Revolving lantern, back to zero

When Lin Shen returned home, it was already broad daylight.

The living room lights were still on, their cool white light appearing dim in the morning light. The mirror on the floor was still there, the pieced-together section reflecting the ceiling, a faint silvery-white halo seeping through the cracks. Chen Yuan sat on the sofa, holding a book—not Shen Ruo's mystery novel, but a very old copy of the *Tao Te Ching* with a worn cover. Su Wan leaned against the other end of the sofa, asleep, her head resting on the cushions, her breathing even.

The origin is not Su Wan.

Lin Shen walked to the kitchen doorway and saw her inside. She was standing in front of the stove, the water in the pot was boiling, and she put a few dumplings into it. Hearing footsteps, she turned her head, glanced at him, and didn't say anything. Then she turned back and gently stirred the water in the pot with chopsticks to prevent the dumplings from sticking to the bottom.

"How long has it been since you slept?" Lin Shen asked.

"I don't know." Yuan Dian Su Wan's voice was flat. "When I was in ward B7, I slept for two hours every day. I got used to it."

Lin Shen leaned against the kitchen door frame and took out three mirrors from his pocket—the first one was made up of fragments from the warehouse, about the size of a palm, with two stars reflected in the mirror; the second one was taken from Su Wan's heart at the origin, about the size of a fingernail, with a star reflected in the mirror; the third one was from the room on B1, very small, with a stainless steel frame, and the mirror was facing down.

He turned the third mirror over.

His face was reflected in the mirror. In his pupils, the black rose had grown larger, from the size of a sesame seed to the size of a grain of rice. The petals were slowly rotating, and with each rotation, the center of the flower would light up briefly, like a faint, awakening heart.

Yuan Dian Su Wan walked over carrying two plates of dumplings, glancing down at the black rose in the mirror. Her expression remained unchanged, as if she were looking at something ordinary and insignificant.

"There's something in your eye," she said.

"I know."

"Will it hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt."

She handed him a plate of dumplings. "Then just leave it."

Lin Shen took the plate, picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks, and took a bite. It was filled with cabbage and pork, not too salty or bland, just right. He didn't know when Su Wan from the origin learned to cook; maybe it was during those three years in ward B7, or maybe it was even earlier, in some world he didn't know.

"Is it good?" she asked.

"tasty."

She sat opposite him and began to eat. The two sat facing each other in silence, the only sounds the clinking of chopsticks against the rim of their bowls and the occasional car horn outside the window. Su Wan rolled over on the sofa, mumbled something, and then fell into a deep sleep. Chen Yuan put down his book, looked at them, and a slight smile played on his lips—not a smile, but a small, subtle expression, like someone who had just seen a beautiful painting.

Lin Shen finished his dumplings and placed the plate on the coffee table. He picked up the third mirror and examined it closely. There was a line of extremely small writing on the edge of the mirror, barely visible even with a magnifying glass. He didn't have a magnifying glass, but he squinted and peered closely, managing to read the contents:

"The fourth mirror is in your first death. Go back to the warehouse. Go back to the moment you were killed. This time, don't close your eyes. —Another you."

It was exactly the same text message he received in the first chapter. But this time, it wasn't a text message; it was words carved into the mirror. Not carved by someone else, but by himself. The handwriting was exactly his.

Lin Shen stood up and put the three mirrors into his pocket.

"Where are you going?" Chen Yuan asked.

"The warehouse." Lin Shen picked up the car keys. "The fourth mirror is over there."

"I'll go with you." Chen Yuan stood up, his white coat covered in dust and powder from broken mirror shards.

"You stay." Lin Shen glanced at him. "You only have two-thirds of the power. You won't be of much help even if you go. Besides—" He looked at Su Wan sleeping on the sofa, "she'll need someone to keep her company when she wakes up."

Chen Yuan was silent for a few seconds, then nodded and sat down again.

Lin Shen walked out the door, went downstairs, and got into his car. He started the engine and drove towards the industrial zone in the north of the city. There weren't many cars on the road that morning, so he drove fast. The wind outside the car window rushed in, making his eyes sting. He rubbed his eyes, and when his fingers touched the corners of his eyes, he felt a strange sensation—not skin, not eyelashes, but something soft and slightly cool, like flower petals.

He pulled down the sun visor and opened the mirror on top.

In the mirror, his eyes appeared normal: brown irises, black pupils, and white sclera. But deep within his pupils, the black rose had grown to the size of a soybean. Petals extended from his pupils, like a flower growing from the bottom of a well, striving to reach the top.

Lin Shen stared at the flower in the mirror for five seconds. Then he closed the sun visor and continued driving.

We've arrived at the warehouse.

The warehouse in the morning is different from the one at night. Sunlight streams in through the high windows and the broken roof, illuminating the interior. The iron frames, rust marks, and oil stains on the cement floor are all clearly visible. The chalk outline of a human figure is still on the ground, though the color has faded, like a faded photograph.

