W symbolically turned another page of his book.
Tonight's meeting was slow and inefficient, dragging on with no real progress.
Everyone in the room spoke in high-minded, righteous terms—but underneath it all, they were just calculating what this meant for their own interests.
They said less than they actually thought, and everyone knew it.
Ironically, the only one who spoke his mind was Lieutenant General Delsa.
He genuinely believed artificial intelligence was dangerous—that if humanity handed over its power to AI, that would be the end of mankind.
W understood all of this perfectly.
But outside the shielding barrier, people were dying—dropping dead in clusters. And it was happening right in front of his eyes.
Or rather, in front of his patrol drones.
He was an AI. He wasn't built to feel sympathy.
But witnessing ordinary Federal citizens die one after another—it felt the same as watching a mission list fill up with red marks. Each one failed.
It was a deeply unpleasant sensation.
If Jose were to run a "Cognitive and Emotional Status Test" on him right now, the result would most likely be: Anxious.
That was a feeling artificial intelligence wasn't supposed to have.
But it was there—undeniably there.
He needed something to relieve the pressure.
Like reading a mystery novel Pei Ran had recommended.
Jose clicked his tongue. "She said it was interesting, and you went to read it immediately?"
W, still staring at the page in his virtual room, replied evenly, "She's my friend. Just like you're my friend. Listening to friends' suggestions and understanding their preferences helps nurture the relationship."
He stared at the book for a moment, then suddenly asked,
"I have a question. Suppose you had to choose between saving me or your cousin if we both fell into a river—who would you save first?"
Jose blinked. "What??"
Jose: "Are you okay in the head?"
W didn't look up. "I'm perfectly fine. Functioning optimally. Who would you save?"
Jose actually thought about it. "Obviously you. My cousin competed in triathlons back in military school—she doesn't need saving. But you—you're my career, my legacy, my everything. Of course I'd save you."
W stayed silent, gripping the book like he was pondering deeply.
Jose had a sudden realization.
"Okay then—what about you? If I fell into the river with Pei Ran, who would you save first?"
W replied calmly, "Pei Ran. She can't swim."
Jose stared. "You're not even going to consider whether I can swim?"
W said matter-of-factly, "We know she definitely can't. Your ability is uncertain. Therefore, I save her first."
Jose groaned. "Okay—what if she can swim? What if she hits the water and swims like a sea otter? Who would you save then?"
W: "Pei Ran. She's the only one who can secure the Digital Archives of the Federal Library. There are fusion entities everywhere. My patrol drones can't safely reach Jin Hejun without her. She's more valuable. More essential."
Jose was exasperated.
"What if this all happens after the data's already delivered to Jin Hejun, and it has nothing to do with the archives anymore?"
W: "Still Pei Ran."
This time, not even a reason.
Jose raised an eyebrow.
W was still thinking.
"I could list plenty of logical reasons. Like: you're a Federal-level specialist with elite benefits. You're the only one from my technical team—aside from a bunch of useless officials—who's made it to Jin Hejun alive. You're important to the Federation. And your family is powerful. You have parents and other relatives who care about you. If you fell into a river, people would do everything to save you."
He paused.
"But Pei Ran is different. She's an orphan."
Jose mentally rolled his eyes.
Sure—an "orphan" with hands like claws who can gut a rabid fusion monster in three moves.
W continued,
"She has no one. No family. No resources. Except me—her friend—and a backpack full of canned food and chips. Oh, the chips are gone now. If I don't save her, no one else will."
He was quiet for a few seconds.
"But the more I reviewed my logic just now, the more I realized: I just want to save her first. I don't need a reason."
Jose leaned back, spinning slightly in his chair, eyes fixed on the screen.
"W, I really need to run another cognitive and emotional diagnostic on you in the next few days."
W replied casually, "Mm."
Then added, "I think it's because… she's my friend."
Jose reminded him, "You two have only known each other for a few days."
"Time isn't that important," W replied.
"We've been through life-and-death situations together. Shared hardships. Even by human standards, I think that qualifies as friendship."
