That aura seemed to be the oldest lament and obsession of this land.
Amidst the interplay of light and shadow, a phantom bridge composed of pure light particles extends from beneath Lin Yi's feet, leading directly to the solitary black stone pillar in the center of the lake.
He took a deep breath, suppressed the pounding in his heart, and stepped onto the bridge of light.
With each step, tiny sparks of light scatter beneath the feet like fireflies, and one can almost hear the low sighs of countless people.
As they got closer to the stone pillar, the outline of the seemingly ordinary half-oil lamp became clearer.
Just as Lin Yi's fingers were about to touch the stone pillar, his pupils suddenly contracted.
He finally saw clearly that the bronze lamp stand was not a smooth surface, but was covered with countless names smaller than grains of rice.
Densely packed, layer upon layer, old and new alternating.
Some of the writing has been blurred by the passage of time, leaving only shallow marks, while others seem to have been carved just yesterday, with sharp edges and a stubborn, unwilling spirit.
His gaze swept around frantically, as if searching for an answer he already knew.
Finally, at the position closest to the lamp wick on the lamp stand, he saw three words that were almost buried by the names of those who came after, yet still stubbornly remained—Lin Wanqiu.
That was his mother's full name.
In an instant, Lin Yi felt as if the blood in his body had frozen.
Why is the name of that gentle woman who always told him old stories about the city before he went to sleep here?
“…The lamp burns…relying on a name…not oil…” Ivan’s broken and hollow voice echoed in Lin Yi’s mind, each word like a cold awl piercing the depths of his cognition, “…each name…is a wisp…of unextinguished thought…”
Lin Yi suddenly realized what had happened, as if struck by lightning.
The so-called "lampkeeper" is not someone who guards a lamp at all, but someone who uses their own body as fuel and their name as a guide, voluntarily engraving their existence, memories and even soul into the lamp stand, becoming the fuel that keeps the light at the wellhead burning!
This is no oil lamp; it is clearly an altar burning with life!
He reached out with trembling hands and took out the transparent ear of wheat he had obtained from the ruins of Unit 95.
The moment the wheat ear approached the lamp wick, a strange scene unfolded.
The shimmering light inside the wheat ears began to beat in unison with the faint flame at the top of the lamp wick, as if two long-lost hearts had found their rhythm at this moment.
“…New wheat…granting the ninety-fifth wish…” Ivan’s voice rang out again, this time seemingly a little clearer, “…can be rekindled…the old fire…but requires…a name…the true name…”
To reignite the old flame, a true name is required.
Lin Yi's gaze fell back on his mother's name on the lamp stand, and then swept over the almost seamless engraving.
He understood that this was the final inheritance, and the final choice.
The hesitation lasted only half a second before being replaced by a resolute determination.
Without hesitation, he raised his right hand and bit his index fingertip hard, drawing out a bead of bright red blood instantly.
In the only small blank space left on the lamp stand, he solemnly wrote his name—Lin Yi—with his own blood, stroke by stroke.
The blood-written words had just been formed and had not yet solidified when the faint wick of the lamp suddenly throbbed!
With a soft "poof," a cluster of eerie blue flames shot into the sky, illuminating the entire dark lakebed space as bright as day.
The turbulent black lake surface instantly calmed down, like a mirror that had been wiped clean. However, what was reflected was not Lin Yi, but the solemn scene of all the members of Unit 95 standing in formation.
In the scene, all the figures, including the old man who handed him the ear of wheat, turned around and, across the boundary between life and death, bowed slightly towards the stone pillar and towards Lin Yi, the new lampkeeper.
It was a silent handover, a trust that spanned nearly a century.
The moment the flames rose, a vast and boundless torrent of information, yet filled with sorrow, surged wildly into Lin Yi's mind along with the wisp of blue flame.
Countless memories, images, and emotions that did not belong to him surged through his consciousness like a flood bursting its banks.
He "saw" it.
Ninety years ago, when the rules of the real world began to reject those "anomalies" that could not be erased by time due to their deep-seated obsessions, the first generation of Night Listeners made their choice.
They were not fleeing after defeat, but rather trying to preserve the last embers of memory for this city.
