Revolving lantern, back to zero

The industrial area is more desolate during the day than at night.

Lin Shen parked the car at the warehouse entrance and turned off the engine. Sunlight shone directly on the rusted tin roof, reflecting a blinding white light. But the warehouse was dark inside—the light streaming through the high windows was fragmented by the iron frames, scattering across the concrete floor like shattered mirrors.

He pushed open the door and went inside.

The air still carried the smells of last night: rust, dust, and a faint stench of blood. The searchlights had been removed, but the police tape remained, fluttering in the wind. The body on the ground had been taken away, but a human outline drawn in white chalk remained—the positions of the hands, feet, and head. The outline perfectly matched his own build.

Lin Shen walked to the human-shaped silhouette and squatted down.

On the neck, outlined in chalk lines, was a dried, dark red mark. That was another man's blood.

"This time, don't close your eyes."

The text message from the unknown number remained on his phone screen. Lin Shen switched his phone to airplane mode and placed it on the steps by the warehouse door. He didn't want to be interrupted by any messages at this crucial moment.

He stood up, walked to the center of the warehouse, and stood where he had first been killed—not where the other version of himself had died the night before, but where he himself had been killed in the flashback. The two locations were less than three meters apart.

What's the difference? In a time capsule, in a parallel world, in another universe, the floor of this warehouse might be littered with Lin Shen's corpses. Every different location, every different death, every different murderer.

Lin Shen closed his eyes.

He needed to enter the revolving lantern. But he didn't know how to do it willingly. The first two times were near-death experiences—once he was killed, and the other time the death of another version of himself triggered some kind of resonance. Now he was alive, his heartbeat was normal, his breathing was steady, and there were no signs of near-death.

The unknown number says, "Go back to your first death." But he's already standing here alive, how can he "go back" to death?

unless--

He needs to die again.

Lin Shen opened his eyes and drew his sidearm from his waist.

The gun was empty. After escaping from the mental health center last night, he removed the magazine and locked the bullets in the glove compartment of his car. Not because he wanted to die, but because he knew that if he walked into this warehouse with a live gun, he might do something he could never undo.

But now, he needs to die.

It doesn't have to be real death, just near death. Just let your heart stop beating for a second or two, let your brain go oxygen-deprived for a moment, and let the door of the revolving lantern open a crack.

He pressed the muzzle of the gun against his temple.

The cold metal pressed against his skin, and he smelled gun oil. His finger rested on the trigger, but he didn't pull it.

It wasn't out of fear. It was because he was thinking about a question: if he fired a gun here, even if it was just a blank shot, even if it was just simulating the sound and vibration of a gunshot—would there be another version of himself in another world who would die because of that gunshot?

The revolving lantern is a form of teleportation. Each death creates a new parallel world. Every action he takes here could potentially kill his counterpart in another world.

Lin Shen put the gun down.

He tried a different approach.

He pulled a folding knife from his pocket—evidence he'd grabbed during the crime scene investigation, the murder weapon used to kill the other man. Dark red marks remained on the blade, now dried into a dark brown powder. He pressed the tip of the knife against his left wrist, vertically, just enough to pierce the skin.

Blood beads seeped out.

It hurts. It hurts a lot. But it's not the kind of pain that makes you feel like you're about to die.

He took a deep breath and pressed the knife tip down another centimeter. Deeper. The sensation of the blood vessel being cut was distinct, like someone pulling a taut string beneath his skin. Blood began to gush out, not dripping, but flowing.

He felt dizzy. Not from blood loss—that amount of blood was far from fatal—but from fear. Not fear of death, but fear of the act of cutting his own wrists. He had witnessed countless suicides by wrist-cutting, seen the dense scars on pale arms, and seen bathwater stained red with blood. He had never imagined that one day he would be the one lying in a pool of blood.

His vision began to blur. Not because he was dying, but because of his tears. He wouldn't admit he was crying, but his eyes were definitely hot.

The revolving lantern didn't appear.

He pulled the knife from his wrist and tore off a piece of his shirt to wrap around the wound. The bleeding stopped quickly—the cut wasn't deep, just a superficial wound. It wasn't even a hospital visit.

He failed.

The revolving lantern won't activate because of this level of self-harm. It only appears when there's true, irreversible death, when one foot is already on the brink of death. It's not something you can enter at will; it only comes when it chooses to.

Lin Shen leaned against the iron frame and slowly slid down to sit on the ground. He looked up at the warehouse ceiling—sheet metal, rust, cobwebs, and a small patch of sky peeking through a hole. The sky was very blue, unrealistically blue, like a photoshopped backdrop.

"What are you doing?"

The sound came from deep within the warehouse.

Lin Shen sat up abruptly, his hand on the gun handle—the gun was empty, but he had forgotten.

A man emerged from the shadows of the metal frame. Not from the second-floor platform, but from the innermost corner of the warehouse, behind a hidden door that Lin Shen hadn't noticed before. The man wore a white lab coat, like a doctor's white coat, but it was so dirty that its original color was unrecognizable. His hair was disheveled, his beard unkempt, and he had deep dark circles under his eyes. He looked young, around thirty years old, but the weariness he exuded was not what one would expect from a thirty-year-old.

