Tang Dao kept tapping Morse code on the fold-out tray table: I was handing out meal boxes. The doctor came over, gestured for a while, meant he could help. Jin Hejun agreed and went with him.
W said, "Even the least successful vet is still medically trained. Maybe he really can help with the injury."
He had a point—but when it came to that Yulianka, Pei Ran couldn't help feeling uneasy deep down.
Pei Ran tapped on the tray: Where did they go?
Tang Dao pointed toward the back of the train.
Pei Ran started walking in that direction. Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao followed as well—probably curious to see how their friend was doing.
The carriage was filled with the smell of warm food. Everyone had received their meal boxes and was eating quietly. Only the occasional crinkle of foil broke the silence.
Pei Ran walked all the way to the end, reaching the dining car.
The door was shut. Though it had a glass panel, it was covered with a white curtain, shadows shifting vaguely behind it—too hazy to see clearly.
There was a tiny gap at one corner of the curtain where it hadn't been fully closed. Tang Dao leaned in and peered through.
He had barely looked for a second before frowning.
Pei Ran nudged him, eager to know what he had seen.
Tang Dao stepped aside, wordlessly giving up the prime voyeur spot. His brow remained furrowed.
Pei Ran looked.
Inside the dining car, Kirill and Yulianka had cleared off the white tablecloth from a central table. Jin Hejun was lying on his back on it.
Several people held him down—one on each arm, one pressing his legs, one holding his head in place.
Jin Hejun's mouth had been forced open unnaturally wide, shaped into a perfect O.
Yulianka, wearing a white coat, was bent over him, very close, his hands deep in Jin Hejun's mouth, fiddling with something using a tool.
Suddenly, Jin Hejun's legs kicked violently, nearly throwing off the person restraining them.
The metal sphere attached to Pei Ran buzzed. W couldn't see and asked, "What's going on in there?"
"They've pried open his mouth. No idea what kind of crap they're doing," Pei Ran replied.
Behind them, Sheng Mingxi couldn't see what was happening either—not the scene inside nor the look on their faces. Carelessly, he raised his hand and knocked on the dining car door.
Pei Ran: "…"
Footsteps approached from within.
The door swung open. It was Kirill. His thick brows were twisted into a nearly unbroken line, silently demanding: What are you all doing here?
Yulianka spotted Pei Ran from afar and looked mildly surprised. He immediately set down the tool and walked over briskly, peeling off his medical gloves along the way—gloves still stained with fresh red blood.
Sheng Mingxi got a good look at the scene and grew visibly agitated. He shot Kirill a look even fiercer than the one he'd received, pointing at Jin Hejun lying on the table, clearly asking: What the hell are you doing to him?
Yulianka patted Kirill's shoulder, gesturing for him to step aside, then tilted his head slightly to signal Pei Ran and the others to come in.
No one was restraining Jin Hejun anymore. He had sat up, breathing heavily, looking far better than before.
The white gauze over his eyes had been changed—no longer a crude wrap job, but now neat and professional, with no more blood seeping through.
But he kept one hand clutched to his throat.
Yulianka went over and gently patted his hand, then opened his mouth again and picked up a long metal rod with a small light at the end, checking Jin Hejun's mouth thoroughly. Only then did he turn to Pei Ran and the others and begin gesturing to explain.
He couldn't use the knuckle-tap code, nor Morse. It was full-on pantomime—quite theatrical, almost like he and Sheng Mingxi had trained at the same drama club.
First, he mimicked someone writhing in pain, clutching their mouth tightly, as if to say: Jin Hejun was in such pain from his eyes that he was desperately holding in his voice.
Then he removed his light-blue surgical mask.
He opened his own mouth, pointed deep into his throat, then used his other hand to draw a decisive slashing motion across his neck.
Pei Ran suddenly understood what he was saying.
And could hardly believe it.
W spoke in her ear.
"Pei Ran, do you know why Yulianka's vet clinic got shut down multiple times? Because he used to perform a certain kind of surgery for pet owners—some people wanted dogs but hated the barking, so they paid him to cut the dogs' vocal cords."
W continued, "That kind of procedure is illegal in the Federation. His clinic wasn't doing well, so he took the job. Someone reported him. I doubt he ever thought he'd one day use that surgery like this."
Every hair on Pei Ran's arms stood up.
To keep Jin Hejun from crying out in pain, Yulianka had cut his vocal cords—just like with a dog.
Was this really saving someone?
Yulianka watched Pei Ran's face and could tell she understood.
His expression remained calm. He pointed at his team, then repeated the throat-slashing motion.
They had all had their vocal cords removed too.
Yulianka pointed to his eyes, made a motion like flames shooting out, then pointed to his throat and crossed both hands in an X.
