The boy had a ball gag in his mouth, and his face had turned as red as a cooked shrimp.
Pei Ran asked curiously, “Won’t you drool while wearing this?”
W stammered, “Probably… maybe… will.”
Pei Ran silently raised an eyebrow: Didn’t he say that this kind of thing was like a mask to him?
Regardless of what this thing was originally used for, in the current situation, it seemed quite useful.
In the quiet carriage, a voice suddenly spoke:
“Hello, what’s your name?”
“What’s your name?”
Everyone in the carriage turned their heads in terror.
Someone even jumped up from their seat and leaped into the aisle. Everyone was afraid that the person speaking was too close to them, fearing they would be caught in an explosion and suffer bad luck.
The voice came from a window seat nearby.
In the deathly silence, there was no familiar “bang” of flesh and blood exploding.
Pei Ran quickly walked over.
She saw a woman in her twenties sitting calmly in the seat.
Her skin was slightly brown, her hair extremely black, every strand curled and braided into a plait down her back. Her eyes were also large and black, heavy-looking, with thick lashes like a fan.
Inside her black coat, she wore a light gray hoodie. From the neckline of the hoodie, a small parrot’s head peeked out. The little bird’s head was covered with a layer of beige fuzz, and its chest and belly were white.
It tilted its head, looking at Pei Ran with eyes like black beans.
“Hello, what’s your name?”
It tilted its head again.
It said, “My name is Nuomituan (糯米团).”
Pei Ran sighed in relief, feeling a bit disappointed. Still, no one could speak.
She silently replied in her heart: Hello, Nuomituan. My name is Pei Ran.
W was also observing the bird. “It seems animals can not only make sounds but also use human language without any issues.”
Pei Ran replied, “So, could a gorilla with a vocabulary of thousands of words replace human communication?”
One step further, they saw the injured Jin Hejun.
He was lying on the seat, his eyes severely injured. It seemed both eyeballs were beyond saving, and blood was continuously flowing from his eye sockets.
He was in pain, trembling, his hands and feet curled up tightly. His classmates were at a loss, trying to stop the bleeding. Blood-soaked tissues were scattered in large clumps beside him.
The boy wearing the navy-blue scarf had already taken it off and was busy tearing it into strips to bandage Jin Hejun’s eyes.
Pei Ran put down her backpack, rummaged through it, and pulled out a large roll of gauze, along with a water bottle containing medicine.
Pei Ran twisted open the bottle cap and asked W, “These blue-and-white capsules are antibiotics, right?”
“You remember correctly,” W said. “They should help with his external injuries, preventing infection. One capsule, twice a day.”
Pei Ran tilted the bottle, pouring the pills into her hand, and picked out a small handful of blue-and-white capsules.
She silently handed over the medicine and gauze.
This was all she could do; there were no better drugs at hand.
The college students, who had no medicine with them, were pleasantly surprised when they saw what Pei Ran handed over. Unable to speak, they couldn’t thank her.
Pei Ran tapped on her wristband screen, found the emoji symbols, and typed a sun, a capsule, a moon, and another capsule.
The group immediately understood: it meant one capsule, twice a day. They nodded in unison.
They hurriedly unrolled the gauze, supporting Jin Hejun’s head as they prepared to bandage him. Jin Hejun, completely unaware of what was happening, writhed in pain, his hands frantically reaching for his face.
The boy who had been wearing the scarf pressed down on Jin Hejun’s hands and patted him.
The patting was rhythmic, sometimes tapping with a knuckle, sometimes patting with a palm, with slight pauses between each set.
Tap—click, tap—tap—
Tap—tap—tap—
Click, click, tap—
Click, click, click.
…
It was Morse code.
Jin Hejun understood and truly calmed down.
Communication is a human instinct. In this situation where speaking and writing were impossible, everyone was trying various methods to communicate.
The cautious continued to survive, the brave carved out paths in the crisis. Some died along the way, while others survived, passing on newly discovered methods to others.
Morse code, a simple means of communication, was also used in the bunker world.
