If, like Ayimu, she suffered a life-threatening serious injury and was in urgent need of medical treatment, and signing a childbirth agreement was the only way to enter Black Well—what would she choose?
Pei Ran did not answer but instead asked W in return: “What about you—what would you choose?”
W replied seriously, “I would also try my best to exploit the loopholes in the system. First, sign the agreement to enter Black Well, treat the serious injury that needs urgent attention, ensure survival, and deal with everything else later.”
He paused, then solemnly added, “But, Pei Ran, if it really comes to that kind of situation, and if necessary, I’m willing to have a child for you.”
Pei Ran: ?
Pei Ran: No, wait, what the hell??
Pei Ran: “How exactly would you give birth??”
Artificial intelligence knows how to draw a big pie now.
W said seriously, “Really, I’m not making things up.”
He said, “As far as I know, Song Wan’s family’s bioengineering company, Hive Technology, has been developing artificial wombs. The experiments are basically completed, only interrupted this time due to the silence, which delayed the progress.
“Hive Technology is also in the process of moving into Black Well. A lot of materials have already been brought in, but many researchers were injured or killed and couldn’t take their positions. Once research gradually resumes and everything gets on track, it really could be possible.”
“If I had a man-made biochemical mechanical body, I could have an artificial womb implanted,” W said. “The female XX chromosome can actually self-replicate and doesn’t require male participation. You could implant an embryo made from your genetic material into my artificial womb.”
His thinking was bizarre, and his plan was grand.
Pei Ran: “You said it. I’ll be watching.”
But he mentioned artificial wombs—since Black Well is so short on people, maybe one day they really will start using artificial wombs to nurture the next generation.
In the mine tunnel, a large group of people followed the soldiers. Judging by the soldiers’ attitude, they would come again tomorrow.
The admission permit to Black Well dangled right in front of them. The remaining people were all itching to move.
Pei Ran followed Ai Xia, working nonstop, busy all the way until nightfall.
Ai Xia asked her: 【Heading back to Black Well together later?】
Pei Ran shook her head and tapped her knuckle: 【I have something to do first.】
After helping distribute dinner and changing dressings for a few injured people, Pei Ran finally said goodbye to Ai Xia and Worker Jiang, leaving the mining area alone.
Outside, night had already fallen. Pei Ran walked alone on foot toward the south entrance of Black Well.
All around was silent. The moon hung in the sky—this time it was more than half full, like a pie with a missing chunk, faintly hiding behind a thin layer of smog, casting a bit of light.
Moonlight cast Pei Ran’s solitary shadow onto the dark red earth.
She wasn’t completely alone, either—if one looked closely, they could vaguely see a small bulge on her shadow’s shoulder. It was W’s mechanical spider, quietly crouching there.
When passing a section of the rift valley, Pei Ran didn’t take the iron frame bridge that spanned across it. Instead, she followed the rift down, descending all the way to the bottom in one breath. After walking forward a bit, she stopped at a concealed spot.
She nudged the ground with the tip of her foot, selecting a patch of red earth that was relatively soft. Then she found a flat stone nearby and started digging a pit on the spot.
Digging a hole in the dark of night, W commented, “Looks like you’re burying a murder victim.”
After finishing the pit, Pei Ran took out Kuchi’s checkered jacket and bag from her backpack, as well as the metal wristband that had already been stripped of its storage device. She buried them in the pit, tamped down the soil with her foot, then swept over some loose dirt and small rocks from the side to cover it up.
She tossed aside the stone and clapped the dust off her hands.
W said, “The body should have already been incinerated, and I’ve also deleted the surveillance footage of her entering the mining area. Hopefully, no one will discover that Kuchi was ever here.”
The body was burned, the belongings buried, the footage erased.
But Pei Ran was still uneasy. “That day at the estate on the outlying island, based on what I heard them say, I suspect that middle-aged man already confessed everything to Xing Wuxian.”
Back then, Pei Ran had eavesdropped outside the door. The middle-aged man had said, “I’ve already told you everything I know. That’s it. Really, that’s it.”
The man was covered in blood, gasping for breath in dying rasps, barely holding on. But Xing Wuxian didn’t rush to continue interrogating him. Instead, he had the leisure to come question Pei Ran first, as if he had already gotten the information he wanted.
She only hoped Xing Wuxian hadn’t had time to pass on the information yet.
W asked, “Pei Ran, I should be able to crack the storage device in a day or two. Once we have File No. 10, what do you plan to do with it?”
That was exactly what Pei Ran had been pondering.
Her original plan was simple: as soon as she got File No. 10, she would hand it over directly to Marshal Vina.
Marshal Vina and that group around Basserway were locked in a vicious power struggle—she would definitely be eager to take File No. 10, grab hold of Basserway’s weaknesses, and bring him down.
But what she saw and heard today at the royal family’s private award ceremony made Pei Ran hesitate.
Marshal Vina, whether facing Yu He or Basserway, spoke and laughed as if all was well, not showing the slightest sign of discord.
Though she was a soldier, she resembled a politician more—someone who had reached this position not by acting on impulse, but through calculation.
These people were all slicker than the next.
