"This Yulianka graduated from the veterinary program at Night Sea University," W said. "After graduation, he saved up for a few years and opened a small animal clinic in Night Sea. I looked into his tax records from the past two years—his clinic's been running at a loss ever since it opened. On top of that, he's been fined multiple times for non-compliant operations."
This AI, taking advantage of its ability to communicate with Heijing, had dug up every last detail on the guy by tapping into various databases.
Being able to identify someone instantly just by analyzing their face should've been an incredibly useful function.
All Pei Ran had to do was sketch a rough likeness in Shige Ye's little black notebook and write down a name—just like that, that person's life would be in her hands. Kill or spare, it was her call.
But now, with the Dormancy protocol upgraded, she couldn't write anymore. That function had basically become useless—a glorified party trick.
Pei Ran asked, "Why do you care if the guy's successful or not?"
W answered languidly, "Don't humans judge each other by success all the time?"
What's with that "you humans" tone?
"Well, I don't," said Pei Ran. "Whether someone's successful or not has nothing to do with me. If I do have to judge someone, I only care about two things. First—are they a reliable teammate…"
A reliable teammate meant you could form a group to collect supplies on the surface, gain access to better-paying zones, and avoid getting screwed over by some incompetent deadweight.
Pei Ran continued, "…Second—can they provide resources?"
People who could provide resources were just as valuable. Like Uncle Alimu, who had drawn a window on his wall—he sold high-quality black bread. No sand in the flour, and each loaf was noticeably bigger than the others on the market.
As for whether other people were doing well or living in misery—that had nothing to do with her.
After all, who knew when death might come knocking? The whole world had very little to do with her anyway.
W echoed her words: "First, a reliable teammate. Second, access to resources. Pei Ran, I think your criteria are very solid. Extremely reasonable."
Pei Ran: "Right?"
The escalator reached the bottom. Finally, Pei Ran saw Night Sea No. 7.
Smoke billowed down the escalator in heavy waves. The platform was thick with it.
The ancient train, over two hundred years old, stood quietly on the tracks—a hulking black beast wreathed in smoke.
Its entire body was made of dense black metal, completely unlike the sleek and minimalist style of modern trains. The engine and cars were cluttered with exposed components, an intricate web of visible metalwork.
Because it was a tourist train, it wasn't meant to carry many passengers. Only five short cars trailed behind the engine.
At first glance, it looked intact. At least, it wasn't on fire.
Pei Ran asked, "Is it steam-powered?"
"Not that old," W replied. "Night Sea No. 7 uses an internal combustion engine. A hundred years ago, it ran on diesel. When fossil fuels ran dry, the Night Sea city government planned to convert it to electric—but the public strongly opposed it. Eventually, a new high-efficiency internal combustion engine was specially designed for this train."
Now all they could do was hope the train hadn't been too badly damaged in the attack.
Next to the train was a platform. A giant display screen hadn't escaped the flames—scorched and charred, though the fire hadn't spread further. It now only puffed black smoke.
Blood was splattered across the platform, now dried to a deep brown. Someone had died here—probably station staff.
The front of the train faced the tunnel, which, notably, had no smoke coming through. W was right—the underground tunnel stretched all the way out of the city. The fires aboveground didn't reach it.
The rails pointed toward an escape route.
Pei Ran stepped onto the train's side ladder and climbed into the engine cab.
It was worse than she'd expected.
Like the train itself, the control panel had also been scorched.
There was no onboard computer—just various gauges and simple screens. The labels on the dials were blackened beyond recognition. The screens had melted down to lumps of fused plastic and exposed wires.
Luckily, the control console, like the train body, was entirely made of metal, which had helped contain the flames.
"Can you fix it?" Pei Ran asked W.
"I'm analyzing the train's control system and assessing the damage. I'm not a specialist in this field, so I need to consult multiple sources. Please wait," W replied.
While W was busy playing repairman, Pei Ran examined the console herself.
She frowned. "Could the train have been broken before the fire? Dormancy started two days ago, and this panel only got burned today at noon. That's a lot of time—why didn't anyone try to take the train before?"
"My guess," W said, "is that Night Sea No. 7 was already decommissioned, and had no fuel. Try opening the small square panel below the driver's seat."
Pei Ran knelt down and found a book-sized panel near the footrest. She opened it.
It was empty.
W said, "If there were any high-efficiency fuel blocks, they'd be stored in there."
