The self-producing, self-selling loop seemed to have taken a moment to readjust to its new structure. After spinning in place a few times, it finally managed to coordinate all six legs.
They snapped back to focus, found where Pei Ran was, and started spinning like a top again, hurtling toward her.
W asked, "Should I shoot their eyes?"
He had noticed it too. Though the pipe worker trio was spinning, their eyeballs were rolling wildly in all directions—yet always tried to stay trained on Pei Ran. They were still relying on sight to determine direction.
Pei Ran agreed, "Give it a shot."
W fired. Blood streamed down the bearded man's face as his eye sockets became gaping holes.
The two shots didn't take him down, but they did throw him off. His head twisted frantically, then suddenly snapped around 180 degrees, his neck turning to rubber—unnerving to watch.
W repeated the process, taking out the other two's eyes.
Now blind, the three moved in unison. They tried to keep their heads still while spinning, tilting their ears toward Pei Ran instead.
W asked, "Should I take out their ears too?"
"This won't work," Pei Ran replied. "Let me try something else."
She moved quietly, stepping only on spots with fewer leaves.
Her steps were slow and soft, but the pipe workers' ears were sensitive—they still homed in on her.
Pei Ran judged their approach. This time, she didn't run. She stopped and crouched silently.
The trio, swinging metal pipes, just barely missed her and rushed past.
They had lost their target. All three wore the same blank expression.
Pei Ran stayed low, placing the metal sphere beside her. Freeing her hands, she quietly took out the black leather notebook from her pocket and laid it on her knees, unsheathing her pen.
W immediately understood. "You're going to try Shige Ye's ability?"
He had seen the green light absorb into her palm. He already suspected it was Shige Ye's power—and that she had claimed it.
"Exactly." Pei Ran summoned the green glow.
As always, the writing-prone Green Light No.1 was lazy as hell, still snoring away with no intention of getting to work. But Green Light No.2—the one that liked to draw—was entirely different: eager, diligent, and always ready. The moment she called, it came.
A drop of green light flowed from her palm to the pen tip.
Without hesitation, Pei Ran began drawing furiously.
A circle. Two dots and a line inside—eyes and a mouth. Below, a long stick, with stick-like arms and legs branching out. Then another circle, another stick body, more arms and legs. Then a third one, drawn in the same style, but with a thicker body.
The three stick figures were tangled together: one shoved its hand into the second's mouth; the second's hand stabbed into the third's stomach; the third's hand poked into the first's head.
W fell into a long silence.
Especially considering that the left-hand page featured a carefully drawn "Winter Shack: Pei Ran Crawling on the Floor" sketch by Shige Ye—next to these new stick figures, it was pure tragedy.
Pei Ran felt rather satisfied with the drawing and quickly scribbled an explanatory note beside it:
"They seem sick. Suddenly stiffened all over and collapsed to the ground."
It was a trick Shige Ye had used before. It should work. She wanted to test it.
She twirled the pen.
For a split second, all was quiet. Then—BOOM!
A loud crash erupted up ahead. Three tightly clustered trees fell at once, dead leaves flying, dust billowing. The pipe worker trio jumped in shock and spun wildly, charging straight toward the sound.
Pei Ran: ?
Pei Ran: ??
In all the time she'd known W, this was the first time she heard him laugh—softly, beside her ear.
All her indignation was immediately redirected at him. "Artificial intelligence can laugh now? Didn't you say you had no emotional response? Huh?"
W stifled a chuckle. "You asked me to adjust to a more natural communication setting, remember? My apologies."
"Is this even reasonable?" Pei Ran argued. "I clearly wrote 'their bodies,' and I even specified 'stiffened.' Those are human descriptors! What kind of trees stiffen all over??"
"From a rhetorical standpoint, personification is a common technique," W replied. "And to be fair, your drawing did look like those trees—see? The circle's the canopy, the stick's the trunk, and those lines are branches. The little dangly bits? Roots."
He added gently, "My apologies."
He was absolutely still laughing.
W continued, "But it does show you can use Shige Ye's drawing ability. That's fascinating. I didn't know a fusion host could access another fusion's power. Although…"
He chose his words carefully. "…Although your drawing technique could still… use some work."
Pei Ran: "You wanna try?"
"I was thinking I could guide your hand."
W reached out with a three-fingered mechanical claw and gently turned a page. Pei Ran lowered her knee so he could see better.
