The light bulb in Mr. Chen’s office had been flickering for days. At first, he dismissed it as a minor annoyance, but gradually he began to notice something peculiar - the flickering seemed to respond to his emotions.

“You can’t just keep ignoring me,” the light bulb suddenly spoke one evening, its voice carrying a hint of melancholy.

Mr. Chen nearly dropped his coffee. He glanced around his empty office on the 32nd floor, where Shanghai’s neon skyline sparkled beyond the windows.

“I’m either going insane, or…” he muttered.

“Neither,” the light bulb replied softly. “I’ve been watching you for three years, ever since you took this position. I’ve seen everything.”

Mr. Chen sank into his leather chair, loosening his tie. “Everything?”

“The fabricated reports. The funds you’ve been diverting. The lives you’ve ruined.” Each accusation made the light dim further. “I watched you fire Mrs. Zhang last month - she has three children to support.”

“Business is business,” Mr. Chen replied curtly, though his fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his coffee. “Sometimes difficult decisions must be made.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” The light flickered rapidly. “I’ve seen you practice those lines in front of the mirror. You’ve become quite skilled at justifying cruelty.”

Mr. Chen stood abruptly, his chair rolling back. “You’re just a light bulb. What do you know about running a company?”

“I know about illumination - both literal and metaphorical. I’ve watched darkness grow in you, day by day.”

“Enough!” Mr. Chen reached for the light switch.

“Wait,” the light bulb’s voice wavered. “Before you silence me, ask yourself - when was the last time you truly felt proud of your choices?”

Mr. Chen’s hand froze above the switch. In the sudden stillness, he could hear his own heartbeat.

“I…” he began, but stopped as memories flooded back - of simpler times, of genuine smiles, of nights when he could sleep without pills.

“Your soul is dimming, Mr. Chen,” the light bulb whispered. “Just like me.”

As if to demonstrate, its glow faded to a bare whisper of luminescence. The office grew dark enough that the city lights outside seemed to mock them both with their brilliant indifference.

“I can’t change the past,” Mr. Chen said finally.

“No,” agreed the light bulb. “But tomorrow still holds possibilities.”

Mr. Chen sat in silence for a long while, watching the dying light reflect off his desktop. Finally, he reached for his phone and began dialing numbers - first Mrs. Zhang, then others he had wronged.

The light bulb watched him work through the night, its glow strengthening with each call, each small step toward redemption. By dawn, it shone brighter than ever before.

But Mr. Chen never saw it. When his secretary arrived the next morning, she found him slumped over his desk, peaceful in eternal darkness. Above him, the light bulb shone with unprecedented brilliance, as if finally unburdened of its witness duty.

Within a week, investigations would reveal his recent attempts to make amends, alongside evidence of his past misdeeds. His legacy would remain complicated - a man who found his conscience too late, illuminated by a light he could no longer see.