As soon as Pei Ran slammed the door shut, everyone—seasoned by now—immediately surged forward, throwing their weight against it to reinforce the barrier.
The light in the tunnel dimmed. Without needing a prompt, W instinctively turned on his headlamp.
The beam illuminated the abandoned tunnel: the floor was covered in a thick layer of red dust, and piles of construction debris were haphazardly stacked along the walls. Pei Ran scanned the area and selected a thick steel rod.
She had smashed off the metal door's built-in lock, leaving a gaping hole. Rod in hand, she squeezed forward, assessed the frame, then braced her mechanical hand against it and gave it a strong tug.
The doorframe, also metal, warped under her strength, creating a narrow gap between it and the wall panel.
She bent the steel rod, shoved one end through the crack, and threaded the other end back through the hole where the lock had been, twisting both ends into a tight braid.
The door was now deadbolted.
It had taken only seconds.
But already, the banging of fists and limbs on the metal door echoed like thunder. The swarm of human-drone hybrids had arrived, now completely covering the outside. Through the hole, one could see the patterns on their thin, pressed skin creeping over the door.
These things used green light to trigger human mutation. Pei Ran motioned for everyone to back away.
"What now?" she asked W, turning to look deeper into the tunnel. "Do we wait here until they move on, or keep going? Is there another exit?"
"I've reviewed the structural map," W replied. "We can move forward. The tunnel cuts through the mountain and opens on the other side—far enough to avoid the hybrid swarm."
The tunnel stretched into darkness, seemingly endless.
Pei Ran gestured into the void, slung her light over her shoulder, and took the lead.
The others, still reeling from their narrow escape, silently followed.
Everyone shared the same anxious hope—that the tunnel held no other lurking horrors. In such a cramped space, with a hybrid swarm behind them, there would be nowhere to hide.
They walked a long time, yet encountered no signs of life.
In the northwestern part of the Manya continent, around Yelcha, the climate was extremely dry. The red earth stretched wide and barren, with only scraggly shrubs surviving here and there.
This tunnel was just as dry—no moisture, no insects, not even a rat. Only red dust blanketed the floor, kicked up by their feet and slowly settling again.
W checked the map. "We're halfway through. The exit is just ahead."
In the otherwise silent group, a clear, ringing voice suddenly broke out:
"You said the wind was the hymn of your courage—
That on that night, you dreamed of dawn's first light—"
The singing echoed endlessly down the tunnel.
It was Nuomituan.
At some point, the little parrot had peeled the tape from its beak using its claws. Now it was singing loudly once more.
A figure darted forward—someone lunged at Inaya, snatching the parrot from her shoulder.
It was the young man in the purple jacket—the one whose name tag had been burned off on the train. He'd nearly died, if not for the old couple's cup of water.
Strong and fast, he had been among the first to reach the tunnel entrance.
Now that they had finally found a hiding spot, he had no intention of letting a parrot give them away.
Furious, jaw clenched, he gripped the bird hard. Nuomituan's singing stopped with a strangled cry of pain.
But then—the man froze.
He suddenly released the parrot, staggering back several steps. His face was pale with terror. He looked down at himself, as if seeing something horrific.
Nuomituan flopped from his hand, wings flapping in panic, and flew straight back to Inaya.
She extended her arm for it to land, but her eyes were locked on the man in the purple jacket.
It was hypnosis.
Pei Ran instantly pulled up Yulianka's green light feed.
She still didn't know exactly how to use others' powers.
Every time Yulianka used his ability, he would open his mouth slightly, and a faint green glow would appear inside. He always locked eyes with his target, too.
Now, everyone's attention was focused on Inaya and the man in purple. Pei Ran kept her gaze on Inaya and subtly parted her lips.
Sure enough, Yulianka's green light shifted—activating through her mouth.
It felt like a connection had been established.
Suddenly, Pei Ran's vision changed.
