The faint blue light in the center of the lake reflected a burning sea of stars in Lin Yi's pupils.
The transparent ear of wheat in his palm, which should have been a sacred object bearing the final mark of the deceased, trembled slightly like a startled living creature, conveying an anxious and urgent rhythm.
His gaze was fixed on the lamp stand.
Those newly emerging names were not, as he had imagined, eternal imprints.
In the flames, they were slowly melting away at a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye, the edges of the strokes becoming blurred, as if being licked and devoured inch by inch by invisible flames.
The fading of each name is like a silent sigh, stirring ripples in this absolutely quiet well of memory.
"...The name has burned out...The thought has not ended...The lamp still shines...Because someone continues it..."
Ivan's broken and hollow voice echoed in Lin Yi's mind, like a rusty key that suddenly pried open a door to truth that he had never touched before.
Lin Yi was jolted awake, instantly realizing what was happening.
The real fuel is neither the cold name engraved on the lamp stand, nor the wheat he brought as a relic.
It's "memory" itself!
It is those people living in the real world who, with every unintentional thought of the deceased, every spontaneous call, and every habitual mention of them!
It is these continuous, vibrant thoughts that have kept this solitary blue lamp burning in this forgotten, stagnant water until now!
Without hesitation, he instantly connected his consciousness to the city's central data system, targeting the "silent light stations" scattered throughout the city.
The entire data stream from the past seven days unfolded before his eyes like a waterfall.
Data doesn't lie—whenever surveillance captures a citizen stopping in front of the light station and telling a story about the deceased, even if it's just a vague fragment, a nickname, or a shared joke, the energy index of the corresponding area in the background database will instantly increase for one second, as if injected with a powerful stimulant.
Once the narrative activity in a certain area is interrupted for more than three days, the light filaments there will rapidly weaken, retreating from a state of taut energy lines back to their initial state of drifting like a wandering ghost.
I see.
He thought he was retrieving remains, but in reality, he was just providing a centralized "port" for a pre-existing system.
Lin Yi took a deep breath and took out the rusty, seemingly fragile bell-shaped wheat ear from his pocket.
He stood at the end of the bridge of light, facing the lifeless lake, and gently shook it three times.
"Ring... Ring... Ring..."
The clear, ancient sound of bells spread throughout the empty space at the bottom of the well, causing a violent ripple in the lights on the lake.
The flames suddenly leaped up, distorting the light and shadow on the lake's reflection, and a blurry image flashed before our eyes:
In front of a collapsed ruin, an elderly woman with white hair sat on the broken threshold, the setting sun casting a long shadow of her.
She held an empty bowl in her arms, staring blankly at the alley entrance, and in a weak but incredibly stubborn voice, she repeated over and over, "Abao, come home for dinner... Abao, the food is getting cold, come home for dinner..."
Ivan's voice rang out at the right moment: "...She wasn't saying a name...it was a habit...it was light."
Lin Yi's heart clenched painfully.
The old woman may not be able to remember "A Bao's" full face, and even the name itself may just be a vague syllable.
But that gesture of "waiting for her son to come home for dinner," that admonition repeated throughout her life, has become a part of her life, a memory more solid and brighter than the name engraved on a stone tablet.
He must verify this hypothesis!
Lin Yi's consciousness was instantly withdrawn from the Well of Memories and returned to the real world.
Instead of visiting any of the "silent stations," he drove directly to the alleyway in the old town that had collapsed in the disaster.
The silver veins of the wild wall-talking plant are faintly visible in the night, emitting a weak, cold light.
He didn't hold any ceremony; he simply lit a very ordinary windproof oil lamp at the entrance of the alley.
He then arranged for a volunteer to come here at the same time every day, without having to do or think about anything, but simply to face the light and repeat the simplest sentence: "I'm here today."
On the first day, the Wall Language Plants showed no change.
On the third day, the silver veins remained dim.
On the fifth day, the veins around the oil lamp seemed to have brightened slightly, almost imperceptibly.
For seven consecutive days, rain or shine.
On the eighth night, when the volunteer uttered the phrase "I have come today" again, a miracle occurred.
At the alley entrance, the silent wall plants suddenly shone brightly, their silver veins swirling and converging, outlining a complete silhouette of a child's shoe print!
The light did not stop there, but extended from the front of the footprint by half a step, as if an unseen child had just stumbled here.
Almost simultaneously, on the other side of the city, a few hundred meters away in a corner park, an elderly man taking a walk suddenly stopped. His cloudy eyes gazed towards the old town, and he muttered uncontrollably, "Strange... why am I thinking of my son... when he was little, he always fell down in that alley..."
