Revolving lantern, back to zero

The moment Lu Ming woke up, Lin Shen sensed it. It wasn't someone telling him, nor was it a phone ringing; it was the sudden cessation of the throbbing in the scar on his chest. Like a drum struck its final note, the echo slowly dissipated in the air, then fell completely silent.

He stood in his living room, the last rays of dusk streaming through the window. Seven mirrors were stacked in his palm; the seven stars reflected in them twinkled simultaneously, then went dark. Not because they went out, but because they no longer needed to shine. They had found their place.

"He's awake." Chen Yuan put down the Tao Te Ching and stood up from the sofa. His voice was calm, but Lin Shen noticed that his hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the bewilderment of finally getting something done but not knowing what to do next.

Su Wan stood by the window, her back to everyone. Her shoulders trembled slightly, without a sound, without tears, just shaking. Like a machine that had just been turned off, its internal parts still turning due to inertia.

Lin Shen walked behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder. The edges of the seven mirrors in his palm pressed against his hand, but he did not let go.

"Let's go," Lin Shen said. "I'll take you there."

Su Wan turned around. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying. She looked at Lin Shen, her lips moved a few times, as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. In the end, she just nodded.

Lin Shen turned and walked towards the door. Su Wan followed behind, her steps light, as if afraid of disturbing something. Yuan Dian stood at the kitchen doorway, holding a plate with freshly cooked dumplings in her hand, steaming hot. She watched Su Wan's back, neither speaking nor moving.

Chen Yuan walked over to her, picked up a dumpling from the plate, and took a bite.

"She'll be fine," Chen Yuan said.

Yuan Dian Su Wan didn't answer. She placed the plate on the coffee table, squatted down, and continued piecing together the mirror on the floor. The mirror taken from her heart—the second mirror—had been fitted into the gap in the large mirror. The mirror was complete, reflecting the ceiling light, white and cold, with a warm yellow halo around the edge.

A figure moved within the halo. Small and blurry, yet with a clear outline—long hair, white clothes—a fragment of Chen Yuan. Still reflected in the mirror, pacing back and forth, as if waiting for something.

Lin Shen and Su Wan went downstairs and got into the car. Lin Shen started the engine, and the car drove out of the residential area. Su Wan sat in the passenger seat, her hands on her knees, her fingers intertwined, her knuckles white.

"Are you nervous?" Lin Shen asked.

"Um."

"You waited for him for three years."

"It's because I waited for three years." Su Wan's voice was very soft. "I was afraid that when I saw him, I wouldn't know what to say. 'Are you alright?'—He just woke up from a three-year coma, he must not be alright. 'I miss you'—that's too soft. 'I'm sorry'—I have no regrets about him."

Lin Shen gripped the steering wheel, looking at the road ahead. Streetlights lit up one by one, illuminating the road like a golden river.

"You don't need to say anything," Lin Shen said. "He'll know as soon as he sees you."

Su Wan didn't answer. She turned her face to the car window, where her reflection shone through—a pale, tired face with deep dark circles under her eyes. But there was a tiny, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of her mouth. It wasn't a smile, but rather an expression of "finally." Finally, she had waited; finally, she didn't have to wait anymore.

We've arrived at the hospital. The First People's Hospital of the city, 12th floor, room 1208 of the inpatient department.

Lin Shen and Su Wan stepped out of the elevator. All the lights in the corridor were on, and the phone at the nurses' station was ringing, but no one answered. The door to room 1208 was open, and the light inside was a warm yellow, not the white light of a fluorescent lamp, but the kind of light from a bedside lamp.

Su Wan stood at the door and did not go in.

Lin Shen stood behind her, not going in. He looked through the glass window in the door—Lu Ming was sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows, wearing a hospital gown, his wrists wrapped in gauze. His face was still thin, his cheekbones prominent, his eye sockets deep-set, but his eyes were bright. Not the kind of bright that flashes on a lantern, but a normal, living, brownish brightness.

He looked towards the doorway, then towards Su Wan's face through the glass window.

"Su Wan," he called her name.

It wasn't a question, nor a test; it was confirmation. Like someone who had groped in the dark for a long time, finally touching a familiar wall, and uttering, "This is it."

Su Wan pushed open the door and went inside.

She stood beside Lu Ming's bed, looking down at him. He looked up at her. They stared at each other for three seconds, five seconds, ten seconds. No one spoke. The telephone in the hallway stopped ringing; the silence was as if the whole world had held its breath.

"Do you remember me?" Su Wan finally spoke. Her voice trembled, but she enunciated each word clearly.

Lu Ming reached out and touched Su Wan's wrist with his fingers. There was a scar there—not from a recent wrist-cutting incident, but from three years ago, on a night neither of them wanted to remember, when they were cut by broken glass. The scar had turned white and was almost invisible unless you looked closely.

"Here," Lu Ming said, "you said this scar is like the life I owe you. You told me to remember it and repay it when you die."

Su Wan's tears finally flowed. They weren't silent; they were audible—a soft, suppressed sob, like a deep, rising murmur. She crouched down, burying her face in Lu Ming's hands, her shoulders trembling violently.

Lu Ming didn't cry. He just looked at the top of Su Wan's head, at her messy hair, at the white hairs in her hair—three years, she had aged more than three years. His fingers gently and slowly ran through her hair, as if caressing something fragile, precious, lost and found again.

