The young man's face was flushed as red as a cooked shrimp, the ball gag still in his mouth.
Pei Ran asked curiously, "Doesn't wearing that... make you drool?"
W answered hesitantly, "Maybe… probably… yeah."
Pei Ran raised an eyebrow silently. Didn't he just say this thing was like a face mask to him?
Whatever its original purpose, in this situation, it actually seemed... useful.
Suddenly, a voice broke the quiet of the train car:
"Hi there! What's your name?"
"What's your name?"
Everyone in the car turned their heads in alarm.
Someone even leapt out of their seat and bolted into the aisle, instinctively fearing the speaker was nearby—and fearing an explosion might be imminent.
The voice had come from a window seat nearby.
But in the deathly silence that followed, there was no familiar pop of flesh bursting.
Pei Ran quickly walked over.
She saw a young woman, maybe in her twenties, sitting calmly in her seat.
Her skin had a warm, brownish tone. Her hair was coal black and tightly curled, braided down her back. Her eyes were large and dark, heavy-lidded, with thick lashes like fans.
She wore a black coat over a pale gray hoodie. From the collar of the hoodie peeked out a tiny parrot's head, covered in pale yellow fuzz, its chest and belly feathers white.
The little bird tilted its head, its bead-like black eyes locking onto Pei Ran.
"Hi there! What's your name?"
It tilted its head again.
"I'm Glutinous Rice Ball," it said.
Pei Ran exhaled, relieved—but also a little disappointed. Still no one could actually speak.
In her mind, she replied silently: Hello, Glutinous Rice Ball. I'm Pei Ran.
W was observing too. "Looks like it's not just animal cries that are safe—speaking human language seems fine too."
Pei Ran replied, "So those gorillas with a few thousand words in their vocabulary—does that mean they could take over for us in communication?"
Just one car farther up, she found Jin Hejun—the injured one.
He was lying in his seat, eyes badly wounded. His eyeballs seemed beyond saving, and blood was still trickling from the sockets.
He was trembling in pain, curled up, limbs drawn in. His classmates were scrambling to help stop the bleeding—piles of blood-soaked tissues were discarded nearby.
The boy in the navy blue scarf had already unwrapped it and was now tearing it into strips to bandage Jin Hejun's eyes.
Pei Ran set down her backpack and rummaged through it. She pulled out a large roll of gauze and a repurposed water bottle full of medicine.
She unscrewed the cap and asked W, "These blue and white capsules—antibiotics, right?"
"You remembered correctly," W said. "Should help prevent infection. One capsule at a time, twice a day."
Pei Ran tipped the bottle, picked out a few blue-and-white capsules, and handed them over with the gauze.
That was all she could do for now. There was nothing better in her kit.
The college students had no medicine with them. When they saw what Pei Ran offered, they gratefully accepted it, though unable to speak or thank her.
Pei Ran tapped open the interface on her wristband, selected a few emojis: a sun, a pill, a moon, another pill.
They instantly understood: one capsule twice a day. Everyone nodded.
They hurried to open the gauze, supported Jin Hejun's head, and began wrapping the bandage. He had no idea what was happening, writhing in pain, groping anxiously at his own face.
The boy who'd removed his scarf held his hands down and tapped him gently.
Tap—tap, knock.
Tap—tap—tap.
Knock, knock, tap.
Knock-knock-knock...
It was Morse code.
Jin Hejun understood—and calmed down.
Communication is a human instinct. When speaking or writing is impossible, people will still try to connect however they can.
The cautious ones survive. The brave ones forge paths through chaos. Some fall along the way, while others live on to share what they've learned.
Morse code was a simple, practical method—also used in the underground bunkers.
Pei Ran listened carefully. If you interpret the palm slaps as long tones and the knuckle knocks as short ones—it matched the code used in the bunkers.
But she didn't need to decipher it herself—W was already translating in her ear. "It's Morse. He's saying: We've got gauze and meds. I'm helping you bandage up."
W's black metal eyes focused on the boy. "That's Tang Dao. He's a senior majoring in finance at Night Sea University, just like Jin Hejun."
After a long struggle, they managed to finish bandaging. Blood was still seeping through, but it had slowed.
Pei Ran reached out and tapped on the little table:
Knock—tap-tap.
Tap—tap—tap.
Tap—knock.
Tang Dao's head shot up, eyes wide with surprise.
Ever since the escalation of the silence—when even writing was banned—communication had become the hardest thing of all. Morse was a good workaround, at least for now.
The only problem was: very few people understood it.
