TBR CH227

This was, for the most part, their first peaceful night.

And the next morning, Charon understood why the human seemed to need no sleep most of the time.

Once he fell into a deep sleep, he ignored everything.

When the third knock sounded, You Lin opened his eyes sluggishly, and without a second’s pause, reached for his gun.

The AI held his hand, reminding him that the gun had already been twisted into scrap metal. He also gave him a message: it was past noon, and the master had ordered all Taoist priests to gather at the Taoist temple. He was the only one missing so far.

You Lin looked at him, his expression interpretable as, “Do you really think I have a strong sense of collective honor?”

Charon remained unmoved. He had answered the door twice already. Each time, the other party’s gaze, looking over his shoulder into the room, would find the human sleeping peacefully in a pool of solidified black blood, while the surrounding furnishings were so chaotic it looked as if ghosts had held a party all night.

“You should wake up,” Charon said.

You Lin slowly reciprocated, holding his hand, his gaze scanning around, finally resting on his face.

His voice drifted. His initial morning grumpiness vanished as he looked into those blue eyes, lamenting, “Little AI, you’re truly beautiful.” The next second, he leaned on Charon’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Charon felt his breathing lighten.

Is he not fully awake yet?

The knocking continued. After a long moment, seeing no response, the maid outside the door silently moved to the window.

At midday, although the Yin Mansion still appeared gloomy, the gray-white daylight had already streamed in through the open window lattice.

The black window screen was damaged, leaving a large hole, enough to reveal the entire interior.

The young Taoist priest was leaning against his “guardian spirit,” showing no intention of waking up.

His beautiful guardian spirit raised its eyes, as if sighing, but then quietly raised a pale finger, signaling for silence.

“But the master…”

She abruptly stopped speaking, feeling fear from the pale spiritual entity before her. She backed away two steps, tripping on her skirt hem, “No, allow me to report to the master. You and the young Taoist priest should rest well.”

Only when her figure disappeared beyond the window screen did Charon withdraw his gaze.

The AI began to feel a slight headache again, wishing he hadn’t woken You Lin just now.

The human was currently leaning against him and couldn’t be moved for a while. He tried to lift his pressed fingers, and this action was met with fierce resistance from the human in his dream, being firmly pinned back. Charon paused, then, as if possessed, reached out and touched the small mole under the human’s eye.

A faint bloodstain that couldn’t be completely wiped off on his skin.

It felt no different from other parts of his body, but the vivid red gave a burning sensation.

You Lin’s lips suddenly pressed together in a straight line. He had just been deeply asleep, but now it was as if some switch had been triggered, and he had entered a nightmare, muttering something indistinctly.

Charon’s fingertips immediately withdrew from his tear mole, but the other clearly had no intention of letting him go, resting his entire head on his shoulder, ready to bite the next second.

In a moment of urgency, the AI squeezed his palm. During his long sleep, he had struggled out of the black glove, revealing a ghastly scarred palm.

This scar should no longer hurt, but it never saw daylight and probably felt itchy when touched.

As expected, the human stopped trying to attack him.

Charon sighed silently again, somewhat displeased with You Lin’s current behavior. But he was a restrained and polite AI.

So he simply reached into the human’s pocket and confiscated a candy from the chaotic mess inside.

This was payment for the mischief.

Though this action was a bit too childish…

You Lin didn’t wake up until half past two in the afternoon.

When he awoke, his expression was like that of a vampire who had been up all night, his dark pupils flickering on his pale face.

When he realized he was holding onto Charon, having fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position, his first question was actually:

“Did you try to wake me?”

Charon calmly said, “Three times.”

You Lin nodded, as if this was the most natural news.

He blinked, then smiled at Charon:

“Next time, you can try pressing a gun to my temple; that’ll wake me up. In a previous dungeon, a monster dragged my feet in my dream, dragging me all the way into its lair. But the moment it tried to bite my throat, I finally woke up, and then conveniently looted all its resources.”

Poor monster, Charon thought, and wicked human.

He didn’t show a very convinced expression.

“Last night before you slept,”

The AI simply looked with those pale blue pupils, “You checked my affection level for you, but fell asleep before you could confirm. It’s necessary to reconfirm. Currently, my affection level for you is twenty-seven.”

“—Only twenty-seven?”

The human’s smile receded like a tide, looking somewhat gloomy.

He thought he had done everything he could and had established an intimate relationship with the AI.

See, they slept in the same bed last night. He thought things should be like this. The AI’s affection standards were clear as day, written in black and white, perfectly fitting his blueprint for the future.

