Chapter 2

Jin Zhaoxuan, holding a bowl of freshly cooked dumplings—hot enough to use as a screen protector for a phone—plopped down in front of his computer. The dumplings piled high in the bowl, the steam making his glasses instantly fogged up. He took off his glasses, wiped them haphazardly with the corner of his shirt, and a crucial question suddenly popped into his head—

“Wait a minute.” He turned to look at the full-length mirror. “Teacher Yin, the way you’re making your entrance… we can’t just keep showing you in the mirror all the time, can we? The audience will think I’m running a home decorating channel.”

Yin Shaoqing, who was staring intently at the bowl of dumplings in the mirror, was startled when she heard this. She then drifted over to Jin Zhaoxuan's phone, which had a cracked screen. The phone now looked like a war-damaged artifact, with cracks meandering artistically across the lock screen wallpaper (a Photoshopped inspirational image of "successful financing").

"This thing," Yin Shaoqing extended a semi-transparent finger and lightly tapped the camera, "can capture my image, right?"

"I can, I can..." Jin Zhaoxuan's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets before he could finish speaking.

Yin Shaoqing's entire body—literally "entire body"—shrunk into the phone screen with a "whoosh," like a jelly sucked into a vacuum cleaner.

Jin Zhaoxuan's hand trembled, spilling dumpling soup and scalding his hand: "Holy crap?! You have this function too?!"

On the phone screen, a miniature Q-version of Yin Shaoqing appeared. About the size of a thumb, wearing a proportionally shrunk, wet suit, he stood next to Jin Zhaoxuan's WeChat icon, straightened his non-existent bow tie, and looked up at the front-facing camera (which was Jin Zhaoxuan's large face): "Let's give it a try. I never imagined that this 'electronic realm' would be such a world."

His voice drifted from the phone's speaker, mixed with the static of an old radio and a slight tremolo of moisture.

Jin Zhaoxuan stared at the wet miniature figurine on the screen, and on a whim, blurted out: "...It's kind of cute."

Yin Shaoqing tilted his head on the screen: "What does 'cute' mean?"

"It's just... likable." Jin Zhaoxuan coughed and quickly opened the computer's live streaming software. "Alright, then you'll be the phone's personal camera from now on. Remember your persona: a history enthusiast, not a water ghost, and definitely not a figurine spirit from the Republic of China era."

"Understood." Yin Shaoqing sat upright on the screen, thought for a moment, and then asked seriously, "What expression should I make during the live broadcast? Should I be this serious..." He straightened his face, "or this friendly?" He forced a smile that was a little stiff.

Jin Zhaoxuan sighed, “…Just be natural, treat it like telling a story to the neighbors.”

The live stream has started.

Jin Zhaoxuan's usually lackluster livestream was buzzing with energy today. Last night's screen recording of the "wet-bodied handsome man in the mirror" was reposted on local forums, with headlines getting increasingly sensational:

[Late-night footage from a haunted house in Taichung! A handsome man from the Republican era crawls out of the mirror! Is it moral decay or a script by the anchor?]

Breaking News! A livestreamer has reportedly reached a strategic partnership with a "Republic of China-era water ghost," seemingly entering the paranormal livestreaming market!

At 9 a.m., the number of online users surged to 500, and the chat was flooded with comments like firecrackers going off during Chinese New Year.

Here he comes! Let me see Ghost Bro!

Is the streamer still alive? Should I call the police for you?

[@AnshanPingAn, someone is illegally keeping Republic-era artifacts here!]

[Where's the guy? Where's the guy? We want to see [censored]! (not really)]

Jin Zhaoxuan stared at the soaring data, his emotions a jumbled mess, like drinking a strong liquor mixed with vinegar—the traffic was here, but damn it, it was haunted traffic! How was the company introduction supposed to go from now on? "Our company specializes in AR technology, and also runs a joint live stream with the Republic of China Water Ghost"?

"Good morning, everyone... fellow villagers." He forced a smile that was more like a grimace. "Last night was purely a technical glitch, it was an AR effects test. Today, I'd like to introduce my new partner, Mr. Yin, a local history enthusiast from Anshan!"

He pointed his phone camera at the computer screen.

In the live stream, Yin Shaoqing appeared—sitting in front of a virtual background called "Fugu Study" that Jin Zhaoxuan had hastily generated in five minutes using AR software (with two 3D models of "How the Steel Was Tempered" floating on the bookshelf), wearing a clean light gray virtual long shirt, his hair neatly combed, and showing the camera a standard smile he had practiced.

The live chat exploded instantly:

[New skin! How much did you spend on this skin?]

