On the dark wilderness, the moonlight was dim. It was nothing like water. Yanghai No.7 sped forward.
Aisha sat in the driver's seat, staring at the track stretching ahead.
Yesterday, after receiving Pei Ran's message about the shelter, she had immediately discussed it with her grandmother.
In the silence, every day was like dancing on the edge of a knife. The slightest sound from one's throat could mean certain death.
A shelter where you could speak normally, where sound wouldn't kill you—such a place was a miracle. If it were just her alone, Aisha would travel not just two thousand, but even twenty thousand kilometers for a chance like that.
Pei Ran had warned her: the shelter might accept civilians, and it might impose strict admission criteria. Even if they made it there, they might not be let in. It was a gamble.
But it was a gamble worth taking—high risk, high reward—and Aisha was willing to bet.
The problem was, her grandmother was old. Healthy, yes, but nearing seventy. A grueling two-thousand-kilometer journey under these conditions… it would be tough. What if she couldn't take it? What if they reached Heijing and the authorities refused to admit her grandmother?
As she hesitated yesterday, her grandmother hadn't even needed time to think. She made the decision immediately.
Back when they could still write, her grandmother scribbled on the wristband screen:
"Xia Xia, I know what you're worried about. Don't hesitate. We have to go. I have a feeling—it's only going to get worse."
"Going is our only hope. Even if we lose the bet, we have to try. We can't just sit here and wait to die."
They packed their bags on the spot.
Her grandmother had kept an old electric scooter, a relic from her youth, bought with the first paycheck of her first job. She had never thrown it out and kept it well maintained and fully charged—ready for use.
They took off on that little scooter.
They couldn't fly, and it had snowed recently, so the roads were treacherous. But the scooter was lightweight, easy to handle, and surprisingly fast.
They had traveled through the night, stopping for only a couple hours of rest. In the end, they just barely made it aboard Yanghai No.7 before the entire city was consumed by fire.
Now in the driver's seat, Aisha felt as if she'd been beaten black and blue—her whole body ached.
A wave of drowsiness hit her.
She was confused. After such a tense, nerve-racking day, she hadn't felt sleepy at all. That's why she'd insisted that Pei Ran rest first. But now the fatigue came crashing down like waves, pulling her under.
Aisha struggled to keep her eyes open.
But the track ahead was so straight, so dull, extending endlessly into the distance. One railroad tie after another, repeating again and again.
Her eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, no matter how hard she tried to fight it.
This isn't right. Aisha dug her fingernails into the back of her hand. But her fingers felt weak, and the pain barely registered.
Behind her, the door opened with a muffled sound—distant, like it came through glass.
Aisha turned her head with effort, relieved when she saw who it was.
It was Pei Ran.
Pei Ran gestured to the back car, telling her to go rest.
No way three hours had passed already, Aisha thought. But she was too exhausted to argue. She could take a short nap and come back to switch.
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, broken fragments more scattered than a puzzle.
She stumbled to her feet, gave up the driver's seat, and took a few unsteady steps past Pei Ran.
A voice brushed against her ears, distant and indistinct.
"You look exhausted. Go sleep."
She almost answered "Okay," but the little wooden stick clenched between her teeth stopped her lips from moving.
A shiver ran through her. Her mind cleared for a moment—she turned her head.
Pei Ran was already sitting in the driver's seat. And she hadn't exploded.
The sleepiness rolled in again like a flood, drowning her thoughts. Aisha told herself it was just exhaustion-induced auditory hallucinations—she'd heard voices like that in the past, right before sleep.
She pushed open the door, sat next to her grandmother in the rear car, leaned against the seat—and fell asleep almost instantly.
The train rumbled onward into the night. Wheels rolled over tracks with rhythmic, soft clanks.
Pei Ran, still asleep, was suddenly awoken by soft music.
The music was faint at first, then grew louder in her left ear, clearer and clearer.
Drowsy, she realized—it was W playing her a music alarm.
She sat up from the little folding desk, forced her eyes open, and asked W silently: "Three hours already?"
Had time really flown so fast? It felt like she'd just closed her eyes.
"No, not yet," W said. "I'm waking you because of two things. First, you're about to lose the bet. I just saw green light—the fusion trait—on Inaya."
That was it? She wanted to strangle him.
Pei Ran, half-asleep, grabbed the metal ball that was W's housing and seriously considered prying off his titanium lid.
So what if Inaya had green light? She wasn't murdering anyone right now—couldn't this wait?
W, of course, knew what she was thinking.
"Of course that's not the important part. More importantly—second—I noticed something strange. The train is headed in the wrong direction."
Pei Ran jolted awake. "What do you mean, wrong direction?"
"Your wristband has a built-in compass. Works even offline. Check it."
She opened her virtual screen and located the compass.
It clearly showed the train moving due south.
