Deathly silence was the last echo Ivan left for this world.
For three whole days, the whisper that had followed us like a shadow, coming from the depths of the earth, completely disappeared.
Without the updates to node coordinates and the reporting of world unit status, it was as if the foundation supporting the entire shelter's underlying logic had been instantly removed.
The air was filled with an unknown that was deeper than panic, a sense of weightlessness as if suspended in a vacuum, making it hard for everyone to breathe.
People got used to Ivan's rambling, just like they got used to breathing and heartbeats; when it stopped, the world seemed to stop turning as well.
On the morning of the fourth day, before dawn, a sliver of light struggled to pierce the thin fog covering the ground.
Just then, a very soft, very faint sob came from the well of memory.
That wasn't a human cry; it was more like the mournful cry of some ancient and vast consciousness, finally released after a long period of suppression.
It is neither sharp nor shrill, but it carries a chill that penetrates the soul, as if it were forcibly squeezed out from the corner of everyone's memory that they least want to touch.
Chu Yao, who was guarding the well, trembled violently and her face turned deathly pale.
She gripped the cold well rim, her voice trembling with shock, each word seemingly squeezed out between clenched teeth: "It's crying...it's crying! Lin Yi, can you hear it? It's because of you...because finally someone said those words to it—'I don't want to fix everything!'"
Before the words were even finished, a figure had already shot towards the well opening like an arrow released from a bow.
Lin Yi's expression was more solemn than ever before, but when he rushed to the well, he did something that no one expected.
He didn't use any magical artifacts, nor did he mobilize any spiritual energy to investigate the anomalies at the bottom of the well, nor did he even ask any extra questions.
He simply turned around, silently took a very ordinary earthenware bowl from the house next door, walked to the stream, and scooped up a full bowl of crystal-clear water.
Then, he placed the bowl of water steadily on the edge of the well, the whole movement slow and solemn, as if he were performing some kind of ancient ritual.
He lowered his eyes, gazing at his blurred reflection in the bowl, his voice low and calm, yet clearly carrying through the quiet morning: "Well, if you have something to say, you don't have to go through Ivan. Let it flow out on its own."
After saying that, he stepped back a few paces, stood with his hands behind his back, like a silent statue, just waiting quietly.
This wait lasted for an entire day.
During the day, more and more people were drawn to the eerie silence and Lin Yi's unusual behavior. They gathered at a distance, whispering among themselves, but no one dared to approach and disturb him.
From sunrise to sunset, the bowl of water remained completely still, as if Lin Yi's actions were nothing more than a meaningless joke.
Until night completely enveloped the earth, and the last glimmer of light was swallowed by darkness.
"Buzz—"
A slight tremor came from the bottom of the well.
Immediately afterwards, without any external force, the water in the ceramic bowl began to slowly rise, as if supported by an invisible hand, and gently but firmly overflowed over the rim of the bowl.
The water flowed along the rough bluestone well rim, forming a winding wet trail that eventually traced several crooked yet clearly legible characters on the smooth stone surface:
"I have kept thirty-seven truths hidden."
A suppressed gasp rippled through the crowd.
the truth?
What's the truth?
Is it about the world, or about a particular person?
This well, and this "Ivan" who is regarded as the source of information, actually has its own secrets?
Lin Yi's eyes remained unchanged, as if he had anticipated all of this.
He didn't pursue the truth about the thirty-seven points; he simply waved his hand and ordered the guards behind him, "Bring thirty-seven empty bowls and arrange them in a row along the well."
When thirty-seven identical pottery bowls were neatly arranged along the edge of the well, Lin Yi stepped forward, facing all the astonished and bewildered people who had rushed to the scene, and announced loudly:
“From today onwards, this is the ‘Well of Silence.’ Anyone who has a sentence or a truth hidden in their heart, and you feel that speaking it out would hurt others, disrupt the existing peace, and make you bear a heavy price, then you can come here. You don’t need to say anything, just fill a bowl with water and slowly pour it into the well. This bowl of water represents— ‘I wanted to speak, but I ultimately chose silence.’”
His voice echoed in the silent night, striking a chord in everyone's heart.
After saying that, he personally picked up the first empty bowl, filled it with water, and walked to the well.
He stared at the bottomless well opening, remained silent for a long time, and then slowly poured the water from the bowl into it.
The water flowed over the stone wall, making a soft sound.
In the instant the water stopped flowing, he murmured in a voice only he could hear: "I once lied to a dying friend, telling him that his son, who was on a distant expedition, was still alive and had become a hero."
The words had barely left his lips when Ivan's mechanical whisper, which had been silent for three days, suddenly resounded in his mind, this time with an unprecedented tremor:
"Warning... Logic node eighty-eight... Unplanned emotional resonance detected... The last safety lock... is starting to loosen."
A glint of light flashed in Lin Yi's eyes. He knew he had made the right choice.
Over the next few days, more and more people gathered around the well.
They always arrive quietly at dawn or dusk when there are fewer people.
They never spoke to each other, and even deliberately avoided eye contact.
