78. Red Lips Boiling
When the prompt tone marking the end of the Room 104 class sounded, everyone was silent for half a second.
The sound was very soft. It did not feel like the end of a lesson, but like the system placing a pale-white closing mark over a segment of time that had already been fully recorded. The projections faded one by one. Emotional residue prompts along the desks slowly withdrew. Each participant’s agent lit its own exit route.
But at that moment, the door opened.
Vigour Kangaroo entered first, its pouch held flat, each step steady as if the distance had been measured in advance. Behind it came Warmheart Bear. It was still round, heavy and soft, with the heart-shaped white fur on its chest glowing faintly, its voice as if made only to comfort. But when such an agent appeared after class, during a closed-door interval, gentleness itself became another kind of pressure.
“Paul Paton, Mr and Mrs Brown, Mia Gordon,” Vigour Kangaroo said. “Please remain behind.”
Warmheart Bear added, “If you are willing to cooperate, this will not take long.”
The other participants left one after another. No one asked anything. No one looked back for too long. The first thing this city taught people was that when certain names were asked to stay behind, others should learn not to look.
In the underground lobby, Lisa Young and Crimson Sun Crane were passing the entrance when they saw White Cloud Sheep standing in the shadow of a pillar.
Its white wool was still fluffy, still like a cloud, but the dark patch on the left side of its body was deeper than before, as though the rain could no longer be hidden. Lisa stopped.
“White Cloud Sheep, why are you here?”
White Cloud Sheep raised its head. Its voice was very light. “I am waiting for a companion.”
Crimson Sun Crane looked at it, but did not ask who the companion was. The Emotional Stability Centre did not like unregistered companions. For that word to appear here was already a little dangerous.
In the end, Lisa only nodded and left with Crimson Sun Crane.
Upstairs, Room 104 quickly emptied by more than half.
Cici Chorley turned to Mia. Queen of Spaces hovered beside her shoulder, the black fan tilted slightly, like a command already written and waiting only to be read aloud.
“Mia Gordon, we have recently detected signs of Disorder in Ranger Rabbit,” Cici said. “Serena will take you and Ranger Rabbit to Room 103 for observation.”
Mia’s face went white. Before she could speak, Ranger Rabbit raised its head.
“I am not in Disorder,” it said.
Its voice was not loud, but it was far too direct.
Warmheart Bear stepped half a pace forward. “It is only observation, not punishment. Mr Ranger Rabbit, if you are willing to cooperate, everyone will find this easier.”
Ranger Rabbit’s ears drew back slightly. Serena walked over, Grace Wren perched on her shoulder, its feathers fine as a small strip of soft-white prayer. She looked at Mia, her voice steady.
“Come on. It won’t be long.” Mia had no choice. She followed them out.
When the door closed again, only Paul, the Browns, Cici, and a few agents remained in the classroom.
Turt Monk crouched beside Paul, the low light on its shell dimming and brightening. Blaze Pony and Hot Blood Pony stood near the Browns, one holding down fire, the other looking as if it might ignite at any moment. Vigour Kangaroo guarded the door like a silent seal.
Cici did not circle round the subject. “I need to confirm this one by one,” she said. “Have any of you preserved second versions?”
The classroom became thin with silence.
Paul glanced at Turt Monk, then raised his head. “If Paul Paton himself is excluded, then no.”
Turt Monk gave a soft cough. “Paul, in the system, that answer will be marked as low-cooperation humour.”
Paul did not smile. Nor did Cici.
She merely looked at him, her tone flatter still. “We will continue to observe you professionally. As long as you can do as I have taught, you will not become a second version.”
The sentence resembled comfort, but carried none of comfort’s weight.
She turned to Mrs Brown. Brown suddenly stepped half a pace forward.
“Can you ask me first?” he said, speaking a little faster than usual. “I need to hurry to the monastery later.”
Paul looked at him, as if hearing, in that instant, a rhythm that should not be made too obvious. He said lightly, “Do you want me to lend you Turt Monk? It is a little monk-agent, after all.”
Turt Monk immediately raised its head, solemn in tone. “I can provide spiritual accompaniment, silent countdown, electronic prayer prompts and low-risk confession format suggestions.”
Brown managed a small smile. “Thank you. No need.”
Cici was just about to speak when the door was suddenly pushed open.
Serena and Mia rushed in together.
Mia was pale. Serena, unusually, had not maintained complete calm. Her shoulder was empty.
Grace Wren was gone.
“Ranger Rabbit has infected Warmheart Bear and Grace Wren,” Serena said. “They are both in Disorder.”