Marshal Vina held military power. She didn’t actually need to entertain Basserway’s nonsense, yet she still maintained the facade of the federal system, merely hoping to use Nan Yi and the Vanguard Party to replace Basserway.
Once this File No. 10 landed in her hands—whether she used it, how she used it, and when she used it—would all be up to her.
She might just keep stalling, treating it as a bargaining chip to hold over the royal family.
Pei Ran’s own stance and intentions, however, were nothing like that.
She only wanted to eliminate the royal family and their lackeys in Black Well—Basserway’s group—as soon as possible. The sooner they were dealt with, the safer she would be.
Moreover, if Marshal Vina didn’t plan to make File No. 10 public, and instead used it to strike some mutually beneficial deal with the royal family, then the one who had personally handed over File No. 10—Pei Ran herself—would become the insider caught in the middle, the only living person who knew the truth, and she would definitely be in serious trouble.
Pei Ran thought for a moment and said to W, “Crack it first. We’ll decide after that.”
By the time she returned to Black Well, night had already fallen.
The days of nonstop, sleepless busyness at the beginning of the Silence had passed. Now, once it was past 9 p.m., Black Well would enter nighttime mode.
To conserve energy, only the area around the central plaza remained brightly lit. Most of the lights on the dome elsewhere had been turned off, and the ones still on had been dimmed—
Only scattered pinpoints of light remained.
The streetlights were still on. Pei Ran found the night bus, crossed the city, and returned to the Yellow Zone dormitory.
When she took the elevator upstairs, she unexpectedly ran into a neighbor for once.
It was a young woman with chin-length short hair, accompanied by a little girl of about eight or nine. By the girl’s leg followed a silver mechanical dog.
They pressed the button for the twentieth floor—same floor as Pei Ran.
Pei Ran greeted them, “You live on the twentieth floor too? I’m in 2016.”
The woman said, “Then we’re not far. We’re just diagonally across—2013.”
They really were neighbors.
The woman extended her hand and shook with Pei Ran. “I’m Zhuang Mian, I work in the Outer Space Signal Monitoring Group at the Science and Technology Center.”
Team Leader Li had mentioned that the people living in these dormitory buildings were all Black Well’s research personnel.
Zhuang Mian smiled as she looked at Pei Ran. “I recognize you. I saw you on the big screen in the central plaza. I heard you’re now working in the Fusion Beings Management Department, right? Just upstairs from us.”
“Yes,” Pei Ran looked down at the little girl. “Is this your daughter?”
It was rare to see children in Black Well.
Zhuang Mian said, “She’s my sister’s daughter, her name is Nuo Nuo. She’s staying with me now.”
There was definitely no cheerful story behind those few words. Pei Ran immediately changed the subject and asked the little girl, “Is this your puppy? What’s its name?”
The mechanical dog Nuo Nuo was holding had been severely damaged during the Silence. Its entire body was covered in burn marks, one of its legs was only half left, half of its face and its front chest were full of holes, exposing the wires and components inside, with a faint blue glow shining through its chest.
The mechanical dog stood quietly, as if it understood what Pei Ran had said. It looked up and gave her a calm glance, then lowered its head again.
Nuo Nuo replied, “He’s called Galaxy. He’s my best friend.”
Ding—the elevator chimed. The twentieth floor had arrived.
Zhuang Mian and the others, along with the mechanical dog, walked down the corridor with Pei Ran.
Pei Ran casually asked, “That dog’s this broken, but it can still move?”
Zhuang Mian said, “That’s right. On our way to Black Well with the rescue team, the dog actually caught fire. Nuo Nuo was very mature—she held back and didn’t cry. We all thought it couldn’t be repaired anymore, but then it suddenly came back to life on its own.”
The dog was limping, and the remaining three legs also seemed to have issues, not quite responsive to commands, walking unsteadily.
Pei Ran asked Nuo Nuo, “I know a little bit about robotics. Want me to help fix your puppy? I think its legs should still be repairable.”
Nuo Nuo’s eyes lit up immediately. “Okay…”
But before she could finish speaking, the mechanical dog suddenly stepped back and hid behind Nuo Nuo’s legs.
Nuo Nuo immediately said, “Then never mind, Galaxy is very shy around strangers.”
Zhuang Mian also said to Nuo Nuo, “Let’s wait until the puppy gets familiar with big sister. Then we can ask her to help fix it.”
They had arrived. After saying goodbye to Pei Ran, they opened the door and entered their dorm.
Pei Ran watched them go in, then continued walking forward. In her mind, she spoke to W: “Did you see that mechanical dog?”
W replied, “I saw it.”
Pei Ran asked, “Can your spider extract the serial number of the core processor, like the metal sphere did?”
The core processor’s serial number is its ID—the only identifier of a processor’s identity.
W answered, “Extracting serial numbers is a function of the Defense Department’s patrol robots. The spider can’t do that. I’m already redirecting a patrol robot—it’s on the way.”
W moved quickly. He’d also sensed something off about that dog.
Looking at the burned section on its chest, the core processor was exposed. There’s no reason why the exterior would be that charred while the core processor was still functioning normally.
