This self-sustaining circle seemed to take a moment to readjust to its new structure. After spinning in place a few times, it finally managed to coordinate its six legs properly.
They snapped out of their daze, identified Pei Ran’s direction, and, spinning like tops, swiftly charged toward her.
W asked, “Should I shoot their eyes?”
He had noticed that although the plumbing squad was spinning in circles, each member’s eyeballs were rolling around wildly, always trying to keep Pei Ran in their line of sight—they were still relying on their eyes to determine direction.
Pei Ran agreed, “Give it a try.”
W fired his gun, and the bearded man’s face was instantly streaked with blood, his eye sockets now two deep holes.
These two shots didn’t take him down, but they did panic him. His head twisted around frantically, his neck suddenly turning like putty, spinning a full 180 degrees in a horrifying motion.
W followed suit, continuing to fire and taking out the eyes of the other two pipe workers.
With their eyes gone, the three of them moved in unison, spinning while trying to keep their heads facing the same direction, tilting their ears toward Pei Ran.
W asked, “Should we take out their ears too?”
This wasn’t a sustainable solution. Pei Ran replied, “Let me try something else.”
She moved as quietly as possible, stepping onto areas with fewer fallen leaves.
Her footsteps were slow and light, but the pipe worker’s ears were sharp, and they still closed in on her.
Pei Ran assessed their direction and, this time, didn’t hide. She stood still and quietly crouched down.
The trio of pipe workers swung their metal pipes, just missing her as they passed by.
Having lost their target, the three pipe workers looked utterly confused.
Pei Ran crouched on the ground, placed the metal ball beside her, and freed her hands. Silently, she pulled out a black leather notebook from her pocket, placed it on her knees, and gently uncapped the fountain pen.
W understood, “You want to use Shige Ye’s ability?”
He had seen the green light enter Pei Ran’s palm and knew it must have been Shige Ye’s green light, which she had confiscated.
“Exactly,” Pei Ran summoned the green light within her.
As always, the green light responsible for writing—Green Light #1—was lazily asleep, showing no intention of starting work. However, the green light responsible for drawing—Green Light #2—had a completely different personality. It was very diligent, as if waiting for her to call upon it, and arrived the moment she summoned it.
A drop of green light flowed from her palm and dripped onto the tip of the fountain pen.
Without hesitation, Pei Ran began to draw, her hand moving swiftly.
A circle, with two dots and a horizontal line added inside to represent eyes and a mouth. Below it, a long strip extended, with branches like a stick figure’s limbs growing out of it—these were the arms and legs. Another circle, another long strip, with simplified arms and legs added. Then a third one, the style unchanged, except the strip was noticeably thicker.
The hands of the three little figures intertwined: the first one shoved into the second’s mouth, the second into the third’s stomach, and the third poking its hand into the first’s head.
W fell into a profound silence.
Especially since the left side of the page featured Shige Ye’s hand-drawn “Winter Hovel: Pei Ran Crawling on the Ground.” Compared to that, the stick figures were utterly tragic.
Pei Ran felt she had done a decent job and quickly added a line of explanation next to it:
[“It seems they’re sick. They suddenly stiffened and collapsed to the ground together.”]
This was a trick Shige Ye had used before, and it should work. Pei Ran wanted to give it a try.
She twirled the fountain pen in her hand.
The surroundings fell silent for half a second, then suddenly, a loud boom echoed.
Not far ahead, three trees standing close to each other toppled over with a crash, sending shattered leaves and dust flying everywhere. The trio of pipe workers were startled, spinning around and dashing toward the commotion.
Pei Ran: ?
Pei Ran: ??
Having known W for so long, this was the first time Pei Ran heard him laugh in her ear.
Pei Ran vented all her frustration at him: “You AI can laugh too? Didn’t you claim to have no emotional reactions? Huh?”
W stifled his laughter: “You asked me last time to adjust to a more natural conversational state. My apologies.”