[So he really is a special effects actor? It's a shame he's not a professional actor with that kind of looks!]

【Hello Teacher Yin! Could you tell me why Anshan is called Anshan?】

Wait a minute, is that virtual bookshelf... emitting pink bubbles?

Yin Shaoqing looked at the frantically scrolling comments on the screen, visibly nervous. He cleared his throat and said in as clear and standard Mandarin as he could, "Good morning, everyone. I am Yin Shaoqing, and I have some knowledge of the local history of Anshan. Today..."

He paused, his gaze involuntarily drifting to the bowl of steaming dumplings in Jin Zhaoxuan's hand.

Jin Zhaoxuan: "...You don't mean to talk about this, do you?"

Yin Shaoqing said softly but firmly, "It's not impossible. This thing... has a lot to offer."

The comments section is buzzing with excitement:

Tell me! Tell me quickly! I want to know what the dumplings did wrong!

[Is the streamer eating sauerkraut filling? I can smell it even through the screen!]

[Dumpling: First of all, I didn't offend any of you.]

Jin Zhaoxuan sighed, pushed the bowl in front of the phone camera, the rim of the bowl almost touching the lens: "Okay. Teacher Yin, please begin your lecture on the history and culture of dumplings."

Yin Shaoqing's eyes lit up instantly, and he straightened his back perfectly.

"Please look, everyone," he said, pointing to the plump, white dumplings in the bowl, his tone instantly switching to that of a museum guide, "This dish was anciently called 'jiaozi,' also known as 'jiao'er.' It's made with a dough wrapper filled with filling, shaped like a gold ingot, symbolizing good fortune and wealth. However, the local Anshan pickled cabbage and pork dumplings are truly unique—"

He paused briefly, as if meticulously searching through the library of his mind: "In 1933, the Anshan Steelworks undertook a large-scale construction project, recruiting thousands of craftsmen from Shandong and Hebei. These craftsmen brought their hometown culinary customs northward, including a method of fermenting Chinese cabbage in cellars to make sauerkraut. The sauerkraut was tangy and appetizing, cutting through grease and preserving freshness. It was combined with minced meat from the local black-haired pigs, seasoned with lard, scallions, ginger, and Sichuan peppercorn water..."

The comments gradually changed from [?] to [? ? ?] and finally to [? ? ? ? ? ? ]:

[I found "A Bite of the Republic of China" while eating breakfast?!]

How many county annals did Teacher Yin consume to acquire such a wealth of knowledge?

So last night really was scripted! This level of professionalism takes at least ten years of lecturing!

Wait a minute, 1933? Professor Yin, how old are you this year?!

Jin Zhaoxuan's internal alarm bells rang, and he quickly interjected, "Teacher Yin can recite local chronicles fluently! Alright, the culture of dumplings is profound and extensive, we'll discuss that next time... Now..."

Unfortunately, Yin Shaoqing was already completely absorbed in his studies, his academic spirit burning brightly.

“Speaking of food, we must mention another great invention of the 20th century that is closely related to it.” He said with a serious expression, his small face tense. “That is the central heating system.”

Jin Zhaoxuan's vision went black.

Completely ignoring Jin Zhaoxuan's despairing gaze, Yin Shaoqing began to speak eloquently: "Traditional heating methods, such as coal stoves and heated brick beds, while providing warmth, are inefficient, produce a lot of smoke and dust, and pose a risk of carbon monoxide poisoning. Central heating, on the other hand, uses hot water as a medium, which is piped to the radiators in each household, relying on heat radiation and convection..."

He began to explain in detail the principles of thermodynamics, hydraulic calculations for pipelines, valve selection, and even drew a diagram on the phone screen with his tiny finger—which was displayed simultaneously on Jin Zhaoxuan's side, with crooked lines but clear logic.

The comments section gradually shifted from initial confusion to immersive learning:

[I'm learning about heating engineering in a live stream?]

[Wasn't Professor Yin from the Ansteel Design Institute before?]

[He explained it even more clearly than our factory's retired senior engineer!]

[So why is half of my radiator hot and half cold? I need help urgently!]

Upon seeing this, Yin Shaoqing immediately switched to Q&A mode: "This 'Radiator Not Working Sister Li' has asked a good question! This phenomenon is mostly caused by air blockage in the pipes or hydraulic imbalance. You can try checking the air vent at the end of the radiator..."

Jin Zhaoxuan covered his face in pain.

His supernatural transformation plan turned into a "public lecture on the history and maintenance technology of the heating system in the old industrial base of Anshan".

