The final order on the end-post was simple, brutal, and total:
“A cold reboot,” Lin Ke said. He sat on the floor with his back against the stone stand, his voice barely louder than the draft from the cooling trenches. His breathing was shallow, his left ribs throbbing in rhythm with the cooling cycles of the BIOS chamber.
“What does that mean for us?” Elder Wu asked, his glasses trembling on his nose as he clutched his water-damaged archival ledgers to his chest like an iron shield.
“It means,” Lin Ke replied, “that to reset the ancient stonework, the heavens must drop power fully.”
He looked up at his companions, his gaze unblinking in the green end-post glow.
“For ten seconds, the Heavenly Dao will be powered off. There will be no gravity. No speed of light. No spatial holding power. No spiritual Qi. Every rule that holds matter together will suspend execution until the bootstrap loader reinitializes.”
Shen Yue’s breath caught in her throat. Her dual intent threads flickered anxiously around her collar. “Ten seconds in total non-existence? What happens to human flesh when the laws of matter turn off?”
“If you rely on channeled Qi, you dissolve instantly,” Lin Ke said. “Channeled Qi is active pressure held up by sky law. When the sky foundation drops to zero, all active pressure ceases to hold.”
