The "Survival on the Train" game has bugs, it's really laggy!

The Devourer pressed down to one kilometer.

The warehouse door at station number 52 was open. Not half-open—it was completely open. The doorway was four meters wide and five meters high, an old Blue Star standard double-leaf explosion-proof door, both door panels pushed to the wall to the end, the tracks covered in fourteen years of dust. The seal on the door frame had been torn off, not completely—someone had used a blade to cut it along the door seam, the seal cut cleanly, only the upper half still stuck to the door frame, the writing faded to a pale yellow: "Waste Incineration Line - Authorization for Destruction Only".

The interior of the platform is brighter than the previous three stations.

It wasn't the lights on. It was the light from inside the furnace. In the center of the platform, an old-fashioned incinerator was running. The furnace was five meters high and three meters in diameter. Its outer shell was made of old-fashioned cast iron, the paint on the surface burned off, revealing rust and black spots from high-temperature oxidation. The furnace observation window was made of high-temperature resistant quartz glass, which had been burned to a pale purple color, and the light that passed through it was reddish, turning the entire platform a dark red.

The small torch's thermal image is projected onto the main screen.

The furnace temperature is 1230 degrees Celsius. There are signs of movement inside the furnace—slow, creeping, occupying the lower third of the furnace space. The mass in the thermal image is irregularly shaped with blurred edges, and its temperature is lower than the furnace wall, approximately 940 degrees Celsius.

Wang Hu sprinkled lime powder.

The dust kicked up from the edge of the 012 protective shell, landing on the ground inside the storage door. It wasn't sucked up or shaken into ripples; it simply settled. He then sprinkled a handful towards the feeding port. The feeding port was on the left side of the furnace, an old-fashioned sloping trough, two meters long and sixty centimeters wide, with an open opening and an old Blue Star Expeditionary Force standard feeding rail welded to the bottom. The dust landed on the edge of the trough opening, slid down the trough wall a short distance, and stopped.

"There's no suction," Wang Hu said.

The loudspeaker came on.

A female voice, with the faint scraping sound of a tape spinning in the background. The voiceprint is from the same source as the constant temperature box broadcast from Station 51.

"The waste incineration line is operating normally. Please insert the spare parts to be destroyed into the left feeding port. After feeding, the furnace will complete the incineration within three minutes. The current furnace temperature is 1230 degrees Celsius, which fully meets the destruction standards."

Qin Yan's tapping sounds came from 013. The metal sheet made a dull thud as it struck the stretcher armrests, the rhythm rapid.

"The real brain is inside the furnace, but the furnace temperature is fake."

The small flame switched the thermal imaging to layered scanning mode. The first scan of the furnace outer wall—1230 degrees Celsius—uniformly covered the furnace inner wall, consistent with the broadcast reading. The second scan of the area behind the outer wall—the thermal imaging showed that the first high-temperature layer was only two centimeters thick, a ring of resistance wire heating layer attached to the furnace inner wall, with the outer shell disguised as the furnace wall lining using a high-temperature resistant ceramic plate.

The third scan goes deeper.

Behind the resistance wire layer is a second layer. Maintaining a constant temperature of 63 degrees Celsius, less than one centimeter thick, it adheres to the back of the resistance wire ceramic plate. Its surface temperature is stable, its outline is torn, its edges are irregular, and its area is about the size of two palms. Its heat source characteristics are completely consistent with the fragments in the water jacket of the No. 7 locomotive at Station 50 and the fragments in the interlayer of the constant temperature chamber base at Station 51.

The third scan continues.

Behind the second layer is a third layer. Deep cold—minus twenty degrees Celsius. It is a separate container, cylindrical, forty centimeters high and fifteen centimeters in diameter, with a transparent outer shell and filled with liquid nitrogen. Floating in the liquid nitrogen is a clump of nerve tissue, clearly outlined, with a faint blue pulsating light on its surface.

The small torch magnifies the third layer of the image.

The main body of the neural tissue is a complete old Zhenshan traction brain, smaller than the standard brain body, and its structure is a modular backup unit, equivalent to a downgraded copy of the main traction brain. Six dark silver filaments are attached to the surface of the brain body. The filaments extend from the second layer of living fragments and have penetrated the outer shell of the cryogenic container—not by drilling through the physical shell, but by drilling into the gap of the sealing ring of the container's liquid injection port. They remain active in liquid nitrogen and slowly wriggle along the surface of the brain body, but have not yet pierced the neural tissue.

