Tang Dao continued tapping on the tray table in Morse code: "I was handing out meals. The doctor came over and gestured for a while, indicating he could help. Jin Heojun agreed and followed him."
W said, "Even the least successful vet is still a trained medical professional. 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 from the bottom of her heart.
Pei Ran tapped on the tray table: "Where did they go?"
Tang Dao pointed toward the rear of the train.
Pei Ran walked that way, with Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao following, probably also concerned about their friend.
The smell of food lingered in the car. Everyone had received their boxed meals and was eating quietly, with only the occasional crinkle from aluminum foil containers breaking the silence.
Pei Ran walked all the way to the end, arriving at the dining car.
The door was shut tight. Though it had a glass pane, it was obscured by a white curtain. The figures behind it were vague and indistinct.
One corner of the curtain wasn't fully drawn, leaving a small gap. Tang Dao leaned forward and peered in.
He frowned the moment he looked.
Pei Ran, desperate to know what he saw, nudged him lightly.
Tang Dao stepped aside, silently giving up the prime spying position, still frowning.
Pei Ran looked in.
Inside the dining car, Kirill and Yulianka's group had removed the white tablecloth from the central table. Jin Heojun was lying flat on his back.
Some of them were holding down his arms, others his legs, and someone was securing his head.
His mouth was forced wide open, forming a large "O," held apart by some kind of tool.
Yulianka, in a white lab coat, was bent over him, working closely with a medical instrument in Jin Heojun's mouth.
Suddenly, Jin Heojun kicked violently, almost throwing off the person holding his legs.
The metal sphere hung on Pei Ran's body. W, who couldn't see, asked, "What's happening inside?"
"They've pried his mouth open. I don't know what kind of crazy thing they're doing," Pei Ran replied.
Sheng Mingxi, behind the two, couldn't see inside or read their expressions. She just reached out and knocked on the dining car door.
Pei Ran: "…"
Footsteps quickly approached.
The door opened. It was Kirill. His thick eyebrows were furrowed into a deep scowl, clearly demanding without words: "What are you doing here?"
Yulianka spotted Pei Ran from afar. His expression shifted slightly in surprise. He immediately put down his instrument and walked over quickly.
As he walked, he pulled off his surgical gloves—white, and still stained with bright red blood.
Sheng Mingxi caught sight of what was going on inside and became visibly agitated. She shot Kirill a look even fiercer than his, and pointed accusingly at Jin Heojun still lying on the table. Her meaning was obvious: What the hell are you doing to him?
Yulianka patted Kirill on the shoulder, signaling him to step aside. He tilted his head slightly, inviting Pei Ran and the others to come in.
No one was holding Jin Heojun down anymore. He was sitting up, gasping for breath, and actually looked much better than before.
The white gauze over his eyes had been replaced with fresh bandages—no longer messy and haphazard, but neat and professional, with no blood seeping through.
He was, however, pressing one hand to his throat.
Yulianka walked over and gently patted Jin Heojun's hand, then opened his mouth and used a long metal instrument with a light on it to inspect the inside carefully before turning back to the others and explaining with gestures.
He didn't know the knuckle-tapping Morse system or finger Morse either. He was completely relying on pantomime, and he did it well—like he and Sheng Mingxi had come from the same theater troupe.
He mimed someone curling up and writhing in pain, then pointed to his own mouth and clutched it tightly shut.
It seemed he was saying that Jin Heojun had been in so much pain from his eyes that he was desperately trying not to make a sound.
Then Yulianka removed his light-blue surgical mask.
He opened his mouth wide and pointed to the depths of his throat, then, with his other hand, made a decisive slashing gesture across his neck.
Pei Ran suddenly understood what he meant.
And couldn't believe it.
W whispered in her ear:
"Pei Ran, do you know why Yulianka's veterinary clinic was shut down a few times? Because he performed an illegal surgery—some pet owners wanted dogs that wouldn't bark, so he'd remove their vocal cords."
W went on, "That procedure is banned in the Federation. But Yulianka's clinic wasn't doing well, so he took those under-the-table jobs. Someone reported him. I doubt even he imagined that one day, this surgery would become... useful."
Pei Ran felt the hairs on her arms stand up.
To keep Jin Heojun from crying out in pain, Yulianka had removed his vocal cords—just like he would for a dog.
Was this even saving someone?
Yulianka watched Pei Ran's expression and could tell she had figured it out.
He pressed his lips together slightly, his expression calm. He pointed to the few people around him, then made another throat-slashing gesture.
They had all had their vocal cords removed, too.
Yulianka pointed to his eyes, mimed them catching fire, then to his throat, and made an "X" with both hands.