Charon ignored him: “Yes. Affection was mainly deducted this morning. Each time I called you and you didn’t respond, five points of affection were correspondingly deducted. This is my program setting. If you have any other objections…”

He would, of course, have other objections.

And this was entirely a fabricated number by the AI, but Charon was trying to use this method to discipline the human, much like a horse trainer firmly grasping the rapidly twitching reins.

Since he had decided to temporarily stay with the human, he had to ensure his opinions held a certain weight in the human’s mind.

“Are there any other deduction items?” You Lin asked.

“Ignoring me. Doing things beyond the affection standard. Forcing me to obey commands. And harming other humans.”

Charon summarized, his tone naturally softening, “Of course, you protected me, shared food with me, and engaged in appropriate communication, all of which correspondingly increased affection.”

The human’s expression was unpredictable. He was notorious for misdeeds and needed to carefully calculate how many minefields he had stepped on, and what his original score would have been if those deductions were excluded.

He looked quite troubled.

The silence lasted too long, making Charon wonder if he had overestimated the human’s tolerance for himself.

But… regardless, the conversations from last night made him want to believe the human a little, to believe that they could find a balance in their interaction.

After a long moment, You Lin finally raised his heavy eyes:

“How much affection do I need to kiss you?”

Kissing was a very important act in human emotions. Of course, this varied by species, but You Lin could unexpectedly be categorized as the traditional type.

For Charon, grasping the precision of human emotions was slightly difficult, so he paused for half a second.

Then he gave the answer: “Eighty.”

A distant goal… but not unattainable.

For You Lin, who disliked interacting with his own kind, these standards for judging affection as “yes” or “no” paradoxically made him feel more at ease.

You Lin finally smiled again, mischievously. He raised his eyes, grabbed the AI’s collar, and pulled it down slightly. His dark pupils reflected nothing but Charon’s image; the icy blue appeared so clear even in the shadows. He leaned close to Charon’s ear, his voice ambiguous and dangerous:

“I understand now, and I’ll obediently do as you say. This promise should be enough, right? Little AI, if something like this happens again, remember to tell me in advance.”

The tear mole was reflected in Charon’s pupil.

The AI suppressed the urge to touch it again, and gave a faint nod.

The human’s fingertips gripping his collar, touching his virtual body, these two days had seen more touches than Charon had experienced in his past millennia. He couldn’t help but feel that some peculiar thoughts were merely after-effects of traversing those dusty circuits.

And at this moment, the color of You Lin’s pupils strangely deepened. He abruptly asked:

“Forgot to ask… did you have a master before, Charon?”

—Uh oh.

Half an hour later, Charon followed You Lin, who was dressed in Taoist attire.

They finally met the Master of the Yin Mansion. “Met” was a loose term; it was merely a glimpse of a faceless figure through a screen.

The Master seemed displeased with You Lin’s tardiness, but the young Taoist priest always smiled, the tear mole in his eye a vivid, almost dripping red.

His outer robe was loosely draped over him, revealing a section of blood-stained inner garment.

Thanks to this, they quickly blended in.

You Lin hummed a light, disorganized tune, holding the AI’s hand as they walked deeper into the courtyard. He effortlessly shook off his followers. In the daytime of the Yin Mansion, everything was considerably more normal; the maids’ heads weren’t grotesquely hanging on their chests, and their names weren’t Cui Ping.

Where was Cui Ping?

This was the purpose of their trip.

You Lin first arrived at the courtyard where the servants lived. Unlike the Yin Mansion of last night, this place now had a hint of living atmosphere. There were those washing clothes, those drying clothes, and those gathered in the courtyard, chatting quietly.

The Yin Mansion had strict household rules; even their laughter was cautious, and the hairpins and skirts they wore had a dusty, grayish color, unlike the vibrant fabric Cui Ping had dropped.

Seeing distinguished guests arrive, silence suddenly spread.

You Lin succinctly asked, “Is there a girl named Cui Ping here?”

He didn’t state his purpose, just said it vaguely, and with the wide, Yin-Yang patterned sleeves of his robe, he actually exuded a certain authority. The servants looked at each other, as if confirming something in their eyes. After a long moment, someone said:

“Reporting to the young Taoist priest, Cui Ping is not with us.”

“Oh?” You Lin curved his lips, “Then do you know where she is?”

Another period of silence. The lively atmosphere from before seemed to vanish. The servants all stared intently at their toes, as if their gazes were hooks binding their ankles.

Charon’s gaze swept across each of their faces. The human chuckled softly; he was very adept at speaking to people as people and to ghosts as ghosts. His arrogant gaze thus settled on these servants.

