The first time the world forgot Shen Lian, he thought it was an accident.
The second time, he thought it was fate.
By the hundredth, he understood—
It was deliberate.
---
Rain stitched the evening sky into a dull sheet of iron.
Clouds hung low over Yunhe City, pressing the crooked rooftops into silence. The streets glistened like bruised skin beneath lanternlight, every reflection trembling at the mercy of falling drops.
Shen Lian stood outside the apothecary, staring at his own distorted silhouette in the wooden door.
His reflection looked normal.
That was the cruelest part.
He touched the door gently, as if it might recoil.
Inside, warm lamplight flickered against shelves lined with dried herbs and glass jars filled with powders that shimmered faintly—powders that could soothe fever, dull pain, or steady a failing heart.
His mother's cough had worsened last night.
It came in threes now.
Three shallow breaths.
Three tight spasms.
Three seconds where he feared she would not breathe again.
He pushed the door open.
The bell rang.
He knew it rang. He heard it.
The sound was small and fragile, but it existed.
"Back again, Lian?" the shopkeeper called without looking up. "Your mother needs the stronger blend this time."
For a heartbeat, Shen Lian closed his eyes.
Back again.
The words warmed him more than any hearth fire.
"Yes," he replied carefully, stepping inside.
The air smelled of crushed star-root and bitter frostleaf. Steam curled from a clay kettle near the counter. The shopkeeper—a broad-shouldered man with graying hair—measured herbs with deliberate precision.
"You're a good son," the man muttered. "Most boys your age would be gambling at this hour."
Shen Lian offered a faint smile.
If kindness were ink, he would drown in it.
"How much?" he asked.
The shopkeeper weighed the bundle, wrapped it in oil-paper, and slid it across the counter.
"Two silver."
Shen Lian untied his pouch.
His fingers trembled—not from cold, but from anticipation.
Please.
Just this once.
Let it last.
He placed the coins down.
They clinked against the wood.
The shopkeeper's hand reached for them.
And then—
He froze.
Not dramatically.
Not violently.
Just… paused.
His brows furrowed.
His gaze lifted slowly.
"Who are you?"
The warmth vanished.
Shen Lian's stomach hollowed as if something had scooped him out.
"You just—" He swallowed. "You were speaking to me."
The shopkeeper blinked.
"I don't believe so."
The wrapped medicine sat between them.
Untouched.
Real.
Visible.
But the man's eyes held only confusion.
"I come here every week," Shen Lian said quietly. "My mother—"
"I live alone," the shopkeeper interrupted, irritation creeping into his voice. "I would remember if I knew you."
Shen Lian's heartbeat pounded in his ears.
The bell had rung.
He had heard it.
The man had called him by name.
He knew he had.
Outside, thunder rolled.
For a fraction of a second—
The lantern flames flickered sideways.
Not with the wind.
But as if something had exhaled across reality itself.
The shopkeeper's gaze shifted subtly.
From confusion.
To discomfort.
To something worse.
Blankness.
It was the look people wore when staring at a wall.
Or at empty air.
"Leave," the man said flatly.
Shen Lian didn't move.
On the counter, the two silver coins began to blur at the edges.
Not melting.
Not dissolving.
Simply… thinning.
Like ink diluted by water.
"No," Shen Lian whispered.
He reached for the medicine bundle.
His fingers passed through it.
The paper crumpled inward as if grasped by an invisible hand—and then it was gone.
The counter was empty.
There had never been coins.
There had never been herbs.
There had never been a conversation.
The bell above the door jingled softly.
But he hadn't touched it.
The shopkeeper shuddered.
"How did you get in here?" he demanded.
Shen Lian stepped back.
Each movement felt heavier than the last, as though the floor resisted acknowledging his weight.
"I…" He stopped.
What proof did he have?
The world did not bruise when he pressed against it.
It smoothed itself.
It erased the mark.
The shopkeeper grabbed a broom.
"Get out."
Not angry.
Afraid.
Shen Lian obeyed.
---
Rain swallowed him whole.
The door closed behind him.
This time—
The bell did not ring.
He stood beneath the awning, soaked within seconds. Water slid down his hair, along his jaw, dripping from his chin.
Across the street, lanternlight trembled in puddles.
Shen Lian stared at his reflection again.
It flickered.
Just once.
Like a page being turned too quickly.
He pressed his palm against his chest.
His heart still beat.
That was something.
Wasn't it?
---
"Interesting."
The voice came from his left.
Soft.
Measured.
Not startled.
Not confused.
Shen Lian turned slowly.
A girl stood beneath a white oil-paper umbrella. The rain did not touch her robes—it curved subtly away, as if embarrassed to intrude.
She wore pale blue garments embroidered with faint silver patterns that resembled constellations.
Her gaze was steady.
Too steady.
In her hand, she held a thin jade tablet. Faint lines of light crawled across its surface, rearranging themselves constantly like living script.
"You can see me?" Shen Lian asked.
Her lips curved slightly.
"That depends," she replied. "Can you remain visible?"
The question struck deeper than mockery.
He took a cautious step back.
The jade tablet shimmered.
On its surface, characters formed.
Shen Lian.
The name pulsed.
Then blurred.