The number of online users has already exceeded one thousand and is still rising.

Half an hour later, just as Yin Shaoqing finished explaining "the impact of radiator fin spacing on heat dissipation efficiency" and was about to start a new chapter, "corrosion pattern analysis of old pipes," Jin Zhaoxuan abruptly cut off the topic with the force of pulling out a network cable.

"Alright! Professor Yin, break time!" He turned his phone towards his sweaty face. "Everyone, today's academic seminar..."

Before the words were even finished, a barrage of comments with cool special effects burst out with a "bang"—someone had gifted the most expensive gift, "Boiling Steel."

[User "Years Before the Steelmaking Furnace" rewarded "Boiling Steel" x1 and left a message: Professor Yin, you just mentioned the renovation plan for the Lishan Boiler Room in 1936. Could you elaborate on the preheating device added to the return water pipe? My father participated in this project and often talked about it.]

Yin Shaoqing was stunned.

Jin Zhaoxuan was also stunned. Lishan Boiler Room? 1936? There really was someone in the know?

He looked at his phone screen. On Yin Shaoqing's cute, cartoonish face, the expression became extremely complex, as if he had been punched in the face by a time machine.

“That plan…” Yin Shaoqing’s voice softened, and even the electrical noise seemed to lessen, “aimed at reducing heat loss. The person in charge was the Japanese engineer Takahashi, but the one who actually carried out the work and made numerous improvements was the Chinese technician Liu Fusheng. They added a preheating tank to the return water pipeline to utilize the waste heat from the flue…”

He began to recount the details, down to an appalling degree: which model of German-made valve was used (with part numbers), the pipe tilt angle was precise to the minute, the makeshift methods used when the cement wouldn't dry due to the cold weather, and even the jokes circulating among the workers at the time about Technician Liu's "meticulousness."

In the live chat, the phrase "the years in front of the steel furnace" was followed by two more comments with the caption "molten steel boiling."

Yes, yes, yes! Liu Fusheng! My father says his nickname is "Liu the Meticulous"! He'll redraw a drawing even if it's the slightest mistake!

[Teacher Yin, how could you know such detailed information? My father said the blueprints were lost after the war!]

Yin Shaoqing fell silent, his small figure bowing slightly on the screen.

Jin Zhaoxuan's heart leaped into his throat, and he quickly tried to salvage the situation: "Professor Yin consulted a vast amount of archival material to prepare for the live broadcast! He even visited the descendants of veteran workers! Alright everyone, today's time limit..."

He quickly turned off the live stream.

The room fell silent instantly, with only the hum of the computer fan and Jin Zhaoxuan's own heartbeat remaining.

Jin Zhaoxuan stared at his phone screen. Yin Shaoqing sat in the virtual study, head down, his tiny fingers unconsciously picking at the cuffs of his virtual robe, the edges of the fabric even becoming slightly frayed and disordered from his actions.

"You..." Jin Zhaoxuan began, his voice a little dry, "Those...were they really in the files?"

Yin Shaoqing raised his eyes, his shrunken pupils unusually clear: "None."

"That……"

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Yin Shaoqing said softly. “In the winter of 1936, I went to the Lishan Boiler Room to find my adoptive father. It was extremely cold that day. Technician Liu’s hands were chapped and bleeding from the cold, but he was still drawing at his desk. I poured him a cup of hot water, and he talked to me for a whole hour about his ideas for improvement. He even joked, ‘If this tank is completed, we can burn ten tons less coal this winter.’”

Jin Zhaoxuan opened his mouth, feeling as if something was blocking his throat.

More than eighty years ago, on a winter afternoon, it was told in detail by a "ghost" who looked smaller than himself. It was as absurd as science fiction, yet as real as a bone-chilling truth.

"That 'years before the steel furnace'..." Yin Shaoqing asked softly, with a hint of uncertain hope, "Could it be... a descendant of Technician Liu?"

“Very likely.” Jin Zhaoxuan’s voice was a little hoarse. “In Anshan, the older generation’s roots are deeply intertwined.”

Yin Shaoqing smiled, a very small smile, yet like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, rippling outwards in a complex pattern: "It's so good... there are still people who remember, there are still people... who care."

Looking at his smile, Jin Zhaoxuan felt a strange sensation in his heart, as if it had been soaked in sauerkraut juice—a mixture of sourness, astringency, and a vague, indescribable swelling.

"Hey," he said gruffly, "What kind of 'show' are you planning for tonight's live stream? Let's make it clear beforehand, no more engineering drawings!"

Yin Shaoqing's eyes lit up again: "Then... tell me about the old-time entertainment in Anshan? For example, shadow plays?"

