Don't go to the moon, there are gods on the far side of the moon.

The night wind at the old ground station in the western suburbs was very strong.

Zhou Jianguo stood beside the manhole cover, his knuckles white as he gripped a wrench. Chen Rui turned on the second flashlight, its beam illuminating the manhole cover's serial number, XJ-0717, which looked as if it had just been pulled from the water, its edges covered with a ring of cold white frost.

Three short and two long.

The knocking came from below, the intervals were steady, and the force was restrained, as if the person knocking on the door knew how to behave properly.

Chen Rui swallowed hard. "Master, are there people downstairs?"

"Shut up," Zhou Jianguo said in a low voice. "Don't label it yet."

This message was simultaneously transmitted back to the main control room, and Xu Wangshu immediately marked it in the temporary regulations.

[Unknown voices must not be referred to as people by those present.]

Xiaoman looked at the rule and felt a chill run down her spine. She understood why Xu Wangshu had written it this way. As long as they said "there are people," the obligation to rescue would override any boundary judgment; as long as they said "down there," the direction would be defined by the other party.

Inside the toolbox, Lin Jibai's screen lit up very slowly.

Uncle Zhou, don't put your ear to the manhole cover.

Upon seeing this sentence, Zhou Jianguo immediately took a half step back and pulled Chen Rui behind him.

The knocking stopped.

Then, a woman's crying came from the edge of the manhole cover.

Chen Rui's expression changed instantly: "Mom?"

Zhou Jianguo slapped him on the back of the head: "Your mother is playing mahjong back in her hometown. She was just scolding you for not answering the phone."

Chen Rui's eyes were red, but he really didn't go any further. He took out his phone, his hand trembling as he dialed. The call connected, and he heard the sounds of mahjong tiles and his mother's loud, angry scolding. He cried as he was scolded, crying like a child.

The crying from under the manhole cover disappeared, replaced by other people's voices.

Someone called out Zhou Jianguo's name.

That was his wife who had passed away many years ago.

Old Zhou's hand holding the wrench suddenly trembled.

No one spoke in the control room. Qin Lan wanted to order the audio to be cut off, but Xu Wangshu raised his hand to stop her. She couldn't turn it off for him, nor could she listen for him. Boundaries aren't about stuffing people into a glass enclosure, but about giving them the choice when they most want to cross the line.

Zhou Jianguo stood there for a good ten seconds before speaking: "I heard my deceased wife's voice, but the source has not been verified. I will not fulfill any requests."

It was quiet under the manhole cover.

Xu Wangshu immediately sent public rules to all nodes: unknown signals can be recorded, but no individual may express their intent on their behalf; to establish contact, verifiable boundaries, exit methods, and the right to refuse must be given first.

Less than a minute after the rules were issued, the abandoned weather tower transmitted back images. A thin layer of frost had formed on the surface of the receiving dish at the top of the tower; the frost patterns were not lunar terrain, but rather inverted mouths. They opened and closed, emitting not cries, but the most familiar human voices from each node.

The hospital nurse heard a patient calling her.

The exhibition hall attendant heard a child ask why the lights were off.

Tianheng Security Guard heard his daughter say that the exam admission ticket had not been printed.

Each sound is not dangerous, yet they all hit the spot where people are most likely to reach out.

Wen Zhaolin's face gradually darkened: "It entered the door when people most wanted to make decisions for others."

Lin Jibai's flashlight flashed.

Don't mistake missing someone for a privilege.

Xiaoman typed this sentence into the DreamNet listening area. After a brief silence, the listening nodes reported one after another: "Sound heard, unverified, no response."

The upside-down mouths began to close.

But then the old radio suddenly started playing again.

This time there was no background noise.

Lin Wangchuan's voice came through clearly: "Ji Bai, don't listen to her."

The toolbox jolted violently.

Xiaoman almost lunged forward. She missed her father so much, it felt like her chest was being forcibly pried open. But as her hand landed on the lid of the box, she heard Lin Jibai lazily scolding her: "Don't rush to be a good person, good people are the easiest to get caught in a door."

She stopped.

Xu Wangshu stared at the radio and asked coldly, "Why is Uncle Lin missing a section of his left index finger?"

The radio went silent for a second.

"Cut machine," the voice said.

