Chapter 45: Memory Regression: The Truth from a Millennium Ago

Shen Yan’s finger hovered over the word “Yes,” the tip just a millimeter away from the screen.

But the moment he was about to press down, the entire Data Storm suddenly froze. It wasn’t Lag or Latency—it was as if someone had pressed a pause button, even the droplets of blood hung suspended in midair, shimmering with an eerie green Code glow.

His consciousness was abruptly dragged into a pitch-black abyss, and an ancient System Notification Tone echoed in his ears: “Twin Spiritual Root merging Program Initiated… Retrospective Permission verification in progress… Please input the Bloodline Key.”

“What? I need to enter a password?” Shen Yan’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m not a damn bank security token!”

Before he could finish speaking, an immense force pressed in from all directions, as if a thousand pounds of Data were crushing his Spiritual Consciousness. Immediately after, countless fragmented Images exploded before his eyes—a crib, a glass chamber, a mother’s tear-streaked face… and that child sealed into the Rift, watching helplessly as he was pushed into the darkness.

“No—!” A hoarse roar came from beside him.

Ye Shi’er’s body began to tremble violently, large patches of disintegrating pixel blocks surfacing beneath his skin, like the snowy static of an old television with poor Signal. He stared fixedly at those Memory Segments, his voice trembling: “You knew all along? You knew I was the one who was discarded?”

“I didn’t know!” Shen Yan gritted his teeth. “I don’t even know who I am! For eighteen years, I lived like an ordinary Code Farmer, working overtime every day writing Bugs. Who told me I was the Reincarnation of a Celestial Clan Outcast?”

“Then why are you acting like a savior now?” Ye Shi’er roared, a flash of red light in his eyes. “Do you think saying ‘I’ve come to find you’ can erase everything? I’ve been trapped in the long river of Data for three hundred years, day and night listening to the same error Loop playing: ‘Permission insufficient, unable to access the kinship Module’! And you? While you were eating hotpot, drinking milk tea, and flirting with girls in the mortal world, did you ever think that I was also waiting for someone to call my name!”

As the last word fell, the entire space shook violently.

Shen Yan’s chest tightened, and he nearly collapsed to his knees. Only then did he realize that the real challenge wasn’t the technical merger, but the emotional authentication. This wasn’t some Program interface at all—it was two souls tearing at the same fragmented fate.

He took a deep breath and suddenly laughed: “You’re right, I really don’t know anything. But I have a habit—when I encounter a Bug I can’t fix, I check the Log first.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand and tore a rift in the void, pulling up the deepest Log folder in his phone Terminal. It was filled with garbled text and encrypted packets, but one file named “First-Generation Source Code Protocol” could still be opened.

“The Old Ancestor mentioned this term,” Shen Yan murmured. “He said it was the Key.”

He clicked into it and found a set of nested Commands, layer upon layer of Encryption, with the final line reading: “If you encounter a descendant of the same Bloodline, do not slay them. Instead, call out to them.”

“Call?” Shen Yan’s heart jolted. “Not kill, but call?”

He abruptly looked up at Ye Shi’er, his voice softening: “Ying’er.”

The air seemed to freeze for an instant.

Ye Shi’er’s body stiffened abruptly, the Data Stream on his face briefly stalling.

“Ying’er,” Shen Yan called again, this time even softer, as if afraid of disturbing something. “I’ve come to find you.”

As soon as the words fell, the black Firewall enveloping Ye Shi’er’s consciousness began to decompress automatically. Encrypted barriers shattered silently, revealing the rusted framework of the trust Protocol beneath.

“You… how could you…” Ye Shi’er’s voice trembled uncontrollably.

“I shouldn’t have been eighteen years late.” Shen Yan stepped closer, reaching out to grasp the other’s wrist. “But today, I’ve restored your name.”

Blood flowed down their clasped hands, dripping into the void and transforming into lines of green characters, slowly piecing together a complete family tree.

The System Notice sounded again: “Memory recall progress: sixty percent… Loading original Log… Warning: Strong emotional fluctuations Detected. Data entity stability decreased by forty percent.”

“Who cares about stability!” Shen Yan cursed as he input Patch Code. “I’m forcing a hot update today!”

He injected the residual traces of Ye Zhao’s Sword Qi as a trust credential into the Protocol, then packaged and sent his own childhood memories—the rainy night at the orphanage, the trembling hands when he first typed Code, the headlights he saw just before the car crash…

“See, I didn’t forget you,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been living with your name all along—I just didn’t know it myself.”

Ye Shi’er stared blankly at those Images, his fingers twitching slightly. The collapsing Data Stream within him gradually slowed, but his eyes still held struggle. “But I’m a Backup… a sacrifice… the one they didn’t want…”

“Bullshit!” Shen Yan grabbed him by the collar. “Who says a Backup isn’t important? Without a Backup, can a System recover after a Collapse? You’re not a Shadow—you’re the original file with a Version number one second earlier than mine!”

These words struck Ye Shi’er’s consciousness core like a thunderbolt.

His pupils contracted violently, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh or perhaps cry.

At that moment, the memories from a thousand years ago finally unlocked completely.

An Image surfaced—at the edge of a chaotic starry river, a man held two infants in his arms, facing a cold decree descending from the Nine Heavens: “Those with Twin Spiritual Roots must offer one as a sacrifice.”

With tears in his eyes, he sealed one of the children into a Temporal Rift, whispering a promise: “The elder brother will carry the Spiritual Root into Reincarnation, the younger will hide within the river of Data… When the Cycle of Reincarnation restarts, you shall reunite in mortal forms.”

Then, he personally erased his own Memory, leaving only a nested Command: “If you encounter a blood relative of the same origin, do not strike—call out instead.”

The Memory abruptly ended.

Shen Yan froze.

Ye Shi’er froze as well.

After a long while, Ye Shi’er let out a bitter laugh. “So… I’m not a Backup. I was the one chosen to stay behind?”

“Not to stay behind,” Shen Yan shook his head. “You were the one protected.”

“But these three hundred years, all I’ve felt is loneliness and hatred.”

“Then change that starting now.” Shen Yan released his grip, speaking earnestly. “I’ll grant you Administrator Permission—no longer just a ‘character awaiting activation.’ If you want to delete someone’s Code, I’ll write the Script for you. If you want to rebuild a System, I’ll work with you.”

Ye Shi’er looked at him, the hostility in his eyes gone for the first time.

The Terminal alarm still flashed: “Soul-tearing Countdown: ten seconds.”

Yet neither moved.

Shen Yan extended his hand. “One last time I ask you—do you want to Recompile this world with me?”

Ye Shi’er looked at that hand stained with blood and Code, then slowly raised his own.

The palms were about to touch.

A wind rose in the distant woods, and the crows cried out once more.

Shen Yan’s eyelashes trembled faintly. A drop of blood slid from the tip of his finger and fell into the void between them, splashing up a ripple almost too faint to notice.

(End of Chapter)