please believe me.”

  She nodded. “Mr. Luo, please continue. I believe you.”

  He was silent for a long while, increasing the weight of the words he then uttered. “I don’t know why I was chosen.” He turned to her. “I’m just an ordinary man.”

  She nodded again. “It must be very hard.”

  Those words and Zhuang Yan’s look of innocence again brought tears to his eyes. It was the first time he had received such an acknowledgement since becoming a Wallfacer. The girl’s eyes were his paradise, and in that clear gaze he saw no trace of the expression that everyone else directed at the Wallfacers. Her smile was paradise for him, too. It wasn’t the Wallfacer smile, but a pure, innocent smile, like a sun-drenched dewdrop falling softly into the driest part of his soul.

  “It’ll be hard, but I’d like to make it easier.… That’s all. Here endeth the truth. We now return to the Wallfacer state,” he said, as he restarted the engine.

  They drove on in silence, until the trees grew sparse and the deep blue sky emerged overhead.

  “Mr. Luo, look at that eagle!” Zhuang Yan shouted.

  “And that over there looks like deer!” He pointed, fast enough to distract her attention, because he knew that the object in the sky wasn’t an eagle but a circling sentry drone. This reminded him of Shi Qiang. He took out his phone and dialed.