It's done!
Lin Yi clenched his fists, his eyes flashing with an unprecedented glint.
He finally understood—the return of these memories never needed a grand and tragic narrative, nor did they need to be engraved in the epics of heroes.
All they need is to be mentioned and remembered naturally in the lives of their relatives and friends, as if they had never left.
He immediately issued a new directive covering the entire city through his authority: all "quiet light stations" must immediately implement a "daily light-keeping" system!
There are no time or format restrictions. Citizens no longer need to tell a complete story. They only need to bring any everyday item related to the deceased, along with the simplest remembrance, and light a lamp.
The government order was met with overwhelming support. On the first day alone, hundreds of people participated.
A man arrived at the lamp station with a worn-out lunchbox, its paint chipped and cracked. He choked up and said, "My dad used to love bringing this to work on the construction site. He said the metal lunchbox was sturdy and could be used as a weapon." He put the lunchbox down, and the lamp was lit.
Someone left a pair of worn-out sneakers with almost worn-out soles, laughing and saying, "This is my brother's go-to sneakers for playing soccer. He says he runs faster than the wind when he wears them." The sneakers were left behind, and the lights were turned on.
Some people brought a cassette tape that was out of tune, a faded movie ticket, or even a handful of dirt...
That night, within the Well of Memory, the thousands upon thousands of nameless threads of light that were originally scattered, floating, and flickering were ignited for the first time by these vibrant "everyday fires" from the human world. They connected end to end, converging into thin yet slowly flowing paths of light!
On the ninth night, just when Lin Yi thought everything was on track, a sudden change occurred.
The malt flower core in his chest pocket, which served as a token of core authority in the city, suddenly burst forth with an unprecedentedly brilliant light.
A beam of light shot into the sky, projecting a completely reversed band of light—something that had never been seen before—above the Well of Memory!
This beam of light did not descend from the well opening, but rather shot upwards from the most dilapidated slum on the city's outskirts, like an inverted sword piercing precisely at the well opening!
Along the way, it acts as a main axis, connecting all the locations of the "silent light stations" to form a huge network of light starting from the slums.
Ivan's voice resonated violently in Lin Yi's mind, this time filled with unprecedented emotion.
"...They...are not waiting for their names to be remembered...they...are waiting for someone...like you...to come back..."
Lin Yi stared intently at the reverse light band, and he was horrified to discover that the frequency of the light band's fluctuations resonated perfectly with the trembling of the transparent wheat ear in his palm!
It was as if that light was created in response to his existence.
At that moment, he finally understood.
He is not just a guide, but also a retrievaler of memories.
He himself is part of this vast memory network, an "echo" chosen by all the deceased!
They were waiting for no one but him!
In the dead of night, the moment this thought arose, the eerie blue flame in the center of the lake suddenly contracted inward, its myriad rays of light condensing into a single point, ultimately transforming into a crystal-clear spark that seemed to envelop the entire starry sky, suspended in mid-air.
On the lamp stand, all the names that had just been lit up vanished without a trace in an instant.
Ivan's voice rang out again, this time no longer incomplete or hollow, every word clear and distinct, carrying an ancient majesty and a sense of destiny.
"The well only recognizes living fire, not dead names. If you want to go in, you must first burn yourself."
Before he finished speaking, the spark streaked through the darkness like a meteor, slowly flying toward Lin Yi. Finally, it stopped an inch in front of his brow, radiating a warm yet seemingly soul-consuming heat.
Lin Yi slowly closed his eyes, a relieved smile curving his lips. He murmured to himself, as if speaking to the flame, or perhaps to himself:
“Then burn it—but not to become a god, but only to lead the way.”
The flame seemed to understand his vow, and without further hesitation, it instantly entered his forehead.
In an instant, the world spun around!
Lin Yi's consciousness was stripped from reality by an irresistible force.
Instead of a path leading to the bottom of the well, a scene he had never seen before flashed before his eyes—ninety years ago, when the city had just been reduced to ruins, a ragged woman knelt before a collapsed wall, dipped her fingertips in her own blood, and painstakingly wrote a line on the rough surface:
"Don't forget me."
Lin Yi would never mistake the handwriting or the brushstrokes, even in death.
That was his mother's handwriting.
Excruciating pain and a deluge of information exploded simultaneously. Lin Yi groaned, feeling as if the entire world was collapsing before his eyes.
Light, darkness, sound, touch... everything is fading away rapidly, turning into a chaotic void.
His body seemed to lose its weight, or as if it were being pulled by a massive boulder, slowly sinking into the bottomless black lake in endless darkness and cold.
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