V. Mo Yan's Chapter · The Observer
The elevator shaft in the unfinished building had been dead for years. I climbed fourteen flights of stairs, Zhao Yuanhang's heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to burst free from his ribs.
Every landing had a tiny camera installed by Lu Ming, but I didn't bother hiding. I was Zhao Yuanhang now—after working overtime, a night jog was perfectly reasonable.
The rooftop had no railing. Wind poured in from all directions, carrying a faint smell of sulfur, like something underground being heated and released.
I walked to the edge and looked down. The foundation pit sat directly below, like a torn-open mouth.
Three months ago this was still flat ground, the pile driver shaking through midnight. Now the machinery was gone, and the construction fence had a notice taped to it: "Quicksand geology, construction suspended." The edges curled from the wind.
A dim red light seeped up from the bottom of the pit. Too faint for the naked eye, but my soul membrane could sense it. That was the Boss's energy, the same source as the heart core in my chest.
Temperature was five and a half degrees higher than the surroundings—thirty-six point five, matching the records in the Qilian Mountains archives.
My phone vibrated.
Chen Sanqi: "Lu Ming's Iveco is parked 300 meters outside the fence. He's waiting for thermal imaging calibration. Chu Li's signal is still at the Gui Bureau building, but she's switched to satellite channel, targeting this coordinate."
"Gu Chen?"
"Taxi just crossed the river bridge. Seventeen minutes."
"The crack?"
"Energy pulse interval has shortened to four minutes. Next pulse in—" He paused. "Two minutes thirty seconds."
I stuffed the phone back in my pocket.
Zhao Yuanhang's coat pocket had a paperclip. I squeezed it, scratching a line into the concrete ledge with the tip. Shallow, but enough to mark my spot.
Two minutes thirty seconds.
The dim red light flared suddenly. Like someone flipped a switch underground. The standing water at the bottom of the pit began bubbling; some gas was surging from the crack, pushing ripples across the surface.
The ripples were thin, expanding outward ring by ring. Not what I expected. I thought the crack would tear open violently, explosively. Instead it was quiet—like blood seeping from a wound.
Then the sound of the soul-lock chain rose from underground.
The scrape of iron chains against rock, still clear through ten meters of earth.
Night Wanderer seeped from the bottom of the pit. As twelve iron-gray figures rose from the soil, the surface water was pushed outward, forming a ring of murky ripples.
The soul-lock chain slid from his waist, the three prongs of its tip flickering with will-o'-the-wisps in the dim red light.
He didn't rush to attack. First he dipped a section into the crack, like testing the temperature of boiling oil with his fingertip.
The instant the chain tip touched that dim red membrane, all three flames extinguished simultaneously. The crack mouth acted like a living thing, sucking all three clusters of fire inside.
The soul-lock chain had never gone out before. Night Wanderer pulled it back—all three prongs were charred, the last three inches of the tip turned jet black.
He glanced at the chain tip. No expression on his iron-gray face, but his grip tightened for a split second.
The chain sliced through the air. A projection of the Judge's Hall appeared, the afterimage of a cinnabar brush lingering in the void.
The Judge's voice was dry and flat, like reading from a memo written years ago: "Level three crack. Containable. Seal the perimeter first. Wait for Qingwei observers."
Night Wanderer had been on duty for hundreds of years—this was the first time he'd ever had to seal a crack.
But he was just a runner who followed orders. Whatever the higher-ups said, he did. He coiled the chain around his waist and waved at the surrounding yin soldiers: "Fifty meters radius. Temporary containment. If a single wisp of demonic energy leaks out, I'll feed you to the crack."
The yin soldiers moved. Iron boots splashed through the water, leaving frost-cold footprints with every step.
They drew a circle around the pit. The afterimage of the soul-lock chain wove into a net in the air, pressing the dim red light down by a third.
But the crack kept widening.
My heart core could feel it. The Boss's traction was fluctuating, like a racing heartbeat. He was underground, on the other side of the crack, fighting against the seal's disintegration in some way.
This resistance was consuming massive amounts of his energy. I thought maybe my monthly payment pressure would ease—if I lived to see tomorrow.
The phone vibrated again. Chen Sanqi: "Qi Banxian is here. Seventh floor of the west unfinished building. He scanned the entire area's spirit energy distribution with his divination plate."
"Results."
"The deeper you go, the wider it gets. Surface opening is four meters. At twelve meters underground, spirit energy radiation has already expanded to nearly a hundred meters. The crack is widening beneath the surface."