"Movies? Sure!" Jin Zhaoxuan perked up. "Tell me what movies you guys watched back then, and whether you had popcorn."

Yin Shaoqing thought about it carefully: "There are three main cinemas: one is the Showa Hall, which is now the Victory Cinema; the second is the Tiexi Workers' Club; and the third is..."

He suddenly stopped and frowned slightly.

"What's wrong?" Jin Zhaoxuan asked.

“Tanggangzi…” Yin Shaoqing murmured, “I seem to… go there often.”

"Hot springs? That place is quite popular now."

"Hmm." Yin Shaoqing's brows furrowed even more, his fingers unconsciously tapping his temples. "I only remember... the water was extremely hot, the air was thick with mist, the smell of sulfur was strong, and..."

His image flickered suddenly on the phone screen, like a television screen with a severely disrupted signal, with even mosaic-like fragments appearing at the edges.

Jin Zhaoxuan's heart skipped a beat: "If you can't remember, don't force it! Let's talk about the movie theater tonight, no problem!"

Yin Shaoqing raised his head and tried to force a smile, but the smile was very superficial: "Okay."

In the afternoon, Jin Zhaoxuan went to his company, which was on the verge of bankruptcy.

Although it's called a company, it's really just two rented rooms in an office building in the high-tech zone, with a maximum of five employees, including himself. The business is "industrial AR visualization"—it sounds sophisticated, but it's really just using augmented reality technology to turn the production processes of old factories into animations and sell them to museums or schools as educational materials.

The ideal was grand, but the reality was stark. Locals considered this stuff "not enough to eat," and the market outside the area had long been squeezed into a sardine can by large factories. The remaining balance in the account was barely enough to pay for everyone's farewell dinner next month.

"Mr. Jin!" Xiao Chen, a key technical staff member, came over, his eyes shining like searchlights. "Regarding the live stream recordings from yesterday and this morning, could we... do something about it?"

Jin Zhaoxuan stared at the curve on the screen, which represented the company's lifeline and was crawling along the ground: "How do I operate it?"

“Packaging!” Xiao Chen gestured excitedly. “'Digital technology empowers historical memory,' 'AR live streaming revitalizes the soul of industry'! It’s a perfect fit for our business! Teacher Yin is a living advertisement! No, a soul advertisement!”

Jin Zhaoxuan was taken aback.

It seems... to make some sense? Although the logic reeks of absurdity.

"And!" Xiao Chen lowered his voice, mysteriously, "I checked, and many of the details Professor Yin mentioned, especially about the Lishan boiler room, are either not in the public archives or are only briefly mentioned. He's either a top-notch amateur historian, or..."

He swallowed hard, but didn't finish his sentence.

Jin Zhaoxuan understood what he meant—either he had truly "lived" from that era.

"Let's finish up the projects we're working on first." Jin Zhaoxuan rubbed his throbbing temples. "By the way, how much information can we find about the renovation plan for the Lishan boiler room from 36 years ago?"

Xiao Chen typed rapidly on his keyboard: "Very few are publicly available... Wait, there seem to be a few scanned copies in the Ansteel Museum's public database. Should we retrieve them?"

"Adjust".

A few minutes later, Jin Zhaoxuan stared at the yellowed and blurry scanned documents on the screen—hand-drawn drawings, messy Japanese and Chinese annotations, and a few old photos with a grainy texture.

In one of the photos, several people wearing thick cotton-padded work clothes stand in front of a huge boiler with serious expressions. The caption reads: "Liu Fusheng, Chinese technician, is second from the left in the 1936 Lishan Boiler Room Renovation Project Team."

Jin Zhaoxuan stared at the blurry-faced, thin figure.

Then he picked up his phone and opened his photo album—he had casually taken a few screenshots during the live stream that morning, one of which happened to capture the crooked diagram of the preheating tank that Yin Shaoqing was drawing on the screen with his finger.

He placed the two pictures side by side.

Although Yin Shaoqing's drawing is abstract, like a primary school student's doodle, the core pipe connection method, the approximate location of the preheating tank, and even the side note about "utilizing the waste heat of the flue"...

It matches this drawing from over eighty years ago, bearing the dust of history, with striking similarities.

The hairs on the back of Jin Zhaoxuan's neck stood up with a "whoosh," and a chill ran down his spine.

"Mr. Jin?" Xiao Chen asked doubtfully, "Is there... something wrong with this picture?"

"...It's nothing." Jin Zhaoxuan quickly closed the image, his voice slightly unsteady. "It's fine. Let's get back to work."