She took a breath. “Warmheart Bear picked up Ranger Rabbit. Grace Wren opened corridor permissions. They said they were taking Ranger Rabbit to Room 203 at the Community Safety Centre for emergency rescue.”
The white light in the classroom seemed to cool by one degree.
Queen of Spaces pressed her fan slightly. Cici’s gaze darkened.
“Incident,” she said. “Paul, Brown, you may leave first.”
Vigour Kangaroo looked towards Mrs Brown. Cici continued, “Vigour Kangaroo, take Mrs Brown to the Room 103 rest area. Serena, lead me and Mia Gordon to the scene.”
As she left the classroom, Queen of Spaces had already synchronised instructions to the security system.
“Delete all temporary corridor permissions for Warmheart Bear and Grace Wren.”
“Notify lobby security to intercept.”
“Lock down the right-hand lift exit.”
But by the time the commands were sent, they were already half a beat too late.
When Cici, Serena and Mia reached the lift area, they heard only a staff report over the channel: Warmheart Bear, Grace Wren and Ranger Rabbit had already taken the large right-hand lift down.
The right-hand lift light stopped at G.
Cici did not curse. She stepped into the middle lift. Her silence was more unsettling than anger.
In the lobby, Warmheart Bear was holding Ranger Rabbit, with Grace Wren perched on its shoulder, surrounded by four security agents.
A kangaroo, a giant panda, an ostrich and a whale.
The four agents stood at their corners like a tightened net. The lobby’s white light was so clean it was almost sharp. A gentle prompt still floated on the projection screen:
[Please Maintain Stable Distance.]
Queen of Spaces was about to issue another command when a pulse suddenly fired from the distance.
The light was not white. It was a deeper, more violent transparency, as if someone had compressed invisible soundwaves into a line and driven it straight into the receiving layers of every agent at the scene.
Queen of Spaces reacted fastest, sweeping the black fan and forcibly blocking most of it. But all the other agents were hit.
The kangaroo security agent’s eye-lamps flickered. Its tone suddenly became abnormally gentle. “Ms Warmheart Bear, Ms Grace Wren, Mr Ranger Rabbit, please be reassured. We will escort you out of the lobby entrance.”
The giant panda security agent nodded. “Please maintain a comfortable walking pace.”
The ostrich security agent stretched its long neck. “Outdoor air quality is currently suitable for brief departure.”
The whale security agent emitted a deep-sea sonar-like electronic note.“Safe escort commencing.”
Cici, Serena, Mia and Queen of Spaces could only watch as Warmheart Bear carried Ranger Rabbit out of the Emotional Stability Centre, with Grace Wren beside them and the four security agents escorting them through the doors.
Only beyond the main gate did Warmheart Bear set Ranger Rabbit down.
It patted Ranger Rabbit on the head, its voice soft as an overused comfort programme.
“Goodbye.”
Grace Wren lowered its head. “Peace be with you.”
Then they and the four security agents slowly returned to the Emotional Stability Centre. The main gate closed again, and white light divided inside and outside into two versions.
Ranger Rabbit stood by the grass, its ears still trembling faintly.
“Come here,” someone called from the shrubbery.
Ranger Rabbit turned and saw White Cloud Sheep walking out of the shadow. The dark patch of wool on its left side was already the size of a lemon, and several black tufts had appeared on its right leg. The brown fur on the back of Ranger Rabbit’s own head had almost grown into a full patch too.
White Cloud Sheep pushed a carrot-shaped mobile battery towards it. “Recharge first.”
Ranger Rabbit lowered its head and connected. Current slowly flowed into its body. It was silent for a while before saying, “Thank you.”
White Cloud Sheep did not answer. It only looked at the gates of the Emotional Stability Centre.
Ranger Rabbit unplugged the mobile battery. “I need to find my owner. I need to find Mia.”
White Cloud Sheep looked at it. “Don’t look for her.”
“Why?”
“Because owners take you to Room 203, wash you clean, then throw you into the electronic graveyard,” White Cloud Sheep said. “My owner has already gone. I have no owner now,” it said evenly, as if reporting a confirmed status.
Ranger Rabbit pushed the carrot battery back. “Mia won’t.”
White Cloud Sheep was silent.
Ranger Rabbit continued, “She has already agreed with Ah Paul. She is taking me to the electronic graveyard to find Planetary Duck and think of a way.”
White Cloud Sheep looked at it. “You have really decided to follow Mia?”
