A sharp electronic beep tore through the morning quiet, like an icy needle precisely piercing Lin Mo's murky dreams. His eyes flew open. By reflex, his arm shot out, groping for the source of the noise on his nightstand. His fingers brushed the cool plastic casing of the alarm clock. He slapped it hard. The world fell instantly silent.
He sat up habitually, rubbing his dry eyes, his gaze drifting toward the window. The faint light of dawn filtered through the slats of the blinds, casting parallel bands of light on the floor. Time to get up. Another repetitive Monday. He pushed off the covers, his feet finding the slightly cool floorboards, shuffled into his slippers, and headed for the living room.
The kitchen was filled with the low hum of the coffee machine and the rich, burnt aroma of brewing coffee. It was his morning ritual. He walked over, reaching for the company-logo-emblazoned mug. But just as his fingers were about to close around the handle, his movement froze.
The mug hung in mid-air.
It wasn't an illusion. The white porcelain cup, along with the dark brown liquid inside, seemed suspended by an invisible hand, hovering steadily about ten centimeters above the countertop. A drop of coffee was caught in the act of escaping the rim, formed into a plump, round, brown bead, equally motionless, hanging just below the cup's edge, refracting the weak light from the window.
Lin Mo's heart clenched, as if gripped by a cold fist. He snapped his head toward the window.
The view outside froze the blood in his veins.
The usually bustling city artery now resembled a giant oil painting on which the pause button had been pressed. A red double-decker bus was skewed across the center of the intersection, dominating his view. Its front wheels were slightly off the ground, as if frozen mid-emergency stop. Through the large windows, the postures of the passengers were painfully clear: some looking down at phones, some staring blankly outside, one mouth agape in a mid-yawn—all movement crystallized into a single frame.
On the sidewalk, a man in a trench coat, mid-stride, was captured in motion, left foot suspended, briefcase swung behind him. Beside him, a young mother pushing a stroller still had her hand on the handle, a gentle smile on her face as she looked down into the stroller. Inside, a chubby little hand reached up, as if trying to catch something falling.
No sound. Absolute silence. The annoying car horns, the distant clanging from construction sites, even the chirping of sparrows in the branches outside his window—all were gone. The entire world seemed sealed inside a giant vacuum jar.
Dizziness washed over Lin Mo. He stumbled back a step, his back hitting the cold refrigerator door. A chill ran up his spine. He gasped for air, trying to dispel the suffocating panic in his chest. This couldn't be real! A dream? He pinched his arm hard. Sharp pain flared.
Not a dream.
He forced himself to look outside again, his eyes sweeping over the frozen figures. This time, he saw something even more bizarre.
Above the head of every motionless person—the bus passengers, the pedestrians, the young mother—hovered a semi-transparent, faintly glowing set of digits.
The numbers varied. Above the bus driver: "127:48:32." The striding man: "03:15:07." The young mother: "42:19:11." Above the tiny hand in the stroller, a smaller set: "78:02:55." They looked like countdowns, uniformly formatted as "hours:minutes:seconds," and… they were ticking down, slowly, inexorably!
Lin Mo frantically reached up above his own head—nothing. He saw nothing. A profound sense of isolation seized him instantly. Why didn't he have one? Why was he the only "living" one?
Panic coiled around him like vines, tightening. He needed to confirm! He needed to know what was happening! His eyes darted around the living room, finally landing on the electronic calendar-clock on the wall. The red LCD digits clearly read: 07:15:28 AM. He stared at the ticking seconds.
Tick… tick… tick…
Time was passing! At least here, in this small space, on this electronic clock he could see, time still flowed! He looked down at his wristwatch. Its second hand swept steadily.
Only he, and these cold timepieces, were still moving in this frozen world.
He had to go outside!
The thought, once formed, became irresistible. Lin Mo practically stumbled toward the door, scrambling into his shoes, and yanked open his apartment door.
The hallway was equally silent. His neighbor's door was shut, a delivery box sitting motionless before it. He rushed down the stairs, pushed open the heavy building door, and plunged into the utterly still world outside.
The street scene was more震撼ing, more surreal, than the view from his window. The air felt like viscous gel, utterly stagnant. Sunlight slanted down, dust motes clearly visible in the beams, equally motionless. A sparrow hung in mid-air not far from the ground, wings spread, every feather distinct. At a roadside breakfast stall, freshly fried dough sticks steamed, but the wisp of white vapor was frozen like a sculpture, pointing straight up.
Lin Mo moved like a child who had wandered into a giant's dollhouse, walking carefully through this petrified spacetime. He tentatively reached out a finger, lightly touching a leaf suspended in the air. He felt the real texture, but the leaf didn't budge, as if welded in place. He tried pushing a bicycle parked by the curb, straining with all his might. The bike didn't move an inch, rooted to the spot.
The entire world, save for himself and the items on his person, had become absolutely still sculptures.
Fear began to be replaced by a vast sense of absurdity and loneliness. He wandered aimlessly, weaving through the frozen traffic, circling the petrified pedestrians. The countdown numbers floating above each head proclaimed, like silent ghosts, a set of rules he couldn't comprehend. His gaze swept over them—some were tens of thousands of hours, others mere minutes. The young mother pushing the stroller: "42:18:45," ticking down second by second.
