I'm doing engineering in the instance.

Chapter 23 Settlement #002

The signal that the realm is ending is neither sound nor light.

It's a feeling.

Xie Chengzhou sat in the corner of the control room, placing his hands on the concrete wall, feeling the rhythm of the water level dropping—the vibrations were decreasing, decreasing, and then disappearing—and then he felt that thing: a slight, even pressure coming up from the soles of his feet, not vibration, not temperature, but a feeling like being steadily caught by something, a mirror image of the "sinking" he experienced when he first entered the realm.

He memorized this in his mind: the end signal of the experience, even pressure on the soles of the feet, upward, lasting about three seconds, symmetrical to the entry perception.

Then my vision went white.

It's not a blinding white, but the kind of color that fades from the edges until only white remains, like someone taking a negative out of a darkroom, exposing it, and exposing it again, until nothing can be seen anymore.

Xie Chengzhou stood in the white space and checked his body's condition: both hands, ten fingers, the flashlight was gone, the memo was gone, the water stains on his coat were still there, and the cut on the outside of his right calf had scabbed over and was no longer bleeding.

He waited in the white for about three seconds, and then the white began to shrink, from the edges to the center, like a piece of paper being folded from the four corners to the middle, finally folding into a dot and disappearing.

He was in Yuan City.

It wasn't the entrance plaza I first entered Yuan City. It was a semi-circular platform with low metal railings around the edges. In the center of the platform were several stone benches, and a few people were sitting on them with expressions of calm that said, "I just finished something." It wasn't relaxation, but rather a brief blankness after completing something.

Old Zhao was two steps to his right, holding a thermos in his hand with the lid screwed on, standing there, glancing around.

"They're out," Old Zhao said.

"We're out," Xie Chengzhou said.

Old Zhao changed his grip on the thermos, unscrewed the lid, took a sip, and then screwed the lid back on.

Xie Chengzhou noticed the condition of Lao Zhao's right leg: he was standing with his weight on his left leg, his right leg slightly straight, not bent more than thirty degrees. The subcutaneous bleeding was not visible under his trouser leg, but judging from his posture, the leg injury was still there and had not disappeared with the end of the adventure.

He memorized it: Old Zhao's right leg injury persisted after the trial ended, and injuries sustained during the trial were not eliminated with the settlement.

He glanced down at the inside of his wrist.

The blue text below number C-0047 is still there: "Journey·Pipeline·Settlement Completed".

Then the writing disappeared, leaving only the number, light gray, stable.

Why did you save me?

Old Zhao's voice wasn't a question, but a statement, as if he were finally saying something he had been thinking about for a long time.

Xie Chengzhou did not answer immediately.

It's not because he doesn't know the answer, but because he does know the answer, yet he's judging whether the answer is accurate.

"Unknown variables are more dangerous when they are out of sight than when they are in sight," he said. "And there's another reason—you know about the pipes, but I don't."

Old Zhao paused for a moment.

It's not the kind of silence that suggests "what are you thinking about?", but rather the kind of silence that suggests "you've heard something and need time to process it."

Then he laughed, not a loud laugh, but the kind of laugh you'd seen many times on construction sites, the kind that comes out when someone's words have been right—a short laugh that comes from the corner of his mouth and then disappears.

"After thirty years in the plumbing business," he said, "this is the first time someone has said I'm useful."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Thank you."

Xie Chengzhou nodded. "The leg needs to be treated," he said. "Let's take care of this first."

Old Zhao gripped the thermos in his hand for a moment. "How do you know about the C-7 valve?"

"There was a note in the supply box in the third maintenance room," Xie Chengzhou said. "It said C-7 valve, to the left. It was under the rope, pressed at the bottom, and the edges were soaked with water. I saw it when you took the rope, and I only took it after you took the rope."

Old Zhao paused for a moment.

"I didn't see the note," he said.

"I know," Xie Chengzhou said.

He took out a note from the inside pocket of his coat, unfolded it, and glanced at it in the light of Yuan City: "C-7 valve, left." The handwriting was neat, not hastily written, but prepared beforehand. He turned the note over; the back was blank.

"The handwriting is neat and not hastily written," he said. "It was prepared in advance and put in there. The supply box lock was intact, but someone had opened it, put a note in it, and then locked it again. Someone knew that the C-7 valve was a critical point, someone knew that we would go to the third maintenance room, and someone was waiting for us there in advance."

He put the note back in his pocket. "Have you seen this kind of note in the copies?"

Old Zhao shook his head. "First time."

"That person," Old Zhao paused, "is he helping us, or is he testing us?"

