Conscious Again, on Guard

After the sun had completely set, the corrugated iron roof of the factory no longer reflected light, and the lingering orange-red warmth in the air dissipated. The wind seeped in through the cracks in the broken walls, swirling up dusty particles in the air before falling back to the ground. Scott stood there, still clutching the controller in his hand, the lingering tremor in his palm like an electric current that hadn't completely dissipated, twitching every now and then.

He glanced down at the screen; it was black, just like when he'd first picked it up. But he knew things were different now. The collapse just now wasn't an illusion, and Ye Mo hadn't touched the suit system, yet it was he who had pulled the quantum flow back. It wasn't scientific, it didn't make sense, but it happened.

He looked up at the figure's retreating back.

Ye Mo had already reached the vicinity of the exit. The hood of his black hooded sweatshirt was drooping, and there was some mud and dust on the hem of his work pants. One foot was on the threshold, as if he was about to step out at any moment, or as if he was waiting for something. The streetlights were not on, and only the faint glow of the distant city outlined his silhouette. He was tall, thin, and straight, exuding an air of "I'm fine."

Scott knew he was just putting on a brave face. After that last move, Ye Mo's temples were throbbing even faster than his, and his hands were shaking when he took off his glasses to wipe them. This kind of overexertion wasn't acting; he was really pushing himself to the limit.

"You... have saved others like this before?" Scott finally spoke, his voice low and a little hoarse, as if his throat hadn't recovered from surviving a near-death experience.

Ye Mo didn't turn around, but paused for a moment.

"I saved him," he said, his tone as flat as if he were saying, "I ate today."

And the result?

"Some survived, some didn't." He turned around, his movements unhurried, slowly putting his glasses back on; the lenses gleamed a cold white in the dim light. "I'm not a doctor, nor a god. I can lend you a hand because your time to die hasn't come yet."

Scott stared at him, trying to find a flaw in his face, but Ye Mo's gaze was too steady, so steady that it didn't seem like someone who had just exhausted himself, but rather like a veteran who had been walking on the edge of a knife for many years.

"Then who exactly are you?" Scott asked. "This isn't something that can be explained by system prompts. You didn't touch my suit, you didn't connect to any devices, yet you know how to stabilize the particle flow—how did you do that?"

Ye Mo smiled briefly, a fleeting smile that vanished as soon as the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Do you know why substations have high-voltage warning signs?" he suddenly asked.

Scott was taken aback. "Because people get electrocuted?"

"Yes." Ye Mo nodded. "But some people just won't believe it. They have to try it themselves, and only realize 'Oh, it really can electrocute you' when they lose their fingers." He took a step forward, moving away from the door, and stopped. "I'm telling you now, there are some things you shouldn't touch, shouldn't ask. It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that knowing won't do you any good; it might even get you into trouble."

So you're warning me?

"It's a reminder," Ye Mo's tone remained unchanged. "If you want to become stronger, I can teach you. But don't risk your life trying things I don't know. Just because I saved you once doesn't mean I can save you a second time. What if I'm not here next time? What will happen to your daughter?"

That was a rather harsh remark. Scott's throat bobbed, but he didn't respond.

He knew Ye Mo was right, but he couldn't suppress the awkward feeling in his heart. He had just crawled back from the brink of death, and his mind was still reeling, but it was precisely at times like this that he felt the person in front of him was not as simple as he appeared. That calmness, that control, couldn't be fooled by the words "system notification."

He looked down at the controller; the screen suddenly flickered, then automatically restarted, displaying a line of data: [Particle fluctuation value: 68.3%, within the safe threshold].

"You even installed a monitoring program?" He frowned.

"I didn't pretend." Ye Mo stood against the wall, hands in his hoodie pockets. "You set up the backdoor yourself. Every time I do beyond my limits training, the data is automatically uploaded to the cloud. I just casually pulled it up for a look."

You hacked into my system?

"I didn't hack it." Ye Mo shook his head. "You set the backup protocol yourself and forgot to delete it. I'm just a data reader, not a hacker."

Scott paused for a few seconds, then swiped his finger across the screen to pull up the log records. There was indeed his own encrypted signature, and the timestamp was from when he first tested the shrinking process. He had panicked then and hastily set up an emergency upload, which he later forgot to clear.

He closed the controller, looked up at Ye Mo, and said, "Why didn't you tell me all this sooner? Why did you have to wait until I was almost dead before you took action?"

"I told you," Ye Mo's voice lowered, "The report said 3.2 centimeters was the limit, and 47 seconds was the red line. You tore it down, and then stuffed a cheat into the controller, forcing the system to jailbreak. It's not that I didn't warn you, it's that you didn't listen."