At 7 p.m., Jin Zhaoxuan returned to the old house carrying a large bag of barbecue. While working in the afternoon, Yin Shaoqing's words, "I want to try the food nowadays," kept echoing in his mind. On a whim, he went to buy some and even specifically told the owner, "Add more cumin and less chili."

When I entered the room, Yin Shaoqing was "sitting" in front of the dressing mirror—or more accurately, floating in the mirror, staring at himself in the mirror (or rather, his own reflection?), his fingers lightly tracing the surface of the mirror, the movement as gentle as if he were touching something fragile, or as if he were confirming his own existence.

“I’m back,” Jin Zhaoxuan said.

Yin Shaoqing snapped out of her daze and quickly disappeared from the mirror. The next second, the familiar mini Q-version image appeared on the phone screen, already dressed in a virtual robe, with her hair neatly combed.

"Good evening." He smiled, but Jin Zhaoxuan felt the smile was a little forced.

Jin Zhaoxuan slammed the pungent smell of barbecue bag onto the table: "I brought this for you. Although you... uh, just smelling it means you're participating in the new era of Anshan's nightlife."

Yin Shaoqing curiously leaned closer to the screen, looking at the condensation on the plastic bag: "What is this?"

"Barbecue, the king of Anshan's late-night snacks." Jin Zhaoxuan opened the bag, and a domineering aroma mixed with charcoal, cumin, chili powder and oil instantly exploded and filled the entire room. "Lamb skewers, grilled chicken wings, grilled chives, grilled steamed bun slices... Oh, and the sauerkraut you researched this morning, grilled sauerkraut rolls."

Yin Shaoqing took a deep breath—even though he couldn't inhale anything. But he still squinted his eyes, as if he were truly enveloped by the fragrance: "Thank you. The scent... must be extremely strong."

"Let's do a live stream first, then I'll eat for you to see after it's over—a live mukbang." Jin Zhaoxuan said while fiddling with the equipment. "Tonight we're talking about old movie theaters, are you ready?"

"Mm." Yin Shaoqing nodded, her face regaining some of its luster.

The live stream started. The number of online viewers quickly jumped to two thousand—the hardcore heating lecture from earlier in the day had already spread to a small circle of local history enthusiasts and retired workers.

The comments section was filled with enthusiasm:

Good evening, Teacher Yin! What film will we be discussing today?

[This barbecue is outrageous! I haven't had dinner yet!]

[Could you please comment on the differences between popcorn from the Republic of China era and popcorn made today?]

Jin Zhaoxuan pointed his phone camera at the barbecue bag: "This is the prop for this episode's live cultural experience. Now, please welcome Teacher Yin to take us back to the Anshan Cinema in the 1930s."

Yin Shaoqing cleared his throat and got into character: "Back then, most films were silent, or had narration. The projectors were hand-cranked, and the film was flammable, so cinemas had sandbags. Ticket prices depended on the seat; a box box cost three cents, and a regular seat cost one cent..."

He spoke fluently and vividly, interspersed with recollections of popular movies at the time, such as "The Burning of the Red Lotus Temple" and "Song of the Fishermen," as well as the spiced melon seeds and candied hawthorns sold by vendors outside the cinema, and even amusing anecdotes of audience members collectively exclaiming in surprise at tense moments.

The comments section was filled with interest, and small gifts kept popping up from time to time.

Halfway through his speech, Jin Zhaoxuan opened the barbecue bag, picked up a skewer of lamb with alternating layers of fat and lean meat, sizzling with oil, and deliberately waved it in front of the camera.

Yin Shaoqing's words came to an abrupt end.

His eyes were fixed on the skewer of barbecue, his Adam's apple bobbing almost imperceptibly—even though ghosts theoretically don't need to swallow. His gaze was as focused as if he were studying a precision instrument.

Jin Zhaoxuan suppressed a laugh and brought the skewers closer to his phone camera: "Teacher Yin, how about giving the audience a 'virtual taste'? Describe the flavor?"

Yin Shaoqing came to his senses, somewhat embarrassed: "This... is really hard to describe."

"Just imagine it!" Jin Zhaoxuan grinned mischievously. "Look at this crispy outer layer, this sizzling, oily fat, this evenly sprinkled cumin and chili powder..."

Yin Shaoqing stared at the skewers and subconsciously murmured, "More cumin...less chili, because I had a weak stomach when I was alive."

As soon as he said it, he froze.

Jin Zhaoxuan was also stunned.

The chat was quiet for a moment, then exploded:

【？？？】

[Before death?]