Lin Shen didn't recognize this face.

"Who are you?" Lin Shen stood up, the wound on his wrist reopened, and blood dripped from his fingers onto the ground.

The man didn't answer. He walked up to Lin Shen, looked down at the wound on his wrist, then took a roll of gauze from the pocket of his white coat and tossed it to him.

"You can't get in by cutting your wrists," the man said, his voice as calm as a weather forecast. "You have to have a real intention to die, or be threatened with a real death. Self-harm will only make you bleed, it won't get you in."

"Who the hell are you?"

The man looked up and stared into Lin Shen's eyes. His eyes were dark brown and quite ordinary, but there was something in his gaze that made Lin Shen uncomfortable—it was as if he were looking at an old friend, an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time.

"My name is Chen Yuan," the man said. "I'm the third one."

Lin Shen felt a chill run down the back of his neck.

Lu Ming said that six people had awakened the ability to "revolve around" before him. The first was Lu Ming, the second was Shen Ruo, and the third through sixth all died.

"You're still alive," Lin Shen said.

"Alive?" Chen Yuan smiled, a smile devoid of any warmth. "You call this being alive?"

He lifted the hem of his white coat. Underneath was a hospital gown—blue and white striped, with the words "Chengbei Mental Health Center" printed on the chest.

"I've been locked up in the basement for three years," Chen Yuan said. "Not B7, it's B1. Downstairs from Shen Ruo. They locked me up there because I lost control. My 'magic lantern' ability went out of control, my consciousness started to split, and I couldn't distinguish which world was real. They were afraid I would turn into a monster, so they locked me up."

"who are they?"

“‘Guardians’,” Chen Yuan said. “Did Lu Ming tell you this word? A group of self-righteous good people trying to control the Lantern Network, protect the ability users, and maintain balance. They protected Shen Ruo and put her in B7. They imprisoned me and put me in B1. They are observing you, starting from the first time you entered the Lantern Network.”

Lin Shen recalled what Lao Zhou had said—"Guardians." Lao Zhou was an outer member, responsible for finding and training those with the "Lantern" ability. Su Wan had also mentioned "Guardians," saying they were trying to protect Shen Ruo.

"How did you get out?" Lin Shen asked.

"Let me out," Chen Yuan said.

"I don't--"

"You opened the door to B7," Chen Yuan interrupted him. "B7 and B1 are connected. Shen Ruo's ward is the central hub of the entire basement level. The handprint you pressed there not only opened the door to B7, but also all the doors on the basement level, including mine."

Lin Shen recalled the moment he placed his hand on the door of B7—his palm touched it, the door opened, and he entered the room, seeing Shen Ruo. He thought only one door had opened. He didn't know he had opened all the doors.

"So you followed me here," Lin Shen said.

“I’ve been following you for a long time,” Chen Yuan said. “From the first time you went to the mental health center, I knew who you were. Your scent, your heartbeat, your brainwave frequency—exactly the same as the previous six. You are the seventh.”

"The seventh one what?"

"The seventh chosen one." Chen Yuan walked to the center of the warehouse, stood next to the humanoid chalk outline, and looked down at the dark red bloodstain. "Do you know how the Carousel ability is awakened? It's not random, not talent, not genetic mutation. It's being chosen. Someone—or rather, something—searches for consciousness of a specific frequency in all parallel worlds, and then implants the 'seed' of the Carousel into that consciousness."

"The Holy Spirit," Lin Shen said.

Chen Yuan looked up at him. For the first time, emotion appeared in those deep brown eyes—not surprise, but confirmation. Like a teacher hearing a student give the correct answer.

"Have you seen him?" Chen Yuan asked.

"No. Lu Ming told me. Su Wan also mentioned it."

"Lu Ming." Chen Yuan's tone was complex as he uttered the name, a mixture of nostalgia and fear. "The first one. The most primal one. Fragments of his consciousness are scattered throughout the network, like a ghost that can never find peace. What did he tell you?"

"He told me that Shen Ruo couldn't wake up after seeing the Holy Spirit."

Chen Yuan nodded: "Shen Ruo saw the Holy Spirit. I saw the Holy Spirit. You will also see the Holy Spirit. Every ability user will see the Holy Spirit—that is the final step in awakening. Once you see it, you will know what the revolving lantern is. But after seeing it, you will never be able to go back to 'normal' again."

He raised his right hand and turned his wrist over. There was a long scar on the inside of his wrist, not a horizontal cut like from wrist-cutting, but a vertical one, stretching from his wrist all the way to the middle of his forearm, like a centipede.

"This is what they left behind when they imprisoned me," Chen Yuan said. "They implanted a chip in my body to suppress my ability to flash through the mind. But the chip can only suppress it, not eliminate it. My consciousness still unconsciously enters the flashback mode, and every time it does, I see the Holy Spirit."

"What does the Holy Spirit look like?"

Chen Yuan remained silent for a long time. The warehouse was quiet, with only the howling of the wind blowing in through the holes.

