The second delay was smaller than the first.
That was why it mattered.
Qin Mian felt it while walking.
Not stopping.
Not thinking.
Just moving.
Her foot lifted, crossed forward, and touched the ground.
Then—
the ground accepted her weight after it should have.
Not enough to make her stumble.
Not enough to trigger pain.
Just enough to register.
She froze.
"…Again," she whispered.
1. The Delay Does Not Ask for Attention
She did not panic.
She did not move.
She let the moment settle.
The world corrected itself instantly, smoothing the sensation away as if embarrassed by the mistake.
If she had not been paying attention, she would have missed it.
That was the problem.
2. She Confirms It Isn't Her
Qin Mian took a slow breath and stepped again.
Carefully.
This time, everything aligned perfectly.
No lag.
No resistance.
No hesitation.
Her Anchor remained quiet.
No surge.
No warning.
"…Not me," she murmured.
She waited.
3. The Third Delay Is Smaller Still
It came thirty steps later.
Barely measurable.
The air moved a fraction late when she exhaled.
Not the wind.
The response.
Her chest tightened.
"…You're slipping," she said softly.
Not accusing the world.
Observing it.
4. Patterns Begin to Form
She stopped walking and stood still.
Time passed.
Nothing happened.
Then—without her moving—
the sound of distant air pressure shifted late.
A soft echo arrived after silence.
She closed her eyes.
"…You're not reacting wrong," she whispered.
"You're reacting late."
5. The Anchor Does Not React
She focused inward.
Her Anchor pulsed steadily.
Stable.
Unconcerned.
It did not register the delay as a threat.
Which meant the delay existed below corrective thresholds.
That realization sent a chill through her spine.
"…You don't see this as a problem," she murmured.
6. She Tries a Controlled Test
Qin Mian lifted her hand slowly.
She watched.
Her fingers moved.
The air parted.
No delay.
She lowered her hand.
Again, nothing.
She frowned.
Then she did something else.
She thought about moving her hand—
and didn't.
The delay came anyway.
Her heart skipped.
"…It's not waiting for action," she whispered.
"It's drifting on its own."
7. Time Is No Longer Anchored to Intention
That was new.
Before, every anomaly responded to force.
Emotion.
Movement.
Decision.
This one did not.
It behaved like inertia without mass.
A process that continued because nothing told it to stop.
Qin Mian swallowed.
"…That's dangerous."
8. The World Still Doesn't Notice
She waited for correction.
Pressure.
Containment.
Any response.
Nothing came.
The world continued operating smoothly, blind to the accumulating micro-errors.
Like a machine missing teeth but still turning.
She felt a strange, hollow sensation in her chest.
"…You think this is resolved."
9. She Thinks of Yin Lie Without Meaning To
The thought slipped in uninvited.
Not his face.
Not his voice.
Just the absence he left behind.
The place where time no longer anchored properly.
Pain flared faintly.
But something else happened too.
The delay increased.
Not much.
But enough.
Qin Mian's breath caught.
"…You're still here," she whispered.
10. Not Him — But What He Broke
She shook her head slowly.
"No," she corrected herself.
"Not you."
Her fingers curled into fists.
"…What you did."
Time had learned something from Yin Lie.
Not how to bend.
But how to fail to align.
And it hadn't forgotten.
11. The Delay Begins to Propagate
She took a step.
The ground responded late.
She took another.
Late again.
The delays were no longer isolated.
They were following her.
Not tracking her.
Propagating in her vicinity.
Like ripples that didn't need a stone anymore.
12. She Walks Faster
She increased her pace.
The delays increased proportionally.
Still small.
Still clean.
Still below alarm thresholds.
But growing.
Her pulse quickened.
"…This isn't random," she whispered.
"It's accelerating."
13. The First Audible Error
She heard it then.
A sound that arrived before it was made.
A faint click.
Like a distant shift in structure.
She froze.
The sound repeated.
But this time, the source arrived late.
Her stomach twisted.
Cause and effect had swapped order.
Just barely.
14. The Anchor Finally Hesitates
Her Anchor pulsed.
Not warning.
Uncertainty.
It did not know how to classify what it was sensing.
That frightened her more than panic ever could.
"…You don't know what this is either," she murmured.
15. She Stops Running Tests
Qin Mian stopped moving entirely.
The delays did not stop.
They stabilized into a low, constant misalignment.
Like a hum beneath reality.
She sat down slowly.
Placed her palm on the ground.
The stone felt solid.
Then it didn't.
Then it did again.
"…You're oscillating," she said quietly.
16. The Mistake the World Is Making
The system had assumed the anomaly ended when Yin Lie ended.
It had marked the event closed.
No active instability detected.
No cascade in progress.
But cascades did not require force.
They required continuation.
And something had continued.
17. The Delay Begins to Spread Beyond Her
She noticed it at the edge of her awareness.
Not near her.
Further out.
A flicker in the distance.
A shadow lagging behind its source.
Her breath grew shallow.
"…This isn't localized anymore."
18. She Understands the Timing
This was why the world hadn't noticed.
The errors were too small.
Too clean.
Too slow.
They looked like noise.
They were noise.
But noise accumulated.
19. Qin Mian Makes a Choice
She stood.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
She did not run.
She did not interfere.
She did the opposite.
She observed.
If she reacted, the world would notice.
If she interfered, correction would trigger.
So she stayed quiet.
Still.
Watching the mistake grow.
20. End of the Chapter
By the time the delays became noticeable enough to feel uncomfortable, they were already everywhere she had been.
Trailing her like a wake.
Not because she caused them—
but because she had been close enough to notice when time forgot how to stay aligned.
The world continued operating smoothly, confident in its resolution.
It did not know yet that something was wrong.
And that was the most dangerous part.
Because the first true failure in any system
is not the moment it breaks—
but the moment it keeps working
while it no longer understands
what it has already lost control of.