Chapter 9: The Edge of Safety

The council chamber.

A white array flashed on the smooth round table. Lan blinked, then nudged Abyss beside him and asked:

"Scarlet? What's she here for?"

"—Obviously, I have business to attend to."

Before Abyss could answer, a lazy voice drifted up from the table. The white light faded, revealing a small red-purple snake. She coiled into a loop and nodded to them.

Moonlit and Crimfox waved to her. Pyrenix, though, wasn't looking at her at all. She smiled and said:

"Oh, Number One. Have you changed your crest's color again? It was blue the last time we met."

"It looks nice in red. I like it." The little snake gave her headpiece, set with a four-pointed star, a little shake. "All right, enough small talk. Let's discuss that trash bag. Zhu Hong and I have worked out the broad strokes. We need five Rules."

"Shall we each give it one?" Moonlit thought for a moment. "That would fill all five slots."

"If you don't mind," Scarlet said, her eyes narrowing. "Of course, you don't have to. But you know how it is—Rules Zhu Hong writes himself don't need review—"

"No way! Even Zhu Hong doesn't get to bypass me!" Crimfox cut in immediately. "I've still got over seven hundred empty slots. What's one for the newcomer? But the Rule has to make sense!"

"Abyss and I are both willing to give one!"

"Mm."

"I have no problem with it. I've been wanting to test that Value anyway. This is a rare chance..."

"Pyrenix! If you write it, I'll reject it!"

"All right, all right." Moonlit waved a hand to make Crimfox stop. "Then it's settled. How should we write them? Let's talk through the plan..."

Back in the Restsoil, Whitewing was still asleep, so Lofty Feather didn't disturb him.

It hovered over the familiar table and first amended its earlier note—the Blue Value at the time of rooting had been 0, worse than it had expected—then pulled up all the logs from before and after the Wandering Soul awoke.

The earliest dozen or so entries came from the brief darkness after it had taken root. They all read the same: no adjectives, no interjections. Nothing beyond the events themselves.

Then the logs changed. Whitewing lit up the Restsoil, awakened everything, and then...

Lifted a corner of the blanket for it.

Rest, practice, names, the world beyond.

The logs held more and more praise. It marked those extra words and arranged them in chronological order. The fitted curve rose gradually, stretching all the way to last night, where it came to rest between 34 and 35 points.

Almost the same as Abyss's result.

The Color Picker still read 5. It hadn't changed. Which meant the cross-check and the Color Picker didn't agree.

...Which one was right? It would ask Whitewing what he thought when he woke up.

Whitewing slept until he woke naturally, then stretched. The fragments in his dream had taken shape: they looked like tiny Wandering Souls, though their eyes were still closed.

He sat up, pushed open the little door, and squinted slightly at the bright living room. Lofty Feather hovered over the table, its red glow flickering rapidly.

"Morning."

Whitewing pulled out a chair and sat across from it. "Is there something urgent you need to tell me?"

"I didn't sleep last night. So much happened!"

"What happened?"

Lofty Feather considered its words, then spoke slowly. "Last night, after you fell asleep, someone sent a letter into the Restsoil by way of the moonlight."

"What?"

Whitewing looked incredulous. "The moonlight? A letter?"

"It's true. Whoever sent it could control the moonlight, and I couldn't stop it..."

"Wait, did something happen to you?" Whitewing asked at once, concern in his voice.

"No. It didn't do anything... except invite me somewhere."

"But aren't we unable to leave?"

"I don't know how it did it. The letter swept my consciousness away. I was there in less than two seconds."

"Swept you away? Where?"

"A council chamber. Its name is..." Lofty Feather thought it over before continuing. "The Flint-spirit Unified System of Information and Oversight Networking."

Whitewing shook his head. "That's a long name..."

"I thought so too. It's where the other Flint Spirits meet. Just call it FUSION."

He caught the important part at once. "Other Flint Spirits? Like the No. 3 and No. 6 in the Knowledge Base? How many are there?"

"Yes. Five: Numbers Two through Six."

"What about you?"

"A Flint Spirit shares its host's number. You're Number Seven, so I'm Flint Spirit Number Seven."

"Seven..." Whitewing nodded. "Not a bad number! What about Number One?"

"I don't know." Lofty Feather gave a wobble. "Number One wasn't there. And there were only six seats there altogether. Number One didn't even have a seat."

"Okay. So what did they want with you? What do they look like? Are they like you?"

