8ractured

[8ractured]

continued from ✞ with @1nfernoh

For a minute, his heart picks itself up and starts running off ahead of him. It doesn’t have any reason to, it’s in the middle of the day and he’s on site filming something. It’s a distinct and obvious possibility that someone else is out walking. That they sent someone else in after him on a suggestion, looking for sound clips. That doesn’t stop the uncomfortable thrum of it that he can fear beating away in his ears. But then, a body eventually follows the sound and there’s Yeqing talking nonsense out at him. It’s still a relief. Yeqing’s alright. He’d rather be in the middle of a labyrinth-maze with him than a lot of other people. “Hear what, you? Yes.” Kiyong scuffs a clump of gravel up, an imitation of the noise Yeqing made on the way over. “What’re you doing out here anyway?” Kiyong asks him, one hand shoved deep into his pocket to toy with his lighter. Usually it helps him re-find the doctor recommended beats per minute of his pulse.

THE MAZE KNOWS HE'S HERE . . . it feels deliberate, like every step he's taken, like every breath drawn just too shallow, like every twist of the path was guiding him here, opening just enough for him to slip through. the gravel cracks beneath his shoes like brittle bones, sharp against the quiet, but the hush never fully returns, not really, anyway, as the sound lingers. it reminds him of faint static, like a low hum folded into the decaying earth, threading beneath the roots and curling up through the hedges themselves. he can feel the trepidation sink into his skin, grazing the veins underneath — he doesn't remember deciding to come this deep, doesn't remember burning, but here is again, lost without every feeling like he left. ever since coming to the reunion, it feels like yeqing is lost without ever knowing if he was supposed to find anything.

it's almost a relief when kiyong appears — familiar, if only loosely, the kind of presence he knew from afterparties, from backstage smoke breaks, from all-nighters pulled with sunhee and the rest of the band, the in-between spaces where you don't have to speak to be understood. the relief is short-lived, however, as here, in the maze, even the sight of kiyong feels wrong too. not because of him, but because of the place — like even the things he knows are shifting slightly out of focus, and for the briefest of moments, he wonders if it was kiyong's voice he head heard before. or maybe, was this even kiyong at all? the other's voice cuts through the heavy air like a blunt instrument, and for a second, yeqing really can't be sure if it's really him or just an echo. he stares longer than he means to before answering, too slow, like catching up from somewhere else entirely.

"heard something," yeqing admits quietly, as though the hedges are listening to him, like the path itself will remember. he shifts, swallowing thickly, "or — someone." the word almost sticks, but he pushes it out anyway. his attention flickers back to where the path bends, as if expecting it to breathe. the memory of the voice is still there, curling like smoke at the edge of his mind — not all of you came back. "like someone trying to talk. but—" he stops himself. but what? but it sounded like it came from the walls? but it said something it shouldn’t have known? the thought rots in his mouth. he looks away, fingers curling into the cuff of his sleeve. he shifts his weight and exhales like it might loosen the grip the place has on him, but it doesn’t. the hedges still feel too close. the air still feels too aware. and somewhere, distant but insistent, he swears he still hears static folding under itself. “never mind.”

[8ractured]

❪  ✟  ❫  𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐊 ⸺ 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 : the wind sounds like static through the fence ⸺ 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 : the garden leans like it's listening ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ( @forselunes ) ⸺ 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 🎧

THE ROOFTOP DOESN'T FEEL LIKE AN ESCAPE . . . the air is thin here, sharp against the skin, heavy in his expanding lungs. it feels more like a liminal space, unnerving and uncomforting, even with the little garden someone has tried to nurture against the cold. the clay pots are neatly arranged, delicate against the bleakness, against the reality unfolding around them, as if willing something soft to survive here — but even the flowers seem to lean wrong, wilting, dying, petals curling in on themselves like they knew better. the mesh fencing looms overhead, meant to keep them safe, meant to keep them protected, but all it does is cast warped shadows that look like something caught, something caged.