He was saying that the teammate who died earlier from screaming—his eyes burned because of writing on his contact lenses—died because he hadn't had the surgery.
With no vocal cords, you wouldn't cry out accidentally, or talk in your sleep. No need for duct tape anymore—problem solved at the root.
Brutal. Extreme. But in this situation—where any sound could mean instant death—it was disturbingly effective.
Yulianka turned his medical bag around and showed it to Pei Ran.
Inside was a small white case with the lid open, revealing a full set of shiny tools. Under the light, the silver gleamed, perfectly clean and sterile. It all looked frighteningly professional.
Yulianka gently pointed at Pei Ran, then at the tools, tilting his head slightly as if asking:
Do you want your vocal cords removed, too?
Pei Ran looked at him in silence, then shook her head.
Yulianka turned to Sheng Mingxi with the same questioning look.
She immediately took two big steps back, her expression saying clearly: Thanks, but hell no.
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 lose your voice forever was another entirely.
All three were in agreement: Even if it meant risking death at any moment, they wouldn't willingly sacrifice the ability to speak.
Yulianka gave them a soft, almost sad look with his pale gray-blue eyes. He made another slashing gesture, then pressed his palms together and rested them against his cheek, closing his eyes.
He was saying: If you remove your vocal cords, you'll finally be able to sleep in peace.
All three of them shook their heads even more firmly.
Yulianka seemed to sigh silently.
There was sorrow in his expression, but no insistence. He turned to help Jin Heojun, who had just undergone the procedure, off the table.
Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao rushed over, indicating they would take it from here, each grabbing an arm to support their friend.
Yulianka followed behind them as they left the makeshift operating room.
But he wasn't following Pei Ran and the others. Instead, he turned toward the elderly couple who specialized in ancient languages. The old man was gesturing at his chest, seeming to describe some discomfort.
Yulianka placed his fingers on the old man's wrist and tilted his head, silently counting the pulse.
In another row, the mother of a family of three waved him over. Her daughter was curled tightly in her arms.
The little girl had clearly been terrified over the past few days, clinging desperately to her mother's shirtfront. She didn't look well either.
Yulianka waved gently, signaling "I'll be right there."
At times like this, the white coat still held symbolic power. He was probably the only real doctor on the train—and he took his role seriously.
Tang Dao, however, remained uneasy. He walked another car ahead, out of Yulianka's line of sight, then tapped Jin Heojun's hand.
Tap—tap.
Tap-tap.
Tap—
Tap—tap—tap—
...
W, acting as an automatic translator, interpreted for Pei Ran effortlessly: "Tang Dao's asking: Did you agree to the surgery?"
Jin Heojun, weakened by blood loss and now the throat operation, looked pale and was stumbling. But he could still feel Tang Dao's hand.
He slowly tapped back:
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap.
Pei Ran didn't need W to translate—she already knew.
He said: Yes.
He tapped again, continuing:
Before the surgery, he had me touch my own throat. Then he moved my hand in a cutting motion. Then he let me feel his tools. I understood what he meant. I agreed.
Jin Heojun chose to give up his voice.
Understandable.
He was on the verge of collapse from the pain. At any moment, he might accidentally groan—and then he'd be blown to pieces. Like a lizard dropping its tail in danger, he chose to sacrifice his vocal cords to save his life.
But a lizard's tail grows back. His voice never will.
Pei Ran asked W, "If you were in Jin Heojun's situation, would you give up 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. The National Defense and Security Department had sent a new set of images.
Once again, they were in W's simplified sketch style. This time, the pictures featured many people, all communicating in different ways.
In addition to the methods Pei Ran already knew, the new images showed sign language, including finger-spelled numbers. All deemed safe—for now.
It was a compilation of field-tested information, just like W said: collective knowledge was building, piece by piece.
The last image was a reminder: Even seemingly safe communication methods may not stay safe forever. A warning: Any one of them could eventually get someone killed. Use with caution.
2,000 kilometers away, in Heijing Base.
Fifty-seven hours of total radio silence.
A small meeting room had been set up beside the top-floor command center.
The best conference table in the base was placed at the center, surrounded by chairs.
A temporary governing committee—composed of military top brass and federal administrators who had arrived at Heijing—was holding its daily strategic meeting.
The main agenda of the meeting was to discuss the second-phase construction of the shielding system north of the base.
Before the Silence began, the second-phase project was less than halfway completed. However, the shielding generators themselves were already mostly in place.
CEO Bathaway had just arrived at Heijing and wasn't fully up to speed.
"So why exactly do we need to complete Phase Two? Isn't the core shield already covering the entire underground city?"
