Forgotten Photo Studio

Chapter 9 The Forgotten Ones (Seeking Recommendations)

The lingering sound of the copper bell seemed to still be suspended in the air, carrying a strange power to soothe the restlessness, and slowly descended.

The E-03 file folder fell completely silent, its opening still open, like a mouth that had been forcibly closed and rendered mute.

Beside them, the E-12 and E-19 gradually stopped trembling, the bulges on their surfaces flattened, and the paper bag returned to its original stillness.

The room was a mess, and the air was filled with a complex smell of burning, decay, and an eerie chill.

The silence was heavy and oppressive.

Chen Zhiwei leaned weakly against the counter, her chest heaving violently, her hair sticking to her pale skin with cold sweat.

She first stared warily at the few files that had quieted down, making sure they had really calmed down for the time being, before turning her gaze to Xu Yan.

Xu Yan's condition is even worse.

He rested one hand on his knee and the other on his temple, breathing heavily, his face a near-transparent white.

Every time he used the camera, it felt like a piece of flesh was being forcibly torn away from him, and the continuous mental tension and final decision he had just made had taken an even greater toll.

He closed his eyes, trying to grasp a memory that was rapidly fading from his mind.

That was the scene when his master taught him the incantation for the Soul-Sealing Camera.

On a summer night, the cicadas chirped incessantly, and the glow of the oil lamp cast a yellowish hue on the master's profile. His aged hand held his, and stroke by stroke, he wrote the four characters "心念为引" (xin ni wei yin, meaning "guided by the mind") on the yellow paper, his brushstrokes vigorous and powerful...

But now, that memory is just a blurry blur of light and shadow, and Master's voice is like being separated by a thick fog, no longer audible.

He couldn't even remember what clothes his master was wearing that day.

He suddenly opened his eyes, looked at Chen Zhiwei, and blurted out, "Master, back then... did you often wear an indigo blue cloth shirt?"

Chen Zhiwei was wiping the burn marks on her palm when she heard this and was taken aback. A hint of surprise flashed across her eyes: "Senior brother, Grandpa has always only worn a white Tai Chi shirt. You mean that blue cloth shirt? He stopped wearing it ten years ago."

Xu Yan's Adam's apple bobbed, and he remained silent.

He forgot something about his master again.

It's not a vast amount of memory, but rather these fragmented details that constitute a person's existence.

They disappeared silently, like a sand tower collapsing, and by the time he realized it, there was a hollow space beneath his feet.

Chen Zhiwei stepped forward and carefully examined the E-12 file folder that was shrouded in a silvery-gray light.

The bag was icy cold to the touch and exceptionally sturdy; the signs of the previous corrosion had completely disappeared.

"We need to seal E-03 properly." She found some special glue and sealant, and with practiced movements but still a slight tremor, she resealed the opening of the E-03 bag.

“The bell only controls the form, not the thoughts. It can hold the ‘form’, but the ‘thoughts’ will find another anchor.” She turned the bell upside down and covered it up. “That’s why I have to store the name, belongings, and photos separately.”

After doing all this, she finally breathed a sigh of relief and swayed slightly.

The two looked at each other and saw deep exhaustion and lingering fear in each other's eyes.

Silently, they began to clean up the mess.

They righted the fallen tables and chairs and cleared away the remains of the low stool that had been completely rotted by the Shadow Fiend.

Their movements were mechanical and numb, as if they needed to use this daily labor to confirm that they were still alive and still in this real world.

While cleaning near the counter, Chen Zhiwei's toe bumped into something.

It was the remains of that burnt and deformed USB drive.

She paused, bent down, picked it up with tweezers, and placed it on a white cloth.

The metal casing was charred and twisted, making it impossible to discern any markings, resembling a burned tombstone erected for the nameless.

"Is this the 'souvenir' you brought back?" Her voice was emotionless, but her gaze was sharp as she looked at Xu Yan.

Xu Yan stopped wiping the camera.

He looked at the wreckage, the emptiness brought on by the loss of memory making his decision-making process somewhat vague, but the feeling that "it was special" remained.

