The Fusion Being Support and Management Department—sounded like some high-profile division, but the tasks they handled were surprisingly down-to-earth.
Team Leader Li explained: “Black Well is short on manpower right now. Since we’re not on any missions at the moment, we’re filling in temporarily. In a couple of days, once we recruit volunteers from the refugees, we won’t be needed anymore. Sure, more refugees mean more mouths to feed, but they also mean more hands to work.”
The two entered the elevator, and Team Leader Li tapped the virtual screen for the fifth floor.
She said, “It’s kind of funny when you think about it. Over the past few years, the Federation had AIs handling all these simple jobs—human labor was becoming obsolete. But now that the Silence has hit, AI robots either have components with writing on them or come with displays, and a lot of them have burned out. Some even exploded with a bang. Black Well’s desperate for labor, so suddenly, human manpower is valuable again.”
The fifth floor was chaotic, crowded with people coming and going—it looked like a distribution center.
Team Leader Li, familiar with the process, collected two sets of combat uniforms (identical to the one she was wearing) and two pairs of ankle boots for Pei Ran.
“Supplies are tight right now, so you’ll have to make do with just one change of clothes for now.”
Pei Ran went to the restroom to change.
She inspected the clothes thoroughly first.
Fortunately, neither the uniform nor the boots had any text labels. The only issue was the circular emblem cut into the chest of the top—the same one as the logo outside the FBSMD office.
Pei Ran thought to herself: If abstract symbols ever become unsafe outside Black Well, this emblem on the clothes would be trouble. I’ll have to find a way to remove it.
Then she realized—it was just a Velcro patch. A gentle tug, and it came right off.
They really thought of everything.
The uniform was light gray, top and bottom, with plenty of pockets. The pants had tapered cuffs that tucked neatly into the boots, making movement easy. The fabric—whatever it was made of—wasn’t particularly thick, yet it was warm and breathable. Pei Ran was quite satisfied.
Once changed, Pei Ran and Team Leader Li headed to the underground parking garage.
Li Yin made a beeline for a beat-up little truck. The truck bed was loaded with small black boxes, each about 20-30 centimeters tall.
“These vehicles are all antiques the military brought into Black Well, distributed to each department. Our team got this one. Doesn’t look like much, but it drives fine—no major issues.”
A rickety little truck was perfect for garbage collection.
The two got in, with Team Leader Li taking the driver’s seat.
The dashboard had clearly been modified—not a single character in sight.
Team Leader Li tapped her wristband against Pei Ran’s, her tone still unhurried. “While we’re at it, I’ll send you the department’s member handbook.”
The implication was clear: Read it on the way.
Pei Ran added her and immediately received a document—its page count was staggering, intimidatingly long.
Team Leader Li started the car smoothly, pulling out of the building’s parking lot and onto the main road. Pei Ran lowered her head, skimming through the document at lightning speed.
“Pei Ran,” W’s voice suddenly sounded in her left ear. “Received the member handbook? Want me to summarize it for you?”
His abrupt voice startled her.
He even allocated a thread to monitor what I’m doing?
Pei Ran replied, “Sure.”
The handbook was packed with dense, convoluted regulations—she had no idea how long it would take to read it all herself. Having someone distill the key points would be a huge help.
W said, “Look at the first page. The most important rule is this: Under the Federation’s Privacy and Personal Information Protection Act, no one has the right to forcibly demand that you disclose your special ability—unless you’ve broken the law and it’s required for investigation. Similarly, you also have no right to demand others disclose their abilities, not even fellow FBSMD members.”
Pei Ran thought to herself: Even if the rules did require disclosing abilities, there’d be no way to guarantee the truth. Back at the quarantine center, even doctors couldn’t distinguish between Order-state green light and Collapse-state green light. I could’ve described my ability however I wanted.
Within the FBSMD, members’ abilities were essentially black boxes to each other.
Pei Ran couldn’t help but glance at Team Leader Li.
Though if you work together long enough, observation alone can get you pretty close to the truth.
W continued, “Also, you’re not part of the military—you’re government employees. Self-sacrifice isn’t your responsibility.”
He paused. “Pei Ran, stay safe.”
As if she were eager to throw her life away.
W went on, covering reimbursement policies, weapon management, liability waivers for ability usage, field operation precautions, and more.
While waiting at a red light, Team Leader Li glanced over and was shocked to see Pei Ran already flipping to the last page.
