TIMO - Chapter 92
Chapter 92
The moment she heard those two names, Fu Zhao’s fingertips stiffened.
An emotion seemed to drift in on the wind, and a sudden pang of pain shot through her heart.
It was as if she had heard them before.
But she clearly remembered that she didn’t know these two people.
Why… was she feeling this way?
“Fu Zhao… Fu Zhao…”
A soft call sounded by her ear. Fu Zhao snapped back to her senses, but her mind was still in a bit of a turmoil. A few drops of ink had already splattered onto the lantern paper before her.
She tightened her grip on the calligraphy brush, her mind clearing slightly. She took another sheet of lantern paper, spread it out, and held Shi Nan’s hand, writing the two names on the paper stroke by stroke.
“Are these the two surnames?” she asked, her gaze trembling slightly.
In her arms, Shi Nan’s eyes fell upon the paper. She nodded. “Yes, that’s how you write them. Before, she… I looked them up. These are the characters.”
“What’s wrong? Is there a problem?” Shi Nan looked at Fu Zhao. The light in the other woman’s amber eyes swirled round and round, as if she were lost in thought. She was a little worried that Fu Zhao’s memories hadn’t been completely erased either.
“No.” Fu Zhao shook her head, quietly looking at the two names she had written. “It’s just that both of these surnames are a bit special.”
“Special?” Shi Nan asked, seemingly not understanding what she meant.
Fu Zhao stared for a while, ripples gently stirring in her eyes. She set the brush down. Once the ink was dry, they could attach it to the lantern frame.
“The surname Fu is special because it’s the same as mine, and it’s quite rare. There are no people with the surname Fu on other planets, and there aren’t many on Nanke Island either. Besides our family, there are only a few others.”
“I see.” Shi Nan glanced at the names on the lantern paper. Her eyes flickered before returning to their calm state, her lowered lashes trembling. “Perhaps it has something to do with your family.”
At this, Fu Zhao paused, as if genuinely considering the possibility.
Afraid that Fu Zhao would overthink things, Shi Nan squeezed her arm and changed the subject. “What about the surname Lian?”
Her thoughts interrupted, Fu Zhao’s gaze naturally followed Shi Nan’s words and fell upon the clearly visible name “Lian Yuechu” on the lantern paper. She thought for a moment before explaining,
“This surname is even rarer. Among all the household registrations on Nanke Island, this surname doesn’t exist.”
“I imagine it’s the same on other planets.”
Shi Nan followed Fu Zhao’s gaze to the name “Lian Yuechu.” She was dazed for a moment before speaking softly,
“Is this surname very rare?”
“Yes,” Fu Zhao affirmed. “Before my last reset, I had a much longer dream. In it, I seemed to have gone to a completely different planet. There were only two genders there, and their timeline seemed to be much earlier than ours. There was once a dynasty there where the imperial surname was Lian.”
“After I recovered my memories, I looked up some information.”
“Only then did I discover that our ancestors once lived on that planet. Later, something happened, and they moved to what is now Nanke Island.”
“This is likely why the surname Fu is so rare throughout the entire interstellar space. Perhaps on that planet, the surnames Fu and Lian were common.”
As she spoke, Fu Zhao looked at Shi Nan, her gaze lingering in the depths of Shi Nan’s eyes, a hint of confusion coloring her own. She didn’t understand how Shi Nan knew these two people. And asking her to write their names on a Kongming Lantern meant that these two people were likely… deceased.
She paused, thinking it over for a long while before finally asking, “Do you know these two people? Or have you only heard their names?”
“I know them.” Shi Nan stared at the two names on the lantern paper, her gaze trembling slightly, a complex emotion hidden in her eyes. She was silent for a moment before speaking again,
“But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”
Hearing Shi Nan say this, Fu Zhao no longer wanted to ask if these two were her friends, nor did she want to press further about Shi Nan’s relationship with them.
Some things were best left where they were.
Having figured this out, Fu Zhao gently patted Shi Nan’s shoulder and said no more, silently helping to fully assemble the paper into a lantern.
Shi Nan didn’t say anything else either. Her lowered lashes trembled as she and Fu Zhao each held one side of the Kongming Lantern, watching as Fu Zhao lit the base.
The candlelight flickered, the flame brightening and dimming, casting dancing shadows on the translucent white paper.
It reflected on Fu Zhao’s face opposite her, the wavering light casting layered shadows across the sharp lines of her bone structure.
Yet it also seemed to add a sense of unreality.
Shi Nan’s vision blurred for a second, and she suddenly gripped Fu Zhao’s wrist, only letting out a breath of relief when she felt the steady, strong beat of the other’s pulse.
“What’s wrong?” Fu Zhao’s gaze shifted over, filled with a hint of inquiry mixed with concern. “Is something not right?”
“It’s nothing.” Shi Nan shook her head, taking a light breath to calm herself. “I was just in a daze. My memories are a bit jumbled. I think I just remembered something else. Before… I think I’ve also released Kongming Lanterns many times.”
“Many times?” Fu Zhao stared at Shi Nan, a thought suddenly bubbling up in her heart that she could no longer suppress. Her fingertips trembled abruptly, and she couldn’t help but ask,
“So what I saw in my dream before, all those countless Kongming Lanterns with my name written on them, was that all real?”
“Was it you…” Her voice trembled, and she clenched her fingertips, taking a long moment to steady herself before she could finish her sentence. “Were you the one who released them all?”
