People come through the door carrying things they can't let go of.

Shen Bo, an elderly clockmaker. On the night his wife passed, he slept too deep to hear her final words — and the recording of that rainy night has been sitting in his drawer for three years. Awu, a café girl who goes suddenly quiet on certain topics. Some memories she's afraid to touch. Lin Zhixia, a career woman who isn't looking for a specific memory. She's looking for "the person I used to be." Xiao Man, a silent child with a small oil lamp, searching for someone who "shouldn't be forgotten."

And they're not alone. A young office worker on the edge of burnout. A retired teacher who only appears at dusk. A delivery driver who holds onto childhood through a can of soda… The door keeps ringing. Over thirty stories, more than twenty keepsakes — each visitor a complete journey.

You are the keeper. You listen. You take the keepsake they hand you — an old clock, a train ticket, a child's stone — and you dive into their memories. Inside, the colors have drained, voices are buried under rain, and fragments hover in empty frames. Your job is to put them back together.

• Jigsaw repair: Drag floating light-motes back into empty frames, watching faded scenes bloom with color again

• Sound repair: Turn a dial against the static of rain to pull a single buried sentence toward you

• Presence: Sit quietly beside someone in the hardest moment — sometimes the kindest thing is just being there

No time limits. No fail states. The act of repairing is the healing — and every repair pieces together a fragment of your own story, too.

The Hall of Gathering Light is more than a house. An empty picture frame on the wall is waiting — for your portrait. A floating companion named Ying has watched every keeper come and go. And the Eraser — the previous keeper — lurks in the dark, scrubbing painful memories away. He believes it's mercy. You don't.

Five acts. Four seasons. Multiple endings. From the Prologue to the final choice — stay, leave, pass the lamp on, or reunite beneath its light — every visitor you help, every goodbye you witness, shapes the path to your ending.

Some things stay with you. When a visitor finally lets go, they leave a gift behind — a sentence, a painting, a pebble. They hang on your collection wall, the memory of this house. And on certain gifts: the shape of a lamp…

Wishlist now to be the first to experience this journey of gentle goodbyes.

"The clock… wind it up. Don't let it stop. A house needs sound when you're alone… I was afraid you'd be lonely."