No wonder the train hadn't moved.
Pei Ran asked, "Where can we find these fuel blocks?"
Then she remembered, "I saw a door near the wall on the platform—it's probably an employee area. Could they be stored in there?"
"Possible," W replied.
Footsteps sounded behind her—someone was climbing up the side ladder.
Pei Ran turned around.
A man in his thirties with thick black curls and heavy brows stepped inside. His hair and eyebrows were equally unruly. His mouth wasn't gagged, and he carried a large backpack over one shoulder. He looked vaguely familiar.
He was the man whose face had popped up in the small window on Yulianka's wristband.
He wasn't alone. Several others followed behind—Yulianka's group, the ones who'd been gathering at the turnstiles.
Yulianka entered the cab, nodding politely at Pei Ran.
This time, she noticed the subtle crinkle at the corners of his blue-gray eyes—barely perceptible, but it looked like a smile. A very faint, almost invisible one.
The curly-haired man tossed his heavy backpack onto the iron console with a loud clang.
He unzipped it—inside was a full set of tools: screwdrivers, drills, hammers, pliers. Everything you'd need.
He came prepared.
Without another word to Pei Ran, he leaned over the console and began inspecting the scorched dials and screens.
Pei Ran asked W, "And who's this?"
Still multitasking, W replied quickly: "His name is Kiril. A technician from Antor Machinery Group, Night Sea division. Mid-level position."
Mid-level. He was at it again.
Regardless of W's opinions, at least the guy had the relevant skills.
Kiril tinkered for a while, then turned to the group and shook his head, brows still tightly furrowed.
The look on his face said it all: like a doctor about to break the news—"Get them something nice to eat. It's over."
But outside, the fires were still raging, smoke thickening by the second. Even if it was hopeless, they had no choice but to try.
Kiril clearly understood that too. He kept a stern face and went back to examining the burnt-out control panel.
Pei Ran looked out at the twin rails stretching into the dim tunnel ahead.
"If we can't get it running, 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 it's true."
Fair enough. She'd wait for his repair plan.
The cab was tiny—barely four or five square meters. With the control console in the middle and the narrow doorway, the space was packed tight. If someone made a sudden noise, there'd be nowhere to run.
Pei Ran squeezed out of the crowd and stepped onto the platform.
The smoke outside was even thicker.
The people who'd been stuck at the turnstiles had all come down, including the group of college students. They stood waiting, knowing someone was trying to fix the train, but unable to help.
More people began arriving via the escalator. The fires aboveground were getting worse—everyone wanted out.
Pei Ran headed straight for the small door she'd seen earlier.
It was unremarkable—blended into the wall. She recognized the sturdy, tea-colored translucent material. She'd dealt with it before.
The door was locked.
But Pei Ran had plenty of experience with this kind of thing. A few punches later, she'd smashed a hole in it.
She widened the hole, squeezed inside.
It was a storage room, filled with miscellaneous supplies.
W spoke up: "Pei Ran, I see it. The cardboard box on the floor near the wall."
A small box sat against the wall. Labeled IAE_II High-Efficiency Fuel, it listed a manufacturer and address. Thankfully, like paper documents, it hadn't caught fire—yet.
Pei Ran opened the box. It was nearly empty—just three black blocks, each the size of a palm.
They were surprisingly heavy.
Pei Ran asked, "Is this it? Will three be enough?"
"One block is more than enough to reach Heijing," W replied.
The blocks had stickers plastered on them. Pei Ran peeled them off and stuffed all three into her backpack.
No wonder the train hadn't moved. The fuel was hidden in here, and normal people couldn't get through that door.
Pei Ran emerged from the room.
About thirty to forty people were still waiting on the platform. Still no sign of Aisha and her grandmother.
Pei Ran opened her wristband and sent a message.
Once again, it was a map with no text. She tapped her location—Night Sea No. 7's departure station.
Sent.
Aisha usually replied quickly, but this time, there was no response. Maybe something had happened.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
Suddenly, sharp, rapid banging rang through the quiet station—from the direction of the engine cab.
Pei Ran walked over and peeked inside. Through the crowd, she saw Kiril furiously hammering and chiseling at the console, trying to pry it open.
He wasn't stopping—his strikes were urgent, almost desperate.
The noise unsettled the people on the platform. Smoke curling around them, they exchanged nervous, anxious glances.
