My name is Chen Zhou, a physicist who has been trampled by the Institute of Physics for three years.
My lab notebook can record tomorrow before it happens.
With it, I saw every move Zhou Zhengqing would make at the review meeting. This time, I’m turning the tables.
But with every additional page of tomorrow I read, something else appears in the lab:
Another one of my coats, another pair of my glasses, another line of equations traced over in darker ink.
It’s as if “tomorrow’s me” is stepping out of the future and into this room, one step at a time.
Then a line appeared in the notebook:
“Stop changing things. Today is tomorrow.”
The handwriting belonged to the person who wrote it: me.
And later, I would discover something even more chilling:
This universe has always been stopping people from seeing its truth.
And everyone who has seen it has disappeared.
