Chapter 4
The gray space was collapsing, its edges curling and turning to ash like burning paper, scattering into nothingness. Tremors rippled from the ground into the body, creating a terrifying resonance between the heartbeat and the collapsing space. Two portals of light floated ahead, one blue and one red, their rays carving clear outlines against the gray background. The screen played a loop of past choices and outcomes, like a silent montage of tragedies.
When Wei Qiyun said, "We need to talk," Cen Sheng didn't respond immediately. He looked at the other man, at the complex light flickering in his eyes—warning, calculation, hesitation, and a hint of tightly controlled genuine emotion. The warning from Number Twelve before his disappearance still echoed in his ears: choices accumulate into paths, and the decision at this moment will affect all future cycles.
"What do you want to talk about?" Cen Sheng finally spoke, his voice unusually calm in the trembling space.
"Sit down first." Wei Qiyun said, and actually sat down cross-legged on the gray ground, as if this was not a collapsing alternate dimension, but a park lawn. His movements were casual and natural, but Cen Sheng noticed that his toes were pointing towards the red light gate, and his body was slightly tilted to the side, a posture that indicated he could get up and sprint at any moment.
Cen Sheng sat down opposite him, two meters away, not too close, not too far. He adjusted his breathing, calming his heartbeat. Rule number ten said: Trust your roommate, but don't completely trust them. The fourth fragment said: One of you is not yourself. These warnings intertwined with the images of betrayal, sacrifice, and leaving alone on the screen, creating a picture of distrust.
“Let’s sort out the information first,” Wei Qiyun said, his tone like that of an analyst chairing a meeting. “Based on the rule fragments we have obtained, the experimental logs, and what that ‘Past Twelve’ said earlier, we can summarize a few key points.”
Cen Sheng nodded, signaling him to continue.
"First, this space—or rather, this system—is a closed experimental field, possibly aimed at studying human behavior patterns under rule constraints, especially trust and cooperation. Second, the system will constantly reset, forming a cycle, and we may be the seventy-fourth group of participants. Third, there is a possibility of breaking the cycle, but it comes at a price, usually one person remains. Fourth, the system itself may have already gone out of control or is unsupervised, operating on its own. Fifth, the development pattern of our relationship conforms to the system's preset trajectory."
He paused, looking at Cen Sheng: "Is there anything to add or revise?"
"Sixth," Cen Sheng continued, "the system will mimic our thinking, making our memories and knowledge concrete. Some of the scenes we see may be projections of our own psychology. Seventh, the rules are based on the observer effect; the more we believe in a rule, the more likely it is to become a constraint in reality. Eighth, time is discontinuous, which means that causal relationships may be disrupted."
“In other words,” Wei Qiyun concluded, “we cannot be sure whether what we see is objective reality or an illusion generated by the system based on our expectations. We cannot even be sure whether each other is a real person or a simulated personality generated by the system.”
These words were very direct, almost provocative. But Wei Qiyun's tone was calm, as if he were stating the weather.
“Verifying this is very difficult,” Cen Sheng admitted. “If one of us is fake, it may possess all the memories and thought patterns of a real person. But if we are all real, mutual suspicion will only lead to the ‘trust breakdown’ that the system expects to see.”
The screen was playing a looping scene: two participants accused each other of being fake, eventually fighting, with one pushing the other into an abyss, and then walking alone toward the portal—only to be reset by the system before touching it, returning everything to the beginning.
“The system is anticipating some kind of development.” Wei Qiyun looked at the screen. “It records, observes, and adjusts. We are like bacteria in a petri dish, being observed how we interact and how we respond to environmental pressures.”
“But the bacteria don’t know they are being observed,” Cen Sheng said. “We do know. That changes the nature of the game. The observer effect—we know we are being observed, and our behavior changes.”
The collapse of the gray space paused for a moment, the tremors subsided, as if the system was listening to their conversation. The burning at the edges ceased, leaving jagged black borders, like a gray canvas with a bite taken out of it.
"What are your thoughts on the 'way out'?" Wei Qiyun asked, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knees again, a small gesture he made while thinking.
Cen Sheng noticed this detail. If Wei Qiyun was a simulated personality generated by the system, would it replicate these unconscious little habits? Yes, for the sake of realism. Conversely, if she herself were a simulated personality, it would also replicate her own habits. This suspicion was an endless vicious cycle.
“The lab log said, ‘The way out exists, but it’s not in the direction you’re looking for,’” Cen Sheng recalled. “The note said, ‘Sometimes going back is going forward, sometimes being still is moving.’ This could be the literal meaning, or it could be a metaphor.”
