97: Chapter 97 I Make Friends

Knees struck the cold ground with a dull thud.

Shen Xiao gritted his teeth, his right hand slamming against the broken stone stele, fingernails sinking into the moss-covered cracks, bringing out a streak of damp, cold, rotting soil.

His left arm hung limply, shoulder propped against the side of the stele; his entire body was like a puppet whose skeleton had been removed, relying solely on that piece of broken stone to keep from collapsing completely.

His brain was buzzing.

It wasn't the kind of dizziness where the world spins, but a deeper, dull pain, like someone had scooped out his brain, stirred it around, and stuffed it back in.

The feeling of overdrawing Mental Energy was more unbearable than he had imagined; it wasn't pain, it was emptiness.

It was as if someone had hollowed out a large chunk of his cranial cavity, and the wind poured in through his ears, passing straight through the back of his head, cold and chilling.

Shen Xiao gasped for breath, cold air flooding into his lungs, triggering a bout of violent coughing.

He doubled over from the coughing, his vision blackening in waves, feeling as if he might cough up his internal organs the next second.

The Silver Pattern System flickered in his Dantian, emitting a faint buzzing sound, as if reminding him: "Buddy, if you keep acting this reckless, we're both going to end up dead."

Shen Xiao ignored it.

He counted down silently in his mind, from ten to one, then from one to ten again, forcing his consciousness to crawl out of that Chaos bit by bit.

This trick worked.

It wasn't some profound meditation technique, but purely a skill he had practiced back when he pulled all-nighters writing code; when you're so tired you can't even open your eyes, but the requirements need to go live tomorrow, you have no choice but to rely on this primitive, brutal, almost masochistic way to drag your brain back from the brink of a crash.

After three breaths, his vision finally stopped swaying.

Shen Xiao slowly straightened his waist, released his fingers embedded in the stele, and looked down; all five fingernails were broken, the gaps between his fingers filled with damp, cold moss debris mixed with a trace of iron-scented blood.

It didn't hurt.

Or rather, the sense of hollowness brought on by the overdraw of Mental Energy had suppressed all other pain.

He raised his hand to wipe his face, his palm touching cold sweat and a trace of blood oozing from his nasal cavity, sticky and carrying a metallic, sweet scent.

Shen Xiao didn't look at the state of his palm, but instead cast his gaze toward Xia Lengbai not far away.

She also let go.

The fingers that had originally been gripping her own wrist slowly released, revealing five deep fingernail marks underneath—broken skin, oozing blood, the surrounding skin tinged with a purplish-blue color, as if crushed by force.

But Xia Lengbai's gaze did not fall on the wound.

She was looking at her own hand.

Or rather, looking at the hand that had once caused the wound.

Then, her gaze shifted to the Light Cocoon.

The dark golden Light Cocoon had shrunk to the size of a fist, curled up in a corner, its surface light flickering uncertainly like a dying candle about to go out.

The dark golden light threads no longer extended outward, but instead contracted tightly, like a frightened hedgehog, curling itself into a ball.

It did not transmit any further consciousness.

Not because it didn't want to, but because it didn't dare.

Just now, Xia Lengbai had pierced its deepest fear with a single strike; at this moment, it was trapped in a kind of reactive self-isolation, like a person stripped naked in public—its first reaction wasn't to fight back, but to curl up, trying to hide itself in the shadows, pretending that none of this had ever happened.

Shen Xiao watched this scene, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

To be honest, this scene was a bit comical.

An ancient Consciousness Entity that claimed to once be the "First Child," a former protocol holder worn down to a mere remnant soul by a ten-thousand-year Seal, now curled up playing ostrich—it looked for all the world like an elementary school student hiding under a desk after being publicly reprimanded by a teacher.

But Shen Xiao did not laugh.

Because he knew, this vulnerability was temporary.

Just like a frightened beast, as long as it was given enough time, it would recover from the fear, and then... either flee or bite back.

And what he needed to do now was to finalize the situation completely before it recovered.

Shen Xiao regulated his breathing for a moment, suppressing the surging wave of dizziness.

He noticed Xia Lengbai's expression.

It wasn't sadness, it wasn't anger, and it wasn't even the fanatical curiosity from before.

It was a kind of... scrutiny.

She was scrutinizing her own hand, scrutinizing the wound she had pinched into herself, and then looked up at the Light Cocoon curled into a ball, her eyes shifting uncertainly, as if calculating some complex logic at high speed.

Shen Xiao understood.

This wasn't because she felt sorry for herself, nor was she sympathizing with that Light Cocoon.

Rather, she was pondering a question.

How credible are the memories, judgments, and even the "experiment" described by an "Operator" who has had part of their core emotions stripped away?

"You are wondering..."

Shen Xiao broke the silence first, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing against an iron plate,

"If it was 'paranoia' or 'fear' that was stripped away, then is what remains still 'yourself'."

This was not a question, but a statement.

Because he understood the trajectory of this train of thought all too well.