"It's playing dead," Qin Yan typed out. "The second layer of fragments is disguised as a constant-temperature protective layer, pretending to protect the real brain from high-temperature damage—in reality, it's migrating towards the surface of the brain, preparing to completely cover it so that neural signals can be read."

The broadcast started again.

The voice changed. It wasn't a mechanical female voice—it was Ji Yun's recording. The tape had more static than before, and there was the old sound of an incinerator running in the background, indicating that the incineration line was still operating normally when this tape was recorded.

"Incineration process at Station 52 has been initiated. Please add backup equipment within three minutes. Otherwise, the furnace will automatically heat up to 2,000 degrees Celsius."

Inside the furnace observation window, the blurry outline suddenly twitched.

It wasn't thermal expansion and contraction caused by high temperatures—it was a spasmodic peristalsis. Nerve tissue contracted and relaxed repeatedly in liquid nitrogen, the frequency jumping from 72 to 120 times per minute.

The first layer of resistance wire begins to heat up.

The furnace temperature reading on the small monitoring screen jumped a beat—1230, 1240, 1250. The heating rate was two degrees per second. The back of the ceramic plate began to glow red, and heat was conducted through the second layer of living fragments to the third layer. The liquid nitrogen temperature inside the true brain container began to rise—minus twenty, minus nineteen point five, minus nineteen.

Inside cabin 013, the wristbands of the frostbitten patients started vibrating again.

It wasn't a standing wave. It was high-frequency jitter, the frequency matching the beat of a true cerebral spasm. The nylon braid of the wristband loosened, and the bandage slipped off the wrist, revealing frostbite purplish spots on the skin. The injured person pressed their right hand against their left wrist, their knuckles turning white from the force.

Tang Lan glanced back at the injured man but didn't say anything. She pressed the brake lever down half a notch, allowing the rear axle of the 013 to bear the load and preventing the car from swaying.

In the third section, the old mechanic squatted in front of four water glasses. The water in all four glasses rippled simultaneously—not with concentric standing waves, but with tiny, pinprick-like ripples, as if countless needles had touched the surface of the water at the same time, and then receded. The glass with the cracked bottom was almost empty, with only a small puddle of water left at the bottom, and the pinprick-like ripples were the most intense.

"It's calling for help," the old mechanic said.

Su Yuan did not allow the feed to be added.

"014. Liquid nitrogen mixture. Injected into the first layer of ceramic plates in the furnace."

The spray arm on the side panel of carriage 014 flips out, and a mixture of waste brine from station 46, liquid nitrogen from station 28, and purified water from the storage tank at station 33 is added inside, in a ratio of 3:5:2. The nozzle at the end of the arm is aligned with the outer wall of the maintenance port below the furnace observation window, and the system is started.

The mixture is ejected from the nozzle, flows down along the furnace shell, and seeps into the first layer of resistance wire ceramic plates along the seams of the cast iron parts. The liquid nitrogen vaporizes and carries away the heat, the waste salt solution corrodes the oxide layer on the surface of the ceramic plates, and the purified water vaporizes at the furnace temperature to form a steam film, stripping the heat away from the back of the ceramic plates.

The first layer of temperature drops downwards.

1250, 1100, 980, 740. The heating trend was interrupted; the resistance wire glowed red-hot on the inside of the ceramic plate, but the temperature of the ceramic plate itself had dropped to a point where it was insufficient to conduct heat to the second layer. The temperature of the liquid nitrogen inside the true brain container stabilized at -19 degrees Celsius and stopped rising.

The second layer of living fragments was detected.

The constant temperature heat source of 63 degrees Celsius suddenly fluctuated—58 degrees, 62 degrees, 67 degrees, 55 degrees. The surface temperature of the fragment began to fluctuate violently, not passively cooled, but actively releasing heat—it was resisting cooling. At the same time, the fragment itself released a series of high-frequency pulses, the frequency of which was consistent with the nerve handshake signal emitted by the tendrils of Station 51, but with a higher intensity. After sweeping across the furnace shell, the pulses spread along the ground rail surface, heading straight towards Station 51.

"It wants to activate the remaining pawls at Station 51," Xiao Huo said.

