The Anchor did not speak.
It did not surge.
It did not correct.
It waited.
1. Yin Lie Does Not Wake
Qin Mian counted his breaths again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each breath came with effort, shallow and uneven, like his body had forgotten how to rest without instruction. His skin was cold—not dangerously so, but wrong. The ice beneath his ribs no longer moved with intention. It had hardened into something static, like a cast that would never come off.
She brushed damp hair from his forehead.
"…You're still here," she whispered.
The words were for herself.
Kai stood a short distance away, silent. She had stopped checking her scanner every few seconds. The readings weren't changing.
That was worse.
2. The Anchor Without a Reference
Qin Mian closed her eyes.
She reached inward.
Carefully.
The Anchor responded—but not like before. There was no pressure wave, no alignment rush. Instead, she felt a vast, empty framework, like a machine paused mid-calculation after losing its primary variable.
Yin Lie had been that variable.
His presence—his resistance, his refusal, his unpredictability—had forced the Anchor to account for human inconsistency.
Now it had none.
"…You don't know how to continue," Qin Mian murmured.
The Anchor pulsed faintly.
Not agreement.
Acknowledgment.
3. The City Begins Erasure
The ground trembled again.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
Far above, automated systems executed their next instruction set. Flood gates closed. Old power lines overloaded on purpose, burning out entire subsections of the underground. Airflow slowed, then rerouted, starving certain corridors of oxygen.
Not an attack.
A deletion.
Kai looked up sharply.
"They're collapsing support systems," she said.
"They're not trying to flush us out."
Qin Mian opened her eyes.
"…They're removing the map."
Kai nodded grimly.
"They don't want anyone—us included—to exist here anymore."
4. The Anchor Reacts Without Being Asked
The Anchor pulsed again.
Stronger.
Not violent.
Directional.
Qin Mian felt it touch the surrounding space—not bending it, not correcting it, but marking it. Like drawing invisible boundaries around areas of imminent failure.
Her breath hitched.
"…It's mapping collapse probability."
Kai stiffened.
"Can it stop it?"
Qin Mian shook her head slowly.
"No," she said.
"But it can decide where it happens."
5. The Question Kai Doesn't Want to Ask
Kai stepped closer.
"If you can redirect failure," she said carefully,
"what does that cost?"
Qin Mian didn't answer right away.
She stared at the tunnel wall as hairline cracks began to glow faintly—stress indicators only she could feel.
"…Someone else," she said.
Kai's jaw tightened.
"Who?"
Qin Mian swallowed.
"…Anyone who isn't us."
6. The Choice That Isn't Calculated
The Anchor pulsed insistently now.
It had found a solution.
Efficient.
Clean.
Acceptable.
A section three corridors away—unoccupied, structurally unstable, scheduled for collapse within minutes. Redirecting stress there would preserve their current zone long enough for them to move.
No casualties expected.
Expected.
Qin Mian's hands shook.
The Anchor waited.
This time, it did not push pain.
It offered certainty.
"…No," she whispered.
The Anchor paused.
Pain flared—sharp, immediate, punishing deviation.
She cried out, falling forward, gripping Yin Lie's jacket.
Kai rushed to her side.
"Qin Mian!"
She forced herself upright, tears streaming down her face.
"I said no," she repeated.
7. Choosing Inefficiency
Qin Mian breathed through the pain.
Each breath burned.
"You want clean outcomes," she whispered inwardly.
"But clean isn't the same as right."
The Anchor pulsed.
Uncertain.
She reached again—not to control, not to suppress.
To rewrite the question.
"…Find me a way," she said softly,
"that doesn't trade people like numbers."
The Anchor resisted.
Then—
shifted.
The pain eased slightly.
Not gone.
But reduced.
8. Kai Realizes What This Means
Kai watched, stunned.
"It's responding to negotiation," she whispered.
Qin Mian nodded weakly.
"Only when I'm willing to suffer for it."
Kai felt a chill.
"That's not balance," she said.
"That's extortion."
Qin Mian looked at Yin Lie.
"…He taught me how to endure it."
9. Time Bought With Blood
The tunnel shuddered again.
But the collapse did not come.
Stress rerouted—less cleanly, less efficiently—spreading damage across multiple weak points instead of one decisive failure.
Systems screamed.
City protocols flagged unexpected delay.
Kai checked her feed.
"…We just gained maybe eight minutes."
Qin Mian sagged, exhausted.
Blood dripped from her nose onto Yin Lie's chest.
"Good," she whispered.
10. The Anchor Learns the Wrong Lesson Again
The Anchor pulsed.
Not angry.
Interested.
It had learned something new.
That pain could be exchanged for moral deviation.
That suffering could override optimization.
That Qin Mian herself was now part of the equation.
Qin Mian felt it settle into place.
And knew—
this lesson would not be free.
11. The City Notices the Delay
Far above, an anomaly report surfaced.
EXPECTED COLLAPSE: DELAYED
CAUSE: UNKNOWN INTERFERENCE
CONFIDENCE: LOW
Systems escalated.
Containment tightened.
The city adjusted.
12. Qin Mian Makes the Call
Qin Mian wiped the blood from her face and looked at Kai.
"We move now," she said.
Kai hesitated.
"With him like this?"
Qin Mian tightened her grip on Yin Lie.
"…If we wait," she said quietly,
"the Anchor will choose again."
Kai nodded.
"Then we don't wait."
End of the Chapter
Deep underground, a girl made a choice no system could optimize.
She chose inefficiency.
She chose pain.
She chose time bought at personal cost.
Yin Lie remained unconscious—alive, but severed from the power that once shielded him.
The Anchor learned that suffering could rewrite outcomes.
And the city learned something far more dangerous:
The problem was no longer predictable.