Scott opened his mouth, but didn't refute.

He knew it was true. He had read the report and understood it, but he was still unwilling to accept it. He wanted to prove himself, to break the rules, but he almost became just background noise in the universe.

"I thought I could control it," he said softly.

"You can," Ye Mo nodded, "But not now. You're like someone who's just learned to drive and insists on racing on a track, only to end up crashing into a ditch. Is that the car's fault?"

Scott gave a wry smile. "So I'm just a reckless fool?"

"No, you just want to win too much." Ye Mo looked at him, "But this world doesn't recognize 'wanting to win,' it only recognizes 'living.' If you die, even the grandest ideals will amount to nothing."

Silence fell between the two. The wind blew in through the broken window, making several scraps of paper on the ground swirl around. A wild cat meowed in the distance, sharp, short, and quickly disappeared.

Scott slowly squatted down, placed the controller on his knees, and looked down at the two figures projected on the screen. One was sitting, slightly hunched over, the other standing, straight as a knife. In the image, the standing one was clearly more exhausted, yet appeared more composed; the sitting one, having just escaped death, had his eyes beginning to wander.

For the first time, he felt that his savior was more unpredictable than his enemy.

"What exactly do you want from me?" he asked, his voice lowered. "Help me, teach me, even save my life... What are you after?"

Ye Mo didn't answer immediately. He raised his hand and touched his temple, where a dull ache still lingered, as if someone were poking around with a needle. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his tone was even more indifferent.

"I don't want anything in return," he said. "I just don't want to see the next 'me' die in a pit I didn't even know existed."

Scott looked up at him.

"When I first came here, I was just like you." Ye Mo leaned against the wall, his gaze falling on a patch of broken glass in the distance, reflecting a faint light. "I thought that by hitting a few more people and trying out a few more abilities, I would become invincible. But the first time I activated my Self-Healing, the pain was so bad that I vomited in the bathroom for half an hour, almost bringing up my bile. Back then, no one taught me, no one reminded me; I had to rely entirely on hitting a brick wall myself."

He paused, then continued, "So, I've made all the mistakes you're making now. I've taken all the wrong paths you've taken. I don't want you to repeat my mistakes, it's that simple."

Scott didn't speak. He looked down at the controller, his fingers unconsciously tracing the scratches on the edge. Those were the marks left when he crashed into the wall last time he lost control.

He knew Ye Mo wasn't lying. That feeling of exhaustion after overexertion couldn't be faked, nor could the "I've been there" tone be genuine. But precisely because of this, he was even more afraid—if even someone like Ye Mo had almost died from losing control of his abilities, then what was he?

"So you're telling me not to ask?" he finally asked.

"Yes." Ye Mo nodded. "You can be suspicious, you can be wary, you can be cautious of me. But don't get distracted right now. What you should be thinking about most right now isn't 'how did he do that,' but 'how can I avoid courting disaster?'"

He turned around, took two steps toward the door, and then stopped.

"3.2 centimeters tomorrow, ten laps, no time limit," he said. "If you can do that, we can talk about other things."

After saying that, he didn't turn back or go far. He just stood at the exit, one hand on the door frame, as if waiting for a response, or as if looking for a way out.

Scott sat motionless on the floor. He stared at the controller screen, reopened the training log, and flipped to yesterday's data record. The scaling frequency was unstable, and the peak of neural load occurred at the 42nd second, just barely touching the safety line. He zoomed in on the waveform and found that there was a 0.3-second signal delay before each loss of control—that was the moment he hesitated, the greedy desire to be even smaller.

He closed the page, hugged the controller to his chest, as if he were holding something that needed protection.

"I understand," he said softly. "Tomorrow, 3.2 centimeters, ten laps, no time limits allowed."

Ye Mo neither responded nor moved.

Scott looked up and saw the other person's back still standing in the doorway, their silhouette embedded in the night like an unyielding wall.

He lowered his head and began examining the remaining data on the suit. His fingers slid across the screen, his movements focused, but his eyes had changed. It was no longer the reliance of trust, but a cautious observation—he was noting details, loopholes, and every clue that might reveal the truth.

He knew Ye Mo was hiding something.

He also knew that some secrets, the more you know, the faster you die.

That's precisely why he can't pretend to be stupid.

He gently pressed the start button on the controller, the screen lit up, and a flash of blue light shone on his face.

Ye Mo stood at the doorway and gently tapped the doorframe three times with his fingertips, as if counting the time.

In the distance, in the shadow of the fence outside the factory, a blurry silhouette lies quietly. The camera is focused on two people inside the building, and in the center of the viewfinder, Scott is looking down at the controller.