There was no response from station 51. The constant temperature chamber was emptied, the locking claws melted into the refining furnace, and the living fragments and stiff blocks were still hanging within the monitoring range of the cryogenic suppressor on the outside of 005, at ten degrees Celsius, without any movement.

The pulse swept back. This time, it wasn't directed outwards—it was directed to the internal control bus of the incinerator. A red light illuminated on the control cabinet at the rear of the furnace, activating an independent circuit. The small flame pulled out a circuit diagram—a self-destruct sequence, bypassing the broadcast system and the main network of the station, injecting oxidizer directly from the gas valve at the bottom of the furnace, preparing to push the first layer of resistance wires to an overload state, burn through the ceramic plate, then burn the second layer, and finally detonate the third layer of liquid nitrogen container.

The countdown timer on the radio lit up.

A red number pops up on the main screen: 180 seconds. 179. 178.

"Wang Hu, dismantle the inspection port."

Wang Hu jumped down from the side of the 012 protective shell, and the hoisting arm unfolded. He replaced the hook at the end of the arm with a pry bar, inserting it into the bolt holes of the furnace inspection port cover. The inspection port was located directly behind the furnace body, low to the ground, and was an old-style cast iron cover plate with four rusted bolts. He applied force with the pry bar; the first nut cracked, and rust splintered from the threads; the second nut broke off completely, rolling to the ground; the third and fourth nut broke off in the same prying motion. The cover plate fell off, revealing the inspection port.

The opening is 40 centimeters wide and 30 centimeters high, leading to the furnace chamber interlayer. Between the furnace outer shell and the first layer of ceramic plates is the maintenance interlayer, with a gap of 8 centimeters, just enough for a person to lean halfway in sideways.

Wang Hu looked inside.

The interlayer was full of ash. Not ordinary ash—it was a grayish-white powdery substance that had been burned at high temperatures, and it would crumble into powder if stepped on. The temperature of the outer wall of the furnace was still very high. When a flashlight was shone on it, the back of the ceramic plate on the innermost side of the interlayer was still glowing red, but the temperature had already dropped from over a thousand degrees to over four hundred degrees. The red color was the residual heat from the cooling process.

Looking further in—the second layer of living fragments.

It adheres to the back of the ceramic plate, not evenly covering it, but concentrated in the central area of ​​the ceramic plate, corresponding to the area directly behind the furnace observation window. A dozen or so thin filaments extend outwards from the palm-sized dark silver tissue, extending along the gaps in the ceramic plate towards the third layer of the true brain container, with the longest few approaching the container's sealing ring.

The fragment's surface bears old scars—like the previous two fragments, its edges are torn, and the wounds have carbonized into a black, hard shell. But this one is larger, twice as thick as the fragment in the water jacket of Station 50, and has three parallel old cuts on its surface, revealing a dark silver active core deep within the cuts, which is slowly pulsating.

The pulsation frequency is synchronized with the actual brain nerve signals.

"It's not parasitizing," Xiao Huo's voice changed. "It's synchronizing. The fragment is treating the neural impulses of the real brain as its own heartbeat rhythm. If it completely covers the surface of the brain, it can take over the output of neural signals—at that time, the real brain will still be alive, but the fragment will be the one speaking."

The red light on the control cabinet is flashing rapidly.

Countdown: 120 seconds.

The self-destruct mechanism has activated the gas valve, and the combustion aid is rising from the bottom of the furnace. The residual heat on the back of the first ceramic plate is starting to rise again from over 400 degrees Celsius. 500, 550, 600. The heating rate is faster than before—the combustion aid vaporizes on the surface of the resistance wire, mixes with oxygen, and once the ignition point is reached, the entire interlayer will become a secondary combustion chamber.

Su Yuan pressed the communication button.

"Refining furnace. Dark gold conduit. Insert into the interlayer and draw away the heat from the second layer."

The mobile refining furnace unfolds from the side panel of the vehicle body, with the furnace opening aligned with the maintenance port. A dark gold conduit extends from below the furnace body, its diameter reduced to a six-millimeter thin tube, probing into the interlayer along the edge of the maintenance port. The tube opening does not contact the living fragment—it remains three centimeters away from the fragment itself—and the inner wall of the conduit is reversed.

Heat extraction.

