“What kind of tape measure shows negative numbers?” Li Wei muttered to himself, examining the peculiar measuring tool he’d found in his late grandfather’s workshop. The metallic strip extended normally enough, but the markings ran both forward and backward from zero.

“Maybe it measures time instead of distance,” he chuckled darkly, extending the tape toward his bedroom wall. The numbers flickered: -1971.

A violent lurch, and suddenly Li Wei found himself standing in that same room, except the wallpaper was a hideous flower pattern he remembered from his childhood photos. A calendar on the wall confirmed his suspicion - 1971.

“Well, this is certainly efficient,” he remarked dryly. “Skip the whole time machine business, just need a defective measuring tool.”

His younger father burst through the door, wearing the standard-issue blue uniform of the era. “Comrade! What are you doing in my room?”

“Measuring temporal displacement, obviously,” Li Wei replied with a straight face. “Very revolutionary activity.”

His father’s expression darkened. “Are you mocking the great cause?”

“Not at all. I’m from 2023, here to ensure history proceeds correctly.” Li Wei pulled out his smartphone. “See? Advanced technology.”

His father’s eyes widened at the glowing screen. “A portable television? Impossible!”

“Less impossible than this tape measure, I’d say.” Li Wei extended it again, watching the numbers shift. “Want to see something really impossible? Watch this.”

He measured the distance to his father: 52 years. Perfect.

“Hold still,” Li Wei instructed, “I’m going to measure your ideological conviction.”

The tape measure read: ERROR.

His father grew agitated. “What sorcery is this? I’ll report you to the authorities!”

“Go ahead. Tell them your future son appeared with a magic measuring tape to test your revolutionary fervor. I’m sure they’ll take it very seriously.”

Before his father could respond, Li Wei extended the tape once more: 2023. The familiar lurch returned him to his modern bedroom.

He sat heavily on his bed, examining the impossible device. What was his grandfather trying to tell him with this creation? That some things can’t be measured - faith, conviction, the weight of history?

Li Wei placed the tape measure back in its dusty box. Some tools are better left unused, he decided. Especially the ones that measure what should remain unmeasured.

On his desk, the smartphone displayed an incoming message: “Your social credit score has been adjusted.”

Li Wei smiled grimly. Some things never change - they just get more precise measuring tools.

He closed the box, but not before noticing one final measurement etched into the metal case:

Distance to freedom: ∞