Chen period. Depths of the Nightcrow Division.
The system automatically executed the baseline update command.
0.34 written into the core.
The old standard was archived.
Thirty-seven thousand breathing waveforms, in the same instant, were recalculated.
One of them——the Northern Camp, depression 0.33——its label field flickered for 0.1 seconds.
[Observation]→[Standard Ritual]
Conversion complete. No one reviewed it. No one knew.
That 0.1-second flicker, in the system log, was recorded as: Normal update.
Helian Xiang sat in the pivot chamber, calling up the first batch of waveforms. The ice mirror lit up, faint blue light patterns flowing across his face. His eyes were stung by the mirror's reflection——he squinted instinctively, then continued looking.
Northern Camp: 0.33
City West: 0.21
Others: 0.18, 0.12, 0.09
All below the baseline.
Theoretically——all normal.
He began classifying.
[Standard Ritual]
[Gray Zone]
[Observation]
His finger stopped above the column.
He noticed something very small:
Northern Camp 0.33——under the new baseline, it fell under [Standard Ritual].
Yesterday, it had been [Observation].
The number hadn't moved.
The label had.
His finger stopped. 0.1 seconds.
No frown. Just stopped.
Then he continued scrolling. First batch. Second batch. Third batch.
Files stacked neatly on the right. Page corners aligned. Same as yesterday.
He didn't take the next batch.
Instead——
He called up a waveform from the corner.
The one he had left hanging yesterday. From the Hour of the Monkey onward, it had been there. Unarchived. Unlabeled. Just a string of breathing data, lying quietly.
He magnified it.
Depression: 0.12.
Not 0.1.
Not 0.13.
It was 0.12.
He looked at that number.
Not the first time he'd seen it. But this was the first time——
He tried to classify himself.
In the classification column, he typed:
[Subjective Interference]
System response:
Classification does not exist.
He changed it:
[Pending Review]
System response:
Please enter observation subject code.
He stopped.
He had no code.
Seven years in this place. For the first time——he realized: he was not in the system.
He closed the screen.
His right index finger lightly tapped the edge of the ice mirror——like Helian Shana's gesture. After tapping, he didn't realize whose gesture that was. Just that his finger stopped there.
Wind outside the window. The window paper rustled softly.
He didn't look.
The same moment. City West. An unremarkable teahouse.
In the corner sat a middle-aged man. Coarse cloth robe. An old bundle beside him, its corners worn white. The tea before him had long gone cold.
He just sat there.
Breathing——a 0.15-breath depression. Lasted three cycles. Then recovered.
No one noticed.
The teahouse owner walked by: "Sir, more hot water?"
The man shook his head.
The owner left.
The man's hand pressed on the bundle. Inside were thirteen sheets of paper. The words weren't written in ink——they were carved. In sunlight, those carvings reflected light, a light of extremely faint blue. Like something very old finally being seen.
He had counted the one hundred and twenty-seven people who passed by today. Among them, nineteen had holes in their breath.
This number, three hundred years ago, was zero.
He didn't have three paths. Only one judgment:
The hole wasn't a flaw.
He tore up one of the thirteen sheets.
That one had originally written: "Maintain."
He tore it.
Nothing happened. No light. No wind. No moon to know.
The same moment.
Nightcrow Division, seventeenth level underground.
That waveform in the corner of the ice mirror. Still there.
Depression: 0.12.
Not deeper.
Not shallower.
The system hadn't auto-archived it.
The screen stayed there.
The label column was empty.
No one saw it.
Afternoon. Nightcrow Division.
The system automatically generated an internal prompt. A line of text appeared on the ice mirror:
Classification stability decreased by 0.3% in the past three days.
Very small. Almost negligible.
But the reason displayed:
Label conversion rate increased after standard adjustment.
He looked at that line.
Not that subjects had increased.
It was that labels were changing.
He opened the "Label Conversion List."
First entry:
Northern Camp 0.33
Yesterday: Observation
Today: Standard Ritual
He stared at that line.
Footsteps outside the pivot chamber——someone passing. Steps even. No pause. Faded.
He closed the screen.
No remark.
No report.
Shen period. Adjudication Institute.
Sun Jiu stood at the witness stand. His left knee ached dully. His breathing was 0.1 breaths slower than usual.
A civil official asked: "Why has your breathing slowed?"
Sun Jiu was silent for two breaths. Then: "Knee pain."
The official pressed: "Only knee pain?"
Sun Jiu did not answer again.
Helian Xiang sat in the recording seat, looking at the waveform.
A 0.1-breath offset. Compensation not yet appeared.
He waited.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
Compensation did not appear.
He wrote in the report:
Observation subject exhibits persistent offset, compensation not yet appeared.
Finished. He set down the brush. The handle touched the inkstone. An extremely light sound.
Midnight. The North. East Three Sentry.
Moonlight. Snow. That wooden stump.
Bo Zhong pressed against the dark boundary. Right palm against that invisible line. From the night they left camp until now, he hadn't moved that hand. He ate with his left. Leaned against the stump to rest. When he woke, his right hand was still there.
The pulse beneath his palm was steady. Inhale——empty space——exhale. Inhale——empty space——exhale.
The ice crystal flower in the moonlight.
Six petals fully formed. The seventh petal——
Did not open.
Did not expand.
Did not crack.
Just that inward-turning grain had extended by a thread.
Not an added petal. Not an obvious change. Just the grain going a little deeper inward. Like something was changing direction.
Deep within the ice, an extremely light sound. Lighter than a breath.
He did not look down.
Midnight. Nightcrow Division.
Helian Xiang lay prone at his desk.
Not asleep.
The ice mirror was still lit. Faint blue light patterns still flowed. Like the rhythm of breathing.
He didn't call up his own waveform again.
But he knew: 0.12 was there.
He hadn't classified it.
Nor deleted it.
In the corner of the ice mirror, that waveform remained. The label column was empty.
Blank.
The system didn't report an error.
Because nothing had been submitted.
The screen stayed there.
Classification column:
[——]
The ice mirror light didn't dim.
The value didn't change.
The baseline was still 0.34.
The Northern Camp was still 0.33.
City West was still 0.21.
But there was one 0.12——
Unarchived.
His right hand pressed against his robe. Inside was a private journal, against his heart. The paper under the fabric carried a trace of body heat.
That position held the warmth of where Northerners kept their maps.
He didn't take it out.
Just pressed it.
Outside the window, no moon.
The blank classification column on the ice mirror glowed faintly.
No one looked at it. But it was there.
Just like three hundred years ago——when people first left those holes in their breath. Back then, no one looked either.
[CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE END]