The Mirror of Multiplicities

Inspired as I was writing my new novel

Prologue

I received an email from a publisher while waiting for the rain to stop in a Beijing café. The message was cryptically brief: "We've received a peculiar manuscript, reportedly left by your friend Yang Mingyuan. His will specifically requested that you write its preface. The manuscript has been sent to you via an encrypted link."

I remembered Yang Mingyuan, a writer who had wandered abroad for years. We had met briefly at a literary festival. News of his death had caused a momentary ripple of sighs in literary circles before being quickly forgotten. I was surprised to find myself named in his will.

Opening the link, I saw the title: "Shadows in Foreign Lands." The document didn't begin with the novel itself, but with the author's notes:

As I finished the final chapter of "Shadows in Foreign Lands," I sat on a balcony in Lisbon's old town, sunlight falling through the gaps between buildings onto the back of my typing hands. In that moment, I realized I hadn't just completed a novel, I had completed a phase of myself.

These words resonated deeply with me. Reading further, I began to understand the novel's unique nature. It told the story of a female writer named Nora who was creating a novel called "The Mirror of Multiplicities," whose protagonist was writing a book about their own writing process. Each narrative level reflected different fragments of the author's soul.

I.

Thirteen days later, I boarded a flight to Lisbon. This sudden journey stemmed from a discovery: Yang Mingyuan wasn't “dead” dead, at least, there was no official death certificate. The "will" received by the publisher was merely an email sent from Yang's account, dated three weeks ago.

On the plane, I reread "Shadows in Foreign Lands". The novel unfolded with a peculiar structure: each chapter simultaneously told three parallel storylines: Nora's real life, the content of "The Mirror of Multiplicities" that Nora was creating, and the book about the writing process that the protagonist of "The Mirror of Multiplicities" was writing. These three threads mirrored each other like three reflecting surfaces, sometimes overlapping, sometimes sharply divergent.

What fascinated me most was the novel's exploration of the "TCA" (Third Culture Adult) concept. In his foreword, Yang wrote:

The motivation behind this novel began when I encountered the concept of TCA. TCA, or Third Culture Adult, represents an identity state often overlooked in our generation. We aren't traditional "international students" or "expatriates," nor do we fully belong to our native cultures anymore. We move between different languages, countries, and time zones, living fluid lives, yet often carrying a deep, ineffable sense of displacement.

In the novel, Nora created a virtual community called "Ideaville," gathering TCAs from around the world. They communicated on the platform in multiple languages, sharing their thoughts on identity and belonging. Meanwhile, in "The Mirror of Multiplicities" that Nora was writing, the protagonist established an art project called "Shadows in Foreign Lands," inviting those living at cultural margins to create works about "home."

Through this recursive structure, Yang explored a key question: When our identities are constructed from multiple cultures, how does our self-perception form? Do we truly possess a stable core identity, or are we merely multiple projections under various cultural influences?

II.

The air in Lisbon was infused with the saltiness of the Atlantic and the aged scent of history. Following the address mentioned in Yang's will, I arrived at an ancient building in the Arroios district. The property manager, an elderly Portuguese woman, told me in broken English that Mr. Yang had indeed lived here until three months ago, when he suddenly left, leaving behind only a month's rent and a key.

"He was a quiet man," she said. "Always sitting on the balcony, writing. Sometimes I saw him staring at his own hands, as if they weren't his own."

I was allowed to enter Yang's apartment, a modest studio with a balcony overlooking a narrow alley where sunlight only briefly penetrated at noon. The room contained almost no personal items, just a few books on the desk. Among them were Jorge Luis Borges' "Ficciones" and Ted Chiang's "Stories of Your Life and Others," both in Portuguese.

Besides those books, I discovered a black notebook. Opening it, I found Yang's handwritten notes, mostly in Chinese, occasionally interspersed with fragments of English and Portuguese. On the last page was written:

Today I realized a possibility: if reality is multi-layered, if we are all characters in someone's writing, then completing a story might mean transitioning from one narrative level to another. I wrote a story about writing, and the character in my story is also writing a story about writing. Does this mean that when she completes her story, I will also complete mine? What happens when I finish my story? Will I be transported to another narrative level?

This passage sent a chill through me. It reminded me of Borges' "The Circular Ruins," a story about a man who dreams another man into existence, only to discover that he himself is merely a character in someone else's dream.

