Chapter 10: Wares From the Waste
September's golden autumn stripped the mountains of summer's deep green. The pines and cypresses still held up their dark canopies, but the maples and birches were less fortunate: fiery red had climbed to their crowns, and dead leaves drifted down to spread into a soft, damp carpet. The streams had thinned, exposing pale gray pebbles along their banks.
A month had passed in a flash. The scenery was beautiful, and life was pleasant. But circling the mountains every day without seeing another person was bound to get a little boring.
So, after much deliberation, Whitewing and Lofty Feather finally agreed that it was time to leave the Green Wood Mountains and see what lay elsewhere.
Tonight was their last night before leaving.
Whitewing stood on the mountaintop, watching the gentle sunset. Crimson light fell in a slow, easy wash, while layers of yellow and green hid among the ridges.
Two months—so many peaks, so many trees, so many sunrises and sunsets.
“Tonight I can visit FUSION again,” Lofty Feather said softly. “I'll make sure I'm ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“For going out, of course. Do you remember the map Number Four gave us? Those blue stars on it—”
“I do.”
Lofty Feather stopped bothering him and started making a list of questions on its own.
Whitewing watched in silence. On the first day of his life outside the Restsoil, he had watched the sunset in Waterside Willow Valley. Now, two months later, he was watching the sunset again, at the edge of the Green Wood Mountains.
Waterside Willow Valley didn't have this much red or any falling leaves. But it did have an orange-red stream, an entire valley—and willow trees. So he spoke up.
“I want to go back to Waterside Willow Valley.”
Lofty Feather paused.
“Now?”
“Mm. How long would it take?”
“If you want to go back, then let's go see it. In a straight line, flying at full speed, it won't take more than two hours.”
“Then let's go now. I'm not tired.”
Lofty Feather asked no more. The Eye of Truth came online, a green arrow pointed the way, and Whitewing flew at full speed without looking back.
The last light caught on the mountain ridges; dusk sank into the woods. The sun slipped slowly below the horizon, giving him an escort from that mountaintop for the final stretch.
The sky darkened, but Whitewing could still see clearly. Perhaps they were passing places he had once lit up; the scenes along the way blurred together, some familiar, some not.
The wind pushed him from behind. Wuping unfurled completely, letting the night's chill slip in. His face began to go numb, but he did not slow down.
The stream that ran through Waterside Willow Valley was only one of countless tributaries joining the Flowmark River—but Whitewing recognized it. He lowered his altitude and followed the stream upstream.
Lofty Feather said nothing. It simply dismissed the arrow. Before long, the mouth of the valley came into view.
Whitewing descended from treetop height into the narrow wind channel at the entrance. He didn't keep gliding. Instead, he folded up Wuping and walked, step by step, through the valley—more than two kilometers in all—then sat quietly under the great willow.
Strangely enough, though late autumn had set in, the willow seemed entirely untouched. Its canopy still held a sweep of green.
The full moon rose. Whitewing took a deep breath and asked, “It's the fifteenth today, right?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to FUSION?”
“Mm.”
“Then go ahead. I'm not sleepy. I'll wait.”
Lofty Feather had meant to invite him to witness it, too. Since Whitewing had no intention of sleeping, there was no need to talk him into it—the last invitation had been a sight to behold. He ought to see this one with his own eyes as well.
It just hoped this time they wouldn't have to wait until the middle of the night like last time. That would be too late for Whitewing.
As if sensing this, Moonlit's invitation arrived quickly. The same beam of white light shone down, and Lofty Feather called out in a hurry:
“Whitewing! Come see!”
Whitewing switched to the Restsoil at once, just in time to catch the letter unfolding. The three colors separated from White: Green Qi spread across the page, Red Qi wrote the words, and Blue Qi sketched the buttons. Together they unfolded into a complete letter.
“That's amazing! Moonlit did all that?”
“He did. White is what you get when the three primary colors come together, and Moonlit is pure white.”
The letter read:
“This time there are two of you watching the moon. Nice.
It's time to meet the readers. But only Flint Spirits can enter this network.
To Lofty Feather and Whitewing”
Whitewing sighed. “I can't go.”
“...A shame.”
“It's all right. You can look around for me.”
“I'll save lots of pictures!”
“Good. Go on. I'll stay here.”
And so Lofty Feather pressed the button once more. The process was the same as before: the envelope folded around its consciousness and shot into the night sky. In less than two seconds, the meeting room appeared before it. It went to its seat. The other five Flint Spirits were already waiting.
“Lofty Feather!”