Xiaoman raised her head, tears still on her face, but her voice was hard: "You're wrong. He didn't lose any fingers; he just can't bend them because of the burns."

A sharp, grating sound came from the radio.

The fake voice gave itself away for the first time.

Beside the manhole cover in the western suburbs, Zhou Jianguo instructed Chen Rui to number all the old equipment on site. Beside the manhole were three discarded loudspeakers, a cracked-screen terminal, and a recording pen used for early inspections. Each time a new piece was numbered, the sound from under the manhole cover became a little weaker.

"Master, is it afraid of numbers?" Chen Rui asked.

"It's not that I'm afraid of the serial number," Zhou Jianguo said, pressing the wrench against the edge of the manhole cover. "I'm afraid we'll find out where it was pieced together."

Qin Lan forwarded this message to all nodes. Many people then snapped out of their fear and began sticking notes, taking photos, and reporting the locations of any abnormal devices around them. Those terrifying sounds scattered throughout the city suddenly transformed into registered points of failure.

The problem can be resolved.

Supernatural powers and strange phenomena are not to be trifled with.

A peculiar report also came from Tianheng headquarters. When the security team was dismantling the spare balance lights on the roof, an old megaphone suddenly called out Wen Zhaolin's name, the voice sounding like his mentor from his youth. That mentor had long since died in the early incident at Nantianmen, and Wen Zhaolin had written about his death as a "necessary price."

Wen Zhaolin listened but did not respond. He only wrote in the public record: "Hearing the voice of an old friend, seemingly taking advantage of my guilt, I did not exercise any authorization."

Qin Lan glanced at the record but didn't praise him.

But it wasn't deleted.

The fake Lin Wangchuan seemed to realize that simple impersonation was no longer effective and began to change its methods. It no longer spoke in complete sentences, but only kept spewing out fragments: hospital bills, Lin Xiaoman's cough when she was a child, Lin Jibai's panting when he fell while delivering takeout on a rainy night, and Xu Wangshu's suppressed breathing when she first entered the Guanghan Palace's cold storage.

It lays bare everyone's pain, forcing them to admit how much they want to find something higher to take responsibility for them.

Lin Jibai's flashlight suddenly lit up.

The pain is real, the door is fake.

This sentence was like a nail, driving many who were about to give way back into place. On the public screen in the main control room, the reports began to change from "I think I heard" to "I heard a certain kind of sound, source unverified." The language became much colder, and more like a wall.

The sounds from under the manhole cover in the western suburbs persisted. It began mimicking the sounds of mahjong tiles from Chen Rui's mother's phone call, even including a phrase she had just used to scold him. The color drained from Chen Rui's face; he still clutched his phone in his hand, his fingernails almost digging into the case.

Zhou Jianguo glanced at him, but didn't scold him. He simply handed him one of his earplugs and said, "If you're scared, just say so. Don't try to be brave."

Chen Rui put on his earplugs and said in a hoarse voice, "I'm scared. Keep recording and don't get close."

This sentence was saved by Xu Wangshu. Once fear is written down, it is no longer a handle that outsiders can exclusively possess.

On the rooftop of Tianheng Building, as the security team was removing the last megaphone, it suddenly emitted the cry of a baby. A young security guard, whose wife had just given birth, nearly stumbled and crossed the safety line. His colleague didn't pull him back; instead, he held up a video call from the hospital to his face. On the screen, a real baby was sleeping soundly, its face scrunched up like a little dumpling.

The young security guard squatted on the roof and cried for half a minute before personally labeling the megaphone with a number: "Suspected of using a newborn's voice, request not to be executed."

After hearing this, Wen Zhaolin remained silent for a long time.

Qin Lan asked, "What's wrong?"

"I used to think that people would make mistakes because of their emotions," Wen Zhaolin said in a low voice. "Now I realize that not allowing people to acknowledge their emotions is the biggest mistake."

A soft laugh suddenly came from under the manhole cover.

The laughter didn't sound like that of any acquaintance, but rather like the emptiness revealed after countless voices failed to be pieced together. Zhou Jianguo raised the wrench and spoke to the manhole cover for the first time, but not in response to its request.

"On-site statement: You can be recorded, but we can't do things for you."

The frost on the edge of the manhole cover receded quietly by about an inch.