He didn’t start with his gasping song. Instead, it was something entirely different—a folk song from some unknown place. The lyrics were clear this time, truly painting a picture of moonlit fields.
The words spoke of vast skies and boundless earth, of lush grass and chirping orioles, of family still by one’s side, and of long, peaceful years.
Slowly, Pei Ran closed her eyes again.
As the first light of dawn touched the sky, Pei Ran’s wristband alarm vibrated.
She sat up, tied her hair back again, and took a JTN34 pill.
The blister pack of JTN34 now had three empty slots left. Twenty-seven pills remained—like a countdown, marking how many more days she could survive.
Pei Ran put the medicine away and unzipped her backpack.
A few days ago, she had seen in her memo that Friday was Burger Day.
She didn’t have a burger, but after rummaging in her bag for a while, she solemnly decided that to commemorate the silence upgrade, she could open a small can of beef.
The canned beef in this world was of exceptional quality. Because of the cold, the broth had solidified into a transparent jelly, trembling as it encased the chunks of meat. When she bit into the beef, it shredded apart in fine strands, carrying a slightly waxy texture and the rich, unmistakable aroma unique to preserved foods.
After finishing breakfast, she started the car. By then, daylight had fully broken.
The snow from yesterday had completely melted.
The illusion of a pristine white landscape was gone, leaving behind nothing but mud.
Pei Ran and W cross-checked the map as they searched for drivable paths. It was a grueling journey, but by noon, the outline of a vast city finally came into view.
Yehai City was within sight.
Gradually, structured roads appeared, lined with factory buildings of various sizes.
Pei Ran was finally able to pick up speed.
Unfortunately, she didn’t get to drive fast for long—because up ahead, a series of thudding explosions suddenly broke the silence.
Pei Ran slammed on the brakes.
The metal sphere reacted swiftly, extending a folding arm to grab onto the handle above the seat, securing itself in place just in time to keep from rolling out of the seatbelt.
“W, look over there.”
Not far ahead, on the roadside, stood a tall factory building. Its gray-white exterior walls had once displayed large red characters—probably the factory’s name. Now, those red characters were erupting in fire and black smoke.
In an instant, the fire went out.
The characters on the wall were gone, leaving behind large, scorched patches, and the melted remnants of the red signage material dripping down the walls like streams of blood.
Further ahead, several other buildings were also emitting black smoke. Any place that had signage was now burned black.
It wasn’t just this factory district—there was also trouble in Yehai City.
In the distance, faint black smoke was rising over the city. And the smoke was growing thicker.
“They’re continuing to erase text,” W said.
Who exactly “they” were remained unknown.
Suddenly—”BOOM.”
This time, the sound was alarmingly close. Too close.
A scorching blast of heat surged toward Pei Ran’s face.
Acting purely on instinct, she flung the car door open and dove outside, landing several meters away in the blink of an eye.
Thick black smoke billowed from the driver’s seat.
W wasn’t slow either. He swung himself off the car door with his folding arm, rolled on the ground, and followed her out.
Dense smoke poured from the open car door, rising in heavy clouds. It took a long moment before it finally started to disperse.
The source of the fire was the physical display screen on the dashboard of the antique car. The flames hadn’t spread further, but the screen was now a charred, twisted mess—completely unrecognizable.
“It might be because there was text on the screen,” W said.
Just moments ago, the screen had been displaying information—mileage, speed, remaining battery life. Then, all of a sudden, it had caught fire.
Pei Ran froze for a second before moving fast. She unwound her scarf, shrugged off her short coat, stripped off her sweatshirt underneath, and tossed everything onto the car door. Then, she yanked off her wristband and kicked off her shoes.
The “silence” was deepening in stages. If some words were being erased, there was no guarantee that others were safe.
If there were text on her clothing, would it get targeted too?
Would her clothes suddenly burst into flames, just like the factory walls and the car’s display screen?
So far, the text on her clothes and belongings hadn’t ignited yet. But who knew what would happen in an hour? Ten minutes? Or even a single second?
Text had become ticking time bombs— invisible countdowns that could go off at any moment.
Pei Ran checked everything she was still wearing.
Her long-sleeved undershirt, the waistband of her thermal pants, and even her underwear—none of them had labels or printed text. She had noticed before that the original owner had a habit of cutting off labels from intimate clothing. Her socks were plain-colored. Safe.
Pei Ran exhaled slightly, feeling a little more at ease.
She reached into her sweatshirt pocket and pulled out the medicine case.
The most valuable thing she had.
The medicine box had originally contained allergy medication, with text covering both the front and back. Pei Ran pulled out two blister packs, tossing the empty box far away. Fortunately, the foil on the blister packs had no writing.
She tucked the two precious packs of medicine into her pants pocket. In the midst of her hurried actions, she glanced at the metal sphere.
From the moment she started stripping off her outerwear, W had rotated his upper half away from her, deliberately looking in another direction.