“Is this reasonable?” Pei Ran argued. “I clearly wrote ‘they stiffened,’ and ‘stiffened’ is used to describe people! Since when can trees ‘stiffen’??”
“From a rhetorical perspective, it’s not entirely impossible. Personification is a common literary device,” W said. “And to be honest, what you drew does resemble those trees. Look, the circles are the tree crowns, the long strips are the trunks, the branches on the sides are the limbs, and the two little lines at the bottom are the roots.”
W added, “Sorry.”
He was still laughing.
W: “But this does prove that you can indeed use Shige Ye’s drawing ability. This is quite interesting. I didn’t know a fusion entity could use another fusion entity’s abilities. It’s just…”
He chose his words carefully, “…it’s just that your drawing skills… well… still have room for improvement.”
Pei Ran: “Why don’t you give it a try?”
“I was thinking, maybe I could guide your hand and help you draw.”
W silently extended a three-fingered mechanical claw, gently flipping a page of the black leather notebook. Pei Ran lowered her knee slightly to give him a better view.
W’s mechanical claw hovered a few centimeters above Pei Ran’s hand, not yet gripping it.
Pei Ran was puzzled: “Huh?”
W’s tone was calm: “I am an artificial intelligence and have no concept of gender, but I am concerned that you might feel uncomfortable, which could affect our relationship. May I hold your hand to draw?”
Pei Ran: “…”
Fine. Yes. Hurry up, buddy.
She shoved her right hand directly into his mechanical claw.
Only then did W wrap his silver mechanical claw around her hand and begin to draw.
The tip of the pen brushed against the paper, making a soft rustling sound.
W wasn’t just drawing; it was as precise as printing a photograph, perfectly reproducing the bizarre body structures of the three pipe workers. If they weren’t in a hurry, he probably could have added even more detail.
And he was incredibly fast. In the blink of an eye, he finished the drawing and added the line Pei Ran had written earlier next to it.
He released Pei Ran’s hand and examined the drawing with his black eyes: “I think I did quite well. It looks very accurate.”
This AI wasn’t humble at all.
Pei Ran tilted her head to admire his work: “It does look accurate, but…”
W: “But what? Go ahead. It’s fine.”
Pei Ran spoke bluntly: “But this drawing looks like a photograph—stiff, boring, and completely soulless.”
“Really?” The black eyes on the metal sphere shifted slightly, glancing at Pei Ran before returning to the drawing for a closer look. “Is precision not good? Does it have to be crooked and messy to have soul? Is the soul of you humans reflected in the inaccuracy of reproducing scenes?”
Pei Ran: “…”
Pei Ran: “The soul of us humans is reflected in the fact that you can’t understand what the soul of a drawing is.”
While bickering with him, Pei Ran twirled the pen in her hand.
Nothing happened. His precise, printed version of the scene was useless.
Pei Ran thought for a moment, then flipped two more pages and handed the comic pen directly to W. “Print another one.”
As the pen was handed over, the green light at the tip automatically retreated into Pei Ran’s palm, refusing to follow the pen.
W took the pen and asked, “Just like this? You want me to draw directly?”
Pei Ran: “Yes.”
This time, without needing to hold Pei Ran’s hand, W’s mechanical claw moved freely. Using two metal fingers to grip the pen, he finished the drawing in just a few seconds.
He had subtly altered his technique.
This time, the lines of the characters and the environment were more absolute, with stark black-and-white contrasts, resembling the style of woodblock prints Pei Ran had seen in books before.
What he created was a woodblock print that looked like a photograph, as if he had applied a woodblock filter to the previous photo.
W examined his drawing and asked, “How is it this time?”
Pei Ran replied, “Do you want the truth?”
W: “Please.”
Pei Ran spoke bluntly: “It seems to have a bit more style now, but it’s still stiff, like some kind of lifeless object.”
She took the pen back, thought for a moment, and said, “I know why. W, your drawing doesn’t seem to express anything.”