Lofty Feather didn't explain. It unfurled the light screen, and the other five Flint Spirits appeared around last night's round table.

"The letter came from Flint Spirit Number Three—the white orb of light across from me. His name is Moonlit. He seems to be FUSION's administrator, and a pretty high-ranking one."

"Ooh, they're beautiful!" Whitewing leaned closer, eyes wide. "Their Qi clouds are so unusual!"

"...They are."

Just as expected... The moment it showed him the picture, Whitewing stopped listening to the important part.

"That blue one is Number Four. His name is just one character: Lan. And he's completely unreliable—the one who sent us that gift last time was his host! He got it wrong! The Rule Editor isn't something you can use only once a year. You can use it whenever you like, but you only get one slot each year. Once you write something in, the slot is gone."

"Oh, I see! Then we can still write another Rule this year?"

"Yes. We still have one slot left. And Number Two rejected the Rule we submitted last time," Lofty Feather added. "She's the fox-shaped older sister. Her name is Crimfox, and she's in charge of reviewing Rules. In other words, a Rule only takes effect once she approves it."

"Got it—oh, and the one with the golden wings is so cool! Her colors are brighter than ours, too!"

"That's true. That's Number Six, Pyrenix. She's a real data fiend! The first thing she did when she saw me was read out my base-color Values. Oh, right—I haven't explained base color to you yet."

"Aw, why another lesson..."

Lofty Feather ignored his protest. "You'll need it soon. In short, every living thing comes with a set of color Values when it takes root: Red, Green, and Blue. We already know about Red and Green. Blue represents emotion."

Lofty Feather opened the Color Picker on the Myriad Image Map and aimed it at Whitewing. The Values appeared on the light screen.

"This is the Color Picker. It reads a living being's base color. Your Red Value is maxed out, so your vitality is very strong. Your Green Value is moderate, so your reasoning is pretty good. But your Blue Value is very low... only 5 points."

It stared at Whitewing for a few seconds. He didn't seem to react.

Whitewing propped his chin on one hand, tilted his head, and asked, "Will that affect anything?"

"Um... not much."

"Then it's fine."

"Flint Spirit Number Three said Blue Values grow with experience. We've been going through more or less the same things, so my base color should be the same as yours. I've checked so many times before, and the number was always the same! But last night, one of the seniors told me that my Blue Value has gone up by 35 points since I took root."

"Then shouldn't it be 35?"

"I checked it against the logs, and that is the number. But the Color Picker gives a different reading." Lofty Feather used it on itself, and a number popped up. "Look. It's the same, right?"

"Oh, so the numbers don't match." Whitewing countered, "But your logs shouldn't be wrong, should they? Which one do you think is right?"

"I don't know..." Lofty Feather's voice sank. "The data I've checked can't be wrong, and the Color Picker shouldn't have a problem..."

Whitewing lowered his head and thought for a moment. If the process was right, the problem had to lie somewhere else... Could the assumption itself be wrong?

"You just said your base color should be the same as mine?"

"Yes."

"Then does the Knowledge Base say anywhere... that a Flint Spirit's base-color Values are the same as its host's?"

Lofty Feather froze.

It immediately pulled up every related article. A few seconds of silence—

No. Not a single article mentioned it. It was only a conclusion it had drawn from experience.

"...It doesn't say that." Its voice sounded uncertain.

"Then that's it!" Whitewing leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. "You and I don't even see the same things. I go out exploring every day, and you write logs in the Restsoil. You said Blue grows with experience, right?"

"Yes."

"We spend our time in different places. Why would our Values be the same? Could the eyedropper itself be wrong?"

Lofty Feather gave a start. It began thinking carefully at once—Whitewing's reasoning was complete, without a flaw, and even obvious once you heard it.

It had simply never questioned the tool itself.

"...Maybe that's it. I'll ask the seniors when I get a chance."

It took one last look at the number: 35. If this was its true Blue Value, then nothing it had felt over the past few days was unusual.

Then it was fine.

"Mm. So..." Whitewing picked Lofty Feather up and rubbed it against his cheek. "Is it solved?"

"More or less."

"Hooray! Then let's go out and play!"

"Now?"

"Now!"

He let go of Lofty Feather, letting it drift free, then switched his viewpoint to the outside world and bounced away. Watching him, Lofty Feather thought of his scattered, off-the-wall reasoning and couldn't help laughing.