Xie Chengzhou said, "I don't know."

He paused for a moment, then added, "But these two things are not mutually exclusive."

They found medical resources in Source City—not a fixed clinic, but a stall set up on the edge of a semi-circular square. The stall owner was a woman in her thirties, with several metal boxes in front of her. The boxes were labeled "Basic First Aid - Source Coin Exchange".

Xie Chengzhou walked over and glanced at the prices: simple bandaging, 10 source coins; soft tissue treatment, 30 source coins; bone examination, 80 source coins.

"Soft tissue treatment," he said, "for one person."

The stall owner glanced at Old Zhao's right leg. "Sit down," she said, "let me take a look."

Old Zhao sat down on a folding stool and rolled up his trouser legs.

Xie Chengzhou glanced at it: the area of ​​subcutaneous bleeding was a little larger than when he last checked it in the historical realm, spreading from the middle of the calf to below the knee, and the color was dark purple with a yellowish-green ring around the edge.

The stall owner put on gloves, turned Old Zhao's calf over and looked it over, then pressed a few points and asked, "Does it hurt here?" "Here," "Here," Old Zhao replied, "It hurts," "It hurts," "No."

"Soft tissue contusion, no fracture," the stall owner said. "It needs to be treated to reduce swelling, with cold compresses and pressure. Avoid overuse of this leg for 24 hours."

"Here," Old Zhao said, "how do we calculate 24 hours?"

"The time spent outside the country," the stall owner said, "is twenty-four hours after you return to reality."

Old Zhao nodded.

After finishing, Xie Chengzhou paid thirty Yuan coins, memorized the amount, and then stood at the edge of the square, waiting for Lao Zhao to pull down his trousers.

"You're here," Old Zhao said. "Are you going to move on to the next one?"

"Yes," Xie Chengzhou said, "but not immediately. We need to organize the data from this time."

"Data," Old Zhao repeated the word, "you've been recording it all along."

"Yes," Xie Chengzhou said, "the rules of each copy have structural patterns, and recording them can improve the efficiency of the next judgment."

Old Zhao twirled his thermos in his hand. "I've worked in the pipes for twenty-three years," he said. "I've never thought of using the word 'rules' to describe pipes. I just feel that pipes have their own temperament; you have to feel them, not analyze them."

Xie Chengzhou did not answer immediately after listening.

He went through the sentence in his mind: "feeling" and "analysis". In his framework, these two things are not opposites. Feeling is the way data is inputted, and analysis is the way data is processed. They are two stages of the same process.

But that's not what Lao Zhao was talking about. What Lao Zhao meant was that his feelings themselves were the answer, and didn't need to be turned into data.

"Which method do you think is more effective?" Xie Chengzhou asked.

Old Zhao thought for a moment, "I don't know," he said. "I only know that my methods have allowed me to work in the pipeline for twenty-three years without any major accidents."

Xie Chengzhou nodded. "This is valid proof," he said.

Old Zhao glanced at him and said, "You're a strange person."

"Is that so?" Xie Chengzhou said.

"But it's not bad," Old Zhao said, "it's just strange."

They stood at the edge of the square, silent, surrounded by the noise of Yuan City—voices, sounds of transactions, someone speaking loudly somewhere, the clanging of metal from somewhere else.

"What's your name?" Xie Chengzhou asked. "Your number."

Old Zhao flipped up his left wrist and showed it to him: "JG-0471."

"JG," Xie Chengzhou said, "is different from C."

"They're different," Old Zhao said. "JG is for infrastructure, C is for construction, EE is for equipment, and ME is for machinery. Each system has its own numbering prefix." He said this as if it were something very ordinary. "Didn't you know?"

"This is the first time I've heard of it," Xie Chengzhou said.

Old Zhao glanced at him, offered no comment, and simply said, "Your C-0047, 0047 is your serial number in the construction category. The smaller the number, the earlier you entered this system, or rather, the earlier you were selected."

Xie Chengzhou memorized the sentence and marked it "to be verified".

"Did someone tell you this, or did you infer it yourself?"

Old Zhao paused for a moment.

"Someone told me," he said, "but that person is no longer here."

He didn't explain what "gone" meant, and Xie Chengzhou didn't ask.

They stood by the pillar for a while without saying a word.

Old Zhao unscrewed the thermos, took the last sip, then turned the thermos upside down and poured the remaining water onto the ground. The water spread thinly across the ground in Yuan City and quickly disappeared.

"I need to find a medical station," Old Zhao said, "for my leg."

Xie Chengzhou glanced at him. "It's already been dealt with," he said.

