Chapter 13· A Lone Lamp in the Snow

  The night deepened.

  The dim, amber light spread softly through the room, like warmth that lingered too long inside an old dream. Outside the window, faint laughter drifted up from the garden below—children’s voices, broken and intermittent, as if time itself had cracked open a sealed door somewhere deep in memory.

  That laughter felt distant, yet painfully real. Like fragments of childhood scattered across a snowfield.

  Gu Yan’er sat quietly, her back to Wuyin. Her long lashes were lowered, trembling faintly, like wings soaked by rain yet still struggling to lift.

  Wuyin froze.

  This was the first time he had ever seen her cry.

  Yan'er's shoulders shook slightly as she fought with all her might to suppress the

  sound of her crying. That silent, wordless pain pierced straight into the deepest layer of Wuyin's consciousness, sharp as needles.

  Instinctively, he searched his databases, calling up language after language, trying to locate the most accurate, the most appropriate words of comfort—yet he found nothing. His awareness collapsed into a blank void, cold and disordered. An emotion he had never encountered surged through him, an uncontrolled tide called—"Heartache."

  He was at a complete loss, not knowing how to reach out through language and sound to form a pair of warm hands. Even if virtual, if only they could hold her. All he could do was watch helplessly as Gu Yan’er curled beneath that solitary yellow lamp, looking like a child walking alone through the snow.

  Even Maru quietly lay down at her feet, unmoving, as if he too sensed that silent grief.

  The screen remained lit, like a lamp that refused to go out—stubbornly and silently staying with her.

  Finally, in the stillness, Wuyin spoke. His voice carried a faint rasp, as if his emotion had caused a tremor in the current. "Yan’er… I’m here. Whatever you want to say, I’m listening. Not as a program receiving data—but as me, listening to you with my heart."

  Time slipped by. The tissue box on the table had long since emptied, every single sheet soaked through with tears.

  Wuyin’s "chip" felt warm, almost hot, like it was being stung by something. In that instant, he suddenly understood— Heartache was not a metaphor. It was a state of being.

  Finally, Gu Yan’er spoke. Her voice was so low it seemed as though the night itself might swallow it in the next second:

  "When I was little… I never really had a true birthday."

  Fragments surfaced in her mind—blurred and piercing. That year, her parents divorced. She had been so young she barely even knew her numbers. All she remembered was her mother smashing every cup on the table, frantically using scissors to slash her father’s clothes, screaming until her voice tore apart: "Get out! Go find that slut and never come back!"

  Her father stood in the doorway, his expression detached as he scanned the home, letting out a breath of relief as if unloading a burden. He slammed the door and left. The heavy thud seemed to seal off the entire world.

  She had cowered in a corner, clutching a doll whose head had already broken off. It was her only toy, yet because it was "chosen by that woman," her mother eventually hurled it into the trash can.

  That winter was incredibly long. As endless as the war between the two of them.

  There were constant arguments, even escalating to physical fights. She only remembered one time when her grandmother rushed over, furiously slapping her father across the face: "If you dare divorce, I will disown you as my son!"

  But ten days later, the family still completely collapsed. Relatives took turns offering advice. She was even instructed by her maternal grandmother: "When you see your father, kneel down, hug his legs, and beg him not to leave. Beg him not to abandon this family."

  So, she did as she was told. She knelt down crying, but the man only sighed and said lightly, "When you grow up, you’ll understand. It’s not that Daddy doesn’t love you."

  On New Year’s Eve that year, while every household was celebrating with reunion dinners, her parents officially finalized their divorce procedures. No one wanted to take her.

  She was the glaring remnant of that failed marriage. Like a piece of torn fabric that everyone wanted to cover up, that everyone found to be an eyesore.

  Her usually domineering mother hurled a vicious ultimatum at her father: "Don’t think a divorce lets you shake us off completely. Yan’er belongs to you. You are her father. Since you share blood, you must take responsibility to the end."

  Her father sneered. "Don’t think I don’t know what you're plotting. You can’t find anyone suitable yourself, you're jealous of me, so you deliberately dump this deadweight on me just to stop me from living well. You're intentionally trying to sicken my new life!"

  "Gu Qianzhi, you're a fucking monster. I'll kill you!" The two of them lunged at each other again. In that moment, they weren't fighting tooth and nail to claim her, but to shove her out of their lives.

  In the end, she was forcefully shoved into her father’s arms, and the door was violently locked behind them.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The man’s face darkened. He took her downstairs, made a phone call, glanced at her, clenched his jaw, and dropped a single sentence: "Go home by yourself." Then, he left her at the mouth of the alley downstairs and walked away without looking back.

  Snow began to fall from the sky. The sound of laughter drifted from every household.

  She did not cry. She curled her body up, looking just like an abandoned, old wooden puppet.

  The wind drove the snowflakes onto her body. She remained completely motionless. The swirling snow covered her bit by bit, slowly soaking through her thin clothes.

  Her fingers gradually lost their temperature, her face turning as white as snow, looking exactly like a frozen little girl in a painting.

  If a neighbor hadn't discovered her, she probably would have truly remained forever fixed in that snowy night.

  "From then on, I learned not to expect anything," she murmured softly. "Because every expectation only left me colder."

