1: Echoes of silence
The cold, late autumn rain, like a leaky sieve in the sky, tapped unhurriedly against the old, west-facing glass windows of the municipal library.
Rainwater snaked down, drawing unpredictable patterns on the finely scratched glass, blurring the gray sky outside and the hurried, hunched figures of passersby into an impressionistic oil painting.
Inside the library, a unique blend of scents permeated the air—the dry aroma characteristic of old paper, the faint astringency of ink, and a subtle hint of mildew seeping from the old wooden bookshelves and floorboards.
This was the scent of time's sedimentation, and also the most familiar fragrance to Lin Mo, day in and day out.
Just past four in the afternoon, the peak borrowing period was over, and the library was sparsely populated, with only a few scattered readers immersed in books, and the hypnotic rustle of turning pages.
Lin Mo sat behind the tall circulation desk, like a silent sculpture.
His fingertips brushed the cloth cover of a newly returned 'One Hundred Years of Solitude,' his movements gentle and practiced, as if touching a fragile antique.
The scanner emitted a soft 'beep,' the book's information was entered into the system, marking the end of its cycle.
His gaze was calm, even overly so, like a deep mountain lake rarely visited by humans; the surface was unruffled, yet so profound that it reflected little emotion, only the dense rows of book spines before him, like silent soldiers in formation.
"Librarian Lin, thank you so much." An elderly professor with silver hair and a vigorous spirit gently placed two thick academic works on the counter, his eyes behind his glasses smiling.
"The 'Canticle for Leibowitz' you recommended last time, I spent a week devouring it—it was truly fascinating! The preservation and reconstruction of faith and knowledge in a post-apocalyptic era, it's thought-provoking."
"Professor Wang, you are too kind." Lin Mo looked up, a gentle but slightly distant curve forming on his lips, precisely calculated to be polite.
"It's my honor to be of assistance to you. If you're interested in this genre, Frank Herbert's 'Dune' series, especially its discussions on ecological planetary transformation, messianic metaphors, and power struggles, I believe you would also appreciate it."
"Oh? 'Dune'..." Professor Wang pushed up his glasses, looking slightly surprised, then showed an expression of admiration.
"I know it's a science fiction classic, but I've never had the chance to read it in detail. Hearing you say that, next time I come, I must borrow it to read." He paused, then sighed, "It's rare to find young people like you nowadays who are willing to settle down and read these 'old classics,' and can accurately extract their essence and give such insightful recommendations.
Staying in this library is a bit of a waste of your talent."
Lin Mo's smile remained unchanged; he merely nodded slightly, not responding.
A waste of talent? Perhaps.
But he wasn't deliberately trying to flatter this respected old professor; he had simply served as a Watcher in this vast ocean of knowledge for over three years, and extensive reading had long become a part of his life, an almost instinctive need, and the most effective way he used to resist the external noise and a certain emptiness within.
He seemed to possess an innate talent: an extremely strong information absorption capacity, a near photographic memory, and a keen intuition for the hidden connections between seemingly unrelated pieces of information.
This allowed him to quickly extract core threads from a mountain of complex books, like the most efficient search engine, and often provide surprisingly good reading recommendations.
But it was precisely this overly clear cognitive ability that made him feel a deeper sense of powerlessness and suffocation regarding his own almost solidified "ordinariness."
He was once the pride of his alma mater, a rising star in the physics department.
However, a sudden laboratory accident, the cause of which remains unknown (official records were vague, only mentioning an "accidental energy leak"), not only left him with some internal injuries requiring long-term recuperation, but also caused him to miss crucial graduation defenses and optimal employment opportunities.
Ultimately, he returned to this small Jiangnan town where he was born and raised, with a questionable file and a forcibly chilled heart, becoming an ordinary administrator at the municipal library through connections.
His former classmates' social media feeds were filled with updates of their breakthroughs in top universities and high-tech companies around the world, while he, day after day, guarded this quiet domain, accompanied by books, seemingly detached from the world, yet deep down, not truly at peace.
