The Game of All Beings

Chapter Four: The River of Forgetting

Shen Yue sat in the yard all night.

When dawn came, he found himself crying.

Not sobbing—tears just flowing on their own. He touched his face, looked at the moisture on his fingers, and couldn't understand why he was crying. He wasn't sad, wasn't grieving, just felt a hollow in his chest. What had once filled that hollow, he couldn't remember.

He only knew something should be there.

Something important, but forgotten.

He stood, legs stiff. The sun rose in the east, same as yesterday, same as the day before. But Shen Yue looked at it and felt it hung lower than the day before.

The world was still shrinking.

He walked out of the yard, into the western streets of the city. The breakfast stall was already set up, steam rising, a few people sitting around drinking porridge. He passed them, heard them talking about this year's harvest, whose child had passed their exams, a strange dream they'd had last night.

No one mentioned Lin Xiaohé.

No one remembered that on this street once lived a fifteen-year-old girl, a blank slate, a girl who could weave her own bamboo basket and catch fish with her hands.

Shen Yue walked to the earthen house. The door still stood open, as he'd left it last night. He went in, saw again the bamboo basket, the dried fish, the dust-covered bed.

He picked up the basket, turned it over in his hands.

Crudely woven, with gaps. But clearly woven with care, every strip of bamboo smoothed, the joints bound with fine twine to prevent unraveling.

Who wove it?

He couldn't remember.

But he knew, whoever wove this basket had looked forward to filling it with fish.

He set it down, walked out. After a few steps, he turned back, looked at the mound in the yard. The characters on the board were completely illegible now, just faint scratches.

Staring at that board, he suddenly remembered something.

The dying old man had said his choice to help him wasn't within Thousand Eyes' gaze, was his own.

That was three days ago——no, how long ago?

Shen Yue couldn't calculate anymore.

——

He wandered the city all day.

Reached the city wall, saw the river. The water still flowed, sunlight still glittered on its surface. Children played at the water's edge, barefoot, splashing.

Shen Yue stood watching them.

One child bent down, hands in the water, waited, then suddenly closed them——pulled out a small fish.

"I caught one!" the child shouted, holding it up to the others.

A flash in Shen Yue's mind.

A girl, also bent like that, also waiting for fish, also suddenly closing her hands. Water splashing, she straightened, smiling so hard her eyes crinkled.

"Got one!"

Who was that?

He tried desperately to see, but the image was gone. He grasped for it, tried to make out the face, but couldn't. Only that smile, that pure smile, like a light flaring in his mind, then dying.

"What are you doing here all alone?"

Shen Yue turned.

No one.

He looked back at the river.

Who had asked that question?

He didn't know.

But he knew someone should have asked it. Someone should have stood behind him, used that tone. Someone in plain cotton clothes, hair carelessly tied, eyes very bright.

Very bright eyes.

What kind of eyes?

He closed his eyes, tried to remember. The image grew fainter.

——

When darkness fell, Shen Yue returned to the earthen house in the west of the city.

He didn't know why he came back. It wasn't his place, and he couldn't remember who had lived here. But he came back anyway, as if something here awaited him.

He pushed the door open. The room was pitch black.

He felt his way in, found the bed, sat on its edge. The bamboo basket sat on the table, moonlight through the window outlining it in silver.

Shen Yue stared at that basket, then spoke aloud.

"I don't know who you are."

His voice echoed in the empty room.

"But I remember you."

He paused, then added: "I remember there was a you."

No one answered.

He lay down, closed his eyes. The scent of the basket drifted over—fresh bamboo, mixed with a hint of dust. Breathing it in, he slowly fell asleep.

——

He dreamed.

In his dream, he was by a river, water so clear he could see the stones on the bottom. The sun was hot, warming his back. He stood in the water, bent over, hands in the river, waiting for fish.

Fish came, swam through his fingers. One, two, three.

He waited.

Another came, paused in his palm. He closed his hand, caught it.

Water splashed.

He straightened, turned to say to someone beside him, "I caught one."

No one was there.

He stood in the river, holding up the fish, with no one to show it to.

The fish struggled in his grip, tail slapping his wrist, tickling.

Suddenly, he wanted to cry.

——

He woke. Dawn had come.

