It is called a pancake by day and a fruit by night, and it is only at dusk and dawn that it resumes its body as a pancake fruit. When I came across it, it was strolling in the alley, like the shadow cast by an empty bucket on the wall, or the work of a graffiti artist scribbling in the corner, sloppily, but it caught me at once. Fifty years later, I remember how I crouched down gently, but grabbed it without hesitation. In fact, it grabbed me. I think so now. I took it home to Pudong, and for a time I called it Silence because of its reticence, until I later ran into my husband, who called it Pancake Fruit. According to Plato, everything in the world is the result of the retreat of ideas to different degrees, and likewise, it is a projection of the idea of "cat" in the old town of Shanghai. I grabbed it, not because I wanted to pursue the idea behind the appearance, but because its look grabbed me. At that moment, the porch light suddenly went out, there was a blackout, the house was pitch black, and do you know the best way to make a black and white painting disappear? That's to put it into some kind of darkness. That was it. I couldn't see it, and I searched anxiously for it. My husband tooted out of bed, opened the door very loudly and yawned, "The power's out." I said. He continued to yawn and got a flashlight from the tool cabinet behind the door to change the fuse. When the lights came back on, the fruit was no longer visible in the room, and even the sound was gone. My jaw dropped, followed by a bit of hysteria, and my husband consoled me by tossing and turning for half the night, "I think it should be back by sunrise." He said indifferently. The fruit didn't come back at dawn, nor did the pancake. Ten years later, I was sitting on the left bank of the Seine, in the same café where the Sartre's used to sit, bored and flipping through a pet magazine. To my surprise, I glanced at page fifty-eight and saw pancakes, or fruit. The article was written by one of Michelle's people, who profiles famous cats from history for this third-rate pet magazine, and from his stumbling and slurring lines (which once again reminded me of Borges), I read that Fruit was the pet of the Pharaoh of Enai, twenty-three hundred years ago AD. Of course, in ancient Egypt it wasn't called a fruit, let alone a pancake, it was called "Libis", which means "cat of the sun god" in Egyptian. This cat drove away the ghosts of the night for the Pharaoh during his lifetime. In order to possess it, Pharaoh's nephew usurped the throne, but the plot was recognized, and the result of the civil war was that the Pharaoh died in a palace murder and was buried in one of the great pyramids, and this time the cat was also buried with him (as the sun god "RA" can testify). But according to the Book of the Dead, Libis was the immortal cat, and the whole Egyptian idea of "cat" is derived from "Libis", which is the same root word in ancient Egyptian. Showing off his historical and philosophical knowledge, Michel writes: "Plato had read this legend, and in his writings 'idea' is the key word, but the concept of the idea, however, is of Egyptian origin, that is, of Libis, which, in another derivative sense, is the idea. " None of this matters, what matters is that Libis appears every four and a half thousand years, and by Michelle's projection it should appear in the East two hundred years further back from the time I came across the pancakes, and thinking Michelle was talking nonsense, I closed the magazine and had coffee with my husband. It was a wonderful twilight, and we've been happily married for ten years. But I can never forget the pancakes. "It's not the pancake you need, it's the explanation for it." My husband nagged this every time. "Look at this paragraph," my husband pointed to a book on his desktop and read me one of the passages, "When love comes, the ancient Egyptian libis appear, and yes, you can interpret it as an omen. But it is not a normal appearance, but one that occurs two hundred years in advance and tends toward appearing in the lives of women." "On the Folding and Numbers of the Universe by Fugui Zhu." My husband closed the book and showed me the cover, a book I had bought a few years ago and never bothered to flip through because it wasn't to my reading tastes. Afternoon tea was postponed (to this day I miss the fried hollandaise that day), and we kept flipping through that book, and according to Jufu, when space folds, time repeats itself, and as a result, Libris will appear, and the misalignment of time lies in the asymmetry in the folding, and as we know the Universe is always in a state of expansion, and unless it is in a state of solitude, it will not be symmetrical in the folding of the Universe. It dawned on me that I understood why Michel's calculations had gone awry. That afternoon, after we finished the book, we went out to dinner at Kung Tak Lam, the best vegetarian restaurant in Shanghai, and when my husband pulled into the parking lot of Kung Tak Lam, I rolled up the glass window and looked out the window, and you know what I saw? Yes, I saw pancakes, or fruit. To the east of the parking lot was an old alley, and a black cat was parked at the mouth of the alley while a woman in white was crouching down to try to catch it while it disappeared like an ink drawing in ink. ...... I don't know if the space is folding up again, or if the woman is hitting a snag in love, but I do know that at my life, I have had love and Libbies, they are enough to comfort me and my husband in his old age.