He was saying that one of their teammates—the one who had screamed after seeing letters on their contact lenses and burned to death—had died because he hadn't undergone the procedure.
Without vocal cords, you couldn't scream. You wouldn't talk in your sleep. No need for tape. No chance of accidental sound. Just one clean, absolute solution.
Brutal. Extreme. But undeniably effective in a world where speaking could mean instant death.
Yulianka turned his satchel around for Pei Ran to see.
Inside was a pristine white kit box with its lid open, containing a full set of sleek, gleaming surgical tools. Professional-grade.
Yulianka looked at Pei Ran, then pointed to the tools, head tilting slightly, asking silently:
Do you want your vocal cords removed too?
Pei Ran stared at him in silence and shook her head.
Yulianka looked at Sheng Mingxi with the same question in his eyes.
Sheng Mingxi quickly stepped back two paces, face saying thanks, but no thanks.
Tang Dao didn't even wait to be asked—he was already shaking his head like a bobblehead doll.
Being forced into silence was one thing; choosing to permanently lose your voice was another.
The three were in agreement: even if it meant risking death, they couldn't willingly give up their ability to speak.
Yulianka looked at the three of them with his calm grey-blue eyes. He made the throat-slashing gesture again, then pressed his palms together and rested his head on them like a sleeping child.
He was saying: Do it, and you'll finally sleep in peace.
The three of them shook their heads even more decisively.
Yulianka seemed to sigh inwardly. His gaze was heavy, but he didn't press them. He turned back and helped Jin Hejun off the table.
Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao hurried over, indicating they could take it from here and escort their friend back.
Yulianka followed behind them out of the makeshift surgical room.
But he wasn't going with Pei Ran's group—he went to check on the elderly couple studying ancient scripts. The old man was gesturing toward his chest, possibly explaining discomfort.
Yulianka pressed two fingers to the man's pulse, tilting his head to count beats.
In a nearby seat, the mother of the three-person family waved him over, holding her daughter in her lap.
The little girl, terrified after everything, clung desperately to her mother's shirt. She didn't look well either.
Yulianka gave them a wave: I see you. I'll be right there.
Right now, a white coat meant more than anything—it made him the only doctor on the train. He was doing his best.
Still, Tang Dao didn't trust him entirely. Once they were a carriage away and out of Yulianka's line of sight, he patted Jin Hejun's hand.
Tap—tap.
Tap tap.
Tap—
Tap—tap—tap—
…
W automatically translated: "Tang Dao's asking: Did you agree to the surgery?"
Jin Hejun, weak from blood loss and now with a fresh wound in his throat, was pale and stumbling. But he could still feel Tang Dao's hand.
He found it and slowly tapped back:
Tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap tap.
Tap tap.
Even without W translating, Pei Ran understood: Yes.
He continued tapping: Before the surgery, he had me touch my throat, then guided my hand in a cutting motion. Then he let me feel his tools. I understood. I agreed.
Jin Hejun chose to have his vocal cords removed.
Understandable.
He was in so much pain, he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't accidentally cry out and get himself blown to pieces. Like a gecko shedding its tail under threat, he chose to give up his voice to save his life.
But geckos grow their tails back.
He never would.
Pei Ran asked W: "If you were in Jin Hejun's situation, would you choose to cut your vocal cords?"
W answered calmly: "I don't know. Would you?"
Pei Ran thought for a moment. "I don't know either."
Her wristband vibrated—another batch of images from the Department of National Security.
Still in W's stick-figure style. This time, the images depicted groups of people finding new ways to communicate.
Aside from methods Pei Ran already knew, the new ones included silent gestures and sign language—including numeric signs.
All gathered by Heijing's intel. As W had said, experience was accumulating bit by bit.
The last image included a warning: even communication methods currently deemed safe might become dangerous at any time. Use with caution.
Two thousand kilometers away, Heijing Base.
Fifty-seven hours into Silence.
The top-floor command center's side meeting room had been prepared.
The best conference table in the entire base had been placed there, surrounded by chairs.
The military brass and administrative officials who had reached Heijing formed the Temporary Crisis Council. Their daily meeting was underway.
The main topic: progress on Phase II of the northern shield field project.
Phase II had been only half-built before Silence began. The core generators were nearly complete, but construction remained unfinished.
Chief Executive Officer Bathaway had just arrived and was still catching up. "Why does Phase II need to be completed? Isn't the current shield enough to cover the entire underground city?"
W's calm voice answered:
"One of the biggest problems with Silence is that it interferes with all kinds of equipment and weapons. Any screen, display, or device—if words appear, they may trigger an attack. So most of our automated weapons can't be used outside at all."