Everyone understood—the train was broken, and it didn't look like it'd be fixed anytime soon.
A few people hesitated before finally heading back up the escalator, probably deciding not to wait for Night Sea No. 7 to be repaired and figuring they'd find another way.
Kirill couldn't pry open the panel. Maybe the mechanical hand could help. Pei Ran stepped onto the footboard, ready to assist.
W suddenly spoke. "Pei Ran, turn around. Someone by the escalator is waving at you."
Pei Ran turned back. Through the thick smoke, she saw someone descending the escalator, arms raised high, waving wide like a fan.
It was Aisha.
She hadn't replied because she was already here—and had seen her from afar.
Aisha wore a thick brown coat, a white scarf covering her mouth, and carried a backpack stuffed full.
Pei Ran finally realized what those messy green lines were in the emoji Aisha had sent—the one with the stick figure pedaling like crazy.
Dangling from the side of Aisha's pack was a netted pouch… with the office plant inside.
Pei Ran paused. In a time like this—end of the world and all—this girl had hauled a flowerpot through the chaos.
W noticed too. "Peace lily, also known as Spathiphyllum. Family Araceae, perennial evergreen herb."
Pei Ran was surprised. "That's a flowering plant?"
It looked like a bunch of green leaves to her.
There were no flowers in the bunker.
Technically, there was an underground growing zone, but artificial lighting consumed valuable energy—reserved strictly for useful crops. Nobody grew flowers.
Even if some crops bloomed, regular folks weren't allowed in to see.
Growing a flower—especially one with no practical use—was a serious luxury.
Pei Ran wondered what Aisha's plant looked like when it bloomed.
Beside Aisha stood an elderly woman with silver hair, likely in her sixties or seventies. She wore a beige wool sweater under a heavy black coat and had a whimsical knitted cap. Though aged, she stood remarkably straight.
That had to be Aisha's grandmother.
She looked over too, eyes crinkling into deep, fine crow's feet as she smiled and waved.
Pei Ran quickly waved back and hopped off the footboard.
Aisha was already running over, grabbed Pei Ran's arm, and tugged her scarf down.
Pei Ran saw that Aisha had found a unique way to keep herself from speaking—
She had a short wooden stick clenched sideways between her teeth, each end tied with ribbon and looped around her neck.
With the stick in her mouth, she couldn't talk. But for drinking or eating, she just had to let go of it. It'd hang from her neck—easy to use, hard to lose or dirty.
Pei Ran had read about something like this in old military history books. Marching soldiers used to bite down on rods to stay silent—what they called "biting a mouthpiece."
Aisha's "modern mouthpiece" was ingenious.
The moment she arrived, she lit up, raising both hands energetically.
Eyes bright, expression intense, she pointed at her mouth, her feet, this and that, everywhere.
Pei Ran watched silently.
Aisha was brave—outrageously so. She'd clearly made up her own gesture language and was demonstrating it to others.
Luckily she was still alive. Probably had nine lives.
Still, this showed that even in their current silenced state, gesture communication was allowed. If only everyone knew sign language.
Problem was, Aisha's gestures made no sense.
This was some full-obstacle-mode communication.
Pei Ran studied her carefully. She was pointing to different body parts—maybe she had mapped an entire alphabet onto them?
In situations where speech isn't allowed, gesture alphabets have to be intuitive.
So what does the mouth stand for—M? Z? And the nose?
Pei Ran was deep in thought when Aisha suddenly made a time-out sign.
Apparently realizing this system was too confusing, she switched methods.
Now her hands moved in tighter, subtler motions—tapping finger joints with one hand, then the other.
W suddenly asked, "Is this the friend who sends you all those kissy-face and hug emojis? The one named Aisha?"
Pei Ran, still trying to decipher Aisha's new code, muttered, "Yeah. And no, I don't need you to pull up her tax records or career stats."
"Okay," W replied. "But…"
Pei Ran: "…"
W went on, "But her grandmother—you will want to know. Her name's Jiang Zhaoxue. Before retiring, she was an engineer. I just checked—she was directly involved in upgrading Night Sea No. 7's internal combustion system."
Pei Ran: !!!
No wonder they knew about this antique train.
No need for Aisha's charades anymore—Pei Ran dashed up the footboard and reached out to help Engineer Jiang climb up.
Aisha: ???