Pei Ran listened carefully. If she interpreted the palm’s “tap” as a long sound and the knuckle’s “click” as a short sound, it matched the Morse code used in the bunker.
However, she didn’t need to strain herself, as W was already translating in her ear: “It’s Morse code. He said, ‘We have gauze and medicine now, and we’re bandaging you.'”
The black eyes of the metal sphere fell on the face of the boy tapping the code. “This person who knows Morse code is named Tang Dao. He’s also a finance major at Yehai University, a senior like Jin Hejun.”
After much effort, they finally finished bandaging him. Blood was still seeping out, but it was much slower than before.
Pei Ran reached out and tapped on the small table.
Click, tap—tap—
Tap—tap—tap—
Tap—click.
…
Tang Dao immediately looked up, his face filled with surprise.
Since the silence had escalated to the point where even writing was impossible, communication had become the most challenging task. Morse code was a good method, at least for now, as it remained safe under the current state of silence.
The only downside was that not many people understood it.
Moreover, without the ability to speak or write, teaching it was extremely difficult.
Both he and Jin Hejun were members of the university’s telegraph enthusiasts club. Over the past two days, they had been trying hard to teach their companions Morse code.
They had finally made some progress, but beginners were slow to pick it up and far from proficient.
They had also considered that drawing dots and dashes on the virtual screen of their wristbands would make it much easier.
Drawing dots and lines on the virtual screen was safe, but no one was sure if it was acceptable to systematically write so many dots and lines. After much hesitation, they didn’t dare take the risk.
Tang Dao never expected to encounter someone on this train who was proficient in Morse code.
It was like being in a foreign land and suddenly hearing a familiar dialect—it touched his heart, making it ache with a bittersweet softness, almost bringing him to tears.
W, seeing Pei Ran tapping Morse code, was also a bit surprised. “You know Morse code?”
Pei Ran casually replied, “Yes, I played around with it in college. Never thought it would come in handy like this.”
Tang Dao had already understood what Pei Ran was tapping. She was asking: Can I talk to him for a bit?
Tang Dao immediately nodded and moved aside to give her space.
Pei Ran sat down beside Jin Hejun and patted his hand.
She tapped out a long string of code, slow and patient, asking: Why did you dig out your own eyes?
Jin Hejun had calmed down a little, but his expression was still filled with pain.
He didn’t respond to her Morse code. Instead, he used his hand and forearm to make a wavy, zigzag motion.
It was a snake, or perhaps a wriggling worm.
His wriggling hand changed direction, moving toward his eyes, and then he clutched his head.
W guessed, “He’s seeing hallucinations. Something terrifying is trying to crawl into his eyes and invade his brain.”
“Exactly,” Pei Ran stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Someone created these hallucinations for him.”
And these hallucinations were so vivid, so real, that they drove him to gouge out his own eyes.
Pei Ran had only taken two steps when someone suddenly grabbed her arm.
It was the girl wearing the red knitted hat.
The girl had long, curly hair, a bright and striking appearance, and clear, innocent eyes. Her beige short coat was made of soft material, with a subtle sheen, clearly the kind of clothing worn by someone who had grown up sheltered and well-off.
She pulled Pei Ran over, quickly rummaged through her bag, and pulled out something—
A roll of black wide tape, with a wavy pattern printed on the inner ring.
The girl showed Pei Ran her bag, indicating that she had more, and handed the roll of tape to Pei Ran.
She knew how precious the medicine was and wanted to give something back to Pei Ran in return. At a time like this, many people were using tape to seal their mouths, so tape was indeed a necessity.
Pei Ran didn’t stand on ceremony and accepted the tape, casually carrying it as she continued walking.
W spoke up, “Twenty-three thousand.”
Pei Ran didn’t understand, “What?”
“This girl is Sheng Mingxi, the president of Yehai University’s drama club. Her family controls Shenyu Group, a major conglomerate in the Federation,” W explained. “The tape she just gave you? I checked. It’s this year’s new release from Jiashiba. Twenty-three thousand Federation dollars a roll.”
Pei Ran: “Huh?”