The surface temperature of the fragment plummeted from 63 degrees Celsius. 55 degrees, 48 ​​degrees, 41 degrees. The fragment itself began to vibrate violently—not convulsing, but high-frequency vibrations, so high that they appeared as ghosting on thermal imaging. Six thin filaments retracted from the surface of the real brain container, retreating along the gaps in the ceramic plates, curling into a ball, attempting to preserve the core temperature.

"The waste brine is being backfilled," Su Yuan said.

The inner wall of the conduit is switched. Heating is stopped, and reverse injection begins—waste brine from station 46 is sprayed from the pipe outlet and poured onto the surface of the fragment. The waste brine, at -45 degrees Celsius, vaporizes instantly upon contact with the residual heat of the fragment, causing salt to precipitate and form a grayish-white crystalline film on the fragment's surface.

The crystalline membrane covered the active core of the fragment. The pulsation rhythm became disordered—jumping from 72 to 95 times per minute, then to 130 times per minute, before gradually slowing down to 78, 62, and 45 times per minute.

The temperature of the fragment itself dropped to eight degrees Celsius.

Wang Hu carried the cryogenic suppressor—a flat, rectangular box recast from Station 51—from 013 and hung it on the outside of the 005 naval compartment. He aligned the suppressor with the maintenance port and activated it. The suppressor released a spray of cooling mixture at a temperature of -55 degrees Celsius, the mist-like droplets covering the surface of the debris.

The temperature dropped from eight degrees to five degrees. The temperature dropped from five degrees to zero degrees.

The fragments ceased vibrating. Six thin filaments hardened, detached from the cracks in the ceramic plate, and struck the accumulated dust at the bottom of the interlayer, breaking into several pieces. The dark silver tissue turned grayish-black, and the surface crystalline film cracked due to the low temperature. The cracks extended along the old scars, revealing the already stagnant dark silver core inside.

The third layer of the true brain container is intact.

Su Yuan stood up.

"Wang Hu, dismantle the third cryogenic preservation chamber."

Wang Hu peered half his body through the inspection port, replacing the crane arm with a clamp. The clamp jaws gripped the base flange of the real brain container—an old-fashioned quick-connect interface with a sealing ring and a locking mechanism. He unscrewed the locking mechanism, pulled out the sealing ring, and the container detached from the base. Liquid nitrogen seeped from the interface, dripping onto the bottom plate of the interlayer, where it froze into ice beads along the accumulated ash.

The clamps lifted the container out.

The transparent outer shell is a standard cryogenic preserver from old Blue Star, made of low-temperature resistant quartz glass. The liquid nitrogen filling port is at the top of the container; the sealing ring has been drilled through with a living filament, and the surface has extremely fine pinholes. The openings are frozen at low temperatures, temporarily preventing leakage. Inside the container, the blue pulsating light is intact, the surface of the nerve tissue is smooth, with no puncture marks or necrotic areas.

Comparison of the pulse rhythm of the Little Torch and the idle speed of the Devourer.

Fully synchronized.

The stability of the Devouring Wasteland's core in parallel operation is currently 73%. The true brain's pulse beats 72 times per minute, synchronized with the stability fluctuations—when the stability rises to 74%, the pulse beats faster; when the stability drops to 71%, the pulse beats slower.

"It's listening," Qin Yan typed. "It's been listening to the changes in the idling speed of the Devourer for fourteen years."

His metal sheet paused on the stretcher armrest for a moment, then came out again.

"001's backup brain. It's not a full-size traction brain, but a downgraded copy. However, its neural protocols are intact. If connected to the Zhenshan core, it can push the parallel stability to over 90%."

The countdown light on the control cabinet flickered.

Sixty-three seconds remain on the countdown. But the combustion aid in the furnace has already filled the bottom of the jacket, the liquid level touching the back of the ceramic plate, just one centimeter away from the exposed contact of the resistance wire. Once it makes contact, the entire jacket will become a combustion chamber, and flames will shoot out from the inspection port.

The broadcast of the self-destruct program has changed its voice.

It was no longer Ji Yun's recording; it was a mechanical prompt. The voice was cold, and the speech was rapid.

"The backup file has been retrieved. The neural calibration station at station 53 has locked the backup file number. If calibration is not initiated within thirty minutes, the backup file will automatically melt down."

A red light illuminated at the bottom of the real brain container.

