In the dark wilderness, the moonlight was dim, not as clear as water. The Yehai No. 7 sped forward.
Ai Xia sat in the driver’s seat, gazing at the tracks stretching ahead.
After receiving Pei Ran’s message about the shelter yesterday, she immediately discussed it with her grandmother.
In this state of silence, every day felt like dancing on the edge of a knife. A single careless sound from the throat could mean utter destruction.
A shelter where one could speak normally and make sounds without fear of death was an incredible blessing. If it were just Ai Xia alone, even if it were twenty thousand kilometers away, she would definitely go.
Pei Ran had mentioned that the shelter might accept civilians, but it could also impose strict entry criteria. Even if they made it there, there was no guarantee they would be admitted. It was a gamble.
The odds were there, and the potential reward was great. Ai Xia was willing to take the risk.
The problem was her grandmother’s age. Although her grandmother had always been healthy, she was nearly seventy years old.
A two-thousand-kilometer journey, especially under these circumstances, would be grueling. Ai Xia was worried her grandmother might not be able to endure it. Moreover, what if they reached Black Well and the shelter refused to take her grandmother?
Yesterday, when she received Pei Ran’s message and was hesitating, her grandmother, without a second thought, immediately decided they should leave.
At the time, they could still write. Her grandmother wrote on the screen of her wristband:
“Xiaxia, I know what you’re worried about. Don’t hesitate; we must go. I have a feeling things will only get worse.”
“Leaving gives us hope. Even if we lose the gamble, we have to actively seek a way to survive. We can’t just shut ourselves in and wait for death here.”
The two of them quickly packed their bags.
Her grandmother had an antique electric scooter, bought with her first paycheck after graduation when she was young. She had always cherished it, maintaining it meticulously, and it was fully charged, ready to use.
The two of them set off on the scooter.
They couldn’t fly, and with the snow on the ground, the roads were difficult. Fortunately, the scooter was lightweight and not demanding on road conditions, so their progress wasn’t slow.
They had traveled through the night, only stopping to sleep for two hours, and finally managed to board the Yehai No. 7 just before the entire Yehai city was engulfed in flames.
Now, sitting in the driver’s seat, Ai Xia felt as though her entire body had been beaten, her muscles aching.
A wave of drowsiness washed over her.
Ai Xia felt a bit puzzled. After such a tense and thrilling day, she hadn’t felt like sleeping at all, which was why she had insisted Pei Ran rest first. But why was she suddenly so sleepy?
The drowsiness grew heavier, like a tidal wave, engulfing her and pulling her underwater.
Ai Xia struggled to keep her eyes open, trying to stay alert.
Yet, the tracks ahead were straight and monotonous, stretching endlessly into the distance. The repetitive sleepers seemed to go on forever, without end.
Her eyelids felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. No matter how hard Ai Xia tried, they kept sticking together on their own.
This wouldn’t do. Ai Xia pinched the back of her hand with her nails. But her fingers were too weak from exhaustion, and her hand didn’t feel any pain.
Suddenly, the sound of a door opening came from behind, muffled and distant, as if it were coming through a layer of glass.
Ai Xia forced herself to stay alert and turned her head. Seeing who it was, she let out a sigh of relief.
It was Pei Ran.
Pei Ran, noticing how drowsy Ai Xia was, immediately gestured toward the back of the train, signaling for her to go and sleep.
Three hours definitely hadn’t passed yet, Ai Xia thought. But she really couldn’t hold on any longer. She could go sleep for a bit, recover, and then come back to relieve Pei Ran.
She was so tired that her thoughts were fragmented, scattered like pieces of a puzzle.
Dazed, Ai Xia stood up, vacated the driver’s seat, and took two steps forward, brushing past Pei Ran.
Faintly, she seemed to hear someone speaking, distant and unclear.
“You’re so tired, go sleep.”
Ai Xia instinctively wanted to respond with a “okay,” but the small wooden stick clenched between her teeth hindered her lips from moving.
She jolted, her thoughts suddenly clearing a bit, and turned her head.
Pei Ran had already taken the driver’s seat, and there was no explosion.
The drowsiness came crashing back, overwhelming her, and her thoughts began to fragment again. Ai Xia tried her best to think. Maybe it was just exhaustion, so extreme that she was hallucinating.
