Chapter 3
Sang Sang did not cry.
She stood among the ruins of her village, barefoot on blood-soaked earth, her small hands clenched into trembling fists. Smoke curled around her like ghosts refusing to leave. The bodies were too many for her eyes to understand, too broken for her heart to accept.
Shenping watched her carefully.
He had seen this look before.
It was the look of someone whose world had ended before they were old enough to understand what a world was.
The old man stepped forward slowly. "Come," he said gently. "There is nothing left for you here."
Sang Sang's lips parted, but no sound came out. She turned her head, staring at the remains of a house that had once been her home. Charred beams leaned together like collapsed bones. Beneath them lay a shape too small to move.
She shook her head once.
Shenping felt something twist inside his chest.
"We can't stay," he said. "They'll come back."
The old man glanced at him sharply. "You speak as if you've seen this before."
"I have," Shenping replied. "Just… not with fire and wood."
The old man studied Shenping for a long moment, then nodded. He reached into his robe and produced a small talisman, pressing it into Sang Sang's palm.
"Hold onto this," he said. "No matter what you see. No matter what you hear."
Sang Sang's fingers closed around it instinctively.
They left the village behind.
As they moved through the forest, Shenping's senses remained stretched tight. Every rustle of leaves, every snapping twig sent calculations racing through his mind. The machines would not abandon a target once identified. They would adapt. Escalate.
Hunt.
"You fought them before," the old man said as they walked.
"Yes."
"And lost?"
Shenping shook his head. "Not yet."
The old man let out a humorless chuckle. "Confidence is dangerous in this world."
"So is fear."
They reached a narrow mountain path as night fell. The pressure in the air thickened again, heavier than before. Shenping's steps slowed, muscles aching under the invisible weight.
"This force," he said, breathing steadily, "it reacts to intent."
The old man stopped walking.
"You can feel that already?"
Shenping nodded. "It presses harder when I think about fighting."
The old man's eyes gleamed. "Then you may survive."
They did not reach shelter before the ambush.
It came without sound.
The first arrow struck the ground inches from Shenping's foot, burying itself deep into stone. He reacted instantly, shoving Sang Sang aside as three more arrows whistled through the space where she had been standing.
Figures emerged from the darkness.
Not machines.
Men.
Clothed in dark leather, faces hidden behind cloth masks, their movements sharp but imperfect. Human.
"Bandits," the old man said quietly.
"They're not after money," Shenping replied. "They're too organized."
One of the men stepped forward. "Hand over the girl."
Sang Sang flinched.
The old man's grip tightened on his staff. "Leave," he warned. "Or die."
The bandit laughed. "Old man, you think—"
Shenping moved.
He crossed the distance in three steps, grabbing the bandit's wrist and twisting. Bone snapped. The man screamed as Shenping drove an elbow into his throat, crushing cartilage.
The others charged.
Crude blades met Shenping's bare hands. He fought without hesitation, without mercy. He disarmed one attacker, slammed another headfirst into the rock wall, then used the fallen man's body as a shield against incoming arrows.
Still, they were too many.
A blade cut across Shenping's side. Pain flared hot and sharp. He ignored it, countering with a knee strike that shattered a ribcage.
Then the pressure surged.
The old man struck the ground with his staff.
The air screamed.
Bandits were lifted off their feet, crushed inward by invisible force. Blood burst from mouths and noses as bodies collapsed like wet cloth.
Silence returned once more.
Shenping leaned against the rock wall, breathing hard. Blood soaked his shirt, warm against his skin.
The old man looked at him with something close to awe. "You fight like someone who has already died."
"Not yet," Shenping said.
They found a cave before dawn.
Inside, the old man lit a small fire while Shenping bound his wound with torn cloth. Sang Sang sat close to the flames, knees pulled to her chest.
After a long silence, she spoke.
"They killed everyone," she said.
"Yes," the old man replied softly.
"Why?"
No one answered.
Sang Sang's fingers tightened around the talisman. "If I disappear," she said, voice shaking, "will it stop?"
Shenping froze.
The old man turned sharply. "Do not think such things."
"But they wanted me," she whispered. "Everyone died because of me."
Shenping moved closer, crouching in front of her. He met her eyes, steady and unflinching.
"They didn't kill them because of you," he said. "They killed them because they're afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of someone who hasn't been born yet."
Sang Sang did not understand the words, but something in his tone steadied her breathing.
Outside the cave, something watched.
Hidden among the trees, a man adjusted his posture, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Beneath his skin, metal shifted silently.
Target confirmed.
Bloodline anchor alive.
Transmission sent.
In the far future, THE CORE received the update.
Probability recalculated.
Escalation authorized.
Back in the cave, the old man stared at Shenping as if seeing him clearly for the first time.
"You will bring calamity wherever you go," he said.
Shenping nodded. "I know."
"Then why continue?"
Shenping looked at Sang Sang, small and fragile beside the fire.
"Because if I stop," he said, "the world ends before it begins."