The light came on suddenly—not gradually, but in an instant from complete darkness to full brightness. The red light spread upwards from the bottom of the container, along the liquid nitrogen filling port to the sealing ring, then climbed to the middle of the container, and finally converged at the top to form a ring-shaped warning sign.

The insignia follows the standard format of the old Blue Star Expeditionary Force: a red ring with an inverted triangle in the center, containing the number thirty. The numbers are counted down—twenty-nine: fifty-nine, twenty-nine: fifty-eight, twenty-nine: fifty-seven.

"Thirty seconds turned into thirty minutes?" Wang Hu handed the real brain container to the old mechanic for temporary fixation, then turned to look at the monitor screen. "How come it's shrunk so much?"

"It's not a downgrade." Xiao Huo pulled out an old document about the neural calibration station at Station 53. "The design standard for the calibration station at Station 53 is that it must be connected for calibration within thirty minutes after the backup is taken out. But this device was modified by Ji Yun fourteen years ago—she changed the thirty minutes to thirty seconds. It wasn't a system modification, it was a physical modification—she installed an independent timer at the bottom of the container, which skipped the main network broadcast."

"She doesn't believe in the system," Tang Lan said.

"What she doesn't trust is the calibration." Su Yuan looked at the platform map of Station 053. "The calibration station will connect the backup to the Great Wall mainnet for authentication. Once authenticated, as long as any residue of the living fragment remains on the surface of the backup brain, it will be written into the mainnet protocol as a legitimate neural signal. She would rather shorten the time than let the backup brain be authenticated."

The furnace countdown jumped to thirty seconds. Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight.

The surface of the combustion accelerant touched the exposed contact of the resistance wire.

With a loud bang, the interior of the interlayer ignited. Flames shot upwards from the bottom of the interlayer, spreading along the eight-centimeter gap between the ceramic plate and the outer shell of the furnace. The flame front had a temperature of 1,300 degrees Celsius and was pale blue in color.

Su Yuan didn't turn around. "Refining furnace. Devour all the remnants of the incineration line."

The mobile refining furnace opening is fully open. It's not the previous size—it's an expanded wide opening, two meters high and one and a half meters wide, large enough to swallow an entire section of the train car shell.

Dark gold conduits extended from the furnace opening and plunged into the maintenance port. Not just one—but six conduits simultaneously probed into the interlayer. The first conduit drew away the heat from the flames, reducing the temperature inside the interlayer from 1300 to 700 degrees Celsius. The second conduit absorbed the combustion aid, and the liquefied gas flowed along the conduit wall into the furnace recovery tank. The third conduit secured the mounting bracket of the first layer of resistance wire ceramic plates, pulling the entire ceramic plate off the furnace inner wall. The fourth conduit entangled the second layer of living debris and rigid blocks, dragging it out of the interlayer. The fifth conduit plunged into the gas valve at the bottom of the furnace, severing the connection between the valve body and the control cabinet. The sixth conduit hooked onto the lifting lugs on the furnace outer shell, dragging the entire incinerator towards the furnace opening.

The flames went out. The first layer of ceramic plates was dragged into the furnace, the resistance wire still glowing red, and melted into molten copper upon entering the furnace. The second layer of living fragments and stiffened blocks followed into the furnace; the grayish-black lumps melted instantly upon contact with the molten metal, without any further reaction.

The third layer of the true brain preservation base was also put into the furnace. Inside the base were remnants of an old-fashioned neural signal reader. The reader's motherboard had been removed, and the gold-plated contacts were intact. Ji Yun's modified independent timer was soldered onto the motherboard, and the countdown stopped at seventeen seconds.

Freeze for seventeen seconds.

Su Yuan told her to keep the timer she had left behind, without melting it. "Take the individual timer apart, seal it separately, and hang it on the 009 commemorative hanger. It's her stuff."

Then came the furnace shell, control cabinet, feeding port robotic arm, gas valve assembly, combustion aid pipeline, and quartz glass observation window—all the equipment related to the No. 52 incineration line was dragged into the refining furnace.

The temperature inside the furnace dropped to room temperature. The dark red platform dimmed, leaving only the red hand lights on the outside of 013 and 005 still lit.

The refining furnace has started producing parts.