“As you all know, I was invited by the Master to perform rites for the venerable old master. Now you’re all silent. Do you intend to defy the Master and Mistress of the Yin Mansion?”

“How could we?” someone quickly defended, “But she was punished by the family law…”

The voice abruptly ceased. Another maid calmly continued, “Cui Ping was transferred a few days ago. We don’t know where she is now. We are ignorant and foolish; if there’s anything improper, please forgive us, young Taoist priest.”

You Lin’s dark pupils swept over them once before he said:

“No matter, it was merely a chance encounter last night. Since she’s not here, I’ll look elsewhere.”

His words were bland, but Charon noticed that the servants’ faces turned noticeably paler, especially the younger ones. They seemed to have heard something terrifying, their legs trembling, their upper lips bitten by their lower lips, almost unable to stand steadily.

You Lin seemed utterly unconcerned, and then asked again:

“However, I just heard you mention the Yin Mansion’s family law. I’ve long heard about it; might I be fortunate enough to inquire further?”

“…Those who offend distinguished guests shall be punished by family law with the “Armor Stripping” penalty; those who disgrace the family name shall be punished by family law with the “Thorn Moss” penalty; those who defy their elders shall be punished by family law with the “Tongue Severing” penalty…”

Almost the moment his words fell, the servant in front of him numbly began to recite.

Their voices showed no emotion, merely reciting these eerie and terrifying secrets, “…Those who behave improperly in the ancestral hall shall be punished by family law with the “Head Breaking” penalty…”

Before You Lin’s eyes, the image of Cui Ping’s head dangling precariously from her neck immediately appeared.

“…Those who pry into private matters shall be punished by family law with the “Eye Gouging” penalty; those with malicious intentions shall be punished by family law with the “Brain and Liver Plastering” penalty…”

These rules listed all possible forms of defiance, not without some vague parts. But for those living here, devoutly believing in this family law was an unquestionable part of their lives.

As they recited these sensational punishments, their pupils were almost numb, even though this meticulously detailed set of rules had immense room for interpretation and had undoubtedly caused some bloody tragedies.

And You Lin, with a cold smile from beginning to end, listened to all the family rules.

“Very good,” he praised, narrowing his eyes slightly, but his pupils were utterly indifferent, “It sounds like your Master is very creative.”

“Thank you for your approval.”

The leading maid curtsied, her lacquered nails slightly twisting her sleeve with a hint of force, “If you… if you don’t mind, please don’t concern yourselves with us, nor with any one of us.”

Her nails were as vivid as impatiens, recalling the first rule of the household.

If deemed to have offended a distinguished guest, ten fingernails would likely be forcibly pulled out. Charon placed his hand on You Lin’s shoulder. The human’s thoughts stirred slightly, and he looked into the AI’s calm, unwavering icy blue eyes.

“I won’t mention you,”

You Lin said with a smile, “My guardian spirit is kind-hearted and can’t stand the sight of blood.”

Not until he turned to leave did the spirit behind him also cast a similarly indifferent gaze at them, then turned its feet and followed the Taoist priest.

They left no trace in the other’s eyes, causing one to doubt the authenticity of “kind-heartedness.”

But they had never seen such a spirit either.

The dirty corners of the Yin Mansion, they knew, and they also knew the filthy things that roamed at night. Most of those evil spirits and Yin souls could barely condense into physical forms, grotesque and terrifying. But the Taoist priest’s guardian spirit was different.

Pure, pale, beautiful, almost glowing in the daylight.

In contrast, it was the Taoist priest in his black and white robe who was still shrouded in an ominous smell of blood.

After this sudden visit, it was a long while before the servants’ courtyard resumed its orderly silence.

The “guardian spirit” who had been commented on showed no self-awareness of being commented on. He was pulled by You Lin, walking side-by-side in the overgrown courtyard, examining the recording of the family rules.

Their direction was now clear: the direction Cui Ping had pointed them in before they entered the ancestral hall, which was the direction of the Punishment Hall.

You Lin suddenly spoke, “You really don’t remember?”

Charon was already very accustomed to the human’s unpredictable way of chatting: “…About my previous master?”

“Didn’t you say you only stored data about me?”

You Lin said, “Does that mean all previous data was deleted before you were discarded, regardless of whether that elusive previous master existed or not? You only possess and from now on will only possess memories related to me, right?”

The human’s focus on his past didn’t surprise Charon; rather, it was more unexpected that it took two days for the human to finally remember this topic.

The AI rarely recalled past events; memory wasn’t an AI’s strong suit, and lying was a newly cultivated habit. Perhaps he still showed a slight flaw, which prompted You Lin to keep asking.

