Chapter 43 · Signal Dispersion, Initial Ignition Emerges
Section I · The Suspect of Fire Is Never Based on Fact
The morning mist still clung to the main industrial yard of Lianyuan Commune. High atop the flagpole, a faded union banner—once gray-blue, now more like rusted ash—flapped stiffly in the wind. No one looked at it anymore.
Last night's "Cold-Energy Tremor" was absent from the official bulletin. There was no mention of system failure—only praise for "timely response and correct action." But those who had been there knew: what truly saved them that night was not the system. It was people.
And precisely because of this, an uneasy murmur began circulating among the shift workers.
"…Do you know who she really is?"
"You mean, her?"
"You didn't see how she got those blueprints? She didn't even open the main terminal…"
"But wasn't she assigned by the Chief Engineer as maintenance support?"
"That's what they say. But the system didn't respond that night. It was like… no one was watching."
Maria heard the conversation from a distance but did not interrupt. She stood beside the ventilation shaft, quietly wiping oil off her hands.
Zhao Mingxuan approached and said softly, "You've been reported three times already."
She nodded, her face calm. "The system didn't act—but the upper-level 'tech rats' aren't fools. They won't let this go easily."
"They'd better be grateful I acted that night," Maria replied.
Zhao smiled faintly. "We fed them a 'fuzzy message.' Guess which version they'll believe?"
Maria's eyes sharpened. "Was it the ARGUS-generated patch, or the legend of Fire That Speaks Without Orders?"
Zhao shrugged. "We only sent one line: 'During the furnace incident, the main system failed to trigger. The so-called "fire seed" handled the situation through grassroots coordination.' Think they'll believe it?"
Maria gazed toward the main pipeline. "They won't believe it. They'll fear it."
Meanwhile, inside the closed-door meeting at Lianyuan's Internal Control Dispatch Zone, Technical Inspector Muen frowned over a stack of new reports—all filed overnight.
Not a single one mentioned the system. But all pointed to the same phrase:
"This female technician disregarded protocol and issued unauthorized commands."
He sighed, placing the documents on the projection table.
"The question isn't whether she is fire. It's whether failing to investigate will make us look like we are."
Deputy Inspector Eser murmured, "The system refuses to process these reports. We can't get authorization from above. All we can do is work within the framework of organizational trust."
Muen gave a bitter smile. "Like we have anything left to do. We don't even have access to her real identity. All records were stored in the main system. No trace outside."
A junior officer lowered his voice. "Have you considered… she wasn't sent by the system at all?"
Silence fell across the room. The air grew heavy, like gunpowder before ignition.
—
As they tried to stitch together a narrative everyone had already accepted—the system had failed—Jason watched the ARGUS emotional mapping unfold in real time from the old warehouse in the commune's north sector.
[Current Status: Trust Mapping Structure Fracturing × Public Narrative Authority Fading × Proto-Faith Node Emerging]
[Fuxi Prompt: When words are unclear, belief forms itself. When names are unspoken, images appear on their own. — Zhuangzi, On the World Below Heaven]
Jason wrote three words on paper:
No Command Given
In a way, this phrase was more dangerous than disobeying orders.
It meant: no one wanted to control you anymore. You had to decide who you were.
Zhao entered the room. "They're starting to guess her identity."
Jason smiled slightly. "Good. Let them try to give her one. The moment they attempt to name her—it means they acknowledge fire exists."
"And after that?" Zhao asked.
Jason stared at the words he'd written. "Let them question her. Let the people see her being doubted—and yet, she says nothing. She doesn't need to."
Because fire does not require proof to burn.
Section II · Reporting Mechanisms Fail, Panic Turns Inward
Lianyuan Commune · Internal Control Center, West Wing Core Cabin.
This was the nerve center where all external system interactions flowed—where reports, audits, and public sentiment screening converged.
Now, the screen displayed the eleventh report in a row:
Behavior Deviation Report Regarding Subject MS-ZE-0124
Each came from different mid-level supervisors and deputy engineers. Each targeted the same person—Maria.
The system's only reply:
"Review queue active. Estimated processing delay: 4–7 days."
Four to seven days?
Deputy Inspector Eser stared at the screen, his face pale with frustration.
"This isn't a queue. This is surrender."
His assistant hesitated. "Should we escalate to TRACE Urban Oversight?"
Eser shot him a glare. "You want to tell the Empire we can't even control a single technician? That we need them to clean up our mess?"
At that moment, a surveillance operator interjected.
"Sir, it's not just the report backlog. Our TRACE signal capture has also started malfunctioning."
"What kind of malfunction?"
"We detected an anomalous memetic packet—its structure doesn't match any of our tagging models. It's affecting low-frequency trust indicators."
Eser's fingers trembled slightly. He understood immediately: people were now trusting signals the system couldn't recognize.