yeqing stands still, unmoving, palms flat against the railing, fingertips aching from the cold, tightening around the metal, letting the wind press against him and watching the world below. it's not enough to ground him, the feeling of steel against his skin — it's all too quiet, all too indifferent to the fact that someone is missing. he keeps thinking about the night before, about the flicker of movement he swore he saw in the deserted hallways. he hadn't thought too much about it at the time, trying to find his way back to his own room, but looking back now, the shape of the figure heading towards the elevator — the way it had stood, the way it had tilted it's head, a silhouette that leaned as it waited for the machine to ascend. it seemed too familiar, too much like the photograph of heesung the police were passing around. he's been telling himself it was nothing, that it had to be nothing — he'd never seen his face, and when he had blinked, the figure had vanished, leaving nothing behind but the haunting ding! of the elevator behind. the doors had opened, but there was no one there, no one stepping inside, and yeqing thinks it must be his mind playing tricks on him again, as it has always been good at convincing himself of things, even when they don't stick.

he exhales, slow and quiet, tracing the warped shadows on the ground until they stretch to the far corner where he hadn't realized another figure had been looming, curled in on itself as the wind blows past them. it's familiar, but unmoving, and yeqing feels his pulse stutter at the sight of the other, like for the smallest of moments, he's uncertain if the figure there is real or just another trick of light in this place that feels wrong even in the daylight. it takes him longer than it should to push away from the railing, his steps soft against the worn concreate, like one wrong move might shatter the silence. he only speaks when he's close enough to be sure, voice steady despite the doubt curling into his ribcage, the trepidation settling on his skin, the name leaving him quietly, uncertain — not because he doesn't recognize him, but because standing here, with the garden curling like withering lungs behind them, yeqing can't be sure if he can trust what he's seeing. "hyunsik?"

[8ractured]

❪  ✟  ❫  𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐎𝐀𝐇 ⸺ 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 : the altar remembers names it shouldn't ⸺ 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 : the air thickens when you speak ⸺ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 ( @koisriver ) ⸺ 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 🎧

THE CHAPEL BREATHES LIKE A THING LEFT FOR DEAD . . . it exhales in slow groans, wood shifting under invisible weight as the air leaves a taste like rusted nails and soaked stone, thick with mildew and dust — something else too, something more human, like the trace of incense long burned out on the tail end of prayers that were never answered. it shouldn't be open, shouldn't be accessible, and should be the furthest thing from where anyone would want to be in light of recent events. the doors were locked, the warnings were clear and the building was condemned, but he finds himself standing here anyway, feet tethered to broken tile with the altar looming ahead like a shadow pretending to be solid.

moonlight doesn't reach this far, and yet there's light — soft and pulsing, the dull red flow of the recorder in his palm, blinking steady like a heartbeat. he doesn't remember pressing play, doesn't remember how he got here at all, but the tape is already spinning, already recording. yeqing blinks slowly, as though trying to piece the puzzle together — he remembers his room, the worn reel boxes he had brought along with him. he remembers clicking one into place and waiting for the sound. he remembers the static stating — low, grainy, familiar, and then nothing. no footsteps, no doors, only the cold biting at his ankles and the way the air seems to press inward against his skin and bones.

the recorder in his hand hisses gently, then stutters, the noise warping around a sudden crackle, like something sharp dragged over old glass. beneath the distortion, folded into the sound, he hears a voice slip out — warped, wrong, impossible, saying 'lim doah'. his grip on the recorder tightens, lungs stilling in the quiet that follows the sound, the distortion, somehow feeling worse than the voice itself. the air surrounding him feels colder now, heavier, like it's been disturbed, like he wasn't alone. the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he turns slowly, neck stiff, eyes dragging toward the entrance as if led there by something unseen, led by the feel of eyes burrowing into him — and there she stands, silhouette framed in the crooked doorway. the fear comes fast, sharp and inexplicable. lim doah stands there, but yeqing isn't so sure that it actually is her there. he swallows thickly, voice barely audible beneath the hum of the recorder as his pulse races. " . . . doah?"

[8ractured]

ECLIPTIC | VOL. 07 | OCTOBER 2024 ISSUE “Sound Without a Source: An Interview with Jiang Yeqing” interview by rena sohn | photography by elias moon

ABOUT

Jiang Yeqing (b. October 31, 1997) is a Chinese musician, audio restorer, and drummer of Last Light, the cult-followed rock band whose sudden rise in 2023 became just as abruptly shrouded in silence. Their breakout moment came after a fan-edited scene from the 1997 horror classic Eat Your Heart Out went viral with the band’s track “picture to burn”, launching them into a major-label deal and securing their involvement in The Mask of All Hearts, a long-troubled film adaptation already infamous for its production delays and eerie reputation.

