Chapter Five: The Yesterday They Collected

The doors opened on the mixed smells of antiseptic and old paper. Thousands of glass vessels filled the hall. In each floated a strand of colored light, labeled with date, district, and emotion: SOUTH TING ROAD—FIRST KISS—FOUR MINUTES, ELEVEN SECONDS. THIRD HOSPITAL—LOSS OF A CHILD—NINE YEARS. LINLAN UNIVERSITY—GRADUATION—TWELVE PERCENT OF COLLECTIVE MEMORY. White-coated employees pushed metal carts between them, feeding luminous fluid into brass pipes beneath the floor. Every injection made the tower beat gently like a heart. “This sustains the Veil?” Jianyue asked. Shang Xian answered from a vessel's curved surface. “The Covenant needs time. Blood dries, names die. Only time truly lived can continue to feed it.”