Tears on his face. He wiped them away, sat up, looked at the bamboo basket.

"I will find you," he said.

He didn't know who he was speaking to, or how to begin the search. Someone erased, vanished from all memories, all records—how could such a person be found?

But he had to try.

Because that hollow place still ached.

——

Shen Yue began investigating.

He started with the old neighbour woman. She said the house next door had been empty for three years. When he asked who had lived there three years ago, she said she didn't know, it had always seemed empty. When he asked if she remembered anything happening on this street three years ago, she said yes, that year the plague had killed many, her son had died too.

"What was your son's name?"

"Dazhu," she said. "Only twenty-one when he died."

Shen Yue asked for more details. The old woman remembered clearly. When the plague started, when it ended, who died, where they were buried.

But she didn't remember Lin Xiaohé.

Shen Yue tried other neighbours. A vegetable-seller, a washerwoman, a young shepherd. They remembered everything about three years ago—the plague, the dark periods, the bad harvest. But none remembered Lin Xiaohé.

No one remembered.

Shen Yue went to the government archives. Pretending to be a student, he asked to see population records from three years ago. The clerk brought out thick files. He read every name.

No Lin Xiaohé.

Among those names were the dead of three years ago, the newborns, those who had moved in or out. But no Lin Xiaohé.

As if she'd never existed.

Shen Yue closed the files, sat staring into space.

The clerk asked if he needed anything else. He said no, stood, and walked out.

At the door, he turned back: "Three years ago, was there a blank slate named Lin Xiaohé?"

The clerk paused, then shook his head. "A blank slate? No blank slate was born three years ago. The last one was twenty-three years ago."

Twenty-three years ago.

Shen Yue remembered Chen Mo saying his mother was the blank slate from twenty-three years ago.

That was another blank slate, not Lin Xiaohé.

——

He walked out of the archives, stood in the street, unsure where to go.

The sun was setting, casting his long shadow. Looking at it, he remembered the old man's dying words: you're not in any timeline.

That was after he'd made his free choice.

Now he was back under Thousand Eyes' gaze. Back in the timelines.

But the one he'd lost wasn't in any timeline.

Where was she?

If she wasn't in the timelines, had she ever existed? That smile, that basket, that dried fish—were they real?

Or just his delusion? A figment his three-hundred-year-old mind had conjured to fill that hollow place?

He didn't know.

He only knew that basket remained.

A physical object. Not delusion, not memory, but something real. Someone had woven that basket, used it to hold fish, placed it on that table.

It was evidence.

Proof that someone had existed.

Shen Yue turned, walked back towards the west of the city.

He was going to get that basket.

——

When he reached the earthen house, the sun was almost down.

The door was open.

He'd closed it that morning.

He slowed, crept closer. Peering through the c***k, he saw a figure standing at the table, holding the basket.

The figure had its back to the door, face hidden. But from behind, it was male, young, in dark clothes.

Shen Yue pushed the door open.

The figure turned.

Chen Mo.

"You......" Shen Yue was stunned.

Chen Mo looked at him, eyes bloodshot, face haggard.

"You remember too," Chen Mo said.

Shen Yue walked over, stood beside him.

"Remember what?"

"A person," Chen Mo said. "Someone very important. I can't remember who, but I know there was someone."

He looked at the basket in his hands.

"She made this, didn't she?"

Shen Yue nodded.

Chen Mo was silent for a moment, then set the basket back on the table.

"I walked north for three days," he said. "Then I found myself walking back. Didn't know why, just felt I had to return. Halfway, a question occurred to me—why was I going back? Where was I returning to? Who did I want to see?"

His voice was very soft.

"I couldn't remember. But I knew there was someone. I had to find her."

Shen Yue looked at him, and suddenly understood.

Lin Xiaohé had been erased, but not from everyone's memory.

She'd been erased from everyone's memory, but left traces.

Those traces weren't memories, but feelings. That hollow ache in the chest. That aimless desire to return somewhere. That inexplicable urge to cry when looking at a bamboo basket.

Those feelings couldn't be erased.

"Her name was Lin Xiaohé," Shen Yue said.

Chen Mo looked up.

"You remember?"

"No," Shen Yue said. "But I know her name was Lin Xiaohé. Because that old man said it before he died."