But the map W had sent her before showed the Yanghai No.7 line heading almost straight northwest. It had no curves, no turns.
Why was it going south?
This made no sense.
Yanghai No.7 wasn't a regular antique vehicle—it needed tracks. It couldn't just turn around.
Pei Ran's first instinct: she was trapped in an illusion. Maybe the train wasn't going south—maybe her mind was.
W was an AI—he shouldn't be affected by illusions. But then again, this might not be the real W. Could be part of the illusion too.
But that didn't check out either.
Their private mental connection was something few others even knew existed. If someone could simulate W that accurately—right down to voice and behavior—their abilities would be truly godlike.
Unlikely.
Last time, at the gate, they'd broken hypnosis with a slap. Pei Ran didn't want to slap herself. So she used her mechanical hand to pinch her thigh.
Hard.
The pain was sharp and real. That'd leave a bruise.
W noticed. "You're not hypnotized. I just did a deep scan. Here's what happened: Yanghai No.7 used to run a short circular route. After upgrades, it was extended to the northwest. We just passed Tangu Dam—that's where the old loop splits from the new route."
"I looked it up. The old circular track wasn't sealed. It's used as a backup maintenance route. The track switch must have been set that way since there was no recent traffic."
So the train took the wrong track—onto the old loop.
Pei Ran stood, grabbing W's metal body. "Can we reverse?"
"Sure. Some trains have engines at both ends and can go either way. Yanghai No.7 only has one engine, but it can push backward. If we reverse, go back to Tangu Dam, and switch the tracks, we can get back on course."
"Okay." She walked forward through the swaying corridor to find Aisha.
She had only taken a few steps when she glimpsed something strange through the glass doors between cars: Aisha was already there—in car No. 1, next to Jiang Gong, by the aisle.
She looked exhausted, leaning against her seat, sleeping soundly beside her grandmother.
Pei Ran stepped closer, peering into car No. 2.
Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao were there too—all asleep.
Her blood ran cold.
If they were all back there… then who was driving the train?
W realized it too. "Pei Ran—I'm sorry. I didn't see Aisha leave the driver's cabin."
His view had been blocked by the seats and table—he couldn't see the cabin at all.
"It's strange," he added. "Aisha didn't call you to switch shifts? She just let someone else take over?"
"She wouldn't," Pei Ran said.
Aisha had driven that little scooter across a burning city to get them on board. She was quick-witted and decisive. She wouldn't make a mistake like this.
Something must've happened.
From car No. 4 behind them came a sudden noise.
A real voice—harsh, from the throat:
"Help me—!"
It was a man's voice. Not that sweet sticky voice from the talking rice ball. This was raw and human. It echoed in the silent car, chilling.
"Help me—!"
Then, silence.
Pei Ran turned just in time to see a stocky man staggering down the aisle of car No. 4, hands gripping seat backs, like he had just woken from a nightmare.
A moment later, he was gone. Just blood and pieces of flesh left behind.
Everyone around him woke up, shocked. Fortunately, no one had been seated beside him—no collateral damage.
Another person dead. Only 45 left on board.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted in one corner of car No. 4—violent kicking and struggling.
It was the family of three—the ones with the little girl.
The girl had been startled awake by the screams. When she opened her eyes and saw the carnage before her, she panicked, thrashing wildly.
Her parents clamped her mouth shut with both hands, fingers digging into her cheeks in desperation.
But she was too frightened to calm down. The couple looked utterly hopeless.
The door from the dining car opened.
Yulianka stepped in.
In his hand was a syringe. His face was resolute. He knelt beside the girl and injected her arm with a full dose.
It worked fast. She stopped struggling, went limp, and drifted into unconsciousness in her mother's arms.
The parents collapsed in their seats, sweating through their clothes despite the freezing air.
Yulianka didn't leave. He knelt in front of the girl's seat.
He pointed at her, then at his own throat. He opened his mouth, gestured to the depth of his throat, and made a slicing motion with his hand.
The drug would only last for now. What about next time? Or the time after that?
He was suggesting they cut her vocal cords while she slept.
The parents sat frozen for a long time, finally understanding.
They exchanged a long, silent glance. The mother lowered her head. Tears streamed from her eyes.
Yulianka's gaze was full of compassion. He stood up, waiting quietly for their decision.
At last, the mother nodded, clutching her sleeping child as tears flowed freely and silently.
The father looked utterly drained. He raised his head toward Yulianka and mimed the slicing gesture across his throat—hand flat like a blade.
He was going to have his vocal cords removed with his daughter.
The girl's mother touched her own throat in the same way.
The cabin fell silent. Everyone was watching them.
Across the aisle, the elderly couple stood up together.
The old man gently tugged at Yulianka's white coat, pointed at his own throat, then at his wife's, and made a cutting gesture across his neck.
And they weren't the only ones. Others rose to their feet as well.
