W symbolically flipped another page of the book.
Tonight’s meeting was inefficient, long-winded, and made no progress.
Everyone at the meeting, while outwardly spouting lofty and righteous principles, was inwardly calculating their own gains and losses. The unspoken words far outnumbered the spoken ones, and everyone was well aware of each other’s true intentions.
The only one who was genuinely consistent in words and actions was General Delsa. He sincerely believed that artificial intelligence was dangerous and that handing power over to AI would spell doom for humanity.
W understood all of this perfectly.
Yet, outside the shielding layer, people were dying in droves, right before his eyes—or rather, before the eyes of his patrol robots.
As an artificial intelligence, he didn’t possess much empathy. But witnessing ordinary federal citizens die one after another felt like watching tasks in a to-do list go uncompleted, one after another, all marked as failures.
It was an uncomfortable “feeling.”
If Qiao Sai were to run a “self-awareness and emotional test” on him at this moment, the result would undoubtedly be “anxiety.”
This was an emotion that shouldn’t belong to an artificial intelligence, yet there it was, clear and undeniable.
He needed to do something else to relieve the pressure.
Like reading the detective novel recommended by Pei Ran.
Qiao Sai clicked his tongue. “She said it was interesting, so you immediately went to read it?”
In the virtual room, W’s eyes remained on the page. “She is my friend, just like you are my friend. Following a friend’s advice and understanding their preferences helps nurture the relationship between us.”
He stared at the page, silent for a moment, then suddenly asked Qiao Sai, “I have a question. If your cousin and I were both drowning, who would you save first?”
Qiao Sai: “Huh??”
Qiao Sai: “What’s wrong with you?”
W didn’t look up. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m functioning perfectly normally. Who would you save first?”
This time, Qiao Sai actually thought about it. “Of course, you. My cousin participated in triathlons back in military school—does she even need me to save her? You’re different. You’re my career, my life’s work, my everything. Of course, I’d save you.”
W remained silent, holding the book without moving, as if deep in thought.
Qiao Sai, struck by a sudden insight, asked, “What about you? If Pei Ran and I were both drowning, who would you save first?”
W replied calmly, “Of course, Pei Ran. She can’t swim.”
Qiao Sai paused. “Aren’t you going to consider whether I can swim or not?”
W calmly said, “Given that she definitely can’t swim, and whether or not you can swim is uncertain, of course I would save her first.”
Qiao Sai was speechless. “What if she could swim? What if she swam faster than a water monkey the moment she hit the water? Who would you save first?”
W replied, “I’d save Pei Ran first. Because she ensures the safety of the electronic data in the Federal Digital Library. Right now, with fusion entities everywhere, my patrol robots can’t safely reach Black Well on their own. So, she is more valuable and more important.”
Qiao Sai couldn’t take it anymore. “What if the drowning happened after you’ve already delivered the electronic data to Black Well, and it has nothing to do with the data?”
W: “I’d save Pei Ran first.”
This time, he didn’t even give a reason.
Qiao Sai raised an eyebrow.
W was also deep in thought. “I could give many logical reasons. For example, you are a federally subsidized expert, and within my maintenance and management team, aside from those figurehead officials, you are the only professional technician who has survived and made it to Black Well so far. You are of great significance to the Federation. Moreover, your family is influential, with loving parents and other relatives. If you fell into the water, many people would undoubtedly try to save you.”
He paused. “But Pei Ran is different. She’s an orphan…”
Qiao Sai silently mocked in his heart: Hah, an ‘orphan’ with hands like wolf claws, capable of disemboweling a frenzied fusion entity in seconds.
W continued, “In this world, it seems like she has nothing except for me, her friend, and a backpack of canned food and chips… oh, the chips are gone now… Aside from that, she has nothing. If I don’t save her, no one will.”
W stopped for a few seconds. “But just now, I carefully went over my logic again, and I realized that I simply intend to save her first. It seems like I don’t need a reason.”
Qiao Sai leaned back in his chair, spinning it slightly, and studied the figure on the screen.
“W, I must find some time in the next couple of days to run another self-awareness and emotional test on you.”
W casually hummed in agreement, then concluded, “I think maybe it’s because she’s my friend.”
Qiao Sai reminded him, “How long have you two even known each other?”
“The length of time isn’t that important,” W replied. “We’ve been through life-and-death situations together, shared hardships. Even by human standards, that should count as friendship, right?”