An eager voice called out. Who else could it be but Lan? Lofty Feather answered, and he immediately asked, “How was the map?”
“It's beautiful!” Lofty Feather raised its voice a little.
“It's nothing, really! The Myriad Image Map is just a string of data. It was no trouble.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Hehe...”
Lan went off to the side, grinning foolishly to himself.
Moonlit, seated at the head of the table, thought for a moment. “So you're planning to go out?”
“Mm, yes. We'll set out tomorrow morning.”
“Have you decided where to go?”
“Maybe we'll follow Lan's map? Start with the places marked by blue stars.”
“All right.”
Moonlit looked around, met Crimfox's eyes, and spoke. “Since you're about to go out, we ought to give you something. Do you remember the garbage bag?”
“I do. But isn't it in Whitewing's Restsoil?”
Moonlit didn't answer. He only asked in return, “What about Wuping?”
Lofty Feather thought about it. The first time it saw Whitewing, Wuping was already on him. And after they came into the world, Wuping had stayed on him too. But...
“We've never seen the garbage bag out here.”
“Ha, did it never occur to you to use it?” Lan edged closer, eager to jump in. “I knew it! Zhu Hong has such strange taste. It's no wonder you didn't figure it out.”
“Who's Zhu Hong?”
“Number One,” Crimfox explained. “He and his Flint Spirit are both pretty busy, so they rarely come here. His Flint Spirit is named Scarlet, and she's a snake...”
“That's beside the point,” Abyss quickly said, bringing them back to the matter at hand. “The bag only appears outside when you want to use it. The rest of the time, it stays in the Restsoil.”
“So if I want it to come out, it'll come out?”
Moonlit finally spoke again. “Not quite. You also have to remember what it looks like. Try making it appear on the table now.”
Lofty Feather didn't ask questions. If its seniors said so, there must be a reason. It silently thought, “Garbage bag, appear!”
Nothing happened.
“The more of its appearance you remember, the higher your chances of summoning it. Though you probably never paid much attention to it...”
“That's true... Wait, I can check the logs!”
Luckily, Lofty Feather had saved pictures in advance. On closer inspection, the fabric of the garbage bag was quite coarse, covered in brownish yellow and red. It used the Color Picker on several spots and averaged the results. Red was no problem, of course, but Green and Blue were a stretch—the lowest Blue Value was still over a hundred.
“I don't think I have enough color Value.”
Pyrenix couldn't help commenting. “Isn't your Red Value full? It has so many red patches. Don't focus on the brown bits.”
“Right...”
Lofty Feather immediately tried to sketch the red parts. Before long, the outline of the bag appeared—and dropped onto the table.
“Success!” “Not bad.”
Pyrenix looked at the bag. “It's empty right now. Zhu Hong's idea was for you to write the Rules yourself. But we've discussed it already: to get the most out of it, you need at least five Rules.”
“Five?” Lofty Feather looked troubled. “But we only have one slot...”
“So we'll each give you one. Keep that slot for yourself,” Moonlit said calmly.
Lofty Feather hadn't even taken that in when Lan was already shouting, “Exactly! We decided that ages ago!”
Abyss didn't echo him, but gave a small nod to confirm it. Crimfox snorted. “Don't get excited yet. I've reviewed all the Rules. You can read the details in the Editor yourself. Pyrenix, you explain.”
“Sure. In short, the garbage bag's core function is waste recycling. What we're trying to build is a synthesis system that we can control from input to output. Think for a moment: how many Rules would it take to do that?”
Lofty Feather quickly worked it out. Input and output took two Rules. That part was simple. But the controllable process... surely one Rule would be enough.
“Three.”
“Right, three Rules,” Pyrenix said with satisfaction. “But three Rules only guarantee the basic operation; there's no fun in that. So our plan is four core Rules plus one independent Rule. I handled the independent one! It's super fun. Crimfox nearly lost her temper over it—”
She dodged a heavy slash Crimfox sent flying at her. “Don't be mad! She still approved it, though, because the odds are so low.”
“This Rule is a gift from Number One.”
“Number One?”
“Yes. The Rule itself is simple. Outside the other four Rules, every synthesis gets one independent roll, with a one-in-ten-million chance. If it succeeds, you'll receive a grand prize! What exactly it is... well, you'll find out if it happens.”
“Enough teasing the newcomer,” Crimfox said with a cold snort. “You know perfectly well Scarlet ran four rounds of simulations, and each of us ran fifty! Even the most optimistic case would take over thirty-five thousand tries. What are the odds they'll get it right away? Lower than the odds of the world ending in the next second.”