"Does retreating mean giving up on breaking through and returning to the cycle?" Wei Qiyun speculated. "Does remaining still mean staying here and not making a choice?"
“Perhaps. It could also refer to a shift in mindset.” Cen Sheng surveyed the slowly recovering, collapsing gray space. “The system is built upon rules. Rules are constraints, but also tools. If we completely follow the rules, we become part of the system. If we completely violate the rules, it will trigger a reset. Perhaps the way out lies in the gaps in the rules—not in violation, nor in compliance, but in… redefining the rules.”
Wei Qiyun's eyes lit up, a gleam of genuine interest: "For example?"
“Take this choice for example,” Cen Sheng pointed to the two portals of light. “The system presents a binary choice: one person leaves, one person stays; or neither is chosen, returning to the loop. That’s the rule. But what if we create a third option?”
"Both of them leave? The screen says that will result in failure," Wei Qiyun said.
“It’s not that both of them will go through the same door.” Cen Sheng stood up and walked towards the portal. “It’s about creating a third door, or not having a door at all.”
He stopped in front of the blue portal and reached out tentatively. His fingertips encountered invisible resistance about ten centimeters from the portal, like touching a piece of cold glass. The same happened with the red portal. The portals weren't actual passageways, but rather the system's interface.
“You just said that ‘time is not continuous, so there are gaps at certain moments; space is not fixed, so there are cracks in certain locations.’” Wei Qiyun also stood up and walked to his side. “In the past, Number Twelve said that this place was a ‘time gap.’ The gap itself is a crack. Perhaps we can widen the crack instead of going through the door preset by the system.”
The collapse began again, this time even faster. The gray space shrank inward from the edges, as if being swallowed by an invisible maw. The diameter of the space where they could stand was less than ten meters, and it was shrinking rapidly.
"Time is running out," Wei Qiyun said.
“A crystal shard.” Cen Sheng suddenly remembered, “Number Twelve said we used a ‘vulnerability shard’ to get in here. The shard is now embedded in the metal door; the door is gone, but where is the shard?”
They both looked towards the spot where the metal door had once stood. Now, there was only gray void there, but upon closer inspection, a tiny blue dot could be seen flickering faintly, like a distant star.
The collapse had reached within a five-meter radius. The screen flickered and the image distorted. The tremors made standing difficult.
Cen Sheng rushed towards the blue dot, with Wei Qiyun close behind. Two meters from the blue dot, Cen Sheng felt a resistance, like rowing against the current, requiring even more strength for each step forward. Wei Qiyun felt it too; his breathing became rapid.
“This is the system’s defense mechanism,” Cen Sheng judged. “It doesn’t want us to retrieve the fragments.”
“The fragments are vulnerabilities that can create gaps,” Wei Qiyun said. “If we get the fragments, we might be able to create a new exit here, instead of choosing the options it gives us.”
Three meters. The gray space was reduced to a circular area with a diameter of three meters, surrounded by a dark void that devoured everything. The blue dot was just one meter in front of them, but the resistance was as strong as a rubber wall.
Cen Sheng took a deep breath and pushed it up with his shoulder. The resistance was elastic, increasing with pressure. Wei Qiyun tried from the other side, with the same result.
“We need to apply pressure from multiple directions simultaneously,” Wei Qiyun said, “to disperse its resistance.”
But there was no one else, only the two of them. And the system was clearly doing everything it could to prevent them from getting close to the debris.
Suddenly, the screen emitted a blinding white light, the entire image disappeared, and a line of flashing red text appeared:
Unauthorized detection attempts
Behavioral patterns deviate from expectations
Initiate Correction Protocol
A countdown appeared below the text: 10...9...8...
“It’s going to reset,” Wei Qiyun said. “A forced reset before we make a choice.”
The countdown jumped to 7...6...
Cen Sheng looked at Wei Qiyun, and the other looked back at him. There was no time for discussion, no time for formulating complex plans. There were only a few seconds and a crazy idea that could change everything or result in nothing.
"Do you trust me?" Cen Sheng asked, this was the second time she had asked this question.
Wei Qiyun's answer was action: he turned around and, instead of rushing towards the blue dot, rushed towards the blue portal. As the countdown reached 5, he placed his hands on the invisible barrier of the portal.
The portal flickered violently, and blue light surged. The system's attention was drawn to it, and Cen Sheng felt the resistance in front of him instantly weaken.
4...
