The solitary figure amidst the crystallized wheat fields was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, its ripples spreading rapidly and evolving into a raging storm that swept across the entire survivor camp.
Some were moved, remembering how that figure had once shielded them from radioactive dust and mutants; others were puzzled, wondering why their former guardian would choose such a resolute "farewell."
But more than anything, it was anger.
This anger was ignited by a sharp, loud bang in the camp mess hall.
An old soldier with a broken left arm and a weathered face suddenly smashed the ceramic bowl in his hand on the ground, shards flying everywhere.
He was dragged out of the ruins by Lin Yi himself; that severed arm was torn off while covering Lin Yi's retreat.
"Damn it!" The veteran's eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaving violently, and his roar ripped through the silence of the canteen. "He burned his power, packed his bags, and left, all clean! He's become a legend, a story! And what about us? What about us, the living, breathing people? We'll have to clean up this mess ourselves! Why should we!"
The roar was like a heavy hammer blow, striking everyone's heart.
Yeah, why should we?
Once the foundation of worship and gratitude is shaken, the tendrils of resentment grow wildly at an alarming rate.
Rumors flooded into Lin Yi's simple wooden hut, but he seemed oblivious to them.
He did not defend himself or show his face; he simply responded with his actions the following morning.
He quietly increased his workload and took on the most neglected and arduous task in the entire camp—carrying, processing, and fermenting everyone's excrement to make manure.
That stench, strong enough to fill the air, became Lin Yixin's "camouflage".
People kept their distance from him, their eyes filled with a mixture of disdain, incomprehension, and a hint of glee.
The once lofty hero is now associated with filth, which seems to be a silent judgment on his "betrayal," making many people feel much better.
In Chu Yao's mental perception, streams of sharp and viscous "resentment" energy were continuously converging on Lin Yi.
She was surprised to find that this negative emotion became a more solid cognitive catalyst than "admiration" and more profound than "gratitude".
Worship is an illusion that can be easily shattered; but resentment is incredibly real, forcing everyone to think about and define Lin Yi's place in their hearts.
A few days later, a minor "accident" occurred.
While cleaning the drainage ditch that led to the rice seedling field, Lin Yi seemed to have "mishandled" it due to exhaustion from days of work. He prematurely pulled out a baffle, and the murky ditch water instantly overflowed, submerging a small patch of tender green rice seedlings that had just been planted.
"Lin Yi! What are you doing!" The team leader in charge of agricultural affairs was the first to arrive, trembling with anger.
More and more people gathered around after hearing the news, and accusations rose and fell.
"He definitely did it on purpose!"
"All that hard work over the past few days has been for nothing!"
"I told you he was unreliable, and he no longer cares about us!"
Faced with overwhelming rage, Lin Yi remained silent.
He silently walked into the ankle-deep mud, bent down, and with his hands that had once held power and slain countless mutants, rolled up his trouser legs, which had become soft from being soaked in the mud. Then, his knees buckled, and he knelt straight down in the cold mud, beginning to silently straighten and replant the rice seedlings that had been washed away, one by one.
His silence was more of a provocation than any explanation.
When someone criticized him for being "slack," he raised his head from the muddy water, his face covered in mud, his expression unreadable, and nodded slightly, uttering two words: "Yes."
This left everyone who was ready to condemn him speechless, as if they had punched a piece of cotton.
That night, Ivan's whispered, neither male nor female, voice from the depths of the earth quietly surfaced in Lin Yi's mind: "The eighty-seventh node... in the soil of 'blame'... took root the first main tendril."
Lin Yi unfolded an old camp map that had been worn and creased at the edges, and with a red pen, he heavily marked the location representing the "cesspool area".
The following day, a notice written by Lin Yi himself was posted on the camp bulletin board: "From now on, the cesspool and surrounding area will be under my sole management. There will be no rotation system and no comments will be accepted."
This announcement completely ignited public opinion.
A young teacher responsible for early childhood education, for the first time in his class, did not teach literacy. Instead, he bluntly told the children, "Remember, silence is not always a virtue. Sometimes, like Mr. Lin Yi's current behavior, it is a form of escapism, a disguised abandonment of responsibility."
The children's worldviews were turned upside down, and they argued fiercely, some defending their former heroes, while others agreed with the teacher's point of view.
Unexpectedly, Lin Yi actually appeared outside the simple classroom the next day, quietly listening to the entire class like an ordinary parent.
After class, amidst the bewildered gazes of all the children, he approached the anxious young teacher, offering no lecture or rebuttal, but simply handing her a small note.
The teacher opened the book with trembling hands. It read: “You’re right. I used to think that yielding was a form of compromise, but now I understand that not responding is itself an unquestionable right.”
The teacher's face instantly turned bright red. He opened his mouth, wanting to apologize, but Lin Yi stopped him by waving his hand.
“I don’t need you to change your tune,” Lin Yi’s voice was calm and clear. “I just need you and your students to know that you can say that, and that you won’t be punished for it.”
After saying that, he turned and left, leaving behind a room full of teachers and students, and an unprecedented shock called "freedom".
The resentment and confusion had reached their peak.