She turned to Lofty Feather, her voice softening a little. “I'm responsible for the decomposition Rule. Anything you throw in will be broken down into three kinds of Qi: Red, Green, and Blue. But how much you get depends on the quality of the item. The purer it is, the more Qi comes out. Don't expect to get much from trash.”
“How do you tell its quality?”
“You can't tell before you take it apart,” Crimfox answered briskly. “The result of decomposition is a black box; you only know the numbers after it's done. But don't you have a Color Picker? Take readings from several spots and average them to estimate the result. There's another variable: loss. The minimum loss is five percent. You can read the other details for yourself later.”
Lofty Feather made a note. Abyss took over. Her voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.
“After decomposition comes synthesis. My Rule handles that step. Given the same input conditions, it will always produce the same result. No randomness, no surprises. There are five conditions: the amounts of the three kinds of Qi, the time and place of synthesis, the luck Value for that day, and the environmental disturbance factor. Once all of them are fixed, the product is fixed too.”
Lofty Feather understood at once. “So I can calculate it in advance?”
“Or rather, you have to calculate it in advance.” Abyss paused. “In Crimfox's loss formula, your calculation precision accounts for as much as fifty percent. That means if you don't calculate at all, half the materials you put in will be lost.”
“So that Rule is for me?”
“That's right.”
Lofty Feather was about to ask another question, but Lan had already leaned over. “My turn, my turn! I wrote the luck Value!”
“...Yours is the least useful one,” Crimfox added helplessly.
Lan ignored her completely and explained, brimming with enthusiasm. “Luck Value is a number that refreshes every day! Your condition and that of your body, your mood, the conditions in your Restsoil, even the positions of the stars—everything affects your luck that day. The higher your luck, the better your chances of synthesizing something good!”
“Can I find out in advance if tomorrow's luck will be good?”
“You can feel it, but you can't calculate it.” The vines around Lan wriggled a couple of times. “That's what makes it fun!”
Lofty Feather smiled and turned to Moonlit.
“My Rule is a table. After Abyss's Rule calculates the result, the number in the table tells you what item it is. It's a long table, and you don't have to memorize it. You can look it up in the Knowledge Base when you need it.”
He paused, then added, “The table records every item in the world. In theory, as long as your calculations are precise enough and your luck is good enough, you can synthesize anything.”
Lofty Feather ran the five Rules through its mind. Decomposition, loss, synthesis, luck, grand prize—each linked to the next. Its seniors were truly brilliant...
Once it got back, it could look more closely at the reasoning and formulas behind them, then start helping with synthesis.
“Anything else you don't understand?” Moonlit asked.
“Not for now.”
“Good. After all that time exploring the mountains, you've both gotten quite good at controlling Green Qi. From now on, you can speak directly with us inside your Restsoil. The Knowledge Base has left you a back door.”
Lofty Feather was about to thank him when Moonlit asked, “By the way, how have you two been these past two months?”
“Pretty good. Whitewing flies around all day, and I follow him and take notes.” Lofty Feather thought for a moment. “Also, the mountains are safe—every other animal got scared off.”
Moonlit didn't know whether to laugh or cry. All he could manage was:
“...That's good.”
Lan seemed ready to say something, but Abyss quietly stopped him.
“Go back soon,” Moonlit said softly. “Don't make him wait too long.”
“Mm. Thank you, seniors.”
“Finally, we don't have to wait until the full moon to see each other!” Lan finally got a word in. He waved a vine in farewell.
White light wrapped around Lofty Feather's consciousness. It plummeted back to the Restsoil.
...
Outside, Whitewing was twirling that willow twig, idly drawing circles beneath the tree. At Lofty Feather's call, he straightened at once.
“You're back! How did it go?”
“I learned a lot,” Lofty Feather said. “The garbage bag works. Each of our seniors gave us one Rule slot!”
“Really? What kind of Rules are they? Show me!”
Lofty Feather needed to study them closely, too. It opened the Rule Editor and projected the text onto the Eye of Truth—
But the moment the text appeared, it froze. During the meeting, the seniors had explained everything in plain language. The Rules actually written into the bag were dense with mathematical formulas and code, far more complicated than the explanation they'd just given.
Whitewing stared at it for a few seconds. Curiosity gave way to confusion, and at last he simply turned his head aside.
“I shouldn't have asked. Just tell me what it does...”
“Wait. Let me understand it first.”
A full minute later, Lofty Feather finally spoke again. “I've finished reading it. Simply put, the bag synthesizes things. You throw trash in, and it can synthesize something else. The logic is a little complicated, but all you need to know is... I can calculate the result in advance.”
