The seemingly endless stairs of the tower left the priest feeling as if he was climbing a gigantic structure that ascended to heaven itself.God is eternal，all powerful，all knowing，and his compassion is freely given to all beings in existence，the priest thought.How could it be that an allpowerful being like God，with his boundless wisdom，could have become afraid when people of times past tried to build the tower of Babel？Where，after all，is heaven？Is it up？In this ever expanding universe of ours，is it still up？With every scientific advancement，at first it has always seemed as if religion was on the verge of being overthrown.Eventually，though，people always seem to find a way to compromise.Does this mean science will never be able to truly save humanity？
Only now，none of these questions were as important as the question of where they might go next to find food.
The priest reflected back on his memories of receiving communion for the first time，during mass.The bread and wine symbolized the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ.By eating and drinking Him，then we allowed Him to be one with us.His belt was old and tough，impossible to chew，but he managed to cut it into smaller pieces，which he swallowed one by one after soaking them in his saliva.Kronos ate his children，the cyclops roasted the companions of Odysseus，Zhang Xun cut up his concubine and fed her to his soldiers during the siege of Suiyang，and Count Ugolino ate his own flesh and blood in a high tower—in history，people have long since eaten one another，and even today they are still eating one another.Masses of bubble fish floated outside the tower watching him，as if the sky outside the narrow window was an enormous fish tank.
The stench lingered in the valley.
After the two miners died，and the would-be hunters became prey for the others.This was the banquet that the men of the valley had been waiting for.A great fire was lit，and the water in the pot was brought to a frothy boil.Drawing strength from the self-sacrificing spirit of the two minors，they managed to survive for another week，but rescue seemed to be just as distant as before.Miraculously，the priest managed to survive，finding the tubers that the professor had given him to have boundless applications，with a single slice providing him sufficient calories to last a great while.The professor himself had become thin and emaciated，his eyes bloodshot.A slight breeze was enough to bring him to the ground，but his spirits remained strong，and his complexion unusually ruddy.Drinking water non-stop，a row of blisters had sprouted on his cracked lips.This was most likely a side effect of the treatments he had given himself for malaria.
It had been a long time since anyone had worked on the fence.It was not until the call of the beast was heard within the valley that they became aware that a small hole had once again been dug in the barrier.This time，instead of being afraid，they struck back at the beast under the leadership of the captain，the flames of victory leaving them feverish.Using shovels，sticks，knives，even their fingernails and teeth，they managed to snatch a corpse from the mouth of the beast，which had been made weak from hunger.
When the captain managed to use a knife to chop a leg free from mouth of the beast he felt like he was finally in control of the situation again.In the past he had had times of hesitation，he had had times of confusion，even fear.His training had taught him to feel ashamed of such emotions—but everything was better now.Now that he knew the path forward，he was no longer worried about anything，because he knew that he would survive to be rescued.Happiness clouded his brain，and as he watched the beast scurry through the hole in the fence，he held the hairy leg of the chemistry professor in one hand，laughing.
He soon realized that the priest was standing nearby，watching him，with his skull-like face twisted up in pain.The captain immediately straightened up and stopped laughing.Anger toward the priest bubbled up，unbidden.what right does he have to look at me like that？When survival is on the line，what’s the point of having convictions？Believer or non-believer，when disaster strikes it doesn’t make a difference either way.The captain began to hack away at the professor’s leg，methodically chopping and slicing，wastefully letting bits of meat fall to the ground.Without checking with the others，he could already tell that they all found the priest’s behavior infuriating.
Even after rinsing the remains of the professor in the fountain，the smell of herbal medicine lingered on his corpse and after a long time they gave up trying.The smell had permeated all the way down into the muscle and bone，making him taste especially delicious.The slender，half-mauled corpse of the professor barely lasted them a single night before every last bit was eaten up.They’d barely had a chance to taste him，but now they were hungry again，and needed more food.
The priest sat cross-legged in the cavity.His awareness spread outwards，encompassing the shining white crystals which surrounded him，countless as grains of sand in the mighty Ganges.Vibrating，resonating，the sound was as vast as it was miniscule，like the sound of silkworms chewing mulberry，or rain falling on the broad leaves of the plantain.A stream of information as expansive as the universe flowed through the room，passing through the arch of the hothouse-like structure and directly into his brain.Images from his childhood flashed in his mind，and then more images，of the distant past，of things he had never experienced.What is the origin of desire？Vibrations，vibrations，like wing-beat of a butterfly.The world is an illusion，a white haired man said to him.I dreamed of a butterfly，but only the butterfly is real.