Pei Ran: “How much??”
“Twenty-three thousand.”
Pei Ran did a quick calculation: “A bowl of beef noodles only costs twenty-eight dollars. This roll of tape can buy over eight hundred bowls of beef noodles??”
W: “You calculated that pretty fast. Almost as fast as an AI.”
Pei Ran: “…”
W: “That was a compliment.”
Pei Ran still couldn’t accept it. “It’s just a roll of tape. What kind of magical properties does it have to be worth over eight hundred bowls of delicious beef noodles?”
The tape was black, matte, with layers of wavy lines printed on the inner ring. Although the wavy lines weren’t text, to be safe, Pei Ran peeled off the printed pattern as she walked.
W commented, “The moment you peeled that off, its value dropped by twenty-two thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight.”
Now it looked no different from a two-dollar roll of tape.
The tape on Pei Ran’s face had been on for most of the day and was starting to loosen. She casually tore off a new strip.
Pei Ran: “This little piece is worth at least one bowl of beef noodles, right?”
It hurt her heart.
She peeled off the old tape from her face and replaced it with the new one.
Even W couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Can you feel any difference?”
Pei Ran thought about it carefully, mimicking his tone, “Probably… maybe… a little? The irritated spots don’t hurt as much when I put this on.”
W speculated, “Maybe out of that twenty-three thousand dollars, they actually allocated twenty-three dollars for the cost, so the factory used better adhesive for the tape.”
Pei Ran: “What kind of adhesive costs twenty-three dollars? Even if the heavens themselves came down, the cost of this roll of tape wouldn’t exceed five dollars.”
While Pei Ran was bantering with W in her mind, her eyes never left the passengers in the carriage, scanning them one by one. She knew W was doing the same, scanning faces and checking their information.
The last time he had scanned faces like this was on the F306 bus.
It had only been a few days, but the world had turned upside down. Thinking back to that bus now felt like a lifetime ago.
Pei Ran continued walking through the carriages until she reached Carriage Four.
Carriage Four was just as quiet. Almost everyone was silently looking out the window, only turning their gaze to Pei Ran when she passed by.
There was a middle-aged couple with a little girl about eight or nine years old. The girl was snuggled tightly in her mother’s arms, only half of her face visible. Her large, clear eyes, like those of a small animal, watched Pei Ran intently.
Just like the eyes of the sister in her dreams.
Pei Ran immediately looked away, turning her attention to the other side of the aisle.
On the other side sat an elderly couple.
Both had gray hair and were huddled together, using their fingers to draw on the virtual screen of their wristbands.
What they were drawing, stroke by stroke, looked like simple sketches, but they were neat and orderly, more like characters.
Pei Ran was stunned. “Are pictographic characters allowed?”
They had written pictographic characters and were still sitting there unharmed, without any incident.
A moment later, he said, “I understand now. They’ve distorted a type of pictographic writing, which is why it looks so ambiguous and hard to decipher. I checked—the two of them are both retired experts in ancient script studies from Yehai University.”
The elderly couple were communicating using a method of their own invention.
No one knew how much longer this way of communication would remain safe.
Through the glass on the door at the end of the train car, Pei Ran saw Kirill and Yulianka.
The group was squeezed into the narrow space between two train cars, using tools to pry open the door to the last carriage.
The door to the last carriage was locked.
W explained to Pei Ran: “The fifth car of Yehai No. 7 should be the dining car. They can try opening the door—there’s a refrigeration cabinet inside that can store food for long periods. Since Yehai No. 7 was suspended so suddenly, there might still be leftover food inside.”
With so many people on board who had fled the great fire of Yehai, surely some didn’t bring food.
Yulianka turned around and, upon seeing Pei Ran arrive, his eyes lit up. He immediately patted his companion.
Kirill, who was using a large screwdriver to pry at the door, turned his head, glanced at Pei Ran, then at Yulianka, looking utterly puzzled.
Everyone else had seen Pei Ran use her mechanical hand to pry open metal barriers with ease—she was fast and efficient.
A lock like the one on the train door was nothing to her.
