Chapter 149: The Light Borrower of the Void

Three hours after the transport convoy left Pure Land, the surrounding world began to feel off.

It wasn't a visual anomaly—the sky remained the post‑apocalyptic gray‑white, the ruins still the cement skeletons tangled in vines. It was the sound, or rather, the absence of sound.

"All the insects have stopped," Han Qing was the first to notice. He raised a hand to signal the convoy to slow, his other hand already on the weapon at his waist, "What about the plant network's feedback?"

Su Yu closed her eyes to sense. Through the part of the vehicle's chassis touching the ground, her consciousness extended down along the plant roots—then she snapped her eyes open: "Three kilometers ahead, there's a 'void'. Not a physical one, but a vacuum of life signals."

On Kevin's mobile terminal screen, the green ripple representing life signals suddenly broke off, like a line erased by a rubber. He pushed his glasses: "Diameter about eight hundred meters. But it's illogical; in a spore‑contaminated zone the life signals are chaotic, not a vacuum. This is more like…"

"Something ate it," Jihe's voice came through the communicator. It remained on the Pure Land network, but its consciousness linked to the convoy through the scar on Su Yu's chest via Resonance, "The Seran database records that when a high concentration of emotional energy is suddenly extracted, it leaves a 'resonance void'. Any lifeform entering will feel its sense of existence diluted."

The convoy stopped five hundred meters from the edge of the void.

Lao Zhao jumped out of the vehicle, pulled a palm‑sized metal detector from his tool bag—not to find metal, but his self‑modified "emotional resonance device" assembled from seven‑year‑old children's toy parts and stardust fragments. The instrument's needle quivered wildly, pointing toward the center of the void.

"Something in there is 'hungry'," Lao Zhao said as Li Xiaofeng came over and handed him a water bottle. The father and son exchanged a glance, and the young man whispered, "Dad, I'll go scout with you."

"You stay," Lao Zhao screwed the bottle cap on, moving slowly—his habit when thinking, "If I don't come out in half an hour… you use Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

Lao Zhao gave no answer, just patted his son's shoulder, then looked at Su Yu: "Engineer Su, I spent twelve years working at a chemical plant. Some gas leaks are invisible, but you can 'feel' them eating you. This void feels to me… exactly the same."

He turned toward the pickup, pulled an old photo frame from under the co‑driver's seat—a picture of his wife and five‑year‑old son, the glass already cracked, but he had kept it all this time. Lao Zhao slipped the frame into a close‑fitting pocket, patted it, and said, "Let's go. Let's see what's hungry."

They hadn't gone a hundred meters when the anomaly appeared.

First, the needle on Lao Zhao's detector abruptly stopped, then began to spin backward. Next, Li Xiaofeng—the 28‑year‑old engineer—suddenly halted, his gaze hollow as he stared ahead: "Dad… I think I've forgotten what Mom looks like."

Before the words finished, Su Yu's chest scar throbbed with intense pain.

It wasn't physiological pain, but a tearing sensation at the level of existence—like something trying to wrench Chen Mo's face out of her memory. She gritted her teeth, steadied herself, and sent a warning to the convoy through the plant network: "Don't recall! It's extracting emotional memories!"

But it was already too late.

On the pickup, Dr. Aili suddenly collapsed to her knees, her medical kit spilling open; she stared at the stethoscope that rolled out, murmuring, "Why... can't I remember who the first patient I saved was?"

Han Qing drew his gun, but his finger trembled on the trigger—he was wondering why he was drawing it, who he was, what the title 'captain' meant. His sense of existence slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Everyone back!"

Su Yu stepped forward. She put her full strength into the step; the moment her foot sank into the mud, the plant network's roots erupted from the ground—not outward, but winding inward around her. The roots pierced her ankle, wrist, and chest scar, anchoring her fading self‑awareness with physical pain.

"Chen Mo," she closed her eyes and whispered to the void, "Are you listening?"

She wasn't asking about the body in the ruins a hundred li away. She was asking the fragment of consciousness that had remained in the stardust core for seven years, the "ghost" that had merged into every node of the plant network, the man who left the scar on her chest and taught her that "you don't need much light".

"If you really are watching me—"

She ripped open the front of her shirt, exposing the scar fully to the air. The wound from seven years ago now emitted a dazzling golden light, like a torch suddenly ignited in the darkness.

"—then lend me a bit of light. Not much, just a little will do."

At the center of the void, something responded.

It wasn't a voice, but a frequency—the engine roar of Chen Mo's favorite old motorcycle, the off‑key humming he sang while fixing bikes, the tremor in his throat when he last said, "Wait for me back." These sound fragments rose from the depths of the void like bubbles from a drowning person.

Then light appeared.

It didn't emanate from Su Yu, but from the void itself—within that life‑vacuum region, countless tiny golden specks of light suddenly surfaced. Each speck was a Memory Fragment: Chen Mo teaching Lao Zhao how to use a wrench, Chen Mo giving Han Qing a back brace, Chen Mo counting stars with Xiao Yu, Chen Mo telling Su Yu on the eve of the disaster, "Tomorrow will be better."

These fragments surged toward the convoy members, drilling into their chests, foreheads, and palms.

Li Xiaofeng gasped sharply, "Mom… Mom's right cheek has a dimple when she smiles!"

Aili grabbed the stethoscope: "That patient was named Liu Jianguo; he later became our gardener…"

Han Qing's fingers steadied, and he pulled the trigger—not to fire, but to use the gunshot to rouse everyone: "Everyone, wake up! This is memory feedback!"

The void began to contract.

Like a healing wound, life signals resurfaced in that area. The insects' chirping returned, the wind's whine over the ruins came back, and the faint rustle of plant roots returned.

Lao Zhao stood in place, his hand on the photo frame against his chest. He looked down at the detector in his hand—the needle had returned to normal, pointing south.

"Those lights just now..." Li Xiaofeng's voice trembled, "Were they Engineer Chen?"

"It was what he left for the world," Su Yu fastened her collar again, the scar's glow now dimmed but its warmth lingering, "When he fragmented his consciousness seven years ago, he scattered most of his memories and emotions into the environment. This void… is something feeding on those scattered Memory Fragments."

Jihe's voice rang through the communicator, unusually urgent: "Su Yu, I'm detecting abnormal fluctuations in the plant network. The void isn't an isolated phenomenon—along the route from Pure Land to the southern ruins, seventeen similar signal vacuum points have appeared. They are like termites, gnawing at the emotional links at the base of the network."

Han Qing's complexion changed: "What does that mean?"

"It means that if we can't complete the mission within three days," Su Yu looked toward the south, where the sky seemed even grayer, "All of Chen Mo's memories scattered across the world—every bit of 'light'—will be devoured. By then…"

She didn't finish the sentence.

But everyone understood: by then, Chen Mo would truly be reduced to the crumbling body in the ruins. And the man who taught them that "you don't need much light" would become a cold, empty shell of memory.

The convoy restarted its engines.

This time, no one spoke. Yet as each person drove, they instinctively straightened their backs—as if to weld the reclaimed memories firmly into their bones.