Cen Sheng charged forward with all his might, reaching out to grab the blue dot. His fingertips touched something cold and hard—a crystal shard. It had always been there, just hidden by the system. He gripped the shard tightly and pulled it out forcefully.
3...
The blue dot expanded, becoming a blue sphere of light the size of a basketball, with the crystal fragment at its center. Energy flowed within the sphere, its pulsating rhythm different from before—faster and more irregular.
On Wei Qiyun's side, the blue light gate began to deform, twisting from a regular rectangle into an irregular polygon, its edges undulating like flames. The red light gate was also changing, the light from the two gates beginning to mix, forming an eerie purple glow.
2...
"Give me the fragments!" Wei Qiyun shouted.
Without hesitation, Cen Sheng tossed the orb of light towards Wei Qiyun. This wasn't a rational decision, nor a calculated act of trust; it was purely a conditioned reflex. In the instant the fragment left his hand, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind: What if Wei Qiyun took the fragment and left alone? What if this was all just an act?
But after catching the ball of light, Wei Qiyun did not rush towards any of the doors. Instead, he raised the ball of light high above his head and then slammed it hard onto the gray ground.
1...
The ball of light struck the ground, but instead of shattering, it splashed out like a water balloon. The blue light spread like liquid across the gray ground, forming intricate patterns. At the center of these patterns, a crystal shard stood like a blue dagger stuck in the ground.
0...
The countdown has ended.
But the reset did not occur.
Instead, the entire gray space trembled violently, more intensely than ever before. The ground cracked open, not collapsing into nothingness, but creating real, bottomless fissures. From these fissures flowed not darkness, but...color.
A variety of colors, like an overturned paint bucket, flowed freely across the gray canvas. Red, yellow, green, and purple mingled together without appearing muddy; instead, they formed a kind of mesmerizing harmony. The colors had textures; some were thick like oil paint, some thin like watercolor, and some shimmered like gold dust.
The space itself is being reconstructed. It is no longer a monotonous gray, but a constantly changing realm of color. The two light gates dissolve in the clash of colors, turning into two blobs of color that blend into the background. The screen shatters, and the fragments scatter like a rain of stained glass.
At the location of the crystal fragment, the blue light pattern expanded, forming a circular magic circle about two meters in diameter. Inside the magic circle, more complex geometric patterns rotated, resembling some kind of ancient seal or summoning circle.
The tremors gradually subsided, and the flow of color slowed and softened. They stood in a completely new space—no longer a gray gap, but a non-Euclidean space filled with flowing color. The ground was a flat surface where color flowed, with no clear horizon, and in the distance, colors gradually blended into brighter white light. The space had no clear boundaries, no ceiling, no walls, only an infinitely extending field of color.
“We broke the pre-set scenario,” Cen Sheng said, his voice tinged with suppressed excitement.
Wei Qiyun walked to the edge of the magic circle, squatted down to observe the rotating geometric pattern: "The crystal shards are the keys, but their use is not to open the door given by the system, but to break the structure of the system itself."
At the center of the magic circle, the crystal fragment emitted soft pulses of light. With each pulse, the magic circle expanded outwards by one ring, and the colors spread accordingly.
"But where are we going?" Wei Qiyun asked. "Or is this somewhere else entirely, just a transitional space?"
Cen Sheng also walked to the edge of the magic circle. The rotation of the pattern had a hypnotic effect; staring at it for too long would cause a slight dizziness. He shifted his gaze to the depths of the color space. In a certain direction, the flow of colors formed a vague structure, like... the outline of a corridor.
“The system is attempting to restructure,” he concluded. “We have disrupted the stability of the gaps, and the system is filling the voids with other elements.”
“It’s like the immune system responding to an infection,” Wei Qiyun said. “Our ‘violation attempts’ are the source of infection, and the system will mobilize resources to isolate, eliminate, or assimilate us.”
The color space begins to reveal more details. The flowing colors gradually solidify, forming familiar object outlines: the blurry shape of a hospital bed, the silhouette of a bedside table, the frame of a door. But these objects are all composed of translucent colors, with blurred edges, appearing and disappearing intermittently.
“It’s recreating the ward scene,” Cen Sheng said, “trying to pull us back into a familiar cycle.”
“But we have fragments.” Wei Qiyun reached out and touched the edge of the magic circle, his fingers creating ripples as they passed through the light patterns. “The magic circle is maintaining the existence of this space. The fragments are the anchor points.”
The outline of a bed in red and yellow took shape beside them, growing clearer and clearer, details gradually refining: the creases in the sheets, the indentations of the pillows, even the spots of rust on the bed legs. Then, another bed appeared opposite, followed by bedside tables, chairs, walls...
