"This Yulianka graduated from Night Sea University with a degree in veterinary medicine," W said. "After graduation, he saved up for a few years and opened a small vet clinic in Night Sea. I checked the last two years of federal tax records—his clinic has been operating at a loss since it opened. There are also a few citations on file for non-compliant business practices."
This AI, with its connection to Heijing, could access all sorts of databases and had thoroughly dug up the man's background.
It could identify someone just from a facial image—an excellent feature, originally. As long as Shige Ye sketched a small stick figure in her black notebook and wrote a name beside it, that person's fate would be entirely in her hands. If she wanted them dead, they'd be dead.
But with the Silence intensifying, writing was now off the table. That feature had become somewhat useless.
Pei Ran said, "Why do you care whether he's successful or not?"
W replied lazily, "Aren't you humans always judging others based on their success?"
Humans, huh?
"Well, I don't," Pei Ran said. "Whether someone's successful or not has nothing to do with me. If I have to judge someone, I only look at two things: first, whether they're a reliable partner—"
A reliable partner meant you could team up to scavenge supplies on the surface, access more dangerous areas, earn better rewards, and avoid being screwed over by incompetent teammates.
Pei Ran continued, "—and second, whether they can provide resources."
People who could supply resources were also crucial. Like Uncle Alimu, who sold black bread from his wall-painted window—his loaves were high quality, free of grit, and nearly twice the size of others'.
As for whether others were doing well, failing, or falling apart—it had nothing to do with her.
Who knew if they'd all just drop dead tomorrow? This whole world barely concerned her anyway.
W echoed her words: "First, a reliable partner. Second, someone who can provide resources. Pei Ran, I find your criteria excellent. Very rational."
"Right?" Pei Ran said.
The escalator reached the bottom, and she finally saw Night Sea No. 7.
Thick smoke rolled down the escalator, the platform shrouded in haze.
This antique train, over two hundred years old, was a hulking black beast quietly resting at the station through the swirling smoke.
Its body was made of heavy black metal, entirely different from the sleek, minimalist designs of modern trains. The engine and body were complex, with every mechanical component exposed.
Because it was a sightseeing train, there weren't many cars—only five short ones behind the engine.
Everything looked intact, at least not on fire.
Pei Ran asked, "Is it steam-powered?"
"Not quite that old," W replied. "Night Sea No. 7 runs on an internal combustion engine. Over a century ago, it used diesel fuel. When petroleum ran out, the Night Sea municipal government planned to convert it to electric—but the public protested fiercely. In the end, they designed a custom internal combustion engine that runs on a special high-efficiency fuel."
Now all they could hope for was that it hadn't been too badly damaged in the recent attacks.
Next to the train was the platform. A giant display screen hadn't survived the assault—it had caught fire, though the blaze hadn't spread. The fire was now out, but black smoke still poured from it.
There were dried patches of blood on the platform, dark brown now. Someone had died there—likely a staff member.
The engine faced the tunnel. That side was free of smoke. W had been right—this underground tunnel led all the way out of the city, unaffected by the fires above.
The rails stretched forward, pointing to an escape route.
Pei Ran stepped onto the footplate and climbed into the cab.
The cab was in worse condition than she'd expected.
Like the rest of the antique train, Night Sea No. 7's control panel had been scorched.
Though there were no microcomputers, the panel still had gauges and small screens. The labeled dials were blackened by fire; the screens had melted into clumps, exposing broken wires underneath.
Fortunately, like the body of the train, the panel was made entirely of metal. The fire hadn't spread further.
"Can it be fixed?" Pei Ran asked W.
"I'm currently accessing schematics of the train's control system and assessing the damage. I hope to offer a repair plan. I'm not an expert in this field—I need to cross-reference several resources. Please wait."
While W worked, Pei Ran examined the panel herself.
She wondered aloud, "Was this train already out of commission? The Silence started two days ago, and the panel looks like it was burned just this afternoon. That's a lot of time—why didn't anyone take the train?"
"My guess," W said, "is that Night Sea No. 7 was out of fuel. Open the small square hatch under the driver's seat."
Pei Ran crouched, found the book-sized panel where her feet would go, and pulled it open.
It was empty.
W saw it too. "If there were high-efficiency fuel blocks, they'd be stored there."
That explained why the train was still here.
Pei Ran asked, "Where can I find the fuel blocks you mentioned?"