“Huh? Finished already? What kind of god-tier reading speed is that?”
She sent over another file.
“This is the list of precautions outside Black Well’s shielding layer during the Silence. You just got back from outside, so you probably already know what’s safe and what’s not. But the situation keeps evolving—better to review it.”
This time, it was just one page—but it was the most exhaustive list of shielding-layer taboos Pei Ran had ever seen.
No speaking aloud. No writing. And so on.
No need for W’s help this time. Pei Ran scanned it quickly herself—everything matched her existing understanding.
However, when she scrolled to the bottom, Pei Ran discovered something she hadn’t known before.
“Animals using human language is no longer allowed either?”
Li Yin leaned over to look and replied, “Oh, that was added just a few days ago.”
W’s voice sounded in Pei Ran’s ear: “Correct. Nuomituan died, and Inaya didn’t survive either. The Silence has escalated again.”
That little parrot who could speak human language was dead after all.
Pei Ran now deeply suspected that sooner or later, the Silence would escalate to the point where even gestures and coded communication would no longer be usable.
By then, the entire world—except for Black Well—would descend into complete, incommunicable stillness.
The small truck didn’t head toward the south entrance Pei Ran was familiar with. Instead, it crossed through the underground city, traveling westward the entire way.
Finally, they arrived at a tunnel entrance at the end of the road. Team Leader Li raised a hand in greeting to the soldiers stationed there before driving into the tunnel.
The tunnel was brightly lit. After driving for a while, a heavy set of doors appeared ahead, guarded by a group of armed soldiers with rifles.
Team Leader Li stopped the truck.
She said, “Beyond these doors is outside the shielding layer. All taboos must be strictly observed from here on.”
She looked at Pei Ran, her demeanor uncharacteristically serious. “Staying inside Black Well can make people complacent—it’s easy to forget the conditions outside. Now that we’re leaving the shielding layer, we absolutely cannot let our guard down. I heard that another volunteer exploded in the mining zone yesterday. Not only did they die, but they also took out two nearby refugees with them.”
Leaving the protection of the shielding layer meant returning to life on the razor’s edge.
Pei Ran nodded. “Understood.”
Team Leader Li continued, “Once we’re outside, our job is to retrieve malfunctioning equipment. These devices operate in rotating phases. If their lights are red, it means they’re currently being tested and could explode at any moment—do not approach them. If the lights are green, it means they’re idle and functioning normally. If the lights are off, they’ve already failed and can be collected directly. Even fragments from exploded units should be recovered if possible. It sounds complicated, but it’s actually very simple. I’ll show you when we get there—you’ll understand right away.”
She emphasized again: “The most important rule is: absolutely no sound.”
She tapped her wristband.
“Switch your wristband to full-image mode. I strongly recommend deleting any text-containing images while inside Black Well, too. That way, you won’t accidentally trigger anything when you leave.”
Once Pei Ran adjusted her wristband, Team Leader Li pulled out a roll of wide white tape from her bag, tore off a strip, and handed it to her.
“I heard Black Well is developing a pill that paralyzes the vocal cords, but it’s not ready yet. For now, we still have to rely on this primitive method.”
Pei Ran firmly sealed her mouth with the tape.
Team Leader Li picked up her thermos, took a big gulp of water, then sealed her own mouth with tape as well.
She started the engine and slowly drove up to the gate guards.
The soldiers scanned their irises, then retrieved a handheld probe. After pressing a few buttons, they held it near the red suppression bracelet on Pei Ran’s wrist.
With a soft click, the bracelet’s strap automatically released.
They did the same for Team Leader Li’s suppression bracelet.
The heavy doors slowly began to open.
“Pei Ran,” W’s voice sounded in her ear, “once we leave Black Well, there won’t be any surveillance cameras ahead. I won’t be able to see you. If you need anything, just call for me directly.”
Even outside Black Well, he could still communicate with her.
Pei Ran suddenly remembered what he’d said before—this kind of communication could span distances far beyond her imagination.
After passing through three consecutive gates, the tunnel sloped upward. The small truck silently climbed the incline until they finally reached the last door.
As the door slowly opened, the familiar red earth stretched out before them.
The sky was still shrouded in haze, the sunlight dim. A cold wind kicked up red dust, leaving the world as silent and unchanging as ever.
These past few days in Black Well—all that safety and stability—now seemed like a soap bubble of a dream.
Stepping outside shattered that illusion, bringing her back to reality.
