The engineer doesn’t say any more. She just walks silently over to the computer that controls the screen and sinks herself into diagnosing the problem. Ding Yi, biting his pipe, walks over to her slowly.
“If you truly understood the meaning of the universe contracting, your father’s death wouldn’t grieve you so much.”
Ding Yi’s words infuriate everyone there. The engineer stands suddenly. Her face grows red with fury. Tears fill her eyes.
“You’re not from this world! Perhaps compared to your universe, fathers aren’t much, but mine’s important to me. They’re important to us ordinary people! And your contraction, that’s just the frequency of light that can’t possibly be weaker in the night sky changing a little. Without precise instruments to amplify it over ten thousand times, no one can see even the change, not to mention the light in the first place. What is the contraction? As far as ordinary people are concerned, it’s nothing! The universe expanding or contracting, what’s the difference? But fathers are important to us. Do you understand?”
When the engineer realizes who she lost her temper to, she masters herself, then turns back to her work.
Ding Yi sighs, shaking his head. He says to the governor, “Yes, like you said, two worlds. Our world.” He waves his hand, drawing a circle around the physicists and cosmologists in the room, then points at the physicists. “Small scale is ten-quadrillionths of a millimeter.” He points at the cosmologists. “Large scale is ten billion light-years. This is a world that you can grasp only through imagination. Your world has the floods of the Yangtze River, tight budgets, dead and living fathers… a practical world. But what’s lamentable is people always want to separate the two worlds.”
“But you can see that they’re separate,” the governor says.
“No! Although elementary particles are tiny, we are made of them. Although the universe is vast, we are inside it. Every change in the microscopic and macroscopic world affects everything.”
“But what is the coming contraction going to affect?”
Ding Yi starts to laugh loudly. It’s not a nervous laugh. It seems to embody something mystical. It scares the hell out of everyone.
“Okay, physics student. Please recite what you remember about the relationship between space-time and matter.”
The governor, like a pupil, recites: “As proved by the theories of relativity and quantum physics that form modern physics, time and space cannot be separated from matter. They have no independent existence. There is no absolute space-time. Time, space, and the material world are all inextricably linked together.”
“Very good. But who truly understands this? You?” Ding Yi first asks the governor, then turns to the observatory head. “You?” Then to the engineer buried in her work. “You?” Then to the technicians in the auditorium. “You?” Then, finally, to the scientists. “Not even you? No, none of you understand. You still think of the universe in terms of absolute space-time as naturally as you stamp your feet on the ground. Absolute space-time is your ground. You have no way to leave it. Speaking of expansion and contraction, you believe that’s just the stars in space scattering and gathering in absolute space-time.”
As he speaks, he strolls to the glass display case, opens its door, then takes out the irreplaceable star atlas plate. He runs a hand lightly over its surface, admiring it. The observatory head nervously holds his hands beneath the plate to protect it. This treasure has been here for over twenty years and no hand has dared to touch it until now. The observatory head waits anxiously for Ding Yi to put the star atlas plate back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he flings the plate away.
The priceless ancient treasure lies on the carpet, smashed into too many pieces to count.
The air freezes. Everyone stares dumbstruck. Ding Yi continues his leisurely stroll, the only moving element in this deadlocked world. He continues to speak.
“Space-time and matter are not separable. The expansion and contraction of the universe comprises the whole of space-time. Yes, my friends, they comprise all of time and space!”
Another cracking sound rings through the room. It’s a glass cup that fell out of a physicist’s grasp. What shocks the physicists isn’t what shocks everyone else. It isn’t the star atlas plate. It’s what Ding Yi’s words imply.
“What you’re saying…” A cosmologist fixes his gaze on Ding Yi. His words catch in his throat.
“Yes.” Ding Yi nods, then says to the governor, “They understand now.”
“So, this is the meaning of the negative time parameter in the calculated result of the unified mathematical model?” a physicist blurts. Ding Yi nods.
“Why didn’t you announce this to the world earlier? You have no sense of responsibility!” another physicist shouts.
“What would be the point? It could have only caused global chaos. What can we do about space-time?”
“What are you all talking about?” the governor asks, bewildered.
“The contraction…” the observatory head, also an astrophysicist, mumbles as if he were dreaming. “The contraction of the universe will influence humanity?”
“Influence? No, it will change it completely.”
“What can it change?”
The scientists are scrambling to recalibrate their thoughts. No one answers him.
“Tell me, all of you, when the universe contracts or when the blueshift starts, what will happen?” the governor, now worried, asks.
“Time will play back,” Ding Yi answers.
“… Play back?” The governor looks at the observatory head, puzzled, then at Ding Yi.
“Time will flow backward,” the observatory head says.
The gigantic screen has been repaired. The magnificent universe appears on it. To better observe the contraction, computers process the image the space telescope returns to exaggerate the effect of the frequency shift in the visual range. Right now, the light all the stars and galaxies emit appears red on the screen to represent the redshift of the still-expanding universe. Once the contraction starts, they will all turn blue at once. A countdown appears on a corner of the screen: 150 seconds.
“Time has followed the expansion of the universe for about fourteen billion years, but now, there isn’t even three minutes of expansion left. Afterward, time will follow the contraction of the universe. Time will flow backward.” Ding Yi walks over to the stupefied observatory head, pointing at the smashed star atlas plate. “Don’t worry about this relic. Not long after the blueshift, its shattered pieces will fuse back together like new. It will return to the display case. After many years, it will return to the ground where it was buried. After thousands of years, it will return to a burning kiln, then become a ball of moist clay in the hands of an ancient astronomer….”
He walks to the young engineer. “And you don’t need to grieve your father. He will come back to life and you two will reunite soon. If your father is so important to you, then you should take comfort from this because, in the contracting universe, he will live longer than you. He will see you, his daughter, leave the world. Yes, we old folk will have all just started life’s journey and you young folk will have already entered your declining years. Or maybe your childhood.”
He returns to the governor. “If there is no past, the Yangtze River will never overflow its dykes during your term of office because there’s only one hundred seconds left to this universe. The contracting universe’s future is the expanding universe’s past. The greatest danger won’t occur until 1998. By then, though, you will be a child. It won’t be your responsibility. There’s still a minute. It doesn’t matter what you do now. There won’t be any consequences in the future. Everyone can do what they like and not worry about the future. There is no future now. As for me, I now just do what I wanted to do but couldn’t because of my tracheitis.” He digs out a bowl of tobacco from a pocket with his pipe. He lights the pipe, then smokes contentedly.