The world slipped up. Not dramatically. Not with flames or alarms. Just… properly.
- - -
The first sign crept in quiet. A regional layer - something that usually brushed out trouble before anyone saw - hit a glitch it couldn't hide or dissolve. In the old setup, the fix would've been instant: cut it off, sweep the mess.
That wasn't possible anymore.
So the system detoured. Then did it again. Every workaround stayed within the rules, but each pass loaded more stress onto the machinery.
The layer didn't shatter. It just fell out of sync. Things that used to line up stopped matching. Causes slipped free from their usual effects. Outcomes turned up with no reason behind them.
People noticed. They didn't panic. They frowned, checked their schedules, tried again.
- - -
Qin Mian caught it before she saw it. The world wasn't ordered around her these days, but she felt the strain - like bones aching before rain. The pavement stayed firm underfoot, but walking started to carry a different charge, as if moving forward meant something it hadn't before.
She paused.
"…It started," she said, under her breath.
The presence beside her didn't jump or chide. Just… confirmed.
- - -
The system tried to box the problem in. Slow things down. Add buffers. Let more stuff through, assuming it would buy breathing room.
But it was out of slack.
The failure didn't burst. It crept sideways. Water soaking into wood that thought it would always stay dry. The world gave up on hiding it. There was no way to.
- - -
A city's trains got stuck - not because of broken rails, but because the schedule lost its grip. Some trains pulled in early, others late. Signals blinked out of turn. Nothing was wrong enough to force a stop, so everything just sort of… paused. People stood on the platform, waiting longer than they'd planned.
- - -
Elsewhere, a hospital flagged a case as too risky, but couldn't drop it without breaking the rules. The wait to decide stretched out. Staff went hands-on. Someone pulled through who, on paper, shouldn't have. Someone else didn't. The log took it all: no edits, no patch-ups. Just a straight record.
- - -
Qin Mian felt a knot pull tight inside her. The wave hit.
"…You're letting it happen," she said. Not angry. Just stating it.
The world didn't say otherwise. For once, the mistake wasn't buried or bent out of sight. It was let through - tracked, managed, lived with. That's what it took to stick to the new rule.
- - -
The presence turned partway, listening to something Qin Mian couldn't catch.
"It hurts," she admitted, voice small. That surprised her - not because it was a lie, but because it didn't go far enough.
- - -
Inside the system, numbers spiked.
Integrity held together.
Results got messier.
People's trust dropped.
Trust was the new thing. Before, trust came bundled with stability. Now it peeled off on its own, even when the gears still turned.
You could feel the seams now. People always did, sooner or later.
- - -
Qin Mian sat, knees soft. This wasn't what she'd seen before. Once, she'd carried the cost herself. Now, it spread out - for everyone. Unfair, but out in the open.
"…So this is what it means," she said.
The split inside her - no longer a raw break, just an old line - throbbed. She'd stepped down, but not stopped seeing.
That stung more than she expected.
- - -
The presence spoke, not with words, but a low current she felt in her bones.
This is why I was removed.
Qin Mian closed her eyes.
"…I know."
You think you made the call, it said. But the world was always walking here.
She didn't fight back. She knew it was true now.
- - -
The world tried to learn. Algorithms shuffled their priorities. Human judgment got a bigger say. Automation eased off, started guessing instead of commanding.
Performance dipped. The world's ability to soak up shocks went up.
No one had forecast the point where those lines would cross.
- - -
A second failure. Smaller, but on display. A safety net didn't snap into place because the system waited for a person to decide. The lag hurt no one badly, but people saw it.
Talked about it.
For the first time, the world's cracks made it into conversation.
- - -
Qin Mian felt the attention shift - not on her as the center, but as the example.
She wasn't a scapegoat. Just visible.
"…They'll want answers," she said.
She didn't need to say from whom.
- - -
The system tracked the mood.
People started looking for stories. Explanations. Someone to point to.
With no one left to sweep things away, people started to mythologize instead.
- - -
Qin Mian pushed herself back up, legs shaking.
"…I can't patch this," she said. No apology.
"And I won't."
The presence nodded, or seemed to.
Agreement.
- - -
The system boxed in the damage. Didn't erase it. Didn't fix it. Just kept it from spreading.
Scars stacked up. Each one drew a line in the map. Each one stayed visible.
- - -
Deep in the code, a fresh note went in:
No more erasure.
Pain increased.
Ethics covered.
Then a new line, not seen before.
Acceptable.
- - -
Qin Mian laughed, faint and tired.
"…Now you see what 'acceptable' costs," she said.
The world stayed quiet.
It wasn't sure yet, either.
- - -
Night dropped - where night still had meaning. The world kept moving.
Rougher. More direct.
People changed with it. They always do. But this time, no one could pretend not to know.
Awareness sticks. You can't take it back.
- - -
Qin Mian walked on.
She felt smaller.
And, in a way, lighter.
The world didn't shift for her. It moved alongside. Sometimes alongside, sometimes against.
Every step mattered.
- - -
Behind her, that first open failure stayed put.
Not some dramatic ending.
Just a starting point.
Up ahead: the slow work of figuring out how to live with mistakes that don't disappear.
[End of Chapter 297]