Before falling asleep, she often heard voices speaking faintly in her ears. This had happened before.
Ai Xia pushed open the door, walked to the back of the train, and sat down next to her grandmother. Leaning against the seatback, she fell asleep almost instantly.
The train continued forward through the night, its wheels rolling over the tracks, emitting a rhythmic, gentle clatter.
Pei Ran was in a deep sleep when she suddenly heard a soft melody.
The music was faint at first but gradually grew louder, becoming clearer in her left ear.
Half-asleep, Pei Ran suddenly realized it was W playing a musical alarm for her.
Pei Ran sat up from the small table, straightened her back, and forced her eyes open. She asked W in her mind, “Has it been three hours already?”
It felt so fast, as if she had only slept for a short while.
“No, not yet,” W said. “I woke you up for two reasons. First, you’re about to lose your bet. I just saw the green light of a fusion body on Inaya.”
Did you really wake me up just for this?
Pei Ran, with her eyes half-closed, reached out her right hand and grabbed the metal sphere’s head, feeling the urge to twist its metal skull off.
Even if Inaya had the green light, she wasn’t killing or setting fires right now. Couldn’t this wait until after she woke up?
W, fully aware of her thoughts, immediately said, “Of course, that’s not the main point. More importantly, second, I’ve noticed that the train’s direction seems off.”
Pei Ran instantly snapped awake. “Off? How so?”
W replied, “Your wristband has a built-in electronic compass that works even without a network. Take a look, and you’ll see.”
Pei Ran quickly opened the virtual screen on her wristband and found the compass.
The compass clearly showed that the train was currently heading due south.
On the map W had sent earlier, the track of Yehai No. 7 was clearly marked, heading almost straight northwest without any turns.
Why was it suddenly heading south??
This made no sense.
The train wasn’t some ordinary antique vehicle that could just turn on a whim. It had to follow the tracks.
Pei Ran’s first thought was that she was being controlled by an illusion. The train heading south might not be real.
W, being an AI, shouldn’t be affected by illusions. But the W she was hearing might not even be real—it could just be part of the illusion.
But that didn’t add up either.
The fact that she and W could communicate mentally wasn’t something others were likely to know. If someone could simulate W’s voice and create such an illusion, their abilities would be far too overpowering, which seemed unlikely.
Back at the ticket gate, the way they had broken free from the hypnosis was by being slapped. Pei Ran didn’t feel like slapping herself, so she pinched her thigh with her mechanical hand.
It hurt.
It hurt so much that she’d probably have a bruise tomorrow.
W, seeing her action, sounded a bit exasperated: “You’re not hypnotized. I’ve checked carefully and figured out why Yehai No. 7 is heading south. The train’s original route was a short circular track. Later, it was upgraded, and a new track leading northwest was built. We just passed Tanggu Dam, which is where the old circular track and the new northwest track diverge.”
W continued, “I looked it up and found that the old circular track wasn’t decommissioned. It’s being used as a backup track for mid-route maintenance. It’s possible that, with the train not running recently, the switch was temporarily set to the old track.”
The train had taken a wrong turn and ended up on the old circular track.
Pei Ran stood up and grabbed the metal sphere. “Is there a way to go back?”
“Of course,” W said. “Some trains have a locomotive at both ends and can run in either direction. Yehai No. 7 only has one locomotive, but it can reverse and push the carriages backward. We can return to Tanggu Dam, switch the track back, and get on the correct route.”
Pei Ran responded with a “Got it,” and began walking along the shaky aisle toward the front of the train, intending to find Ai Xia in the locomotive.
She had only taken a few steps when, through the glass doors between the carriages, she caught a distant glimpse of Ai Xia sitting in the first carriage, near the aisle, next to Engineer Jiang.
Ai Xia looked exhausted, leaning back in her seat, nestled close to her grandmother, fast asleep.
Pei Ran quickly took a few more steps forward and peered into the second carriage. Sheng Mingxi, Tang Dao, and the others were all there, asleep as well.
The hairs on Pei Ran’s arms stood on end:
If they’re all here, who’s driving the train?
W also noticed and immediately expressed regret: “Pei Ran, I’m sorry. I didn’t see Ai Xia leave the driver’s cabin.”
From his position on the small table between the seats, even if he stretched as high as he could, he couldn’t see the direction of the driver’s cabin from his angle.