W's calm voice responded:
"One of the most serious problems caused by the Silence is that it disrupts the function of all types of equipment and weaponry. Any screen, gauge, or internal weapon component that displays text may be subject to attack. That means most of our automated weapons are practically unusable outside the shield."
"On one hand, Heijing is rushing to build production and repair lines to modify existing weapons. On the other, if Phase Two can be completed and the shield coverage expands, all weapons will function normally beneath it. That would allow us to extend Heijing's defensive perimeter, which is critical for our security."
Bathaway nodded in understanding.
After they finalized the phased timeline for Phase Two, the meeting moved on to the next agenda item—one added by Agent W: a reassessment of Heijing's decision-making protocols.
W's composed voice echoed in the small conference room.
"It's become clear that our current approval process is completely inadequate in responding to the rapidly shifting circumstances outside. Every second of delay means countless lives lost beyond the shield. I strongly recommend that the process be revised to grant me greater authority for emergency response."
Marshal Weiner leaned back into his chair without speaking.
But the Federal Minister of Finance did speak up. "With all due respect, Agent W, you're effectively asking to bypass the provisional decision-making committee and have unilateral authority…"
W cut him off coldly.
"First, I am not a 'person.' I'm an artificial intelligence—code and program. Second, I'm not asking to 'decide everything.' I'm simply requesting more authority in matters directly affecting the safety of Federal civilians."
Lieutenant General Delsa couldn't help himself.
"I knew it. These AIs—always too ambitious. We never should've activated an Agent in the first place…"
It took Marshal Weiner a long moment to respond.
"Agent W, I trust your judgment. Since the Silence began, your decisions have proven accurate time and again. But granting you additional powers goes against the Federation's normal procedures. It would even violate the Constitution."
W replied,
"If those procedures lead to the deaths of countless Federal citizens, then isn't it the system itself that must be changed?"
Marshal Weiner glanced sideways at Song Wan.
AI may appear entirely impartial and objective, but in the end, it was still just a tool—and tools are wielded by someone.
Behind Agent W stood Song Wan's family, one of the old military houses of the Eastern Manya continent.
For a long time, the Federation's various factions had maintained a delicate balance. Marshal Weiner had already faced strong opposition for activating Agent W, and tensions were high.
Agent W had undergone extensive vetting before activation, to ensure impartiality and eliminate any potential bias. Since taking over daily national defense operations, it had performed nearly flawlessly, and the opposition had somewhat quieted.
But now, in the midst of a crisis with such volatile conditions, granting it even greater authority would not be a stabilizing force—it would be a risk.
—
In the adjacent conference hall, Jossay sat at his makeshift work desk.
He'd managed to catch a few hours of sleep and looked more refreshed now, staring at the curved virtual screen in front of him.
He asked,
"They're still not done with that meeting next door?"
On the screen, W was still in his virtual room. He wasn't feeding his pet python this time, but instead sat in a wood-framed armchair with a brocade cushion, head bowed over a book.
A standing lamp beside the chair cast shadows over his flawless profile.
"Yeah," W replied without looking up. "Getting power out of them is harder than getting a coin from a miser."
Jossay watched him with interest. "What are you doing?"
"Debating the scholars," W said.
"I know you're verbally dueling them in the room next door," Jossay said. "I mean, what are you doing here, in your fake little virtual lounge?"
W raised the book in his hand. "What does it look like? Reading."
"…," Jossay muttered, grinding his teeth. "What the hell was I thinking when I agreed to let you set your speech mode to Natural Level 8? I swear, I'll cut your power and rip out your memory core."
W replied coolly,
"Muttering won't help, I can hear everything. Whether you can cut my power or pull my memory is debatable. But I can definitely downgrade your food access level. I'm in the middle of adjusting rations for Heijing today."
"Okay, okay…" Jossay quickly changed the subject. "But why are you pretending to read like that? If you want to read, just do it in the system—you don't need to act it out."
W: "Because I want to."
"…What are you even reading?"
W replied with a single word: "Fiction."
Jossay paused. "Fiction? Seriously?"
"I just finished more than forty thousand detective novels. Some were decent. Others—not so much," W said as he closed the book. "Do you have any recommendations? Something with tight logic but hard to guess who the killer is?"
"Uh…" Jossay tilted his head, actually trying to recall. "There was one I read in college that was pretty good… something like The River of Scythest…"
W: "The River of Scythest. I'll look it up."
A second later, W said flatly, "Finished. Guessed the killer in Chapter 20. Got anything else?"
"…," Jossay blinked. He knew W read fast, but it still drove him crazy. "Why are you even into detective fiction all of a sudden? You're a security AI."
Then it hit him. "It's her, isn't it? Pei Ran?"
W casually replied, "Mm." No denial.
"She said it was interesting. I wanted to see how interesting."