They used a secret method to carve the names of all those who perished in the catastrophe into the root system of the wall-borne plants that ran throughout the city. They themselves, the team named "Unit Ninety-Five," volunteered to cover the rear and sacrifice themselves to ignite the wellhead fire known as the "Return Lamp."
They are rejected by the rules of reality and cannot be completely erased by time. In the end, they can only remain forever in this gap between light and shadow in the form of "memory".
The lamp burns eternally, and memories endure.
The confusion in Lin Yi's eyes faded away, replaced by an unprecedented clarity and solemnity.
He knew what he had to do.
The flames ignited by his name alone, though intense, were insufficient to awaken the slumbering network of memories beneath the entire city.
He needs more "keys".
He closed his eyes, his spiritual power connecting with the flames of the returning lamp.
He did not directly summon the descendants of the lamplighters, as that would have been too much of a commotion and too likely to cause unnecessary panic.
He simply extended his finger and gently touched the dark blue flame. Eight barely perceptible rays of light separated from the main flame and condensed at his fingertip into eight black crystals the size of rice grains. Their shape was exactly the same as the wick of the Returning Lamp.
With a thought, the eight replicated black crystal lamp wicks pierced through the barriers of space and silently appeared on the windowsills of eight different families throughout the city.
Along with them came a phrase etched into their spirit: "The names of your ancestors are still burning on the lamp."
That night, eight people of different backgrounds—a decadent old man running a secondhand shop, a young scholar at the city archives, a nimble female mercenary—all dreamed of their ancestors engulfed in flames.
The next morning, without the slightest hesitation, the eight people, each carrying a family heirloom—an old badge, a yellowed notebook, and a broken dagger—spontaneously gathered from all corners of the city toward the well.
When the eight people arrived at the seal outside the wellhead, Lin Yi was already waiting there.
He didn't waste any words; he simply guided them to stand in specific positions, setting up an ancient "Eight Directions Guardian Lamp Array."
"Place the tokens beside the lamp wick and recite in unison the full names of your ancestors." Lin Yi's voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.
The eight men stood solemnly, placing their ancestral keepsakes beside the black crystal lamp wick that floated before them. Then, with all their might, they called out the name that was deeply buried in their blood.
As the first name was awakened, the long-silent great bell from deep underground rang out once more, its frequency perfectly resonating with the cluster of eerie blue flames in the heart of the lake.
Then, the second, the third... the moment the eighth name was uttered, the eight bell tolls merged into one, transforming into a deafening roar.
The seal that had been covering the wellhead shattered inch by inch in this resonance, turning into countless points of light.
At the same time, nine incredibly thick beams of light shot into the sky above the black lake, tearing through the darkness and precisely piercing through thirty-seven long-abandoned ancient ruins on the surface.
In an instant, the wall-whispering plants that covered the city's underground seemed to be infused with boundless vitality. The silver veins of their roots surged instantly, and countless new branches burst out of the soil like writhing dragons, stretching wildly toward the sky.
"...The well has awakened...the name has been restored..." Ivan's voice became crystal clear for the first time, without the slightest interruption, as if a real person were standing beside Lin Yi, "...the next journey...summoning the hundred races..."
Lin Yi turned his gaze to the center of the lake.
He was horrified to discover that the stone pillar, which had been corroded and broken over the years, was now slowly growing and repairing itself at a speed visible to the naked eye.
On that bronze lamp stand, among those names covered by blood and time, new marks are slowly emerging, inch by inch. Those are... the truly nameless victims who have not yet been remembered.
He lowered his head, looking at the translucent ear of wheat in his hand, which was shining even brighter, and said softly, "It's their turn."
At that very moment, on the ground, at the center of the thirty-seven ruins pierced by beams of light, the stone slabs and ruins that had been sealed for nearly a hundred years began to tremble slightly.
It was as if something, illuminated by the beam of light, was being awakened from a long slumber...
In the distance, atop the city's tallest spire, a superhuman gaze that had always overlooked the entire city slowly turned toward the nine towering pillars of light, revealing an indescribable...greed in its eyes.
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