Finally, one late night, a hot-blooded young man could no longer bear the oppressive atmosphere.
He touched the outer wall of the mill and, with a sharp stone slab, carved out the thought that everyone shared: "We don't need another god, nor do we need a deserter!"
The handwriting was crooked and twisted, yet full of power, like an ugly scar branded on the face of the camp.
The next morning, Lin Yi arrived at the wall with his repair tools.
Everyone thought he would angrily remove the blasphemous words and then find the audacious carver.
However, Lin Yi only had the mud prepared, but did not smooth out the words.
He picked up his tools and carefully added a smaller line of text next to the original: "He's right, I shouldn't be expected to do anything."
After doing all this, he stepped back a few paces, examined his "work," and then announced to the onlookers: "From today onwards, this wall will be called the 'Fault Tolerance Wall.' Anyone, to anyone else, with any dissatisfaction, can inscribe it on it. It can be anonymous or signed. It will not be repaired, it will only be recorded."
The crowd erupted in uproar.
From a distance, Chu Yao clearly sensed a new kind of spiritual connection sprouting among the crowd.
People looked at the wall, their gazes gradually shifting from initial anger to scrutiny, and then to reflection.
They began to distinguish in their hearts whether they hated the harsh "words" or the "person" standing under the wall.
A kind of "critical empathy" quietly emerged at this moment.
It's another cool, still night.
Lin Yi stood alone by the stinking cesspool, which was his "territory".
Suddenly, a very light footstep sound came from behind.
He turned around alertly, only to see the young man carving words on the mill wall.
The young man held a rough earthenware bowl in his hands, from which steam rose.
Under the moonlight, half of his face was in shadow and half was illuminated, his expression complex.
He didn't dare look Lin Yi in the eye, but quickly stepped forward, placed the bowl heavily on a large rock beside him, and said in a muffled voice, "My mother... my mother said that even the most hateful person will feel cold if they are kept awake at night."
After saying that, he turned and ran away like a startled rabbit.
Lin Yi watched the figure disappear into the darkness before slowly picking up the bowl of still-warm meat soup.
Without hesitation, he tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.
The warm soup slid down my throat, dispelling the chill of the late night.
When he put the bowl down, he noticed that there were a few small words written on the bottom of the bowl with charcoal.
It wasn't "I'm sorry," nor "I was wrong," but rather—"Thank you for not forgiving me."
A barely perceptible smile finally appeared on Lin Yi's lips.
The young man ran a long way, but in the end he couldn't resist and quietly turned back, hiding in the shadows.
He saw Lin Yi finish the soup and saw the words at the bottom of the bowl.
He saw the man stand silently in the moonlight for a long time. Then, the young man gripped the carving knife he had been holding in his pocket, took a deep breath, and walked towards the "error tolerance wall" again.
This time, he didn't erase the words he had carved. Instead, he added a sentence next to the words "deserter": "—But he taught me that when you're cursing someone, you have to look them in the eye."
The next morning, the entire camp was awakened by a cry of surprise.
On the edge of that cesspool area that everyone avoided like the plague, right next to the stone that Lin Yi guarded every night, a cluster of pure white flowers miraculously bloomed.
The flower resembled neither wheat nor any known weed; its five petals, when unfolded, were shaped like an open human hand.
Lin Yi was the first to arrive. He squatted down and carefully examined the sacred flower that had been born in a filthy place.
He parted the flower petals, and his pupils suddenly contracted.
Deep within the flower's heart, a small, charred piece of paper, about the size of a fingernail, was embedded.
That was a wisp of ember that was blown away by the wind when he burned the "brand of authority"!
He didn't reach for the ashes, but stared at them silently for a long time. Then he found a wooden board, put up a small sign next to it, and wrote: "This place has been hated and remembered."
Late that night, seven distinct yet muffled tremors suddenly emanated from the long-silent underground, as if seven invisible shackles had been broken simultaneously.
Ivan's whisper rang out again, this time with a hint of relief: "The eighty-seventh node... has broken free from 'echo'."
Almost at the same moment, a gentle breeze swept by, and Chu Yao's ethereal voice drifted over intermittently, as if from another dimension: "The eighty-seventh unit... the answer is coming soon."
Lin Yi raised his head and looked at the palm-shaped flower that appeared even whiter in the night, its shadow swaying in his pupils.
He muttered to himself, as if answering Ivan, as if answering Chu Yao, and as if answering himself.
"The answer is not accepted by everyone."
"Instead, it's about standing still even after everyone hates you."
The appearance of that white flower completely changed the smell of the septic tank area.
The stench remained, but people's eyes had changed.
More and more people will silently walk to the vicinity of the "error tolerance wall" and the white flower in the evening, without saying a word, just standing there, looking and thinking.
The filthiest corner of this camp has unknowingly become a sanctuary where people can find peace and quiet for reflection.
Lin Yi knew that the time had come.
He has shattered the old order with his own hands, and a new order will emerge from this land watered with resentment.
He cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over the silent figures standing or sitting in the distance, preparing to announce a decision that would completely change the way everyone lives in the future.
"Starting next month, on the first day of each month..."
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