Lin Shen walked in and stood in the center of the warehouse. He closed his eyes, feeling the throbbing of the scar on his chest. The direction of the fourth star—not above his head, not beneath his feet, not in front, behind, left, or right. It was right in the center. Below where he was standing.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his feet. There was a crack in the cement floor, extending from the outline of a human figure in chalk, like a dried-up river. The crack was narrow, less than a centimeter wide, but deep, and he couldn't see the bottom. Lin Shen squatted down and put his hand into the crack. His fingers couldn't reach the bottom, but his fingertips touched something—something cool, smooth, and like glass.

a mirror.

A mirror buried underground.

He pulled out the first mirror—the one he'd taken from the warehouse—and held it up to the crack in the ground. The mirror reflected the crack, but it was more than just a crack. The crack in the mirror was much wider and deeper than the one beneath his feet, like an abyss. In that abyss lay another mirror, a gigantic mirror stretching from the ground all the way to the earth's core, reflecting—

It reflects himself.

But not the current him, but the him at the moment of his first death. Kneeling on the ground, hands clutching his neck, blood gushing from between his fingers. Behind him stood a person, holding a knife. The person's head was bowed, face obscured, but a tattoo adorned their wrist—a black snake entwined around a rose.

Lin Shen flipped the mirror in his hand over and placed it face down on the ground. The mirror surface covered the crack.

"What are you looking at?" a voice came from behind.

Lin Shen turned around. A person stood in the shadow of the iron frame, dressed in dark clothes and wearing sunglasses, just like the keeper of the first mirror. But their build was different—this person was half a head taller, with broader shoulders, and a straighter posture. It wasn't a woman, but a man.

"Who are you?" Lin Shen asked.

The person removed their sunglasses. Their eyes were red, and within their pupils swirled a black rose. But unlike the previous guardian of the mirror—this black rose had already bloomed. Its petals were fully open, and its center was black, unfathomable.

"I am you," the person said. "Not another you from another world, not a mirror image, not a shadow. I am the seed within you. The flower the 'Gardener' planted in your eyes. You call it the Black Rose. I call it—myself."

Lin Shen's hand rested on the gun handle. The gun was still empty; he hadn't loaded it. "You're out."

"I've emerged part of myself." The person stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight. His face was exactly like Lin Shen's, but his expression was different—not tired, alert, or ready to fight, but relaxed, languid, like someone just waking up. "The seed within you is growing. With each little bit it grows, I emerge a little more. When it fully blossoms, I will emerge completely. At that time, you will be me, and I will be you. We won't be able to tell who is who."

Lin Shen stared at the face that was exactly like his own. "You want to replace me."

"I want to be you," the person said. "Not replace, become. We are the same person. You just don't want to admit it. You've divided yourself in two—the good half is called Lin Shen, and the bad half is called 'Seed.' But there's no good or bad. You protect others because you want to be protected. You help others because you want to be helped. You love others because you want to be loved. You just don't dare admit it."

Lin Shen removed his hand from the gun handle. "What are you doing here?"

"Let me get you the fourth mirror." The person walked to the crack, squatted down, and stuck their fingers into it. "You can't reach the bottom, but I can. Because I am a part of you, I can go where you can't."

His fingers touched the mirror on the ground, and the mirror emitted a blue light. Light gushed out from the cracks, like spring water gushing from the ground. The blue light grew brighter and brighter, until the entire warehouse was dyed the color of the deep sea.

"The guardian of the fourth mirror is not the 'Gardener,' not Lu Ming's memories, not Su Wan's memories." The person raised their head, looking at Lin Shen, "It is yourself. The self you see in the mirror, kneeling on the ground, clutching your neck, blood flowing everywhere. That is the memory of your first death. He is trapped in this mirror, forgetting who he is. You must awaken him."

"How do I wake him up?"

"Tell him he's dead." The man stood up, pulling his hand out of the crack. His fingers glowed with a blue light, like they were coated with fluorescent powder. "He thought he was alive. He thought he was trapped in the warehouse, experiencing death over and over again. He didn't know he was dead, didn't know he was a memory. You must let him know the truth."

Lin Shen stared at the blue light emanating from the crack. "What would he do if I told him the truth?"

"He will disappear. Like the guardian of the first mirror, he will step out of the mirror and return to your body. You will have the complete memory of your first death—not the fragments seen in a revolving lantern, but the complete memory, from the first second to the last, without missing a single detail."

"What's the use of that?"

The man smiled. It wasn't a mocking smile, nor a triumphant one, but a bitter, helpless smile, like the smile of someone seeing a shattered mirror. "You will know who 'The Gardener' is. When you died the first time, you saw the killer's tattoo, but you didn't see the killer's face. That memory is sealed in this mirror. Only you can unlock it."