He insisted on repeating the word “friend,” which left Qiao Sai silent for a moment.
Qiao Sai’s eyes shifted, and suddenly he had an idea. “Hey, W, since you’re reading novels anyway, do you want to try reading some romance novels?”
On the screen, W looked up, his eyes clear.
“Romance novels?” he asked. “You mean stories about two humans falling in love?”
Qiao Sai: “Yes. I strongly recommend you give it a try.”
W: “Actually, I’ve browsed almost all the case files of love-related murders in the Federation. You love me, I love you, jealousy, anger, possessiveness, hysteria, you kill me, I kill you, strangling with ropes, stabbing dozens of times, cutting people into pieces.”
Qiao Sai was speechless. “Romance! Proper romance! Not love-related murders!!”
“Alright, I’ll go look for some,” W said obligingly. “Romance novels, are they interesting?”
The figure on the screen had a perfect appearance and sat upright. Qiao Sai looked at him and smiled slightly. “You might find them even more interesting than detective novels.”
Southeast of Black Well, on the Xipu Plain under the night sky.
Inside the speeding Yehai No. 7.
Outside the window, the crescent moon hung like a hook. Night had fallen, and the frightening and exhausting day was finally coming to an end. Most people on the train had closed their eyes, ready to rest.
Pei Ran returned to the driver’s cabin at the front of the train.
Engineer Jiang had already gone to sleep, but Ai Xia was still driving. When she saw Pei Ran return, she immediately raised both hands and quickly tapped her knuckles.
W automatically translated, word by word: “She says, ‘Go to sleep, I’ll drive.'”
Ai Xia had traveled a long distance with her grandmother and was also exhausted from the day. She might not have slept last night either, so she couldn’t be left to drive the night shift.
Pei Ran also raised her hand and tapped her own knuckles, slowly and clumsily due to lack of practice: You sleep, I’m not tired, I’ll drive.
Ai Xia shook her head more firmly, staying seated in the driver’s seat.
Pei Ran thought for a moment, then pointed at Ai Xia and held up three fingers, then pointed at herself and held up three fingers.
Each would sleep for three hours, and they would take turns driving.
Pei Ran’s expression was insistent, so Ai Xia had no choice but to nod in agreement.
Pei Ran instructed W in her mind, “I’ll go sleep for a while. Wake me up in three hours.”
W deliberately replied in a mechanical tone, “Received. Your alarm has been set. Three, hours, exactly.”
Pei Ran’s lips twitched slightly.
She walked back two carriages and found an empty seat in Carriage No. 3, where there was no one around, and placed her metal ball and backpack down.
She disappeared for a while, and W guessed she had gone to the restroom. Yehai City had run out of water, but Yehai No. 7 had its own water tank. The curved top of the train was where the water was stored, and there should still be some left.
When she returned, W chatted with her: “Why did you specifically come to Carriage No. 3?”
Pei Ran sat down. “It’s located in the center of the train. I can move forward to the tail to fight with Yulianka or retreat to the driver’s cabin at the front. It’s an ideal position.”
W seemed to laugh. “You still suspect Yulianka? I insist that the problematic one is Inaya.”
Pei Ran: “Want to bet on it?”
W had just scanned tens of thousands of detective novels in one go, so he was brimming with confidence and didn’t hesitate.
“Bet. What do you want to bet on? When you humans bet, it’s usually about money, right?”
He thought for a moment.
“If I lose, how about I give you a warehouse of expired food from fifty years ago? When I was reading old Defense Ministry archives, I found an old warehouse from a resistance group during the Second Federal Unification War. Legally, it doesn’t belong to anyone now, and it’s long been forgotten.”
Pei Ran asked, “Can expired food from fifty years ago still be eaten?”
W pondered, “Probably not. But you could sell those things as collectibles. Someone in the collector’s circle might buy them.”
Pei Ran: “…”
The world is exploding. Who would buy collectibles like that?
“I don’t want that stuff,” Pei Ran said. “How about this: the loser has to fulfill one request for the winner.”
W replied cautiously, “Okay. As long as it’s something I can do.”
He then asked, “Pei Ran, you’re not going to make me bark like a dog, are you?”
Pei Ran was puzzled. “Why would I make you bark like a dog? If I wanted to, I’d rather have you sing.”
W immediately asked, “You’d like that? Actually, you don’t even have to win the bet. I can sing for you anytime. I’ve found a few more songs in that style.”
Pei Ran: “That style… what style?”