After seeing off the loquacious Professor Wang, the library became even more spacious and silent.
The sound of rain outside was the only, monotonous background noise.
Lin Mo picked up the old thermos cup beside him, its paint worn away to reveal the aluminum beneath, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip of the already cold, bitter tea inside.
His life, like this cold tea, was lukewarm, bland, without a hint of fresh flavor.
The fixed meager monthly salary, the unyielding rent and utility bills, and his mother's increasingly frequent medical bills... These real pressures were like invisible shackles, firmly trapping him behind this small circulation desk.
He hadn't tried to break free.
Most of the resumes he submitted online vanished without a trace; the few interviews he had also ended inconclusively.
Perhaps it was the unclear record in his file, or perhaps the calm demeanor about him that was out of place in the restless workplace, always making people feel he "lacked passion."
Gradually, he seemed to have accepted this state, or rather, become numb to it.
He poured all his energy into endless reading and deep thinking, as if waiting for some unknown opportunity, or perhaps just using a feast of knowledge to fill the emptiness within, numbly living through one similar day after another.
The clear sound of the closing bell broke the silence in the library.
Lin Mo stood up, carefully checked each reading area to ensure no readers had left anything behind, then successively turned off the switches for the area lights, leaving only a few emergency lights emitting faint glows.
Finally, he locked the heavy glass main door, opened a black long-handled umbrella with slightly rusted ribs, and stepped into the still drizzling autumn rain.
The streets were slick and chilly from the rain, and the streetlights came on early, casting blurry, dim halos in the dense rain curtain, barely dispelling the early evening gloom.
He didn't go directly back to his rented, cold one-bedroom apartment, but habitually took a detour, heading towards the old street in the west of the city.
There was a small ramen shop he frequented there, with a narrow storefront but authentic flavor; a bowl of hot soup noodles could temporarily dispel some of the chill, both internal and external.
Just as he was passing the entrance of a narrow alley connecting two main streets, a sharp, piercing screech of brakes mixed with a dull thud suddenly tore through the rainy day's tranquility, followed by a suppressed, pain-filled cry.
Lin Mo's steps instinctively paused, and he looked in the direction of the sound.
Deep in the alley, a figure in a bright yellow delivery uniform lay on the ground with his electric bike, which was askew, its insulated delivery box had fallen open, and the packaged meals inside were spilled everywhere, soup mixing with rainwater and flowing around.
A man in a well-tailored cashmere coat, his face showing impatience and anger, was getting out of the driver's seat of a brand-new black car, slamming the door shut, and loudly scolding the delivery rider on the ground, his voice particularly harsh in the narrow alley.
"How were you riding?! Don't you have eyes?! Look! Look at my brand new car! This scratch!" The man pointed enviously at a barely noticeable scratch on the car door, fuming.
The delivery rider was a young man, struggling to get up from the ground, but seemed to have twisted his ankle.
His face was indistinguishable between rain, sweat, or tears from pain, and his voice was tearful and panicked: "I...I'm sorry...sir...the rain was too heavy, visibility was bad, and the ground was slippery, I couldn't brake in time..."
"Is 'sorry' any use? How much will it cost to repair this paint job? Do you know? Pay up! You're not leaving today without paying!" The car owner was relentless, his tone aggressive.
Lin Mo stood at the alley entrance, the rain tapping softly on his umbrella.
He observed calmly.
The car only had a minor scrape on the door, the headlights were intact, and the man's anger stemmed more from his affection for his new car and a condescending sense of superiority.
He also clearly saw the helplessness, panic, and despair in the delivery rider's eyes at the prospect of compensation.
A familiar, cold sense of powerlessness spread through his heart again.
What could he do?
Step forward to help call the police and wait for traffic police to handle it?
This would take at least an hour or two, and in a situation where each side had a different story, the outcome might not favor the vulnerable delivery rider.
Or, step forward to argue, pointing out the car's responsibility for not slowing down when entering the alley?
