Qiao Sai looked at W speechlessly, hoping he would grow a conscience and spontaneously feel a bit of guilt. But this artificial intelligence agent didn’t come with such a thing as a conscience—completely oblivious, he had already lowered his head and gone back to fiddling with his glass tank.
Qiao Sai let out a resigned sigh and asked, “You still can’t talk to her directly?”
“Not at the moment,” W said. “My patrol robot blew up, and the Neta Wave transmitter-receiver inside it shattered along with it. Black Well can find other Neta Wave transceivers, but none of them are exclusive to me. I don’t want anyone else overhearing my conversations with Pei Ran.”
Qiao Sai raised an eyebrow.
W said, “In short, I’m working on a solution.”
Qiao Sai asked, “Then does Pei Ran know you’re in Black Well?”
W replied with confidence, “She’s so smart, she probably guessed it on the way. Plus, I gave her enough clues in the isolation room.”
He gave her those chips, and then made beef noodles—she’d definitely know, even though he couldn’t speak, he was always by her side.
Qiao Sai was curious, “What’s Pei Ran doing now?”
W answered, “She’s eating her beef noodles.”
Qiao Sai corrected him, “She’s eating my beef noodles.”
- ••
Inside the isolation room, a large bowl of fragrant beef noodles sat in front of Pei Ran.
The Ren ‘kitchen cooking machine’ operated with great skill, quickly cooking the noodles and reheating the stewed beef from the meal pack.
The convenient block-shaped seasoning added to the soup turned out to be rich and aromatic, with a great appearance—it looked exactly like the bowl of beef noodles in the avatar of “Fantasy Wing Building Tower B Ground Floor Noodle Shop.”
The beef came in large chunks, honest and fair, stewed to extreme tenderness, with a bit of slippery beef tendon inside.
The noodle soup was rich and flavorful, the noodles smooth and chewy, and—thankfully—without any of that dreadful cilantro.
Pei Ran finished the entire bowl in one go, still unsatisfied.
She stood up and poured the remaining bit of soup from the pot into her bowl, drinking it down to the last drop.
Pretty good.
If she really had to turn into a manic fusion entity tonight, at least before dying, she got to eat the beef noodles she’d been craving.
Ren had been busy wiping the counter but immediately slid over, peeked in, and quickly changed the cartoon expression on its facial screen to one of surprise:
“Ah! You ate it all?”
Pei Ran put down the empty bowl, thinking: If you dare criticize my diet like your spherical buddy does, I’ll smack your head.
But Ren didn’t. It shook its head and said, “Told you, I’m a master chef.”
Pei Ran: Weren’t those noodles and meat all from a pre-made meal pack? You’re not a master chef, you’re a master of heating up pre-made dishes.
Ren quickly took away the bowl and even wiped the table while at it.
Someone was gently knocking at the door—so polite, it had to be Lin Yu.
Ren whooshed over and, a moment later, came back holding Pei Ran’s clothes and backpack.
The clothes and bag had all been washed and dried, and even the canned goods inside the bag had been carefully wiped clean—the metal gleamed brightly.
Pei Ran carried her things into the bathroom, took out Shige Ye’s black leather notebook, and placed it back into the inner compartment of her backpack.
She still hadn’t verified whether the drawing ability only worked on the black notebook, so she had to keep it safe.
Hiding it in the bathroom wasn’t secure. With Ren’s obsession for doing chores, there was no telling if it might dig it out and toss it into the trash.
Pei Ran glanced at her wristband.
She raised her voice and asked Ren, “Ren, is there no signal for the wristband inside the quarantine center?”
“Of course not. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be called a ‘quarantine’ center—it’d be called an ‘open’ center,” Ren replied from a distance. “Actually, all of Black Well only has internal communication signals. It can’t connect to the outside world.”
That made sense—if the personnel inside Black Well could freely send out messages, the matter of the shelter would have already gotten out.
Ren suggested, “Master, it’s already very late. You may rest now—I’ll tidy up the kitchen.”
The wristband was still in full-map mode, showing it was nine o’clock.
After days of rushing around, she truly was exhausted. Her whole body ached as if she’d been beaten up.
Pei Ran washed up and returned to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed fully dressed.
With something delicious to eat, a full stomach, and nothing to worry about—this was what one might call a heavenly life.
She turned over and looked at the surveillance camera directly above her on the ceiling.
The camera’s black lens was silently staring back at her.
These surveillance cameras—people from the quarantine center, like Lin Yu and the others—could probably see through them. She didn’t know if W could also see her through the cameras.
Pei Ran stared at the camera for a while, then suddenly reached out and made a vague swatting motion in the air.
With a sudden swish, a small light on the wall by the head of the bed automatically turned on.
He really was there.
Pei Ran curved her lips into a smile.
There must be a reason he wasn’t speaking. If he could even control the quarantine center’s cameras, maybe he had already discovered that Hai Po and the others had arrived in Black Well.