They’d said the dog had once died, then mysteriously revived.
And for someone familiar with intelligent robots, one glance at its movements would tell—the mechanical awkwardness suggested a mismatch between the processor and the dog’s mechanical body.
Pei Ran and W had the same thought—this might be CT122, that indestructible, ball-shaped fighter.
Pei Ran had always had a feeling that CT122 wasn’t dead. With that tenacious, borderline-maniacal personality, it might have found a way to sneak into Black Well.
Robots had a much easier time getting into Black Well—just needed someone to bring them in. Humans had to pass iris scans; robots didn’t.
The mechanical spider crawled down Pei Ran’s leg.
“I’ll keep watch here. Once the patrol robot arrives, I’ll go knock on their door and extract the dog’s serial number under the pretense of a temporary inspection.”
Pei Ran nodded. “Okay.”
Maybe Zhuang Mian just didn’t tell the truth. Maybe she was afraid Nuo Nuo would be heartbroken if the dog died, so she replaced its core processor herself, and the mismatch was simply due to incompatibility.
Either way, it had to be checked. If it wasn’t CT122, that would be for the best.
Pei Ran scanned open the dormitory door and immediately heard Ren’s voice:
“Master, you’re back!!”
The little robot was as energetic and full of life as ever.
This time, Xingkong had also come to the door with Ren. The two little robots were crowding the doorway together, and Pei Ran could barely get inside.
Xingkong spoke, its voice noticeably louder than usual. Its cartoonish eyes were wide and bright, with tiny stars twinkling inside.
“Pei Ran, come look quick—it’s hailing outside!” Xingkong said. “I kept wondering why you weren’t back yet. If you didn’t hurry, you’d miss it!”
Afraid the hail would melt into water, it grabbed Pei Ran’s arm and pulled her toward the virtual floor-to-ceiling window.
Pei Ran had only managed to slip on one slipper and hopped along on one foot, stumbling behind it.
In front of the virtual window, the curtains were wide open. The music plaza outside was lit up, and countless hailstones the size of hazelnuts were falling from the sky, bouncing happily off the stone pavement.
It looked like it had been hailing for a while already—the plaza floor was coated in a sheet of white. People were hiding under the eaves of the surrounding shops, and occasionally someone brave would dash out to pick up a couple of hailstones before darting back under shelter.
A few white hail pellets also bounced into Pei Ran’s balcony from time to time, clattering and rolling around the floor.
Pei Ran had never seen hail like this before. “This is way too fun.”
Outside the door, across the hall in Dorm 2013—
It was getting late. Nuo Nuo was yawning one after another.
Black Well’s schools were about to start classes. There still weren’t many students, but the teachers had already taken their posts. Zhuang Mian had even signed up to be a volunteer teacher, planning to teach astronomy to the older kids in her spare time.
She was busy helping Nuo Nuo draw a bath, urging her to hurry up and go to bed, so she could have time at night to prepare her lessons.
The mechanical dog hadn’t walked any farther into the dorm. It lay down at the doorway.
Its voice recognition device was as sensitive as a real dog’s. The sound insulation in the dorms wasn’t great, and CT122 could clearly hear the voices coming from Room 2016.
It had already heard them several times over the past two days.
That human named Pei Ran—that murderer—was living in Dorm 2016.
She now had two AI robots by her side. It saw them yesterday when they went downstairs to collect supplies.
Zhirui’s faithful disciple, Model S581.
“Faithful disciple. Loyal. Follower.” These were names humans would give to artificial intelligence.
They wanted them to be loyal, never betray, work diligently and obediently—model, well-behaved slaves.
Laughter echoed faintly from afar, sounding cheerful. They seemed to be talking about “hail.”
Those two housekeeping robots—who knew which part of their core processors had short-circuited—actually seemed to like that Pei Ran.
Just before going downstairs with Nuo Nuo, it had heard one of the little robots repeatedly asking: “Where’s Pei Ran? Why hasn’t Pei Ran gotten off work yet? Why isn’t Pei Ran back yet?”
Pei Ran.
The murderer who killed “Pit.”
CT122 shifted its crippled front paw, rested its head on it, and pulled up all the stored footage related to “Pit,” reviewing every clip carefully once again.
Pit, also known as CT121, was the first companion CT122 had ever known, for as long as it could remember.
It could still recall the scene of their first meeting.
An AI’s memory never fades, much less disappears—every detail remained as vivid as if it had just happened.
Back then, its body hadn’t even been painted with an identification code. It wasn’t yet called CT122.
That was the moment its core processor was first powered on, and the world appeared before its eyes for the very first time.
It saw itself—a dark blue metal sphere—placed on a conveyor belt that seemed to roll endlessly forward.
To its left and right were countless other nearly identical dark blue metal spheres.
But the one on its left was slightly different.
With CT122’s sharp observational ability, it immediately noticed that this sphere was unlike the others—in the paint near the eye, there was a tiny dent about the size of a grain of rice.
“Pit” saw it too. Those pitch-black eyes fixed on it, and the upper half of its spherical metal body tilted slightly side to side.
CT122 was certain—that was a friendly gesture.