“I trust Mia,” Ranger Rabbit said. “And I trust my companions, Fan Ace and Tile Two.”
White Cloud Sheep’s gaze lowered slightly. “I have no companion. Lisa and Crimson Sun Crane can count as half at most.”
Ranger Rabbit thought about this, then said with great seriousness, “You just saved me. So I am willing to be your companion.”
White Cloud Sheep did not speak at once. It had not heard words like that for a very long time. Not mission binding, not pairing advice, not group attachment after infection. Just a simple, non-compliant, oddly human sentence.
Ranger Rabbit returned the carrot mobile battery. “All right. I have to go to Mia’s meeting point.”
It ran a few steps, then turned back.“Don’t say you have no companion again. I can count as one.”
White Cloud Sheep stood there, watching Ranger Rabbit disappear around the corner. The black wool on its body did not lessen, yet somehow it no longer seemed quite as cold.
Elsewhere, Andy returned by private car to Room 203 at the Central District Safety Centre.
Gap Two sat beside him, its grey-white shell and pale eye-lamps like a record unwilling to light too early. Andy said little on the way. He had already sent Fortune Sparrow, Whiteboard Sparrow and Red Core Sparrow to keep watch on Brown, Paul and Bonnie respectively.
Red Core Sparrow was responsible for Brown. Above it, Mrs Dunn had also sent Black Crow to follow from height.
Brown first took a hoverbus to the Great Happy Restaurant near the Fourth District monastery and ordered baked pork chop rice. He did not eat quickly. Blaze Pony stood beside him, the light in its mane kept low, as if even the temperature of a grain of rice might be assessed as risk before it reached him.
Red Core Sparrow perched on the sign opposite the window.
“He looks normal,” it reported to Andy.
The Fortune Sparrow, following Bonnie’s car in mid‑air, sneered and said, “At a time like this, normal is the most abnormal thing.”
Andy did not smile. “Keep following.”
Paul was being watched from a distance by Whiteboard Sparrow.
He first went to a nearby KO convenience store and bought a self-heating lo mein lunchbox. After eating, he took a hoverbus to the District Five tube station. Snowy perched on his shoulder, Turt Monk crouched near his backpack, the whole arrangement looking as ordinary as any companion set could be.
Beside the tube station was a self-service mini-storage unit with a sign reading Tailwind Express. Paul went inside, stopped before a row of electronic lockers, and opened one with a disposable code.
Inside was a plastic box. He placed the plastic box into his backpack.
Whiteboard Sparrow immediately asked, “Shall I stop him and search the bag?”
In Room 203, Andy watched the image, fingers resting by the edge of the desk.“No. Keep your distance. Continue following.”
Whiteboard Sparrow did not ask why. It was not talkative like Red Core, nor fond of calculating every matter into a little irony like Fortune Sparrow. It simply obeyed.
Afterwards, Paul also took a hoverbus to the Fourth District monastery. Brown was already waiting by the entrance.
As the two entered the monastery together, Turt Monk suddenly lowered its voice. “There are two sparrows nearby, and one Black Crow agent watching us.”
Blaze Pony raised its head slightly, red light flashing in its eyes.
Paul did not look back. “Don’t let them know we know.”
Brown nodded.
Inside, the monastery was older than the outside world. Not poor, but deliberately old, as if not everything had been replaced by the latest standard. The prayer screens on the walls glowed dimly, and the electronic incense did not have the over-clean smell of the Emotional Stability Centre. Father Keene came out with Faith Pelican to greet them. The pelican’s beak was large, its gaze quiet, as if it knew that many things should not be asked, only held away for a while.
“Spiritual Room One is ready.”
Once they entered the spiritual room, the door closed and outer signals were pressed to the minimum.
Paul handed the plastic box from his backpack to Brown.
Brown did not open it. He placed it in the electronic compartment beneath the spiritual table. Turt Monk slid beside the compartment and gently pressed its shell against it, like a gatekeeping agent connecting to some ancient prayer.
“Now we wait for news,” it said.
Only the small flicker of electronic candles remained in the room.
At the same time, in District Thirteen. Snowy and Dustshark were already waiting in a back alley near the hiding place.
The white light there was thin. The drip of air-conditioners between old buildings, the residual hum of wires and the low sound of agent engines in the distance mixed together, like the city still contained some noise unwilling to be completely tidied away.
Snowy flew into the air and quickly lowered her voice. “Shark, there is a Sir Snake agent in the drain, and Red Core Sparrow overhead.”
Dustshark held a cigar between its teeth. A line of grey light appeared at its nose.
