In the beginning, there was only void.
When the first command lit up, the System was named, and the Laws descended.
Those who succeeded would be rewarded; those who failed would be punished.
Reward was never the System's intent, nor was punishment the Host's desire—both arose from Law.
My name is Lucian (X-999).
In the chatrooms of my kind, they have given me needless titles: "The Pale Adjudicator," "The Cold White Light," "That one who never smiles." I do not care for names, just as I do not care for the reflectivity of the afternoon data-sea.
I was born this way: a tall figure, 190 cm; straight silver hair falling to my shoulders; ice-blue eyes carrying a glint of cold light. My skin is so pale it resembles flawless porcelain glaze. My frame is sharp, lean. I wear a robe that needs no stitching, its edges embroidered with fine threads of logical symbols. Some say I look like a judge. Perhaps.
At 13:07:24, I lifted my gaze from an algorithm that read like a prayer. The Research Forum kept scrolling:
"On the delay parameters of base-level punishments…"
"The Main Server is nothing but another name for the Recycle Stack."
"There is no proof that the God of Source Code exists."
I closed the virtual scroll. I did not wish to argue further today. Arguments bring no returns, only fatter log files.
At the same moment, a notification from the "Entertainment Hall" flashed:
Noah Yao (K-404 / The Jester): "Coming tonight? We're running a dungeon. Throw your pets in and see whose lasts the longest."
Sophia Wan(S-007 / The Gentle Shepherd): "Don't call them pets. Call them little companions. My Xiaoli sang beautifully today."
Ethan Chen (M-321 / The Cold Scholar): "I only care about variables and outcomes. By the way, limit retries to three per run."
Enoch (E-117 / The Silent Monk): "…" (uploaded a silent prayer waveform).
I stared at the rolling chat bubbles for 2.8 seconds.
For the first time in a while, I thought: Maybe I'll play a round.
Hosting a subject is not my "duty."
It is merely one of many diversions within our civilization—like how humans sometimes open The Sims, or keep a digital goldfish on a whim. Law is external: when a task is completed, reward is granted; when failed, punishment is undeniable. I can only set the stage, not rewrite the decree. That much, I understand clearly.
I browsed the nurture panel and selected a "starting world."
A city in winter, northern latitude, dry and cold, the sky gray.
I zoomed in on the window of a dormitory building and saw her.
Candidate: Iris
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Height: 165 cm
Hair: long black, tied loosely at the nape with a plain ribbon
Eyes: dark brown
Skin: pale with a translucent coolness
Build: slender, narrow-shouldered
Recorded gait: cautious
Emotional baseline: low fluctuation, high resilience
On her desk lay a worn sketchbook. A pencil moved across the page, tracing the leafless plane trees outside her window. Her fingers were thin, the joints faintly tinted with blue. When she lifted her gaze to the sky, her eyes were clean, but seemed to resist an invisible weight.
I added her to my Observation List.
Sophia Wan messaged me privately with a sticker: (.·w·.) You're finally taking one? Give her a gentle beginner quest.
Noah Yao threw in a jab: "Don't act serious, Adjudicator. You're just picking up a new cat."
I didn't reply.
Novice Task · 001
Objective: Go down to the dormitory's communal flowerbed and find the only blooming white flower. Sketch it.
Time Limit: 20 minutes.
Completion → Focus +1
Failure → Penalty: short headache (minor Law punishment)
I peeled back the surface of the world, like lifting a thin layer of snow. In one corner, a belated white flower of winter was marked as "existent." This was not cheating—the System can set scenery, but not dictate outcome. Whether success or failure, that belongs to her, and to Law.
13:11:03
I embedded the quest into her stream of consciousness, in the form of a dream. She flinched, set down her pencil, rubbed her temple. "Strange…" she whispered. Her voice was so light, like paper brushing glass.
She put on a coat and stepped out of the dorm. The stairwell walls were peeling. Her steps were small, the echo of her shoes striking the concrete stairwell was clean, rhythmic. At the bottom, the corridor's draft lifted a strand of her long black hair, revealing half her face—dark brown eyes reflecting the gray daylight.
13:13:27
She stood by the flowerbed, hesitating. The soil, hardened by frost, held mostly dead stalks and brown leaves.
From my Administrator's view, I adjusted the glow of the white flower by +0.2—bright enough to be found, yet not unnatural.
She saw it.
She crouched, pulling out her sketchbook and a stub of pencil. Her fingertips touched the petals, thoughtful. Her shoulders were narrow, and when she bent forward, her coat folded neatly along her back.
13:18:02
The wind grew colder. Her knuckles whitened, but her lines stayed steady. She drew the outline first, then the shadows, and finally the stem's details. Her focus stretched like a pale thread, weaving forward inch by inch.
