Revolving lantern, back to zero

The world cracked open beneath his feet.

It wasn't a metaphor; it was a literal cracking. Lin Shen felt the concrete beneath his feet shatter like glass, but instead of falling downwards, it scattered in all directions. As the fragments flew out, each one reflected his face—different expressions, different ages, different eyes. Some were laughing, some were crying, some were expressionless, and some were already dead.

He tried to shout, but no sound came out. He tried to grasp something, but his fingers passed through everything—the iron frame, the walls, the moonlight—all like phantoms, visible but untouchable.

Then he saw the door.

It wasn't the black door on Su Wan's wall, nor the door of cabinet 317. It was a door he had never seen before—a huge door that stretched from the ceiling to the ground, its panels transparent, like a solid block of ice, but through which he couldn't see the other side, only his own reflection.

Countless reflections of myself.

Each reflection is doing something different. Some are running, some are sleeping, some are shooting, some are bleeding, some are crying while holding a woman, and some are lying on the ground, no longer breathing.

Lin Shen reached out and pressed his hand against the door.

The door opened.

It didn't open inwards, nor outwards, but split open from the middle, like a double door being pulled open from both sides. The world behind the door wasn't darkness, nor light, but a place he had seen before—

storehouse.

But not the warehouse where he died. It was another warehouse. The same iron frames, the same tall windows, the same concrete floors. But there was no dust, no rust, no bloodstains. Everything was brand new, as if it had just been built.

A man was standing in the center of the warehouse.

He stood with his back to Lin Shen, dressed in black, his hands in his pockets. His back was exactly like Lin Shen's, but their auras were completely different—Lin Shen's back was tense, alert, and ready to deal with danger at any moment. This man's back was relaxed and languid, like someone taking a walk in their own home.

"You've come." The person didn't turn around; the voice came from ahead, exactly the same as Lin Shen's.

"Who are you?" Lin Shen asked.

"You know who I am." The person slowly turned around.

His face was exactly like Lin Shen's. But his eyes were different—not empty eyes, not shining eyes, but normal, brown, smiling eyes. He was smiling. Not a mocking smile, not a bitter smile, but a genuine, warm smile, like seeing an old friend.

"I am you," the person said, "but not the you you know. I am the you who wasn't chosen by the revolving lantern, who has never entered any parallel world, and who has always lived in my own world."

Lin Shen's hand rested on the gun handle. The gun was empty, but the action was subconscious.

"You're lying to me," Lin Shen said. "Lu Ming said you're hunting yourself down in all the parallel worlds. You've already killed six. I'm the seventh."

The person shook their head, their smile unchanged, but something new appeared in their eyes—sadness.

"Some of what Lu Ming told you is true, and some is false. It's true that I'm hunting myself down in parallel worlds. It's also true that I've killed six of them. But do you know why I killed them?"

"Because you want to be the only, true version of yourself."

The person laughed out loud, not in a mocking way, but in a way that said, "You were indeed misled."

"Lin Shen, have you ever thought about this—why does the revolving lantern only turn on when you're on the verge of death? Why can't you enter and exit parallel worlds at will, like turning a light on and off?"

Lin Shen did not answer.

"Because the revolving lantern isn't your ability," the person said. "The revolving lantern is the ability of the 'Holy Spirit.' You are merely a vessel chosen by the 'Holy Spirit.' Every time you are near death and enter the revolving lantern, it's not you using the ability, but the 'Holy Spirit' using you. Its consciousness seeps into your brain through your near-death state, reads your memories, and then projects the illusion of a parallel world."

"Are those parallel worlds not real?"

"It's real," the person said. "But you didn't travel to a parallel world; you were projected into one by the 'Holy Spirit.' You think you're actively exploring, but you're just a pawn thrown out. You go to whichever world the 'Holy Spirit' wants you to go. You see whatever the 'Holy Spirit' wants you to see."

Lin Shen's fingers tightened on the gun handle.

"What about Lu Ming? What about Su Wan? What about Lao Zhou? What about Chen Yuan? Are they all illusions projected by the 'Holy Spirit'?"

"No." The person took a step forward. "They are real people. But the 'truth' they tell you is the 'truth' the 'Holy Spirit' wants you to know. Lu Ming thought he was a ghost of the internet, but he was actually the first vessel of the 'Holy Spirit.' Shen Ruo thought she was the core of the internet, but she was actually the second vessel of the 'Holy Spirit.' You are the third."