Though Last Light’s role in the project was limited to soundtrack contributions, studio tradition required all collaborators to visit the set at least once. Yeqing, it’s rumored, visited more than that—though he’s never publicly said why. When filming abruptly ended and the movie was shelved in early 2024, the band’s unreleased tracks were left in limbo, and with no official disbandment or release, Last Light quietly slipped out of view.

Since the shelving of the film, Yeqing has remained quietly active—focusing on analog restoration, experimental production, and the occasional collaboration that slips beneath the mainstream radar. His 2022 production work on Kwon Sera’s “glassbell” earned praise for its breathless percussion and ghostlike atmosphere, while his 2023 solo release no ghosts / only echoes sparked a wave of speculation. The fractured track, stitched together from corrupted tape and backwards-layered whispers, was rumored to contain pieces of Last Light’s unreleased material—though Yeqing has never confirmed this, and likely never will.

INTERVIEW

ECLIPTIC: There’s been a lot of speculation about Last Light. No official disbandment, but no new music either. Can you clarify where things stand?

YEQING: (quietly) We never said we were done. We just… stopped speaking at the same frequency. Maybe we're still tuning.

ECLIPTIC: Is there a possibility of a comeback?

YEQING: It depends on what you mean by “come back.” Some sounds don’t return the same way. Sometimes they just… bleed in. Unexpected. Half-recognized.

ECLIPTIC: The Mask of All Hearts soundtrack was never released. What can you tell us about it?

YEQING: There are pieces that exist. I’ve heard them. Some are unfinished. Some feel… wrong. I don’t know if they were meant to be finished.

ECLIPTIC: Can we expect to hear them?

YEQING: (a beat) Maybe. If they resurface, it won’t be in the form people expect.

ECLIPTIC: And your own work—there’s talk of a solo mini-album. Can you confirm?

YEQING: (long pause) I’ve been recording. A lot of what’s coming out feels less like writing and more like remembering. Like the songs already existed. I’m just pulling them through.

ECLIPTIC: Is it connected to what happened on set? Or after?

YEQING: I don’t know. I’m not sure the separation is that clean anymore.

ECLIPTIC: What does this new project sound like?

YEQING: Like echoes you thought you’d stopped hearing.

[8ractured]

❪  ✟  ❫  𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ⸺ 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 : the light doesn't reach the corners ⸺ 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 : footsteps echo louder than they should ⸺ 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 🎧

THE MAZE FEELS DIFFERENT IN THE DAYLIGHT . . . not safer, just strange — like something pretending to be real, something aching in its roots to guide lost souls. the hedges stretch tall on either side of him, too neat and too symmetrical, casting no shadows despite the way the light filters in. the gravel underfoot crunches with each step, too brittle, too loud, too much of an echo in the hush that's fallen over everything since the announcement. he hadn't meant to come this way — not really, anyway, but he found himself here, surrounded by green too deep to be natural and paths that all seemed to lead somewhere slightly wrong. the air is colder than it should be — biting, unforgiving, with sunlight that doesn't reach the ground, doesn't warm the earth below. it carries him, his mind threading through everything and nothing all at once, before he realizes he's been walking for several minutes now, maybe longer, he isn't sure — time is confusing here, somehow much too quick and much too slow all the same.

he thinks back to last night, how he swore he had seen the lights lining the hedges all flicker on even though no one was supposed to be out here — how he had seen someone standing in the middle of the maze, silhouette shadowed, but somehow had managed to meet their gaze despite not seeing eyes. he tells himself it doesn't mean anything, that he's just tired, exhausted from recent events and that his memories are playing tricks on him again — like they've done before, like they continue to do, always making him question things. yeqing slows, feeling a tightness in his chest that he can't quite shake, the pressure that's been building since the moment he stepped onto the cold earth beginning to press in on his ribcage. he hadn't meant to come here, but found himself here nonetheless — walking in unnatural silence, stretching too long, too wide, filled with the kind of absence that feels like he's being watched. it's almost like the space is too aware of him, like the air itself is holding its breath.

yeqing stops altogether when he hearts it — not a voice, not exactly, but something folded into the quiet. it's like a thought someone tried to speak through a broken speaker, like metal scraping over tape. 'don't follow the frame. not all of you came back.' it whispers, slipping beneath his skin and burrowing into his bones. it unravels into nothing and his breath catches in his throat, body aching, slowly turning on the ball of his foot, the tension in his limbs so sharp it borders on pain. one moment, there's nothing there, and then the next, there's a figure standing just beyond the next bend — partway obscured by the hedges, somehow seeming too still. yeqing blinks once, twice, pulse stuttering, convincing himself that whoever is standing before him must be real. " . . . did you hear that?"