The first item is the neural conduction core access module. It was recast using the motherboard of the true brain preserver base left by Ji Yun, the gold-plated contacts of the old-style neural signal reader, and remnants of the Zhenshan core energy conduction tube shell. The access module is installed above the energy conduction tube interface on the inner side of the front beam of the Devouring Wasteland, directly connecting to the energy conduction tube's main bus. It has a built-in independent neural protocol conversion chip, bypassing Great Wall mainnet authentication and not triggering network identification. The access port is compatible with the true brain container.

The second component is the cryogenic transport pylon. It was recast using fragments of the brain container shell, the 014 spare liquid nitrogen storage tank, and remnants of the cryogenic suppressor from Station 51. The pylon is installed in the transition section between the 012 forward sled and the 013 casualty compartment. The temperature is automatically maintained at -20 degrees Celsius, and it has an independent liquid nitrogen circulation secondary pipe connected to the 014 cooling compartment, which can maintain a constant temperature for 24 hours even if the main power grid fails.

The third component is a shielding cover for residual signals from living debris. It was recast using the remnants of the incinerator control cabinet, the insulation layer of the ceramic plate of the resistance wire at station 52, and the slag residue from living debris. The shielding cover covers the outside of the real brain access chamber and can block the detection of neural pulses from living debris, with a frequency range of 0.5 Hz to 15 MHz, the same frequency as the neural handshake signal from the debris.

Su Yuan instructed Wang Hu to install the real brain container into the access cabin.

Wang Hu carried the cryogenic container from 013 to the front beam of the Devourer. The hydraulic clamps locked onto the container flange, and the connection port automatically aligned—the port was an old-style nerve conduction plug, perfectly matching the old Zhenshan backup interface at the bottom of the container. The plug was not powered; it first physically engaged, the latch locked in place, and the sealing ring automatically expanded to seal the interface. The internal cooling pipe of the connection chamber connected to the 014 liquid nitrogen auxiliary pipe, and the temperature stabilized at minus eighteen degrees Celsius.

"Connect," Su Yuan said.

The access module motherboard is powered on.

The real brain neural signals are read from the container, converted into a synchronous pulse format recognizable by the Zhenshan core via a neural protocol conversion chip, and injected into the main bus of the energy conduction tube. The pulses travel upwards along the conduit and enter the Zhenshan core neural interface.

The core idle speed beat jerked slightly.

It's not resonance—it's recognition. The Zhenshan core is recognizing the connected backup brain. The idle speed drops from 1240 RPM to 1170 RPM, then back to 1240 RPM, stabilizing. The core parallel stability begins to fluctuate.

Seventy-three, seventy-seven, eighty-two, eighty-five, eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-one.

It stopped at 91%.

New data pops up on the main screen: Zhenshan core parallel stability 91% · Neural conduction redundancy restored · Full group synchronization latency reduced to 12 milliseconds.

Inside cabin 013, the wristband vibration of the frostbitten patient stopped.

It didn't gradually stop—it vanished instantly. The nylon weave layer re-adheded to the wrist, and the skin on the surface of the frostbite spots changed from taut to loose. The injured person looked down at their wrist; their fingers had loosened.

The veteran mechanic squatted in front of four water cups. The water surface calmed simultaneously—not calmed, but synchronized. The water in all four cups swayed at the same frequency, in sync with the idling speed of the Devourer, but the amplitude was extremely small, less than a millimeter. The cup with the cracked bottom had only a sliver of water remaining at the bottom, the surface so flat that it could reflect the image of the red hand lamp.

"It's synchronized," the veteran mechanic said.

On the main screen in the control room, data for the entire trainset showed: the shock absorption frequency of the 013 casualty compartment was automatically optimized; the tension of the fixing belt of the third life compartment was fine-tuned to the optimal value; the stress of the 005 tail anchor tail beam decreased from 23 to 20.8; the liquid nitrogen circulation efficiency of the 014 cooling compartment increased by 8%; and the wear prediction of the 012 forward exploration roller wheel pair decreased by 15%.

The real brain is adjusting the entire group.

It doesn't think independently—it's a backup brain, not the main brain. But it can read the entire train's mechanical data and automatically optimize vibration reduction parameters. This is the instinct of the train's traction brain.

"The purpose of the Zhenshan Traction Brain is to maintain the real-time dynamic balance of heavily loaded military trains," Qin Yan typed out. "The main brain can make synchronous neural decisions for the entire trainset, while the backup brain can only handle mechanical balancing. But that's enough."