"Shen Qingyuan?"
"He's at the pit edge. He said one thing into the microphone."
"What?"
"The crack is breathing."
I stuffed the phone back and kept looking down.
Qi Banxian was lying on the windowsill of the seventh floor, his copper coin divination plate on the ledge. Three coins moved by themselves, forming a rotating equilateral triangle. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Shen Qingyuan stood at the pit edge, staring down for a long time. "The crack is breathing," he said into his collar microphone. Then he looked up toward the unfinished building.
He knew I was here. But he didn't move. His mission was observation, not intervention.
Chen Sanqi's Bluetooth signal flashed again. "Lu Ming's moving. He climbed over the fence."
I looked down and saw a man in an orange reflective vest slip through the gap on the west side of the fence. Fast, but not running. Left hand holding a tablet, right hand hanging at his side, fingers trembling slightly.
Lu Ming's PTSD was acting up.
His left eye glinted in the dim red light, the gray-white pupil constricting to a pinprick. That eye could see through the barrier, past the illusion, to the crack's true form.
He saw the black crystals—growing from the crack's edge like black moss, crawling up the pit walls.
Lu Ming's right hand clenched into a fist. Knuckles white, veins bulging.
He stared at the black crystals, and memories from three years ago in Qilian Mountains flooded back—crystals growing up from his feet, sealing his ankles, knees, neck... less than a minute.
He turned and walked back. Not toward the crack, but toward the Iveco outside the fence. He picked up the walkie-talkie.
"Chu Li. Activate the contingency plan. Evacuate all residents within two kilometers. Now."
His voice was flat. But even from the fourteenth floor, I could hear what lay beneath that calm—the same voice he'd used three years ago in Qilian Mountains, watching six of his comrades get sealed inside black crystals.
Chu Li replied with two words into her earpiece: "Copy."
Then Lu Ming led several Iveco vans to start evacuating people.
I stood at the rooftop edge, watching it all. He'd lost six people in Qilian Mountains three years ago—he'd never let anyone get sealed in black crystals again. All he needed was to see those crystals, and evacuation was automatic.
Chen Sanqi waited three seconds on Bluetooth. "Evacuation has started."
"I see it."
"There are four hundred people nearby. The panic purity is the highest I've ever recorded."
"No harvesting."
"Why?"
"Wrong timing. Harvesting this wave would expose me." I took my hand off the ledge. "After the crack stabilizes, this emotional energy will naturally settle."
Chen Sanqi didn't ask more. He only provided data, never questioned decisions.
VI. All Forces Gather · Mo Yan's Intervention
Gu Chen walked into the construction site leaning on a bamboo staff, just as Lu Ming's evacuation got underway.
The first batch of residents was loaded into the Iveco's cargo hold. Old people in pajamas leaned against the seats—some complaining, some yelling, some holding dogs in a daze.
The worst fear is uncertainty—knowing you have to leave immediately but having no idea why.
I stood on the rooftop, my soul membrane automatically absorbing the emotional radiation leaking from the crack. This energy was stored beneath the membrane, invisible to the Boss.
Chen Sanqi said over Bluetooth: "Gu Chen has arrived."
I looked down. The sound of the bamboo staff tapping the ground carried far in the night wind. All the standing water in the pit turned to steam—a white mist tinged with dim red light slowly rising upward.
The yin soldiers' iron boots retreated half a step. The remaining will-o'-the-wisps on the soul-lock chain were snuffed out by the rising dim red light. Right in the center of the mist, the talisman power from the staff tip pressed a flat circle, revealing the crack mouth below.
Gu Chen stood at the pit edge. He looked up toward the unfinished building.
I didn't know if he saw me, but his bamboo staff shifted from directly above to the side—the tip moving about two inches east, making room for the pressure release hole.
Gu Chen raised the staff. He glanced at Night Wanderer, confirming with a look—like two coworkers who'd been partners for thirty years nodding before starting work.
Night Wanderer swung the soul-lock chain. The will-o'-the-wisps at the tip traced three characters on the water surface; they floated for half a second before dissipating.
"How much pressure?" Night Wanderer asked.
"As much as he's pushing out, he needs to release," Gu Chen said.
The staff tip pressed directly above the crack.
The dim red membrane didn't break immediately. It wrapped around the staff tip, crawling up the shaft for half an inch. Fine cracks appeared on Gu Chen's hand.
The Boss tasted the talisman power.
