Year 147 of the Light-Dust Calendar, on the eve of the spring equinox.
Zhaoming traveled to Old Book Cliff at the southernmost tip of the Nine Provinces—a cliff formed from a thousand years of books piled upon one another, where secret scriptures left by ancient Lamp Guarders were said to lie hidden. Wind passed through the pages, whispering, chanting, as though the entire cliff were reading.
In a stone niche at the foot of the cliff, she discovered an unrecorded ancient volume. Its cover had rotted away, leaving only three faded characters: "Lamp Speech Scripture."
She opened the first page. The ink flickered like a lamp flame, every word a gleam of light:
Zhaoming's fingertips trembled. She had heard her grandfather speak of the Lamp Language Festival, but she had never imagined that lamplight could truly carry words—not merely as a symbol, but as real conversation.
She read on:
An ancient illustration was appended to the book: people sat around lamps, human figures emerging within the flames, speaking with one another as though meeting among the living.
"So... Lamp Language isn't a legend," Zhaoming whispered. "It's real."
She brought the Lamp Speech Scripture back to the fishing village in the Southern Sea. On the night of the spring equinox, she gathered the villagers and lit a hundred clay lamps beside Sunken Ship Bay, arranging them into a Lamp Speech Formation. Following the ancient method, she spaced the lamps evenly, with their wicks all facing the same center, creating a field of resonating light.
She sat cross-legged at the formation's heart and cradled an old lamp, which held a strand of her mother's hair and a grain of Light Dust sealed inside before her mother's death.
She closed her eyes, gathered her thoughts, and said softly, "Mom, I'm missing you a