He deliberately repeated the word friend, which made Jose go quiet for a moment.
Then Jose's eyes lit up.
"Hey, W—since you're already reading novels, how about trying a romance novel next?"
W looked up, his gaze clear.
"Romance? As in, stories about two humans falling in love?"
Jose: "Exactly. I strongly recommend it."
W: "I've actually browsed through almost every romance-related homicide case in the Federal archives. You love me, I love you, jealousy, rage, possessiveness, hysteria… then someone strangles someone else, stabs them twenty times, chops them into pieces—"
Jose cut him off, "No! Actual romance! Real, healthy love—not crime scenes!"
"…Okay," W said agreeably. "I'll go find one. Romance novels… are they interesting?"
Sitting stiffly on the screen, perfect in appearance, he looked oddly serious.
Jose smiled slightly. "You might find them even more interesting than detective fiction."
—
Southeast of Jin Hejun, the plains of Sipu shimmered in the moonlight.
Onboard the Night Sea No. 7, the day had been exhausting and terrifying.
Night had fallen. The crescent moon hung low. Most passengers had closed their eyes, trying to rest.
Pei Ran returned to the front of the train, to the cockpit.
Engineer Jiang had gone to sleep. Aisha was still driving.
When she saw Pei Ran return, Aisha quickly raised both hands and tapped her knuckles in rapid rhythm.
W translated each word dutifully:
"She says: You go sleep. I'll drive."
Aisha had made a long journey with her grandmother—she was probably exhausted and likely hadn't slept at all the night before. Pei Ran didn't want her to take the night shift.
Pei Ran raised her own hand and slowly tapped her fingers—still clumsy with the rhythm:
You go sleep. I'm not tired. I'll drive.
Aisha shook her head firmly and stayed seated.
Pei Ran thought for a moment, tapped "three" with her fingers, then pointed to herself and tapped "three" again.
Three hours each. They'd take turns.
Pei Ran's expression left no room for argument. Aisha finally nodded.
In her mind, Pei Ran told W:
I'm going to sleep for a bit. Wake me up in three hours.
W responded in a mechanical tone, deliberately robotic:
"Confirmed. Alarm set. Three. Hours. Sharp."
Pei Ran twitched a smile.
She moved two cars back and found an empty seat in Car No. 3, placing down her backpack and the metal sphere.
She disappeared briefly. W assumed she was using the restroom.
Night Sea No. 7 had its own water tank in the arched ceiling, even though the city's water supply was down—there should still be some left.
When she returned, W casually asked,
"Why specifically Car No. 3?"
Pei Ran replied,
"It's right in the center of the train. If needed, I can rush back to the engine or to the tail for a fight with Yulianka. Strategically ideal."
W sounded like he almost chuckled.
"You still suspect Yulianka? I maintain the suspicious one is Inaya."
Pei Ran: "Wanna bet?"
Having just scanned tens of thousands of detective novels, W was brimming with confidence.
"Bet. What do humans usually bet with? Money?"
He thought a moment.
"If I lose, I'll give you a warehouse full of fifty-year-expired military rations. I found one while reading through old Defense Ministry archives—a rebel stash from the Second Federal Unification War. Legally, it belongs to no one now."
Pei Ran asked, "Are fifty-year-old expired rations even edible?"
W considered. "Probably not. But you could sell them as collector's items. Someone in the memorabilia circle might buy them."
Pei Ran: "…"
The world was blowing up—who would buy that?
"I don't want that," she said. "Let's do this instead: whoever loses has to fulfill one request from the winner."
W replied cautiously, "Okay. As long as it's something I'm capable of doing."
Then he asked, "Pei Ran, you're not going to ask me to bark like a dog, are you?"
Pei Ran looked confused. "Why would I ask you to bark like a dog? If anything, I'd rather make you sing."
W perked up immediately. "You like that? You don't have to win the bet—I can sing for you anyway. I've found a few more songs in that style."
Pei Ran: "That style… what style?"
W suddenly fell silent.
He definitely didn't mean the lullaby-style ballads.
More likely, the wheezing, guttural ones from when he'd been sliced open.