And without the ability to speak or write, teaching it was nearly impossible.
He and Jin Hejun were both part of the Morse Code Enthusiasts Club at their university. For the past two days, they'd been trying to teach the others.
They'd considered drawing dots and dashes on their wristband's virtual screen—it was technically allowed, since it wasn't text—but they weren't sure if repeated patterns might trigger the silence. No one dared to try.
Tang Dao never imagined he'd meet someone on this train who was fluent in Morse.
It was like being lost in a foreign land and suddenly hearing someone speak your native tongue—it struck straight to the heart, bittersweet and overwhelming.
W, surprised as well, asked, "You know Morse code?"
"Yeah," Pei Ran replied casually. "Messed around with it in college. Never thought it'd actually come in handy."
Tang Dao deciphered her message: Can I say a few words to him?
He immediately nodded and made room.
Pei Ran sat down beside Jin Hejun and tapped his hand—slowly, patiently.
Why did you try to gouge your own eyes out?
Jin Hejun had calmed a little, though his face was still twisted in pain.
Instead of tapping back, he made a wavy motion with his hand and forearm.
A snake. Or a wriggling worm.
The movement slithered toward his eyes—then he cradled his head in both hands.
W guessed, "He saw a hallucination. Something trying to crawl into his eyes. Into his brain."
"Exactly," Pei Ran said as she stood and picked up her bag. "Someone created that hallucination for him."
And it had been so real, it drove him to tear out his own eyes.
She had only taken a few steps when someone grabbed her arm.
It was a girl wearing a red wool beanie.
Her hair was long and curly, her features bright and striking, her eyes clear. She wore a soft beige coat with a faint sheen—everything about her screamed a privileged upbringing.
She pulled out something from her bag—a roll of black duct tape, printed with a wave-like pattern inside the ring.
She opened her purse to show Pei Ran she had more, then handed one over.
She knew how precious medicine was and wanted to offer something in return. In these times, tape was a necessity—many were using it to seal their mouths.
Pei Ran accepted it without fuss, dangling it casually in her hand as she continued walking.
W suddenly said, "Twenty-three thousand."
Pei Ran blinked. "What?"
"That girl's name is Sheng Mingxi. President of Night Sea University's drama club. Her family controls DeepSpace Corp, part of the Federal conglomerate," W explained. "That tape she just gave you? It's this year's new model from Gaspard. Twenty-three thousand federal credits a roll."
Pei Ran: "...Huh?"
Pei Ran: "Excuse me, how much?"
"Twenty-three thousand."
Pei Ran did a quick calculation. "A bowl of beef noodles costs twenty-eight. This one roll of tape is worth over eight hundred bowls of noodles?!"
W: "Fast math. Impressive—you're rivaling an AI."
Pei Ran: "…"
W: "That was a compliment."
Pei Ran still couldn't accept it. "It's tape. What could possibly justify it being worth eight hundred bowls of perfectly good beef noodles?"
The tape was matte black, with subtle wave patterns printed on the inner ring. Just in case, Pei Ran peeled off the patterned layer as she walked.
W commented, "Well, now that you've stripped the branding, it's worth... about two bucks."
It really did look just like the cheap stuff.
The tape on Pei Ran's mouth had started to loosen after all this time. She tore off a new strip.
"This little piece... it's worth at least one bowl of beef noodles, right?"
Heartbreaking.
She peeled off the old tape and replaced it.
Even W couldn't help getting curious this time. He asked her, "Does it feel any different?"
Pei Ran thought about it carefully, mimicking his tone: "Maybe… possibly… yeah? The spots where I'm allergic hurt a bit less with this one."
W speculated, "Maybe out of that 23,000 yuan, twenty-three actually went into using better glue for the tape."
Pei Ran snorted, "What kind of glue costs twenty-three bucks? I don't care if the Emperor himself shows up, there's no way this tape cost more than five."
While bantering with W in her head, Pei Ran's eyes never left the passengers in the train car, scanning them one by one. She knew W was doing the same, analyzing faces and pulling up data.
The last time he'd done this was on Bus F305.
It had only been a few days, but the world had changed so much that even thinking back to that bus felt like a lifetime ago.
Pei Ran continued down the train, passing through each car until she reached Car 4.
Car 4 was quiet too. Most people stared silently out the window, only turning to look at her when she passed.
There was a middle-aged couple with a little girl around eight or nine, nestled tightly against her mother. The girl peeked out with just half her face showing—her large eyes, black and white like a small animal's, watched Pei Ran.