The red bubble burst. Hot wind and light mist erupted, like pricking a pressure cooker with a needle.
The spot where the staff tip pressed bulged upward half a meter, forming a translucent dim red bubble.
Something inside pushed against the bubble wall from within—one bulge, then another, then the entire wall burst simultaneously.
Dim red light exploded from the opening, carrying hot wind at thirty-six point five degrees. Air that had been trapped under seal for too long, like a pressure cooker valve suddenly unscrewed.
The hot wind swirled with dim red light mist, forming a vortex at the bottom of the pit.
At the vortex's center, black crystals began growing from the crack's edge—like black moss crawling up the pit walls.
But the growth direction shifted; part of it tilted toward Gu Chen's fingers, like phototropism in plants.
Gu Chen continuously adjusted the staff tip's angle, guiding the crystal growth. The cracks on his hand deepened from fine lines to visible gashes; blackness spread along the skin's patterns toward his palm.
When the Boss struggled underground, the heart core in Mo Yan's chest suddenly dropped.
Zhao Yuanhang's body stumbled. His foot slid half a step forward.
Night Wanderer's soul-lock chain flared with will-o'-the-wisps, pointing toward Mo Yan's chest. Two forces tugged at Zhao Yuanhang's body: the heart core pulling downward, the chain locking upward.
I squatted down. Canvas shoe soles gripped the ground, ten fingers digging into the mud. Crack-like patterns began appearing on the soul membrane's surface.
Zhao Yuanhang's heart convulsed in his chest, the soul membrane stretched to deformation by the two opposing forces. Nails dug deeper into the mud, knuckles white.
Gu Chen caught sight of Mo Yan collapsing backward, nails scratching ten furrows in the mud.
The gray wall disappeared.
It was Gu Chen. His bamboo staff tapped toward the gray wall, talisman power tearing a hole in the yin soldiers' barrier.
He saw me.
"You," Gu Chen's voice rose from the bottom of the pit, "come in."
Night Wanderer's soul-lock chain circled once, pointing toward me. But he didn't move. He was waiting for Gu Chen's next move.
I stepped through the torn opening. The gray wall closed behind me. The illusion of municipal engineering vehicles reappeared; people outside the fence saw four workers doing emergency repairs.
Gu Chen stood at the crack's edge, staff still pressing on the opening. His Taoist robe clung to his body from the hot wind, the Three Pure Ones pattern clearly outlined through the sweat-soaked fabric.
"You know about the seal," he said.
"Some."
"How much?"
"I know you repaired a seal in Qilian Mountains thirty-one years ago," I said. "You used a containment method. After that, pressure transferred, and the same location cracked a second time three years later."
Gu Chen didn't lower his staff. But he spoke: "How do you know about the seal?"
"Qilian Mountain archives. Gui Bureau database." I didn't hide it. No need—Lu Ming would find out eventually. "Thirty-one years ago, abnormal seismic waves. You were there. The note says 'non-combat casualties.' Three years ago, seven special reconnaissance team members. One survivor: Lu Ming. Left eye mutated. Both incidents share the keyword 'black crystal,' noted as seal repair material. And there's a system-generated index marker for subsequent events: abnormal electromagnetic interference in the eastern district, ongoing for three months."
Lu Ming's face changed. Because I'd revealed his three-year-old secret in front of everyone.
Gu Chen didn't lower his staff. But he fell silent for a moment, remembering those six words: "Li Huo Dong, Kun Di Lie." Someone had known the crack was coming beforehand—and this person not only knew, but had checked the archives.
"These archives wouldn't tell you the repair method," Gu Chen said. "How do you know I used containment last time?"
I paused. This I genuinely didn't know. The archives only had "black crystal" and "non-combat casualties"—no record of the sealing talisman. Containment was my guess based on the common sense that containment causes pressure transfer.
I took a deep breath.
"I can't prove it. But something inside me knows. It carved something into my memory, and I never understood what it meant. Maybe you can tell me."
"The fourth stroke of the sealing talisman. It was off by zero point three inches to the left."
Gu Chen's bamboo staff froze in mid-air.
This detail wasn't in any archive. The sealing talisman was something he'd drawn with his own hand thirty-one years ago. That fourth stroke deviation had happened in the moment of drawing—he'd only noted it in the margin of his personal journal, not even the Judge knew.
Gu Chen lowered his bamboo staff.
"He's telling the truth."
This was addressed to everyone, including Night Wanderer.
The entire scene froze.