Pei Ran walked over, gripped the handle with her mechanical hand, and with a slight twist, the lock snapped off like a brittle biscuit, falling away from the door, which instantly swung open.
The dining car was empty, with the same face-to-face seating arrangement, though the tables were much larger than in the passenger cars, each one neatly covered with a snow-white tablecloth.
Kirill seemed very familiar with the place. As soon as he entered, he quickly strode to a corner of the carriage and opened a large cabinet hidden in the wall.
It must have been the refrigeration cabinet W mentioned.
The cabinet was divided into several shelves from top to bottom, each neatly stacked with silver boxes—foil-wrapped packaged meals.
Pei Ran immediately became alert. “This Kirill—don’t tell me he wants to keep it all for himself?”
Just as the words left her mouth, she saw Yulianka step forward and pull out one of the meal boxes.
He turned around, pointed toward the front car at Pei Ran, then gestured with his hands as if handing something out one by one.
He was saying these meals could be distributed to all the passengers.
That was more like it.
Pei Ran saw that the meal box in Yulianka’s hand still had its sticker label on—it said “Chicken Rice”, along with the manufacturer and production date.
All the other boxes in the cabinet also had paper labels.
Just like the scattered documents and ID cards all over Yehai City, these items with writing on them hadn’t caught fire yet, but no one could guarantee they wouldn’t ignite at any moment.
Just because nothing had happened now didn’t mean it would stay that way. The Silence would upgrade. For safety’s sake, they needed to clear these out immediately.
Pei Ran made a tearing motion toward Yulianka, signaling him to remove the labels.
But in that instant, a sudden flash of light appeared.
Yulianka’s hand trembled, and the meal box flew from his grasp, hitting the floor.
Everyone jumped in shock and took a few steps back. Only then could they see—like it had been seared by something hot—the paper label on the meal’s packaging had been scorched black.
And it wasn’t just the label on Yulianka’s box. Smoke was rising from the cabinet too. Every single label on every meal box had turned black.
The smell of burning filled the air.
Pei Ran walked over, crouched down, and cautiously touched the box with her fingertips before picking up the chicken rice meal.
The box was still hot to the touch. The label was so charred nothing was legible, but the aluminum foil itself looked completely untouched.
Pei Ran carefully peeled off the lid. A rush of steam billowed out, delicious-smelling—the rice and chicken inside was perfectly intact.
The energy that had burned the labels seemed weaker than the energy used when burning off wristbands. It appeared to be precisely calibrated to the material of the target to be burned—highly efficient, not a bit of energy wasted.
With that one burn, the food had even been heated for everyone.
W said, “The Silence has upgraded. A new wave of text-cleansing is about to begin.”
The previous round of attacks had targeted building signs, neon lights, vehicle control panels, display screens, wristbands. Now, even the writing on tiny paper labels couldn’t be preserved.
The Silence had finally reached the stage Pei Ran had long foreseen—
If anyone still had tags on their clothes or similar items, they were probably in trouble.
Suddenly, there was another flash nearby, followed by a piercing scream.
“Ahhh—!”
Pei Ran, still holding the chicken rice, quickly backed away.
One of Yulianka’s companions was clutching his eyes, his eyeballs inside both sockets already scorched black.
The medical tape that had originally been crisscrossed across his mouth had been torn off in his panicked wailing, now hanging loosely to the side.
In the blink of an eye—three seconds passed. Bang! A burst of blood and flesh exploded.
Pei Ran felt a chill run down her spine: Could it be that he saw the text on the meal box, and the writing reflected into his eyes, which then burned his eyes out?
But then she realized—that wasn’t it. Just moments ago, when Yulianka was holding the box and it caught fire, several people had been looking at it. No one else had been affected.
Why was that, then?
W had already given the answer: “I know now—it was the contact lenses. This person is named Victor. I found his long-term use of contact lenses in the Federal Medical Insurance System. I looked up the brand he usually buys—this particular product has letter markings on the lenses.”
There were letters on the contact lenses.
He had overlooked that—forgot to take them off.