[Teacher Yin's acting skills are amazing! They completely outshine those young heartthrobs!]

However, if you have a sensitive stomach, you really should eat less spicy food...

Jin Zhaoxuan's mind raced, and he chuckled twice: "Haha! Teacher Yin's portrayal of the character is absolutely spot-on! Living conditions were tough during the Republic of China era, and stomach problems were common. We should all take this as a lesson and eat healthily!"

Yin Shaoqing cooperated by tugging at the corners of his mouth, but Jin Zhaoxuan could clearly see that a very real look of bewilderment and pain flashed in his miniature eyes.

The live stream continued. Jin Zhaoxuan ate skewers while guiding Yin Shaoqing's conversation, the atmosphere seemingly relaxed. The number of online viewers remained stable at around three thousand.

Near the end, a single comment, without any special effects, calmly floated across the center of the screen:

[Professor Yin, the details you mentioned this morning when you talked about the Lishan boiler room match up very well with a group photo from 1936 in my family's old album. There's a young man standing next to Technician Liu in the photo—he looks exactly like you. Did you style your look based on this photo?]

The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly.

The forced smile on Yin Shaoqing's face shattered bit by bit. His pupils contracted slightly, as if someone had smashed an eighty-year-old diary into his face.

Jin Zhaoxuan's heart skipped a beat, and cold sweat poured down his back—it's over! Someone has actually matched the historian Professor Yin with the historical figure Yin Shaoqing!

Just as Yin Shaoqing's lips parted slightly, about to slip up and reveal "I am who I am," Jin Zhaoxuan lunged into the frame like a hungry tiger, his face almost touching the camera lens, forcing a bright smile that looked more like a grimace:

"Oh dear! We've been spotted! This friend from the 'Anshan Iron and Steel Archaeology Office' has a really sharp eye!"

He spoke as fast as a rapper in a battle, his hands never stopping as he quickly brought up the company's AR demo interface on his computer.

"To be honest, Professor Yin is indeed our special historical consultant for the 'Digitalization of Industrial Memory' project! And this virtual avatar—"

Jin Zhaoxuan pointed to Yin Shaoqing, who was wearing a long robe, on the screen:

"—This digital avatar was specially created for Professor Yin based on information about the historical figure 'Yin Shaoqing' for the purpose of enhancing the live broadcast!"

Yin Shaoqing stared blankly at him on the phone screen, her expression like that of a cat stunned by a bright light.

The live chat exploded instantly:

【What? A digital avatar?】

So, Teacher Yin doesn't actually look like this in real life?

[This technique is amazing! You can't tell it's fake at all!]

"That's good enough if you can't tell!" Jin Zhaoxuan continued his fabrication, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead under the live stream lights. "We used the latest real-time motion capture and facial reconstruction technology! By scanning Professor Yin's own facial features, and combining that with the facial structure data of Mr. Yin Shaoqing from historical photos—"

He spoke more and more fluently, and even began to improvise: "—In the end, we synthesized this 'digital scholar image' that not only reflects Professor Yin's own temperament but also restores the characteristics of historical figures! Simply put, it allows Professor Yin to tell stories to everyone in an image that is closer to the historical context!"

He abruptly turned to look at Yin Shaoqing on the screen, making exaggerated facial expressions: "Right, Teacher Yin? Doesn't this make the explanation more immersive?"

Yin Shaoqing finally realized what was happening. He quickly adjusted his posture, regaining his slightly scholarly composure and smile, though his fingertips still trembled slightly.

"Exactly. Mr. Jin's idea... truly makes the storytelling more immersive. Just now, when I saw the audience mention that group photo, I was momentarily moved... I didn't expect the historical materials to be preserved so well."

His voice was steady, but Jin Zhaoxuan could tell that beneath that calm surface lay a turbulent undercurrent.

The comments section started to show skepticism:

So it's a combination of real people and digital skins?

No wonder he spoke with such emotion!

Does Professor Yin herself resemble the research subject?

“Well…” Jin Zhaoxuan quickly interjected, “Professor Yin has done in-depth research on this period of history, and we might even share some similarities in our temperament! Alright, let’s put this topic aside for now—”

But Yin Shaoqing had already taken over the conversation. He lowered his eyes, and when he looked up again, his gaze held a depth reminiscent of a scholar recounting history:

"Since this historical figure 'Yin Shaoqing' has been mentioned... I have studied him for many years and I do have some feelings about him."

His voice was soft, but every word was as clear as a pebble falling on ice:

Historical records indicate that he was a Chinese orphan adopted by a Japanese engineer. As a child, he was troubled by this identity. His classmates did not understand and often called him "little Japanese brat," and even threw stones at him to drive him away.