Pei Ran repeated the reminder to herself: Don’t make a sound.
Don’t make a sound.
Switching back and forth between being able to speak and being forced into silence felt more dangerous than perpetual silence—it was unsettling, hard to adapt to.
Unlike the south entrance hidden in a fissure, the western entrance sat exposed on a slope of red earth, similarly cloaked in a virtual camouflage layer.
The truck drove a short distance forward before stopping at a large, flat clearing. Before getting out, Team Leader Li surveyed the area outside the vehicle, then pulled a gun from her combat uniform.
The gun was entirely silver, strikingly similar to the one used by the eagle-masked subordinate of Shige Ye.
Pei Ran stared at the gun. Noticing her gaze, Team Leader Li tilted her head slightly, her eyes questioning.
Pei Ran guessed she was asking: Do you know how to use this?
She immediately nodded.
Team Leader Li’s eyes lit up with approval. She pointed at the gun, then held up three fingers.
Pei Ran wasn’t sure if this meant she’d get her own gun in three days—or if there were only three guns for the entire team.
The agonizing process of fully obstructed communication began again, yet Pei Ran found it oddly familiar and even comforting.
Team Leader Li jumped down from the truck, took a few steps forward, and pointed ahead.
Pei Ran had already seen it—a vast array of small black boxes arranged like an army formation across the red earth.
Most of the boxes were rectangular, but some had strange shapes, even extending mechanical arms that would suddenly activate, gesturing occasionally. They were likely testing the permissibility of various hand signals.
A closer look revealed some boxes melted from overheating, others blown to pieces.
Team Leader Li walked into the matrix of small black boxes, bent down, and casually picked one up to show Pei Ran its indicator light.
A tiny green light was on, indicating the box was functional and in safe standby mode.
Beside the light was a button. Team Leader Li pressed it to demonstrate—the light turned off, clearly a power switch.
She pressed it again to relight it, placed the box back, then walked forward a few steps and tossed a warped, burnt unit into a large backpack.
This entire section had boxes with green lights. Team Leader Li pointed further ahead, where Pei Ran could see a large area filled with instruments glowing red—indicating they were in testing mode, volatile and unsafe to approach.
The work was simple enough for a child to do, immediately manageable.
Pei Ran gestured to the side, suggesting they split up, starting from opposite ends.
Team Leader Li nodded in agreement, bending to collect scattered fragments of destroyed equipment.
Pei Ran walked away, only crouching to gather blown-apart components into her bag once she was far enough from Team Leader Li.
Nearby debris cleared, she remained kneeling.
From the moment the suppression bracelet was removed at Black Well’s exit, the green lights inside her had awakened.
W was right—days of wearing the bracelet hadn’t caused them any real harm.
They stirred like small animals rousing from winter hibernation, now lively again.
And their first post-hibernation act? Demanding food.
Pei Ran: “…”
The meal was ready. She summoned the green lights.
Plenty of madness-state green lights remained uneaten from last time. Freed from suppression, they too grew restless, twitching with pent-up energy—perfect as a post-nap snack for the orderly green lights.
Green Light No. 1 (the literate one) and Green Light No. 3 (the ability-controlling one), truly starved, lunged forward and devoured ravenously.
Green Light No. 2 (the artistic one), though it had fed during her days shepherding, found its appetite renewed without the bracelet. It joined in, nibbling takeout-style at the remnants.
The newly arrived fourth green light also stirred awake.
Timid and hesitant, it didn’t dare move. Pei Ran nudged it toward the feast.
The green lights devoured their meal with gusto, the madness-state lights steadily diminishing. At this rate, the madness-state lights inside her would soon be completely eradicated.
A lingering threat was on the verge of being resolved.
Pei Ran waited until Green Light No. 1 had eaten its fill before summoning it into her mind’s eye.
Her hands kept busy—retrieving another scorched instrument, gathering scattered parts—while her mind worked just as diligently.
First, she tested it, writing a string of numbers:
1—2—3—4—5—6—7—8—9—0
This time, she managed ten characters in one go. The green light had leveled up again.
Pei Ran erased the numbers and started anew.
This time, learning from past attempts, she focused intently in her mind on the appearance of the JTN34 pill:
[White. Tiny. Triangular.]
And to generate it as close to herself as possible.
She concentrated, replaying these details in her thoughts over and over, before finally, solemnly, writing with the green light:
[Generate JTN34 pill.]
