Zhou Qiming first realized that "entering" had already happened through a completely unreasonable detail.
He was wearing shoes.
It wasn't the sensation of hollow soles, the feeling of stepping on something insubstantial, nor was it the waking confirmation of ground beneath his feet. Instead, it was a tactile sensation that was simply accepted. His soles pressed against the ground with weight and friction, without needing to adjust his pace or look down—it felt as if this state didn't require questioning.
He glanced down.
They were shoes he couldn't recall wearing before.
Black, plain in style, with a slightly scuffed toe, yet not worn out. The kind of shoes that had been worn for a while but always managed to remain in a state of "unnoticed," neither new nor close to being discarded.
Zhou Qiming didn't move immediately.
The surroundings were quiet.
Not a blank silence, but one filled with layers. A faint wind rustled in the distance, occasionally interrupted by the soft clink of metal, and some voices that were deliberately lowered, maintaining distance from each other, uninterrupted.
It felt as if it wasn't yet his turn.
The ground beneath his feet was concrete, slightly damp. He took two steps forward. The marks his shoes left quickly faded, and the sound of his steps was swallowed cleanly, leaving no echo.
Ahead, there was a narrow passageway.
The walls were grayish-white, with no decoration. Lights hung from the ceiling in fixed intervals, each illuminating its assigned section of the path—not more, not less.
Zhou Qiming walked down the passageway.
He didn't ask where this was.
The question didn't seem urgent here.
What emerged earlier was a sense of discord—a feeling that everything in this place was too perfectly suited. Every detail seemed to stop at the point of "just enough," with nothing excessive, nothing missing.
When he reached the end of the passageway, he saw a door.
It was made of iron and looked heavy. A piece of paper was taped to the door, its corners curling up. The words printed on it were in plain black text:
Enter when ready.
The door didn't have a handle.
Instead, there was a horizontal push plate at the bottom, placed low enough that one would have to use their whole palm to push it. It wasn't a fingertip motion, but rather a full palm contact.
Zhou Qiming stood for a moment.
The door didn't hesitate.
It simply stood there, waiting.
He reached out.
The moment his palm touched the plate, the door opened inward.
It wasn't pushed open; it seemed to yield to the weight placed on it, parting effortlessly in that direction.
The space beyond the door immediately unfolded.
The light became brighter, though not glaring. The floor shifted to a dark material that made almost no sound when walked on. The space was vast but didn't feel empty; its boundaries were cleanly defined, requiring no effort to determine the extent.
There were people here.
Not many, but enough to make the space feel "in operation."
Some stood, some sat, some were looking at things in their hands, and others simply leaned against the walls, as if waiting for the next move.
No one spoke.
But it wasn't because they were required to be silent—it was simply not yet time to speak.
Zhou Qiming stood near the entrance, quickly realizing he didn't stand out.
His appearance didn't draw any attention. No one turned to look, no one gave him a second glance. It was as if he had always been meant to be here.
He took a few steps inside.
Then, he saw it—the screen.
More accurately, it was a whole wall of screens, divided into sections. Each section was showing a different image.
Some images were clear, like documentary footage; some had obvious editing marks; others had colors and proportions that seemed off, as if they hadn't been fully calibrated yet.
There was no unified rhythm between them, yet each progressed on its own.
Zhou Qiming's gaze stopped on one image.
He recognized the person in the frame.
Not familiar enough to name immediately, but enough for him to confirm it was a real person he knew.
The person was standing in a narrow space, their expression tense, their movements hesitant, as if they'd just realized something was wrong but hadn't yet grasped what had happened.
The footage had no sound.
But Zhou Qiming was certain that person must have been speaking at that moment.
He was all too familiar with that state.
He didn't continue watching.
Not out of reluctance, but because he understood that this wasn't a place for lingering. The footage was moving, but it didn't require any response.
Just then, someone stood next to him.
Their footsteps were light but not deliberately hidden. They stood close, maintaining a distance that didn't make anyone uncomfortable.
"You're earlier than expected," the person said.
The tone was flat, without any unnecessary emotion.
Zhou Qiming didn't turn immediately.
"I wasn't chosen," he said.
The person nodded briefly.
"We know."
Only then did Zhou Qiming look at him.
It was an unremarkable face. Simple clothes, a stable expression—the type of person you wouldn't need to remember.
"Then why am I here?" Zhou Qiming asked.
The other didn't answer immediately.
He raised his hand and made a light motion in the air. One of the images zoomed in.
The person in the scene was making a choice.
Not an obvious mistake, nor a violation. Just a judgment that seemed reasonable at the time but had already begun to veer off course.
"You're not a participant yet," the person said. "At least not now."
"Then what am I?" Zhou Qiming asked.
The other looked at him.
"You've already walked through it once."
When those words were spoken, Zhou Qiming didn't press further.
He realized the other wasn't explaining anything, but confirming something that had already happened.
"What will happen to them?" he asked.
"We'll see if they can make it to the end," the person answered.
"What is the end?" Zhou Qiming pressed.
The other paused for a moment.
"It's not the end," he said. "It's just when they reach... that point."
The images on the screen began shifting.
Some brightened, others dimmed.
No rhythm, no cue.
Zhou Qiming stood there, realizing this time, this place offered him no choice.
He was placed in a position. For now, he could only watch—no retreat, no intervention yet.
"Will you stay here forever?" he asked.
"No," the person replied.
"Then what happens next?"
The person didn't answer.
His gaze fell back to the screen.
At that moment, the lights flickered faintly.
No announcement was made.
But in that instant, Zhou Qiming knew clearly: certain things had already begun to move forward, and he was no longer in a position to turn back at will.