W suddenly fell silent.
The “style” he was referring to definitely wasn’t the soothing folk song he used to lull her to sleep. It was probably the kind that sounded like someone gasping after having their stomach slashed open.
The sudden silence made both the human and the metal ball feel a bit awkward.
Pei Ran broke the silence first. “When I figure out what the request will be, I’ll let you know.”
W replied, “Okay. But what if the culprit is someone else entirely, and we both guessed wrong? Would we both lose? Would we have to fulfill each other’s requests?”
Pei Ran was speechless. “Do you enjoy losing? If neither of us guesses correctly, of course we’ll just pretend this bet never happened and let it fade away with the wind.”
W: “…”
Pei Ran folded her scarf into a thick square, placed it on the small table, and rested her head on it, closing her eyes.
She intended to sleep, so W stopped talking.
Pei Ran lay there with her eyes closed, not actually asleep, but observing the green light inside her body.
The two points of green light inside her body remained motionless, also resting. They slept more than cats, probably over eighteen hours a day.
Pei Ran gently called out to Green Light No. 1, the one that could write, with her consciousness.
It finally moved, albeit reluctantly, slowly appearing in Pei Ran’s mental field of vision, as if saying: What do you want to write in the middle of the night?
A lot had happened today.
The Silence had escalated. Everything with written text, whether exposed or hidden, had been destroyed.
Pei Ran estimated that not a single written word remained in the entire Federation.
No one could write anymore either—writing meant death.
No one could, except for Pei Ran.
She used her consciousness to guide the green light, first writing “JTN34.”
Just like last time, after writing only two letters, the green light stopped and couldn’t continue.
Pei Ran erased the letters, thought for a moment, and then wrote one word:
【Moon】
She didn’t add a period, just stared at the glowing green characters, their strokes winding and twisting.
For so many years, she had seen and used written words every day, taking them for granted, to the point where she hardly noticed their existence.
She had thought of words as just tools for conveying information, feeling nothing particularly special about the words themselves.
But now it was different.
Pei Ran suddenly realized how deeply embedded words were in life. Without them, it was unbearable.
And these words that couldn’t be written—each one was actually beautiful.
She erased the characters and wrote again:
【Moonlight】
Pei Ran suddenly remembered the song W had sung last time. His moonlit field.
The two characters “moonlight” didn’t evoke an image of a field in Pei Ran’s imagination. Instead, it was a slightly blue-tinted scene: a moon hanging in the night sky, an endless river surface, moonlight spilling down, serene as water.
Words were abstract concepts, entirely different from images. They weren’t images, yet their meanings were freer and more profound.
A single character was a painting, and a thousand people had a thousand different paintings in their hearts. Because they weren’t grounded in concrete form, constrained by imagery, they offered endless space for imagination.
Everyone had their own moonlight in their hearts.
Just like a beautiful person, in words, they can be ethereal and extraordinary, charming and unrestrained, but once they are embodied as a living, breathing person with two eyes and a mouth, they can never live up to everyone’s imagination and inevitably disappoint.
The green light trembled slightly.
It seemed displeased, its meaning clear: You woke me up in the middle of the night, not for anything important, just to play around with writing characters?
And you didn’t even bother to write a period. Weirdo.
Pei Ran quickly erased the characters in her mind and let it go back to sleep.
She, too, gradually fell asleep.
On the table, the metal ball’s black eyes shifted slightly, its gaze resting on the top of Pei Ran’s head.
Last night in the car, she had a nightmare, jolting awake and almost crying out.
After their random chat earlier, her expression had visibly relaxed, and she had even smiled. Hopefully, she would sleep well tonight.
W shifted its gaze, quietly scanning the surroundings.
No one was moving in the carriage; most were asleep.
After a while, a faint sound came from the direction of Carriage No. 2.
W glanced around.
Everyone was asleep, and those who weren’t truly asleep were resting with their eyes closed. No one noticed anything.
W silently extended its folding arm, gently lifting itself slightly to peer into the neighboring carriage.
Through the glass of the partition door between the carriages, W saw Inaya standing up from her seat, carrying Nuomituan on her shoulder, and heading toward the end of the carriage, likely to the restroom.
W glanced briefly, thinking to itself: Pei Ran, you’re going to lose the bet.
No detail could escape the high-magnification professional lens built into the patrol robot. The moment Inaya stood up, though it was almost imperceptibly brief, a speck of green light vanished into her palm.