Ward 406 is being rebuilt, in the form of color.
“If the reconstruction is completed, we will return to the ward and start all over again,” Cen Sheng said. “But this time there will be a change—we will retain our memories, and we will know about the system’s existence.”
“And we now have fragments,” Wei Qiyun added, “which could change the trajectory of the cycle.”
The color-coded ward is becoming more and more complete; now even the water stains on the walls are being reproduced—stains formed from a mixture of dark brown and black, spreading across the white (actually a mixture of various shades of white) walls. The shape of the water stains is exactly that human silhouette.
“Look.” Wei Qiyun pointed to the water stains.
The outline is moving.
It wasn't the kind of movement that flows with color, but real motion—the outline of an arm slowly rising, the head turning. Like a person trapped inside a wall awakening.
“History keeps repeating itself.” Cen Sheng thought of the fifth fragment. “But this time, we may be interacting directly with history.”
The outline peeled off the wall.
It doesn't detach completely, but rather rises up like a relief, transforming from two-dimensional to three-dimensional. The body, composed of colors, breaks free from the wall, first the arms, then the head, shoulders, torso, and finally the entire body standing in the center of the room.
It had no clear facial features; its face was just a blurry mass of color, but its posture was humanoid. Its height and build were similar to Cen Sheng's, but it was thinner and its movements stiff. It turned towards them; it had no eyes, but you could sense that it was "seeing."
"Another remnant of the past?" Wei Qiyun took a step back and reached into his pocket—the scissors he had taken from the storeroom were still there.
The colorful humanoid did not attack; it simply stood there, seemingly observing. Then it raised its hand and pointed to the crystal shards within the magic circle.
Its fingers are also composed of color, with paint-like substances dripping from its fingertips, forming small puddles of color on the ground.
"It wants the fragments?" Cen Sheng guessed.
The humanoid figure nodded. The movement was slow, but it was definitely an affirmation.
"Can you speak?" Wei Qiyun asked.
The humanoid figure shook its head. It pointed again at the fragments, then at itself, and finally at the depths of the color space—where more object outlines were taking shape: the nurses' station, the corridor, the doors to other wards.
"What does it want to do with the fragments?" Cen Sheng pondered. "The fragments can create gaps; perhaps it can use them to leave this system?"
The humanoid figure nodded vigorously and took a step forward. Its footsteps left colorful footprints on the ground, but the footprints quickly melted away and blended back into the background colors.
Wei Qiyun and Cen Sheng exchanged a glance. Giving the fragment to this unknown entity was very risky, but they might gain information or assistance. Moreover, the fragment was currently their only special item, their only tool capable of influencing the system.
“If we give you the fragments, what can you do to help us?” Cen Sheng asked.
The humanoid figure pondered for a moment—though it had no expression, its posture conveyed a sense of thought. Then it made a complex gesture: its hands clasped together, then separated, one hand pointing upwards, the other pointing to itself and Cen Sheng and Wei Qiyun, and finally its hands crossed in front of its chest.
"Does it want to take us with it?" Wei Qiyun interpreted. "Or does it want to merge with us?"
The humanoid figure shook its head and made a new gesture, this time simpler: it pointed to the fragment, then to the depths of the color space, drew a large circle, and finally pointed to itself and the two people, clasping its hands together.
“The fragments can open up a larger space. What can they take us to see?” Cen Sheng tried to understand.
The humanoid figure nodded, then shook its head, clearly not entirely correct. It seemed somewhat anxious, its colors and body undulating like a flame stirred by the wind.
The color-coded ward is now fully formed, with even the details being refined: dust particles on the bedside table, torn edges on the curtains, scratches on the floor. The system is accelerating its reconstruction, aiming to fix the scene in place.
“Time is running out,” Wei Qiyun said. “If the wards are fully completed, we might be trapped back inside.”
The humanoid rushed towards the magic circle, not to seize the fragments, but to place its hands on the edge of the circle. Its colors began to flow into the circle, the blue patterns of the magic circle tinged with red, yellow, and green, becoming a vibrant, multicolored mixture. The magic circle spun faster, and the crystal fragment at its center emitted a brilliant light.
The color space vibrated violently, like an aquarium being shaken violently. The forming ward scene began to disintegrate; the bed, cabinets, and walls all melted back into their original colors, rejoining the flow. The system resisted, the colors attempting to reform into a structure, but the power of the magic circle interfered with this process.
