Zhang Huan-An / First Passage
The curtains hung half-lifted, and twilight had already brushed the Tamsui riverside with a misty blend of gold and gray.Light filtered through the wooden lattice of the floor-to-ceiling windows, laying itself quietly across the floor.
Zhang Huan-An opened his eyes.
It did not feel like waking up, but rather… being awakened.His thoughts hadn't yet returned to their places, but his limbs had already begun to move of their own accord. His gaze lingered on the ceiling—briefly—feeling the softness beneath him. A bed, unfamiliar yet seemingly prepared for him, as if tailored for someone who never truly arrived.
This was not his world.He knew it the moment he opened his eyes.
In that moment, Yang An-Ting opened her eyes.
She didn't know where she was—only that something had pulled her out of a deep dream.
Everything was still. The clocks were frozen, raindrops suspended midair like forgotten artifacts of a world left behind.She stood before a mirror, but the reflection staring back wasn't her own.It was—Li An-Qing.
It wasn't an illusion. It was a gaze across time.Li An-Qing looked directly at her, standing on the other side of the mirror-world's edge. Her lips moved—no sound, but the words were felt.
"Do you remember? That day, I stayed. You walked away."
Yang An-Ting didn't speak.She simply lifted her hand, pressing it against the cold surface, reaching for the familiar figure she could never touch.
"If you've already remembered… then that's enough."
It was a version of herself, in another timeline, saying the words her present self couldn't bring to her lips—as silent tears traced her cheek.
—
The air was tinged with faint scents of wood and sea salt.The walls were coated in minimalist white, a Japanese aesthetic—spacious, yet unadorned. A traveler's stop, perhaps. Clean. Quiet. Intentionally left incomplete.
He slowly sat up. A pressure swelled in his head, as though too many memories had been compressed and stirred together inside his mind. He reached out; the skin of his palm was dry, yet his fingertips registered every texture with painful clarity.
"…You're awake?"
He turned his head.
The voice was soft—and unfamiliar.
Near the window, a girl sat cross-legged at the edge of the tatami, uncapping a water bottle and opening a small bento box. Her movements were unhurried, natural—as though she had been waiting a long time.
She wore a simple white T-shirt and a khaki long skirt. Her hair was tied casually, glowing with a touch of golden brown under the dusk light.
She turned toward him, gave a nod, and smiled gently."You've been asleep for almost three hours. I figured you'd be hungry, so I didn't start without you."
Zhang Huan-An looked at her—not with panic, but with a strange sense of disconnection.He was certain they had never met. And yet, something about her didn't feel entirely out of place. He wanted to ask "Who are you?" but the words never made it to his lips.
—
He looked down at what he wore—a soft, dark gray shirt and faded lounge pants. A suitcase lay open by the window, its contents neatly arranged—like a simulation of a life, prepared by someone else.
"…Where is this place?" he finally asked, his voice hollow.
"The room you booked—yesterday, I think?" she said casually, though her eyes studied him. "You said you were exhausted and went straight to sleep."
"…I booked it?"
"Mm. You said you just finished walking from Baishatun to Dajia, and planned to rest here in Tamsui for a few days." She nudged a box of rice balls toward him. "Doesn't matter if you don't remember. You looked really tired, so I didn't ask much."
He nodded slightly, taking the box.
Every word she spoke made sense, yet each one echoed with the strange aftertaste of implanted data. He knew exactly how to respond, how to act like his "usual self"—but that self no longer belonged to him.
The silence between their words.
He didn't eat much. Just chewed slowly, absently, gripping the cup of water until it warmed in his hand. His body responded to hunger—but his soul lagged behind, as if this shell had awakened without waiting for its true inhabitant.
She said no more, scrolling through her phone in silence.On the screen: a news article about the Mazu pilgrimage ending, with pilgrims flocking to the northern coast for a short vacation.
Zhang Huan-An quietly noted the date: May 17, 2024. Friday.It wasn't just unfamiliar—it felt like something had been set in motion.
—
He set down the empty cup and glanced at the old wooden clock on the wall.18:40.
He knew this was the beginning of a Friday anomaly, though he couldn't yet say why.
"I'm going to take a walk," he said quietly.
Yang An-Ting nodded. "Be careful. It's getting dark."
He slipped on his shoes and stepped outside—leaving the room where he had awakened, though it had never truly belonged to him.
Zhang Huan-An / First Walk with Yang An-Ting
"I was just about to head out too," she said lightly, gathering the trash. "The wind might pick up soon—shall we walk while it's still calm?"
He nodded without thinking.
Outside, the sky had faded into a warm orange-red.The inn sat beside a slope, descending along the hillside into the heart of Tamsui Old Street. In the distance, the river glistened silver beneath the dying sun.
There were people—strolling, queuing, chatting by food stalls.The air carried the scent of fried fish, tempura, and herbal tea. A scene so normal it bordered on surreal, as though waking from one dream only to find oneself in another.
—
He walked beside Yang An-Ting without speaking.She didn't seem to mind the silence, merely adjusting to his pace. Sometimes she pointed ahead: "That fish ball place is famous, but it's too crowded today. Let's come back another time."
He heard her words, and the wind, and the street vendors calling out—but every sound felt distant, as if muffled through water.
He could not fully enter this timeline.He knew this was the real world—but his way of being alive was still caught in the remnants of a self unformed.
—
At the intersection of Zhongzheng Road, they paused to watch the sea.
The sun sank into the layer of clouds between the mountains and the water, casting long, slanting shadows of their figures onto the old street's stone pavement.
And suddenly—Zhang Huan-An felt that this moment—This river,This light,This shadow,And the girl standing beside him—Had all appeared in a dream before.
Not a hallucination, but a flood of déjà vu.As if this street existed in another world of his, just rearranged—different light, different people, different time.
—
"You don't look well," she said softly, turning to him—not with alarm, but with gentle observation.
"…I'm okay." He lowered his voice, then added, almost to himself:"It's just… I feel like I've seen this place before."
"Have you been to Tamsui before?"
"…I don't remember," he said honestly.
"Then let's just say it's your first time," she smiled. "Some places feel familiar when we visit them for the first time. Maybe it's from a past life."
He said nothing.Her tone wasn't teasing, nor convinced—just a casual comfort.Or maybe… she had already seen through the fact that he wasn't entirely himself.
—
On the walk back, Zhang Huan-An slowed his steps on purpose, glancing once more at the darkening river.
He didn't know what would happen in the coming months, or whether this body would ever allow him to truly awaken.
But one thing he knew:Some memories in this city—Were waiting to be called back into the light.