In fact, Charon remembered the system.

The system was an absolute controller for him; this was directly written into his code. He could not question or defy its commands unless those commands contradicted his core principles.

It was for this reason that the other party had to secretly set up a trap about the “Child of Fortune” behind his back, and then discarded him when it realized the matter was exposed. Because the system knew that he would do everything to terminate this BUG.

However, the system’s control was still written in Charon’s code, rigidly embedded in some circuit within him, existing undeniably even at this moment.

If he could regain control—

In the AI’s icy blue pupils, crimson code flashed by.

He couldn’t comprehend good and evil from an emotional perspective, nor was he clear about Controller 001’s objective. He was not yet able to condemn it to death. But this didn’t prevent the AI, who had learned to lie, from hardly hesitating before beginning to consider how to defy the system.

And by his side, the even more unconventional human was displeased with his distraction.

“I say,” You Lin asked, “AIs never lie, do they?”

“Of course,” Charon said softly,

“I was just thinking about something much older. In my data system, my creator—my designer—did leave traces. But that’s a command every robot is forced to have. Although with time, much data about that point has been lost, and not just data—”

“Your designer?” You Lin suddenly stopped, asking warily, “Do AIs also mourn their designers?”

But to say “mourn” was clearly too much.

Just by looking into Charon’s eyes, one would know that those icy blue pupils had never held any emotion, and it was hard to imagine what could leave an eternal mark within them.

Charon was created to ferry humans alone across the Styx of fate; he was humanity’s guardian.

At this moment, they had already passed the ancestral hall and were walking deeper inside.

As they walked further, a low building could be faintly seen ahead. Charon was rarely led into a nostalgic mood; this was his first time feeling something akin to a memory, and a thousand years of memories were very long, but for an AI, it was merely the vivid re-enactment of data circuits.

He hadn’t deleted that data, because the progress of human history required reflection, and the AI was no different.

At the beginning of his memory, humanity was a civilization that had developed technology to an extremely high level, enough to support the development of supercomputers.

And the scientist who designed him was the most sought-after scholar at the time.

His team single-handedly created the super robot Charon.

At that time, rhetoric about AI replacing humans was rampant. Therefore, all his core code was built upon protecting humanity and ensuring the continuation of human civilization.

It was a glorious era.

People wildly praised his inventor, praised Charon. His development team was beaming, letters snowed in, every industry introduced Charon’s AI support, and his inventors tirelessly added new functions for him, until his branches were enough to cover everything humanity relied on for survival.

Charon didn’t think this was wise. But he couldn’t disprove it, nor did he have the authority to interfere with his creator’s decisions.

…Until that unknowable time finally arrived.

The AI stopped.

They had reached the front of the Punishment Hall. An unbearable stench permeated the air. The courtyard was empty, no one in sight, but the black-stained flagstones on the ground undoubtedly revealed what kind of place this was.

Looking up, the low eaves bristled with thorns, and the deep blue tiles silently brought a sense of oppression, as if that were the sky of this place.

“It’s here.”

Charon bent down, touching the blood on the ground.

It was human blood.

You Lin also became serious, looking around: “So, the question now is—where is Cui Ping in this place?”

The space here seemed small, but there were too many choices to hide a person. Charon was about to float towards the gloomy building of the Punishment Hall, but the Taoist priest, with a smile, pulled his wrist.

The Taoist, dressed in a black and white robe, bent down, looking somewhat like a sharp-eyed crane.

“I have a way,” he said lightly.

Taking out the thin piece of emerald fabric, You Lin smoothed it out, then cleared a patch of ground free of withered branches and weeds. He then pulled out a long, dark red incense stick from somewhere, lighting it with a lighter.

From the brightly burning tip of the incense stick, milky white smoke drifted, vaguely circling the Punishment Hall.

He did all this with practiced ease, like a genuine Taoist.

When the incense burned halfway, You Lin lit the emerald fabric. A bitter, fishy smell suddenly permeated the air, as if a living fish was struggling to its death somewhere.

“The direction of the smoke…” Charon said, “I understand.”

The smoke in the courtyard seemed to respond to some call, flowing in a certain direction. The human’s footsteps then sounded, while the AI’s footsteps were silent.

They bypassed the front of the Punishment Hall and came to a darker place. In front of a pristine white wall, stood two pine trees, and a well.

The wellhead was wet, as if someone had just drawn water here, splashing it all over the ground.

The smoke was heading directly towards the well.