A shimmering layer of illusion overlaid her normal sight.
Within it, the man in the purple jacket was transforming—his body softening like clay, melting and losing its form. Some invisible force seemed to be pulling him from all sides, stretching him, flattening him. The texture of his clothes rapidly merged into his skin, sinews, and muscle, his whole being morphing into the human-drone hybrid's grotesque skin—a thin, fleshy purple sheet.
He was staring at himself in horror, his expression utterly broken.
Pei Ran understood—she was seeing the horrifying hallucination that Inaya had projected into his mind.
There were over thirty people crowded into the narrow tunnel. If the man panicked, screamed, or exploded, he wouldn't be the only one to suffer.
Pei Ran didn't know how to dispel the illusion.
But the moment she had that thought—the hallucination vanished, like a soap bubble bursting.
The man jerked out of his nightmare.
He stood frozen. Then, trembling, he looked around—first to one side, then the other—before glancing down at himself.
He hadn't transformed. He was still human.
Relief washed over his face as sweat dripped steadily from his forehead.
Inaya had felt the forced interruption of her hypnosis, and it startled her.
She quickly turned her head, scanning the group with visible alarm.
Back on the train, she had known someone was controlling her—making her do strange, inexplicable things—but she had no idea who it was.
Whoever it was had clearly wanted to sabotage the girl with the ponytail and the metal orb, seizing control of the train.
She'd been captured afterward by that same girl—but released soon after. It seemed the girl understood that Inaya wasn't acting of her own will.
Some passengers had been thrown off the train. The train had continued, safely arriving at Yelcha.
In this enforced silence, where no one could speak, the entire situation remained a murky mess.
With no way to communicate clearly, everyone was left to speculate. No one really knew what had happened.
Inaya had given up trying to figure it out.
All she wanted was to follow the others and reach a safe refuge.
But now—someone had just tried to kill her beloved parrot.
Absolutely not.
She had heard Nuomituan cry out. In her panic, she'd reflexively triggered the green light.
But what scared her more was that someone had once again interrupted her hypnosis.
Was it the same person who had controlled her on the train?
Or someone else entirely?
Inaya's mind spun in confusion. She looked at Pei Ran.
Could it be her?
If not, did she at least know who else in the group had the power to hijack her ability?
In any case, Blackwell Base was near. It was best to keep a low profile until then.
Pei Ran gave her a cool glance, pulled out a roll of tape from her bag, tore off a strip, and handed it to her.
This singing bird definitely needed to be silenced.
Inaya carefully taped Nuomituan's beak shut again. Then, without a word, she held out her hand for another strip of tape—this time binding its claws so it couldn't tear the tape off again. She tucked the bird gently into the hood at her neck.
W, ever alert, asked Pei Ran, "You used Yulianka's green light to break Inaya's hypnosis?"
"I did," Pei Ran replied.
She had originally been planning to feed Yulianka's green light into Greenlight One—but there was no rush now.
Yulianka's green light was actually quite useful.
She wondered: if she ever got hypnotized again, could she use the same ability to snap herself out?
When the chance came, she should test it—experiment with how to manipulate others' powers.
Only once Inaya had finished securing Nuomituan did Pei Ran turn away. The metal orb slung across her back shifted with her, and the lamp beam swung forward.
Up ahead, something lay across the tunnel floor.
It seemed to be… moving.
In the blink of an eye, those nearest the front all saw it.
They screamed and stumbled back. Those behind, not knowing what was happening, instinctively followed. Some even turned and ran.
W's calm voice sounded in Pei Ran's ear. "Don't worry. Looks like a human. No signs of abnormal deformation—shouldn't be a frenzied fusion."
His bright searchlight was still trained in that direction. He adjusted the brightness slightly, then gave his conclusion: "He's wearing a combat suit. A soldier from Heijing."
Pei Ran asked, "Is he from the team that was supposed to pick us up?"