Night Wanderer's soul-lock chain slowly circled once, the will-o'-the-wisps at the tip reigniting—but dimmer than before, half the brightness. He was reevaluating: Mo Yan was a puppet tied to the seal's entity.
Gu Chen nodded at Night Wanderer: "Perimeter."
Night Wanderer nodded. The chain drew a circle. The Judge's projection appeared. Cinnabar brush wrote "seal."
Twelve yin soldiers sheathed their short halberds and turned, facing six outward directions. Two per group, each group covering one old neighborhood. Iron boots splashed through water, leaving frost-cold footprints.
Mo Yan saw the yin soldiers draw extremely thin silver threads from their sleeves—about spider-silk thickness, with copper coins tied to the ends. The coins were trembling. Each coin had a different frequency, but there was a pattern.
Chen Sanqi reported over Bluetooth: "The yin soldiers are setting up a formation. Twelve people, six groups. They're drawing circles—eight hundred meter radius centered on the crack. There are threads connecting each group, very thin, silver. Like... weaving a net."
"Spirit-binding threads," I said. Coins at the ends, trembling—that was a heartbeat.
"Coverage?"
"Let me check."
Chen Sanqi was quiet for ten seconds. "Cell tower coverage... three old neighborhoods, plus one resettlement housing across the river. All five-story apartment buildings from the seventies. Within eight hundred meters—around forty people."
Forty-some people, all within the spirit-binding threads' coverage. The threads connected living human fates—this was the Underworld's harvest preparation. These people were already marked in the Book of Life and Death. After they died, their spirit energy would be extracted to repair the seal.
More spirit-binding threads kept emerging from the yin soldiers' sleeves.
The first vehicle's cargo hold was full. The second was loading. Lu Ming stood at the fence directing, his tablet showing a fake municipal pipeline map with red leak points marked. Fire trucks mixed among the Iveco vans, lights flashing.
One by one, the copper coins on the threads stopped trembling.
People were being pulled beyond the eight-hundred-meter range. Gu Chen's staff tip pressed on the crack—each group that left meant less spirit energy. He had to burn his own life force to compensate. The third talisman's burning speed accelerated.
Gu Chen spoke: "Stop."
Lu Ming looked back at him. He'd seen this man in Qilian Mountains three years ago. He didn't stop.
Gu Chen told Night Wanderer to intercept. Night Wanderer didn't move—his duty was controlling the crack site, evacuation was the living world's problem.
Gu Chen shouted a second time: "Stop the vehicles."
Lu Ming continued directing the fourth van into the fence opening. Its cargo hold was stuffed with twenty-odd elderly people in pajamas.
The fourth van's taillights disappeared. Spirit-binding thread coverage dropped from one hundred percent to approximately sixty percent.
Gu Chen's bamboo staff bent. The third talisman burned faster.
I stood on the rooftop listening to Chen Sanqi through Bluetooth: "Spirit-binding coverage dropped to sixty percent. Most of those who left were from the old neighborhoods."
Lu Ming walked toward the pit.
His left eye glinted in the dim red light, gray-white pupil locking onto the black crystal growth direction.
He raised the silver powder canister toward the black crystals.
Gu Chen: "Don't touch it."
Lu Ming: "This thing killed six of my men."
Gu Chen: "The crystals are seal repair material."
Lu Ming's silver powder canister hovered in mid-air. His left eye's thermal vision read the relationship between the staff's talisman power and the black crystals: talisman power pushed down, crystals grew toward the center; talisman power relaxed, crystals expanded outward.
He read more data. Black crystal coverage speed at the crack mouth: three centimeters per second. At this rate, the crack would be completely covered in four minutes.
Energy pulse frequency inside the crack was also accelerating—from nineteen-second intervals down to twelve. Something underground was struggling.
"You're using it to seal the crack."
"Yes."
"Six years ago, six of my men got sealed by this same thing. And you say it's repair material?"
"Last time there was no pressure release hole—all pressure went into the crystals, causing them to expand onto people. This time we left a vent."
Lu Ming stared at Gu Chen's hand. Talisman ash fell onto the back of his hand, seeping into the skin's patterns. Blackness spread along the palm lines. The bamboo staff bore the crack's pushing force—each surge of dim red light made the staff bend further.
Halfway through the third talisman's burn, ash drifted toward the crack. Each speck that fell pushed the dim red light back a fraction.