The comments section fell silent.

Yin Shaoqing's gaze was somewhat unfocused, as if he were flipping through documents from his memory:

He returned home and asked his adoptive father, who remained silent for a long time. He then stroked his head and sighed, "When you grow up, you will understand."

The only sound in the room was the hum of the computer fan.

"Later, he truly understood," Yin Shaoqing continued, his voice carrying a restrained compassion characteristic of a scholar. "His adoptive father taught him Chinese and Japanese; he taught him to recite the Book of Songs and to analyze steelmaking blueprints. His adoptive father once said: 'Both molten steel and poetry require countless hammerings. Good steel is good steel, regardless of whether it's Chinese or Japanese.'"

He paused. This time, Jin Zhaoxuan clearly saw that the edges of Yin Shaoqing's digital image on the screen trembled slightly for a moment.

“However…” Yin Shaoqing’s voice finally trembled slightly, “According to the archives, this historical figure… died in an accident in August 1945 at the old water tower.”

"Clatter".

Jin Zhaoxuan dropped the kebab in his hand onto the table, and the oil splattered into a small, unsightly stain on the wooden tabletop.

The comments section remained silent for three seconds, then erupted:

Holy crap...

Teacher Yin lectured with great enthusiasm.

This period of history is too heavy.

[@Host, this project of yours is really meaningful!]

Jin Zhaoxuan's throat tightened as he looked at the comments. He knew that every word Yin Shaoqing said was true—it was just disguised as an academic guise of "a scholar describing his research subject."

At this moment, Yin Shaoqing was sitting in the virtual study, his head slightly lowered. The shoulders of the digital avatar trembled very subtly—which could be interpreted as the motion capture device sensitively capturing the narrator's genuine emotional fluctuations.

"Alright everyone!" Jin Zhaoxuan forced a smile, but his voice was a little unsteady. "That's all for today's history sharing! Professor Yin got a bit carried away, so we need to take a break! See you next time!"

He practically slammed the live-streaming app shut down, his fingers trembling slightly from the force.

The moment the screen went black, Jin Zhaoxuan slumped into the chair as if his bones had been removed, his shirt soaked through and clinging tightly to his skin.

The room was deathly silent.

The sound of the computer case fan now sounds like an old train rumbling in a tunnel.

After a good ten seconds, Yin Shaoqing's extremely soft voice finally came from the phone screen:

"...Thank you."

There was a kind of exhaustion in that voice that Jin Zhaoxuan had never heard before, a kind of near-total despair.

Jin Zhaoxuan picked up his phone and looked at the shrunken Yin Shaoqing on the screen. At this moment, Yin Shaoqing was not sitting in the virtual study, but appeared directly on the phone's home screen. His small figure was sitting among a bunch of app icons, hugging his knees, with his head down, and his wet suit jacket was still dripping water—that was his real appearance, not a virtual image.

"You..." Jin Zhaoxuan's throat was dry, "What you just said... was it all true?"

“Really.” Yin Shaoqing didn’t look up, his voice as soft as a whisper, “Showa 20… August 1945. My adoptive father summoned me to the old water tower, saying there were several boxes of urgent technical documents that needed to be dealt with immediately. And then…”

He didn't continue.

Jin Zhaoxuan felt his heart being gripped tightly by a cold hand: "And then?"

“Then I was in the water.” Yin Shaoqing finally raised his head, revealing a smile that was more like a grimace. “No, I fell into the water. My adoptive father… pushed me in himself.”

Jin Zhaoxuan opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Countless questions clashed in his mind: Why? What technical information was worth silencing? What happened to your adoptive father? Do you hate him?

But he couldn't bring himself to ask any of them.

Because he saw Yin Shaoqing's figure on the phone screen becoming blurred and transparent at a visible speed. The edges of that chibi-style figure began to crumble, turning into tiny specks of light, like fireflies scattered by the wind.

"Yin Shaoqing!" Jin Zhaoxuan exclaimed, grabbing his phone. "What's wrong with you?!"

"I'm a little...tired." Yin Shaoqing's voice was wavering, almost drowned out by the static of the radio. "Talking about the past... it's exhausting..."

His figure faded further and further, until only a very faint outline remained.

"No!" Jin Zhaoxuan's voice changed. "Go back into the mirror! I'll take you there!" He grabbed his phone and rushed toward the dressing mirror.

"Mirror..." Yin Shaoqing's voice was barely audible, "...needs...rest..."