"What are containers for?"

"The consciousness that carries the 'Holy Spirit'," the person said. "'Holy Spirit' is not a person, not a ghost, not any kind of physical being. It is a program. A self-replicating, self-evolving program written at the very bottom of the revolving network. It needs human consciousness as a carrier to run. Lu Ming collapsed, Shen Ruo fell into a coma, now it's your turn."

Lin Shen felt a throbbing in his temples. The transparent key was still pressed against his skin, its icy temperature now burning hot.

"How do you know all this?" Lin Shen asked. "You said you weren't chosen by the revolving lantern, that you're the only one living in your own world. How do you know about the 'Holy Spirit'?"

The person was silent for a few seconds, then raised their right hand and turned their wrist over.

There is a tattoo on my wrist.

A black snake coils around a rose.

But it wasn't tattooed with black ink; it was a living, moving tattoo, with snakes slowly wriggling and petals trembling slightly.

"Because I am the Holy Spirit," the man said.

Lin Shen drew his gun and pointed it at the man's forehead.

"You have no bullets," the man said with a smile.

"I know," Lin Shen said, "but pointing a gun at you calms me down. Now tell me—who exactly are you?"

The man glanced down at the muzzle of the gun, then looked up and met Lin Shen's eyes.

"I am the sum of you in all parallel worlds. Not one of them, not the most powerful, not the smartest, not the most cruel, not the kindest. I am the sum of all of you, divided by infinity. I am your average."

He reached out and gently parted the muzzle of the gun with his fingers.

"You don't kill me because you know that killing me would be killing yourself. You don't enter the revolving door because you know that once you go in, you can't get out. You don't trust anyone because you know that everyone is being manipulated by the 'Holy Spirit.' But you still have to move forward because you have no way back."

Lin Shen put down his gun.

Where is Xiao Chen?

"He's in Chen Yuan's hands," the man said. "Chen Yuan isn't your enemy. He's your ally. He's protecting Xiao Chen."

"Protect me? He used Xiao Chen to threaten me into coming in."

"Because only in this way will you willingly enter the revolving lantern," the man said. "You're too cautious. You won't risk your own life, but you will risk the lives of others. Chen Yuan knows this. That's why he kidnapped Xiao Chen."

The warehouse walls began to turn transparent.

Instead of turning into glass, it turned into water—flowing like water, refracting light like water. Through the wall, Lin Shen saw the outside world. Not the night view of the industrial area, not the lights of the city, but an endless, gray, boundless void.

Countless points of light floated in the void, each a world unto itself. Some were bright, some dim, and some had already gone out, leaving only a gray shell.

"Did you see that?" The person stood beside him, pointing to the points of light. "Each point of light is a parallel world. The bright ones are still operating, the dark ones are dying, and the extinguished ones no longer exist. The 'Holy Spirit' has planted a seed in each world—a person who looks exactly like you. When that seed awakens, it will begin to absorb the energy of that world, turning it into a part of the 'Holy Spirit.' Once all the worlds have been absorbed, the 'Holy Spirit' will become the only existence."

Lin Shen stared at the points of light and counted the lit ones.

Less than one hundred.

"How much was there originally?" he asked.

"unlimited."

Lin Shen's hands began to tremble. Not from fear, but from anger—a cold, rational anger, like a scalpel.

Where is the Holy Spirit?

The person pointed to the deepest part of the void.

There was a point of light, larger and brighter than all the others. Unlike the other points of light that floated quietly, it beat like a heart, each beat sending out a ripple that dimmed the nearby points of light wherever it touched.

"That's the origin world," the person said. "The true form of the 'Holy Spirit' is there. It has already absorbed ninety percent of the parallel worlds. The remaining less than one hundred are the last survivors. Your world is one of them."

"How can I stop it?"

The person turned around and looked at Lin Shen. For the first time, fear appeared in those eyes that were exactly the same as Lin Shen's.

"You can't stop it," the man said, "because you are it. You are the third vessel chosen by the 'Holy Spirit.' The seed of the 'Holy Spirit' took root in your consciousness the first time you died in the warehouse. Every time you enter the revolving lantern, you are watering it. Every time you travel to a parallel world, you are helping it expand. You are not saving yourself; you are helping it kill all versions of itself in all worlds."

