The symphony became a drone.

The next morning, the citizens of Gersang heard a new sound. It was harsh, uneven, and utterly alien after days of the sterile G . It was the screech of a rusty windmill turning. Then another. And another.

Li Wei dug it out himself. The crystal was hot to the touch, and its surface swirled with grey smoke. He didn’t try to reboot it or counter-hack it. Instead, he carried it to the city’s highest minaret.

Li Wei had smashed against the stone ledge. He hadn’t fixed the ledgers. He had destroyed the source of the hack, but the corruption remained. The waystones were still grey.

It spread. The city became a chaotic, shouting, pointing, remembering bazaar. People traded stories of trades. They carved notches on their water skins. They whispered promises.