In year sixty-seven of the Firefolk Era, after the spring equinox, the snow beside the Ruin Abyss Well gradually melted into slender streams that seeped into the earth's veins, as though the tears of the Nine Provinces had finally returned to the rivers.
Xiaoman did not leave.
He still kept watch beside the Ruin Abyss Well, day after day, night after night. He no longer carved names or patrolled the lanes. He only sat on that blue-gray stone, holding A Man's empty lamp and gently wiping it clean. When the wind came, he did not turn away; when rain fell, he did not seek shelter; when snow covered his shoulders, he did not move. He was like a Lamp Guarder forgotten by time, silent as stone, yet his heart flame never died.
People said Xiaoman had lost his mind.
But he knew he had not lost his mind. He was waiting.
He was waiting for a lamp—not one that would come flying, but one that lay asleep; not an empty one, but one with a soul.
He remembered what Su Li had said as she burned the leaf: "Lamps welcome homecomers, but not only people. They can reach spirits, too." He remembered the countless lamp-shadows reflected in the well that night, as though whispers had echoed beneath the water, as though someone had softly called his name. More than anything, he remembered the heartbeat the instant A Man's lamp landed in his palm, as though the earth's veins and his heart had resonated at the same frequency.
And so he kept watch—over the well, over the lamp, over that faint sense of connection, there and yet not there.
Until one night, when the moon hid, the stars sank, and all the world fell silent.
A faint light suddenly shimmered in