She suddenly remembered something. "I saw a door near the wall of the platform—probably a staff-only area. Could the fuel be in there?"
"It's possible," W replied.
Footsteps came from behind—someone else was climbing up.
Pei Ran turned her head.
It was a man, around thirty, with thick black curls and equally thick brows furrowed tight. He wore no gag, carried a heavy travel backpack, and looked vaguely familiar.
He was the man shown on the tiny pop-up from Yulianka's wristband.
He wasn't alone—several others followed behind, the same group that had gathered at the turnstiles. Yulianka was among them.
He stepped forward first, nodded to Pei Ran.
This time, she noticed his striking blue-gray eyes. When he smiled—a subtle, barely noticeable lift at the corners—fine lines appeared at the edge of his eyes.
The man with the curls glanced at Pei Ran, then thumped his backpack onto the metal console. The bag landed with a loud clunk—clearly heavy.
He unzipped it, revealing an assortment of tools: screwdrivers, drills, hammers, pliers—everything one might need.
He came prepared.
Without a word to Pei Ran, he bent over the console and began inspecting the scorched screens and dials.
Pei Ran asked W, "Who's this guy?"
W, busy learning how to be a mechanic, still answered quickly. "His name is Kiril. He's a technician from Antor Mechanical Group, Night Sea. Mid-level position."
Mid-level again. He was back at it.
Still, at least Kiril's job matched the situation.
Kiril worked silently for a while before turning back, brows still knotted, and gave his companions a slight shake of the head.
His expression looked like a doctor giving up on a critical patient: go eat something nice—it's over.
But the fire outside was still raging, and the smoke getting thicker. Even if it looked hopeless, they had no choice but to try.
Kiril knew this too. He clenched his jaw and went back to examining the charred panel.
Pei Ran glanced ahead. The twin rails vanished into a dim tunnel.
"If we really can't fix it, we'll have to walk out through the tunnel."
W's voice was cool. "Just because he says it can't be fixed, doesn't mean that's true."
Fine. Let him keep working on his plan.
The cab was tiny, barely four or five square meters, and the controls took up space. With everyone squeezed in and only one narrow exit, if someone made a wrong move now, there'd be nowhere to escape.
Pei Ran pushed through the group, stepped down from the footplate.
Outside, the smoke was even thicker.
Everyone who had been stuck at the turnstiles had now followed inside, including the university students. They waited on the platform, unable to help, just hoping the train could be fixed.
More people trickled down the escalator. The fires in Night Sea were spreading, and everyone was desperate to get out.
Pei Ran headed for the small door she'd seen earlier.
Set in the wall, it was barely noticeable—made of a tough, semi-transparent brown material she was now very familiar with.
It was locked.
Pei Ran had become quite skilled at handling this kind of door. A few solid punches cracked a hole in it.
She widened the opening and slipped inside.
It was a small room, probably a storage area, cluttered with supplies.
W said, "Pei Ran, I see it. That box on the floor up ahead."
A small cardboard box sat against the wall. Lettering on the side read: "IAE_II High-Efficiency Fuel" along with the manufacturer's info. Thankfully, like the documents, it hadn't caught fire—yet.
Pei Ran opened the lid. Inside were just three palm-sized black blocks.
They were surprisingly heavy.
She asked, "This is it? Are three enough?"
W replied, "To reach Heijing? One is already enough."
The fuel blocks had instruction labels. Pei Ran ripped off all the stickers and packed all three into her backpack.
No wonder no one had taken the train—without the key or the strength to break in, this hidden stash was completely inaccessible.
Pei Ran exited the room.
There were still thirty or forty people waiting on the platform. Aisha and her grandmother were still nowhere to be seen.
Pei Ran opened her wristband screen and sent a message.
Still no text, only a blank map. She tapped her location on Night Sea No. 7's starting platform and sent the ping.
Aisha usually responded quickly, but this time there was radio silence. Something must have happened.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Suddenly, the silence of the station was shattered by a series of loud, frantic bangs coming from the direction of the driver's cabin—one after another.
Pei Ran walked over and peeked in through the crowd. Through a gap between people, she spotted Kiril. He seemed to be trying to dismantle the control panel for repairs but was getting nowhere. Now he'd resorted to hammering at it with a mallet and chisel.
He was hammering non-stop, the rhythm agitated and intense. It unsettled the people quietly waiting on the smoke-filled platform—faces pale, eyes exchanging nervous, confused glances.
