If you meant a specific Bilibili video or creator from 2020 titled “Deliver Us from Evil,” let me know — I can help track or reconstruct it further.
“They told us to stay home to stay safe. But some of us were already trapped. Deliver us from the fathers who shout. From the mothers who drink. From the silence after the slam.”
One night, an anonymous upload appeared in his recommendations. No thumbnail. No title. Just a string of numbers: . He almost swiped past. But the view counter read zero , and something about the stillness of it pulled him in.
“Deliver us from evil, Grandpa said. But what if the evil is inside the house?” deliver us from evil 2020 bilibili
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:
By June 2020, “The Lantern” had 80,000 followers. Bilibili’s official team noticed and offered server support. The original video—20200401—never resurfaced. But its ghosts found a home.
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: If you meant a specific Bilibili video or
“Deliver us from evil — not by removing the dark, but by giving us the courage to name it.”
One night, Lin Wei received a final DM from @OldSoul_2003: a voice clip. The boy, now soft-spoken, said: “I got out. My grandma took me in. Thank you for lighting the lantern.”
In the spring of 2020, when the world felt like a held breath, Lin Wei, a 22-year-old college student in Shanghai, found himself scrolling Bilibili at 2 a.m. again. The pandemic had turned his dorm into a gilded cage. His days blurred into livestreams, danmaku scrolling like digital rain, and the hollow comfort of autoplay. Deliver us from the fathers who shout
“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.”
He messaged @OldSoul_2003 again: “What do you need?”
Here’s a short narrative inspired by the phrase “Deliver Us from Evil,” set within the Bilibili community during 2020 — a year of uncertainty, isolation, and unexpected digital connection. Deliver Us from Evil Platform: Bilibili Year: 2020
Lin Wei’s hands shook. He realized: this wasn’t a horror ARG. It wasn’t creepypasta. It was a cry. A network of isolated kids, using Bilibili’s anonymity to name what couldn’t be named at home. Evil wasn’t a demon under the bed. It was a parent who never knocked. An empty fridge. The social worker who never came because the world was on lockdown.