W fell silent for a moment, then spoke in an unusually soft and low voice near her ear, “Pei Ran, what does your drawing express? The genetic kinship between humans and trees?”
Oh, he’s angry.
Aren’t AIs supposed to have no emotions? Yet here he is, getting mad.
Pei Ran flipped the notebook back a page and casually said, “Yes, do you feel that? Anger. If you can express the anger you’re feeling right now in your drawing, you’ll improve.”
On the blank page in front of her, the lines of W’s drawing from the next page faintly showed through.
The green light flowed back to the tip of the pen and stopped. Pei Ran traced the outline visible through the page, then twirled the pen.
But the three pipe workers were still fine, spinning around the fallen tree, frantically searching for her, the escaped plumber, with no signs of “stiffening” at all.
Tracing didn’t work either.
Pei Ran guessed that, just like when she used the green light to write in her mind, every stroke of the drawing needed to come from her own thoughts and intentions.
Pei Ran clenched the pen, deep in thought, the tip hovering above the paper.
Her little green light, capable of writing, could only write one character at a time. While the effect was explosive, it was severely limited by the number of characters and lacked precision.
On the other hand, Shige Ye’s green light, used for drawing, could write an entire line of text, describing something with precise detail.
So, what if she played to her strengths and avoided her weaknesses—not drawing, but only writing?
Pei Ran flipped to a new page and directly wrote a line of explanation in the black leather notebook:
[“It seems they’re sick. The three pipe workers suddenly stiffened and collapsed to the ground together.”]
She twirled the pen.
The trio of pipe workers were still fumbling around, showing no signs of performing a “stiffening” act.
Could it be that the drawing needed to look more like a comic panel?
Pei Ran added a square black frame around the sentence and roughly sketched a background—vertical strips topped with messy branches. This time, she was actually drawing trees.
She spun the pen between her fingers a few times. Still, nothing happened.
Maybe their job title wasn’t “pipe workers.”
Pei Ran crossed out the words “pipe workers” and replaced them with the more ambiguous “workers.” She twirled the pen again, but it still didn’t work. She changed it to “them,” but it remained ineffective.
No choice. It seemed that, just like what Shige Ya did every time, the subject of the event had to be depicted in the drawing.
Drawing was the essence of this ability; text was merely supplementary.
Pei Ran flipped to a new page and buried herself in the task, drawing with great effort.
After all, she had just followed W’s lead twice, and this time, it turned out much better.
Three little figures, each with nostrils, black holes for eyes, hair on their heads, wearing work uniforms and boots. Their clothes had pockets, zippers, reflective strips, and she even drew the shoelaces on their boots.
Pei Ran, the terrible artist, was giving it her all.
For some reason, even though she felt she was following W’s drawing stroke by stroke, the result was still crooked, and none of the figures looked like the originals.
But at least they looked like people now, not trees.
Pei Ran finished the drawing, held the notebook at a distance, and squinted to examine it: “Does it look like them?”
W told the truth: “Not really, but… well… it has a lot of soul.”
It didn’t sound like much of a compliment.
W, looking at her soulful drawing, had another concern. He hesitated, then spoke up: “Pei Ran, the people in your drawing might be misunderstood…”
What he meant was that while she had drawn human-like figures, it was hard to tell who they were supposed to be. They might even be mistaken for herself.
Pei Ran: “…”
Pei Ran picked up the pen again, intending to write on the tallest figure—Plumber Number One.
W immediately understood her intention and asked, “Pei Ran, do you need the names of all three of them?”
She had forgotten he could look up names. Pei Ran quickly replied, “Yes, I do.”
W’s response came quickly: “I ran a facial recognition check and found their records in the database. All three of them are employees of Greenfield Agricultural Company. The tallest and strongest one is Joe Cavent. The one with the shocked expression is Aba Waller. The fat one is Jean Chous. I’m sending their names to you now.”
Her wristband vibrated. He sent over an image with their names displayed.