Everyone understood the truth: the train had broken down. And clearly, the repair wasn't going well.
A few people hesitated, then gave up and headed back up the escalator, likely deciding not to wait for the Night Sea No. 7 and planning to figure something else out instead.
Kiril couldn't pry the panel off. Maybe a mechanical hand could help. Pei Ran stepped onto the footboard, ready to assist.
W suddenly spoke. "Pei Ran, turn around. Someone at the escalator is waving at you."
Pei Ran turned and saw a figure descending the escalator through thick smoke, both arms raised high, waving in wide, exaggerated arcs.
It was Aisha.
She hadn't replied because she was already here—and had spotted Pei Ran first.
Aisha wore a thick brown coat, a white scarf wrapped around her mouth, and a heavy backpack stuffed full.
Only now did Pei Ran realize what those green scribbles were on the little emoji of the frantically pedaling person Aisha had sent earlier. Hanging from the side of Aisha's pack was a net bag—and inside it was the potted plant she kept in her office.
Pei Ran paused. In times like these—apocalyptic times—this girl had trekked all this way… with a potted plant.
W had noticed too. "Spathiphyllum, also called peace lily. Family Araceae, genus Spathiphyllum. Evergreen perennial."
Pei Ran was mildly surprised. It looked like just a lush bunch of green leaves—did it actually bloom?
There were no flowers in the bunker.
There was an underground cultivation zone, but artificial lighting consumed precious energy. That resource was strictly used for growing useful crops—no one planted flowers for beauty.
Even if some crops happened to bloom, ordinary people weren't allowed in to see.
Keeping a flower, one with zero utility, was pure luxury.
Pei Ran wondered what Aisha's peace lily looked like when it bloomed.
Beside Aisha stood an elderly woman with silver hair—probably in her sixties or seventies—wearing a beige knitted sweater under a thick black coat and a cute, hand-knit hat. Though aged, she held herself upright with a straight spine.
This must be Aisha's grandmother.
She looked over with Aisha, her eyes creasing in a smile and forming deep crow's feet as she raised a hand and waved.
Pei Ran quickly waved back and jumped off the footboard.
Aisha ran to her, grabbed Pei Ran's arm, and tugged down the scarf over her mouth.
Pei Ran saw it—Aisha was using a special method to stop herself from speaking.
She had a small wooden stick clamped crosswise in her mouth. Both ends of the stick were tied with ribbons that looped around her neck.
With the stick in her mouth, she couldn't speak. But if she needed to eat or drink, she just had to let it drop—it'd hang from her neck, staying clean and handy for reuse.
Pei Ran had read about this in books: in ancient warfare, soldiers would sometimes march while "biting the bit," literally holding a stick in their mouths to keep silence in the ranks.
Aisha's idea was quite ingenious.
She raised her arms high and began gesturing energetically.
Her eyes sparkled, her expression was intense and earnest. She pointed at her mouth, at her feet, here and there, forming shapes with her arms.
Pei Ran stared at her silently.
Aisha was bold—she'd clearly invented her own gesture-based code… and now she was just demonstrating it in public.
Lucky she was still alive. Must have nine lives.
But this meant that under the current "Silent" condition, air-drawn writing wasn't allowed, but gestural communication still worked. If only everyone knew sign language.
Only problem was—Pei Ran couldn't understand a single thing she was doing.
What kind of total-obstacle-mode communication was this?
Pei Ran studied her carefully. The gestures seemed to reference many body parts. Maybe she was mapping out an entire alphabet across her body?
If so, it would have to be intuitive—like, what did the mouth represent? M? Z? And the nose?
As Pei Ran concentrated, Aisha suddenly made a "pause" gesture—probably realizing the system was too confusing and switching codes.
This time, she raised her hands again, but with smaller movements. She started tapping various knuckles on her fingers, sometimes with her left hand on her right, sometimes the reverse.
W spoke up. "So this is that friend of yours who sends you those hugging-and-kissing emoji packs? Aisha?"
Pei Ran, eyes still on Aisha's cryptic hand signals, replied dryly, "Yes. You don't have to tell me how much tax she paid last year or whether her career is successful."
"Okay," W said. "But…"
Pei Ran: "…"
W continued, "But I do think you'll want to know about her grandmother. Her name is Jiang Zhaoxue. She was an engineer before she retired. I just looked up her records—she personally participated in the internal combustion system upgrade for Night Sea No. 7 back in the day."