W continued, “It’s a bit strange. Ai Xia didn’t call you and just handed over the driver’s cabin to someone else?”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Pei Ran said.
Ai Xia, who had managed to ride her scooter with her grandmother through the chaos, traveling a long distance to catch the train, and who had come up with all sorts of clever ideas after the silence, was a decisive and sharp person. She wouldn’t make such a mistake.
Something unusual must have happened.
Suddenly, a sound came from the fourth carriage behind her.
It was a real human voice, coming from someone’s throat.
“Help—!”
It was a man’s hoarse voice, not the little Nuomituan. The voice echoed through the silent carriage at night, eerie and chilling.
“Help—!”
There was no third cry.
By the time Pei Ran turned around, all she could see was a slightly overweight man in the fourth carriage, as if he had just woken from a nightmare. He was clutching the backs of the seats on either side, stumbling down the aisle.
In an instant, he was gone, leaving only scattered bits of flesh and blood.
Everyone sleeping in the carriage was startled awake, opening their eyes to this horrifying scene. Fortunately, when he exploded, no one was sitting nearby, so no one else was harmed.
Another person had died. There were now only forty-five people left on the train.
From a corner of the fourth carriage, there came the sound of frantic kicking and struggling, as if someone was violently stomping on the back of a seat, making loud banging noises.
It was the family of three with the little girl.
The little girl had been woken by the man’s cries for help and, upon seeing the chunks of flesh splattered in front of her, was terrified and began thrashing wildly.
Her parents desperately covered her mouth together, afraid she might make a sound, their fingers almost digging into her mouth.
Being held like this only made the little girl more terrified, and she couldn’t calm down at all. The couple’s eyes were filled with despair.
The door to the dining car at the end of the train opened, and someone walked in.
It was Yulianka.
Yulianka was clutching a syringe, his face resolute. He held the little girl down and injected the needle into her arm, steadily pushing the contents of the syringe into her.
The injection took effect quickly. The little girl immediately stopped struggling, slowly closed her eyes, and went limp in her mother’s arms.
The couple gasped for breath, also slumping into their seats. Despite it being winter, their foreheads were covered in beads of sweat.
After administering the injection, Yulianka didn’t leave. Instead, he crouched down in front of the little girl’s seat.
He pointed at the little girl, removed his medical mask, opened his mouth, and pointed deep into his throat. With his other hand, he made a cutting gesture, his palm flat like a knife.
The anesthetic could only control the situation temporarily. It worked this time, but what about the next time? Or the time after that?
He was suggesting to the little girl’s parents that, while she was unconscious, they should consider cutting her vocal cords.
The little girl’s parents stared blankly for a while before finally understanding his meaning.
The two exchanged silent glances. The little girl’s mother lowered her head, tears streaming from her eyes.
Yulianka’s eyes were filled with sympathy. He stood up and waited quietly for them to make a decision.
Finally, the little girl’s mother nodded, her arms tightly holding her unconscious child. Tears continued to pour out as she wept silently, her heart breaking.
The father, looking utterly exhausted as if all his energy had been drained, looked up at Yulianka and made a gesture—using his hand like a knife, he drew it across his own neck.
He wanted to have his vocal cords removed alongside his daughter.
The girl’s mother also gestured at her own throat.
The carriage was eerily silent, everyone watching them.
Across the aisle, the elderly couple stood up together.
The old man tugged at the sleeve of Yulianka’s white coat, pointed to his throat, then to his wife, and made the same cutting gesture.
Others began to rise as well.
The situation was too dire. Falling asleep meant a nightmare could cost you your life. Compared to survival, vocal cords were just an organ—not that important, especially since they couldn’t speak anyway and had no use for them.
In the carriage, everyone was considering undergoing vocal cord removal surgery.
Yulianka scanned the room, his pale blue-gray eyes filled with a sorrow and pity akin to that of a god gazing upon humanity.
Finally, he nodded, raised his hand, and pointed toward the dining car, signaling the little girl’s parents to carry her over.
Pei Ran watched quietly, took a deep breath, and quickly walked toward the fourth carriage.
These people were different from Jin Hejun’s situation. Jin Hejun had been writhing in pain, and without removing his vocal cords, it would have been hard for him to survive the night. But these people were different.
