The day the lamp was brought back, Lin Yi placed it on the windowsill.
The windowsill faces the Forest of Steles, where each stone tablet engraved with a name acts like a silent sentinel, guarding the memory of this land day and night.
This lamp, without oil, without wick, and without flame, stood there quietly, like a sacred object yet to be given a mission.
Lin Yi neither lit it nor covered it up.
His only action was to use a clean, soft cloth to wipe away the dust that clung to the glass lampshade every morning.
The movements were gentle and focused, as if polishing a rare treasure, or performing a silent prayer.
Children are the most curious.
As they ran past the window, they would always look up and ask in their clear voices, "Teacher Lin, why isn't the light on?"
Lin Yi's answer was always the same, as calm as the unchanging wheat field outside the window: "Waiting for someone who no longer wants to see the darkness to light it."
Words are like a pebble thrown into a still, deep pool; no one can see where it sinks, but one can feel the invisible ripples spreading through the air.
Chu Yao, with her keen perception of group consciousness, captured the essence of this ripple.
It's a subtle sense of "anticipation" that quietly takes root in everyone's heart.
This expectation is not about waiting for a savior to descend from the sky, nor is it about hoping that Lin Yi, this mysterious "guide," will perform another miracle.
No, it's more like waiting for a neighbor, a friend, an ordinary person like itself, to dare to utter the first cry of their own in the utter silence.
The opportunity they had been waiting for arrived unexpectedly three days later.
The main irrigation canal for the wheat fields suddenly experienced severe seepage near the eastern slope.
Muddy water gushed out, like a wound tearing the earth apart.
As is customary in the "Double Soil Review," a distant and heavy bell tolls from the top of the mill, summoning all adults who are connected to this land.
Inside the mill, people thronged, the damp smell of earth mingling with their anxious breaths.
Soon, a solution was proposed.
A shrewd and capable young man pointed to a rudimentary map and proposed digging a temporary irrigation canal to bypass the seepage zone.
This solution is simple and efficient, and can solve irrigation problems in the fastest time, thus saving this season's harvest.
"I agree."
"Let's do it this way, time waits for no one."
A chorus of agreement rose and fell, and the decision was about to be finalized.
People's thoughts are like tamed streams, naturally flowing towards the channel of least resistance.
Just then, a faint voice came from the corner, as thin as a spider's thread, yet it cut through the noisy crowd with unparalleled clarity.
"But... that would flood the old mulberry trees in that low-lying area on the east slope."
Everyone looked in the direction of the voice and saw that the speaker was a girl who was usually very quiet, named Suwei.
She always kept her head down, as if trying to hide herself in the shadows.
At this moment, she still kept her head down, tightly clutching the hem of her clothes, her voice trembling slightly.
“That was…that was planted by the mother of the blind boy A-Wang before she died.”
The entire venue fell into a deathly silence.
A few seconds later, an impatient voice broke the silence. It was an old farmer with wrinkles on his forehead and his cloudy eyes were full of realistic considerations: "One tree? Just for one tree, we're going to ruin our entire season's harvest? If A-Wang's mother knew this in the afterlife, she wouldn't agree!"
"Yes, which is more important, people or trees?"
"Make a decision quickly, the ground is almost cracked!"
The murmurs rose again, this time tinged with criticism of the girl's inappropriate behavior.
Suwei lowered her head even further, her shoulders trembling slightly, like a fledgling bird frightened by the wind and rain.
Lin Yi, who had been leaning against the door in silence, suddenly moved.
He didn't say a word, nor did he even look at anyone. He simply turned around calmly and walked out of the mill.
The crowd was puzzled and their eyes followed his retreating figure.
He returned to his dwelling, walked to the window, picked up the solitary, oil-free lamp with both hands, and then walked back step by step, gently placing it outside the high threshold of the mill.
The lamp was moved from the private windowsill to the public threshold.
This action was like a silent declaration, bringing all the noise to an abrupt halt.
People looked at the lamp, then at Lin Yi, and suddenly understood something.
That lamp is perhaps waiting for this very moment.
The discussion ended without reaching a conclusion that evening.
Suwei came to the Stele Forest alone and sat quietly in front of the cold stone tablet of the blind boy's father for a whole night.
The night dew dampened her hair, and the cold wind pierced through her clothes, but she simply sat there, as if conversing with those sleeping souls.
The atmosphere at the second day's council meeting was even more somber.
Suwei stepped forward again.
Her face was pale from not having slept all night, but her eyes were unusually bright, like stars washed by rain.
She no longer lowered her head, but looked directly into everyone's eyes.
“I’m not against changing the canal, and I’m not necessarily against saving that tree.” Her voice was still soft, but firm. “I just want to ask—today, if we feel a tree isn’t worth mentioning, no one speaks up for it. So next time, if it’s someone as insignificant as me, will no one speak up for me either?”
This question, like a heavy hammer, struck everyone's heart.
Yes, who is the strongest?
Who is the weaker party?
Faced with natural disasters and the collective will, who can guarantee that they will never become one of the "sacrificed minority"?
Lin Yi knew that the time had come.
He had two earthenware jars brought to him, one filled with "yang soil" representing the will of the land and the other with "yin soil" representing the wishes of the people.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, he slowly poured two handfuls of soil into a huge earthenware urn.
A bizarre scene unfolded.
The two handfuls of soil, each a different color, did not settle and blend as quickly as usual in the jar.
As if drawn by an invisible force, they spontaneously began to rotate, forming a clearly defined spiral that rapidly spun within the jar, refusing to sink for a long time.
A very low, muffled murmur, as if from the depths of the earth, resounded simultaneously in Chu Yao and Lin Yi's minds.