Lin Shen felt his consciousness cracking.

This isn't a metaphor. It's a real, tangible split—his brain was like a piece of wood cleaved in two, the left and right sides beginning to separate. The left side was thinking: Is this real? The right side was fearful: What should I do? In the middle, a voice was laughing, a voice exactly like his own.

"You feel it now," the person said. "Dissociation. The seed of the 'Holy Spirit' has sprouted within you. It will split you into countless 'yous,' and then devour them one by one. Once all the 'yous' have been devoured, the 'Holy Spirit' will replace you, using your body as a vessel to enter your world."

"How do we stop it?" Lin Shen's voice had changed, now carrying an echoing quality—multiple "he"s speaking simultaneously.

The person looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

Then he reached out and grasped Lin Shen's hand that was holding the transparent key.

"Use this key," the man said, "not to open yourself, but to open the 'Holy Spirit.' Enter the world of origin, find the essence of the 'Holy Spirit,' and then insert the key."

"Where should I insert it?"

The man released his grip and took a step back. His body began to turn transparent, spreading upwards from his feet, just like how Lu Ming had disappeared.

"Plug it into your own heart," the man said, "because you are the embodiment of the 'Holy Spirit.' The 'Holy Spirit' in the original world is none other than a backup you created in a certain cycle. To kill it is to kill yourself. Are you willing?"

He disappeared.

The warehouse walls were restored to their original state—sheet metal, rust, and dust. Moonlight streamed in through the high windows, illuminating Lin Shen's face.

He stood there, holding the transparent key in his hand. The key was no longer cold, but scalding hot, making the skin on his palm turn red.

My phone vibrated.

It was Xiao Chen's number, but not Xiao Chen's voice.

"Lin Shen," Chen Yuan's voice came from the other end of the phone, "You're already inside. You've already seen him. You already know the truth. Now, make a choice. Either enter the Origin World, kill the 'Holy Spirit,' kill yourself, and save all the remaining worlds. Or go home, pretend nothing happened, and live until the day the 'Holy Spirit' comes to devour you."

Lin Shen held his phone, his voice calm: "Where's Xiao Chen?"

"He's fine," Chen Yuan said. "He's in a safe place. He can't see the world, but he's alive. As long as you make the choice, I'll let him go back."

Why are you helping me?

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Because I am the third vessel." Chen Yuan's voice suddenly changed, becoming weary, aged, like that of someone who had lived for a very, very long time. "The Holy Spirit once chose me, just as He chose you. But I didn't have the courage to go all the way. I chose to run away. I hid in the basement of this world, pretending to be a victim of imprisonment. In fact, no one imprisoned me. I locked myself up myself. Because I was afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid to step into the world of origin, to see that thing that looks exactly like me, and then to insert the key into my own heart."

Lin Shen closed his eyes.

He recalled Old Zhou's eyes before he died—a final, radiant glow that seemed to burn all life into flames. Old Zhou didn't make it to the end, but he handed the key to Lin Shen.

He recalled Lu Ming's ghostly form—transparent, shadowless, and only able to remain in the real world for fifteen minutes. Lu Ming didn't make it to the end, but he told Lin Shen the truth.

He remembered the gauze on Su Wan's wrist—each wrist-cutting was a desperate attempt to die, to enter the revolving lantern, to find Lu Ming. Su Wan didn't make it to the end, but she handed the transparent key to Lin Shen.

They all entrusted him with the final decision.

Because they can't do it.

Lin Shen opened his eyes and said to his phone, "Tell me the coordinates of the origin world."

A long sigh, as if suppressed for a long time, came from the other end of the phone.

"You already know," Chen Yuan said. "317. Not a cabinet, but a door. 317 is the coordinate of the origin world. If you type 317 into the carousel, it will take you there."

The phone hangs up.

Lin Shen put his phone in his pocket and looked down at the transparent key in his hand.

Numbers began to appear on the surface of the key—not reflections, not refractions, but numbers that emerged from within, rising from the depths like bubbles.

317.

He gripped the key tightly and pressed it against his temple.

Close your eyes.

This time, he didn't wait for the carousel to turn on by itself.

He pushed open the door himself.