"On one hand, Heijing is rapidly building and refitting existing weaponry. On the other, if Phase II is completed and the shield field extends farther, then within the shield, everything—including weapons—can function normally. That expansion is crucial for Heijing's safety."
Bathaway nodded in understanding.
After finalizing the construction timeline, the next agenda item was one W had added: reassessing Heijing's decision-making protocol.
W's composed, restrained voice filled the room.
"The current approval process has proven completely inadequate for the rapidly changing outside world. Every second of delay costs lives beyond the shield. I strongly recommend a revision and broader emergency powers—assigned to me."
Marshal Veina leaned back in his chair, silently watching.
The Federal Minister of Finance finally spoke up.
"With all due respect, Agent W, are you suggesting we bypass the Provisional Decision Committee and let you make all the decisions?"
W cut him off coldly.
"First of all, I am not a 'person'. I am an artificial intelligence, a program made up of code. Secondly, I am not asking to 'make all the decisions'. I am simply requesting greater authority when it comes to matters involving the safety of Federal civilians."
Lieutenant General Delsa couldn't hold back.
"I knew it. These AIs—always so ambitious. We never should've activated the agents in the first place..."
Marshal Veina didn't speak for a long while.
"Agent W, I trust your judgment. In fact, ever since the Silence began, your decisions have consistently proven to be correct. But giving you even more authority would go against the Federal decision-making process, against institutional protocol—and frankly, it might even be unconstitutional."
W responded,
"If the system is leading to the deaths of countless Federal citizens, then perhaps it's the system that needs to be changed."
Marshal Veina glanced sideways at Song Wan.
Artificial intelligence might appear to be perfectly impartial and objective, but in the end, it's still a tool—and tools are always wielded by someone.
Behind Agent W was the long-standing military family from the East Manya continent, represented by none other than Song Wan's lineage.
The balance between various factions in the Federation had always been delicate. When Veina insisted on activating Agent W despite heavy opposition, it had already pushed that balance to the brink. The discontent had been loud.
Before his activation, W had undergone rigorous screening to ensure impartiality—free from any hidden agendas. Since taking over the day-to-day management of the Federation's national defense operations, he had been nearly flawless. Only then did the opposition begin to quiet down.
But with this sudden crisis and the volatile circumstances, giving him even more decision-making power could destabilize an already fragile Heijing.
—
In the adjacent meeting hall, Jose remained seated at his makeshift workstation.
He had taken a nap earlier and looked visibly more refreshed now, eyes scanning the curved holographic screen in front of him.
He asked,
"That meeting next door still going?"
On the screen, W was still in his virtual room. He wasn't feeding his pet python this time, but rather sitting in a wooden hoop chair with a brocade seat, head bowed over a book.
The floor lamp next to him was on, casting a shadow across his flawless profile.
"Yeah," W answered without looking up. "Getting a little power out of those people is harder than squeezing a coin out of a miser."
Jose studied him with curiosity.
"What are you doing?"
"Debating the sages," W replied.
"I know you're in the meeting room next door debating the sages," Jose said. "I mean here, in your little virtual palace—what are you pretending to do?"
W lifted the book in his hand.
"Are you blind? Reading."
Jose: "…"
He muttered through clenched teeth,
"I must've been out of my mind to agree to let you set your language mode to Natural Level Eight. Keep it up and I'll cut your power and rip out your memory core."
W replied coldly,
"Doesn't matter how quietly you mumble—I can still hear you. As for whether you can cut my power and rip out my memory, that's debatable. But I can absolutely downgrade your meal plan at Heijing. In fact, I'm reworking the food distribution schedule right now."
"Ah…" Jose switched topics fast.
"So… you're reading. You can read internally through the system. Why bother putting on a show like that?"
W: "Because I feel like it."
Jose couldn't help asking,
"What are you reading, then?"
W floated out two syllables:
"Fiction."
Jose paused.
"Fiction? Wait, what?"
"I just finished reading over forty thousand detective novels. Some were decent. Some—not so much."
W closed the book, now sounding genuinely interested.
"Got any recommendations for a mystery novel? Something logically sound, but where the killer is still hard to identify?"
"Uh…" Jose tilted his head back, actually trying to remember.
"There was one I read in college that wasn't bad... called The River of Scythest or something..."
W: "The River of Scythest. Let me check."
A second later, W said,
"Finished. I figured out the killer by Chapter Twenty. Got anything else?"
Jose: "…"
Even though he knew this kind of reading speed was perfectly normal for W, Jose still felt a little crazy.
"You're a security agent. Why are you suddenly into detective fiction?"
Then it hit him.
"This is about Pei Ran again, isn't it?"
W gave a noncommittal "Mm," not even trying to deny it.
"She said it was interesting. I wanted to see just how interesting."