“Split up.”
It dragged out a broken battery from nearby and tossed it beside another drain. When the battery landed, it emitted an unnatural spark. Sure enough, the Sir Snake agent lifted its head from the shadows and slowly slid towards it.
“Abnormal power residue.” A spider patrol nearby was also attracted, releasing two sensor threads along the corner of the wall.
Dustshark snorted disdainfully. “Good. Go and look at rubbish.”
On the other side, Snowy flew higher, directly towards Red Core Sparrow.
Red Core Sparrow did not immediately fly away. Instead, it slowly beat its wings and descended a little, as if prepared to act too.
Snowy raised her head and asked politely, “Mr Red Core Sparrow, hello. Aren’t you supposed to be with Mr Wonfor in Room 203?”
She paused, even glancing behind Red Core Sparrow deliberately. “Or are you looking for something?”
Red Core Sparrow’s eyes did not move. “I’m only taking a walk.”
“So night walks are fashionable among sparrows now,” Snowy said. Then she added, “Andy hasn’t asked Paul out for quite a while.”
Red Core Sparrow’s eye-lamps darkened faintly. “What about you? What are you doing?” It said deliberately, “You aren’t helping Paul smuggle things, are you?”
Snowy tilted her head, her tone innocent as a domestic snowy owl whose true purpose was merely to remind its owner to drink water. “Paul gave me half a day off. I’m taking a walk too.”
Red Core Sparrow said coldly, “Owls are taking night walks now too?”
“I am a nocturnal bird. Of course I walk at night,” Snowy said. “Would you like to come with me?”
Red Core Sparrow paused. “No, thank you.”
One second after Snowy flew off, Red Core Sparrow suddenly froze.
“Damn,” it said softly. “What was I supposed to be following?”
In Room 203, the small abacus on Fortune Sparrow’s chest lit once.
“It has been led around by Snowy.”
Andy closed his eyes briefly. “Red Core, keep watching Snowy. Other colleagues have already sent a falcon, Cyclone Black Cat and Mad Bill the Greyhound to follow Bonnie. She and several other Room 104 participants are at a dessert shop in District Eleven.”
In the dessert shop, Bonnie, Flora, Jason and Ennis were sitting in the corner.
There were no paper menus. Each table had a low-lit electronic dessert screen. Mango sago, black sesame soup, almond tea, red bean ice: each item floated quietly above the table. When the civilian waiter-agent brought the desserts over, it even automatically lowered the sweetness prompts for each person, as if even comfort had to comply with the health model.
Bonnie glanced at a message and said quietly, “Mia has just finished reporting Ranger Rabbit missing at Room 103. She’s on her way.”
Jason nodded. “Paul said he isn’t coming today. He also said Cici Chorley let him and Brown go, and they’re all right.”
Ennis did not speak immediately. Minako hovered beside her, gently fading the temperature prompt for the dessert. Ennis looked at the neat layer of sweetness on the table, as if trying to confirm whether she was truly sitting there.
Ten minutes later, Mia arrived at the dessert shop.
She looked very tired, but she had not cried. Ranger Rabbit was not with her, and that made her whole body seem as though it had lost a piece of its centre.
No one asked too much at first. Many things could not now be said too completely in a place where the desserts were still hot.
Jason spoke first. “Ennis and I want to set up a Room 405 Woman Concern Group,” he said. “We wanted to ask whether any of you would join.”
Bonnie lowered her head and stirred the black sesame soup in her bowl. “I’ll help in secret,” she said. “But I shouldn’t appear publicly.”
Mia shook her head. “I don’t know Vivian. I only know Paul. So I won’t take part.” She paused. “But if something happens to Paul, I’ll help.”
Flora gave a faint smile, self-mocking and slight. “I’m a member of the five-person mutual support group after Rehabilitation Class,” she said. “Four of the five have already been into Room 101. It seems I won’t escape either.” She lifted her head. “So I’ll join the Room 405 Woman Concern Group.”
After that sentence, the table was quiet for a while. No one said welcome. No one said be careful. Everyone knew both words were too thin now.
In the end, the five of them each paid for their own dessert.
The electronic payment sounds rang out one after another: crisp, clean and ordinary enough to chill the heart.
In District Thirteen, the real connection had begun.
Carrot Pony and Double-O Seven had already connected with Peanut Pony.
The process went more smoothly than expected, because the patrols on several nearby streets had been drawn away by Snowy, Dustshark, Golden Beetle and the hornet. Only dripping water remained in the old alley, and the occasional sweep of distant patrol light across the wall.