Before the words were even finished, the figure on the screen vanished completely, turning into a few wisps of light and disappearing.

The phone screen reverted to the cold desktop wallpaper, and the inspirational slogan on it, "Successful Funding! Heading Towards Glory!" now seemed particularly ironic.

Jin Zhaoxuan suddenly turned around and looked at the full-length mirror.

In the mirror, Yin Shaoqing's figure slowly and laboriously reformed—but as faint as the last sliver of moonlight before a storm, his features blurred, leaving only a human-shaped, swaying misty shadow.

"Yin Shaoqing?" Jin Zhaoxuan rushed to the mirror, pressing his palm against the cold surface.

The wisp of mist-like reflection in the mirror moved very slightly, its lips seeming to open and close a little.

Jin Zhaoxuan pressed his ear tightly against the mirror and held his breath.

It was a long time before he finally caught a faint, almost hallucinatory, glimpse of it:

"See you tomorrow morning..."

Then, the wisp of mist completely dissipated, leaving no trace.

The mirror returned to being an ordinary mirror, reflecting only Jin Zhaoxuan's pale, panicked face. In the mirror, his hair was a mess, his dark circles were so heavy he could cosplay as a panda at the zoo, and there was still a bit of chili powder left over from the barbecue he ate that night at the corner of his mouth.

Jin Zhaoxuan stood frozen in front of the mirror, still clutching the cracked phone and half a skewer of mutton that had long since cooled and whose fat had solidified into a white paste.

The outline of the old water tower outside the window stood silently in the night. The sound of leaking water had started again sometime earlier—drip, drip, drip, like the never-ending ticking of a second hand.

He suddenly felt that the old house, which always leaked and made strange noises, was now eerily quiet and empty. It was as if all the liveliness, the stories, the laughter, and even the final trembling and dissipation were just a hallucination that was too real and too absurd.

The night was thick and sticky.

Jin Zhaoxuan lay on the bed, tossing and turning like a pancake. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Yin Shaoqing's last broken smile and the words, "You left me in the molten steel with your own hands." He suddenly sat up, opened his phone, and scrolled through the recording and comments of the live stream from that evening.

The comments section was in an uproar. Some firmly believed it was a meticulously crafted script, praising the acting and the writing; others were deeply moved, discussing war, identity, and historical wounds; and many more were worried about Yin Shaoqing's condition, leaving messages like "Teacher Yin, take care."

The user "Years Before the Steel Furnace" tipped again, leaving a brief but poignant message:

[Teacher Yin, take care. My father would be gratified to know that someone remembers me so fondly today.]

Jin Zhaoxuan turned off his phone and opened his eyes wide in the darkness.

He knew he had dug himself into a deep hole, no, he had taken on a hot potato. This was not just a "ghost roommate" who could talk about history; it was a deliberately forgotten past, a wronged soul that had been submerged in industrial wastewater for more than eighty years, and a secret that might be involved that had not yet fully surfaced.

And he, Jin Zhaoxuan, a former tech tycoon on the verge of being swept away by the tides of the times, inexplicably became the trembling, sole connecting thread between this past and the present.

"Damn it." He cursed in the darkness, whether at the bizarre situation or at his own ill-timed soft heart.

He rolled out of bed and walked barefoot into the living room. Moonlight streamed through the broken window frame, casting cold, white patches of light on the dressing mirror. The mirror remained silent, reflecting his disheveled hair and the dark circles under his eyes from insomnia.

"Hey." He looked in the mirror, his voice sounding a little silly in the empty room, "You...you're still in there, right? You're not falling apart, are you?"

The mirror did not react.

Jin Zhaoxuan stood in front of the mirror for a while, then suddenly turned around and went back to his room. He brought out a quilt and a pillow and threw them onto the old sofa next to the mirror.

He lay down, wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, and turned to face the mirror.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” he said to the mirror, his tone curt. “If you need anything… like if you need to leave, or if you want to talk, just… make some noise. Even the sound of water leaking will do.”

The mirror remained silent.

But after Jin Zhaoxuan lay down, he inexplicably felt that his cheek, the side closest to the mirror, seemed...not so cold anymore. Perhaps it was psychological, or perhaps there really was a faint, almost imperceptible temperature, different from the chill in the room, emanating from the mirror.

He closed his eyes, and in the cold night air and that faint "temperature," his consciousness gradually blurred.

In the dream, there was no water tower, no falling. There was only a thin boy in an old-fashioned suit, standing in front of a huge, roaring boiler, looking up at the invisible heat rushing through the pipes, his profile shining in the furnace fire, his eyes reflecting the last light of that era of steel and fire.