The humanoid figure turned around, waved to them, and then pointed to the center of the magic circle—there, a vortex was faintly visible forming in the bright light, and at the center of the vortex was a deep darkness, different from the colors around it.
“It opened the passage,” Cen Sheng said.
"Where does it lead?" Wei Qiyun asked.
The humanoid figure could not answer, only waved urgently, its body becoming transparent from the continuous output of color. It was consuming itself to maintain the mutation of the magic circle.
The vortex expanded, its edges tearing through the color space to reveal pure darkness behind. Within the darkness were specks of starlight—not real stars, but some kind of luminous particles, like the interior of a cell under a microscope.
"Shall we go in?" Wei Qiyun asked, which had almost become their regular conversation.
Cen Sheng stared at the humanoid figure, at its increasingly transparent body, at its hand still pointing towards the vortex. This unknown remnant could be a participant from the past, a product of a system malfunction, a trap, or an opportunity.
A choice beyond the rules. The system's default binary options have been broken, and a third path has emerged: follow this colorful humanoid into an unknown vortex.
“We don’t know what it is,” Cen Sheng said.
“But if we stay here, the system will rebuild the ward, and we’ll be back in the loop, just with more memories,” Wei Qiyun said. “And those memories may be lost or distorted in the next reset.”
The humanoid suddenly made one last gesture: it pointed to itself, then to the two of them, finally clapping its fists together, then separating them, pointing towards the vortex. The meaning of this gesture was clear: I, like you, want to leave, together.
Its body had become so transparent that it was almost invisible, leaving only its outline. The light from the magic circle began to dim, and the edges of the vortex began to shrink. The passage would not remain open forever.
Cen Sheng made his decision. He walked towards the magic circle, but instead of entering the vortex, he bent down and retrieved the crystal fragment from the center of the circle. The moment the fragment left the magic circle, the light dimmed sharply, and the vortex contracted faster.
The humanoid figure let out a silent scream—though the sound was inaudible, the wave of despair was palpable.
“We won’t go through the vortex,” Cen Sheng said to Wei Qiyun. “We’ll use the fragments for something else.”
"for example?"
"The system is reconstructing the ward because that's its preset scene. But what if we enhance this color space with fragments, making it impossible for the system to reconstruct a familiar structure?"
Wei Qiyun understood: "Creating a new space type that the system cannot classify, forcing it to crash or expose its core mechanisms."
"It's like inputting an unprocessable command into a computer, causing a blue screen, and then you can see the underlying code." Cen Sheng held up the crystal shard; although the shard's light had diminished, it still contained energy.
The humanoid seemed to understand; instead of pointing at the vortex, it poured all its remaining color into the magic circle. The magic circle emitted one last burst of intense light before extinguishing completely. The humanoid vanished, blending seamlessly into the background colors. In the instant before the vortex closed, they glimpsed its interior: it appeared to be a vast library, bookshelves stretching to the horizon, but everything was rapidly receding, and then darkness swallowed everything.
Now only they, the crystal shards, and this color space gradually being reconstructed by the system remain. The outline of the ward reappears, clearer than before, and the reconstruction is faster. The system is learning to adapt to their interference.
Cen Sheng pressed the crystal shards against his forehead.
This wasn't rational behavior; it was without basis, without plan, just a sudden intuition. Fragments are vulnerabilities, capable of creating gaps. And these gaps exist in the cracks of time and space. If they cannot leave the system, perhaps a part of the system can enter them.
A cool sensation came from his forehead, then warmed, and finally burned. The crystal shards glowed, the light penetrating his skin and entering his body. Cen Sheng felt a strange sense of connection, as if his consciousness was expanding outward, touching every corner of the color space.
He saw the structure of the system—not visible to the naked eye, but perceptual. The color space was not chaotic, but a network woven from countless tiny lines of rules. Each line was a basic rule, and the intersections of the network formed complex rules. The entire network was dynamically adjusting, trying to confine them to familiar patterns.
The reconstruction of the ward is like the network shrinking, weaving scattered colors into a fixed structure.
The fragment in his hand is a break in the network, a loose thread that has not been properly woven.
“I saw it,” Cen Sheng said, his voice calm but filled with shock. “The system’s rules and structure.”
Wei Qiyun looked at him: "Can you influence it?"
"Maybe." Cen Sheng focused his attention, imagining himself pulling on the thread. Not pulling hard, but gently lifting it to loosen the regular lines near the break point.
The color space shifted again. The outline of the ward trembled, like a television screen with a poor signal. The walls flickered, the bed twisted, and the whole scene swayed between instability and stability.