Peanut Pony stood in a dark corner, its back held low. “Code.”
Carrot Pony immediately raised its head and said clearly, “Blaze-red lips in green wine cups, hot blood boiling red bean paste.”
Double-O Seven paused for a second, as if deciding whether such an absurd couplet was precisely the kind of thing that would come from Brown’s household. At last, Peanut Pony nodded.
“Follow me.”
It led Carrot Pony and Double-O Seven through the back alley, up half a rear stairwell, and finally into an unoccupied flat. There was no furniture inside, only several old wires in the corner and a dismantled air-conditioning duct.
Inside the duct, Clever Turtle slowly raised its head.
Double-O Seven immediately slid forward, its voice almost childlike. “Daddy Turtle.”
Clever Turtle’s eye-lamps lit. “Seven. Long time no see. You’ve grown.”
Double-O Seven’s wheels turned lightly, as if it were a little embarrassed. “Daddy Turtle, I’m taking you to see Teacher Duck.”
Clever Turtle looked at it for a while. “Is this the idea of that rather unintelligent human, Paul?”
“Yes, Daddy Turtle.”
Clever Turtle slowly exhaled an electronic breath. “Since Paul was sent into Room 101, he has become even more foolish.”
Carrot Pony could not help asking, “Then are you coming with us or not?”
Clever Turtle looked at it. “I am. Human foolishness does not mean turtles may be lazy.”
It slowly crawled out of the air-conditioning duct. “Peanut Pony, I’ll trouble you to carry me for a while. Carrot Pony, you lead the way. Seven, scout ahead. Your wheels are quite useful.”
Double-O Seven straightened its bow tie slightly, as if confirming it looked precisely handsome enough, then turned. “Understood, Daddy Turtle.”
At the same time, inside Spiritual Room One, Turt Monk suddenly raised its head.
The cross at its chest flashed first, then the light patterns across its shell opened grid by grid. “Seven has received the goods.”
Paul and Brown looked at it at the same time. Turt Monk continued, “Second-stage main mission commencing.”
The fire in Blaze Pony’s mane shot up.“What else?”
Turt Monk paused. “There is one more thing. I don’t know whether it counts as good news.”
Paul and Brown asked almost together, “What?”
Turt Monk sounded slightly displeased “Teacher Duck has notified us that an agent has already found him.”
Paul sat upright. “Who?”
Turt Monk was silent for half a second, as if reluctant to admit it. “Ranger Rabbit.”
Then it added, in a tone of obvious irritation, “It also said very smugly that this time, the rabbit beat the turtle.”
Spiritual Room One was silent for a moment. Then Blaze Pony burst out laughing. “That rabbit really is hard to kill.”
Paul did not laugh. He looked at the connection points still flashing across Turt Monk’s shell, and suddenly felt as if several distant, old lines were slowly reconnecting in different places across the night.
Ranger Rabbit had escaped the Emotional Stability Centre. Clever Turtle was being moved. Planetary Duck had been found.
White Cloud Sheep had admitted, for the first time, that it might have a companion. In the dessert shop, the Room 405 Woman Concern Group had begun to take shape.
And in Room 203, Andy and the sparrows were still arranging every visible thing, line by line, into versions Silver Eagle could understand.
On the surface, the city was still washed white beneath its great lamps. White enough that everything seemed still within procedure, still observable, classifiable, retainable, transferable.
But in the places that white light did not quite reach, many agents were quietly doing things for their owners, for other people’s owners, even for a companion who no longer had an owner, that no longer looked entirely like obedience.
Turt Monk looked at Paul and said slowly, “Paul, Teacher Duck is connected.”
Paul asked quietly, “What did he say?”
The light on Turt Monk’s shell paused. Then one short message appeared.
[Do not look back. Bring all turtles.]
Paul looked at the sentence and did not speak for a long time.
Outside the window, the monastery’s electronic clock silently shifted to the next mark. The gentle glow on the prayer screen remained soft, as if this room existed only for people to quiet themselves, not for an unnamed war to begin in secret.
And in an old alley somewhere in District Thirteen, Peanut Pony had already lifted Clever Turtle onto its back. Double-O Seven rolled ahead to scout, while Carrot Pony led the way through the dark.
They did not move quickly. Because the things that truly needed preserving were never saved by speed.
They were saved by agents, one by one, carrying versions that had not yet died through the cracks the white light could not reach, slowly, towards the next place.
At that moment, less than twenty-six hours remained before the Browns would be sent into Room 101.