Lu Ming didn't understand the seal. But he understood one thing: this old Taoist was burning his own life force to hold this hole shut, while he stood by loading people into vans and driving them away.
"Those vehicles—" Lu Ming pointed outside the fence.
"Every group that leaves, I burn a little more," Gu Chen said.
Lu Ming's silver powder canister still hovered. He watched for three seconds. In those three seconds, his left eye's thermal imaging read the crack mouth temperature, crystal growth rate, staff talisman power decay curve. In those three seconds, he watched the blackness on the old Taoist's hand spread another inch upward.
He smashed the canister.
Against the ground. Silver powder scattered, like shattered stars in the dim red light. His hand trembled.
He pulled out the walkie-talkie: "Chu Li. Where's the fourth vehicle?"
"Just arrived at the shelter. Fifth is loading now."
"Stop loading the fifth."
Chu Li was silent for two seconds: "Are you sure?"
Lu Ming looked at Gu Chen. His bamboo staff pressed down another inch. The third talisman was two-thirds burned.
"Tell them to stay."
"The ones staying—"
"I know," Lu Ming cut her off. He'd seen crystals expand onto people in Qilian Mountains three years ago. He didn't want anyone to experience that again. But if the crack blew wide open, everyone within two kilometers would experience it.
Choose the lesser evil. He chose fewer people experiencing that.
"Stop the fifth. Those already loaded—send them."
Chu Li didn't ask more. Engine shutdown sounds came over the walkie-talkie.
Lu Ming squatted down, looking at the scattered silver powder. Three years ago in Qilian Mountains, he'd used silver powder to crack a crystal shell and save half his life. Today, the thing he hated most was being used as seal material.
Gu Chen nodded at Night Wanderer: "Pressure release repair. Open on the east side."
The Judge's projection appeared again, cinnabar brush hovering in the air.
Gu Chen used talisman power from his bamboo staff to pierce a hole in the crack's east side. A pressure release vent. Dim red light burst from the opening, carrying thirty-six point five degree hot wind. Three talisman patterns lit up simultaneously on the staff.
Talisman ash fell onto his hand, seeping into the skin's patterns. The back of his hand turned black, the blackness spreading along palm lines.
When the second talisman began burning, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The bamboo staff bore the crack's pushing force—each surge of dim red light bent the staff further, like a red-hot iron bar slowly warping.
When all three talismans flared together, his Taoist robe was soaked through with sweat. Green veins bulged beneath the Three Pure Ones pattern—spirit channels overloaded. The faster the talismans burned, the faster he aged. By the second half of the repair, his temples were dusted with new white hair.
City spirit energy was thin—he could only burn his own life force to compensate.
I stood nearby watching. My soul membrane sensed pressure changes inside the crack; the heart core's traction fluctuated. The Boss struggled underground. I could feel his hunger through the heart core: it needed energy, trying to pry the seal open like removing a bottle cap.
The pressure release hole opened. All three talismans burned through.
Black crystals grew along the pressure release hole's edge, forming an extremely thin crystalline membrane. Less than a copper coin's thickness.
Lu Ming stood beside it, seeing black crystals for the third time. First in Qilian Mountains sealing six comrades, second on a thermal imaging screen, now third—watching black crystals being used as repair material.
He finally understood: crystals were the seal's blood. He picked up the broken silver powder canister from the ground.
Gu Chen glanced at Lu Ming during the repair's final moments, recognizing that gray-white left eye. He'd seen it in Qilian Mountains.
He said to him: "Three years ago in Qilian Mountains, your comrades were sealed by crystals. Those were seal repair materials." He stood up leaning on his staff. Lu Ming didn't stop him.
Lu Ming made a gesture—six fingers minus two: three fingers up, two curled.
Gu Chen saw it. No explanation, no apology.
Three cinnabar talismans on the bamboo staff. The bottom one had the deepest burn marks—thirty-one years old, from Qilian Mountains. The top one had burned away most of its length during the pressure release.
The Judge put away his cinnabar brush. Before leaving, the numbers on the last page of the Book of Life and Death automatically updated: Spirit energy source, stored spirit energy seventy percent, new spirit energy... thirty percent.
Repair completion: approximately ninety percent. Insufficient spirit energy due to evacuation. Minor gaps remain in the repair. Next breach expected to occur approximately twenty months earlier.
The Judge said nothing. The yin soldiers sank into the ground.
Night Wanderer picked up his soul-lock chain. Before sinking underground, the will-o'-the-wisp flared once—striking Mo Yan's chest on its own, twice as bright as before. The chain's fire mark was strengthened.