The situation had grown far too dire. One nightmare after falling asleep could cost a life. Compared to that, vocal cords were just another organ—nonessential. No one could speak now anyway; they weren't being used.
In the train car, everyone was ready to undergo surgery to have their vocal cords removed.
Yulianka looked around. His pale blue-gray eyes were filled with the sorrow and compassion of a god surveying humankind.
Finally, he gave a small nod and raised his hand, pointing toward the dining car, signaling the girl's parents to carry her over.
Pei Ran silently watched it all, took a deep breath, and strode toward Car 4.
These people were not like Jin Hejun. Jin was writhing in agony—without removing his vocal cords, he wouldn't survive the night. But the people here were different.
The child would soon be taken for surgery, and the train going off-course would have to be dealt with later.
The little girl's big, bright eyes—once black and white like ink and paper—were now tightly shut. She lay motionless in her mother's arms.
But those clear eyes still hovered in front of Pei Ran's vision, as if they might open at any moment and call out:
"Sis!"
"Sis, I found a pretty screw and brought it for you. Is it useful? Can you use it to make your gun?"
"Sis, do you think someday we'll be like the stories you tell, and keep a little cat? I want a white one."
…
W understood exactly what she was thinking. "You're going to tell them about Heijing?"
"Yes," Pei Ran replied. "The final stop of Night Sea No. 7 isn't far from Heijing. I was planning to ask around in the morning anyway. If anyone wants to come with me, I'll take them there."
W cautioned her, "But Heijing hasn't finalized its civilian intake protocols. The outcome is unpredictable. Some of these people might be turned away."
"I know," said Pei Ran. "And I'll tell them that. Some might have other plans. Some might want to try their luck. W, give me the map of Heijing's location, wipe the labels off, and send it to me."
The father in the family of three was now carefully lifting his unconscious daughter and heading toward the dining car. The mother gently cradled the girl's limp head, and Yulianka followed quietly behind them.
Pei Ran hurried forward, crossing through the cars in long strides. She caught up to Yulianka and grabbed the back of his white coat.
Yulianka turned, surprised, as if silently asking: What's wrong?
Pei Ran stepped in front of him and ignored his reaction. She raised both hands high above her head and clapped twice.
Sharp, crisp claps.
Clap. Clap.
Even without that, she had already drawn the attention of the entire car.
The commotion, the shouting, the banging—people from the neighboring cars had also woken up. Even Sheng Mingxi and the others further up front were craning their necks to see what was going on.
Pei Ran expanded the size of her wristband's virtual screen to the maximum, pushed it upward, and positioned it in midair above the aisle so everyone could see it clearly.
The semi-transparent screen floated above the seats like a thin sheet of film, displaying a clear map.
All the text on the map had already been carefully scrubbed by W, but based on the mountain ranges, rivers, and cities, it was unmistakably the northwest region of the East Manya continent.
W had thoughtfully marked Heijing's location with a bright red dot and drew the Night Sea No. 7's rail line onto the map.
This time, the line was drawn in a cartoonish style—a thick, exaggerated railroad track with little wooden planks, looking entirely out of place next to the precise and clean map. The scale was ridiculous—one plank alone would span half of Night Sea City if it were real.
W asked, "What do you think of the style this time? Not too AI-ish, right? A bit more playful?"
Pei Ran was quiet for a moment. "Let's talk about your art later. I'm busy right now."
W muttered under its breath, "Unable to multitask… poor carbon-based lifeforms."
Pei Ran: ?
Pei Ran: "What did you just say? Say that again if you dare."
W immediately backed down. "Whatever 'daring' is, I have none of it. I'm silent. You go ahead."
Inside the car, Pei Ran opened the map, and everyone exchanged puzzled looks.
Their faces all asked the same thing: What does this mean?
She waited until everyone had clearly seen Heijing's location, then lowered the screen slightly and began to add to it.
She zoomed in on Heijing. Then zoomed in again. And again—until the area was fully enlarged. Then she drew an inverted dome, a protective shield covering it.
Beneath the shield, she began adding little stick figures, each paired off, face-to-face, with floating speech bubbles over their heads. The bubbles were filled with scribbled lines, pretending to be text.
And every little figure had a big, smiling face.
W could have done a much better job illustrating it, of course, but with so many people around, it was safer for her to do it manually. As long as the meaning was clear, it was good enough.
Once finished, she raised the virtual screen high again.
By the time she was drawing, the car had already gone completely quiet. There was no conversation—of course—but even the faint rustling of clothing had stopped.
Everyone was stunned, staring at the image.
The meaning of the drawing was obvious. So obvious, in fact, that no one could quite believe it.
In a world where sound could kill, where chaos reigned and nightmares took lives—could there really be a place like that?
A place where one could speak freely. A real refuge.
Even Yulianka, always composed, stared at the drawing, utterly stunned.