“So... you do the calculating, the garbage bag synthesizes things by itself, and all I have to do is throw stuff in?”
“More or less.”
“Then shall we try it now?”
“Wait,” Lofty Feather hurriedly called out. “You have to take the bag outside first.”
“Oh, right! Isn't it in the Restsoil? How do I get it out?”
“You have to picture what it looks like and sketch its outline in your sight with the three primary colors... No, I can use the Eye of Truth!”
Lofty Feather quickly projected an image of the garbage bag onto the Eye of Truth. Whitewing stared ahead. A brown outline flickered into view—
“Clunk—”
The garbage bag had dropped onto the ground. He jumped up and snatched it. “I'm going to gather some things!”
“It's almost ten...”
But he was already gone.
Under the moonlight, Waterside Willow Valley was quiet. Whitewing skimmed silently over the grass, picking up dead leaves and tossing them into the bag by the handful.
A stream of data poured into the Restsoil. In dismay, Lofty Feather realized that the amounts of Qi, the time, the location, even the environmental disturbance factor—all of them were changing wildly with Whitewing's movements. It couldn't calculate any of them!
“Whitewing! Don't run so fast! I haven't finished calculating!”
But Whitewing was already caught up in the fun. At last he stopped beside a pile of nearly rotted grass, grabbed a large handful, and stuffed it into the mouth of the bag.
“Is this enough?”
“Sigh... It should be. Don't move now. Let me calculate!”
Only then did Lofty Feather realize that the calculation precision was nowhere near good enough. According to the formula, the loss would be as high as forty percent! There was no choice but to keep calculating. At last, the result came through.
A murky light glowed at the mouth of the bag. Whitewing leaned over eagerly to look. The light spun for two seconds, then went “pfft”—
A small, dusty gray pebble rolled out.
The two of them fell silent.
Whitewing picked up the pebble and turned it over in his hands. It had no shine, no markings, and a downright odd shape.
“So this is... the result of synthesis?”
“...Stop looking at it,” Lofty Feather said in a muffled voice. “The loss was too high. You were running around, so the parameters kept changing, and all the stuff you put in was scrap. That meant even less Qi came out of it.”
“So next time I should stand still?”
“Right.” Lofty Feather sighed. “I need stable conditions to calculate accurately. And we have to prepare the materials in advance, then put them in at a suitable time.”
Whitewing looked down at the pebble in his hand. It was ugly, but it really had been synthesized from dead leaves and rotting grass.
“Still,” he said with a sudden smile, “turning grass into a stone is pretty impressive, isn't it?”
“That's all it takes to impress you?”
“It's hard to get started. Next time I'll follow your instructions, all right?”
Lofty Feather gave a hmph but didn't answer. Quietly, though, it saved the pebble's data in the logs—the first synthesis, an almost complete failure.
It was still a long way from its goal.
Whitewing had finally worn himself out too. He didn't go back to the crevice where he'd slept before. Instead, he flew back beneath the willow, wrapped himself in Wuping, lay down on the ground, closed his eyes, and switched back to the Restsoil.
He scooped Lofty Feather up and went back to the bedroom, falling onto the soft mat. Lofty Feather gave a little shiver in his arms.
“Don't move.”
Whitewing leaned over, his voice muffled in the pillow. “Where's the nearest blue star on Lan's map?”
“About twenty kilometers to the southeast, at the edge of the Green Wood Mountains.”
“Twenty kilometers... That's only forty minutes of flying.”
“Not far. But none of the star markers came with a description... Ha, there it is: the element of surprise. Sounds like something Lan would do.”
“Even better.” Whitewing's voice grew softer and softer. “Not knowing makes it interesting. Maybe it's a beautiful lake, or a really big tree...”
“Or maybe it's just a nice-looking stone.”
“A stone would work too. We can try it in the garbage bag.” He laughed once. “Then you can calculate the best possible result for me.”
“Of course.”
Whitewing said nothing more, and rolled over again. Lofty Feather felt his hold loosen a little, but not all the way. He hadn't let it go.
Twenty kilometers. When they got there, it had to remember to survey the area, and see if there were any materials around, too. If something was high quality, they could try synthesis a few times. Seriously.
They couldn't read the luck Value until tomorrow. But Whitewing seemed to be in a good mood. As Lofty Feather thought about it, its Red light dimmed too.
Whitewing mumbled something indistinctly. Lofty Feather couldn't make it out. It was probably something nice.
Soon, Lofty Feather was asleep too.
— End of Chapter —