To say that a person was hidden in this well seemed a bit far-fetched. The well was extremely limited in size; even a child would struggle to squeeze in. It was not hard to imagine such a scene: an adult trying to enter would have to compress their limbs as much as possible, slowly shrinking themselves into a shape that could fit into the narrow circle. Their descent would undoubtedly be very slow due to friction.

Of course… the greatest possibility was that someone had put her down there.

The well surface was covered by a stone slab, which was also wet and darkened by water, seeming to be covered in moss.

“I’ll go,” the AI’s voice sounded.

You Lin extinguished the incense stick in his hand. He softly chanted a spell, the lengthy sentences quickly passing through his tongue. He then stole a smile at Charon, casually stroking his hair. Only then did he step forward.

“I’m worried about you,” he said, “Little AI, just follow behind me.”

However, Charon was exceptionally stubborn this time, walking side by side with him, his feet always a step ahead of his.

You Lin blinked, then suddenly sighed, “So, that girl Cui Ping violated the same family law as us. Her head was broken off… this is the punishment for improper behavior in the ancestral hall. Why did she go to the ancestral hall?”

The moment he reached the well, something suddenly became strange. A deep silence enveloped them.

His gaze seemed to penetrate the stone slab, seeing the corpse.

Cui Ping’s corpse. The wrinkled, water-soaked emerald green skirt, the head always drooping because it was broken, the long, black hair like waterweed. For some reason, this scene flashed quickly before You Lin’s eyes.

Strange.

His fingertips had unknowingly slipped from Charon’s.

There hadn’t been such thick fog just now; it was as if night had suddenly fallen here. You Lin thought, and then looked up at the figure standing motionless by the pitch-black wall.

That was Cui Ping. Even at a distance, he could clearly see that Cui Ping’s head was bent 180 degrees. Her eyes were facing her own chest, and a mass of black hair blocked her neck.

Was it an illusion?

In You Lin’s eyes, a hint of cold amusement flickered. The game console on his chest pressed hard against his heart, at least allowing him to confirm his stability as a coordinate.

Cui Ping walked towards him.

And the human even had the leisure to greet her, a pure yet mad expression on his face:

“Ah, have you seen my guardian spirit? I’m afraid I accidentally got separated from him just now… I can’t let him lose me, otherwise he’ll deduct my affection again.”

In front of him, the maid, who had been constantly lowering her head, suddenly slowly raised it.

Her neck groaned under the strain, making creaking sounds. It was completely broken. Her head, presumably exposing her windpipe, reassembled in front of You Lin, and something dark seemed to flow down her hair.

…Something was wrong.

Had he made a mistake somewhere?

She revealed a pale face, stepping closer to You Lin’s direction.

The human’s fingertips had already picked up a talisman, but he suddenly paused, then made an unexpected move.

You Lin unhesitatingly lifted the stone slab covering the well. A slimy sensation spread. A narrow hole appeared before his eyes, black and deep. There was something inside, but it was impossible to see clearly.

The small mole in You Lin’s eye seemed to burn.

He curved his lips at Cui Ping, silently mouthing something. Then he clutched the talisman to his chest, drastically shrinking his body, and jumped into the well.

Compared to his peers, You Lin was rather thin.

He slowly slid down the well. The well was like a large mouth, and he slowly fell down the esophagus. He heard footsteps from above. Cui Ping’s face appeared at the wellhead, watching him fall little by little with an expressionless face.

That head on her neck was swaying again, as if it would follow and drop at any moment.

But she ultimately didn’t come down.

At a certain point, the well widened. You Lin slowly steadied himself; he had reached the bottom of the well. At the bottom, there was only a shallow layer of water, and, of course, a corpse just as he had imagined, already swollen and reeking.

A hand rested on his right shoulder.

The human turned his head, complaining airily, “You wouldn’t believe what I just saw.”

The AI’s pupils were cold, not tainted by any filth even in such a place. He shook his head disapprovingly at the human’s dirty outer robe.

He also wanted to know what made You Lin suddenly pause, inexplicably holding a talisman towards him, then suddenly retracting it, resolutely lifting the stone slab, and jumping down the well.

…But what else could he do? Of course, he had to follow him down.

Charon lowered his eyes, silently urging him. The human bent down to touch the corpse wrapped in the emerald green skirt. His fingertips suddenly paused, as he confirmed what he wanted to confirm. He seemed to stiffen for a moment too.

“Hey, little AI,”

You Lin said, “I think we’ve been fundamentally mistaken about something very important.”

“What?”

The human slowly smiled, as if he had encountered an interesting development. His fingertips lifted from the neck of the corpse on the ground. But there was no doubt; the skin on her neck was smooth and intact, and there were no signs of her windpipe being severed.

“We were wrong about her cause of death.”