That was Ivan's voice, cold and objective, devoid of any emotion.
"Warning: Node 86... detected the first 'cognitive conflict'. System resolution... was blocked by the 'first dissent'."
The entire audience gasped in astonishment. This extraordinary sight deeply shocked even the most stubborn person.
Lin Yi remained expressionless, as if he had expected this.
He turned and went back into the house, where he retrieved a yellowed, tattered piece of paper. It was the blind child's mother's last letter, burned to a corner by the fire, with only five words remaining, written in delicate yet firm handwriting.
He gently laid the tattered page on the swirling soil.
"Mulberry leaves can be used to feed silkworms in spring, so do not cut them down."
Five words, like a talisman, fell into the center of the vortex.
The vibration and rotation of the soil suddenly stopped, as if it were deciphering this faint information from the past.
A moment later, the opposing force disappeared, the spiral slowly dispersed, and the two colors of soil finally began to blend and settle, eventually becoming one.
The resolution was finalized at that moment.
The final solution was to make a slight adjustment of the main canal's route by three feet, which required a little more manpower and resources, but the mulberry tree, along with the small depression around it, was preserved intact.
Moreover, a wooden sign was erected there, with three words engraved on it: "Quiet Living Area".
In front of everyone, Lin Yi announced the new rules: "The Quiet Zone represents those seemingly useless entities that carry our memories and emotions. Whenever a resolution might touch upon such entities, there must be a person specifically responsible for 'invoking dissent'."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone, his voice clear and powerful.
“From today onward, before we make any collective decision, I require that someone must step forward and say, ‘I disagree.’ Even if you agree in your heart, you must say it. This is not for confrontation, but for practice—practice that we are not swept along by the tide, practice that we can hear different voices.”
The impact of this event, like spring rain nourishing all things, is silent yet profound.
A few days later, with spring planting just around the corner, the village held a planting meeting to discuss whether to unify the planting period in order to facilitate unified management.
Everyone thought it was a good thing, but an old farmer stood up shakily and said loudly, "I disagree! My field is in a windy spot. If I plant at the same time as you, the wheat seedlings will surely freeze to death!"
Although after some explanation and technical adjustments, the final solution did not change because of him alone, but his words were solemnly recorded in a thick hemp paper notebook—that notebook was named "The Dissent Book".
That evening, the literate children gathered around the campfire and read aloud the old farmer's words so that everyone could hear them.
An even stranger change occurred.
Some people spontaneously began to erect small wooden signs in the corners of their own fields, with the words written crookedly on them: "There have been objections here."
It was no longer a mark of shame, but rather like a tiny medal.
Chu Yao closed her eyes and could clearly sense that the collective brainwaves enveloping this land were undergoing a qualitative change.
A thought pattern she had never seen before was forming, which she named "defensive empathy".
People begin to subconsciously project the image of that one and only opponent onto every decision they make.
They would wonder: "If I were in that minority, how would I want to be treated? Would my voice be heard, recorded, and respected?"
On a stormy night, Lin Yi was reading ancient books under the lamp.
Outside, the wind and rain were raging and dark. Suddenly, a very faint sound of footsteps, muffled by the rain, stopped outside his door.
Lin Yi put down his book and pushed open the door.
Standing under the eaves outside the door was the girl named Suwei.
She was soaked to the bone, but she carefully held a small ceramic bowl in her arms, the rim of which was covered with a banana leaf.
Seeing Lin Yi open the door, she was a little shy, but she still mustered up her courage and handed him the ceramic bowl.
“Teacher Lin…I…I have no oil,” she whispered. “But I have light.”
She lifted the banana leaf, and a handful of sparkling light burst forth from the bowl, like a handful of crushed stars.
Those were dozens of fireflies.
Holding the bowl, she carefully poured each of these little sprites from the rainy night into the glass lampshade placed on the doorstep.
The lamp remained unlit.
But on that dark, stormy night, countless tiny fluorescent lights swirled, danced, and moved within the small lampshade, illuminating that tiny space like a dream.
The light couldn't penetrate the rain, but it was enough to warm a heart that was close to it.
Just then, an extremely faint sound, yet seemingly from the very foundation of the world, came from the depths of the earth.
The sound was as faint as the first frost of ice, and only Lin Yi and Chu Yao could hear it.
The whisper of the Ivan System resurfaced, this time not as a warning, but as a simple statement.
"Unit 86... began with its first 'no'."
Lin Yi gazed at the flowing, vibrant light within the lampshade, a barely perceptible smile appearing on his lips.
After the fireflies were incorporated into the lamplight, dissenting voices gradually gained traction in this land.
The Dissent Book grew thicker at a visible rate, and at every gathering, more than one person would stand up and say the phrase that had become a mantra: "I disagree."
The sound of children reading the "Dissent Book" has become a regular feature of the village every night.
This trend, like bamboo shoots breaking through the soil in spring, is full of vigorous vitality.
However, as Lin Yi stood by the window, watching the excited people outside vying to express their "differences," his brows furrowed slightly without him noticing.
He discovered that when he first said "no," the air was filled with fear, struggle, and desperate courage.
But now, something completely different is floating in the air.
Chu Yao also sensed it.
She described the feeling to Lin Yi: "Initially, empathy was like a shield, which everyone held carefully to protect themselves and others who might become the minority. But now... I feel that many people have raised the shield above their heads and are waving it like a flag."
That firefly lamp continues to be illuminated by different children every night.
The light seemed to grow brighter, but Lin Yi felt that, for some reason, it was starting to be a little dazzling.
He seemed to hear something more important quietly blurring amidst the resounding chorus of "no."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com