The next morning, Zhou Qiming woke up before his alarm.
Not startled awake.
Not a natural awakening either.
It felt more like his body had exited some state ahead of time.
The first thing he registered upon opening his eyes was the ceiling.
White. Uncracked. A slightly darker shadow lingering in one corner.
Familiar.
Then came the sounds of the room—
distant traffic, someone downstairs dragging something across the floor.
Everything matched.
Only his body hadn't fully returned.
The sensation was hard to name.
Not light, not heavy.
Like stepping out of water—clothes already dry, but the skin still remembering the temperature.
He lay there for a moment, not getting up right away.
His breathing was steady.
His heartbeat normal.
Only a very small part of him lagged half a beat behind.
He got up and washed.
Water rushed from the tap, louder than usual.
The bottom of the sink was yellowed, resistant to scrubbing.
As the toothbrush moved back and forth, a realization surfaced.
He had truly fallen asleep the night before.
Not half-awake.
Not exhaustion-induced drowsiness.
But fully—without interruption—into that state.
The thought made him pause.
The toothbrush remained in his mouth.
Foam slid down the corner of his lips.
He didn't follow the thought further.
Not avoidance.
More like his body quietly setting it aside.
When he left the apartment, he locked the door as usual.
The key turned stiffly in the lock.
It probably needed oil—had for some time.
Footsteps passed quickly in the stairwell.
He didn't look up.
The subway entrance was unchanged.
Crowded. Rushed.
The announcements repeated themselves.
Even tone. No emotion.
He stood on the platform, waiting.
When the train arrived, wind surged out of the tunnel.
In that instant, his body relaxed—instinctively.
The movement was subtle.
But unmistakable.
He paused.
It wasn't the first time it had happened.
But it was the first time he noticed it while fully awake.
The doors opened. The crowd pressed forward.
He was carried onto the train.
Only after steadying himself did he realize he wasn't wearing headphones.
Not forgotten.
Simply never thought of.
The sounds of the carriage flooded in.
Conversations. Coughs. Short videos playing aloud.
Very real.
Very chaotic.
He expected discomfort.
It didn't come.
Instead, there was a strange sensation—
as if the sounds existed outside him.
Not blocked.
Just unnecessary to process.
He stood there, holding the rail.
The train started moving.
The sway followed.
His body didn't tense.
That alone shouldn't have mattered.
Yet he noticed it.
When he got off, he glanced at the people around him.
Everyone walked quickly.
As if pulled by something.
He, meanwhile, was simply being carried along.
He clocked in at work.
The machine beeped.
The sound was the same as always.
But for a moment, he had the odd impression—
that the beep arrived late.
Not a system delay.
More like he had already been standing there for a while.
The feeling passed.
He didn't dwell on it.
Back at his desk, the system window popped up automatically.
The workload was lighter than before.
Not an error.
An adjustment already announced.
He put on his headphones and began working.
Mouse move.
Checkbox.
Submit.
The motions were familiar.
But brief gaps slipped in between.
So brief he wasn't sure they'd happened at all.
As if the screen had already changed, but his hand hadn't caught up.
He made no mistakes.
The system flagged nothing.
His efficiency was simply a little slower than usual.
At lunch, he realized he had little appetite.
Not because he wasn't hungry.
Because everything tasted roughly the same.
He finished the meal.
Mechanically.
Nearby, coworkers chatted—
who was leaving, who had been reassigned.
He heard it.
He understood it.
But the information didn't stay.
Like it passed straight through a sieve.
At three, he went to the restroom.
Standing before the mirror, he studied himself.
The face hadn't changed.
Dark circles, but not severe.
The expression, though, felt empty.
Not tired.
More like temporarily without use.
He raised a hand and pressed it to the mirror.
Cold.
Undeniably real.
And yet, in that instant, a faint thought surfaced.
If I closed my eyes right now—
The thought didn't continue.
Not interrupted.
Simply gone.
As if it had never been meant to exist.
Back at his desk, the system refreshed again.
The task bar flickered.
The numbers were the same.
But the order had changed.
He looked at the list and felt a brief unfamiliarity.
Not confusion.
More a sense that this shouldn't matter quite this much.
When he left work, the sky hadn't fully darkened.
He stepped out of the building and paused.
Wind passed through.
Not cold.
Just clarifying.
He didn't head straight for the subway.
He stood there, watching people stream past.
Everyone seemed certain of where they were going.
Their steps steady.
He, on the other hand, felt unclear.
Not lost.
Just uncertain about what he was meant to be heading toward.
His phone vibrated.
A work group message.
Someone asking about a system edge case.
He glanced at it, but didn't reply.
Not unwilling.
Just unnecessary.
On the way home, he slowed his pace deliberately.
Not for a walk.
More like checking something.
The convenience store downstairs had changed owners.
The shelves rearranged.
He paused at the entrance, then moved on.
Everything was normal.
Yet to him, everything felt slightly late.
Back in the apartment.
The door closed.
That familiar quiet returned.
The refrigerator's low hum persisted.
He stood in the room without turning on the light.
This time, he didn't sit.
He lay down directly on the bed.
The motion was natural.
Unprepared.
Unforced.
It wasn't fully dark yet.
Thin light filtered in through the window.
He closed his eyes.
His body relaxed quickly.
Even faster than the night before.
The sensation of being supported didn't arrive immediately.
But he wasn't impatient.
Because he already knew—
no effort was required.
Just before his awareness began to lighten, a realization surfaced.
Reality hadn't become unreal.
It was simply that the other place no longer felt distant.
And he was slowly finding himself standing between the two.