Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 26 Unexpected Gain (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Xu Yan walked out of the darkroom, while Chen Zhiwei was still curled up on the sofa, her expression blank, as if she was still trapped in the oppressive memory of what had just happened.

The demise of the small boat was unlike the scattering of ordinary ghosts; it was forcibly torn apart by technology, forever frozen in the moment of death.

That coldness and despair, with a modern absurdity, made them both feel suffocated.

Xu Yan pulled out a newly developed photograph.

The image is blurry and devoid of any solid form, consisting only of a silhouette formed by noise and distorted light and shadow, floating against a dark background, like an eternal afterimage in a data graveyard.

He looked at the photo, his fingertips trembling slightly.

The absurdity and weight of the fact that a once vibrant and passionate life must ultimately find its rest in this way is suffocating.

Seeing Xu Yan take out the photos, Chen Zhiwei didn't say much. She just quietly opened the heavy old elm wood filing cabinet.

The cabinet door made a familiar, dull sound, like a sigh.

She pulled out a blank kraft paper file folder, dipped a brush in ink, and neatly wrote on the spine of the folder:
"The Small Boat - The Ruins of the Tower of Babel - 2018".

She didn't write "data ghost".

The moment the pen tip touches the paper is like erecting a tombstone for the deceased.

“At least someone will remember him this way,” Chen Zhiwei said softly, pushing the file folder in front of him.

Xu Yan stared at the words, his throat tightening, and whispered, "Do you remember, was it really salvation? Staying here... might just be another form of exploitation."

Chen Zhiwei paused. She turned to stare at him, her eyes cold and stubborn: "That's different. At least, he won't be completely erased. Grandpa said that forgetting is the true death."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment, as if two orders were silently confronting each other.

Xu Yan didn't argue further, but solemnly put the file folder into the cabinet and closed the wooden door.

--boom.

The light flickered violently the moment the cabinet door closed.

Xu Yan's heart tightened, and a strange illusion came to his ears:

It felt like someone was gently tapping inside his chest, the rhythm slow but with a cold, metallic quality.

"Did you hear that?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Chen Zhiwei looked up, her expression blank: "What did you hear?"

Xu Yan did not answer. He lowered his eyes, his fingertips unconsciously pressing against his chest, but the tapping sound grew clearer and clearer, like a "digital heart" beating within him.

"Take one more step, so that he has a place to return to," Chen Zhiwei said softly, her gaze turning towards the direction leading to the ancestral hall in the backyard.

The two walked one after the other through the dark corridor to the small shrine in the backyard, which housed the ancestral tablets and countless nameless spirit tablets.

The air is filled with the faint scent of sandalwood and old wood, isolated from the faint hum of the digital equipment at the front desk. Time seems to slow down and become more reverent here.

Chen Zhiwei washed his hands, took three incense sticks from the incense table, and lit them on the ever-burning lamp.

Wisps of smoke rose gently as she held the incense sticks in both hands, raising them to her brow. Her eyes lowered, and her voice was as soft as falling incense ash.
"May your soul find its home, and your shadow find its resting place. May the newly added soul no longer suffer loneliness. May you rest in peace, and never wander again."

She bowed three times and carefully placed the incense sticks into the incense burner.

It was Xu Yan's turn.

He stepped forward and lit three incense sticks as well.

As he imitated Chen Zhiwei, raising the incense to his brow, closing his eyes, and preparing to silently recite the soothing incantation, a strange change occurred.

The ancestral hall was originally filled only with the scent of sandalwood, the warmth of candlelight, and a serene and peaceful atmosphere. However, at this moment, he could clearly "hear" the micron-level motor turning inside the surveillance camera next to the incense table, which was used to record the internal environment of the ancestral hall and was usually silent.
And further away, the almost eternal, low-pitched hum of magnetic domains as the encrypted terminal in the front hall reads and writes data.

These sounds, which should have been lost in the background, were so clear they seemed to vibrate in his veins.

He held his breath, his heart suddenly tightening.

That wasn't the sound of the ancestral hall, nor was it a frequency that a living person's ears could detect.

That's more like... some kind of "aftershock".

He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cigarette smoke swirling in the air, seemingly outlining a strange yet familiar shape, before dissipating.

He suddenly realized that Xiao Zhou's lingering resentment had not completely disappeared, but had transformed into some kind of power and embedded itself in him.

But that force was cold, like chains; it was not a gift, but a new burden.

The candlelight in the ancestral hall crackled, casting its reflection on his face as if reminding him:
—To remember is also a kind of rebirth.

Xu Yan lit incense, stood quietly for a while, then turned to look at Chen Zhiwei, his eyes unusually bright.

“I think I understand,” he said softly.

Chen Zhiwei paused for a moment, then slightly raised her eyes.

"Why does Master always make us remember to perform these rituals?" Xu Yan slowly exhaled, his voice hoarse and trembling. "It's not just about giving the deceased dignity and peace... it's also about leaving an anchor for the living. Without these, we would be torn to pieces sooner or later, and we wouldn't even be able to keep track of who we are."

As soon as he finished speaking, the candlelight in the ancestral hall flickered slightly.

Chen Zhiwei stared at him, her eyes gradually reddening. She let out a soft breath, her voice like tears she had been suppressing for a long time: "You finally said it... If Grandpa heard it, he would be very gratified."

She lowered her eyes, but couldn't help but smile. "He made the right bet. It turns out you weren't indifferent, you just hadn't found the answer yet."

Xu Yan's Adam's apple bobbed, as if he wanted to refute something, but in the end he just chuckled softly, a chuckle that was both weary and relieved.

He slowly reached out and took the cold, tiny chip from his pocket, placing it solemnly next to the silent, old-fashioned camera.

The ever-burning lamp in the ancestral hall cast a deep outline on his face, but his eyes were unusually clear.

“There’s one more thing,” he said softly, his fingertips lightly pressing against the edge of the chip.

At the very moment of contact.

"Om..."

A low-frequency vibration, almost inaudible, emanated from the chip, causing the camera body to tremble slightly.

Deep within the frame, a point of eerie blue light silently illuminates, like a sleeping monster opening its single eye.

The next second, countless fine light filaments were drawn from the chip, as if pulled by an invisible force, and flowed into the camera lens.

On the screen, there are no longer images, but a rushing river of data.

Countless broken symbols, distorted waveforms, and distorted color blocks flash wildly, as if thousands of lost souls are howling and roaring in the electronic abyss, yet yearning to be read.

Chen Zhiwei instinctively covered her mouth, even stopping her breathing.

She saw the raging light reflected in Xu Yan's pupils, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he did not back down.

"...Can you decipher it?" Her voice was so soft it was almost swallowed up by the noise of the data.

“It’s talking to me…” Xu Yan’s voice was low, as if he were talking in a dream, yet it had an undeniable penetrating power. “It’s not using words… it’s using echoes, pain, the deepest fear they felt when they were being stripped away… screaming proof of their existence.”

(End of this chapter)