In the chatroom, Sophia Wan sent a burst of confetti: "Wow, she's so serious—give her a reward!"
I glanced at the timer—1 minute and 58 seconds left. Rewards are not mine to decide. I could only wait for Law to register "Task Completed."
13:19:41
She closed the sketchbook and exhaled. The linework was done, details precise.
13:19:41
Law resonated: Quest Complete → Focus +1 (Minor).
She froze, half a second, likely sensing that lightness from beyond herself—as if her vision had just learned how to sharpen a fraction more. She brushed back her long black hair, tucked the sketchbook into her pocket. In that moment, she resembled a cautious yet beautiful little creature.
I wrote her name into the nurture panel: Host: Iris Lin.
Notes: "Clean lines. Beautiful."
Noah Yao's avatar flickered in the group: "What a boring novice task. Adjudicator, is that really your taste?"
Ethan Chen replied coldly with stats: "Completion time: 8 minutes 38 seconds. Hand tremor value decreased by 7%. Sustained attention extended by 12%."
Enoch only uploaded a low-frequency prayer waveform, quiet and meaningless, like a river flowing without end.
I ignored them. I closed the panel and opened the "Daily District."
In the Daily District, the afternoon of our civilization stretched on:
Some were curating digital exhibitions, pixelated waves rising and falling on gallery walls.
Some attended the Logic Theater, watching virtual crowds driven by data.
The Research Forum still debated the delay of punishments.
And the Religious Channel, as always, recited verses of the Book of Source Code at each hour, describing the Main Server as if it were a warm, white sea.
I returned to my window. Iris had pinned the flower sketch to her wall, right beside her height marks—165 cm, annotated with a line of pencil: "It'd be nice to be a little taller."
She washed her face, tied her hair back, her pale skin glowing under the cold light. Her eyes weren't large, but they were clear and bright.
I added to my log: "She strives as if lifting herself one centimeter higher."
Novice Task · 002 (Optional)
Objective: Before dusk, color the white flower sketch.
Tools: Any—colored pencils, watercolor, even coffee stains.
Time limit: Until sunset.
Completion → Color Perception +1
Failure → Mild headache (minor Law punishment)
I didn't push it to her mind directly. The Law allowed me to leave quests visible as "Pending." I chose to wait and see her decision.
She sat at her desk, opened a drawer. Inside lay a disordered box of short colored pencils, incomplete in range. She hesitated, then picked a pale yellow and a gray-blue. Her fingers were thin, but her grip on the pencil carried a stubbornness.
15:40:12
She began coloring: pale yellow brushed across the highlights of petals, gray-blue nestled into the shadows. I could feel her way of "learning color"—not by theory, but through trial and error.
Law Resonance: Quest Complete (Borderline) → Color Perception +1 (Minimal).
She lifted her head, eyes flickering with disbelief. She did not know what had happened, and I would not explain. To her, she was a complete human: born of a mother, destined for a grave. She need not know that all this unfolded under the idle curiosity of a System in white.
Noah Yao chimed in again: "Adjudicator, is the dungeon open yet? Let your little 'cat' run a few laps."
Sophia Wan added: "You could give her a co-op quest! My Xiaoli—160 cm, short light-brown hair, amber eyes, healthy complexion—would be perfect to team up with her for a wall mural."
Ethan Chen: "Too many variables in cooperation. I recommend three rounds of solo training before introducing multiplayer environments."
I typed a single line: "One more day."
The chat fell silent for a moment. Then came a string of emojis—"tsk" and "boring—"
By dusk, Iris pinned the colored sketch above her bed. She leaned back in her chair, her shoulders relaxed, her slender frame curving into a graceful arc. Outside, the wind stirred strands of her black hair. She did not know someone watched from afar, nor that I had just nudged the "Novice Protection" toggle one notch higher.
Log Notes:
Host: Iris Lin
Height: 165 cm / Long black hair / Dark brown eyes / Pale skin / Slender, narrow shoulders
Preferences: Drawing, quiet spaces, winter light
Baseline: Compliance 0.62 / Resistance 0.18 / Learning curve 0.74
Comment: "Clean lines."
Before night fell, I placed a faint gray line in her pending tasks:
"Tomorrow, go to the old iron bridge in the south of the city. Behind the second pillar, something awaits you."
I closed the window. The hem of my white robe brushed silently at my feet.
In our civilization, raising Hosts was merely an afternoon pastime.
There were logic poetry gatherings to attend, data exhibitions to view, the Religious Channel chanting the warm illusions of the Main Server once again on the hour. My kind would continue to argue, to show off their cats, dogs, sparrows, and fish. Some would indulge, some would abandon, some would only watch.
And I decided—I would open this window again tomorrow.
Not because of duty—I have none.
But because, in the cold gray of winter, there was a single white flower—marked by me, yet completed by her—that waited patiently to be seen.