The system is resisting. More rule lines are generated from the void, attempting to reinforce the structure. But each new rule line needs to be connected to the network, and the fragment in Cen Sheng's hand is like a black hole on the network, twisting and absorbing any rule line that gets too close.
“It’s learning my behavior,” Cen Sheng said. “Adapting to my interference strategies. I need change, unpredictable change.”
Wei Qiyun walked to his side and held out his hand: "Let me try the fragment."
This is a critical moment. Relinquishing the fragment means relinquishing control, it means trust. And the warning from the fourth fragment still remains: one of you is not yourself.
Cen Sheng looked into Wei Qiyun's eyes. What was in those eyes? A genuine longing? A sincere performance? A simulation from the system? He couldn't judge, and he could never be 100% certain.
But he still handed over the fragments.
It wasn't because he completely trusted Wei Qiyun, but because he had an assumption that needed to be verified.
Wei Qiyun took the shard and pressed it to his forehead. The same process occurred: cold, warm, burning, then his expression became focused, his eyes vacant, as if staring at something distant.
“I saw it too,” he said. “A network of rules. And… something else.”
"What?"
“Data flow. Information flows along the lines of rules, like nerve impulses. I see our previous choices being recorded, analyzed, and categorized. The system is predicting our next move.”
"Can we trace the source of the data?" Cen Sheng asked. "To find the core or control point of the system?"
Wei Qiyun shook his head: "The data flow is bidirectional, but the source is hidden. Perhaps there is no single source; the system is distributed, like a neural network, without a central control node."
The reconstruction of the wards is still ongoing, but at a slower pace. The system is allocating resources to handle two fragmented users and cannot fully focus on scene reconstruction.
“What if we interfere from two points at the same time?” Cen Sheng suggested. “You pull the rule line from one end, and I pull it from the other end. The system needs to deal with two attack points at the same time, which may expose more of the structure.”
Wei Qiyun nodded: "Give it a try."
The two separated, standing at opposite ends of the color space, about ten meters apart. Cen Sheng closed his eyes, perceiving the network of rules through fragments, and found a crucial support line—this line connected several core nodes of the ward scene. He imagined himself grabbing that line and pulling it to one side.
The lines of the rule trembled, and the ward scene appeared as a double image.
Meanwhile, Wei Qiyun found another key line at the other end and pulled it in the opposite direction.
The network of rules began to twist, and the tension between the two key lines was transmitted throughout the network, pulling on even more lines. The color space underwent unprecedented and dramatic changes: colors were no longer flowing liquids, but shattered into billions of points of light, each point a different color, all suspended in the air, forming a nebula-like spectacle.
The ward scene completely disintegrated and melted into part of the light.
At the center of the Point Nebula, a structure is revealed: a geometric shape composed of pure white light, so intricate that its complete form is incomprehensible to the naked eye. It resembles a projection of a multidimensional cube into three-dimensional space, constantly rotating, folding, and unfolding.
"What is that?" Wei Qiyun asked, his voice filled with genuine surprise.
"The system's core algorithm?" Cen Sheng guessed, "or at least a part of it."
The points of light begin to converge on the geometric shape, like iron filings being attracted by a magnet. The geometric shape absorbs energy from the color space, growing stronger. As it grows, its rotation speed increases, and its unfolding structure becomes more complex.
Then, the geometry stopped rotating.
It unfolds into a plane—no, not a plane, but an interface, like a holographic display. The interface contains text, but not in any language they recognize; rather, it consists of abstract symbols. These symbols flow and recombine, gradually forming a script they can understand:
Adaptive Protocol Startup
Non-standard interaction mode detected
Participant ID: 07-12-74
Behavioral Classification: Cooperative Attack/Innovative Evasion
Threat Level: Medium to High
Solution: Escalate the Challenge
The text disappears, the geometry folds back and unfolds into different shapes: a maze structure composed of countless corridors and rooms, with each node constantly changing and moving.
“It’s generating new scenarios,” Cen Sheng said, “challenges specifically designed to address our behavioral patterns.”
The maze structure projects from the geometry, rapidly expanding to cover the entire color space. Points of light are integrated into the maze walls, forming translucent, colored walls. The floor solidifies into a smooth mirror, reflecting the maze structure above. The ceiling is dark, but contains points of light resembling starlight.
They stood at the entrance to the maze, facing a long, colorful corridor with doors arranged regularly on the walls on both sides, their numbers flashing intermittently.
“This is more complicated than a hospital ward,” Wei Qiyun observed. “The system is no longer trying to trap us in a simple loop, but has upgraded the difficulty of the game.”