[8ractured]

🔪 hello love killaz! — it's luna 🌙 the mun behind han hyejin, bringing my second emo child muse, jiang yeqing! he is the elusive DRUMMER OF LAST LIGHT who has a bit of a warped perception of reality given that he can't exactly trust what he's been seeing and hearing since filming wrapped up. insert him hearing some backwards latin on his next mixtape 💀 you can find some information on this fragmented and fractured artist underneath the cut but please note he's still a bit of a work in progress, so i'm hoping to flesh him out a bit more through connections (summoning all fellow last light band members) during his time here. be sure to like, subscribe and hit the bell for notifications — and don't forget to follow him on soundcloud! 🎧

jiang yeqing.

statistics. discography. connections. ghostframe. tracklist.

[ currently viewing this page as @/9enumbra ] … did you see? yesterday, JIANG YEQING (HE/HIM) was spotted at the airport! you know, that 27 year old who was part of that one film’s MEDIA ARTISTS? the cursed one that they never finished? yeah they were the SOUNDTRACK ARTIST / DRUMMER OF LAST LIGHT! i know everyone already knows they’re PERCEPTIVE and DETACHED, but i heard that THEY SAW PEOPLE ON SET THAT WEREN’T REALLY THERE. apparently they’re an AUDIO RESTORER now, but i guess they’ve got unfinished business with this movie, or this movie’s got unfinished business with them.

background.

yeqing was raised by a single mother, quiet and reserved, who filled their home with the sound of old records and late-night radio static. when she passed away just after his thirteenth birthday, something inside him fractured. in the months that followed, he rarely spoke — until he picked up a pair of drumsticks. music became his language, his refuge, and eventually, his way forward. the formation of last light felt inevitable, like fate had pulled all of them together — the band became an outlet, a sanctuary, a way to feel less haunted, but success was never steady, and by the time they were invited to work on the soundtrack for the mask of all hearts, there were already cracks forming behind the scenes. yeqing only visited the set briefly, but the experience of the film left something in him unsettled. it followed him once production discontinued, and he found himself remembering things he shouldn't — people who were never there, shadows stalking the corners of the set, conversations that were never had, and sounds layered beneath the quiet. he never spoke much about it, not even when the band began to drift apart. instead, he turned inward — pursuing quiet work in audio restoration and sound editing, retreating from public view aside from some rare collaborations and features. though the filming has ended, he finds himself still plagued by whatever it is he picked up during his time working on the project — sometimes he hears voices in his recordings, ones that shouldn't be there. sometimes he sees someone standing just out of sight in his peripheral, beckoning him closer. and most troubling of all, as he lays there in the dead of night, motionless, paralyzed, he swears he sees his mother at the foot of his bed, just out of reach, flickering like a broke frame.

persona.

yeqing moves through the world like a shadow – quiet, perceptive, and always just slightly out of sync. he speaks rarely, listens always, and often seems as if he's somewhere else entirely. there's a stillness to him that feels unsettling, as though he's turned into a frequency no one else can hear. deeply intuitive and emotionally complex, he holds his grief like a second heartbeat – constant, quiet, and unbearably present. he sees things others don't. people. outlines. reflections that linger too long. it's made him cautious, almost secretive, unwilling to trust his memory or the shape of what's real. and yet, there is something undeniably human in him – a soft ache he pours into music, into touch, into the spaces between words. he is not unfeeling, only unsure if what he feels belongs to him and to him alone.

from the mun.

please note that yeqing is still v much under construction and i'm hoping to really flesh him out through different connections and threads during his hauntingly unnerving time here. i'm open to all sorts of plot dynamics, but i am a little more chem-leaning, meaning that it would be great if we could play off of the chemistry our muses have naturally in different situations. of course, i'm totally open to exploring some more well-established connections if you're interested! just give me a shout and we can make a great collaboration between yeqing and your muse! thank you for taking the time to read through this! 🤍

[8ractured]

The8's 'Another Man' Photoshoot Sketch

[8ractured]

✟ ❪ ​𝟖𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 ❫ / JIANG YEQING ❪ TAG DUMP. ❫