Night Wanderer had confirmed two things: Mo Yan's heart was in the hands of whatever was underground, and Mo Yan could recite seal details only Gu Chen knew. So Mo Yan was a puppet tied to the seal's entity.
Capture the puppet, and the strings remain. During the next monthly payment settlement, the Boss's energy transmission pipeline would be briefly exposed—and the soul-lock chain could follow it downward.
Night Wanderer looked back at Mo Yan before leaving.
You're just a signpost. Signposts aren't worth capturing—but the direction they point to is worth pursuing.
VII. Mo Yan's Chapter · Conclusion
Three in the morning. A system window popped up automatically.
"Monthly payment system suspended. Resume time: pending. During suspension, survival maintenance: no additional energy required. Note: Maintain low profile."
The Boss had entered a silent period. The seal had just been repaired, and the Underworld was watching this location. Any large-scale emotional harvesting would expose the energy transmission pipeline. The suspension was the Boss's survival instinct—but I didn't care about the motive, only the result: a two-month window.
I lay on Zhao Yuanhang's bed. The soul membrane in my chest still had that residual loosening sensation. The heart core's traction was thirty percent weaker than usual—like a noose around my neck being loosened by one finger's width.
Chen Sanqi said over Bluetooth: "Scanned emotional fluctuation spectrum during evacuation. Four hundred people ordered to leave immediately without knowing why—panic purity extremely high. Equivalent emotional energy converts to approximately 8.7 karma crystals."
"Store beneath the soul membrane," I said.
"Won't the Boss audit this?"
"I didn't actively harvest this energy. The soul membrane automatically absorbed crack overflow. Technically, it's not part of the monthly payment."
Chen Sanqi was quiet for a moment. "You're hiding private reserves."
"Yes."
"Purpose?"
"Hedge against future punitive contractions. Or feed the 'perpetual contract' core engine you mentioned. It'll come in handy."
Chen Sanqi didn't ask more. He only provided data, never questioned decisions.
I stared at the ceiling. Zhao Yuanhang's soul membrane trembled gently in his chest—a relaxation he'd never known. Like a too-tight corset finally having one button undone.
"You calculated that the Judge would accept an imperfect repair," Chen Sanqi said suddenly. This wasn't a question he'd normally ask. "But did you calculate that Gu Chen would believe you?"
"No," I said. "Gu Chen believed me precisely because those six characters had already planted the doubt: 'Someone predicted the crack.'"
"What if he hadn't received those six characters?"
"Time was too tight. The crack was expanding, yin soldiers were laying spirit-binding threads, Lu Ming was evacuating. He had no time to hesitate."
Chen Sanqi paused for two seconds. "You were gambling."
"Gambling on human nature."
I rolled over and sat up, walking to the window. The thirteenth-floor window wasn't fully closed; wind squeezed in, howling sharply. The skyline to the northeast was still darker than elsewhere, but the dim red light was gone. The crack was sealed, leaving a gap. Black crystals had formed a thin membrane at the opening.
There was a hole in the membrane—less than a centimeter. Wind passed above it, heated. Living people couldn't detect it, but my soul membrane could sense it.
The Boss's silent period wouldn't last long. When the next monthly payment window opened, he'd still need to deliver.
Now I had two things: two months of time. And 8.7 units of energy the Boss didn't know existed.
"How far along is the perpetual contract's core?"
Chen Sanqi said: "Fifteen cities. Ready to launch anytime."
"Not yet. Wait."
"Wait for what?"
"Wait for the next crack."
I closed the notebook. The instant before the screen went dark, a new email notification popped up in the bottom right corner.
The sender was a random string of letters and numbers. A temporary email. It would self-destruct in forty-eight hours.
The subject line was blank. The body contained only one line:
"Who is 32767? Not reporting. Just curious."
I stared at those words for a long time.
Chu Li or Lu Ming—whoever it was, this was their first informal contact outside the monitoring system.
I replied with one word:
"Debt."
Email sent successfully. The temporary email's countdown began.
I lay back on the bed. Zhao Yuanhang's soul membrane trembled gently in his chest, like a too-tight corset finally having one button undone. Dawn was breaking outside; the breakfast stalls in the eastern old street were starting to emit white steam. The smell of scallion pancakes mixed with the morning breeze, seeping through the window crack.
I closed my eyes.
Two months. Fifteen cities. 8.7 units of energy.
Wait for the next crack.