The Tower of Relegation did not measure time the way the rest of the world did.
Lin Ye understood this on the second day. Not because the sun failed to rise or the shadows behaved strangely, but because his own internal sense of duration began to slip out of alignment. It wasn't a clear distortion, nor a loop, nor a pause. It was something subtler: moments did not weigh the same. Some hours slid past without leaving a trace, while other instants stretched—dense, heavy with meaning—as if the world were deliberately lingering on them.
The fragmented clock remained in an unusual state of latency. It wasn't asleep, but neither was it active. It turned slowly, like a mechanism that had entered a prolonged phase of observation.
Mu Qian did not appear again that day.
No one did.
Lin Ye walked through the accessible levels of the tower without encountering resistance or explicit restrictions. There were no guards, no seals preventing him from leaving. And yet, every time he approached the main entrance, he felt a gentle pressure—not oppressive—that didn't block his path… but discouraged it. Like a silent question asked again and again:
Are you sure you understand enough to leave already?
That night, Lin Ye sat on the upper edge of the tower, watching the silent landscape stretching beyond the perimeter. The hills, the ancient ruins, the forgotten roads. Everything looked stable—almost too stable.
"Waiting…" he murmured. "They always expect me to wait."
He closed his eyes and descended into his inner space.
The fragmented clock responded immediately. This time, something had changed. Around the central gear, new marks floated—faint but distinct. They weren't cracks or residue. They were indicators. As if the system sustaining him had begun to record not only actions, but avoided decisions.
"Current state: prolonged coexistence."
The internal voice emerged clearly.
"Warning: sustained non-intervention increases the weight of future resolution."
Lin Ye frowned.
"Are you saying that waiting has a cost too?"
There was no verbal reply.
But the central gear halted for a single heartbeat… then resumed turning with greater difficulty.
Lin Ye opened his eyes.
"So there are no clean choices," he whispered. "Only delays with interest."
At dawn of the third day, the tower finally reacted.
Not with an alarm.
With a visitor.
Yan Shi appeared on the first level without warning, as if he had decided to be there and the world had simply accepted that decision. He wore the same simple garments as before, with no visible signs of travel or battle. His presence still carried that unsettling sense of perfect neutrality.
"You shouldn't stay too long," he said, without greeting.
Lin Ye descended the stairs slowly.
"Mu Qian asked me to wait."
Yan Shi looked at him with an expression that was hard to read.
"Mu Qian believes in postponement," he replied. "I believe in controlled movement."
"What's the difference?"
"Postponement accumulates pressure," Yan Shi said. "Movement redistributes it."
The fragmented clock vibrated with partial recognition.
"The Correction Core has been activated," Yan Shi continued. "Not fully. Not yet. But enough for some regions to begin to be 'cleaned.'"
Lin Ye felt a knot tighten in his stomach.
"Cleaned how?"
Yan Shi didn't answer immediately. He raised a hand, and the air before them rippled, revealing a distant scene. A small city, surrounded by low walls. People walking, talking, living. Then—a sudden correction. Not an explosion. Not a visible collapse. Simply… an absence.
Empty streets.
Intact houses, but no inhabitants.
"Retroactive classification," Yan Shi said. "The world decided that anomaly should never have existed—and adjusted everything around that decision."
Lin Ye clenched his fists.
"How many?"
"For now, few," Yan Shi replied. "Initial tests are always discreet."
A heavy silence fell between them.
"Why show me this?" Lin Ye asked.
Yan Shi met his gaze.
"Because you were near one of those regions recently."
The fragmented clock vibrated sharply.
The village.
The girl who drew houses that never stayed the same.
A deep chill ran down Lin Ye's spine.
"What happened to her?" he asked, voice tightly controlled.
Yan Shi shook his head slowly.
"I don't know yet."
That was worse than confirmation.
"Then move," Yan Shi continued. "Not to fight. Not to save everyone. Move to force friction. Every time you interact without breaking, you delay the Core's consensus."
"So that's what I am now?" Lin Ye said. "An obstacle?"
Yan Shi studied him for several heartbeats.
"You're more annoying than that," he replied. "You're an exception that refuses to close."
At that moment, Mu Qian appeared at the upper staircase.
"Yan Shi," she said calmly. "You're advancing processes."
"And you're letting them rot," he replied without turning.
Mu Qian looked at Lin Ye.
"The Core can't be stopped head-on," she said. "It can only be fragmented… or diverted."
"And for that," Yan Shi added, "you need someone who doesn't fit its parameters."
The fragmented clock beat strongly, aligning with both approaches without committing fully to either.
Lin Ye exhaled slowly.
"If I leave here," he said, "I'll stop being 'pending.'"
Mu Qian nodded.
"You'll become active."
Yan Shi added:
"And a priority target for those who believe order must be final."
Lin Ye lifted his gaze to the sky visible from the tower. For a moment, he thought he saw overlapping layers, as if the world were rehearsing different versions of itself.
"Then I won't wait any longer," he said.
The fragmented clock vibrated.
Not in alarm.
In acceptance.
Lin Ye took a step toward the tower's exit.
At that same instant, thousands of kilometers away, another piece of the Correction Core clicked into place.
And the world—without making a sound—began to accelerate its decisions.