Chapter 44 · The First Spark of Ash, Who Strikes First
Section One · Before the Fire Comes, the Wind Has Already Stirred
Gray Terrace is a fringe area outside any formal organization—located at the end of an old mineral transport route west of Iron Valley. It earned its name due to its sunken terrain and constant cold winds. Today, this desolate slope appears for the first time in a warning from the Fuxi System.
Jason stands atop a half-collapsed ironworks tower, gazing into the gray horizon, as the voice of Fuxi quietly echoes:
[Divination Prompt]☷ Wind over Earth (Ascending)
[Strategic Guidance]Hearts stir in the dark; the ground remains unclear. Set up wind-eyes; guide the air, not the fire.
He nods and turns to issue orders: "Mingxuan, open the ARGUS Spark Channel—we won't intervene directly, but release one memetic package."
Zhao Mingxuan is below the tower, flipping through a portable projection interface. With a flick of his fingers, a set of ARGUS visuals appear. At the center of the map, a yellow signal point slowly rises, with a brightness level of 0.4.
"Target Identification: Peripheral Spark Node, Codename 'Milo,' Forward Observer and Community Coordinator."
"What's in the package?" Jason asks softly.
"Not explicit—just a prompt: 'The place you guard is spreading information. You may choose to watch, or to speak.'" Zhao pauses. "Fuxi's suggestion is—to look at people, not fire."
"Do it," Jason replies.
At the same time, a three-person team led by Wells sneaks into the outer edge of Gray Terrace from another path. Disguised as traveling water vendors, they actually carry ARGUS port collectors to observe public reactions to the "Fire Speech" topic.
"Stick to the central axis," Wells whispers while adjusting his communicator. "No contact unless necessary—even if someone asks for help, observe first."
"Understood," a young male companion nods, showing the nervousness of a newcomer to the covert world.
Jason stands silently on the tower, watching the gray district below. Several figures begin to gather—not armed, not bearing gang flags—but ordinary people in worn uniforms, wearing gloves. They seem to be setting up a makeshift rain shelter, beside which sit several unsealed barrels of medicine and filtration equipment.
"Self-organized gathering," Zhao Mingxuan observes real-time data. "System classifies as 'ambiguous organizational activity.' Not yet within strike range."
"So ARGUS doesn't stop them," Jason smirks slightly. "It's watching how far they'll go."
"What if... they get out of control?" Maria's voice comes from the earpiece, as she observes from a side alley in the southwest sector with the three-man team.
"We're not guardians," Jason says calmly. "But we are observers."
—
Meanwhile, a three-member Spark Squad enters the southern highlands discreetly, dressed in plain gray clothes, no insignia. They were among the earliest selected peripheral support nodes—no names, no ranks, only one mission: witness whether faith arises spontaneously.
One opens a remote sensor, quickly recording street sound frequencies: "Keyword 'fire bearer brings fire' mentions rising to secondary alert threshold."
Another mutters, "Shouldn't we step in to maintain order?"
"The command was: remain undercover, only ensure safety," the leader replies. He's tall and thin, eyes calm. "If chaos erupts, use only basic intervention. Just don't let anyone die."
—
And farther still, near the northernmost railway ruins of Gray Terrace, a figure cloaked in gray sits alone on a bridge beam—Alice.
She rests a lightweight screen on her lap, rotating the ARGUS signal access map under her fingertips.
Jason's instruction to her was just one sentence: "Watch that girl called Milo."
She speaks no words, only fixing a small camera beneath a distant eavesline, her gaze cold and steady.
At this moment, she belongs to no fire, no faction.
She is merely—the shadow of fire.
[Fuxi Philosophy]
"Draw without releasing, watch it ignite itself. Not for control, but to judge who has already stepped out of darkness."
Section Two · Portraits of Observation: The First Murmurs of Fire
The streets of Gray Terrace have never been this quiet before.
Not silent—never truly silent—but the voices have become too soft. Whispers, murmurs, even toneless statements drift between broken buildings like threads in the wind.