Then reformed.
The girl's pupils constricted.
"That shouldn't be possible," she murmured.
"Most things about me aren't," Shen Lian said.
He hated the bitterness in his voice.
It made him sound like someone who had given up.
He hadn't.
Not yet.
She closed the jade tablet.
The light vanished instantly.
"I am Su Qinghe," she said. "Disciple of the Celestial Scriptorium."
The title meant little to him.
But the air shifted when she spoke it.
Like unseen ink stirred beneath the sky.
"Why can you see me?" he asked.
Su Qinghe tilted her head.
"Because the world is failing to erase you."
A distant crack echoed above the clouds.
Shen Lian's breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," she said calmly, "you are either a mistake… or a threat."
---
Lightning split the sky.
For an instant, the world froze in white.
And in that flash—
Shen Lian saw something impossible.
Behind Su Qinghe, just for a heartbeat—
A vast sea of floating characters.
Endless.
Rotating slowly in darkness.
Each glowing faintly.
Each representing a life.
The vision vanished with the thunder.
His knees weakened.
"You saw it," she said softly.
"I don't know what I saw."
"The Astral Record," she replied.
The name carried weight.
Not religious.
Not mythical.
Foundational.
"The world remembers everything," she continued. "Every birth. Every death. Every promise. It inscribes them."
Her gaze sharpened.
"But you… do not remain inscribed."
Shen Lian's throat tightened.
"I exist," he said.
"Barely."
The word cut cleanly.
Before he could respond—
A scream tore through the street.
Both of them turned.
At the far end of the alley, a group of men had cornered a vendor beneath a broken awning.
Knives flashed in lanternlight.
Rain masked footsteps.
Su Qinghe didn't move.
She observed.
Shen Lian did not think.
He ran.
---
He did not shout.
He did not threaten.
He simply grabbed the nearest attacker's wrist and twisted.
The knife clattered to the ground.
The man cursed and swung blindly.
Shen Lian ducked, striking the side of his knee.
Another lunged.
Pain exploded across Shen Lian's ribs as steel sliced shallowly.
Warmth spread beneath his soaked shirt.
But he didn't stop.
Because the vendor's eyes—
They were terrified.
And terrified eyes remembered.
For a moment.
The third attacker hesitated.
And that hesitation—
It was enough.
Something inside Shen Lian shifted.
Not strength.
Not fury.
Something quieter.
He focused on the man's outline.
On the way rain slid along his sleeve.
On the way his breath fogged.
He held the image in his mind—
And pushed.
The world inhaled.
The man blinked.
His form blurred.
Just slightly.
Like ink disturbed by water.
"What—"
The word never finished.
He stepped backward.
And did not exist where he had been standing.
Not fallen.
Not fled.
Gone.
The rain fell uninterrupted through empty space.
The other two attackers froze.
"What did you do?" one whispered.
Shen Lian stared at his own hands.
Horror crawled up his spine.
He had not meant—
He hadn't—
The vendor stumbled away, scrambling into the night.
The remaining men ran.
Shen Lian stood alone in the rain.
His breath came unevenly.
Footsteps approached slowly.
Measured.
Su Qinghe stopped beside him.
Her voice was quiet.
"You erased him."
Shen Lian shook his head.
"No."
"There will be no body," she continued. "No memory. No record."
Lightning flickered faintly above.
"You touched the edge of the Blank Scripture."
He turned toward her.
"I don't know what that is."
"I believe you."
That surprised him.
She studied his expression carefully.
"You didn't act with hatred," she said. "You acted with instinct."
He swallowed.
"Is he dead?"
She paused.
"No."
The answer was worse.
"He is unwritten."
The rain slowed.
Almost respectfully.
"Come with me," Su Qinghe said.
"Why?"
"Because someone else noticed."
Shen Lian followed her gaze upward.
High above the clouds—
Something vast stirred.
He couldn't see it clearly.
But he felt it.
Like a finger tracing his name across invisible parchment.
Far away—
In a palace illuminated by ink-black candles—
A man paused mid-calligraphy.
His brush hovered above silk.
A character beneath it trembled.
Then dissolved.
The man smiled faintly.
"So," he murmured.
"The anomaly breathes."
He resumed writing.
And somewhere in Yunhe City—
A line in the Astral Record deepened.
Darkened.
Preparing to be corrected.
---
Back in the rain-drenched alley, Shen Lian pressed his hand against his bleeding ribs.
"Why can you remember me?" he asked quietly.
Su Qinghe's eyes met his.
"Because I am trained to read what the world tries to hide."
Her gaze softened.
"Stay near me."
The words carried more than strategy.
They carried warning.
And something else.
Something fragile.
Above them, the clouds shifted unnaturally.
The sky did not thunder.
It cracked.
As if a page had been folded too sharply.
Shen Lian felt it in his bones.
The world was trying again.
Trying to smooth him out.
To blur him into absence.
But this time—
Someone was watching.
And someone was writing back.
---
For the first time in years—
Shen Lian was not alone in being remembered.
And somewhere beyond the veil of clouds—
Fate adjusted its brush.
Preparing to decide—
Whether the boy the world refused to keep…
Would be erased properly.
Or rewritten entirely.