He wasn't sure the old man had actually said it. Maybe he'd made it up, maybe he wanted so badly to remember the name that he pretended someone had spoken it. But he needed a name. Needed a name to fill that hollow place, even slightly.

Chen Mo nodded.

"Lin Xiaohé," he repeated. "Nice name."

——

That night, they sat in the earthen house, a single lamp lit.

Chen Mo spoke of what he'd found in the north. He'd reached the other Wall Breaker outpost, but it was empty. Everyone gone, equipment destroyed, only fragments and bullet holes in the walls.

"Not the government," he said. "Something more direct. Those holes weren't from bullets. Energy beams. Like the fate interferometer's energy, but more concentrated, more lethal."

Shen Yue remembered He Wan's death. The energy feedback had hit her, killed her instantly.

"The gods," he said.

Chen Mo nodded.

"They're cleaning up the Wall Breakers," he said. "He Wan was right—the gods don't like what they can't control. People like us—who've made free choices—we're uncontrollable variables. They're eliminating us one by one."

"So what do we do?"

Chen Mo looked at him, silent for a long time.

"I don't know," he said. "But I know one thing. That person called Lin Xiaohé wasn't erased by the gods."

Shen Yue froze.

"What do you mean?"

"There are two kinds of erasure," Chen Mo said. "One is Purge-day erasure, where the 'old days' are selected to vanish from everyone's memory. The other is being edited out of a timeline by Thousand Eyes."

He paused.

"If a person makes a certain choice in a certain timeline, and Thousand Eyes edits that choice out—then that person vanishes from that timeline. Not erased, but discarded. Like a scene cut from a film—it existed, but not in the final version."

Shen Yue slowly understood.

"You mean Lin Xiaohé wasn't erased, but cut?"

"Possible," Chen Mo said. "She's a blank slate, her choices completely unpredictable. If in some timeline she made a choice the gods didn't want—one that would generate too much uncertainty, beyond their control—then the gods might cut that timeline. Remove her from the main line."

He looked at Shen Yue.

"You can still feel her because you were in that 0.3-second blind spot. That blind spot let you step outside the timelines for a moment. So you still retain some memory—not memory, but feeling."

Shen Yue was silent.

A question occurred to him.

"If she was cut, where is she now?"

Chen Mo shook his head.

"Don't know. Maybe alive in another timeline. Maybe trapped forever in the editing room. Maybe——"

He didn't finish.

Maybe dead. Truly dead, not reincarnation, not erasure, but complete disappearance.

——

They were silent for a long time.

The lamp burned low, flame flickering, shadows dancing on the walls.

Suddenly, Chen Mo spoke.

"I want to find her."

Shen Yue looked at him.

"How?"

"Go to the editing room," Chen Mo said. "Go where Thousand Eyes is. Go into those discarded timelines, and find her."

Shen Yue thought he was crazy.

"Do you know where Thousand Eyes is? Do you know how to get into those timelines? Do you know if you can come back?"

Chen Mo shook his head.

"No. But He Wan said something before. She said if both devices had been activated simultaneously, they would not only disrupt Thousand Eyes' gaze, but also open a passage—a passage to the editing room."

He looked at Shen Yue.

"Only one activated. But maybe one is enough."

"Enough for what?"

"Enough to open a c***k," Chen Mo said. "A very small c***k. Just big enough for one person to squeeze through."

Shen Yue stared at him.

"You want to go in?"

"I want to find her," Chen Mo said. "Not for her sake—I don't even remember who she is. For my mother's."

He looked down.

"My mother was a blank slate too. Twenty-three years ago. When she died, she said, 'Son, I only have this one life. Live several lives for me.' She didn't know she'd reincarnate. She thought death was the end."

He looked up, light in his eyes.

"But what if she's still alive in some timeline? What if blank slates aren't just blank for this one life, but always have a little bit of blankness—always able to make completely unpredictable choices—then she wouldn't be cut. She'd be alive somewhere, in some timeline, forever."

Shen Yue looked at him.

"You want to find your mother?"

"I want to find all the blank slates," Chen Mo said. "Those who were cut, discarded, forgotten. They might all still be alive somewhere."

Shen Yue was silent for a long time.

Then he thought of the bamboo basket.

Crudely woven, leaky, but bound with care, with fine twine.