Jason sits atop a ruined checkpoint booth, Maria and a young apprentice beside him. Outside the slanted roof window, the central arch plaza of Gray Terrace is visible. Several self-organized groups are setting up temporary shelters, placing water barrels, drawing chalk lines resembling transit routes on the ground.
"From above," Maria says softly through her binoculars, "these people clearly don't belong to the same group. See their old insignias on their clothes—three different kinds. And their actions—no unified coordination."
"But they're synchronizing," Jason watches a boy who laid down the waterproof sheet first. "What does ARGUS say?"
Zhao Mingxuan's voice comes from the other earpiece: "Just refreshed. Mentions of the word 'fire' have risen by 0.3% in the past ten minutes—but not as slogans, more like metaphors and questions."
"Examples?"
"Do you feel like anyone daring to take charge these days must be part of the Fire?"
"I'm not Fire… but if they are, I'll help them for a bit."
"Be careful—you know someone got photographed and reported yesterday just for mediating a fight."
Jason falls silent for a moment. "Where were these recorded?"
"West alley, south segment, plaza edges—all automatically captured near ARGUS nodes." Zhao pauses. "I didn't interfere, following your instructions."
Maria murmurs, "They're not asking 'who is Fire'… they're asking—'if I'm not Fire, then who will manage this chaos?'"
Just then, a slight commotion sounds below the booth.
A middle-aged man tapes a paper to a power pole—not a notice, but a color-printed altered image:
The original "Fire Bearer Spreads Fire" graffiti has been redrawn with "question-mark eyes" and a "blurred mouth," with handwritten text below:
"Don't ask me if I'm Fire. What you really want to know is—Are you afraid of me?"
A few nearby people stare at the image, confused. Someone mutters, "Who did this?"
Someone else chuckles, "Looks a lot like that woman with the eye patch from a few days ago… wasn't she one of the Fire people?"
"What kind of Fire do you mean?"
"None of us dare say. But definitely not ours."
"Really?"
No one answers.
Above, Jason smiles faintly.
He turns to Maria: "Log this. Send it to the Spark Meme Group for backup."
Maria records it and asks coolly, "What are you waiting for? Public resonance has reached primary meme excitation threshold. We could activate the next node."
"No," Jason shakes his head. "We take no stance, make no statements, offer no judgment."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want them to start asking each other—with no commands, no protection, no guidance—'what exactly are we doing now?'"
He pauses. "When a question repeats more than a hundred times in one place, in one day… it stops being a question."
Maria looks at him, whispering, "It becomes faith."
Below the booth, a young couple debates whether to help build the rain shelter. The girl whispers, "We can't just wait for the real 'Fire' people to do it, right? Let's go first."
The boy nods, biting his lip: "Okay, let's help… not for Fire, just so this place stays livable."
Above, the Fuxi interface quietly appears.
[Fuxi Prompt]
☰ Fire Over Mountain (Glowing): Hidden light, simple origins with hidden colors.
[Philosophical Guidance]
Faith isn't shouted—it's understood silently, without needing to be said.
Section Three · Milo's Choice: The "Coordinator"
Milo hadn't expected to receive an ARGUS message packet.
It was just a single blue flash on an old terminal beneath the floorboards of her room—a brief second, but enough to catch her attention.
On the screen, one line appeared:
"The place you guard is spreading information. You may choose to watch, or to speak."
She knew it wasn't an order.
The Spark Network never gave direct commands.
Instead, it assumed you were already Fire, and simply asked if you wanted to shine for a moment.
Not for anyone else. Not for justice. Just—for yourself, to live like a person not defined by the system.
Milo leaves the house with a cap pulled low over her messy hair. The morning mist hasn't lifted yet, and her shoes are already soaked with mud, but she pays no mind.
Walking along the street, she sees the growing activity around the plaza's makeshift shelter. A few people tighten tarp ropes, an elderly man stumbles carrying empty buckets, and several youths rush to help steady him.
