A Few Nameless People

When he woke, he couldn’t remember his name. He only remembered that it was short, and that there had been an afternoon filled with cicada cries, long and scorching, stretching endlessly on. He didn’t know who he was, why he was in a cultivation pod, or what the pale golden rings around his eyes were. He only knew he had always been searching for something, something he couldn’t name. Later, he met someone. That person said that every star in the universe traded in emotions: love could become fuel, hatred could become a weapon, memories could be bought and sold at a fixed price, and he was a key. He met more people. Some protected him, some hunted him down, some called him a tool, some called him an object. Someone whispered “Run” in his ear, then fired a gun at his back. Each of them had their own desires, and each wanted to take something from him: his emotions, his memories, his name. So he kept running. The farther he ran, the emptier he became, and the emptier he became, the farther he ran, until one day he realized... The person who had always stayed by his side had never existed. He held the air and cried for a long time. Then he went to the edge of the universe, where there was a door. Someone said that beyond it was the place where all emotions returned. Once you went in, you would vanish completely, and nothing would remain. He thought about it and decided he had nothing to begin with. So he pushed the door open. There was nothing beyond it. Or perhaps, there was everything.