Test model was only math.
Meatspace was living reality, unforgiving and permanent.
Lin Ke sat in the center of the dark rock crucible, his braced left arm strapped tightly against his chest with raw hemp rope.
Standing on his left was Apothecary He, his sleeves rolled up. He grabbed a basin of crushed snow-lotus slush and bone-setting metal tongs. Standing on his right was Meng Shan, his dark rock-glazed hands resting heavily on Lin Ke’s shuddering shoulders. It anchored him to the stone floor.
“Last chance to abort, boy,” Apothecary He said, his voice unusually quiet, stripped of all cynicism. “Once the living rewrite begins, you can’t stop. If the channels reject the flow, your belly blows open. I’ll be scooping your intestines into a zinc bucket.”
Lin Ke didn’t answer.
He closed his eyes, engaged the Tian Fu core, and started the command.
MERGE.