Huh? Pei Ran was slightly surprised. He had hesitated before grabbing her hand yesterday, and now he was going out of his way to avoid looking at her.
But he was just an AI. A purely artificial intelligence. He didn’t even have a gender.
Even if he could pant, even if he could use a low, ambiguous voice to whisper in her ear, it was merely a calculated simulation, mimicking what he assumed she preferred.
The artificial intelligences in the bunker world had already developed self-awareness, becoming nearly indistinguishable from living beings. But they had no concept of gender. They reproduced by copying and upgrading their programs, manufacturing new components.
From a gender perspective, AIs were no different from household appliances.
When changing clothes, no one deliberately avoids their vacuum cleaner or washing machine.
Even if a vacuum cleaner could sing and dramatically wail, “Master, I’m stuck! Come save me!”—it was still just a household appliance.
Did W have some kind of identity crisis? Did he think of himself as a person? Pei Ran wondered. Or maybe he was simply afraid of looking at something inappropriate and making her angry, ruining their relatively peaceful relationship.
There was no time to analyze an AI’s self-perception. Pei Ran moved to the backseat, unzipped her large backpack, and began searching through it.
“I can help you process some things too,” W said.
He extended a silver mechanical claw, reaching into Pei Ran’s backpack and pulling out a round metal can. With the sharp tip of his claw, he secured the can, and with the other claw, he ripped off the label wrapped around it—printed with words and images—and tossed it aside.
W was very disciplined, never once adjusting his camera angle to look in Pei Ran’s direction.
However, he could still see her arm reaching into the bag.
She was wearing a black, form-fitting long-sleeved undershirt—thin fabric, completely inadequate for this kind of weather.
W swiftly peeled off another can’s label while his internal system made a judgment:
She’s rummaging through her bag—she must be looking for scissors.
She plans to cut the labels off her clothing so she can wear her warmer layers again.
Pei Ran’s hand emerged from the backpack.
But instead of scissors, she was holding a small fruit knife.
W’s vision suddenly tilted.
She had grabbed the cord on top of his head—and lifted him up.
Caught completely off guard, W dangled in the air, still clutching a can with his folding arm, his movement frozen mid-task.
Pei Ran dragged the metal sphere over, and with swift, precise movements, she scraped off the white lettering on his surface—“DOD.”
Then she pried open his outer shell and inserted the fruit knife inside.
Luckily, W was a military-grade AI sphere. Most of his internal components didn’t have brand logos, only a few had serial numbers.
Some of them were stickers—easily peeled off. Others were engraved, but a few quick scrapes erased them completely.
W remained silent, patiently waiting for her to finish.
Only when she was done did he say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Pei Ran set him down, finally pulling a pair of scissors from her bag. She stood up, grabbed the short coat draped over the car door, and snipped off the collar tag and the side washing label in a few swift cuts.
She did the same with her scarf and sweatshirt. Even her shoes.
The size label on the inside of the shoe tongue was heat-pressed into the fabric, firmly attached and impossible to peel off. Pei Ran simply cut it out with scissors.
She checked the soles next. Fortunately, there were only rows of raised patterns—no molded size numbers.
Once everything was dealt with, she conducted one final check from head to toe. Even her ponytail hair tie got inspected. Only after confirming that there was no text left on her body did she feel at ease and put her clothes back on.
There was still something in her coat pocket—
A small shard of a pillbox she had conjured with green light last time, and Shige Ye’s black leather notebook.
She discarded the scrap of paper and flipped open the notebook.
On the inside cover, a small golden emblem was embossed—a flower. It looked like an iris Pei Ran had seen in her e-reader before. Strangely, one single stem bore three blossoms.
It wasn’t text, so she ignored it for now.
The notebook contained only a little over twenty pages, and on every single one—someone was suffering terrible misfortune.
Engines overheating, spare-tire-equipped cars having their tires explode, people—men, women, children—suddenly going rigid, collapsing, or being forced to speak, every figure depicted in vivid terror, brought to life through Shige Ye’s detailed strokes.
Pei Ran suddenly noticed something odd.
Despite twenty-plus pages of chaos, Shige Ye’s methods of controlling others were extremely limited.
Weakness, paralysis, forced speech—leading to explosion and death.
As a professional manga artist, Shige Ye had long since reached the level of effortless skill. If he wanted to draw other methods of death, he should have been able to.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to— it was that he couldn’t.
Just like how she could only write two words with green light.
Pei Ran had initially planned to tear out all the illustrated pages but reconsidered. Instead, she only cut away the sections containing text.
Meanwhile, W had already resumed his work the moment she put him down—efficiently stripping labels from cans like a factory-line worker born for this task.
His movements were lightning-fast. By the time Pei Ran finished, he had already completed his work and was now removing the labeled outer packaging from compressed biscuits.
He glanced at Pei Ran.
At a time when any written text could spontaneously ignite, her prioritization was crystal clear—
First: Her own survival and safety.
Second: Him. Even before her own warmth.
Third: Shige Ye’s black notebook.
And fourth?
Food.