The Truth of the Accident

Two Lin Shens met on a lakeside bench. Lin Shen, who had crossed over from another world, faced another version of himself for the first time—one who had lived in Line A for two years, sharing the same face and memories. The other Lin Shen asked a question that left both of them silent for a long time: If we swapped, would you be willing?

A few leaves drifted on the lake in Central Park.

A man in a light gray trench coat sat on a bench, one leg crossed over the other, holding a cup of coffee. He stared at the lake, his posture relaxed, but Lin Shen immediately recognized that habitual gesture—his left index finger circling the rim of the coffee cup, exactly the same as his own when he was nervous.

He stood behind a ginkgo tree ten meters away, taking the deep breath he'd prepared before approaching.

He walked closer. With each step, the man on the bench became clearer. Gray trench coat, hair slightly longer than his, with the sides trimmed shorter. The profile—the curve of the jawline, the bridge of the nose, the angle of the brows—was like looking into a mirror, except the person in the mirror had lived two years longer than you.

Lin Shen from Line A turned his head.

The two Lin Shens looked at each other.

It wasn't the kind of confrontation where two people stand face to face. It was stranger—like a person sitting on a bench, watching another version of himself walk out of a dream. The same dark brown eyes, the same callus on the middle finger, the same curve of the lips.

"You're here," Lin Shen from Line A spoke first. The voice was identical, but his tone carried something extra—a gentleness that seemed steeped in the sunlight of this world.

"Have you been waiting long?" Lin Shen from the Original Line sat down at the other end of the bench.

"Not too long. Su Wan told me last night," Lin Shen from Line A placed his coffee cup on the armrest. "She said someone came looking for me, from over there. Looks exactly like me."

"And you believed her?"

"Half-believed. Until I saw you walking over just now—" He laughed, a strange relief in his smile. "My gait. Right foot first, left heel dragging half a step. Injured my right knee playing soccer as a kid, and it never changed. I thought I was the only one in the whole universe with that quirk."

Lin Shen from the Original Line laughed too. Not because it was funny, but because something indescribable was flowing between two identical people—you know every detail about yourself, and he knows them all too. Your secrets, your habits, your fears—none of them are secrets to him.

"That tree," Lin Shen from the Original Line pointed at the ginkgo behind him, "there's one just like it outside our firm. When the leaves turn yellow in autumn, Su Wan would wait for me under it after work."

"Autumn comes a month later here," Lin Shen from Line A said, as if stating a fact he knew the other would understand. "That first autumn I was here, I stood under a ginkgo tree for a long time too."

Silence settled between them, quieter than the lake. In the distance, a child was throwing bread to the ducks, ripples spreading outward in circles.

"How much do you remember?" Lin Shen from the Original Line asked.

"Everything." Lin Shen from Line A pulled his gaze back from the lake and looked at his own hands. "The day of the accident, I was working late at the firm. On the third revision of the blueprints, I suddenly felt dizzy. When I woke up, I was standing in a strange laboratory, surrounded by instruments I didn't recognize and people in white coats. I thought I'd gone crazy from overwork. Until Su Wan—this world's Su Wan—walked in, looked at me, and said: 'Where did you come from?'"

He took a sip of coffee and continued.

"The first three months were the hardest. My identity was fake, but my memories were real. Every morning when I woke up, my first thought wasn't 'Where am I,' but 'Is she still alive?' Su Wan helped me check the Displacement data, and I saw it—there was a Su Wan left behind in that world, and she was with me—or rather, with you. I was relieved at first, but then I found it absurd."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lin Shen from the Original Line's voice was low.

"Tell you what? 'Your girlfriend actually fell over from another world, and your duplicate is having a relationship with her in her world'?" Lin Shen from Line A shook his head. "Communication was impossible. The channel could only carry physical matter, not information. And…" He paused. "Back then, I wasn't sure whether I wanted you to find her, or whether I wanted you never to come at all."

Lin Shen from the Original Line understood those words. Two Lin Shens, two Su Wans. Ethically clear-cut, but emotionally a tangled mess. Lin Shen from Line A loved this world's Su Wan, but he carried all the memories of the Original Line World. In those memories, he had also loved a Su Wan—identical to this one—but between them lay an entire universe.

"How is she now?" Lin Shen from Line A asked, his voice much softer than before. He knew the weight of this question.