"What are you looking at?" A female voice—Noah, a friend from the refugee camp who recently joined Gray Terrace.
"They won't last long," Milo says softly.
"Aren't we supposed to stay neutral?" Noah probes.
"That's for others." Milo doesn't look away. "I'm not here because of someone else's command."
She walks toward the group, casually helping lift a fallen water bucket: "Got any filter cloth? The bottom water might be contaminated."
A youth turns, suspicious: "Who are you?"
"Milo. Same as you—a resident of Gray Terrace." Her tone is calm.
"Are you Fire?"
The question isn't accusatory—it's a test, a signal, a boundary marker.
Milo doesn't answer directly, pulling out a roll of cotton cloth instead: "This should work. I also know a few others who can help."
The youth studies her for a moment, then suddenly laughs: "You're not Fire."
"How do you know?"
"Because you didn't say you weren't."
After the short exchange, she begins assisting with building a second supply rack. Noah stands at a distance, watching, her expression complex.
On the rooftop checkpoint, one of the Spark squad reports quietly:
"Node spontaneous collaboration event occurred. Milo initiated behavioral engagement, faced no rejection, forming a weak collaborative center."
Another adds: "Crowd accepts her as organizer, but hasn't labeled her as Fire."
The leader confirms the record: "Primary faith recognition achieved, meme concentration remains stable."
Elsewhere, on the rooftop, Maria receives the update: "She made her choice."
Jason doesn't respond, instead taking a black pen and writing a line in his notebook:
"When a person rises without command, that is the first spark of Fire."
He sets the pen down: "Continue observation. Will she be able to hold this storm—without光环, only wind?"
Across the plaza, two local street gang members watch from the shadows.
"You think that girl is one of those Fire Seeders?"
"Can't tell… but if she is, maybe we should decide—are we helping, or blocking?"
No one answers.
—
[Fuxi Philosophy]
Sun Tzu's Art of War – Void and Substance: "Make others visible while remaining invisible—then your forces concentrate while theirs scatter."
→ When you become the embodiment of aninvisible faith, the enemy's only choices are fear and doubt.
Section Four · Under Firelight, No One Is Neutral
On the abandoned overpass in the southeast of Gray Terrace, a pair of cold lenses peer through the cracks in the ruined walls at the crowd below.
TRACE's Fifth Surveillance Division has set up a small "Recognition Assessment Framework" on-site. They use a semi-automatic meme instruction analysis model capable of determining whether a region is "forming a Fire Node" based on movement patterns, keyword frequency, and group behavior fluctuations.
"Abnormal crowd gathering count in target area: 37 individuals."
"Keyword focus: Fire, responsibility, not, we, defend."
"Sentence tendency: Subjective ambiguity."
"Behavioral structure: No unified command, but trending toward cooperation."
Commander Hermann's face darkens as he murmurs, "They aren't shouting, yet they are uniting."
He whispers into his earpiece: "Upload report to Central Control, mark as 'Fire Speech Spread Zone.'"
TRACE Central doesn't reply immediately, but five minutes later sends back a vague directive:
"Recommend continued observation. Avoid direct intervention. ARGUS node distribution in the area is active, possibly affecting identification accuracy."
Hermann frowns, turning to his tech officer: "Is ARGUS theirs?"
"The technical origin is suspected to be from 'remnant programs of external civilization,' with decentralized control. But clearly, someone is using it."
"Who?"
"Cannot be determined. ARGUS obscures all directional source data."
Hermann stands abruptly: "So it's not about who they believe in—it's that the system itself chose the wrong people."
"ARGUS isn't reacting—it picked the wrong side?"
"No," Hermann growls. "It didn't pick a side at all. It chose silence."
He gazes at the people below—elders, children, women dragging weakened bodies—carrying tools, none armed, no slogans shouted. Yet every action screams:
We won't leave. We won't fall apart. We will protect ourselves.