Everyone silently stepped forward, scooped water, and then slowly poured it into the deep well.
After pouring the water, they turned and left, their backs carrying a complex mix of relief and an even heavier burden.
Lin Yi neither urged anyone nor pried into their secrets. He simply observed quietly.
On the seventh day, he led the craftsmen to build a very simple pavilion next to the well.
The pavilion has no walls, only four stone pillars supporting the roof, and a circle of smooth stone benches around it, so anyone can come in and rest at any time.
On the day the pavilion was completed, Lin Yi stood in it and said to the people coming and going with different expressions: "Words don't always have to be spoken. Sometimes, silence is also a form of expression. From now on, when you come here, don't rush to pour water. If you feel that the secret in your heart is too heavy, you might as well sit here for a while. Sitting here is itself a kind of admission—we have all chosen to bear a truth that is heavier than a lie for certain reasons."
His words were like a key, unlocking the long-sealed doors in the hearts of many more people.
Among the crowd, a young mother had been sitting by the well for seven consecutive days.
She never poured water, never spoke, but simply hugged her knees, staring blankly at the well opening, sitting there for hours on end.
Lin Yi happened to walk past her once and smelled a faint, peculiar herbal scent still lingering on her faded cuffs.
He instantly remembered that this woman's child had contracted a serious illness six months ago. At that time, the shelter's resources were extremely strained, and the doctor in charge of treatment had privately suggested to her that she give up on treating this child with little hope and save the precious medication for someone more likely to survive.
Lin Yi didn't know what her final choice would be, but he didn't bring up that painful memory.
The next day, he quietly placed a blank hardcover diary and a charcoal pencil on the stone bench where the mother often sat.
On the first page of the diary, there was only one line he left: "To the person you dare not tell the truth."
The mother saw the diary, and as she stroked the words, tears silently streamed down her face.
But she still didn't put pen to paper.
Three more days passed.
When Lin Yi picked up the journal again, he found a line of text inside.
The handwriting was crooked and blurred by tears, as if it had been written with all the strength of his body:
“Son, I’m so sorry. The doctor was right, back then… I really wanted to listen to him.”
There was no signature at the end.
In the dead of night, as this nameless confession lay dormant in the diary, the well of memory suddenly roared like thunder!
"Boom—"
Without warning, the well water began to boil violently, and scalding steam shot into the sky, condensing into a thick white mist in mid-air.
Within the mist, countless blurry and distorted figures appeared and disappeared, each with a different form, including men, women, young and old, and each exuding a deep-seated loneliness and sorrow.
Chu Yao exclaimed in horror, "It's them...it's those who suffered all the pain alone because of 'well-intentioned concealment'! It's those souls who died in lies, or collapsed after the truth was revealed!"
Lin Yi stood outside the pavilion, the wind whipping his clothes.
He showed no fear whatsoever. Instead, facing the swirling mist, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Do you regret it?!"
He wasn't asking those who concealed the truth, but rather those who suffered the consequences.
The figure in the fog did not answer, and all the noise and commotion came to an abrupt halt at that moment.
In the utter silence, a drop of water quietly condensed at the highest point of the thick fog, then fell straight down, landing precisely in Lin Yi's outstretched palm.
That drop of water was as warm as a tear.
Lin Yi slowly closed his palm, feeling the understanding and relief that transcended life and death.
He walked to the well and gently dripped this "tear" into the first earthenware bowl he had ever poured out.
"I don't regret the courage to speak the truth, nor do I regret the gentleness of choosing silence," he whispered. "This is the freedom that the truth should have."
As soon as he finished speaking, the boiling well water miraculously calmed down.
The steam and figures receded like the tide, sinking back to the bottom of the well.
The next morning, when it was broad daylight.
The water in the Well of Memory is as calm as a mirror, so clear that it reflects every trace of the clouds in the sky.
Ivan's last whisper, like a sigh from the depths of the earth, echoed simultaneously in Lin Yi and Chu Yao's minds, then fell silent forever:
"Logic calibration complete... Unit 88... 'Tears' has been learned."
Almost simultaneously, Chu Yao's ethereal and fleeting voice rang out in the morning breeze, carrying a hint of inexplicable tremor: "Ivan is asleep... but a new consciousness is awakening. Unit 89... it is waiting, waiting for the first... person who dares to shatter the world with their own hands, rather than repair it."
Lin Yi's gaze was as deep as well water. He knew that the "person" was himself.
“Repairing is pointless.” He gazed at the calm surface of the well, as if whispering to the newly formed “Eighty-Nine Units.” “This time, what I will teach them is not how to rebuild, but… how to make this world look better even when it is broken.”
Before he finished speaking, a faint light suddenly appeared at the bottom of the deep, mirror-like well.
The light was extremely faint, yet so pure that it contained not a trace of impurity, like the most distant star in the night, imprisoned in the deepest part of this ancient well.
It floated silently, neither flickering nor moving, yet it seemed to contain some earth-shattering power about to burst forth from the ground.
The breath of the entire world seemed to freeze at this moment, for the appearance of this tiny glimmer of light.
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