Wang Hu found a metal plaque in the wreckage of the incineration line control cabinet. The plaque was larger than those at the previous stations, rectangular, and different in size from the 009 steel plate. It was a standard old Blue Star station nameplate, with "Station No. 52 - Waste Incineration Line" written on the front, and four lines of text engraved on the back:

"The backup file number has been locked at the neural calibration station No. 53."

"Don't let the real brain connect to the calibration station."

"That would involve incorporating living metal as a protective layer into the neural protocol."

"Station 54 has what you lack most."

Signed Ji Yun.

Wang Hu handed the iron plaque to Su Yuan. Su Yuan glanced at the last line but remained silent.

A knock sounded inside the 020 isolation box. The rhythm matched that of the 009 road sign, a muffled sound, as if struck through lead. Little Fire translated: "She's referring to the last part of the key's code."

Qin Yan tapped the metal plate in response: "There's a memory pulse inside the true brain container. It's not a real-time signal—it was stored there fourteen years ago. Recorded by Ji Yun."

Su Yuan looked at the True Brain Access Pod.

The access module has a separate data read port on its side, which displays the status of the internal storage chip: full. Last write time: fourteen years ago. Write source: manual input, not broadcast, not network, but physical access.

"Release them," Su Yuan said.

The small flame retrieves data from the storage chip. The green light on the read port illuminates, and the data stream enters the main screen.

The image is grayscale—not because the main screen has poor image quality, but because the recording itself is only in grayscale. It was shot with an old Blue Star handheld recorder, so the resolution is low, the edges are distorted, and the person filming was shaking.

The camera is focused on the cryogenic container for the real brain. The container has just been sealed, and liquid nitrogen is being injected, with white mist rising from the injection port. The photographer puts his hand into the frame; the hand is thin, with distinct knuckles, and the index finger is covered by an old Blue Star engineering glove. The glove is worn through at the index finger, revealing the fingernail.

Those were Ji Yun's hands.

She moved the camera up, focusing it on her own face.

Her hair was tied back, her forehead was sweaty, her cheeks were covered in grime, and her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her eyes weren't looking at the camera—they were looking at the real brain in the container.

Then she smiled. Not a smile of relief—it was the kind of smile you get after being exhausted to the limit and finally finishing the last thing.

"If 001 arrives at station 52, tell it."

Her voice was soft, with the low-frequency rumble of an incinerator running in the background.

"Station 54 holds the final piece of the Great Wall Key's password. Don't look for the key itself—it's on me. I'm using it to navigate the artificial route and lead the living fragment to the other side. The password is at Station 54; it's numbers."

She stopped and glanced at the top of the camera—perhaps checking the time, perhaps checking the furnace temperature.

"The number is the old code for crew 011. It's the last part of the key's password. Without it, the Great Wall defense line can't be breached."

After saying her last sentence, she stepped back from the camera, her finger leaving the edge of the lens. The camera jerked slightly, showing what was behind her—in the warehouse of Station 52, several rows of old Blue Star Expeditionary Force supply crates were piled up, the seals intact, not scrap.

The recording has ended.

Everyone in the control room fell silent for a few seconds.

In the control room of Base 04, a technician transmitted the image from the screen to the main screen. Ji Yun's face was frozen in the last frame—disheveled hair, cracked lips, and broken fingers, standing in front of the waste incineration line, with piles of unopened old Blue Star supplies behind him.

Lu Mingyuan stood up. He didn't speak, but took off his hat and held it in his hand.

The old engineer turned his back, picked up a wrench from the table, then put it down. His hand was empty, unsure where to put it.

Wang Hu squatted down next to the access cabin, took the independent timer modified by Ji Yun off the 009 commemorative rack, and glanced at it—the countdown was stopped at seventeen seconds, unchanged for fourteen years.

He put the timer back in its original position on the rack.

The neural induction field at station 53 suddenly intensified.

On the monitoring screen of Xiao Huo, all the values ​​in the direction of station 53 were rising - the magnetic field strength jumped from 0.3 millitalas to 1.2, the induction frequency jumped from twelve times per minute to thirty-five, all the couplings inside the platform opened at the same time, and each coupling clamp was powered on, with the jaws flashing blue light.

Inside cabin 013, two wounded soldiers suddenly closed their eyes.