Now that she could write ten characters, describing it felt far more effortless.
Period.
Kneeling amid the array of small black boxes, Pei Ran glanced around the ground.
Right beside her foot, something small materialized.
Not a pill bottle this time—but a tiny fragment of a white pill.
It seemed her ability had truly produced a pill.
Suppressing her excitement, Pei Ran checked Team Leader Li’s position, confirming she was still absorbed in collecting debris, before picking up the fragment.
Upon closer inspection, one edge of the fragment had a precise curve—like the corner of a rounded triangle.
Pei Ran held the fragment and retrieved a blister pack of pills from her clothes. She popped one out of its foil casing.
The comparison was undeniable: the fragment in her palm was unmistakably a piece of a pill.
At the very least, it looked identical.
Though it wasn’t a complete pill, this fragment represented monumental progress.
This piece was roughly one-fifth to one-quarter of a full pill. In other words, if she could continue enhancing Green Light No. 1’s capabilities—either by increasing its daily usage to four or five times or by enlarging the generated fragments—self-sufficiency in medication might one day be achievable.
If so, Black Well’s JTN34 stockpile and its expiration dates would become irrelevant to her. More importantly, it meant that when necessary, she could leave Black Well freely, unshackled by its constraints.
Pei Ran cupped the tiny fragment in her palm and reeled in her thoughts.
But optimism had to be tempered. This fragment might harbor another issue:
While it looked identical, its composition might not truly be JTN34.
JTN34 was a proprietary drug produced by Wolin Group. The instructions didn’t list its chemical formula, and Pei Ran had no idea what the actual ingredients were. When she’d written the command, she’d only visualized the pill’s appearance.
Something with identical external features could have entirely different contents.
For all she knew, she might have just created a tiny piece of compacted flour.
Pei Ran pulled out a tissue, carefully wrapped the fragment, and tucked it into her pocket.
I’ll need to test its composition when I get the chance.
Having accomplished this long-pondered task, she continued forward, collecting equipment while experimenting with the newly acquired Green Light No. 4.
Yesterday, she’d glimpsed it flicker in the eyes of the thin, rabbit-masked man in the blue car’s passenger seat.
Emulating what she’d observed, Pei Ran guided Green Light No. 4 to her eyes.
Suddenly, a small cluster of white light materialized before her.
It hovered faintly in the air, about a step or two ahead.
Its glow was conspicuously bright. Pei Ran immediately withdrew the green light from her eyes.
As the green light retreated into her body, the white orb remained suspended, unmoving.
Pei Ran’s gaze snapped toward Team Leader Li.
At that moment, Li happened to straighten up and glance over. She raised a hand, miming drinking water—asking if Pei Ran needed a break to hydrate.
The floating white orb followed Pei Ran’s line of sight, as if locking onto a target, and darted toward Team Leader Li.
Pei Ran: “…”
It moved swiftly, landing squarely on Li’s shoulder and settling there, motionless.
Team Leader Li acted as if she couldn’t see the white orb at all, simply repeating the drinking gesture toward Pei Ran.
Pei Ran shook her head. Li walked back to the small truck on her own.
Pei Ran now understood how this white light worked.
Even without turning to look, she could distinctly sense the orb’s presence somewhere behind her.
Its direction was unmistakable, and she could roughly gauge its distance.
So Green Light No. 4 is for tracking.
No wonder that blue car had tailed them unerringly yesterday, no matter how many detours the driver took.
The thin rabbit-masked man must have planted this marker on her—either in the quarantine center’s vehicle or on her person directly.
Turning these thoughts over in her mind, Pei Ran’s hands kept moving. In no time, her large pack was filled with broken instruments and components. She hauled it back to the truck and dumped the load into the cargo bed.
Team Leader Li worked briskly, already far ahead. Pei Ran returned to her previous spot.
Just as she bent down, something flickered at the edge of her vision—
A glint of silver metal reflecting light.
As a veteran of the bunker world, Pei Ran’s sensitivity to this enemy color was razor-sharp.
Her chest tightened. She whirled around.
At the perimeter of the equipment field, where the red earth split into a characteristic fissure like a gaping mouth, something was wrong.
A quick scan revealed two empty spots in the neatly arranged matrix near the ravine.
Normally, explosions would leave scattered debris or charred fragments, but this patch of ground was suspiciously clean.
Two black boxes had vanished without a trace.
This wasn’t right.
A thief was here—one clad in metal—and they’re stealing.