They were the same kind of eyes she saw in her dreams—her sister's eyes.
Pei Ran quickly looked away and turned to the other side of the aisle.
There sat an elderly couple. Their hair was completely white, and they were huddled close together, tracing their fingers across a virtual screen projected from their wristbands.
They were drawing—not doodles, but neat, deliberate strokes. The shapes resembled simplified characters, but more orderly, almost like writing.
Pei Ran paused. "Pictographs? That's allowed?"
No incident, no fire, and yet they were clearly writing something.
"Not real pictographs," W replied after glancing at them. "I'm comparing with the database… nope, not a known language."
A beat later, he added, "I see. They've modified an ancient script to create their own symbols. That's why it looks familiar but isn't traceable. I checked—the couple are both retired professors of ancient linguistics at Night Sea University."
They'd invented their own way to communicate.
Who knew how long that would remain safe?
Through the window on the door at the end of the car, Pei Ran spotted Kiril and Yulianka. They were crowded in the tight space between the cars, prying open the door to the fifth car.
That door was locked.
W explained, "Car Five on Night Sea No. 7 is a dining car. Worth checking—there's usually a cold-storage pantry for long-term food reserves. The train stopped so suddenly, there might still be supplies inside."
With so many evacuees from the Night Sea Fire, some of them surely hadn't brought food.
Yulianka turned, spotted Pei Ran, and lit up, quickly nudging his teammate.
Kiril was working the lock with a large screwdriver. He glanced at Pei Ran, then at Yulianka, looking confused.
The others had seen Pei Ran crack open a metal turnstile with her mechanical hand—unlocking a train door was child's play for her.
She stepped forward, grasped the handle, and gave it a twist. The lock crumbled like a cookie. The door popped open instantly.
The dining car was empty too, with rows of tables facing each other, larger than those in the passenger cars, all covered with crisp white tablecloths.
Kiril seemed to know this place well. He moved fast, heading straight to a corner and opening a hidden panel in the wall.
It was the cold storage W had mentioned.
Shelves lined with neat stacks of silver foil boxes—pre-packaged meals, each labeled and sealed.
Pei Ran tensed. "Don't tell me Kiril's trying to hoard it all?"
Before she could say more, Yulianka stepped forward, pulled out a box, and turned to her.
He pointed toward the cars ahead, then mimed handing something out.
He meant to distribute the food to the passengers.
Now that was more like it.
Pei Ran saw the box Yulianka held still had its label: Chicken and Rice, along with a manufacturer and a production date.
All the boxes in the fridge had labels like that.
Just like the IDs and documents scattered all over Night Sea, these paper tags hadn't ignited—yet. But there was no telling when they might.
It wasn't safe. The silence was evolving. They needed to remove every bit of printed text, just in case.
Pei Ran gestured to Yulianka—rip the labels off.
But then, the air flared with light for a split second.
Yulianka flinched. The box in his hand dropped.
Everyone instinctively stepped back.
Smoke wafted up from the food storage. The labels on every box were burning, blackening with heat.
The acrid scent of char filled the car.
Pei Ran crouched, cautiously picked up the box Yulianka dropped. It was hot to the touch, label completely charred—but the foil container itself looked unharmed.
She peeled the lid open. Steam rose, fragrant and fresh. The chicken and rice inside was perfectly intact.
The energy used to incinerate the paper had been precise—targeting only the label, nothing else. Just like with the wristbands before, only now, weaker—tailored to the material it burned.
It had even heated the food.
W said, "The Silence is escalating. A new purge of written language is starting."
The last wave had taken out signs, neon lights, car displays, screens, wristbands. Now, even scraps of paper weren't safe.
This was what Pei Ran had anticipated all along—
If anyone still had tags on their clothes… they were screwed.
A sudden flash.
Then a terrible scream.
"AHHH—!"
Pei Ran dropped the meal and jumped back.
One of Yulianka's companions clutched his eyes, shrieking. His eyeballs were already scorched black.
He had strips of medical tape crisscrossed over his mouth. Now, crying and howling, he tore them off in panic.
Three seconds later—boom. Blood and tissue sprayed everywhere.
Pei Ran went cold.
Had he seen the writing on the label? Had it burned into his retinas?
But no. Everyone else had looked too, and no one else was harmed.
Then why?
W answered immediately: "I found the cause. His name was Viktor. I pulled his records from the Federal Health System—he wore contact lenses long-term. I checked the brand—those lenses come printed with alphanumeric markings."
Letters. On the lenses.
He'd forgotten to take them out.
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