Pei Ran: !!!
No wonder they knew about this antique train hidden in the Night Sea.
No need for Aisha's weird code anymore. Pei Ran leapt onto the footboard and reached out to help Engineer Jiang up.
Aisha: ???
Aisha: Pei Ran… actually understood all that??
Pei Ran had instantly grasped the meaning of her custom-made hand signs. Incredible.
Aisha gave her a huge, sincere thumbs-up and followed her up onto the footboard.
But the cramped driver's cabin was already packed.
Three people were completely blocked from entering, bodies wedged in tightly.
Engineer Jiang leaned forward, trying to push through. One man turned to glance at the small, slim old lady—then emotionlessly turned back.
Pei Ran said nothing, extended her mechanical hand, and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned again, this time eyeing the black mechanical fingers on his shoulder… and froze.
He looked up—and saw that it was Pei Ran.
He clearly remembered how she'd ripped open a monster gate with that very hand. The image of her pulling out twisted flesh-and-machine hybrids still haunted him.
This time, he moved aside immediately.
Yulianka turned around and spotted Pei Ran too. She tapped her companions, clearing the way.
Pei Ran finally squeezed into the driver's area with Aisha and Jiang.
Kiril was still hammering away, frowning when he saw Pei Ran return. His look said: why are you crowding in here too?
Jiang gently nudged him aside and bent down to inspect the panel, now riddled with dents.
She glanced up at Kiril.
For some reason, the old lady's gaze made him feel vaguely guilty.
Aisha had already opened her pack and pulled out a small, neatly organized toolkit.
Jiang picked out a tiny flat-head screwdriver, barely a few inches long.
Kiril raised an eyebrow—he had already searched thoroughly. There were no screws on the panel to begin with.
But Jiang didn't search for screws. She slid the screwdriver tip into a seam along the panel's edge.
Kiril was unimpressed. He'd tried that. The panel was tightly installed and couldn't be pried loose. That little screwdriver wouldn't cut it.
Jiang just lightly nudged one edge, then shifted to another seam and did it again.
Click.
The entire metal panel popped up.
Kiril's eyes widened. He leaned over and finally saw it: three latch locks embedded in the panel's edge, completely hidden from view.
He glanced at Jiang again, wondering how she'd even found them.
But for Jiang, removing a panel was nothing special. She calmly set it aside and began working on the scorched wires and components underneath.
After a while, she looked up and nodded at Pei Ran and Aisha.
Pei Ran understood: It's fixable.
Relieved, she turned and pointed at the door.
This place was too crowded—and too dangerous. Grandma Jiang was a treasure. The fate of Night Sea No. 7 depended on her. Everyone else could die—not her.
Kiril hesitated, but Yulianka quickly pulled her teammates aside and opened the door to the next car.
The crowd left.
With the cabin cleared, Jiang could focus. Pei Ran watched a moment, then pointed to Aisha's feet, then her own, then the outside.
Aisha nodded—Pei Ran wanted her to stay and help her grandmother while she handled something else.
Pei Ran peeked out of the driver's cabin.
The smoke rolling in was even thicker now, acrid and blinding. She could barely make out Yulianka helping people board the train.
It was a good plan. The train cars were sealed—they could keep the choking smoke out.
Within minutes, the platform was empty.
Pei Ran waited a moment longer, then slipped into the shadows, crept along the wall, and quietly climbed the escalator back to the entry hall.
Above ground, the fire had become apocalyptic.
All the visible buildings were ablaze, thick black smoke obscuring the sky—it looked like nightfall though it was still afternoon.
Flames lit up the streets, igniting scattered paper. The heat scorched her cheeks. No human figures in sight.
The Night Sea had become a sea of fire.
There was no going back. The train was the only option.
Pei Ran pulled her scarf tight and moved through the smoke toward the ruined gate console she had gutted earlier. She knelt and started searching inside.
The green light was gone.
She opened the neighboring metal box with her mechanical hand and inspected it too.
They were connected underground via thick threaded pipes—but no sign of the green light.
She closed the lids and methodically checked the entire row. Nothing.
After killing those deranged fused workers, the green light had stopped moving, calmly staying by the pipe. Unless it had grown wings like Shige Ye's and flown off with someone...
But there was another possibility.
W spoke. "Your trophy got stolen?"
Exactly her thought.
"Yeah," Pei Ran replied. "Someone got lucky."
And that someone might just be the one who could hypnotize.