III.

I decided to trace Yang's footsteps. In his notebook, I found several recurring locations: São Jorge Castle, Belém Tower, and a place called "Shadows in Foreign Lands Café." The latter clearly shared its name with the art project in his novel, which caught my attention.

On Lisbon's ancient tram, I searched city maps but found no such café. It wasn't until I posted an inquiry on a literary forum that a user named "TCA_Nora" sent me a private message:

"Shadows in Foreign Lands Café isn't on any map because it's not a physical establishment, but a floating gathering. Every Thursday evening, a group of cross-cultural wanderers meets at different locations to discuss identity, language, and the sense of belonging. If you wish to attend, be at the fountain in Praça do Comércio tomorrow at 8 PM."

The message gave me pause. The name "TCA_Nora" seemed too coincidental. Nora was a fictional character in Yang's novel. This could be a prank or some literary game. Nevertheless, I decided to keep the appointment, as it was my only lead.

The following evening, I stood by the fountain in Praça do Comércio, waiting for the mysterious "Shadows in Foreign Lands Café." At exactly eight, an Asian woman approached me and asked, "Are you here for 'Shadows in Foreign Lands'?"

She introduced herself as Qiao Jia, a Chinese architecture student in Portugal. Together, we walked to an inconspicuous pub near the square, where about a dozen people sat together, speaking different languages yet maintaining a remarkably harmonious atmosphere.

"I saw your post on the forum," said Qiao Jia. "I'm not Nora, but I use that ID because Yang’s works had a profound impact on me. Yang was a regular here; this is where he conceptualized that novel."

"Where is he now?" I asked directly.

Qiao Jia's expression grew complex: "He said he needed to complete the final chapter, and then he would know the answer. After finishing that chapter, he never appeared again."

"What answer?"

"He was exploring a question: if our identities are constructed from the stories we tell, what do we become when the story ends?"

IV.

At the "Shadows in Foreign Lands" gathering, I met TCAs from various countries. Some had grown up in one country but received education in another; some had parents from different cultural backgrounds; others had moved frequently for work, having no single place they could call "home." Many of them had read "Shadows in Foreign Lands" and found their own reflections in the book.

A German-American named Mark told me: "Yang Mingyuan did something incredible. He articulated our shared experience, that sense of displacement that cannot be fully expressed in any single language. But more remarkably, he seemed to transcend traditional identity concepts through his writing."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I believe he discovered a possibility: if our identities are constructed from the stories we tell and are told about us, then by creating a new narrative level, we can redefine ourselves," Mark paused. "At the last gathering before his disappearance, he said he was attempting an experiment. He wanted to enter the new world created by his novel by completing 'Shadows in Foreign Lands.'"

It sounded like mystical nonsense, but considering the passage in Yang's notebook, I began to wonder: if we take Borges' ideas to their logical extreme, if narrative truly can create reality, could a sufficiently powerful story create a new world in which one could dwell?

Qiao Jia showed me Yang's regular spot, a small corner by the window. On the underside of the table, I found small words carved with a knife:

I write novels about writing novels, then transform that process into another story. These layers of narrative become yet another book, a recursive loop that mirrors my destiny itself.

This was exactly the English sentence from the end of "Shadows in Foreign Lands." But at the very end, I noticed three words that were carved more deeply than the rest: "mirrors my destiny."

V.

In the following days, I examined Yang's other works, seeking more clues. In his newsletter, he wrote:

We are all prisoners of language, trapped within the words and concepts we know. For TCAs, this imprisonment is particularly evident, as we often feel the gulf between languages: concepts that are clearly expressible in one language become vague or disappear in another. But if we could create a new language, one that transcends existing limitations, might we attain true freedom?

This passage reminded me of the "heptapod" language in Ted Chiang's "Story of Your Life," an alien language capable of simultaneously expressing linear and non-linear time. Yang seemed to be attempting something similar: a narrative form capable of accommodating multiple cultural identities.

"Shadows in Foreign Lands" was the product of this attempt. It wasn't merely a novel about TCAs, but a new mode of expression, a linguistic experiment reflecting the multiplicity of identity through recursive narrative structures.