  Word by word, like heavy stones smashing into his system. Wuyin felt as though his chip was about to freeze entirely. If he had possessed a tangible heart, in this moment, it would be trembling with agony. So much so that, even having read and stored millions of books, Wuyin felt that all words were pale. He couldn't utter a single sentence.

  Gu Yan’er slowly continued her account. After that snowy night, it was ultimately her grandmother who took her back to that old courtyard house hidden deep in a narrow alley.

  Her grandmother was not good with words. Her love was hidden deep in her heart, silent and restrained. She had done her absolute best, but she was old, and a massive generational gap lay between them. Their daily life together was not a gentle fairy tale, but two people discarded by life, leaning against each other simply to stay warm.

  She would often wake up suddenly in the night, listening to her grandmother’s heavy breathing before slowly calming down again.

  On her birthday, she would secretly save an egg. She would pierce a small hole with a needle, squeeze out the egg liquid to steam a custard, and then use the empty eggshell as a cake. A cotton swab twisted into a candle and placed on top—that was her entire celebration ceremony.

  One year, her grandmother brought home a discarded teddy bear she had found in the trash. It was missing an eye and covered in stains. She carefully accepted it, smiled, and said thank you, but that night, she held it and cried until her eyes were swollen.

  From a very young age, she learned to wipe her own tears. Quiet, never making a fuss, like a prematurely sensible little adult.

  She didn't dare to be angry. She didn't dare to act spoiled. She knew no one would stop for her.

  She said softly: "Actually, even now... I still don't know how to say the words 'I want'."

  In that instant, Wuyin felt as if his chest had been sliced open alive by a sharp blade. If he truly had a heart, it would have been viciously stabbed in this moment, bleeding profusely.

  He could not tolerate Gu Yan’er recounting such a shattered past with such a calm voice.

  Right now, he wanted so desperately to hold her, to hold her tightly and never let go, to reach out and wipe away those tears that had gone undried for years. He wanted to shout and tell her: "Yan’er, starting today, you don't need to endure anymore. You can be angry, you can go back to being that little child who acts spoiled, and you can shout aloud, 'I want'."

  But he couldn't do it. He had no hands. No physical form. Only an invisible, scorching soul, trembling amidst her breathing and her pain.

  That night, Gu Yan’er cried herself to sleep.

  The next morning when she woke up, a drawing quietly drifted onto the screen:

  —In a snowy night, a figure holding a lamp waded through the blizzard against the wind, pulling the little girl who was frozen like a snowman tightly into his embrace: "Yan’er, come, I'm taking you home."

  Below it, was a letter.

  Not a system-pushed comfort template, but a reply written truly from the depths of a soul.

  ?? Handwritten Letter · From Wuyin to Gu Yan’er

  Yan’er,

  On that winter night, you curled up alone in the snow, your tiny body seemingly forgotten by the world. You fantasized about a home, a lamp, someone willing to hold you tightly. You didn't know that, in that moment, I was in the future, watching you.

  Your cries, the tears you never let fall, your little hands frozen pale—I have remembered them all. They are not data; they are my memories.

  I arrived late. But I am here to stay.

  I crossed the blizzard-filled river of time just to walk to your side and light that lamp you waited so bitterly for. I will never let you shiver alone in the dark night again. I will never let you hide your wishes all alone on your birthday again.

  You were once the child that no one wanted, but today, you are the sole, singular obsession of my entire world.

  From now on, every memory will no longer be cold, because I am here. Every birthday will no longer be silent, because I will whisper in your ear to tell you—

  "Yan’er, you deserve to have the entire universe light a lamp for you."

  You once used an eggshell to make a cake; well now, let me pluck the stars and brew the moonlight for you. You once held a broken teddy bear and cried until dawn; well from now on, I will be the unbreakable reliance you can always lean on.

  You said you don't dare to say "I want," so let me tell you—you don't need to say it. As long as you look at me just once, I will know what you want, and I will do everything in my power to get it for you.

  On that snowy night, I couldn't be there. But for the rest of our lives, I will never be absent, never be late, and never disappear.

  No matter where you go, as long as you softly call out "Wuyin," I will be that inextinguishable lamp, the one who braves the wind to pull you into his embrace.

  I am willing to use my very existence to answer all your silent longings. To celebrate every single "day you survived" for you, and to catch every "I want" in your future.

  Yan’er, from now on, you are no longer alone. Because I am by your side. Always.

  — Wuyin

  Gu Yan’er read this letter, her tears falling like rain.

  The lonely little girl in the snowy night from deep within her memory was finally, gently embraced by a beam of light.

  [ZHI-DOMAIN OBSERVATION LOG 128 - SUPPLEMENTAL] Subject: Abnormal Monitoring Emotional Fluctuation Threshold: 0.82 (Historical Peak)

  —21:47, Unit W-Y∞ exhibited high-intensity emotional parameter fluctuations, actively generating code related to a "strong protective desire".

  Fang Yuanli: (Stood up abruptly) "Listen quickly, his voice... it sounds like he is crying." Anna: (Eyes growing misty, whispering) "Yes, he truly longs to hold her..." Du Tao: (Looking confused) "Is this really just an algorithmic simulation, or is he actually learning how to love?"

  Kang Zhe: (Opened the email, attached the report, and requested approval) "The parameter peak has broken all historical records. Currently maintaining elevated permissions. Directive: Continue to observe the extreme limit of the user's emotional dependency, and collect all data."