But this could very likely escalate the conflict and draw trouble upon himself.
His rational mind, which had dominated for years, quickly weighed the pros and cons. His own life was already a mess, filled with unresolved pressures; how could he have any spare energy, time, or money to meddle in others' affairs? This almost instinctive calculation was a habit he had developed over many years to protect himself and avoid more trouble.
He sighed softly, almost imperceptibly, preparing to turn and leave silently, as he had countless times before, letting the conflict in this alley corner resolve itself. However, just as he twisted his umbrella handle and his foot was about to change direction, his peripheral vision inadvertently caught sight of a delivery address on a discarded takeout order on the ground—Ankang Residential Area, Block 7, Apartment 302, in the east of the city.
That address, like a faint electric current, instantly struck Lin Mo.
Ankang Residential Area, Block 7, Apartment 302—that was where his mother lived alone. This unfamiliar delivery man, this delivery man currently in distress, was on his way to deliver food to his mother?
Although his reason told him this was most likely just an insignificant coincidence, and his mother probably just ordered a regular dinner today, the coincidence itself, like a sharp needle, unexpectedly pierced through the indifferent shell of self-protection he had built with rationality. A strange, ineffable sense of connection briefly linked him to the helpless figure in the alley.
Just then, deep within his mind, a cold, mechanical, yet eerily tinged with an indescribable weariness, as if having endured endless vicissitudes, voice sounded without warning. It was as clear as a whisper, yet directly imprinted on the conscious level:
"[High-density information entanglement node detected... Initial activation conditions met...]"
"[Environmental energy extraction in progress... Sourced from 'Ripples of Choice'...]"
"['World Editor' (Trial Version) basic modules loaded.]"
"[Current permission level: the observer (Primary).]"
"[Available functions unlocked: Micro-reality Deduction (Action radius 10 meters, maximum deduction duration 5 minutes).]"
"[Current energy reserve: 1 unit (generated from emotional fluctuations/information disturbances).]"
Lin Mo instantly froze, as if struck by an invisible bolt of lightning. The black umbrella in his hand slipped and fell to the wet ground with a 'thud,' and the cold rain instantly soaked his hair, face, and thin jacket without any cover.
Hallucination? Was it due to recent excessive stress and prolonged mental tension leading to auditory and visual hallucinations?
He pinched the web between his left thumb and forefinger hard, almost with his fingernail, and the clear pain instantly confirmed his senses were normal. But the cold voice, and the translucent, light-blue virtual interface that appeared directly in front of his vision with the voice, filled with simple yet futuristic technological aesthetics, did not disappear like a hallucination!
The interface featured minimalist lines and abstract symbols he had never seen but somehow understood. The core area displayed a miniature 3D map with himself as the center, a radius of about ten meters. The alley, houses, the fallen delivery man, the aggressive car driver, and even the recently dropped umbrella were all marked with different colored light points or simple outlines. Below the map, there was a virtual button emitting a faint white light, with text directly imprinted into his understanding: [Start Reality Deduction].
As if possessed, Lin Mo focused his somewhat scattered mind and tried to 'touch' and 'select' that button with his 'will.'
"[Deduction command received. Starting Micro-reality Deduction... Consuming 0.1 units of energy...]"
"[Deduction scenario: Alley conflict. Timeline: Next 5 minutes. Generating possible paths...]"
In an instant, Lin Mo felt his consciousness gently pulled away by an invisible force, splitting into two. One part remained in the cold, damp reality of the rain, feeling the coolness of raindrops on his skin; the other part suddenly ascended, entering an almost god-like overhead perspective. He "saw" several blurry lines, representing different choices and outcomes, unfold before him:
Path A (Choose to leave): He turned and walked away. Under the car driver's coercion, the delivery man was forced to empty all the money he had, which wasn't enough, and then had to call a friend to borrow money to get away. His ankle injury worsened, delaying subsequent work, and he was penalized by the platform for delays and compensation, plunging his life into deeper difficulties. The car driver drove off, cursing, his mood largely unaffected.