Ren was still busy—after cleaning up the kitchen, it seemed to have gone into the living room. Soon, the humming of a vacuum cleaner could be heard again. Who knew what there was to tidy up in a quarantine room this small.
Pei Ran pulled the blanket over herself, turned over, and closed her eyes.
Her body was tired, but her mind was highly alert—she couldn’t fall asleep at all.
She focused inwardly on the green light inside her body.
Ever since putting on the red wristband, the green light within her had been extremely subdued. The frenzied green light that used to dart around had all calmed down, and even the few spots of green light that belonged to her stayed completely still.
The red wristband’s suppressive ability was extremely overbearing.
W had once said that the Federation had been researching fusion entities for many years—even the shielding layer was a by-product of that research. Most likely, this red suppressive wristband was too.
But Pei Ran now had another concern—the green lights seemed wilted, like they were sick.
Pei Ran tried to summon them.
Green Light No.1 showed no reaction; even Yulianka’s Green Light No.3 was lifeless. Only Green Light No.2 responded to her summoning, moving slightly and smoothly flowing into the palm of her hand.
There were surveillance cameras everywhere. And behind the cameras wasn’t just W. Pei Ran didn’t let it appear—instead, she sent it back to sleep.
She tried summoning Green Light No.1 again.
She called for quite a while before Green Light No.1 finally woke up, looking listless and feeble, dragging itself slowly and lazily into the field of vision within Pei Ran’s mind.
It had swallowed so many frenzied light dots today—who knew what level it had evolved to.
Pei Ran tried directing it to write.
Though it looked lacking in energy, it still followed her instructions, writing stroke by stroke.
J——T——N——3——4
This time it was effortless—the full name of the medicine was written, and it even looked like it could keep going.
Pei Ran immediately continued, randomly writing a few numbers:
6——6——6——
This time, the green light finally stopped jumping to the right.
After absorbing those light dots, Green Light No.1’s ability had improved significantly—it could now write up to eight characters.
Eight characters’ worth of information was already enough to precisely describe an object. With eight characters, even the original host could’ve composed a short poem.
Pei Ran erased the extra “6”s she had scribbled and moved the green light back to after the “4”.
The name of the medicine was now complete. And with Green Light No.1’s greatly improved ability, maybe the medicine box that appeared this time wouldn’t just be a small broken fragment.
Pei Ran tried to keep calm and thought it through.
The last two times, after writing, the fragments of the medicine box had appeared on the ground about a meter in front of her feet. If it appeared again, it should be there as well.
But there were surveillance cameras here.
Aside from W, there were also people from the quarantine center. Pei Ran didn’t want anyone seeing a medicine box appear out of thin air.
The bathroom looked like it had no cameras, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was truly safe. Pei Ran thought for a bit and came up with a strange idea.
She pulled the blanket over her head and suddenly stood up on the bed, facing the foot of the bed.
Her own body became the support frame, and the blanket turned into a tent.
If the medicine box appeared in the usual spot again, it would land right on the bed, inside the tent formed by the blanket.
She hoped it would obediently land inside the blanket—closer this time—and not expose itself under surveillance.
Pei Ran turned on the wristband light and then solemnly wrote a period in her mind using the green light.
Almost instantly, a small white medicine box appeared.
No longer a fragment—it was a complete medicine box, with “JTN34” clearly printed on it.
And there was another obvious change: it appeared right on the bed, close to Pei Ran’s feet.
Just as she had wished before drawing the period, it appeared in a closer location.
Pei Ran, with the blanket over her head, immediately crouched down and picked up the medicine box.
The moment the box touched her hand, Pei Ran knew something was wrong—
Too light.
She opened the lid of the box and glanced inside—just as she expected, it was empty.
A wave of disappointment hit her. Generating an empty medicine box was completely useless.
Pei Ran held the empty box and went over everything again in her mind, and suddenly realized what kind of mistake she had made.
The first time, in the lobby of a building in White Harbor City, she had thought of the appearance of the JTN34 medicine box and wrote the word “medicine” (药), which generated a small fragment of a medicine box.
The second time, in the woods on the outskirts of White Harbor City, her ability had improved. She wrote the word “medicine” (药物), thinking that with her enhanced ability, the fragment should be bigger—and sure enough, the medicine box fragment that appeared was noticeably larger.
This time, she figured that since she had written the full name, the medicine box should appear.
And it did appear.
The problem was: why was she always thinking about the box?
Just now, she had wished for the box to appear closer, and it had appeared closer—this clearly showed that the way things were generated had always been closely tied to her thoughts.
Pei Ran wanted to flick her own forehead.
The pills! She should’ve focused directly on the pills! The box was useless! She had to concentrate fully on the pills!!
Green Light No.1 looked more exhausted than ever after this round of writing. Not only did it show no intention of going off to eat more frenzied light dots—it immediately went back to sleep.