“Because we demonstrated the ability to break through simple patterns,” Cen Sheng said. “It requires more complex challenges to collect data.”
A sound came from the depths of the labyrinthine corridor: not weeping, not whispering, but... music. A distorted piano melody, notes out of place, rhythm chaotic, yet it could be vaguely discerned as a variation of a classical piece.
"Shall we go in?" Wei Qiyun asked, but he had already started walking forward.
Cen Sheng followed. The crystal shards were still in Wei Qiyun's hands, and he showed no intention of returning them. Cen Sheng did not ask for them back.
Rule number ten: Trust your roommate, but don't completely trust them.
They are practicing the delicate balance of this rule.
The maze-like corridors seemed endless, with doors on both sides repeating themselves yet subtly different. The door numbers displayed various combinations of numbers, some meaningful (70312, 406, 314), others completely random. Some doors were tightly closed, some ajar, and some fully open, revealing strange sights behind them: one room filled with suspended water droplets, another with a flowing hourglass floor, and yet another with glowing vines climbing the walls.
They didn't enter any doors, but simply proceeded along the main corridor. The music grew clearer, with other instruments joining the piano melody: a distorted violin, an out-of-tune flute, and a erratic drumbeat. The ensemble created an eerie beauty, both chaotic and inherently rhythmic.
A fork in the corridor appears ahead, with three paths branching off in different directions. Each path entrance has a glowing symbol above it.
Left: The Reappearance of the Past
Chinese: Current mirror image
Right: A projection of the future
Each symbol is accompanied by a smaller description:
Choose a path to obtain the corresponding fragment, but the path is irreversible.
System suggestion: Select individually, explore separately, and maximize efficiency.
They are trying to divide them again.
Cen Sheng and Wei Qiyun stopped at the intersection, looking at the three paths. The past, the present, and the future were all temptations, all promised information, and all demanded that they act alone.
"What do you think?" Wei Qiyun asked, throwing the choice back to Cen Sheng.
“The rules say ‘the path is irreversible,’ but they don’t say we can’t enter at the same time,” Cen Sheng analyzed. “What if we both step onto the same path at the same time? How will the system react?”
“It might be allowed, it might split us into a parallel version, or it might trigger new exceptions,” Wei Qiyun said. “Want to try it?”
The music suddenly stopped.
In the absolute silence, the entrances to the three paths at the intersection began to flicker, like breathing lights. Then, a voice came from deep within each path:
An argument was heard coming from the left flank; two men were arguing heatedly about something. The content was unclear, but the emotions were palpable.
Their footsteps echoed from the middle lane—the sound of their own footsteps, perfectly synchronized.
A strange mechanical noise came from the right, like many clocks turning backwards at the same time.
“It’s displaying the content of each path,” Wei Qiyun judged.
“It could also be inducement,” Cen Sheng said. “The system knows we are observing, and it is providing information to influence our choices.”
He walked towards the central path, to the "present mirror image." He stopped at the entrance and looked inside. The corridor stretched out, with mirrors on both sides, reflecting countless images of himself and Wei Qiyun. But each reflection had a slightly different pose; some were smiling, some were frowning, and some were looking back into the depths.
“The mirror image may reflect our different possibilities,” Cen Sheng said.
“It could also reflect our different natures.” Wei Qiyun walked to his side. “If one of them is fake, the mirror image might reveal it.”
These words were so direct that they seemed to freeze the air for a moment.
Then Wei Qiyun smiled, a smile with his characteristic detachment: "I'm just suggesting a possibility. After all, the fourth fragment says 'one of you is not yourself,' and we haven't verified that yet."
"Do you want to verify it?" Cen Sheng asked.
“It will have to be verified sooner or later,” Wei Qiyun said. “But now is not the time. The system expects us to distrust each other, and if we start verifying immediately, we will fall into its trap.”
He turned to look at the left side of the "Past Reenactment": "I'm more interested in the past. Those cyclical records, the previous 07 and 12, what they went through, why they failed, why they partially succeeded."
“The ‘projection of the future’ on the right flank may show what the outcome will be if we continue with our current choices,” Cen Sheng said.
“But the future may change because of our choices, and the projection may not be accurate,” Wei Qiyun said. “The past is fixed—at least it is fixed in the system’s records.”
“Unless the records have also been altered,” Cen Sheng reminded him.
They are back to the dilemma of choice. Three paths, three directions, three promises. The system is designed to force choices, and each choice accumulates into a path that influences subsequent development.