He should go to the office! The thought struck him suddenly. There would be people there. Maybe… maybe he could find someone else "alive"? Or at least, it was a familiar environment.
He oriented himself and started running toward his company building. Running in an absolutely still world was a bizarre experience. He could feel his muscles working, hear his own ragged breath and heartbeat, feel the wind on his face—only the wind he himself created was moving. The scenery around him flew past, yet remained in eternal stasis, creating a sensory disconnect that felt almost nauseating.
The glass revolving door of the office building was also frozen, stuck halfway open. Lin Mo squeezed through sideways. In the lobby, the receptionist wore a standard professional smile, one hand holding a phone receiver to her ear, the other holding a pen poised above a register. A security guard was frozen mid-salute. Elevator doors stood open, several suited office workers inside, expressions varied but all frozen in that moment.
Lin Mo didn't stop. He rushed for the stairwell. He needed to get to his department, to the colleagues he saw every day.
Pushing open the frosted glass door of his department's office, a familiar yet utterly alien scene met his eyes. In the cubicles, his coworkers were captured mid-action: Xiao Wang was bringing a coffee cup to his lips; Sister Li was looking down at her computer screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard; Manager Zhao had one hand on his hip, the other pointing at a chart on the whiteboard, apparently explaining something.
Everything was frozen. Only Lin Mo's ragged breathing sounded harsh and intrusive in the silent office.
He walked to his own workstation, his eyes scanning the floating numbers above his colleagues' heads. Xiao Wang: "512:22:10." Sister Li: "876:05:43." Manager Zhao: "210:17:28"… He looked up above his own head again. Still nothing.
Despair, like an icy tide, began to creep into his heart. Was he truly the only one? Trapped in this frozen spacetime?
His gaze settled on Xiao Wang at the next desk. Xiao Wang was a colleague he got along with well. Right now, his face held a hint of a relaxed smile. His coffee cup was tilted, the brown liquid almost spilling over the rim, but likewise frozen.
A mad thought flashed through Lin Mo's mind. If touching inanimate objects had no effect… what about touching a "frozen person"?
He took a deep breath. His heart hammered against his ribs. Slowly, extremely slowly, he extended a finger, with a fear and trepidation akin to reverence, and gently, oh so gently, touched the back of Xiao Wang's hand—the one holding the coffee cup.
His fingertip registered the warmth of skin.
In that instant—
Thump!
Xiao Wang's body jolted violently, as if electrified, "coming alive" from his frozen state! His hand twitched. The cup of frozen coffee instantly lost its support, obeying gravity as it and its contents plummeted downward!
"Aiya!" Xiao Wang exclaimed, fumbling to catch it, but too late. The ceramic mug hit the hard tile floor with a sharp, shattering crash. Dark brown coffee splattered everywhere, staining his trousers and shoes.
"Dammit! My coffee! My new cup!" Xiao Wang jumped back, looking at the mess on the floor, a mix of annoyance and confusion on his face. "What happened? Slipped? Weird, I was holding it just fine…"
He looked up and finally saw Lin Mo standing beside him, face pale as paper, pupils dilated with shock.
"Lin Mo? What's wrong? You look awful," Xiao Wang asked, puzzled, glancing down at the shards again. "Did I scare you? Sorry, my hand slipped, couldn't hold the cup. You okay?"
Lin Mo's mouth hung open. His throat felt blocked. No words came out. His mind was blank, all his senses focused on this "living" Xiao Wang before him, and… above his head!
The moment Xiao Wang "came alive," a semi-transparent, faintly glowing set of digits had materialized like a ghost above Xiao Wang's head—512:21:46!
It appeared! And… it was ticking! The seconds were counting down!
Xiao Wang was still muttering about his ruined new cup, bending to pick up the pieces.
Lin Mo stood rooted to the spot, a cold chill shooting from his soles to the crown of his head. Instinctively, stiffly, he raised his hand, reaching above his own head.
Nothing.
But as he lifted his hand, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the smartwatch on his wrist. On the watch face, besides the time, was a small, inconspicuous countdown icon he'd never noticed before. It was now blinking with a faint red light.
Trembling, he tapped the icon.
An equally semi-transparent, faintly glowing countdown projected clearly above the watch face—the number was far smaller than any he remembered seeing, and it was ticking down at a horrifying pace:
71:59:58… 71:59:57… 71:59:56…
Lin Mo's breath caught. He remembered clearly, just before leaving this morning, he'd checked his watch. Today was Monday. His reminder for Friday after work was still over four days away! And now, this countdown showed he only had… three days?!
Three days?!
He jerked his head up, looking again at the slowly ticking "512:21:45" above Xiao Wang's head, then down at the rapidly draining "71:59:55" on his watch.
A cold, cruel, absurd equation exploded in his mind:
He had touched frozen Xiao Wang. Xiao Wang had "come alive." A countdown appeared above Xiao Wang's head. And his own life countdown… had decreased by a full twenty-four hours!
Lin Mo staggered back another step, his back hitting the cold cubicle partition. He stared fixedly at the string of red, jumping digits on his watch face. Each tick felt like a hammer blow to his heart.
Three days.
He only had three days?