This is the hardest case to handle.
"Not meeting riot criteria," the tech officer mechanically reads definitions.
"Not classified as illegal organization."
"No evidence of receiving commands."
"Civilian self-organization tendency leaning toward consensus cooperation."
"Meme spread tendency rated positive—"
"Stop!" Hermann snaps. "This isn't positive—it's poison! A toxic form of faith spreading!"
He suddenly roars, "They're not afraid of us anymore! Even if they don't know who we are—they don't care!"
Silence follows briefly in the earpiece, then a calm, senior voice cuts in: "Hermann, stand down. Gray Terrace is temporarily not designated for intervention."
"Are you insane?! Their behavior is the precursor to Fire Seed growth—"
"You cannot define what Fire is," the voice interrupts. "Once you do, they truly become Fire."
Hermann steps back, pale-faced. He finally realizes—he's not commanding the system…
he's dancing with the system's fear.
—
Back on the rooftop, Jason slowly closes the ARGUS log screen.
"They're not moving."
"Did you expect that?" Maria raises an eyebrow.
"Fuxi said when enemies face ambiguity, the best strategy isn't to break it—but to wait for it to destroy itself."
"But we won't self-destruct."
"Exactly. But they don't know that."
—
[Fuxi Philosophy]
Yijing - Guan Gua: "To nurture righteousness in obscurity is the greatest act of wisdom."
→ You don't need to prove you're not Fire—as long as they fear misjudging who is.
Section Five · Two Letters, Two Directions
In the abandoned substation on the southern edge of Gray Terrace, Zhao Mingxuan crouches beside a broken electrical cabinet, flipping through an unsealed paper letter.
"Who still uses paper letters?" Lisa leans against the doorway, wary. "These days, except for covert signals, who—"
"It came anyway," Zhao says calmly, placing the letter into a portable optical reader. "No ARGUS system trace, no network footprint. Like…it was written specifically for the Fire."
The letter begins with a single sentence:
I don't know who you are, but I know you're not here to destroy this place.
Lisa moves closer, reading further:
This land deserved to rot, but you made it move again. If you're really just another empire, don't reply.
If not—we want to talk. We can hand over resources, supplies, even a few strongholds. Just promise not to let it fall into chaos again.
Signed: Lianyuan Commune · South Chemical Unit · Hugins
Lisa frowns: "Is this… submission? Or testing?"
"Neither," Zhao says softly. "It's fear. But not of us—it's fear of no one stepping forward again."
He looks up, his expression sharp: "This is a letter meant to see if we can keep our word. If we accept, it becomes part of the Fire. If we ignore it, they'll assume we're another form of oppression."
"What do we do?"
"Reply," Zhao stands. "But don't promise anything—just say, 'We only listen to how you save yourselves.'"
"Won't that expose us?"
"Of course," Zhao smirks. "But I fear them staying silent more."
—
At the same time, Jason receives a letter.
This one isn't mailed—it's handed to him in person at the base of the booth by a girl, who hurries off afterward.
The letter is short, unsigned, just one line:
"How many knives do you have? Enough?"
Jason holds the paper for a long time. There's a dried blood stain on the page.
Maria takes it, glances at it, says nothing, just asks quietly, "What do you think?"
"Fire isn't declared—it's born when someone dares to trade blood for a single question."
"Do you trust her?"
"No," Jason shakes his head. "But I trust—at that moment—she truly asked us if we had knives."
He gets up, heading to the communications desk, saying, "Activate the covert feedback protocol. Prepare two letters."
"For who?"
"One fears disorder and oppression. The other—a madwoman wanting war but unsure where to start."
"How do we reply?"
"First letter: 'We heard you, but you must stand and speak for yourself.'"
"And the second?"
Jason pauses, a cold smirk playing on his lips: "Tell her: 'Enough. But you'll have to sharpen them yourself.'"
—
[Fuxi Prompt]
The Three Strategies of Huang Shigong: "Assess the enemy's intent to respond accordingly; observe people's will to shape the vessel."