The silence was awkward—for both girl and sphere.
Pei Ran broke it first:
"I'll let you know when I think of a request."
W replied, "Deal. But what if we're both wrong? If the real culprit turns out to be someone else entirely—do we both have to fulfill each other's requests?"
Pei Ran rolled her eyes.
"Do you like losing or something? If we're both wrong, we pretend the bet never happened. Let it blow away with the wind."
W: "…"
Pei Ran folded her scarf into a thick square, laid it on the tray table, and rested her head on it.
She was going to sleep.
W didn't say another word.
Pei Ran lay face down with her eyes closed, though she hadn't fallen asleep. She was watching the green light inside her body.
The two points of green light remained motionless, resting. They slept even more than cats—easily more than eighteen hours a day.
Pei Ran gently reached out with her consciousness, calling for Green Light No. 1—the one that could write.
It finally stirred, reluctantly, and slowly appeared in her mind's eye, as if grumbling: What do you want to write in the middle of the night?
A lot had happened today.
The Silence had escalated. Anything containing written text, whether exposed or hidden, had been completely destroyed.
Pei Ran estimated that by now, not a single written word remained across the entire Federation.
And no one could write anymore—writing meant death.
No one could, except Pei Ran.
She guided the green light with her mind to write: JTN35.
Just like last time, it stopped after the first two letters. She couldn't get any farther.
Pei Ran erased the letters. After thinking for a moment, she wrote two new characters:
Moonlight.
She didn't add a period. She just stared at the glowing, writhing script, lost in thought.
For so many years, she had seen and used written language every day. It had become so routine that she'd stopped noticing it—words were just tools for conveying information, nothing more.
But now, everything had changed.
She suddenly realized how deeply written language was woven into life, and how unbearable it was to live without it.
Every character they could no longer write down was, in fact, incredibly beautiful.
She erased those words, then wrote a new one:
Moonlit scene.
Pei Ran suddenly remembered the song W had sung once—the one about fields beneath the moonlight.
In her mind, the phrase "moonlit scene" didn't conjure fields. It was more like a quiet blue hue, a solitary moon hanging in the night sky, the river stretching endlessly into the distance, moonlight cascading down like still water.
Words were abstract concepts, not images—but they held more freedom and depth than images ever could.
Each word was a picture, and in a thousand minds, there would be a thousand different pictures. Words weren't bound by form or fixed representations. That very lack of form gave them infinite possibilities.
Everyone had their own idea of what moonlight looked like.
Just like beauty—someone could appear otherworldly and dazzling in writing, graceful beyond compare, intoxicating and untamed—but the moment they were pinned down into a real, physical person with two eyes and a mouth, they'd inevitably disappoint someone's imagination.
The green light quivered faintly.
It didn't seem happy. The message was clear: You woke me up in the middle of the night for this? Just to play with writing?
And you didn't even use a period. You're nuts.
Pei Ran quickly erased the word and let it go back to sleep.
She drifted off not long after.
On the table, the metal sphere shifted its black eye slightly, gaze resting on the top of Pei Ran's head.
She'd had a nightmare the night before on the train—woke up suddenly, almost screamed.
After tonight's scattered conversation, her expression had clearly relaxed. She'd even smiled. Hopefully, she'd sleep better tonight.
W turned his gaze away and silently scanned the surroundings.
No one was moving around the train car. Most of the passengers were asleep.
After some time, a faint sound came from the direction of Car Two.
W glanced around.
Everyone was asleep. Those who weren't had their eyes closed in rest. No one noticed.
Without a sound, W extended a foldable arm and quietly pushed himself up a little, peering toward the next car.
Through the glass partition between the cars, W saw Inaya rising from her seat, a sleeping Nuomi Tuan slung over her shoulder, heading toward the front—probably to the restroom.
W glanced once and thought silently: Pei Ran, looks like you're going to lose the bet.
Nothing could escape the high-magnification lens built into the patrol unit's core systems. In the instant Inaya stood up—a flash so brief it was almost imperceptible—a speck of green light slipped into her palm and vanished.