That group had vanished en route, no contact whatsoever. Pei Ran had assumed they'd probably run into a swarm of human-drone hybrids—there were too many of them in this area.
"No, not them," W replied. His vision was excellent—zoomed in several times, already running facial recognition. "He's a captain. Xiao Hai. Was on a special recon mission for Heijing today. Let's go."
Pei Ran ran ahead with the orb on her back. The others weren't sure what she intended but followed cautiously.
As they got closer, they could see him clearly now—a young soldier in full combat gear, lying on the ground. He looked like he was in his twenties.
He'd just struggled briefly, but now he lay flat, spent and unmoving.
Pei Ran went over immediately and knelt to examine him.
Captain Xiao Hai was gravely wounded—his entire body from shoulder to arm and all the way down to his lower torso had been hit by some highly corrosive substance.
It had melted through his clothing, eaten into his flesh and internal organs. The wounds were horrific.
Pei Ran took one look and knew he was dying.
He'd lost too much blood. His lips were cracked, his face shrouded in the grey pallor of someone at death's door.
W said, "I checked the mission logs. He was supposed to be operating a recon drone with a lieutenant. They were sent west of Heijing for reconnaissance and bombing."
No one knew why he'd ended up here.
Captain Xiao Hai had already shut his eyes, but the bright light nearby made him struggle to open them again.
He blinked groggily at Pei Ran, who was crouched in front of him. Suddenly, with all his remaining strength, he tried to move—though the injuries were too severe. He could only barely lift one hand.
His gaze sharpened at last, locking onto Pei Ran. There was urgency in his expression, like he had something critical to tell her.
But this was inside the Silence. He couldn't speak. He couldn't write.
His fingers twitched—thumb and index finger curled in, leaving the other three extended. Then he paused, relaxed his grip, opened his palm, and slowly curled all but one finger.
Pei Ran understood—he was signaling numbers.
Three. Five. One.
Pei Ran repeated his hand signs: three, five, one.
A faint light flickered in Xiao Hai's dim, dying eyes. It was a smile.
He was saying: yes.
He rallied again, summoning the strength for more.
This time: four and five.
He stopped again, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with effort. Then one finger, then again one, and finally four.
One. One. Four.
Three-five-one-four-five-one-one-four.
Captain Xiao Hai's hand dropped limply to the ground.
Pei Ran caught it, propping it up for him. But it hung lifelessly, no longer responding.
She quickly thought of another way. Let go of his hand and made number signs herself. If she showed him the right number, he could just nod or blink.
But Xiao Hai, exhausted, closed his eyes again, his breath growing shallower—slipping into the final stages.
He hadn't finished the sequence.
Then, at last, he opened his eyes again. It was clear that just this act had taken all he had left. He stared at Pei Ran, lips cracking open.
The people around them had seen him open his mouth and quickly backed away.
Pei Ran didn't move. Instead, she leaned in, placing her ear close to his lips.
Xiao Hai's eyes were full of relief.
He looked at Pei Ran. And from between his teeth, he whispered weakly:
"…Nine-eight-two."
He closed his lips. Clearly finished.
Pei Ran stood and quickly backed away.
Boom.
The body disappeared.
And yet Pei Ran still felt as if he were watching her with those eyes, urging her to remember the number he'd given his life to deliver.
"Three-five-one-four-five-one-one-four-nine-eight-two," Pei Ran recited. "What is it?"
"Coordinates," W answered. "It's a location west of Heijing. He only gave the first three decimal digits, but the precision is good enough. About seventy kilometers southwest of here."
Then he added, "Pei Ran, even if his voice was barely a whisper, I could still capture the sound. You didn't have to risk getting that close."
Pei Ran walked on with the others, silent for a few steps before answering, "He kept looking at me. Not at you. That means he didn't recognize you. If it were me—dying and desperate to get those numbers out—I'd feel more at peace if someone leaned in to truly listen."