156: Chapter 156 Black Stone Wall

The patterns on the well wall were glowing.

It was not a warm light, but a pale, cold light, clinging to the Black Stone Wall like phosphorus fire seeping from bone crevices.

Bai Wuji descended.

It was not a fall; the speed was controlled, stepping one by one on the patterns of the well wall. With every step, the patterns dimmed, as if his feet were extinguishing the light.

First step.

An image was plucked from his mind. He couldn't remember what it was, only that a piece was missing. Like flipping through a book and finding a page suddenly blank; you knew there were words there, but the content eluded you.

Second step.

Another piece missing.

He quickened his pace.

The cold air from the well wall seeped into his bones. It wasn't cold on the level of Spiritual Power, but something more fundamental, like someone drilling holes into his very existence, one by one, with wind whistling through them.

At the seventh step, he forgot something.

He couldn't remember how old he was when he first held a sword.

Twelfth step.

He couldn't remember if the path at the back mountain of the Heavenly Sword Sect turned left or right.

Nineteenth step.

He couldn't remember the taste of the peach Luo Bingli had thrown to him.

Bai Wuji paused.

He found himself smiling. Not because it was funny, but because the corner of his mouth twitched upward uncontrollably, as if his body was using its last instinct to resist the stripping away that was occurring.

Keep going.

The well wall grew narrower, the light dimmer. By the thirtieth step, his foot touched a flat surface.

He reached the bottom.

At the bottom of the well was a circular stone platform, about the same size as the platform above. In the center of the stone platform sat a lamp.

The lamp was small, palm-sized, bronze-colored, and ancient in design. Patterns were carved on its base, identical to those on the well wall. The wick was a transparent thread of unknown material.

No fire.

The lamp was out.

Bai Wuji walked toward it. With every step, another piece of his mind vanished. By the time he reached the lamp, he could no longer remember how many Junior Brothers he had.

He crouched down and reached for the lamp.

The moment his fingers touched the lamp base, a force surged from the lamp, pouring directly into his Divine Soul.

It wasn't an attack. It was a voice.

"What shall be the primer?"

Four words, sourceless, appearing directly in his consciousness.

Bai Wuji was stunned for a moment.

"What shall be the primer?" the voice repeated.

Bai Wuji stared at the transparent wick, his mind racing. The soul guiding lamp, the soul guiding lamp—it guided souls, so the primer to light it should also be a soul.

"Use mine," he spoke.

The lamp did not react.

The voice came again, phrased differently this time.

"This lamp is no candle; it accepts no mortal primer. The lighter must use a Complete Thought as the wick, and only when it burns out shall it shine."

A Complete Thought.

Bai Wuji's hand paused on the lamp base.

What was a Complete Thought? A memory? An obsession? An emotion?

He looked down at the wick and suddenly understood.

Not just any thought would do. It had to be a complete, intact segment that hadn't been erased by this well, remembered clearly from start to finish.

And now, the memories in his mind were disappearing piece by piece.

The "Complete Thoughts" he could offer were becoming fewer and fewer.

Bai Wuji closed his eyes, rummaging through his riddled memories.

When was the first time he met Master? He couldn't remember. Where did they meet? He couldn't remember. What was the first thing Master said?

He couldn't recall.

What about the first sword technique Master taught him?

...He couldn't remember that either.

Bai Wuji opened his eyes, his fingers trembling.

Not because of the cold.

He realized his memories of Master had been gnawed away until only fragments remained. Eleven years of things, scattered and broken, unable to form a complete picture.

This well was too cruel. It didn't erase randomly; it picked the most important things first.

Whatever you cared about most, it ate first.

Bai Wuji crouched before the lamp, feeling his memories slip away second by second.

Then, among the pile of fragments, he found one that was still complete.

It wasn't some world-shaking event.

It was a very ordinary afternoon. Master was sitting in the courtyard drinking tea, and he was standing nearby, not knowing what to say, just standing there for a long time. Later, Master glanced at him and said, "Sit."

So he sat.

Master poured him a cup of tea.

That was all. No transmission of power, no teachings, no soul-stirring dialogue between Master and disciple. Just a cup of tea.

But he remembered the sunlight was beautiful that day, the tea was warm, and Master's hand was steady.

This memory was still complete. Probably because it was too ordinary—so ordinary that even this well hadn't prioritized it.

Bai Wuji pulled this memory from his mind.

"Use this."

He pressed his hand against the wick and pushed that afternoon into it.

The wick lit up.

Not a flame, but a glow of warm light spreading upward from the base of the wick, like the color of sunlight through tea.

The moment the lamp lit, that afternoon vanished from Bai Wuji's mind.

Gone, completely clean.

He didn't remember Master pouring him tea. He didn't remember that afternoon. He didn't even remember which cup Master used for tea.

But the lamp was lit.

Bai Wuji grabbed the lamp and turned to walk back up.

From the bottom of the well to the top, thirty steps. He took thirty steps coming down, and it was thirty steps back. Every step was a continued loss.

Fifth step. He forgot why he was carrying this lamp.

Tenth step. He forgot his own name.

He didn't stop. His feet kept moving, his body remembered the direction—up, always up.

Twentieth step. He no longer knew who he was.

But he still gripped the lamp.

He didn't know why he was gripping it, but he wouldn't let go.

The mouth of the well.

Fourteen people were leaning over the edge of the well looking down; Medicine Not So's face was already as white as paper.

"It's too late," his voice was hoarse. "The fourth leaf was gone at a depth of one foot, and the erasure speed is still acceler—"

A hand reached out from the well.

Gu Dusheng was the first to rush over, grabbing the hand and pulling the person up.

Bai Wuji was pulled out of the well and collapsed onto the stone platform.

His eyes were open, his pupils dilated, as if he were looking at something, yet looking at nothing.

In his hand, he gripped a lamp glowing with warm light.

"Eldest Senior Brother!" Gu Dusheng called out to him.

Bai Wuji looked at Gu Dusheng, showing no reaction.

"Eldest Senior Brother?" Luo Bingli crouched down, her voice trembling.

Bai Wuji looked at her, his gaze devoid of any sign of recognition.

He didn't know her anymore.

Medicine Not So rushed over, placing his fingers on Bai Wuji's pulse. After checking for three breaths, the expression on his face changed from anxiety to a blank stare.

"His memories... are all gone," Medicine Not So let go, his voice very soft. "Even his memories of how to Cultivate were gone. His current Cultivation... has dissipated."

The warm light of the lamp reflected on Bai Wuji's face.

He looked down at the lamp in his hand as if seeing something he had never seen before. Then he looked up, scanning the circle of strangers with tear-stained faces.

He spoke a single sentence.

"Who are you?"

The lamp flame flickered.

The gray water curtain at the edge of the stone platform suddenly surged, and that blurry face floating on the water's surface appeared again, its features twisting into a bizarre smile.

"The lamp is lit," its voice poured directly into everyone's minds. "But you forgot to ask one thing."

"This lamp can only be delivered to the deceased by the person who lit it."

"And the person who lit it—"

It looked at Bai Wuji.

"No longer remembers who the deceased is."