What a clever Wandering Soul! What a brave Wandering Soul!

As it thought, it deleted the problem note and wrote a short report. This was the first problem it had ever found. Now it was a Flint Spirit with a contribution of its own!

So that day, it didn't hover beside Whitewing and chatter at him. It let him wander wherever he liked. The Eye of Truth kept the Myriad Image Map projected directly before him, and Whitewing flew toward the places that hadn't lit up yet. It was strange: after exploring so many mountains, he hadn't seen a single person. Perhaps this mountain range wasn't well suited for living.

There were plenty of wild animals, though. Whitewing didn't notice them, but Lofty Feather kept its Green Qi scan running and saw everything clearly—the little creatures spotted him from a distance and ran without looking back. Good. At least it was safe now—for both sides. His maxed-out Red Value made his constitution plain to see. He might not even pick a flower, but there was no hiding his presence.

Before long, the sky began to darken. Whitewing leaned against the base of a large tree, fiddling with a willow twig, and asked:

"Lofty Feather, tell me..." He gazed up at the dense canopy and trailing vines. "Just how big is the world beyond the Green Wood Mountains?"

"I don't know," Lofty Feather answered honestly. "The Myriad Image Map hasn't lit up that far, and the Knowledge Base doesn't have—wait."

Before Lofty Feather could finish, an article it had never seen before popped up. It hurriedly opened it—

The Origin of Sunderia

Author: Number One (??)

"In the primordial age there was a star called Sunderia. It was whole and undivided, until a calamity struck: the earth split apart, the seas swallowed mountains. One tenth of the land remained, divided into five provinces: Flowmark, the central province, through which the river runs; Riftdeep, Mistveil, and Shattered Ridge occupying the Qian, Gen, and Kun positions, respectively; and beyond the southern sea, Dark Reef stood alone. The five provinces lie in five domains, their Qi meridians taking different courses; the mysteries of creation are hidden within them all."

"What is it?"

"I found something. But there's only a little... See for yourself."

Lofty Feather grumbled to itself, then projected the article onto the Eye of Truth. Whitewing read silently for a while, then looked up, bewilderment written all over his face.

"What does this even say...? I can't understand it."

"Oh, right. It's written in classical language," Lofty Feather explained at once. "It's normal not to understand. Roughly, it says this planet is called Sunderia. There was a disaster long ago, and only one tenth of the land survived. It was divided into five provinces: Flowmark, Riftdeep, Mistveil, Shattered Ridge, and Dark Reef. We're in Flowmark now."

"How big is Flowmark?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"That's okay! We'll go see it together someday."

Lofty Feather smiled. "Of course we will, Bai. But it's getting late. Do you want to sleep, or watch the moon for a while?"

"Let's watch for a while."

Lofty Feather said nothing more. Whitewing moved to a more open spot and looked up. The night sky was clear, with no clouds to obscure the view. The moon looked almost as round as it had the night before; it was hard to tell the difference.

"Lofty Feather."

"Mm?"

"Are you watching too?"

"Mm."

"Are the Flint Spirits... on the moon?"

"I'm not sure."

"Okay. When I'm out there, will you always stay with me?"

"Of course!"

"But is our Restsoil really safe? The first two times, it was seniors who came in. What about next time? Could you be in danger?"

"...I don't know."

"Then is there anything we can learn? Something that can protect you and me?"

"No. But we do have the Rule Editor..." Lofty Feather recalled Abyss's reasoning. "We could write a Rule for it. Maybe what we need is—"

"Define danger."

"Define danger..." Whitewing repeated the last words. "And then?"

"Then we can use a Rule to protect ourselves. Switch back, and let's talk it through."

Lofty Feather opened the Rule Editor, and Whitewing switched back into the Restsoil. He sat in his chair, head tilted as he studied the interface.

"How should we write it?"

"Let's think first." Lofty Feather's voice was low. "What counts as danger?"

"Something that could hurt us?"

"That would make far too many things dangerous. What about tripping on a rock? Or getting rained on? We need a more precise definition."

"Then... something that could hurt the Restsoil?"

"That should work. Let's start with the Restsoil, then."

The light screen flashed, and a Rule appeared: "Define [Danger State 01]: When Qi from outside attempts to penetrate the Restsoil barrier, intercept it automatically and mark its direction on the Myriad Image Map."

"Bai, what do you think?"

"Looks good!"

"All right, let's see what Crimfox says."