The one who wove it should still be alive somewhere.

"I'll go with you," he said.

——

They spent another night in the earthen house.

The next morning, they set out north. Towards the ruined Wall Breaker outpost, towards the fate interferometer that had only half-activated.

Before leaving, Shen Yue picked up the basket.

Chen Mo came over. "Taking that?"

"Yes."

"Take it then," Chen Mo said. "String it up, wear it on your back."

Shen Yue found a piece of hemp twine, threaded it through the gaps in the basket, tied it, and slung it over his shoulder. The basket bobbed behind him like a strange backpack.

Looking at it, he almost laughed.

In three hundred years, he'd carried swords, carried books, carried provisions, carried the dead. But carrying a bamboo basket to find a forgotten person—this was a first.

"Let's go," he said.

——

They walked for three days.

Once, they encountered a dark period lasting four hours. They sheltered in an abandoned farmhouse, listening to the absolute silence outside. No wind, no insects, nothing.

Shen Yue took the basket from his back, set it beside him.

In the darkness, he couldn't see, but touching the basket, he could feel those rough joints, those places bound with fine twine.

The hands that wove it must have been small. Those knots were tied carefully, but with insufficient strength, some places loose.

Touching those loose knots, he thought: if he found her, she'd have to weave another one. One that didn't leak.

Four hours later, light returned.

They continued.

On the third evening, they reached the outpost.

A building hidden in the mountains, similar to the first—metal door, long passage, circular hall. But inside was chaos. Equipment lay toppled, walls bore scorch marks, the air thick with acrid smoke.

They crossed the hall, entered the innermost room.

The fate interferometer was still there.

Those metal rings remained, but no longer turned. Some were broken, some deformed, some cracked all over. The arcs were gone, only occasional sparks flickering.

Chen Mo went to the control panel, looked at the screens. Most were dark, but one still glowed, displaying waveforms.

"Can it still work?" Shen Yue asked.

Chen Mo stared at the waveforms for a long time.

"Don't know," he said. "But there's one way to try."

He pointed to the centre of the hall.

"Stand there. I'll activate it. If we're lucky, it might open a c***k. You go in, find her, and then——"

"And then what?"

Chen Mo looked at him.

"And then I don't know," he said. "He Wan didn't say how to get back."

Shen Yue was silent.

He walked to the centre of the hall, stood where he'd stood before. He took the basket from his back, held it in his arms.

Chen Mo glanced at it.

"Sure you want to take that in?"

"Sure," Shen Yue said. "Let her see it."

Chen Mo nodded, went to the control panel, hand on the activation button.

"You sure?" he asked.

Shen Yue thought of that hollow place. Of that smile he couldn't quite remember. Of those knots he'd touched all the way here.

"Sure."

Chen Mo pressed the button.

The rings began to turn. Slowly, laboriously, creaking and groaning. Some rings stuck, sparks flying. The whole hall shook, dust falling from the walls.

Light appeared at Shen Yue's feet.

Not the intense white light of last time. A faint light, barely visible, like moonlight through thin clouds.

The light grew stronger.

But still faint.

Chen Mo shouted something, Shen Yue couldn't hear. The noise was overwhelming—metal grinding, electricity crackling, and other sounds, like countless birds singing.

The light grew stronger.

Then——

The ground beneath him split open.

Not really split, but like a door opening. He looked down, not at the ground, but at countless rivers. Silver rivers, densely packed, flowing in all directions. In each river, images flashed—faces, tree shadows, house outlines—too fast to see clearly.

Those were timelines.

He stood at the doorway, holding the basket, looking at those rivers.

Then he jumped.

He fell into one of the rivers.

Not a real river, but a river of light. He floated within it, surrounded by flowing light. In the light were images, sounds, people he knew and didn't.

He saw a boy crying because his dog had died.

He saw a woman laughing because she'd just given birth.

He saw an old man lying in bed, slowly closing his eyes.

He saw——

Lin Xiaohé.

She stood by a river, bent over, hands in the water, waiting for fish.

Sunlight warmed her back, water droplets sparkled.

He opened his mouth to call her name.

But the current was too fast, sweeping him away.

The basket nearly slipped from his grasp. He clutched it tightly, continued falling, deeper into those silver rivers.