On my last day in Lisbon, I returned to Yang's apartment, hoping to discover overlooked clues. In a hidden corner under the coffee table, I found a USB drive. When inserted into the computer, it contained only an encrypted folder and a text document. The document's content was brief:

If you've found this USB drive, you're approaching the truth. The folder contains the complete version of "Shadows in Foreign Lands," including the ending I removed at the last moment. The password is the reverse of the final words you found at "Shadows in Foreign Lands." Remember: when you read this ending, you become part of the experiment. If my theory is correct, perhaps we'll meet again in another narrative level.

I entered "destiny my mirrors" as the password, and the folder opened. Inside was a Word document titled "Shadows in Foreign Lands (The True Ending)."

VI.

I began reading this so-called "true ending." It described the moment after Nora completed "The Mirror of Multiplicities":

When Nora wrote the final word of "The Mirror of Multiplicities," she felt a strange dizziness. Looking at her hands, she sensed they were becoming transparent. The light in the room began to distort, the outlines of objects blurring. She realized she was experiencing exactly what her novel's protagonist had described: a transition from one narrative level to another.

Nora closed her eyes, feeling this transformation. When she opened them again, she found herself standing in a café in an unfamiliar city. A mirror hung on the wall; she approached it and saw herself, but not entirely the face she remembered. In this new reality, she had slightly different features, as if a variant of her original self.

The café's television was broadcasting news, showing the date as April 12, 2027. In the world where she completed her novel, it had been April 12, 2025. Nora understood: she had successfully created a new reality through her novel and projected herself into it.

She took out her phone and found a contact named "Author" in her address book. After hesitating, she dialed the number.

"Hello," answered a voice both familiar and strange, "I guess you've completed the journey."

"Yes," Nora replied, "but I have a question: Is this new reality real?"

The voice on the phone fell silent for a few seconds, then laughed. "That depends on how you define 'real.' In my view, all realities are constructed from stories. I created you, just as someone created me. And now, you've created a new reality through your own story. In this chain, who can say which is more 'real'?"

Nora looked outside to a city both strange and familiar. It wasn't any place she remembered, yet it seemed to combine elements from all the important cities in her life.

"So what should I do now?" she asked.

"Keep writing," the voice answered. "Create new stories, new realities. Perhaps one day, when you open a book, you'll discover it's a story about you written by another 'you.' At that point, the cycle will be complete."

After reading this passage, I felt a wave of vertigo, as if pulled into an infinite corridor of mirrors. This ending suggested that Yang Mingyuan, by completing "Shadows in Foreign Lands," had created a new reality and projected himself into it, or at least, he believed he had.

I closed the computer and walked to the balcony. Lisbon's dusk wrapped the ancient city, sunlight slanting through the gaps between buildings, falling precisely on the back of my hand. This scene matched exactly the one Yang described when finishing his final chapter.

An absurd thought flashed through my mind: if Yang's theory were correct, if he truly had created a new reality through writing and entered it, was I now standing in that reality he created? Was I a character in his story, repeating his experience?

Epilogue

Back in Beijing, I began writing this article about "Shadows in Foreign Lands" and Yang Mingyuan's disappearance. As the words accumulated, I couldn't shake a thought: I was repeating Yang's pattern, creating a story about his story-creation.

Following Yang's logic, this meant I too was creating a new narrative level, a potential new reality. What would happen when I completed this article? Would I, like Yang, disappear into the reality of my own creation?

More unsettling was my discovery when researching TCAs: the concept had almost no academic record. It was as if it weren't the result of Yang's research, but a concept he created. Yet why did it resonate so strongly with me and the people at "Shadows in Foreign Lands"? Was it because it truly described an existing state, or because we were already part of the reality Yang created?

I decided to publish this article as a preface to "Shadows in Foreign Lands," allowing more people to learn about this strange story. Perhaps someday, a reader will find their life uncannily similar to scenarios described in the novel, and begin questioning the reality they inhabit.

As I write these final words, sunlight streams through my window, falling on the back of my hand. I pause, looking at my hand, pondering Yang's question: what do we become when the story ends?

Perhaps the answer lies in the story itself. Perhaps we are all characters in each other's stories, shadows in foreign lands, reflecting each other, forming an endless narrative cycle.

And now, as you read these words, you too have become part of this cycle.

— Zhang Beichen, Spring 2025, Beijing