Upon opening his eyes，the priest was greeted with the sight of a butterfly，its wings patterned in black and red.The butterfly was of a sort found only on Earth，as it passed through one of the narrow windows，the early morning light caught the gold in its wings，sending arcs of light off into void.
Could it be that I’m hallucinating？In a flash，the realization of what had just happened coursed throughout his body and he became extremely frightened.Most likely this was a dream within a dream，an illusion within an illusion.He simply imagined that he was hallucinating.The fear，however，was fleeting.What did it matter if the world was an illusion？An illusion of an illusion was nothing more than an illusion.Looking up at the paintings on the wall，he realized he could read them as if they were text：
The Buddha said to his disciple Subhūti：All that has form is an illusion.[Line from the Diamond Sutra]
If this was true，then things with form could also emerge from illusion.Dear god，is it really possible？The priest closed his eyes.Could the world really like be like the ancient story of the’golden millet dream’？Are we all just poor innkeepers dreaming of becoming of becoming men of wealth and power？He began to imagine a freshly baked bun，yellow and piping hot.A piercing pain racked his brain as his mind resonated with the crystals around him.Upon opening his eyes，the priest discovered that a bun really had appeared，complete with toasted sesame seeds on top，and a curlicue of steam spiraling above it.
Tears sprang forth from his withered eye sockets，falling one at a time.The imagined bun was edible and filling.I found food！This is the secret of the reclusive sect.In the past I thought that forsaking desire was the path to eliminating desire.I was wrong，though.Is there anything that better demonstrates the suffering caused by desire better than having all of one’s desire fulfilled？
He left the bun on the ground to let it cool.Feeling as if his head was full of buzzing stars，he wondered if this was miracle or science，to have a planet filled with vibrations.As Plato once asked，what is thought and what is matter？I should have realized sooner that thought is a kind of vibration，the synaptic spark which passes between neurons.The unique structure and materials of this tower，even the planet itself，serve to amplify the power of thought.With only faith and imagination，and we can create a whole new world for ourselves.
Enduring an intense headache，the priest constructed a communicator in his mind.As the image became clearer and clearer，it emerged as if from the mist，suddenly landed on the floor of the room with a piercing sound，a real，fresh sound，sending out a blue light which pierced his brain like a knife.With feverish hands he stroked the device before deciding to go down to find the others，who knew better than he how to use it.Even better，now they could use meditation and faith to get food.He stood up，staggering，and almost fell back down.His prolonged meditation had left him impossibly weak.
The communicator was too heavy.There was simply no way for him to carry the eighty-pound device down some six-hundred steps.He crawled to the steps and began to slowly make his way down the winding stairwell.
A soft breeze wafted through the air.The others stood around the pot in the square.The fire blazed and the water was already boiling hot，but they hadn’t even decided who was going to die yet.The priest rushed forward to tell the captain that he had completed his task.Food！I found food！All we need to have is faith，and we will have salvation.It was so simple，hallelujah！
They others formed a semi-circle around the priest，like a choir in church.They looked at him kindly.Far above them in the sky，He who had sacrificed himself observed the scene with compassion.The captain stood in middle of the group.From the corner of his eye，the priest saw the boiler tender drawing close，carrying an iron mace fashioned from a shovel.Standing stiffly erect，the priest became aware that he was on trial.Taking advantage of his last chance，he raised his hand and pointed upwards，beginning to say in a raw voice，“I’ve discovered…”
The words were cut short by a heavy blow to the back of his head.His last conscious impressions were the sound of boiling water，the white teeth of the men，the fish swimming through the air，and the beast roaring in the distance，as if beckoning him with a bugle call.
Above it all，the high hunger tower pierced the sky.
Security Check
by Han Song，translated by Ken Liu
1
My wife and I are celebrating our twentieth anniversary today.After work，I walk to the mall and pick out a necklace for her；then I walk to the subway station in the mall to take the train home.
