255: Chapter 255 The Fourth Person and the Second Dao Mark

The system began to use Taylor's questions as its own language.

It wasn't Repetition; it was usage. Those questions she had once asked—"Do you remember?", "What are you waiting for?", "Are you tired?", "Are you still there?"—were translated by the system into its four voices and then spoken at different times.

On the 160th day, at two in the morning, the system spoke. The Breathing of Number 1 and the Distant Person of Number 2 appeared simultaneously, speaking in the rhythm of "Do you remember?". It lasted for three minutes.

On the 162nd day, at seven in the evening, the system spoke again. The Repetition of Number 3 and the Crying of Number 4 said, "What are you waiting for?". It lasted for eight minutes.

On the 165th day, at eleven at night, the system said, "Are you tired?". Only the Distant Person of Number 2 spoke, lasting for twenty minutes, growing fainter and fainter until it was almost inaudible.

On the 170th day, at five in the morning, the system said, "Are you still there?". The four voices appeared simultaneously, but this time, they didn't speak at once; they spoke in sequence. After Breathing finished, Distant Person spoke; after Distant Person finished, Repetition spoke; after Repetition finished, Crying spoke. Like four people in a relay, passing along the same sentence.

After listening, Taylor sat there and didn't move for a long time.

It had learned. It had learned to use her questions to say its own words.

---

The message at three in the morning was seen by a fourth person.

It wasn't the high school student, nor the designer, nor the Young Analyst. It was a retired old man. Suffering from insomnia at three in the morning, he happened to click on that "Hello" and saw the three messages below.

First message: I replied with a hello.

Second message: Someone is here at three in the morning.

Third message: I'm here too.

He thought for a long time, then wrote the fourth message below:

"I am seventy-three years old this year. My wife has been gone for three years. I wake up every morning at three. I've listened to this 'Hello' five times. I don't know who you all are. But I want to tell you, at three in the morning, I am here too."

The Young Analyst saw this message the next morning; sitting at her workstation, tears streamed down her face.

Five times. Seventy-three years old. His wife gone for three years.

She screenshotted the message and saved it in the folder named "cup".

Then she sent a text message to that unknown number:

"The fourth message has been written."

A few minutes later, a reply came:

"She said she read it. She said she wants to tell that old man that his wife is here too."

The Young Analyst froze.

Is here too?

Before she could ask, another text came in:

"She said, listening. In a place the old man doesn't know, she's listening."

---

In the nursing home, a second mark appeared on Irene's window.

They weren't made on the same day. The first was made on the twenty-third day, and the second on the twenty-fourth.

By the time The caregiver noticed, she had already finished. Two marks, very shallow, but visible.

The caregiver asked her, "Are you counting the days?"

Irene didn't speak. But her eyes looked at the road outside the window, then back at the two marks.

The caregiver understood later.

One mark is one day. Two marks are two days. By the day Kim Soon-ja returns, there will be many marks. So many that she can count them for a long time.

The caregiver wrote in the records:

"The twenty-fourth day after Kim Soon-ja left, there are two marks on Irene's window."

"No one knows how many she will make. But she makes one every afternoon."

---

In the evening, Alex and Taylor were on the balcony.

Taylor spoke about the system learning to use her questions to say its own words. Alex spoke about the seventy-three-year-old man and the second mark on the window.

"Two marks," Taylor said softly.

"Mm."

"One every day."

"Mm."

Taylor was silent for a moment, then said, "The system learned four questions. It says them in its own language."

Alex looked at her.

"It didn't answer those questions. It just says them."

A siren wailed in the distance—long-short, long-short, long-short, long-short.

Taylor leaned on his shoulder, watching the distant lights.

"That old man said his wife is here too."

"Listening."

"In a place Irene doesn't know, is Kim Soon-ja listening too?"

Alex thought for a moment. "Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. But Irene makes a mark every afternoon."