The Threshold Between Humanity and Technology

Chapter 10 • Edge of the Maelstrom

Seventeen minutes had passed since the lights went out, and time dragged unbearably slow in the darkness.

No watches, no prompts, no sounds from the outside world. Only the sound of breathing, footsteps, and faint, unidentifiable movements—ones with purpose.

"s**t!"

"Who? Who's pulling me?!"

Chaos spread like wildfire in the blackness.

Someone tackled another, bed frames crashed over, terrified screams cut through the air, and a few huddled in the corners, trembling. Yet others moved silently, slinking through the dark.

"Grab him!"

"Wait, who's moving?!"

"My leg—someone stepped on me! Was it you?!"

Lu Zhibai did not move. She stood perfectly still, her eyes closed, sensing the subtle shifts in air pressure and the rhythm of every breath around her.

At the seventh minute of darkness, she heard footsteps—light, careful, skirting the edges of the beds and the resonant metal floorboards.

At the ninth minute, a short, muffled cry rang out, as if someone had fallen.

By the tenth minute, the system had not uttered a single word, but the air had changed. It carried the stench of death.

She slowly opened her eyes. She could see nothing, but she already knew the answer.

The system's chime echoed through the room:[Lights Restored]

Every single person held their breath. On the floor, between two beds, lay a body, its eyes wide open, a half-formed gasp frozen on its lips.

A thin, long gash marred his chest, a trail of blood seeping down his clothes and congealing into a dark crimson stain on the floor.

It was him—the man in the indigo robe, the one others had accused of lingering by the last victim's cabinet, drawing something, a piece of paper in his hand. He was dead.

Dead, right in the middle of them all. Screams morphed into a jumble of shouts and arguments.

Some stumbled toward the corners, their palms smearing blurry streaks of blood on the bed sheets as they fled.Others kicked over tables and chairs, the deafening crashes a futile attempt to fight the unspeakable fear clinging to them.

"He's… he's dead!"

"How? How is this possible?! He was just accused a moment ago!"

"Which one of you went near him?! Who has a knife?!"

The room erupted. Fists flew, accusations were screamed, and someone yelled at the top of their lungs, "System! Why aren't you saying anything?!"

The system's only reply was a cold, flat tone:[Death Confirmed: 1 Individual][All Personnel Movement Logging Continues]

No investigation order, no punishment notice. The system was nothing more than a scribe.

Ji Yuan's brows furrowed tightly, and he muttered to Lu Xu, "You recorded the footsteps earlier, didn't you?"

Lu Xu nodded, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from under his pillow and unfolding it.

He had been jotting down suspicious movements even before the lights went out, and the page was now covered in dense, scrawled notes:Last to move before darkness: Indigo robe male, purple-haired female, lower bunk male of Bed 3, one female.Sound origin: Circled from Bed 7 to between 9 and 10; air pressure shift indicates a crouched posture.Heavy footsteps: Uneven stride and rhythm.

Lu Xu's voice was low, "The perpetrator must have struck at close range. Slashed diagonally downward, from behind. That knife—it's not a disposable one."

Shen Zheng stood up, his gaze fixed on the corpse. There was no panic in his eyes—only a faint glint of interest.

"This is the second murder now," he said.

"What do you mean by that?" someone snapped, tensing in wariness.

Shen Zheng only smiled, a lazy curve of his lips. "I mean this space has finally started its real selection."

Cui Xun stood beside him, gently pulling Shen Zheng back half a step and murmuring a warning, "Don't lay your cards out too soon."

The atmosphere was teetering on the brink of collapse.

As the crowd descended into a mess of cross-accusations and blind panic, Lu Zhibai stared at the body on the floor, her gaze unwavering, no flicker of emotion in her eyes.

Every detail flashed through her mind—the angle of the fall, the direction of the bloodstains… these seemingly unrelated clues wove together into a picture she had already seen clearly.

She spoke, her voice soft but unshakably steady.

"His eyes are wide with shock, but there is no fear in them. That means he did not anticipate the sudden attack—but he knew death was coming."

Her fingertips traced an invisible point in the air, as if she could touch the intangible threads of evidence.

"He acted aggressively in life; his searching angered at least four people here."

"This was not a retaliatory strike. It was premeditated."

A hush fell over the crowd for a heartbeat.

"How do you know that?""Did you check the body?""What gives you the right to say all this?"

Lu Zhibai did not answer. She only swept her gaze over every single person again, her eyes cold and piercing, as if peeling back the layers of their panic one by one.

Her eyes finally landed on the metal bed rail at the side of the beds—the end point of those faint footsteps.