Aisha: Did Pei Ran… actually understand all that???
The custom sign language I just invented???
Amazing.
Aisha gave her a huge, sincere thumbs-up and climbed aboard.
But the driver's cabin was packed.
Three people were already squished in behind the crowd—there wasn't any room left.
Jiang Zhaoxue tried to squeeze past to the control console, but the person blocking the way only glanced at her—a frail old lady—then turned back, indifferent.
Pei Ran paused, extended her mechanical hand, and tapped the man on the shoulder.
He turned, lazy and unconcerned—until he saw the black prosthetic hand.
Then he looked up and saw Pei Ran.
He clearly remembered what that hand had done to the monster-controlled gate just earlier—how it had torn through its insides, pulling out a grotesque mix of machinery and flesh.
He stepped aside immediately, making room for the three of them.
Yulianka turned too, saw Pei Ran, and patted her teammates, urging them to clear a path.
Finally, Pei Ran led Aisha and her grandmother to the operator's panel.
Kirill was still hammering at it, frustrated. When he saw Pei Ran again, he frowned—clearly thinking, what are you doing here now? More trouble?
Engineer Jiang gently moved him aside and examined the battered panel, noting the dents with a single glance before looking up at Kirill.
Something in that look made Kirill feel sheepish.
Aisha dropped her heavy pack, unzipped it, and pulled out a compact toolkit—components and instruments neatly arranged.
Engineer Jiang rummaged through it and selected a small flat-head screwdriver, barely a few inches long.
Kirill arched an eyebrow.
He'd already checked—there weren't any screws on the panel. If there were, he'd have dismantled it.
But Jiang didn't look for screws. She slid the tool into the seam along the edge.
Kirill was unimpressed.
He had tried that—this thing was sealed tight. And she was just a frail old lady with a tiny screwdriver—there was no way she had the strength.
Jiang gently pried one spot, then another. Then another.
Click.
The whole metal panel popped loose.
Kirill's eyes widened. He leaned in and saw three hidden clips along the edges—totally invisible from the outside.
He looked at her again, mystified.
How had she even found those?
But Jiang didn't dwell on it. She set the panel aside and began working on the burnt wiring and fried components inside.
After a moment of assessment, she nodded at Pei Ran and Aisha.
Pei Ran understood—she was saying it could be repaired.
Relieved, Pei Ran turned to Kirill and the others and pointed to the door.
It was too risky with so many people crowding this tight space. Her grandmother was the key to getting Night Sea No. 7 moving again. Everyone else could die—she couldn't.
Kirill hesitated, but Yulianka gestured for the others to move. They opened the rear cabin door and cleared out.
Now the cabin was quiet enough for Jiang to concentrate.
Pei Ran watched for a while, then pointed to Aisha's feet, then her own, then toward the outside.
Aisha understood—Pei Ran wanted her to stay and help her grandmother. She nodded.
Satisfied, Pei Ran peeked out of the driver's cabin.
Smoke poured in from the entrance—thick and acrid. The platform was choked with it, thicker than fog. She could barely see, but glimpsed Yulianka organizing people to board.
Smart move—the train was sealed, a barrier against the choking air.
In no time, the platform was empty.
Pei Ran waited a bit longer, then slipped along the wall, using the smoke as cover. She climbed the escalator back to the entrance.
On the surface, the fire had become monstrous.
Every building in sight was ablaze, black smoke billowing into the sky, turning day into night.
Only the flames lit the world now. Streets crackled with fire as papers burned, and the air stung hot enough to sear skin. Not a soul in sight.
Night Sea had become a sea of fire.
No going back. The train was the only option.
Pei Ran pulled her scarf tighter and crossed the smoke-choked hall to the ruined turnstile she'd ripped open earlier. She bent down to examine it.
The green glow inside was gone.
Pei Ran used her mechanical hand to pry open another metal box beside it.
She discovered that the boxes were connected underground by thick threaded pipes—wider than her leg. But no green glow.
She shut the lids, kept going, and checked each box in the row. Nothing.
After she'd destroyed those fused pipe-worker monsters last time, the glow had stayed put—obedient, unmoving.
Unless it had floated off, like Shige Ye's glow.
Another possibility seemed more likely.
W said, "Someone stole your loot?"
He'd thought the same thing.
"Yeah," Pei Ran replied. "Someone else walked away with it."
The thief—might just be the one who could hypnotize.