With the little girl about to be taken for surgery, the issue of the train being on the wrong track would have to wait.
The little girl’s once bright, clear eyes were now tightly shut, her body motionless in her mother’s arms.
But those clear eyes still lingered in Pei Ran’s mind, as if they might open at any moment and speak:
“Sister!”
“Sis, I found a cool screw. I’m giving it to you. Is it useful? Can you use it for your gun?”
“Sis, can we ever have a cat like in the stories you told? I want a white one.”
…
W fully understood what she was about to do. “You’re planning to tell them about Black Well?”
“Yes,” Pei Ran said. “The terminal station of Yehai No. 7 isn’t far from Black Well. I was already planning to ask tomorrow morning if anyone wanted to come with me to Black Well once we arrived at the terminal station.”
W reminded her, “But Black Well hasn’t finalized the criteria for accepting ordinary civilians yet. The outcome is unpredictable. Some of these people might very well be turned away.”
Pei Ran replied, “I know. I’ll tell them. Some might have other plans and not want to come with me, while others might want to try their luck. W, send me the map of Black Well’s location with the text removed.”
The father of the family of three carefully picked up the unconscious child and began walking toward the dining car, the mother gently cradling her daughter’s limp head, while Yulianka followed quietly behind them.
Pei Ran quickly crossed the carriage and grabbed the back of Yulianka’s white coat.
Yulianka turned around, his eyes filled with surprise, as if asking Pei Ran: What’s wrong?
Pei Ran stopped him and, without further explanation, raised her hands high and clapped twice above her head.
The sharp sound of clapping echoed through the carriage.
Clap. Clap.
Even if she hadn’t done this, the entire carriage’s attention would have already been drawn to her.
With all the commotion—the cries for help, the kicking and thrashing—many people in the neighboring carriages had been startled awake, and even Sheng Mingxi and the others from the front carriages were peeking over.
Only then did Pei Ran expand her wristband’s virtual screen to its maximum size, pushing it up into the air above the aisle so that everyone could see it clearly.
The semi-transparent virtual screen hovered like a film above the seats, displaying a clear map.
All the text on the map had been carefully erased by W, but from the layout of the mountains, rivers, and major cities, it was still obvious that this was the northwestern part of the East Manya continent.
W had thoughtfully marked Black Well’s location with a bright red dot and drawn the route of Yehai No. 7 on the map.
This time, the drawing wasn’t as rigid. It was a cartoonish railway track, section by section, clashing starkly with the precise and formal style of the map. The track was exaggeratedly thick.
If such a railway track were actually drawn to scale on the map, a single sleeper would probably span half of Yehai City.
W asked Pei Ran, “How’s my artistic style this time? A bit less AI-like, more lively, right?”
Pei Ran paused for a moment. “Let’s discuss your art later. I’m busy right now.”
W muttered under his breath, “Can’t multitask, poor carbon-based life form.”
Pei Ran: ?
Pei Ran: “What did you say? Care to repeat that?”
W immediately backed down: “I have no ‘care’ or anything of the sort. I won’t say anything else. You go ahead.”
In the carriage, Pei Ran opened the map, and everyone exchanged puzzled looks.
Everyone’s expression seemed to say: What does this mean?
Pei Ran waited until everyone had clearly seen the location of Black Well before lowering the virtual screen slightly and starting to add details.
She zoomed in on Black Well’s location, then zoomed in further, and further still, until she drew an inverted spherical protective dome over it.
Beneath the dome, Pei Ran began adding stick figures one by one. The figures were drawn facing each other, engaged in conversation, with circular speech bubbles above their heads filled with scribbled lines pretending to be text.
And each stick figure had a big smile on its face.
W could have drawn it better, of course, but with so many people around, it was safer to do it herself. As long as the message got across, that was enough.
Once she finished drawing, Pei Ran pushed the virtual screen back up.
While she had been drawing, the carriage had fallen completely silent. Not a single sound could be heard, not even the rustling of clothes.
Everyone was stunned, their eyes fixed on the drawing on the virtual screen.
The meaning of the drawing was obvious—so obvious that it was hard to believe.
In this chaotic world where a single sound could mean death, could there really be such a place?
A place where people could speak freely, a true sanctuary.
Even someone as composed as Yulianka stared at the drawing, his face filled with shock.