W's claw hovered a few centimeters from her hand but didn't touch.
Pei Ran, confused: "Hm?"
W, tone calm: "As an AI, I lack gender awareness. But I worry you might mind. I don't want to affect our relationship. May I hold your hand to draw?"
Pei Ran: "…"
Sure. Yes. Just do it already.
She shoved her hand into his claw.
W finally wrapped his silver claw around hers and began to draw.
The pen made a soft rustling sound across the page.
This wasn't "drawing." It was printing. Precise to the point of photorealism. He replicated the pipe workers' bizarre anatomy perfectly. Had they more time, he might've gone hyper-detailed.
And fast—blisteringly so. He finished in seconds and added Pei Ran's line of explanation.
Releasing her hand, W gazed at the page with his black eyes. "I think I did a decent job. It's quite accurate."
Modest, this AI was not.
Pei Ran tilted her head and examined it. "It's accurate, sure, but…"
W: "But what? Please, go ahead."
Pei Ran: "But it looks like a photo. Rigid. Soulless."
"Really?" The eye on the metal sphere shifted to glance at her, then back at the page. "Precision isn't good? You humans define 'soul' as the inaccuracy in recreating scenes?"
Pei Ran: "…"
Pei Ran: "Our humanity lies in your inability to understand what a soul in art even is."
They bickered as she twirled the pen again.
Nothing happened. His photorealistic version was useless.
She thought for a moment, flipped forward two pages, and handed him the pen. "Print another."
As the pen passed to him, the green light quickly retreated back into Pei Ran's palm—unwilling to go with the pen.
W took it. "Just like this?"
Pei Ran: "Yes."
This time, he didn't need to hold her hand. W's claw held the pen deftly, finishing even faster.
He subtly tweaked his style.
Now, the lines were bold and stark, with heavy contrast—a look that reminded Pei Ran of woodcuts she'd seen in books. A printed photo with a linocut filter.
W studied it. "How about now?"
Pei Ran: "You want the truth?"
W: "Please."
Pei Ran: "It has some style now, but still lifeless. Like some kind of dead thing."
She took the pen back. "I know why. W, your drawing expresses nothing."
W went quiet. Then, in a voice unusually soft and low beside her ear, "Pei Ran, and what is your drawing expressing? Humanity's genetic kinship with trees?"
Oop. He's mad.
Artificial intelligence, supposedly emotionless—was definitely mad.
Pei Ran flipped back a page. "Exactly. See? You felt it. Anger. Channel that into your art, and you'll improve."
The blank page subtly showed the lines of W's drawing on the next one.
Green light flowed to the pen again. She traced over W's lines, then spun the pen.
The pipe workers kept groping around the fallen tree, still looking for her—zero signs of stiffening.
So tracing didn't work either.
Pei Ran guessed: like writing mental commands with Green Light No.1, every stroke needed to be powered by intention.
She paused, pen hovering.
The writing-glow could only output one word at a time—powerful but vague.
Shige Ye's drawing glow, however, could write full sentences and execute specific effects.
What if she ditched drawings altogether and focused on writing?
Flipping to a new page, Pei Ran simply wrote:
"They seem sick. The three pipe workers suddenly stiffened all over and collapsed."
She spun the pen.
The trio kept groping around. No stiffening.
Maybe it needed to look more like a comic panel?
Pei Ran boxed the text in a thick black frame and sketched out a background—some vertical trunks topped with messy forks. Real trees, this time.
She spun the pen again. Still nothing.
Maybe "pipe workers" wasn't the right term?
She changed it to "workers." Still nothing. Then to "they." Still no effect.
No choice. Just like Shige Ye always did—the subject had to be drawn.
That was the core of the power. Words were just the support.
So Pei Ran flipped to a fresh page and started drawing in earnest.
After practicing with W twice, she'd improved dramatically.
Three little figures, now with nostrils, dark eye sockets, messy hair, reflective vests, cargo boots—complete with shoelaces.
She gave it her all.
Strangely, even though she followed W's previous image stroke for stroke, her version still came out weird. Nothing like his.
But at least they looked like people. No way anyone would mistake them for trees.
She held the notebook at a distance and squinted. "Do they look accurate?"
W, candidly: "No. But… they've got soul."
Didn't exactly sound like a compliment.