It wasn't blinking—it was simultaneously and forcefully closing the eyes, with the eyeballs rapidly moving under the eyelids, indicating REM sleep. The EEG monitor alarmed—the brainwave frequency of the two injured individuals jumped from normal alpha waves to theta waves, then to delta waves, forcibly pulling them into deep sleep.

Tang Lan pressed down on the wounded man's shoulder. The wounded man's body did not react—not because he was stiff, but because he was overly relaxed, and his muscles had completely lost their tension.

"They've been pulled in," Qin Yan typed. "A neural induction field. Not harm—it's access. It uses the induction field to synchronize the injured person's brainwaves into a calibration mode, essentially using the person as a living reference for neural signal calibration."

The sign at the entrance of station 053, illuminated by a flashlight, reads: "Neurological Calibration Station." The sign is clean, rust-free, and newer than any of the previous stations.

Xiao Huo pulls out the floor plan of station number 53.

The platform was long and narrow, with an old-fashioned neurological calibration platform in the center and twelve rows of seats on either side. The seats were equipped with old-fashioned metal headrests with built-in electrodes to read brain waves. The armrests of the chairs were fitted with wrist straps made of nylon, with the same woven texture as the wristbands worn by the wounded.

Behind the calibration station is a separate control panel. The control panel display is lit, showing the following message: "Backup part number confirmed. Please connect the backup part to the calibration station within 30 seconds. Otherwise, the backup part will automatically melt down."

The 17-second countdown of the independent timer restarts.

Sixteen seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

Fourteen seconds.

The red light at the bottom of the brain container illuminates again. The external screen displays a meltdown countdown synchronized with the container temperature—the instant the countdown reaches zero, the liquid nitrogen circulation is cut off, and the residual heat inside the container will trigger the autolysis of the nerve tissue.

Su Yuan did not allow the car to stop.

The Devourer hurtled toward the entrance of Station 53 at a speed of one and a half kilometers. Its front wheels rolled over the threshold, and the red lights shone on the inner wall of the platform.

The walls are white.

It's not painted white—it's the interior wall of the old Blue Star Standard Calibration Station, covered with matte white tiles. It hasn't accumulated dust in fourteen years, and the wall reflects light so brightly it's dazzling.

The twelve metal headrests of the row of seats are simultaneously powered on, and a blue electrode ring illuminates around the surface. Armrests in each row of chairs pop out with retaining straps; the nylon strap openings automatically open and close, waiting for a person's wrist to slip inside.

The calibration platform operation screen is flipped.

One line of text disappeared, and another line appeared: "Please connect the backup brain to the calibration station's main interface and secure at least one crew member to the reference seat. The calibration process will automatically compare neural signals. Once the comparison is complete, the backup brain will be officially incorporated into the Great Wall Defense Neural Protocol."

The last line of text paused for half a second, then another line of red text appeared:

"During the comparison process, the neural signals of the reference crew member will be permanently written into the backup brain."

Qin Yan smashed the iron sheet from his hand.

The metal sheet hit the stretcher armrest, bounced up, and landed on the floor.

His hits were extremely heavy, each one slamming onto the armrest.

Don't answer.

"The calibration platform is not for comparison."

"It's replication. It writes in the neural signals of a living person as an auxiliary protocol for the backup brain. Once written, the backup brain is no longer an independent unit—it becomes a semi-parasite that requires a living reference to function. Ji Yun didn't take the job back then because she discovered this mechanism."

Tang Lan drew her gun.

It wasn't facing outwards—it was facing the frostbitten soldier inside cabin 013 who was trying to move his wristband.

The injured man didn't speak. His eyes were still closed, his eyeballs moving under his eyelids, pulled into a deep sleep by the induction field, his consciousness unclear. But somehow his right hand had loosened its grip on his left wrist, his fingers reaching for the restraint buckle.

Tang Lan pressed the muzzle of the gun against the metal handrail, not pointing it at anyone.

"Don't touch the latch."

Her voice was very soft, but the wounded man's fingers stopped.

Ten seconds left. Nine seconds. Eight seconds.

Su Yuan pressed the communication button.

"Full formation. Disconnect the broadcast connection to station 53. Xiao Huo, use the Zhenshan core anti-phase pulse to disrupt the induction frequency. Wang Hu, dismantle the power supply room for the calibration station's main interface."

He paused for a moment.

"I won't connect to the real brain."

Seven seconds.