When you discover that a "fact" you have always firmly believed in actually originates from an incomplete, castrated memory, your first reaction isn't anger, but doubt.

Doubting the memory itself, doubting every conclusion derived from the memory, and even doubting this "self" that is currently doubting, whether it is also an illusion shaped by some force.

What is this called?

This is called cognitive collapse.

Xia Lengbai's movements paused.

She slowly withdrew her hand, letting her sleeve fall to cover the deep, bone-visible fingernail marks.

"I am merely calculating..."

Her voice returned to being cold, but there was an imperceptible fluctuation underneath, like an undercurrent beneath an ice sheet,

"How much credibility does an 'Operator' who has had part of their core emotions stripped away have in their memories and judgments?"

She raised her eyes, her ice-blue pupils reflecting Shen Xiao's pale face:

"And whether the 'experiment' we glimpsed from his incomplete perspective is complete."

Shen Xiao did not respond immediately.

He quickly assessed the weight of these words in his mind.

This woman was truly worthy of being the "perfect heroine" she was programmed to be; even in such an information-overload situation, her first reaction was still to question the reliability of the information source, rather than rushing to find an answer.

This kind of calmness was both a strength and a vulnerability.

Because the calmer a person is, the easier it is for them to be held hostage by "logic."

Shen Xiao took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his chest, suppressing the lingering, surging feeling of exhaustion.

"Your 'method'," Xia Lengbai continued to press, her tone carrying a sharpness that brooked no refusal,

"Besides establishing a channel, can it... distinguish 'fear' or 'paranoia' Impurities within the information?"

Shen Xiao understood.

She was testing his bottom line.

And also looking for a way out for herself.

If his answer was "no," then the foundation for future cooperation would collapse, because no one wanted to make decisions in an information field full of sources of contamination; that was no different from walking a tightrope blindfolded.

Shen Xiao weighed it for half a second and chose to be honest—partially honest.

"It can filter, but it cannot be completely eliminated, especially when the Impurities themselves are part of the memory."

He raised his hand and wiped the residual blood from the tip of his nose with his sleeve, his movements as casual as wiping away sweat, but his eyes were as sharp as knives:

"Fear, paranoia, regret... these emotions are not external objects, but constituent parts of the memory itself.

You can weaken them, but you cannot strip them away completely—if you did, the memory itself would collapse."

Xia Lengbai's eyebrows raised slightly, clearly dissatisfied with this answer.

But Shen Xiao did not give her a chance to pursue the questioning, instead changing the subject and throwing out a bigger bait:

"However, perhaps there is another line of thinking."

He looked at Xia Lengbai, his gaze carrying a trace of imperceptible playfulness:

"Since 'emotional stripping' requires strong positive emotions as raw Materials, and the stripping process produces pain as a catalyst... then, what if the raw Materials themselves... aren't 'pure'?"

The air froze for a moment.

Xia Lengbai's pupils contracted sharply.

She was not a fool.

On the contrary, she was too smart, smart enough to understand all the possibilities hidden behind this sentence within a tenth of a second.

If the "deep affection" Xia Lengbai was programmed with was not natural, but carried some subconscious resistance, reluctance, or even hatred... then would its "purity" as "raw Materials" decrease?

Would the stripping process produce "accidents"?

This thought was like a bolt of lightning, splitting open a region that had always been Sealed.

The corners of her mouth again curled into that cold, interested arc; it wasn't a smile, but a kind of almost cruel curiosity, like a scientist discovering a hypothesis that could be verified.

"You are very good at... utilizing contradictions, Shen Xiao."

She evaluated, her tone impossible to tell if it was praise or criticism.

Shen Xiao did not respond.

Because he knew that saying anything at this moment would be superfluous.

This seed had already been planted; the rest just needed to wait for it to sprout on its own.

Just at this moment.

The Light Cocoon, curled into a ball, moved.

The dark golden light flickered on and off, flashed a few times, and then transmitted a faint, intermittent consciousness.

That consciousness was no longer the complete sentences from before, but broken syllables, like a drowning person bubbling on the water's surface:

"Do not... attempt... to contaminate... yourself..."

"The price... is greater... than you imagine..."

Shen Xiao's heart stirred.

This warning came too opportunely, so opportunely that it almost felt like some kind of premeditation.

But he quickly dismissed this thought; the Consciousness Entity's current state did not possess the ability for "premeditation" at all.

It was just too afraid, so afraid that hearing any sign of history potentially repeating itself would trigger a conditioned reflex to issue a warning.

And this fear itself exposed its deepest secret.

Shen Xiao and Xia Lengbai exchanged a look.

The exchange of gazes lasted less than a breath, but it was enough for both sides to read the same information in each other's eyes: the "price" the Consciousness Entity feared might just be the key to breaking the stalemate.

But that price.

Could they really afford it?

The Light Cocoon's dark golden light flickered once more, then dimmed completely.

That faint trace of consciousness dissipated in the viscous air, like a drop of ink falling into sewage, vanishing without a trace in an instant.

Only a repressive sense of weakness remained, pressing heavily between the three.