“I think so…” Shi Nan furrowed her brow. The sudden flood of memories left her feeling a little lost and unable to sort through them.
But in her memory, she had released Kongming Lanterns many, many times.
Through countless days and nights.
Fragments of memory surged wildly in her mind.
Under the flickering lamplight, Fu Zhao’s hazy profile, the ripples in her amber eyes, and the distinct, swaying candlelight.
Together, they had gently released the Kongming Lantern into the sky…
Under the dim yellow light, Fu Zhao’s eyes had curved into a smile as she asked if she had learned to write her name… watching her gently, her amber pupils filled to the brim with her reflection.
Later, she was the only one left releasing the Kongming Lanterns.
She was the only one repeatedly writing the name on the lantern paper.
From writing the name to lighting the lantern, then releasing it into the sky, until she watched the Kongming Lantern become a tiny dot in the night sky, rising to the horizon.
Until the sky was filled with lantern light.
Until the sparse, ink-black night was completely illuminated by one Kongming Lantern after another, a sky full of swaying candlelight.
In that endless cycle, tears constantly welled up in her eyes, falling onto the paper of each Kongming Lantern, leaving damp traces that were slowly dried by the flame, turning into deepened marks…
When were these memories from?
Was it the last time, or the time before that?
Why hadn’t she remembered this before… Was it a real memory, or a dream?
A torrent of complicated thoughts washed over her, and Shi Nan fell into a trance, but she couldn’t recall any other related memories. All she could remember was releasing Kongming Lanterns, over and over again, so many of them.
As this part of her memory resurfaced, her heart felt as if it were being crushed into a ball—aching, throbbing, and filled with a thick sorrow.
Despair, disillusionment, utter hopelessness.
Was that how she felt at that time?
Without a doubt, those memories were also from a time after she had lost Fu Zhao, but she couldn’t figure out which time it was.
“Shi Nan… Shi Nan…”
A voice called out, carried over by the wind, yet it seemed to dissolve into it.
Shi Nan snapped back to her senses, only to find that fine beads of sweat had formed on her temples, and a cold sweat had broken out on her back.
The touch on her fingertips was warm and real.
The person before her was whole, her gaze shifting gently, tinged with worry.
“Did something happen?” Fu Zhao pressed her lips together and asked softly, “Did you remember something unpleasant?”
As if waking from a dream, Shi Nan lifted her head and saw that the Kongming Lantern they had been holding had long since risen into the sky, drifting leisurely on the horizon. The two names on it had already become invisible dots.
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t scare me.”
The person before her moved closer, a cool palm pressing against her forehead. Worry flickered in her eyes, and her brow was furrowed.
“Why are you sweating so much?”
“You were fine just a moment ago…”
“I’m fine.” Shi Nan cut Fu Zhao off, her eyes curving into a gentle smile. She took Fu Zhao’s hand from her forehead and intertwined their fingers. “My memories just got jumbled for a moment.”
“But I’ve sorted them out now.”
“The many Kongming Lanterns you saw in your dream before, I think I was the one who released them.”
“As for when exactly, I can’t remember clearly.”
Hearing Shi Nan’s words, Fu Zhao’s tense body relaxed. She gently wrapped an arm around Shi Nan’s shoulders to comfort her. “It’s okay if you can’t remember. Don’t force yourself to think about it.”
“Just remember the things you should, and as for the things you shouldn’t, we can forget them.”
Shi Nan looked at Fu Zhao steadily, a curve forming on her lips. The night wind made her voice sound even lighter and lazier.
“Just now you said we should remember some things, and now you’re saying it’s okay to forget. Why are you such a double standard?”
Fu Zhao raised an eyebrow. Seeing that Shi Nan was in the mood to joke with her, she also relaxed and replied with a smile,
“When it comes to you, I am a double standard.”
“You don’t need to remember anything that makes you unhappy.”
The smile on Shi Nan’s lips rippled. She gently tapped Fu Zhao’s nose. “You’ve gotten so good with words now. You used to be so quiet and kept everything to yourself.”
“Mhm,” Fu Zhao hummed in agreement. She squeezed Shi Nan’s shoulder, which had just tensed up, still feeling a faint sense of worry. She changed the subject. “Let’s go back. The wind is getting a bit strong at night.”
Shi Nan glanced up at the Kongming Lantern, which had already flown far away. Her gaze lingered for a moment before moving to Fu Zhao’s eyes. She soothingly scratched Fu Zhao’s palm, her voice much softer.
“Okay, let’s go back.”
Fu Zhao finally felt at ease. But just as they turned around, Shi Nan’s body suddenly trembled a few times, and she stared blankly at the base of a tree ahead.
She followed her gaze and saw that at the stone table where they had been sitting and writing the names, there now seemed to be two figures seated.
A bright, crescent moon hung in the sky, surrounded by a few clusters of thin clouds.
A gentle breeze blew past, rustling the leaves. The hazy figures under the tree became clearer, quietly watching them.
One was wearing a black trench coat, their posture ramrod straight, exuding a cool yet misty aura.
The other was wearing a dark red trench coat, propping up their cheek as they tilted their head to look at them. Their eyes were curved in a smile, their gaze gently swaying.
The emotion within seemed to be one of gratification.
Author's Notes
Shi Nan actually has another part of her memory, which will be written about in the extras.
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