"I don't know." Lin Shen from the Original Line's fingers unconsciously rubbed his left jaw—Lin Shen from Line A noticed the gesture, and his own fingers twitched slightly. "The Corrector activated its mechanism and started erasing her traces. First her belongings disappeared, then people's memories of her vanished. I found Old Zheng, I found the channel coordinates, Jiang Fei pushed me into the transfer capsule… but I don't know where she is now. Maybe in the Interstice, maybe—"

He didn't finish.

Lin Shen from Line A picked up his coffee cup, then set it down again. His fingers trembled slightly.

"Su Wan—this world's Su Wan—told me something last night," Lin Shen from Line A's voice became very soft, as if speaking to himself. "She said that after the accident, when the channel was unstable, the Su Wan who was projected out actually had a chance to come back. In the last three seconds before the channel closed, the transfer system sent out an automatic return signal. If she wanted to, she could have decided to return within those three seconds. But—"

"She didn't come back," Lin Shen from the Original Line finished the sentence.

"She didn't come back." Lin Shen from Line A repeated it. "Su Wan checked the system logs. The return signal was actively rejected within those three seconds. That person—your Su Wan—chose to stay in your world before the channel closed."

The wind suddenly picked up over the lake. Ginkgo leaves rustled down, one landing on Lin Shen from the Original Line's shoulder. He didn't brush it off.

"Why didn't she come back?" His voice was hoarse.

"Maybe because—" Lin Shen from Line A looked at him, something unfathomable in his eyes, "of you?"

Lin Shen from the Original Line froze. He remembered the words Su Wan had written in her diary. He remembered the toothpaste she squeezed onto his brush every morning. He remembered her saying, "I'll tell you tomorrow"—she had planned to tell him the truth on their anniversary. But the Corrector mechanism was faster than her.

"She knew the Corrector mechanism would activate," Lin Shen from Line A said. "She was a researcher on the Mirror Project. She understood better than anyone that once the membrane between two worlds was torn, the corrective force would trigger automatically. She knew she would disappear sooner or later. But she still chose to stay, chose to spend two years with you. Two years—for her, every day was stolen time."

Neither of them spoke.

Across from the bench, the child feeding ducks had been led away by his mother. The lake had returned to calm, the setting sun spreading across the water like spilled molten gold.

"Listen—" Lin Shen from Line A pulled something out of his pocket. It was a piece of paper, folded in half, edges yellowed with deep creases. "She left this for us. Three days after the accident, she transmitted it through the last residual channel signal. Just a passage of text, no date, no title."

He handed the paper to Lin Shen from the Original Line.

The handwriting on the paper was in dark blue ballpoint pen, pressed hard, some strokes almost piercing through the paper—that was Su Wan's handwriting. Whether it was the Original Line's Su Wan or Line A's Su Wan, the handwriting was the same, equally crooked, equally like grass in the wind.

"Wanwan:

I am you. Or rather, I am another you.

Don't be afraid. I'm doing well now. I met someone. His name is Lin Shen, he's an architectural designer, and when he draws blueprints he likes to tap his pencil—three taps in a set. He makes terrible noodles, but every morning he squeezes toothpaste onto my brush. He never directly says 'I love you,' but he always brings an extra umbrella on rainy days because he knows I always forget mine.

Yes, I met another Lin Shen. Another one exactly like the one in front of you.

I was supposed to come back. In the three seconds before the channel closed, the system popped up a return confirmation. I was sitting next to him, my phone screen lit up, and all I had to do was press 'Confirm' to go home. But I didn't.

Because he was asleep on the sofa. He'd been drawing blueprints all day, exhausted, curled up in the corner of the couch. Moonlight fell on his hair through the window, and he was talking in his sleep, mumbling my name.

I suddenly didn't want to leave.

I don't know if this was a mistake. Maybe a year later, or two years later, when the Corrector mechanism activates, I'll disappear from this world like I never existed. But you know what, Wanwan? At that moment, what I thought about wasn't disappearing—it was: if I leave, who will squeeze toothpaste onto his brush?

So I stayed.

I'm telling you this now not to make you feel guilty, or to ask you to do anything. I just want to tell you: no matter which world, I found the same person. Maybe that's the strangest connection between us—no matter how many times Displacement happens, we will always fall in love with the same person.

Don't try to find me. The channel is about to close completely. Let our worlds run on their own. You live well in your world, and I'll live well in mine.