Meaning—they believed in fire.
—
Meanwhile, Jason stood atop the old repair tower, looking down at scattered groups of workers below.
Once disorganized laborers, they were now showing signs of spontaneous coordination.
One young worker bypassed central dispatch and contacted an external repair station directly through a side port.
Another silently installed a second layer of lighting in the rest area, posting a hand-drawn diagram of last night's emergency fix—unsigned.
Jason murmured, "People don't follow strangers without reason. But they will follow a voice that appears in the moment of despair."
Fuxi responded: [Hexagram: Lake over Fire (Ge) – Revolution. Conform to the will of heaven and respond to the heart.]
[Semantic Interpretation: When hearts teeter between collapse and awakening, a single unexpected act—a helping hand—can birth faith, and change fate.]
Zhao entered with a new data report. "Fourteen reports now. But—" he paused. "Guess how TRACE is handling them?"
Jason didn't answer.
"They classified all reports under 'Unidentified Target'."
"That makes sense," Jason said calmly. "Because what they're trying to suppress isn't a person—it's a prototype threat they can't define."
"Like a plague strain they can't isolate."
Zhao chuckled. "Maria hasn't said a word. And yet, people are already defending her."
"That's fire," Jason said.
"But do you know what scares me most?" Zhao added. "It's not the system silence. It's that some of them are beginning to wonder… if the TRACE system itself believes in her."
Jason didn't laugh. He knew—that was the true mutation of faith.
Not when you spread it.
But when you begin to suspect even the gods in the sky might believe.
—
Later that day, in a workshop, several mid-level workers smoked in silence.
"I'm telling you—if the system goes down, we're the first ones to fall."
"Did you see her? Calm as ice. The whole core nearly blew, and she didn't flinch."
"I think she really knew how to handle it."
"You're not scared she's fire?"
"If fire can save us… why should I be afraid?"
No one answered. But the silence that followed spoke volumes.
Section III · No One Can Define Fire, Yet Everyone Tries to Name It
Lianyuan Commune · Second-Level Conference Room, Administrative Adjustment Division.
The meeting had been delayed twenty minutes. Everyone was waiting—for the woman who had been reported the most.
She never showed.
Maria sat in the old energy storage station in the south district, wearing a repurposed surveillance headset, listening to the live feed from the conference.
She had no intention of attending. Nor did she need to.
Inside the room, Inspector Muen slammed the fourteenth report onto the table.
"All against the same person," he said. "All pointing to the same keyword: Unauthorized Decision-Making."
"She wasn't a command officer. Not even a key role. Just a technical advisor. So tell me—why did she become the decision-maker?"
No one answered.
The Deputy Chief Engineer coughed awkwardly. "That night… no one noticed the system hadn't reacted. She filled the gap."
"So you're saying she made decisions without authority, and somehow avoided a system crash?"
"She didn't disobey. She simply acted ahead of the system."
"How could she detect a fluctuation the system itself missed?"
"We… don't know."
"Then how did she decide?"
"She said she used experience."
A strange silence gripped the room. Faces shifted uneasily.
An Imperial Observer finally spoke. "If you can't explain how she judged or how she acted—then she becomes an 'undefined signal source.'"
Muen frowned. "You mean… a fire seed?"
"No," the observer shook his head. "I didn't say she is fire. But if you don't investigate, she will become fire. Not because she is—but because she could be."
"What do you mean?"
"The entire commune talks about her as the one who saved the night. If you don't define her, others will imagine her into something else."
"But we can't prove she's fire."
"You don't need proof. Only belief."
The room fell silent once more.
—
At the top of North Tower, Jason listened to Maria's voice through the comms.
"They're holding a confirmation hearing."
"To confirm what?"
"That 'fire' is possible—or rather, to define us."
"How?"
"The system remains silent. TRACE avoids judgment. The Empire won't intervene. So they must use the oldest method to label us."
"Through trust."
"No," Maria corrected. "Through labeling. They need a new term—to give the people an explanation."
Jason smirked. "What will they do?"
"They won't deny I'm fire. Nor will they confirm it. They'll issue an official statement saying 'Investigation into MS-ZE-0124 has yielded no conclusive results,' while updating the system model with a new tag: 'Assisted Behavior Deviant Object.'"
Jason's eyes lit up. "So they're telling everyone: 'She may not be an enemy—but she's not part of the system either.'"
"Better yet," Maria added, "the label can apply to anyone who ever helped without authorization. They think they're isolating me—but they're expanding the reach of fire."
"Yes," Jason agreed. "They can't define fire—so they defined every unwilling-to-die person instead."
—
In a small tavern in the southern district, several technicians drank and whispered.
"I heard she's not even from the Empire. No records anywhere."
"My friend's friend said she drew the diagrams herself that night—not pulled from the system."
