Deliver Us From Evil 2020 Bilibili -

The video was grainy, shot on what looked like a 2010s camcorder. A child’s bedroom. Posters of Naruto and Sailor Moon peeled at the edges. In the center, a boy sat cross-legged, maybe ten years old, staring into the lens. Then he spoke:

In the danmaku of that final night, one line lingered above all others, scrolling gold: deliver us from evil 2020 bilibili

He messaged @OldSoul_2003 again: “What do you need?” The video was grainy, shot on what looked

Lin Wei spent the next week building a simple Bilibili collective—no algorithms, no ads. A channel called (灯笼). It hosted anonymous audio submissions: kids reading poetry, playing piano, or just breathing into a mic to prove they still existed. He added hotline numbers in the description. Crisis resources. A comment section moderated by volunteer psychology students. In the center, a boy sat cross-legged, maybe

The link led to an unlisted Bilibili stream. No chat. No likes. Just a live feed of a different room: a basement, walls lined with old calendars from 2019. In the center, a radio crackled. A voice—same boy, older now, maybe seventeen—whispered into the mic:

“My uncle locked me in the garage for three days.” “She said if I told anyone, they’d take my little brother.” “I haven’t left my room since March. Not because of the virus.”