Silence arrived first.
Not peace.
Not rest.
Silence that felt incorrect.
1. The World After the Explosion
The fractured space did not heal.
It did not collapse further either.
It simply… stopped responding.
Large sections of the world around them froze into rigid stillness. Fractures that once pulsed with unstable pressure now hung open like frozen wounds. Light bent strangely at their edges, refusing to travel straight.
Yin Lie lay on the broken ground, barely conscious.
Ice still wrapped around Qin Mian's body, thin and delicate, holding her together more gently than he had ever held anything.
He tried to breathe.
Pain answered.
Every inhale felt like dragging air through glass.
"…Still here," he whispered.
The world did not react.
That scared him.
2. Qin Mian Does Not Wake
Yin Lie shifted painfully onto his side.
He reached out with trembling fingers and touched the ice around Qin Mian's shoulder.
Cold.
Too cold.
Not the usual hum of Anchor resonance.
Not the unstable pulse he had grown used to.
Just… absence.
"…Qin Mian," he rasped.
No response.
Her chest rose faintly.
She was breathing.
But something fundamental was missing.
3. The Anchor Is Quiet
Inside her, Yin Lie felt nothing.
No screaming equations.
No stabilizing feedback.
No resistance.
The Anchor—something that had always been loud, reactive, demanding—had gone completely silent.
Not suppressed.
Not damaged in the way systems usually broke.
It was as if it had stepped away.
Yin Lie's stomach twisted.
"…This isn't recovery," he whispered.
This was withdrawal.
4. The Wrong Kind of Stability
The space immediately around Qin Mian felt unnaturally calm.
Too calm.
The broken world bent gently away from her, not touching, not pressing.
A hollow formed—like a pocket where reality refused to interact.
Yin Lie tried to push ice outward, to test the response.
Nothing.
The ice formed.
The space ignored it.
"…She's not anchoring anything," he realized.
"She's being… bypassed."
5. Yin Lie Tries to Wake Her
He shook her shoulder gently.
Then harder.
"Qin Mian," he said urgently.
"Wake up."
Her head rolled slightly.
No reaction.
Panic rose sharp and ugly in his chest.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"…Don't do this," he whispered.
Still nothing.
6. The World Treats Her Like She Isn't There
A distant fracture shifted.
Not toward them.
Around them.
The world routed pressure away from Qin Mian's position, as if her presence no longer registered as a valid interaction point.
Yin Lie felt sick.
"…It doesn't see you," he said hoarsely.
If the world did not see her—
it would not protect her.
It would not restrain itself around her.
7. First Symptom: Emotional Delay
Qin Mian's fingers twitched faintly.
Yin Lie froze.
"Qin Mian?"
Her eyes fluttered open slightly.
Not focusing.
Not reacting.
"…Lie?" she murmured.
Relief slammed into him so hard he nearly blacked out.
"I'm here," he said immediately.
"I'm here."
She frowned weakly.
Her voice came slow.
"…Why… do I feel late?"
His heart clenched.
"Late?"
"Everything," she whispered.
"It feels… behind."
8. Anchor Without Feedback
The Anchor did not react to her waking.
No flare.
No recalibration.
No panic.
It stayed silent.
Yin Lie tried to feel for it again.
Nothing answered.
"…Can you feel it?" he asked carefully.
She shook her head slightly.
"No," she said.
"I feel… empty."
That word hit him harder than any attack.
9. Second Symptom: Pain Without Meaning
Qin Mian tried to sit up.
Pain tore through her body.
She gasped sharply.
But her reaction came half a second late—her face contorting after the pain had already peaked.
Yin Lie grabbed her.
"Don't move!"
She blinked at him.
"…That hurt," she said calmly.
"…I think."
There was no fear in her voice.
No urgency.
Just observation.
Yin Lie felt cold dread spread through him.
"…Pain shouldn't be delayed," he whispered.
10. Emotional Desynchronization
Qin Mian looked around slowly.
Her eyes tracked the broken sky, the frozen fractures, the unmoving world.
Her expression didn't change.
"…This is bad," she said.
Flat.
Accurate.
But empty.
Yin Lie searched her face desperately.
"Aren't you scared?"
She thought for a long moment.
"…I think I should be," she replied.
"But I don't feel it."
11. Yin Lie Understands the Price
The Anchor hadn't broken.
It had withdrawn from decision-making.
It no longer argued with reality.
It no longer tried to stabilize contradictions.
It had gone passive.
A survival response.
By stepping back completely, it avoided being destroyed—
but took Qin Mian's emotional immediacy with it.
"…It protected itself," Yin Lie realized.
"…By letting go of you."
The thought made him sick.
12. Qin Mian Notices Something Worse
She looked down at her hands.
Turned them slowly.
"…Lie," she said.
"Yes?"
"…Do I matter right now?"
The question hit him like a knife.
"Of course you do," he said immediately.
She nodded, accepting the answer without emotion.
"That's good," she said.
"Because I can't feel it."
13. The World Begins to Drift Again
Far away, fractures shifted.
Not attacking.
Not retreating.
Reconfiguring.
The hunt was gone—but the system was not finished responding.
Yin Lie felt it in his bones.
"This silence won't last," he muttered.
Qin Mian tilted her head.
"…Silence ends?"
"Yes."
She nodded again.
"…Tell me when it does."
14. Yin Lie Makes a Silent Vow
He wrapped his arms around her carefully, ignoring the pain screaming through his ruined body.
"I won't let this be permanent," he whispered fiercely.
She leaned against him.
Her body accepted the contact.
Her mind barely reacted.
"…Okay," she said.
The word held no warmth.
That terrified him more than anything else.
15. End of the Chapter
The world remained quiet.
Too quiet.
Qin Mian's Anchor stayed silent, withdrawn into a state no one had ever documented.
She was alive.
Conscious.
But partially disconnected—from fear, urgency, and emotional weight.
Yin Lie held her in the ruins of a broken hunt, knowing with absolute certainty:
The explosion had not ended the danger.
It had moved it inside her.
And whatever came next would not be a chase.
It would be a fight against emptiness.