"It grew into the shape you feared most," Chen Yuan finally spoke. "The Holy Spirit I saw was my father, someone who died when I was twelve. The Holy Spirit Shen Ruo saw was her mother. The Holy Spirit Lu Ming saw was Su Wan."

Lin Shen's heart skipped a beat.

"And you?" Chen Yuan looked at him. "What are you afraid of?"

Lin Shen didn't answer. He didn't want to answer. Because the answer was too obvious—he was afraid of himself. He was afraid of the other version of himself that appeared on the second floor of the warehouse, afraid of the other version of himself that died in the chalk outlines, afraid of all the different versions of himself in parallel worlds. His greatest fear wasn't death, wasn't loss, but—he didn't know who he was.

"You don't need to tell me," Chen Yuan said. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."

He turned and walked toward the hidden door of the warehouse, but stopped after taking two steps.

"Lin Shen." He didn't turn around. "There's an EEG recorder in Shen Ruo's hospital room. You should have seen it when you went to B7. That device doesn't just monitor her brainwaves; it also does one other thing—synchronizes the consciousness frequencies of all the users with the 'Carousel' ability to the same channel. Every time you enter the Carousel, your consciousness frequency is recorded, analyzed, and copied."

"Copy?"

"The Guardians are creating backups," Chen Yuan said. "They don't believe that ability users can reach the end. So they extract data from the consciousness of each ability user, trying to piece together a 'perfect' revolving consciousness—an existence that will not collapse, will not go out of control, and can return to oneness infinitely."

"What do they need that for?"

Chen Yuan turned around and looked at him. Sunlight streamed in through the high window, shining directly on Chen Yuan's face, making his pale skin almost translucent.

"They want to create a god," Chen Yuan said.

Then he stepped through the hidden door and disappeared into the darkness.

Lin Shen stood there, still clutching the unopened gauze in his hand. He looked down at the wound on his wrist—it had stopped bleeding and a dark red scab had formed. The wound was shallow and thin, like a red line.

He threw the gauze on the ground, walked to the warehouse door, and picked up his phone.

I turned off airplane mode. The moment the signal was restored, a flood of messages came in.

Xiao Chen sent three WeChat messages: "Captain, Lao Zhou said we'd meet at Cuiping Residential Area tonight." "Captain, please call back." "Captain, are you alright?"

Su Wan sent a text message: "Lu Ming has reappeared. He's looking for you. He said tonight at midnight, at the warehouse."

There was also a text message from an unknown number, sent one minute ago:

"Chen Yuan isn't the third. Chen Yuan is the sixth. He lied to you. Don't believe him. Don't believe anyone. Including me. Especially me."

—Another You

Lin Shen stared at the text message, all the clues in his mind starting to spin again.

Chen Yuan said he was the third. The unknown number said he was the sixth.

Who is lying?

Or is it that Chen Yuan has different serial numbers in different parallel worlds? Is Chen Yuan the sixth in this world, and the third in another world?

He recalled what Lu Ming had said: "You are real in all parallel worlds."

If the same person in parallel worlds can have different life trajectories, then the same person in parallel worlds can also have different "serial numbers." Chen Yuan didn't lie to him, and the unknown number didn't lie to him either—they simply came from different worlds.

But the question is, which world's Chen Yuan is the one who escaped from the basement level B1?

Lin Shen put his phone in his pocket and glanced at the time.

3:17 PM.

There are still more than eight hours until midnight.

Su Wan said Lu Ming would be waiting for him at the warehouse. Chen Yuan said the Guardians were creating "gods." An unknown number said not to trust anyone.

He needs to go back, but not now. He needs to see someone right now.

Old Zhou.

The retired policeman who called himself the "Failure of the Revolving Lantern." Lu Ming said Lao Zhou wasn't a superhuman, just an ordinary person with implanted memories. Chen Yuan said Lao Zhou was an outer member of the "Guardians." The unknown number didn't mention Lao Zhou.

But Lao Zhou is the only person who appeared in front of him from the very beginning, gave him specific clues, and is still alive.

Lin Shen opened the car door and started the engine.

My phone vibrated again. This time it wasn't a text message, it was a call.

Xiao Chen.

"Captain!" Xiao Chen's voice was urgent, "Old Zhou is in trouble!"

Lin Shen slammed on the brakes. "What is it?"

"He was attacked and is in the emergency room at the First People's Hospital of the city. He said he absolutely has to see you. He said—" Xiao Chen paused for a moment, "He said he knows what the third key is. He said the third key isn't you, it's someone else. It's Su Wan."

Lin Shen tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Old Zhou said the third key belonged to Su Wan.

The unknown number said the third key belonged to him.

Chen Yuan did not mention the third key.

Su Wan said that the third key belonged to Lin Shen himself.

Lu Ming said that the third key belonged to Lin Shen himself.

Now Lao Zhou says the third key is Su Wan.

Five people, four answers.

He didn't know who to believe.

But he knew one thing—Old Zhou was dying. A dying man has no reason to lie.

Lin Shen released the brakes, turned the steering wheel, and the car turned around, heading towards the First People's Hospital of the city.

In the rearview mirror, the warehouse's iron gate gleamed a dark red in the sunlight.

Like a closed eye.