Subway stations are everywhere in New York City，and I do mean everywhere.The lines connect the most expensive neighborhoods with the poorest slums，and stations can be found in every shopping center，office building，theater，restaurant，nightclub，bar，church…
A group of security agents，dressed in black uniforms with red armbands，are stationed at the entrance.They stand with their arms held behind their backs，their feet planted firmly apart，and survey the crowd with cold gazes.I try to go by them nonchalantly，but my legs start going rubbery as soon as I meet their gaze.I take off my jacket without prompting and place it—the necklace nestled in a pocket—and my briefcase into the yawning，dark maw of the x-ray machine.
After the security check，they place a“safe”sticker on my chest.
Dazed and numb，I get on the subway.All the other passengers are also wearing“safe”stickers.Preoccupied，none of us say a word.
We’re at my stop.I walk home.My wife is already there.Trembling，I take out the necklace and hand it to her.She forces a smile and tries the necklace once before putting it away.We eat dinner in silence，as is our habit.And then we go to bed，laying back to back，both of us quickly falling asleep.
We first met twenty years ago，also at a subway stop.Back then，everything was falling apart，and lawlessness reigned.One day，someone shouted that a killer was slashing at people in the subway，and we all panicked and stampeded.A woman in front of me fell；I rushed to help her up…
Later，she said to me，“No matter how chaotic the world becomes，as long as you’re with me，I’ll feel safe.”
Twenty years have passed，and life has been rendered one hundred percent safe，cleansed of all risks，dangers，and perils.It seems we’re left with nothing.
2
The loudspeakers installed in our neighborhood wake me up at four in the morning by blaring out the security briefing for the day.Only half awake，I fumble for my phone.
Old habits die hard.Phones have been abandoned a long time ago，after all the telecom companies ceased operations and the Internet was cut off.All of it had been done to make us safe.
My wife and I get up and leave separately to take the subway to work.She’s not wearing the necklace I gave her，and I pretend not to notice.
I walk by myself quietly.Under the dim streetlamps，pedestrians on the sidewalk scurry like a dull，gray swarm of rats，each clutching a briefcase，completely silent.Soon，I reach the station，where long lines of people wait to enter.Although advancing technology has sped up security checks，there are just too many people who must be processed.In this day and age，the subway is the only means of transportation left in the United States of America，all other modes having been outlawed.
More than an hour later，I finally reach the x-ray machine.Once again，I clench my teeth，and，though I’m fantasizing striding into the stationright past the security checkpoint，I do not even try to step out of line.One time，I did see someone try that stunt，and the security agents had seized him right away and dragged him into a small cell next to the platform where they beat him to death as we all listened.
The train arrives in Manhattan.From the station I enter the office building through a tunnel.One by one，my colleagues arrive，their faces numb with exhaustion.How many of them have entertained the same fantasy of getting on the subway without going through security check？
In the restroom，Hoffman whispers to me，“Did you try it today？”
I shake my head.“Why do we suffer from this peculiar yearning？”
“Freedom.”
Every time Hoffman utters the word it sounds strange and chilling，even though I’ve heard it countless times.
He continues，“I want to live a life in which I am trusted，not watched and controlled…what about you，Louis？”
“I want to give my wife a gift.We’ve been married for twenty years.”Once again，I feel terrible.I ask，“When would I ever get a chance to give her a gift that hasn’t been changed？”
“Women don’t care about that，”Hoffman says，he means to comfort me.“She knows you’ve done your best.”
“No，she does care.If we keep on going like this，we’re headed for divorce.She and I don’t live in a vacuum.The bond between us—the bond between everyone—requires the sustenance of the ordinary objects of daily life.But whatever we buy ends up passing through the security checkpoints：the food we eat，the water we drink，cups，books，televisions，refrigerators，computers，the bed we sleep on，even wedding bands and condoms…you understand.”Tears crawl down my face.
One time，Hoffman told me that the machine they use at security checkpoints isn’t really an x-ray machine.The government confiscates everything you put in；whatever emerges from the machine may look indistinguishable from what went in，but it has in fact been reconstituted.Atom by atom，the new objects are assembled，printed，and returned to the passenger.The process takes but an instant because our technology is so advanced.The new objects conform perfectly to the new American national security standards，with all elements deemed dangerous removed.If the objects contained any gasoline，it would be turned into water；if there were a gun，the bullets would be turned into rubber；if a computer contained harmful knowledge，it would be deleted and replaced with sanitized information.
