Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 18 Don't Forget Me
It was nearly midnight when I got back to the photo studio.

Xu Yan placed the black metal block on the skin below his collarbone. After a very slight tingling sensation, the thing seemed to blend into the skin, leaving only a few almost invisible specks of light faintly flickering beneath the skin.

Almost immediately, the annoying whispers in my ear seemed to be separated by a thick layer of glass, becoming blurry and distant, and the persistent cold and stinging sensation in my right shoulder also lessened considerably.

He took a deep breath and tried to recall a complex technique his master had taught him about camera maintenance.

Previously sluggish memories now seem to flow more smoothly.

it works.

But this thing came from A Zhe, like a deal made with the devil, the price of which is unknown.

He opened the encrypted terminal and logged into the newly acquired silver-level access port.

The task list refreshed, and the content it revealed was alarming.

It's no longer a simple "relic cleanup," but more about "abnormal entity containment," "highly active sample recovery," and "energy contamination zone purification."

The words seem cold and hard, yet they carry a certain unspeakable terror.

Xu Yan stared at the line "highly active sample recovery," and his throat suddenly tightened.

He suddenly remembered a few months ago when a protective vehicle passed by the street corner in the middle of the night. What dripped from under the canvas was not blood, but clumps of shadows that had lost their human form.

Some say that's what "highly active samples" look like after they've been recycled.

A chill ran up his feet, forcing him to instinctively clench his hands.

These tasks are not cold, impersonal entries, but real nightmares that could drag the living into an abyss of oblivion.

These cold, impersonal task entries only reinforced his belief that he had to uncover the truth at the center. Without further hesitation, he typed "E-03" into the search bar.

[Query target: E-03. Permission verification in progress... Insufficient permissions. This ID information has been archived to the 'Historical Deconstruction Database', access requires L-4 or higher permissions.]

A cold, impersonal system response.

He paused for a moment, then his fingers stiffly typed another name: "Lin".

This time, the system returned several results.

Most of the entries were trivial daily dispatch records and lists of material requisitions. However, one entry had its title partially highlighted in black.

[Joint Investigation Report on the Energy Anomaly Point East of Lianhua Road Station on Line 7 (No.: E-07-PRELIM)]

[Initiator: Lin Lan (Safety Supervisor)]

[Participant: Lin Lan, [Data deleted]]

[Report Status: Archived.]

Xu Yan's breathing suddenly stopped.

His gaze was fixed on the "Participants" section.

Although his name was erased, the report number "E-07-PRELIM" and the location "Lianhua Road Station" acted like a key, instantly unlocking a dusty box deep in his memory.

He suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out the tranquilizer he always carried with him.

On the cold back of the jade piece, two extremely fine, almost worn-down characters are engraved.

That's the initials of his master's name!

A cold, almost freezing thought crashed into his mind.

The person who went with Lín to investigate the anomaly on Line 7 back then... was his mentor?!
Just then, Chen Zhiwei walked over with a cup of hot tea and gently placed it beside him.

"Senior brother, are you feeling better? You still don't look well," she asked softly, with concern.

Xu Yan subconsciously looked up and opened his mouth as if to call her name.

However, at that moment, his mind seemed to suddenly go blank.

That familiar name, the one he called out almost every day, the title that represented his only companion and the one who fought alongside him... disappeared.

He tried to grasp something, but only touched a slippery emptiness. Her face was still there; he could even recall the way she smiled and raised her chin last night, but her name seemed to have been forcibly erased.

What's even more terrifying is that even the subtle details of her usual actions are gradually dissolving in his mind.

—She has a habit of curling the ends of her hair with her fingertips when she is thinking.

—The tea she brews is always extra hot.

He had seen these movements countless times, but now they seemed shrouded in mist, incredibly blurry.

His lips were open, but no sound came out; there was only a blank and awkward silence.

The concern on Chen Zhiwei's face slowly froze, gradually turning into astonishment, and a hint of disbelief and subtle fear.

She clearly saw the fleeting confusion and... unfamiliarity in Xu Yan's eyes.

In the moment of speechlessness, Xu Yan felt a chill on his shoulder—like that hand gently resting on him again.

The forgotten sands have begun to silently erode his strongest embankment.

The silence lasted perhaps only three seconds, but to Xu Yan it felt like an eternity.

He saw the light in Chen Zhiwei's eyes dim instantly, like a candle flame extinguished by the wind.

It wasn't anger, but a deeper, almost desperate fear.

She wasn't watching a stranger who had forgotten her name; she was witnessing firsthand how a crucial boulder collapsed before her eyes, forming a dam called "memory."

She instinctively took half a step back, her back gently bumping against the cold filing cabinet with a soft thud.

The muffled sound startled Xu Yan awake.

A chilling panic gripped his heart instantly, more piercing than the whispers of the ghostly hand.

He suddenly stood up from behind the workbench, the wooden chair legs scraping against the ground with a sharp, piercing sound that broke the deathly silence.

He took two steps to Chen Zhiwei, and instead of grabbing her, he pressed his hands firmly, almost roughly, onto her shoulders, his gaze fixed on her suddenly pale face.

"Zhiwei!" His voice was terribly hoarse, as if he had rubbed his throat with sandpaper. "Chen Zhiwei!"

These two names were snatched back from his blank mind, with an almost desperate sense of confirmation.

He wasn't calling out to her; he was fighting against the invisible monster that was devouring him from within.

Chen Zhiwei was rooted to the spot by the strength of his hand and the panic in his tone, staring blankly at him.

A few seconds later, the fear in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by a heavy sorrow mixed with heartache and understanding.

She nodded slightly, her voice barely audible: "...Mm."

The tense atmosphere eased slightly, but the sense of crisis remained.

Chen Zhiwei silently walked to the altar where the ancestral tablets were enshrined and took out a palm-sized sandalwood box from the deepest part of the drawer.

Upon opening the box, one finds dark red cinnabar powder and a small stack of pre-cut yellow talisman paper.

Instead of mixing it with water, she directly pricked the tip of her left index finger with a silver needle, squeezed out a few drops of bright red blood, and dripped them into the cinnabar.

Her movements were solemn and slow, carrying an ancient sense of ritual.

Then, with his fingertips dipped in the dark red to black viscous mixture, he wrote the three characters "Chen Zhiwei" stroke by stroke on a specially made, extremely tough mulberry paper.

The handwriting was deep red, carrying a touch of poignant resolve.

She dried the "contract" and carefully folded it into a small triangular amulet, then handed it to Xu Yan.

"Put it in the innermost compartment of your camera bag, next to your tranquilizer." Her tone was unusually calm, yet brooked no argument. "If...if next time you look at me and can't recall its name, take it out and look at it. If even looking at it doesn't help you remember why..."

She paused, looked up at him, her eyes clear and firm: "I will ring the Soul-Suppressing Bell, and keep ringing it until you remember."

(End of this chapter)