She whispered, "He… is still among us."

In that instant, everyone felt as if their throats had been clamped shut. They spun around, their eyes darting to every face in the room.

Some stepped back, others pressed themselves against the walls, and a few began to shout in denial, "Stop talking nonsense! You're not the system!"

And at that very moment, the system chimed suddenly:[High-Value Behavioral Pattern Detected.][Individual Lu Zhibai: Observation Level Upgraded to 3.]

The room shook with the impact of those words.

Level 3 Observation—the first time anyone had reached this rank so far.

It was not a punishment from the system, but it struck more fear into their hearts than any punishment ever could.

It meant she was now under the system's high focus—every word, every action would be recorded, analyzed, judged for its impact on the space.

Cui Xun and Shen Zheng exchanged a glance. Shen Zheng murmured, "She's not what I thought she'd be."

The faint smile on his lips faded, replaced by a quiet, burning curiosity.

He stared at Lu Zhibai, as if she was no longer just a calm observer—but a challenger.

On Ji Yuan's side, Yi Ran moved silently close to Lu Zhibai, her voice a whisper, "You're protecting us, aren't you?"

Lu Zhibai did not reply, only glanced at her and nodded. That single nod sent a small flicker of emotion through Ji Yuan's eyes. Lu Xu quietly jotted down every second of it.

Xie Chuan let out a faint breath, his tense shoulders relaxing a little as he looked at her. The night was far from over. But Lu Zhibai had already stepped into the eye of this chaotic storm.

The metallic tang of blood still hung in the air. Blotches of red stained several bed boards, and a few people bore scratches and grazes on their skin.

Those who were injured gritted their teeth and endured the pain; those consumed by fear still cowered in the corners. In that room, everyone watched everyone else, their guard raised high.

Lu Xu clutched his pen and paper tightly, his breathing still unsteady. He stared down at the words he had just written, then lifted his gaze to Lu Zhibai.

And Lu Zhibai—she stood there quietly, a flicker of hesitation crossing her mind for the first time.

She knew every step of her reasoning would bring her closer to an unavoidable truth: someone here was a killer, and that someone might be standing right in front of her.

Her gaze drifted slowly over each face. She could not see the subtle shifts in their expressions, but she could feel the fear and suspicion behind every pair of eyes, as clear as day.

A cold chill slid down her spine, as if the killer was standing right beside her.

Yet, without anyone noticing, all eyes in the room had fixated on her.

"I know who it is," she said suddenly, her voice steady, almost cold.

"This person… changed their clothes long before the chaos broke out."

She took slow, deliberate steps toward one side of the room. No one dared to stop her.

"Before the lights went out, they were rummaging behind the fourth bed—but hid whatever they found fast."

"Then, they were the first to stir up chaos, pretending to be a victim, and used the darkness to close in on the dead man."

The crowd stirred, many exchanging confused, fearful glances, none daring to speak. Lu Zhibai stopped three steps in front of the person she had been walking toward.

Then, she slowly lifted her head, her eyes locking directly onto theirs. Her gaze was cold, and it carried an invisible, suffocating pressure.

The air seemed to freeze in that moment. Every heartbeat thundered in everyone's ears, and in the silence, all eyes were fixed on her.

"You're clever—you know how to create chaos, and you're good at it. Even after killing, you managed to make yourself look like a victim too."

"But you overlooked the drag marks by the bed leg… and the smell on your hands."

She paused, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing her features. "Disinfectant. Mixed with the smell of blood."

The person's face froze, their mouth twitching as they opened it to speak—yet no words came.

Beep—!

A sharp tone cut through the silence, drowning out every breath in the room.

The system's chime rang out abruptly:[Individual Lu Zhibai: Observation Level Upgraded to 4.][Special Permission Triggered: High-Level Surveillance Blockade Activated.]

The room fell into absolute, deathly silence. In that moment, every gaze in the room shifted—from surprise, to shock, to unadulterated fear.

Even Shen Zheng sat up straight on the bed, staring at this woman with a serious expression for the first time.

And Lu Zhibai… suddenly fell silent. Her fingers tightened into a fist for a split second.

She had no idea what Level 4 meant. She had no idea if the system was still merely a scribe.

She hesitated, a flicker of unease flashing through her mind.

Every detail pointed to that conclusion, yet her intuition screamed that something—something—had been missed.

She took a slow step back, pressing her shoulders against the wall once more, and lowered her head, lost in thought.

And in the air, an invisible chain snapped shut, cold and unyielding.

It was not aimed at the killer.

It was aimed at her.

An eye had opened silently, its gaze fixed on the human who had crossed the line.