My existence began with a failed leap.

I thought I could jump over — from a window sill to the external air conditioner opposite. But the moment I jumped, the sun moved an inch and shone on my feet. With just a little light, I was like a drop of ink falling into the water, and my body fainted and dissipated in the air. I fell down, not falling, but melting. Then in the shadow of the mailbox downstairs, I gathered again and formed, and my heart (if the shadow has a heart) beat wildly. It turns out that light is not a scenery, but death.

In this game, I am a lost shadow. My master and I — a hurried city man — were washed away by the headlights when we were crossing the road. Now, I have to jump back to him in a huge, strange and hostile city. My world is two-dimensional, and I can only move on the shadow surface of walls, signboards and vehicles. Light is my sea, and I am a fish that can only live at the bottom of the sea.

Moving is a silent language. I must learn to “read” all the shadows cast by the city. The narrow strips of the eaves, the grille of the railing, and the swaying spots of the roadway trees. Jumping from one dark place to another, the air illuminated by light in the middle is the realm of nothingness that must be crossed at the fastest speed. I quickly learned the rhythm: the postman passed by at 3:10, and his backpack would pull a long, moving bridge on the ground; at 4 p.m., the west sun would turn the glass curtain wall of the whole building into a scorching golden desert, which was impassable. I live according to the light’s schedule.

The sound of the city was distorted. The traffic is not a noise, but a curtain to cover my jumping sound. People’s talk and laughter came from above, vague and distant, like a broadcast of another dimension. The clearest sound is myself — the slight “click” when the soles of the feet (perhaps the end of the shadow) leave the wall, and the softer “poof” when it falls on the next plane. These two sounds make up my footsteps, a beat lighter than silence.

The loneliest moment is not to hide, but to stay. Once, I was stuck between two unconnected shadows, and in front of me was a long sunshine road. I had to wait. I huddled in the shadow of the fire hydrant and watched human shoes come and go in front of me. Leather shoes, sneakers, high heels, slippers for dog walking. So solid, so hasty, no pair stopped, let alone noticed the thicker ink stains at the foot of the fire hydrant than other places. When you are a shadow, you can really see who is the master of the city and how indifferent they are to the darkness they cast.

I met other shadows. They are not companions, but road signs and warnings. A cat shadow trapped in the light spot of the dead end completely faded and disappeared after repeated collisions. The shadow of a flag fluttered and twisted wildly, as if it was making a squeak that I couldn’t hear. The most unforgettable thing is the shadows of a pair of lovers, hugging for a long time under the street lamp, merging into a warm, shapeless darkness. I stayed next to them for a long time, feeling the incomprehensible peace that came from the darkness. Then the lights went out, and they disappeared, leaving only me and a colder night.

At the end of the journey, I recognized the shadow of the master. He sat on the park bench, bowing his head, and the light of the screen in his hand lit up his tired face. His shadow was at his feet, a mass of lifeless ink marks slightly deformed with his posture. I just need to jump over and blend in. The game will be over and I will “go home”.

But I hesitated. I jumped around him. From the shadow of the bench, jump to his shadow, and then jump to the shadow of a tree next to it. I am used to living as an independent shadow, thinking, fearing and waiting between the gap between light and darkness. Going back means becoming a silent and unconscious accessory under his feet again, and it means forgetting these thrilling and sober moments spent on the air conditioner, mailbox and fire hydrant.

Finally, I jumped over. At the moment of fusion, there was no sound or special effects, but the screen slowly darkened. But I know that something is different. As a player, I can no longer look at the shadow under my feet with my previous eyes.

After quitting the game, I walked to the window. In the afternoon, the sun was fierce, and the outline of the whole city was clear, and the black and white were clear. I lowered my head and saw that my shadow was firmly nailed under my feet, so obedient and flat.

I suddenly missed the outcast and bold shadow. I miss those moments of jumping on the edge of death, and the small and safe darkness under the fire hydrant. The real loneliness may not be that the shadow can’t find the master, but that the master never realizes that the darkness under his feet may also have a soul that is eager to jump and find his own rhythm in the cracks of the light.

SCHiM doesn’t tell a grand story. It only did one thing: let me become a shadow and live for two hours. And these two hours have changed the way I look at light. Now, whenever the sun goes down, everything casts a long shadow. I always feel that the most real and abundant life in this city may have just begun to pass through the walls and on the ground.