→ Real Fire needs no promises—only one sentence to ignite a city full of unanswered questions.
Section Six · Echoes of the Fire Seed
The night over Gray Terrace is deeper than the day.
Wind blows from the Iron Valley, carrying the scent of rust and damp earth. In this land that should have been dead, Fire Speech hasn't truly ignited—but it has left ripples in people's hearts.
Inside the booth, Jason reads the latest Fuxi system feedback:
[Divination Prompt]☴ Wind over Earth (Observation)
[Strategic Guidance]Eyes see not to show, but to understand the trend.
He murmurs the philosophical line aloud: "Seeing without showing—true concealment; knowing without speaking—true knowledge."
Maria leans by the window: "The meme packages we released have triggered responses in seven nodes."
"Which directions?" Jason asks.
"Southern Chemical Unit, Northern Bridge Scrap Site, Western Market Goods Exchange…" She pauses. "And one person—Milo."
Zhao Mingxuan's voice comes through the earpiece: "Milo just sent a voice message. Not a slogan, not a command—just one sentence: 'If you want to help, don't wait for orders.'"
Jason nods: "She's no longer just an observer."
"She's part of Fire now," Maria adds.
—
Meanwhile, in an abandoned pumping station on the eastern edge of Gray Terrace, a group of youths once belonging to different gangs sit around a broken table, discussing something they never imagined:
—Whether to join the Fire.
"You think they're really who?" A boy with an earring frowns. "Starfire? Resistance? Or another empire?"
"I don't know," a girl shrugs. "But I do know one thing: they didn't command us to do anything, yet we started wanting to do something."
"That's faith," an older man says calmly. "It doesn't rely on orders or fear. It relies on the thought inside you—do you want to be part of the change?"
Silence lingers before someone quietly asks: "How do we reach them?"
"You don't need to reach them," the man answers. "Just do something."
—
Farther still, beside the railway wreckage, Alice still sits on the bridge beam, her screen flashing with ARGUS signal maps.
Has her mission ended?
She doesn't know.
But she sees, in one stream of data, a new keyword emerging:
"Self-Initiated Collaboration"—Current value: 0.73 (Threshold: 0.8).
She presses the record button quietly, sealing this moment.
—
At this very moment, inside TRACE Command Center, Hermann stands in the central command room, facing a wall of data analysis charts.
"They have no unified leadership," the technician reports. "No clear goal. But every action forms a consensus—defend ourselves, don't let others control us."
Hermann smirks: "That's just another form of control."
"But the problem is, the system can't identify who controls it," another analyst interjects. "ARGUS gives no direction, no slogans, no leaders. We can't define it as Fire, nor can we stop its spread."
Hermann falls silent for a long time, then asks: "If we intervene now, can we break it?"
"We can," the technician nods. "But the cost would be the collapse of the entire regional social structure."
Hermann closes his eyes, exhaling slowly: "Then let it burn."
—
On the rooftop, Jason receives the final report:
"Self-initiated collaboration behavior has covered 65% of Gray Terrace."
"Meme resonance strength reached level 0.78."
"Preliminary assessment: Fire seed not ignited, but roots formed."
He puts away the terminal, gazing into the distance.
There, no one carries banners. No one shouts slogans.
Only a few youths carrying supplies, an elder repairing a shelter, and a girl calming two quarreling children in a corner.
Jason says softly: "That's real Fire."
He turns to Maria: "Prepare to withdraw."
"Leave no one behind?" she asks.
"No need," he smiles. "Once Fire takes root, it doesn't need us to watch it grow."
—
[Fuxi Philosophy]
Laozi, Dao De Jing – Chapter Seventeen:
"The highest ruler, people don't know exists; the next, they love and praise; the next, they fear; the lowest, they mock."
→
The greatest guidance makes people believe everything arose from themselves.
True Fire shines not when you ignite it—but burns on after you've gone.