"Know what that means?"
"What?"
"She's not fire. But she makes people feel like she is."
"You afraid of her?"
"No. I'm afraid she isn't fire."
"What do you mean?"
"If she is, then someone lit us.
If she isn't… then we burned ourselves."
Silence settled again. A glass tipped slowly, spilling dark liquid across the table—like oil spilled in the night.
—
Maria removed her headset and stood, watching the growing crowd in the worker's square.
She knew she had been pushed to the edge of public attention—not because she spoke—but because she stayed silent.
That was exactly the plan Jason had laid.
Not to show them fire.
But to make them doubt—was fire always there, and they just refused to admit it?
Section IV · Where Definition Fails, Faith Begins to Shift
TRACE Southern Observation Post · Data Relay Core Chamber.
The sentiment flow from Lianyuan surged to the threshold of "Localized Superstition Index." Yet TRACE Central did not initiate suppression.
Commander Hermann stared at the curve for a long time before speaking:
"She is a structural interference."
His aide didn't understand. "You mean the people trusted the wrong person?"
"No," Hermann said. "The system trusted the wrong person."
"You mean ARGUS? Isn't that their own system?"
Hermann shook his head. "ARGUS is their ghost. Our TRACE recognition models have been scrambled by it before.
But the scariest thing isn't that it misidentifies.
It's that it refuses to identify—defaulting to ambiguity."
He pointed at the screen. "They're not building a god. They're waiting for us to define one.
And if we get the word wrong… the word explodes."
"What word?"
"Fire."
—
Back in Lianyuan, Jason personally set up a "Psychological Noise Trigger Test" in an abandoned factory on the south side.
Maria handed him a stack of newly compiled sentiment logs.
"Our test meme package stalled at the third dormitory level."
Jason flipped through it. "Expected. They no longer need external guidance."
"Because fire is no longer a message. It's an emotional label."
"Then why are they still talking about us?"
"Because they no longer know who isn't."
He glanced at the wall, where someone had scribbled in chalk:
Assisted Behavior Deviant Object
Maria said, "TRACE added this tag to observation lists—but ARGUS rejected automatic sync."
Jason smiled. "Good."
"Because as long as we refuse to accept it, no one is truly marked."
Maria nodded. "You want everyone to have the potential to carry fire—without bearing its responsibility."
"No," Jason corrected gently. "I want everyone to choose when to light themselves."
Maria lowered her voice. "You know what's truly terrifying?
Is the day they no longer need your command—or even ARGUS—to ignite themselves."
Jason's expression remained calm.
"That's not my defeat.
That's my victory."
—
In the northern market of Lianyuan, a vendor and customer exchanged whispers.
"Did you hear? She wasn't punished."
"Who?"
"The tech advisor. Some say she's not from the Empire. Not even from ARGUS."
"Then who is she?"
"She's the one who saved everyone that night."
"So isn't that fire?"
"If she was fire, would she really be?"
"But if she wasn't—we'd all be dead."
Silence. Even the static buzz of the market PA felt intrusive.
That was the new definition of fire.
Not belief. Not identity. Not weapon.
Just—
an explanation no one dared to deny.
—
In TRACE's internal analysis group, a note was quietly added to the system log:
[Current Tag Pollution Trend: Assisted Behavior Deviant Object × Group Belief Mapping × Self-Spreading Acceleration]
Recommended Strategy: Avoid direct denial. Enter "Observation Phase." Stay passive. Anticipate cluster nodes.
Risk Level: B+
Evaluator Signature: TGR-19
On Jason's private terminal, a weak oscillation signal appeared:
[Node Disruption Successful × TRACE Entering Avoidance Mode × Sentiment Loop Shifting Toward Emotional Affiliation]
[Fuxi Prompt:]
Those who speak cannot silence the masses.
Those without form cannot escape the trend.
Use the fire that defies naming—to hide the path that must be known.
—
Fire had become something no one could define—and no one dared deny.
Not a victory.
But a transition—into irreversible transmission.
Section V · The First to Question the System Aloud
Lianyuan Commune · Central Cafeteria.
Evening shift workers lined up for food, unaware the world was about to shift.
The broadcast droned on about "order stability, repair progress, system monitoring restored"—but no one looked up.
Suddenly, someone yanked the speaker wire. Silence.
A young man stood on a stool, grease-stained clothes and a hoarse, steady voice:
"I'll ask just one question—
If it wasn't for her that night… who among us would still be standing?"
The cafeteria fell dead silent.
He continued:
"You call her fire. Say she broke the rules.
But I ask you—did the system give us orders that night? Did it speak? Did it save us?"
No one answered.
He clenched his jaw.
"You say she's fire. Then does doing something make you fire too?
Are we all supposed to stop working? Stop risking?