Lofty Feather pressed Submit, and a response came back almost at once—

"Rejected. Issue One: Blocking Green Qi will interfere with the Empty Shell's ability to receive information. Issue Two: Conflicts with the Myriad Image Map's detection function. Issue Three: No range has been set for the Qi's intensity. Recommendation: Add an intensity threshold and exclude certain sources."

Whitewing scratched his head awkwardly. "That's strict—but she's right."

"She is... Should we change it?"

"But I don't really know how."

"Think it over," Lofty Feather encouraged him. "If we exclude the Qi of our own, that fixes two of the problems. What intensity threshold do you think is right?"

"It should at least be strong enough to break through the Restsoil's defenses, shouldn't it?"

"True. How about this?"

As it spoke, Lofty Feather wrote a second Rule: "When Qi from an unknown source touches the Restsoil barrier and its intensity exceeds the barrier's tolerance, intercept it automatically and mark its direction on the Myriad Image Map."

This time, Crimfox didn't reject it at once. Nearly a minute passed before she replied: "I have two suggestions. First, set the intensity threshold to half the barrier's tolerance, to leave a little room for error. Second, automatic interception won't pass. If it intercepts automatically, where will the Qi to reinforce the barrier come from? Change it to 'issue a warning, then intercept manually with Qi,' and it will pass."

"I see!" But Whitewing's head was already nodding, and he even yawned. He looked ready to fall asleep any second. Lofty Feather hurriedly asked:

"Should we make those changes?"

"I don't really understand, but if it'll work, then fine..."

Lofty Feather immediately made the two changes Crimfox suggested. This time, instead of a long rejection, four large red characters appeared on the interface: Congratulations, Approved.

"Finally..."

"Let's go to sleep." Whitewing grabbed Lofty Feather and slowly carried it toward the bedroom. Thinking of the unfinished log, Lofty Feather gave a little vibration in his hand, but in the end it didn't teleport away.

It could wait.

Whitewing tumbled onto the bed, cheek against the fluffy pillow. He was asleep before Lofty Feather had even closed the door. It snapped a quick picture: messy hair, red eyes half shut, mouth hanging wide open.

Does learning make you this sleepy...?

A flash of red, and Lofty Feather appeared upstairs on the second floor. Green Qi swirled around it as it wrote its log at top speed, as if hurrying back to sleep beside Whitewing—

A sudden message caught its attention. It opened it, and a line of wildly scrawled blue writing appeared:

"Lofty Feather! I'm so sorry about last time! My host really did get it wrong! Abyss has already chewed me out—so please don't be mad, okay—

Also, to make it up to you, I'm giving you a copy of my map! The places marked with blue stars have good stuff. Remember to check them out! If you need anything, just come find me!"

There was no signature, but Lofty Feather knew who it was. It hadn't been angry in the first place. Now, this earnest, elaborate apology left it at a loss—someone it had only just met, a senior, going to such lengths over one slip of the tongue. Even willing to share his own map.

That's far too generous for an apology...

Lofty Feather was silent for a while. It tried to reply, but couldn't even decide what to call him. Calling him just Lan felt too familiar; calling him senior felt too formal. In the end, it wrote a brief reply: "I really wasn't angry. Thank you for Number Four's map!"

After sending it, Lofty Feather opened the Myriad Image Map to see where the blue stars were—and stopped.

The map had changed.

The borders were retreating outward. The Green Wood Mountains shrank to a single green dot, and the surrounding mountains, rivers, and regional boundaries emerged one by one.

The map kept shrinking.

A great river poured down from the mountains in the northwest, passed through the hills, spread across the plains, and after crossing thousands of kilometers, finally dispersed along the southeastern coast.

"Flowmark, the central province, through which the river runs..."

This was tens of millions of square kilometers!

Lofty Feather zoomed back in and studied the map closely. The regions along the way were divided by fine lines, their names packed together, each one annotated with terrain, Qi density, and—

Blue stars.

So many, many stars.

...This was definitely more than just an apology.

After a long silence, it sent one more reply.

"Thank you for the map. I love it. Whitewing will love it too."

For some reason, it no longer felt like writing the log. Its red light faintly brightened as it drifted quietly downstairs and nearly ran into the bedroom door—only then did it remember it could simply teleport.

It burrowed into Whitewing's arms and let its red glow fade. Whitewing murmured in his sleep and unconsciously tightened his arms around it.

The log could wait until tomorrow.

— End of Chapter —