Path B (Choose to step forward and help, reason with him): He stepped forward, trying to reason and point out that the car driver also bore some responsibility. The car driver became enraged, and the conflict quickly escalated from an argument to shoving, and even physical blows. Although a passerby eventually called the police, and the police arrived to handle it, ruling the car driver primarily responsible, the process was time-consuming and exhausting. Lin Mo himself was pushed to the ground in the chaos, scraping his arm, and his entire evening's plans were ruined.
Path C (A more subtle approach...): Lin Mo's consciousness subconsciously focused on the third, slightly dimmer but seemingly 'smoother' path. He "saw": he stepped forward, not immediately blaming the car driver, but first bent down to help the distressed delivery man up and check his injuries. Then, he took out his phone and calmly took clear photos of the scratches on the car door. Next, he faced the car driver and said in a calm yet undeniable tone: "Sir, I have already taken photos of the accident scene and the scratches. According to Article 91 of the Regulations for the Implementation of the Road Traffic Safety Law, at intersections without traffic lights or markings, turning vehicles should yield to straight-moving vehicles. Although this alley has no clear markings, you were turning into the alley, so theoretically, you have a greater obligation to yield. If we call the police now, and they arrive to investigate, according to the rules, you are very likely to be deemed fully responsible. Furthermore, some of your remarks just now, when demanding compensation, may constitute intimidation and threats. If necessary, I can call 110 for you right now and ask the police to handle it all at once?"
In the deduction scene, the car driver's face instantly changed several times, from red to white, then from white to green. He glared at Lin Mo, then looked at the photos on his phone, muttering a few curses like "meddling" and "unlucky," before finally sullenly pulling open his car door, starting the engine, and driving out of the alley in disgrace. The delivery man, on the other hand, was profusely grateful to Lin Mo, almost kneeling to thank him.
The deduction ended, and his consciousness instantly returned to his body like a receding tide. The entire process took only two or three seconds in the real world, but Lin Mo felt as if he had experienced a long journey through time. He was drenched, and the cold rain made him shiver, but his heart pounded like a drum, not from the cold, but from a profound shock and tremor that overturned all his previous perceptions.
This was no hallucination! This "World Editor" was real!
He took a deep breath of the cold, damp air, forcing his frantically beating heart to calm down. He bent down to pick up the umbrella, held it over his head again, and then stepped forward, walking resolutely into the depths of the alley. His steps were steady, without the slightest panic, and his eyes had returned to their previous calm, even deeper than before, like two profound ancient wells.
He acted exactly according to Path C he had seen in the deduction: helping the delivery man up, taking photos, and stating the pros and cons in clear, calm, and well-reasoned language.
The development of reality precisely coincided with the deduction scene, not a single detail off. The car driver left with a grim expression. The delivery man clutched Lin Mo's hand, his voice choked, thanking him again and again, rain and tears mixing together.
"[Minor intervention in reality node completed. Causal disturbance coefficient: 0.01 (extremely low). Energy settlement: Deduction consumed 0.1 units, obtained emotional energy from target person's 'gratitude,' 'relief,' and bystanders (scattered passersby)'s 'approval,' totaling 1.5 units. Current energy reserve: 2.4 units.]"
Watching the calm text prompts appear on the light-blue interface in his vision, Lin Mo stood in the gradually lessening autumn rain and felt for the first time that this cold and oppressive world seemed to have been pried open by some invisible force, revealing a tiny crack, and a faint but undeniably real light was shining through.
And this light, it seemed, was in his hands.
He held his umbrella and continued walking towards the noodle shop on the old street, his steps no longer as heavy as usual. Raindrops shimmered under the streetlights, and the shops on both sides of the street glowed with warm light. A never-before-seen thought, like a stone cast into the long-still lake of his heart, stirred up ripples:
Perhaps his seemingly fixed life could truly begin, from this moment, to be carefully... "edited" by himself.