“At the time, I felt… we shouldn’t have left it there.” He carefully chose his words. “The old man’s obsession, and… those modern devices, their presence there seemed so out of place. It was as if… it shouldn’t have been the end.” “Out of place?” Chen Zhiwei picked up the wreckage, examining the molten joints closely. “This isn’t personal property, senior. This is standard equipment. Standard equipment from the ‘City Services Rapid Response Center.’” She repeated her earlier discovery, her tone emphasizing, “They not only observed, but may have catalyzed, even… manufactured. That old man might have been their experiment from the very beginning.”

She looked up, her gaze sharp: "And that 'cleanup assignment' you received was given to you by them. They sent you to clean up a ghost that they might have 'created' themselves. This isn't dealing with city garbage at all; it's more like... silencing someone, or retrieving an experimental sample!"

Xu Yan felt a chill creep up his spine.

My master's dying words were: "Stay away from this center, but you must take their jobs."

At this moment, it sounds filled with helplessness and a deeper warning.

Chen Zhiwei stared at the huge filing cabinet, her voice softening: "The 'people' in these bags may have long been forgotten in the real world. But we still have their names, their shadows... Tell me, does that mean they are alive, or dead?"

Xu Yan was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "It wasn't people who remembered them, it was cameras and paper. No one truly remembers them; they are just... trapped echoes. And we are the prisoners guarding those echoes."

“What if we forget them?” Chen Zhiwei turned to look at him, her eyes clear but tinged with sadness. “What if one day this cabinet is empty, or… we forget why this cabinet even exists?”

Xu Yan paused slightly as he wiped the camera, his knuckles turning white.

“Then they really died. A second death. More complete than the first.” He paused, his voice almost inaudible, “...Me too.”

Chen Zhiwei felt as if something was clenching her heart.

She looked at his almost transparent profile, the question "And what about you?" lingered on her tongue, but ultimately she didn't ask it.

The answer is obvious, and cruel.

There are many clues, but they are all like broken threads.

USB flash drive, center, E sequence, that mysterious "Lin"...

“We need more information,” Chen Zhiwei finally said. “About this ‘center,’ about the E sequence, about ‘Lin’.” She looked at the huge old elm wood filing cabinet. “Grandpa’s notes may contain even more records. And since they’ve approached us once, they might do it again.”

Xu Yan nodded silently.

He felt a tremendous sense of powerlessness.

The enemy is lurking behind the fog, employing unpredictable and treacherous tactics, while he himself is constantly losing his memories.

He subconsciously reached into his pocket, wanting to take out a cigarette, but found nothing. He then remembered the rule that smoking was not allowed in the photo studio, and realized that he hadn't bought cigarettes in a long time.

This break in daily habits is also subtle evidence of memory loss.

He picked up the wreckage of the USB drive, the cold metal stinging his palm.

He suddenly remembered his mother saying, "A person dies three times: once when they breathe their last, once when they are buried, and the last time... when no one in this world remembers you anymore."

He now understands that the most terrifying thing is not that ghosts come rushing at you, but that you have forgotten why you are fighting and who you are remembering.

He wrote down "bangs slightly to the right, smiling with tiger teeth" stroke by stroke, the characters becoming heavier and heavier, leaving grooves on the paper.

He closed his eyes to think, but all he found was a handful of cold water: the name was real, but the person was empty.

It was at that moment that he realized that forgetting is not about taking away a person, but about taking away their "humanity," leaving only a shell that can be registered.

at this time.

"Ring—ring ring—"

The old-fashioned telephone on the counter suddenly rang sharply, breaking the deathly silence.

Both of them froze at the same time, their eyes instantly turning to it.

Xu Yan took a deep breath, stepped forward, and grasped the cold receiver.

The instant the receiver was pressed against his ear, an extremely faint, indistinct female voice, as if traversing distant time and space, gently resounded from the depths of the ruins of his memory:

"Don't forget me..."

Whose voice is that?
His heart skipped a beat, and his fingers tightened.

"Hello? Forgotten Photo Studio."

(End of this chapter)