The blue light went out. The crack returned to its original state—a narrow crack, less than a centimeter wide, with no bottom visible.

The person began to become transparent, spreading upwards from the feet. "I'm going back. The seed in your eye is growing, but it can't bloom. Because you haven't cried for yourself yet. The tears you shed will water it and make it bloom. When it blooms, I will come out completely. Then you'll know what to do."

He disappeared.

Lin Shen stood still, looking down at the crack beneath his feet. Something was moving within the crack—not light, but shadow. A very small, blurry, humanoid shadow moved back and forth deep within the crack.

It was myself at the moment of my first death.

Lin Shen crouched down and reached his hand into the crack. This time, his fingers reached the bottom. It wasn't the cold foundation, nor the hard rock, but a warm, soft, skin-like touch. He grasped that hand.

The shadow in the crack stopped.

"Who are you?" The voice came from deep within the crack, very soft and distant, as if separated by a thick wall.

"I am you," Lin Shen said, "but not the you trapped in the mirror. I am the living you. You are dead."

Silent for a long time.

"I know." The voice grew softer. "I know I'm dead. But I don't know where I go after I die. So I've been here. Experiencing death over and over again. From the first second to the last second, and then from the last second back to the first second. I've gone through it countless times. Every time I thought I could survive, but every time I died by the same knife."

Lin Shen gripped that hand tightly. "You don't need to go through this anymore. Come out. Return to my body. I will live in your place."

The light in the crack brightened. It wasn't blue, but golden, warm, like sunlight. Shadows emerged from the crack—first fingertips, then palms, then wrists, then forearms. A person crawled out of the crack, knelt on the ground, and gasped for breath.

He was wearing the same clothes Lin Shen had worn when he first died—a dark jacket, black jeans, and combat boots. There was a deep wound on his neck, still bleeding. But the blood was transparent, like water, like light.

He looked up at Lin Shen.

His face was exactly the same as Lin Shen's, but younger. Not younger in age, but younger in eyes—younger than someone who had experienced so much death, so much loss, so much betrayal and despair.

"You lived for me," the young Lin Shen said, "but I will die for you. We're even."

He smiled. The smile was warm and genuine, like sunshine. Then his body began to become transparent, spreading upwards from his feet. He felt no fear, no sorrow, only a smile. Like the guardian of the first mirror, like the guardian of the second mirror, like all memories that have been released.

He disappeared.

Lin Shen stood up and looked down at the crack beneath his feet. The blue light within the crack had completely extinguished, leaving only darkness. But he felt something new in his chest—not the throbbing of the scar, but a warm, embrace-like sensation. The complete memory of his first death, whole and without omission, returned to his body.

He saw the killer's face.

It's not a tattoo, not a wrist, not a knife. It's a face.

He recognized that face. He saw it every day. In the mirror, in the car window, in the black glass of his phone screen.

It was him.

It wasn't another version of himself, not a mirror image, not a shadow. It was himself. The one who killed him during his first death was himself. Not "another self," but "this self." His consciousness split into two during his near-death experience—one died, one lived. The dead one was trapped in the mirror, while the living one continued forward.

He is the murderer.

Lin Shen knelt on the ground, his hands supporting him, head bowed. He didn't cry, but his eyes were red. Not from grief, but because he had finally seen it—from the very beginning, there was no killer. No "Gardener," no "Harvester," no "Holy Spirit." Only himself. Every clue he pursued was one he had left behind. Every enemy he fought was one he had created. Every answer he sought resided within his own heart.

He closed his eyes. In the darkness, the black rose was fully open. Petals emerged from his pupils, filling his entire field of vision. The heart of the flower was black, bottomless, like a well. At the bottom of the well was a mirror. His face was reflected in the mirror.

Not the face now, but the face at the moment of the first death. A young, terrified face, unable to believe that he was going to die.

Lin Shen opened his eyes and stood up.

He pulled out a fourth mirror—the one he'd taken from the crack, palm-sized, with a stainless steel frame. His face was reflected in the mirror. The black rose in his pupils had bloomed to its fullest, its petals slowly drifting down, one by one, onto his irises like black snow.

A fourth star appeared in the pupil. It wasn't a reflection in a mirror; it grew from the heart of the black rose. A very small, silvery-white star, like a diamond.

Four mirrors, four stars, four memories.

There are three more sides.

Lin Shen put the mirror in his pocket, turned, and walked out of the warehouse. The sunlight shone warmly on his face. He stood at the warehouse door, looking up at the sky. The sky was blue, the clouds were white, everything seemed normal. But he knew something was different. The black rose in his eyes had bloomed, but hadn't yet withered. It was waiting—waiting for him to cry for himself once.

He touched his chest; the scar remained silent. The "self" within him didn't speak. But Lin Shen knew he was there. Waiting. Deep within all the mirrors, at the end of all memories, in the cracks of all worlds. Waiting for him.