Ye felt this interminable wave was an abstract view of the universe: one end connected to the endless past, the other to the endless future, and in t… - Liu Cixin

The nurse picked up one of the umbrellas, which must have been fairly heavy, because she had to carry it over her shoulder. “Is it raining out?” She shook her head. “You think I’m carrying an … umbrella?” she said, unfamiliar with the last word. “If it’s not an umbrella, then what is it?” Luo Ji pointed to the device on her shoulder, imagining that she would say some peculiar name for it. But she didn’t. “It’s my bicycle,” she said.

What Ye disliked most was seeing the waves that slowly crawled across the display, a visual record of the meaningless noise Red Coast picked up from space. Ye felt this interminable wave was an abstract view of the universe: one end connected to the endless past, the other to the endless future, and in the middle only the ups and downs of random chance — without life, without pattern, the peaks and valleys at different heights like uneven grains of sand, the whole curve like a one-dimensional desert made of all the grains of sand lined up in a row, lonely, desolate, so long that it was intolerable. You could follow it and go forward or backward as long as you liked, but you’d never find the end.

At the end, an adult and a child stand in front of the grave of a Red Guard who had died during the faction civil wars. The child asks the adult, ‘Are they heroes?’ The adult says no. The child asks, ‘Are they enemies?’ The adult again says no. The child asks, ‘Then who are they?’ The adult says, ‘History.