"I know," Old Zhao said, "I meant the follow-up check-up." He hung the thermos back on his belt, walked to the left, took two steps, stopped, turned around and said, "Next time I see you, I'll treat you to tea."

Xie Chengzhou watched him walk into the crowd, the thermos cup dangling on his belt before disappearing into the crowd.

Xie Chengzhou sat down on a stone bench at the edge of the square, focusing his attention on the number on his wrist, feeling the sensation of "confirming the acceptance point," and then the space shifted.

Personal space.

He sat down at the worktable and retrieved the settlement information for #002:

"Experience · Pipeline · Rating: S"

Main Quest: Complete (Close the C-7 branch control valve)

"Survival Status: Alive"

"Collaboration Bonus: +1 (Leading other players to complete the dungeon)"

"Source Coins: +180 points"

"Reward: Pipeline Structure Analysis Report #002 (Saved in Consciousness Archive)"

He finished recording all the data, then turned to a new page and began organizing the rule data for #002.

Rule 1: "Open flames are not allowed in the maintenance room" - It has been verified that crawlers have a tracking response to heat sources, and open flames will trigger a mass response.

Rule 2: "After a fluid anomaly is triggered, the player must reach the nearest maintenance room within sixty seconds" - verified, three triggers, accurate window period.

Rule 3: "Do not damage the pipeline structure" - It has been verified that damaging the pipeline structure will trigger premature fluid anomalies.

Hidden Rule A: "Crawlers follow light, not sound" - verified, confirmed multiple times, credibility: high.

Hidden Rule B: "Fluid anomalies have a fixed triggering cycle, approximately once every eleven minutes, with a window period of about sixty seconds" - verified, with an error of approximately ±2 minutes based on three triggering data.

Implicit Rule C: "Crawler groups move in a directional manner, following light sources rather than sound" - verified, based on two observations, credibility: medium to high.

He paused below the rule summary, then wrote: "Cross-replica common mode: #001 rule structure, four explicit rules, four implicit rules; #002 rule structure, three explicit rules, three implicit rules. All have a physical and logical basis, with no random rules. The possibility of a designer exists, confidence level: 70%. Awaiting verification by the third replica."

Then he turned to a new page and made a separate note about Old Zhao:

"Old Zhao, approximately sixty years old, retired plumber, ID JG-0471. Variable evaluation: valid. Knowledge type: experiential, unsystematic, but with higher accuracy than systematic knowledge in specific scenarios. Leg injury: persisted after the scenario ended, treated (soft tissue contusion, cold compress and pressure, avoid overuse for 24 hours). ID source information: someone told him, but that person is no longer here. Note: He said I speak strangely, but not badly."

He paused on the "Notes" line.

He said I spoke strangely, but not badly.

He knew this line had no engineering value. But he still wrote it down because he was thinking: Old Zhao asked, "Why did you save me?" He replied, "Unknown variables are more dangerous outside of our field of vision than within it. There's another reason, you know about pipelines that I don't." Old Zhao paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "Thank you."

During the period when Lao Zhao was silent, Xie Chengzhou did not think there was anything wrong.

But now he feels there's a problem.

The answer wasn't wrong—he was telling the truth. Old Zhao was indeed a variable, he did include Old Zhao's existence in the overall plan, and he did indeed guide Old Zhao through the entire instance based on this judgment. All of this is accurate.

But Lao Zhao remained silent.

"To be verified," he wrote in his memo. "Old Zhao: What did I say wrong?"

He put down the memo, placed his hand on the workbench, and felt the temperature of the surface—it was wooden and a little cool, but not the damp cold of pipes; it was a dry, consistent coolness.

He's here; he's come out.

Old Zhao came out, his leg injury was being treated, and he still had his thermos in his hand.

He flipped to the last page of his memo and wrote two lines below "To be verified: Lao Zhao: What did I say wrong?":

"#002 Pipeline Complete. Source of note: Unknown. The person who left the note knew the internal structure of the instance, knew that C-7 was a key node, and knew that a player would go to the third maintenance room. This was not accidental information."

He paused for a moment, then added a line: "G blueprint, B1 layer detonation point, also information that was implanted in advance."

He closed the memo and exited his personal space.

The noise of Yuan City returned to his surroundings. He stood by the pillar, letting the question linger in his mind for a moment:

Who left a way for him in the dungeon?

He didn't have an answer, but he put the question in the "to be verified" column, waiting for the day when there would be data to verify it.

On the last page of the memo, below the line for "G Drawings," he wrote the final line:

#002: Completed.

Then he walked forward.

The next instance awaits him.