Finally, tell the Lin Shen beside you—if one day I disappear, don't look for me. But if he insists on looking, help me tell him: I've hidden lots of little suns under the furniture, far more than the Corrector can erase. Maybe he'll find them.

Wishing you happiness.

Another you."

Lin Shen from the Original Line's fingers tightened on the edge of the paper. He read it twice. Three times. By the fourth time, tears had blurred his vision.

"She never regretted it." Lin Shen from Line A's voice came from beside him, very soft but steady. "Even though she knew how it would end, she never regretted choosing to stay by your side."

"Then right now—" Lin Shen from the Original Line's throat was as rough as if it had been sanded, "is she still in that Interstice?"

Lin Shen from Line A didn't answer immediately. He stood up, walked to the lake's edge, and looked down at his own reflection trembling slightly on the water.

"Theoretically, after the Corrector mechanism activates, the projected individual doesn't disappear directly—they get compressed into the channel's Retention Layer, the Interstice between the two worlds. There's no time, no space, just a void. She should still be there."

"Then can I find her?"

Lin Shen from Line A turned around and looked at Lin Shen from the Original Line. Two identical men stood facing each other in the sunset, their shadows merging into one line on the ground.

"The channel is already closed," Lin Shen from Line A said. "Unless—someone opens it again from this side. Using an equal-mass energy Displacement to punch through a temporary channel. But the cost is great."

"What cost?"

"If the channel opens, you have to stay here—use your own existence to hold the door—otherwise the door will collapse before the transfer completes, and she'll fall back into the Interstice." Lin Shen from Line A's voice was calm, like he was calculating a physics problem. "You stay on Line A, she returns to your world. Two Lin Shens in exchange for two Su Wans. The scales balance."

Lin Shen from the Original Line's fingers touched his jaw again.

"If I don't go back—"

"Your world will activate Corrector because it lost you, but the correction target no longer exists—because Su Wan has returned. So the corrective force will miss its mark. Your world won't collapse, it will just be missing one Lin Shen forever." Lin Shen from Line A said. "And you staying here—I can help you rebuild your identity. You and I are essentially the same person; the system can't tell the difference. You have my fingerprints, my DNA, all my physical characteristics. You can survive here."

"Live as your shadow."

Lin Shen from Line A didn't deny it.

The sun sank a little more. The gold on the lake darkened, turning into rust-red stains. Streetlights in the park turned on, one after another.

"And you?" Lin Shen from the Original Line asked. "Are you willing to have me stay?"

Lin Shen from Line A was silent for a long time. Long enough for all the streetlights to come on. Long enough for the last trace of red on the horizon to disappear. Long enough that there was no one else left in the park.

"I'm not willing," he said.

Lin Shen from the Original Line wasn't surprised."It's not because of Su Wan." Lin Shen from Line A said, "It's because I am you and you are me. If it were you—would you want another version of yourself in your world? Showing up in front of your girlfriend every day, wearing the same face as you, carrying an obsession deeper than yours, to the point where even you can't tell which is which?"

He let out a bitter laugh.

"But I'll help you. Because you came to find her—that in itself is an answer. Our Su Wan chose to stay with you, so you should take her back. That's what she deserves."

The Original Line Lin Shen looked at him. At that moment, he suddenly felt grateful—in this unfamiliar world, there was at least one person standing on the same side as him. Even if they looked exactly the same, even if they loved the same woman—no, two women, but essentially the same one.

"Tomorrow," Lin Shen from Line A said, "Su Wan will tell you the specific plan."

He turned to leave, took a few steps, then stopped and looked back.

"Do you often do this—" he hesitated, "stand at the door and take a deep breath?"

"Yeah."

"Me too. Su Wan said that's your way of telling yourself 'I'm ready.'" He smiled again, this time more deeply. "We even talk to ourselves the same way."

He turned and walked into the night, his light gray trench coat flickering under the streetlights, until he disappeared at the end of the park.

The Original Line Lin Shen sat alone on the bench. He folded the piece of paper and placed it in the inner layer of his wallet—together with that half piece of torn paper. Two Su Wans' handwriting, on the same paper, across two worlds, saying the exact same words: "I love you."

He took a deep breath.

Stood up, and walked back toward the Research Institute.

The night wind blew across the lake, and ginkgo leaves rustled. In this city that differed only subtly from the Original Line World, two Lin Shens looked up at the sky from different places at the same time—the same motion, the same moon.

Tomorrow, the answer will come.