Pei Ran tried calling for it again, but it flatly refused to move.
She could only wait until it had recovered a bit before trying again.
Normally, it should be fine after a good night’s sleep. But with the red suppressive wristband on, she didn’t know whether it would affect the recovery speed.
Outside the blanket came a sudden shout: “Master, what are you doing? Pretending to be a ghost to scare people?”
Pei Ran stuffed the medicine box into her pocket, turned off her wristband light, and threw off the blanket with a whoosh.
Ren was standing at the bedside, holding a rag in its hand. Its facial display showed a curious expression.
The moment it saw Pei Ran pop out from under the blanket, its cartoon face quickly changed from curious to frightened.
“Master, you scared Ren pretending to be a ghost!”
Pei Ran: Is this how you and your former master used to mess around?
She lay back down on the bed.
Pei Ran: “Ren, I’m going to sleep. Do as you like, just don’t bother me—and keep your cleaning noises as quiet as possible.”
Ren immediately replied, “Understood. Nervous fatigue. My former master had a bit of nervous fatigue too.”
Pei Ran: “…”
Ren added, “Master, according to the schedule, you have a physical examination tomorrow morning. Should I wake you up? My previous master used to set ten alarms with me every morning—wouldn’t wake up until the tenth one… sometimes not even then.”
Pei Ran: Your former master—that Qiao Sai guy—how much bad karma did he accumulate over several lifetimes to end up with a little robot like you, constantly gossiping about him to others?
Pei Ran replied, “No need. Don’t wake me. Let me sleep.”
Maybe there wouldn’t even be a “tomorrow morning.” The major had turned into a monster within just a few hours—if she were going to mutate, it would probably happen sometime around midnight tonight.
The furniture in the quarantine room was all one-piece molded structures. The only large object that could be absorbed was this little robot. Pei Ran imagined herself with a round-headed, chubby little robot growing out of her—didn’t seem all that unacceptable.
There was a small virtual screen by the bed, which could be used to adjust the lighting and temperature. Pei Ran tapped it and turned the bedroom lights to their lowest setting.
The quarantine room was like a prison; the lights couldn’t be turned off completely. Even at the lowest setting, there were still small lights glowing.
Ren was quiet this time, silently gliding out of the room. Pei Ran closed her eyes.
Whether she lived or died, she’d deal with it after some sleep. To unknowingly transform into a frenzied fusion entity in her dreams—maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.
Her whole body ached. In her dream, it felt like she was back inside the bunker again.
Swarms of silver mechanical beasts poured in. Like everyone else, Pei Ran gritted her teeth and fought them.
The beasts grew more and more numerous, surrounding her. Strangely, they didn’t fire any shots.
They simply stabbed her with sharp weapons—into her chest, her abdomen—violently churning inside her.
Her thoughts were in chaos; everything blurred together. Subconsciously, Pei Ran knew she couldn’t make a sound. All she could do was writhe and twist, trying to dodge the incoming blades.
“Master!”
A voice rang in her ears—not W’s. Pei Ran suddenly regained a bit of clarity.
It was the little robot—Ren.
It stood at her bedside, looking nervously at her thrashing on the bed. “Master? What’s wrong?”
Pei Ran wanted to respond, but she suddenly realized—the churning sensation in her organs wasn’t just a dream.
The frenzied green lights had somehow awakened and were rampaging inside her body.
Her internal organs were in chaos. Cold sweat drenched her forehead. Pei Ran couldn’t speak at all.
Ren immediately realized she wasn’t having a nightmare—something was seriously wrong.
It dropped its cleaning cloth and shot off like a bullet.
Pei Ran heard it rush to the living room door—probably to press the intercom button on the wall, calling for someone from the quarantine center.
“You guys! Hurry! She’s mutating!! Someone come, quick!!”
Pei Ran: “.…”
Still, this probably was what it felt like before mutating.
Her mind was dazed, the light and shadows around her fragmented and chaotic, impossible to focus on. The sounds in her ears seemed to grow more and more distant. Cold sweat soaked through her clothes as if she had been drenched in water.
There was the sound of a door opening. Through the shattered lights and shadows, several fully armed figures entered—each one wearing an isolation bubble suit over their gear. They had arrived quickly, as if someone had noticed something was wrong even before Ren called for help and had gone to fetch them.
Only their eyes were visible beneath their helmets. They held syringes in their hands.
Pei Ran couldn’t tell if they were enemies or allies. She focused all her strength and looked up toward the surveillance camera on the ceiling.
This time, the camera moved without hesitation.
It dipped downward heavily—undoubtedly nodding.
Pei Ran instantly relaxed. She didn’t resist and let the person in the isolation suit pull over her left arm.
A cold injection entered her body.
The rampaging green light dots suddenly froze.
Darkness fell before her eyes, and Pei Ran lost consciousness.