Lin Shen left 1208 and gently closed the door.

He stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, and took seven mirrors out of his pocket. He placed them side by side in his palm and looked at himself in the corridor light. His face was reflected in the mirrors—a tired face with dark circles under his eyes, but with seven stars in his eyes. The seven stars were arranged in a complete circle on his brown irises, like a mirror, like a door, like a period.

But a period is not the end. It's the beginning.

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Chen Yuan: "Come back. Something's happened in the Origin World."

Lin Shen gripped his phone tightly and turned to walk towards the elevator. He pressed the down button, the elevator doors opened, and a person stood inside. The person was dressed in black, wearing a black mask, revealing only their eyes. Those eyes were red, and a black rose swirled within the pupils.

"The Reaper".

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

"The seventh seed," the person spoke, their voice flat and emotionless. "Your task is complete. Seven mirrors, seven memories, Lu Ming is whole. Now, it's your turn."

Lin Shen neither retreated nor advanced. He stood at the elevator entrance, facing the person less than two meters away. "Did 'The Gardener' send you?"

"The 'Gardener' is dead," the man said. "When you cried, the black rose in his eyes withered. Without the black rose, he had no power. Without power, he was no longer the 'Gardener.' Now he's just an ordinary person, lying in bed somewhere, waiting to die."

Lin Shen stared into those red eyes. "Then who are you?"

"I am the new 'Gardener'." The person removed the black mask. Lin Shen recognized the face beneath the mask. Not a friend, not an enemy, but someone he never expected to appear here.

Old Zhou.

No, it wasn't Lao Zhou. It was Lao Zhou's face, but his eyes were red, with black roses in his pupils. Lao Zhou was dead, dead in the emergency room of the First People's Hospital of the city. Lin Shen watched his heartbeat turn into a straight line.

"You're not Lao Zhou," Lin Shen said.

"I am Old Zhou's shadow," the man said. "Old Zhou is dead, but his shadow lives on. The seed of 'Gardener' was planted in Old Zhou's body for thirty years, but it never blossomed. When Old Zhou died, the seed awoke. It crawled out of Old Zhou's body and found me."

"Who are you?"

The man smiled. His smile was exactly the same as Old Zhou's—a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth, his eyes narrowed to slits, as if he had seen an interesting answer.

"I am the person who died by your hand the first time you killed someone."

Lin Shen's blood suddenly turned cold.

His first murder was seven years ago. A drug dealer resisted arrest and stabbed Xiao Chen with a knife. Lin Shen fired, hitting him in the forehead. The man died instantly. Lin Shen remembered that face—a young, terrified face with wide-open eyes. It was different from the face in front of him. The face in front of him belonged to Lao Zhou.

"I don't believe it," Lin Shen said.

"You're right not to believe me." The man put his mask back on. "Because I'm not any specific person. I'm the shadow of everyone you've killed. I have as many faces as you've killed. Old Zhou is the last one, because he was the last person you killed."

"I didn't kill Lao Zhou."

"You didn't lay a hand on him. But he died because of you. 'The Reaper' stabbed him so you would see him die. You saw it. His death is connected to you." The man stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. "You don't need to be afraid of me. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to tell you—'The Gardener' is dead, but 'The Reaper' is still here. There are seven seeds; you harvested one, and the remaining six are scattered in various parallel worlds. Each seed will grow into a new 'Gardener.' Your mission is not to save Lu Ming, but to save all the worlds."

The elevator doors closed. The floor numbers began to decrease: 12, 11, 10, 9.

Lin Shen stood there, staring at the metallic reflection on the elevator door. His face was blurred in the reflection, but the seven stars were clearly visible. They were no longer still—they were spinning and twinkling, like seven hearts awakening.

He turned and, instead of taking the elevator, took the stairs. He ran down to the twelfth floor. In the lobby on the first floor, the elevator doors were open, but the elevator was empty. The person was gone. On the glass door of the lobby, a line of words was written in red ink—not lipstick, but blood:

"The sixth seed is in your world. Her name is—Su Wan."

Lin Shen stared at the words, his hands trembling. Not fear, but anger. A cold, scalpel-like anger.

He pushed open the door and rushed into the night. The streetlights were on, illuminating the parking lot in a white glow. His car was still parked in the same spot, the passenger door open—he'd forgotten to close it when he got out. A black rose sat on the seat, its petals trembling slightly in the night breeze, as if breathing.

Lin Shen walked over and picked up the black rose. The petals crumbled in his palm, turning into black powder, within which was wrapped a key—bronze in color, labeled "317".

He gripped the keys, got into the car, and started the engine. The car sped onto the road and headed home.

The phone vibrated. Chen Yuan's second message: "The timeline of the Origin World is splitting. With each mirror released, the Origin World branches into a new parallel world. You released seven mirrors, and the Origin World split seven times. Now there are seven Origin Worlds, seven courtyards of the 'Holy Spirit,' and seven black trees. Under each tree stands a person—Chen Yuan. Seven Chen Yuans, seven fragments. I need you to help me piece them together."

Lin Shen tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and stepped on the gas.

In the rearview mirror, the city lights receded, like countless stars going out.