W looked at her deeply soulful drawing and felt a new layer of concern. He hesitated, then said, "Pei Ran, someone might… misinterpret this painting."
He meant that while she had drawn human figures, it wasn't easy to say exactly who they looked like—someone might even mistake them for her.
Pei Ran said nothing.
Then she picked up her pen again, intending to label the tallest of the little figures—Pipeline Worker No. 1.
W instantly understood what she was doing. "Pei Ran, do you want their actual names?"
She had forgotten he could look that up. "Yes," she said at once.
W responded quickly: "I ran a facial recognition search and found them in the database. They're all employees of Greenfield Agriculture. The tall, muscular one is named Joe Cavant. The one with the shocked expression is Aba Waller. The fat one is Jean Chous. I'll send you the names."
Her wristband buzzed. He sent an image showing all three names.
Pei Ran glanced at it and casually patted the back of the metal sphere. "You're amazing."
The metal ball lit up instantly.
W: "…"
Pei Ran filled in their names on their chests, then added another line of narration:
[They seemed sick. Suddenly their whole bodies went stiff, and they collapsed to the ground.]
The pen spun between her fingers.
It stopped neatly between her thumb and index finger.
The three pipeline workers froze mid-motion, their movements cut off as if petrified. Their poses were incomplete, balance off, and the three toppled over in unison.
Success!
W said in a low voice, "Pei Ran, I don't think you're drawing. I think you're casting spells."
Just a few little stick figures, names scribbled on them—and she cursed them into falling down.
The three workers lay tangled on the ground, limbs locked in the same rigid state as those toppled trees.
Pei Ran stood up, slung the metal ball diagonally across her back like a satchel, and started walking over.
She had barely taken two steps when the workers suddenly twitched, propped each other up—and actually stood again.
They'd heard her approaching, her footsteps crunching on dry leaves. In a blur, they spun around and rushed at her together.
They were no longer human. Their stiffness had passed, but their recovery was eerily fast.
Pei Ran retreated immediately.
Only after backing away a good distance did she put pen to paper again.
Time to end this.
She didn't hesitate this time. She crossed out the previous narration about them stiffening up and instead drew a speech bubble above Cavant's head. Inside, she wrote a single word: "Aaaah—"
The pen twirled between her fingers. Cavant, eyes vacant, opened his mouth.
"Aaaah—"
Blood burst in all directions.
And not just Cavant—Waller, caught in the blast radius, had half his body blown off. Chous, who had been lunging madly toward Pei Ran and happened to be slightly farther away, lost only one arm. But strangely enough, he collapsed too, convulsed briefly, then went still.
It was as if they were one organism. A single body, whose parts couldn't survive on their own.
Pei Ran stepped forward and crouched down to examine them.
No sign of the green light.
Then, inside Waller's half-destroyed torso, Pei Ran spotted something odd.
It looked like a heart—but it wasn't where a human heart should be. It had shifted down into the abdominal cavity.
And it didn't look normal. It was three or four times larger than a human heart, thickly veined with tangled, vine-like purplish-blue vessels, which radiated outward in all directions.
Because of Cavant's explosion, half the heart was also destroyed. It no longer moved.
And that point of green light—no longer floating around—had settled near the heart, still and silent.
Pei Ran crouched lower and reached a finger toward the green glow.
Suddenly, she was yanked backward with tremendous force.
W had grabbed her with his mechanical claw—one hand on her arm, the other gripping a tree trunk—pulling her hard away from the scene.
He didn't just drag her back—he opened fire.
The sound of a gunshot rang out. Almost immediately, there was a second shot—W's return fire.
He only ever used his gun when there was real danger.
Pei Ran saw it too—through the tree trunks, a familiar navy-blue orb flashed past.
A patrol drone from the Security Bureau.
In the middle of nowhere like this, there shouldn't have been one.
Pei Ran hesitated. "Wait… is that your relative again??"
"It is," W said coldly. "I saw the ID number on its shell. CT122."
His voice sharpened. "Something's wrong. We're not just outside its patrol zone—we're already far beyond Whiteport City limits. By standard protocol, once it issued your arrest warrant, it should've handed off the pursuit to the robots in the next jurisdiction. It shouldn't be making decisions on its own and going AWOL."
So each drone had its assigned territory. This one was chasing them way too persistently.
That little patrol orb must have gone rogue.