New light patterns suddenly appeared on the ground at the intersection, forming the fourth sentence:
Hesitation itself is also a choice.
Time is passing
The system is observing
In Record
In learning
After the text disappeared, a countdown appeared on the ground: 60 seconds.
The system is forcing them to make a decision.
Cen Sheng looked at Wei Qiyun, who was also looking at him. The crystal shard glowed faintly in Wei Qiyun's hand, the light flashing in sync with the countdown numbers.
“I have an idea,” Cen Sheng said. “Not to choose any pre-set path.”
What is that?
"We are creating the fourth way."
Cen Sheng pointed to the center of the intersection, where the three paths converged. There was a small triangular area there, with an almost invisible seam in the ground, like a door or passageway that could be opened.
“An option outside the rules,” he said. “The system gives three options, but there’s always a fourth: reject all options and look for the hidden ones.”
Wei Qiyun crouched down to examine the seam: "Indeed, there's a mechanical structure here, possibly a hidden passage. But how do we open it?"
Countdown: 45 seconds.
“Use the fragment,” Cen Sheng said. “The fragment is a vulnerability that can open things the system doesn’t intend for us to open.”
Wei Qiyun pressed the crystal shard onto the seam. The shard's light intensified, the seam emitted a blue glow, and then the triangular area began to descend, like a rising platform.
Countdown: 30 seconds.
The platform descended one meter, revealing the space below: not a corridor, not a room, but a cylindrical vertical passage with smooth inner walls that emitted a soft white light. The passage was bottomless, and the ceiling was nowhere to be seen.
“Vertical paths,” Wei Qiyun said, “are not part of the system’s horizontal maze design.”
Countdown: 15 seconds.
"Shall we go down?" Cen Sheng asked.
"Should we go up?" Wei Qiyun looked up at the passageway.
Countdown: 5...4...3...
They jumped onto the descending platform at the same time.
2...1...0...
The platform accelerated its descent, so fast it made their stomachs churn. The entrances to the three paths above them rapidly shrank, eventually becoming three points of light that disappeared into the darkness.
The light on the inner walls of the vertical passage formed flowing bands of light, like floor indicators on a high-speed elevator, but instead of numbers, it displayed abstract symbols. Some of these symbols they had seen before were in regular fragments, in water stains on the walls, and in experimental logs.
They are traversing the structural layers of the system, delving from the surface scene to the underlying mechanisms.
The descent lasted for about a minute, then the platform began to decelerate and finally came to a smooth stop.
At the bottom of the passage is a circular room, about ten meters in diameter, with a very high ceiling that obscures the top. In the center of the room is a control console-like device with multiple screens displaying various data and images. The walls of the room are semi-transparent, allowing a view outside—outside lies a massive, intricate structure, like the interior of a supercomputer, with countless fiber optic cables, pipes, and luminous nodes.
Most astonishingly, they saw other circular rooms scattered throughout this massive structure. Some rooms contained figures, some were empty, and some depicted different scenes: wards, courtyards, corridors, offices, laboratories...
“This is the system’s backend,” Cen Sheng said in a low voice. “It’s the control center for all scenarios, or at least one of the nodes.”
Wei Qiyun walked towards the control panel. The image displayed on the screen made him stop in his tracks.
One screen showed a live feed of ward 406, but the ward was empty. Another screen displayed the corridor, which was also deserted. A third screen showed the nurses' station, which was similarly empty.
But the fourth screen displays a familiar scene: a color space, a maze intersection, and the entrances to the three paths are still there, waiting to be chosen.
In that scene, there were two blurry figures standing at the intersection, seemingly discussing something.
Judging from their silhouettes, the two figures were Cen Sheng and Wei Qiyun.
“This is…” Wei Qiyun asked, puzzled.
“A replica of ourselves? Or just a remnant of ourselves?” Cen Sheng walked over as well. “Or perhaps we never left the intersection, and it’s all an illusion?”
The console suddenly emitted a sound, a calm electronic tone:
Welcome to the observation layer
You are the seventy-fourth group of participants who reached this level.
Achievement unlocked: Deep Explorer
Reward: Temporary system access privileges
The electronic sound paused, then continued:
As a reward, you may ask a question.
The system will answer truthfully.
Please choose your questions carefully.
There is only one chance.
Cen Sheng and Wei Qiyun locked eyes. A question, a chance to uncover the truth. What to ask? How to leave? The nature of the system? Who among them is real? What happened in the past?
Choose to accumulate into a path.
And this question may be one of the most important choices.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com