News feeds flooded the control room like a tidal wave, each report a cold blade slicing through everyone's nerves. The Wall Street exchange announced a complete trading halt, all records frozen; multiple major Tokyo banking systems crashed, citizens swarming ATMs only to find them useless, large-scale protests erupting in the streets; London supermarkets were stripped bare, police and military deployed urgently; Shanghai's port operations ground to a complete standstill, hundreds of cargo ships stranded, the global logistics chain paralyzed.
The frenetically switching images on the split screens all centered around the same symbol—Ψ. Though the abyssal blue emblem had vanished from displays, its aftershocks remained, seared into the global system's memory like a brand. Panic was spreading exponentially, faster than any virus.
"It's not just a pause…" Wang Jing's Adam's apple bobbed, his voice parched. "The global economy is being forcibly 'frozen'."
Li Chenyuan's knuckles were white where he gripped the console. "Trace the signal source!" he ordered, his voice cold.
"Tracing is useless!" a technician nearly sobbed. "Ψ isn't a single-point source; it's completely distributed! We can't even track Its 'respiration rate'!"
Lu Xingze interjected coldly, "At this point, further delay only exposes Su Xiaolan to greater danger. Her existence has been detected internationally. Every nation is demanding to know: is this collapse linked to 'F.LK'?"
"You shut up," Li Chenyuan's gaze was like a blade slicing toward him.
Gu Yu's projection flickered on the wall, his smile manic. "Stop the self-deception. The world has seen that Ψ chose her. Su Xiaolan is the Primary Anchor—an undeniable fact."
Su Xiaolan slowly opened her eyes. The low whale song still echoed in her mind. She felt chilled to the bone, a fine sweat on her temples. The shadow of the "Hall of Judgment" from the illusion still weighed heavily on her. "...Prisoners," she rasped, her voice hoarse yet clear. "It said… we are all prisoners."
Everyone stared. Her eyes held a strange calmness. Though pale almost to the point of transparency, she wasn't broken. "I saw them—the founders, the dead. They aren't judges. They're grave keepers. Ψ isn't choosing who survives… It's… maintaining the prison's order."
"Prison?" Wang Jing repeated softly, a chill running down his spine.
"Yes," she gave a slight, bitter, almost self-mocking twist of her lips. "And this salted fish… has now become the forcibly flipped 'prisoner representative'."
"Enough!" Lu Xingze could no longer hold back. He strode forward. "Xiaolan, you must come with me! StarShield can at least preserve your life, keep you from being completely consumed by Ψ!"
Li Chenyuan moved abruptly, shielding her with his body, meeting Lu Xingze's gaze coldly. "Your 'protection' is caging her in a transparent cell, alive yet like a dissected specimen. That kind of life is worse than death."
Their glares clashed. The scent of gunpowder ignited instantly.
"Now is not the time for petty rivalries!" Gu Yu's projection sneered. "Ψ has entered 'system reset'. No matter who wins, she won't belong to any of you anymore—she belongs to Deep Water, to the new order."
"Mr. Li!" Wang Jing interrupted urgently. "Incoming international comms!"
The wall projected emergency conference feeds. Leaders from different nations, heads of financial institutions, appeared simultaneously on screen, their voices overlapping into a cacophony of noise: "The Li Corporation must provide answers immediately!" "The Ψ symbol appeared on your servers first! This is an act of war!" "If you do not publicly hand over the 'Primary Anchor', we will consider the Li Corporation a hostile entity!"
Li Chenyuan's gaze was stern, his voice deep as the abyss: "Lay a finger on her, and you declare war on me."
The conference room erupted in an uproar. Lin Wei's image suddenly cut in, her expression complex yet composed. "Everyone, assigning blame now will only play into Ψ's hands. We need cooperation. Su Xiaolan is indeed the 'Primary Anchor', but that doesn't make her a threat… Perhaps she is the only one who can dialogue with Ψ."
Her few words forcefully dampened the hostility. The screens went dark, plunging the control room back into gloom.
Su Xiaolan sat in her chair, clutching the crumpled chip bag tightly. The opening emitted a faint crinkle, strangely synchronized with the whale song rhythm in her mind. She murmured, "It doesn't want destruction… It's reorganizing."
Suddenly, all screens lit up simultaneously, displaying a new message:
[Phase II: Anchor Alignment]
[Anchor Alignment Procedure—Preparing for Initiation]
"Alignment?" Wang Jing's breath hitched. "Does that mean… there are other Anchors?"
Su Xiaolan's pupils contracted violently. A voice not her own echoed deep in her mind, like an ancient whisper: "Find those of shared origin. The Anchor cluster must align."
Ice shot down her spine to her brain. She uttered a trembling sentence that shook everyone in the control room: "...I'm not the only one. Ψ is going to draw out all potential 'Anchors'."
The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Li Chenyuan gripped her hand tightly, his voice low: "No matter how many Anchors there are, you belong only to me."
Lu Xingze, however, retorted coldly: "You're wrong! Ψ doesn't care about your personal attachments—this is a global judgment now!"
Gu Yu's projection burned with fervor, nearly ecstatic: "Excellent… Ψ is finally releasing Its true power! Let all Anchors emerge! This is the dawn of the new order!"
Su Xiaolan's face was deathly pale, her heart slamming against her ribs. She had only ever wanted to be a salted fish, yet now she had to bear the weight of the entire world's "alignment pressure."
And this was only the beginning of "Phase II".