Are we all supposed to be reported?"
He drove the final blow:
"Are we waiting for the system to say you can live—before you dare to?"
—
That sentence rippled outward like a stone in water.
Among the workers, some bowed their heads. Others nodded subtly.
Jason stood outside the cafeteria door, listening.
He didn't enter. He only said into the comms:
"Maria—you heard that."
"I did."
"You know what that was?"
"The first public challenge to the system's authority. Spontaneous. Not planted."
"Exactly."
—
Inside the TRACE Observation Post, Commander Hermann shot to his feet.
"Where?"
A data analyst swallowed hard. "South cafeteria… we received a Mass Speech Trigger Report - Public
Discourse Trigger Report. Auto-tagged as: Public Inquiry × Challenge to System Authority × Fire Seed Doubt Chain."
"Was it ARGUS?"
"No. It spread internally. Didn't pass through their node system."
"That's worse."
—
That night, Maria sat in the abandoned observatory, staring at the broken stars.
She typed one sentence into the terminal:
"They're not following us. They're testing whether the system can still be trusted."
ARGUS didn't reply. But Jason saw it.
He left it unencrypted.
The message joined the ARGUS "Drift Beacon Packet."
By the seventh network hop, a passerby received a voice push notification—a woman's voice in the night:
"We are not fire.
But you must ask yourself—
Who decided whether you live…
Was it a dead system?"
—
That night, the "dinner speech" spread across multiple low-frequency chat groups in South District.
No signature. No video. Only fragments, like wildfire.
For the first time, people weren't quoting who said what—they were repeating a new phrase:
"She's not fire.
She only made you ask—
Do you still believe in that thing?"
—
The sky over Lianyuan grew darker faster that night.
Not because of the hour.
But because the power to define light—had begun to shift.
Section VI · Not Making the System Obey You, But Choosing to Act Without It
Dawn broke over the ruins of the old power plant on the outskirts of Lianyuan. Mist hung thick. Broken concrete pillars jutted from the earth like fractured spines.
Jason, Zhao Mingxuan, Wells, and Lisa gathered here. In the distance, several self-organized volunteers arrived—former edge workers with no titles, no system assignments.
No one claimed Jason summoned them. They simply "heard the place needed fixing."
Zhao chuckled. "System didn't authorize this. And yet, they came."
Jason watched them. "Not because the system didn't approve. Because it now fears approval."
"ARGUS?" Wells asked.
"No," Jason replied. "This time, we cut all system interfaces. Testing whether they can move without guidance."
"You're not worried they'll fail?"
"No," Jason said. "Because failure no longer means guilt—it means choice."
Lisa raised a brow. "You usually emphasize rhythm. Why loosen control now?"
Jason turned to the three of them.
"For Chapter One until now, we used systems to interpret the world, guide people, manipulate emotions."
"But there's one force no system can simulate—
the moment a human decides for themselves."
He paused.
"We cannot choose fire for them.
Only help them believe in someone worth igniting for."
—
Meanwhile, in the TRACE Southwest Temporary Control Room, Commander Hermann stared at abnormal "behavior flows":
No system task—yet dozens gathered, coordinated, transported, worked together.
"Whose order was this?"
"No order. Natural differentiation. Self-organization."
"Who initiated it?"
"No trace. Memetic chain too clean. Not ARGUS. Not black-market interface. Pure behavioral mimicry."
Hermann fixed his gaze on the data.
"They're testing us.
They want to know—can they survive without system permission?"
—
On the construction site, two men carried scrap equipment across a collapsed trench.
An older worker muttered, "Do you think this counts as disobedience?"
A younger one laughed. "How do you know whose order you're breaking?"
The elder frowned. "It's not an order. It's just… the right thing to do."
"That's enough."
"But what if we get reported?"
"Reported for what? We don't even know who called us here. Who takes the blame?"
—
Standing at the edge of the ruined well, Jason peered into its endless darkness.
Zhao approached. "How far do you think they'll go?"
"As long as they stop asking if they are fire—they'll go further than fire ever could."
"When will ARGUS resume operation?"
Jason looked to the distant horizon.
"When they no longer see ARGUS as the system—just a tool."
"It's not about making the system obey you.
It's about choosing to act—even when the system is gone."
—
That night, a meme packet quietly spread through low-frequency channels:
[The first fire humanity ever made was not technology.
It was judgment.
The question: Is what I'm doing right—
Not for others.
But for myself.]
No author. No source.
All who received it found a line of Fuxi philosophy pop up:
[Kun, the Earth. To bear the weight of heaven.
When the people no longer follow their hearts, the land loses its depth.]
—
Fire is not a flame.
It is the step you take—
when you no longer wait for permission.
Not Jason lighting them.
But the one who lit the first spark willing to walk away—
and watch the world catch fire.