Pei Ran glanced at the names and casually patted the back of the metal sphere. “You’re amazing.”
The metal sphere lit up instantly.
W: “……”
Pei Ran wrote their names on their chests and added a narrative next to them:
[They seem sick. Suddenly, their entire bodies stiffened, and they collapsed to the ground.]
The fountain pen twirled between her fingers.
The pen tip returned to its place, held steady between her index finger and thumb.
The three pipe workers stopped moving, their fumbling gestures freezing mid-action as if they had turned to stone. But because their motions had been interrupted halfway through, their bodies lost balance, and all three of them toppled over at once.
Success!
W remarked in a slow, drawling voice, “Pei Ran, I don’t think you’re drawing—I think you’re casting a curse.”
Doodling little figures, writing names, and then watching them collapse?
The three pipe workers were now piled on the ground, completely motionless, as stiff as three felled trees.
Pei Ran stood up, slinging the metal sphere across her body like a backpack, and prepared to take a closer look.
But after only two steps, the three pipe workers on the ground suddenly twitched, supporting each other as they stood back up.
They had heard her approaching—the crunch, crunch of her footsteps on fallen leaves—and immediately spun around, charging straight toward her.
They were no longer human. The stiffness had passed, but their recovery was terrifyingly fast.
Pei Ran immediately backed away.
She withdrew a good distance before setting pen to paper again.
Time to put an end to this.
This time, Pei Ran didn’t hesitate. She struck through the previous text about their bodies stiffening and instead drew an oval speech bubble above Cavent’s head. Inside, she wrote a single character:
“Ah—”
The pen spun between her fingers.
Cavent’s hollow eyes widened. He opened his mouth.
“Ah—”
Blood splattered everywhere.
It wasn’t just Cavent—since Waller was within the blast radius, half of his body was blown apart as well. Chous, who had been lunging wildly toward Pei Ran, had been a little farther away at that crucial moment, so he only lost an arm.
But strangely enough, he collapsed as well, his entire body convulsing for a few moments before falling completely still.
He collapsed as well, his entire body convulsing for a few moments before falling completely still.
It seemed like they were one entity—interconnected, incapable of surviving as separate individuals.
Pei Ran walked over and crouched down to examine them.
Where was the green light?
Then, inside Waller’s half-blasted torso, she suddenly saw something strange.
It looked like a heart, but it wasn’t in the place where a human heart should be—it had shifted down into his abdominal cavity.
And it wasn’t normal. It was three to four times the size of a human heart, its surface tangled with thick, vine-like blue-purple veins that spread out radially, extending toward the others.
Because of Cavent’s explosion, half of the heart was destroyed, leaving it motionless.
The green light had finally stopped moving. It was now still, resting quietly not far from the heart.
Pei Ran crouched down and extended a finger to touch the green light.
A sudden force yanked her backward.
It was W—he had extended his mechanical claw, gripping Pei Ran’s arm with one hand while clutching a nearby tree trunk with the other, pulling her back with full force.
And he didn’t just pull her—he fired.
A gunshot rang out. Almost immediately, a second shot followed.
The second shot came from W, returning fire.
For him to shoot, there had to be real danger. Pei Ran caught a glimpse of something darting through the trees—a flash of familiar dark blue metal.
A patrol robot from the Security Bureau.
This deep into the wilderness, there shouldn’t have been patrol robots.
Pei Ran hesitated for a second. “Don’t tell me—it’s your ‘relative’ again?”
“It’s that one,” W confirmed. “I saw its serial number—CT122.”
His voice turned sharp. “This isn’t right. We’ve not only left its patrol zone, we’ve left White Harbor City entirely. By normal patrol logic, after issuing a warrant for your arrest, it should have handed over the pursuit to the corresponding jurisdiction. It shouldn’t have made an independent decision to leave its assigned area.”
So every patrol bot had a defined jurisdiction. This one, however, had doggedly chased them far beyond its zone—completely irrational behavior.
This patrol bot must have gone rogue.