Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: Silent Sheet Music and the Prison of Thought – Decoding Father’s Melody Under Surveillance

# Chapter 4: Silent Sheet Music and the Prison of Thought – Decoding Father's Melody Under Surveillance The stone walls of the Silence Chamber filtered the morning light into a narrow, slanting pale golden beam, within which motes of dust floating in the air swirled slowly. Lin Ge leaned against the cold stone slab bed, the rough stone at his back seeping a constant chill—a chill that, paradoxically, kept his head clear, numbing the throbbing ache left by nightmares and residual pain. Two days had passed since that "meeting." The **cost of thought** was seared into the very core of his consciousness, a brand that burned even in silence. The agony of being torn apart, his mother's cries piercing the veil between virtual and real, the monitor's frantic alarm… they still flashed unbidden at times, sending a jolt of panic through him and a sharp twinge to his temples. But the more tangible chains were the stone walls of this hut, the eyes of "the Rules" that might appear outside the door at any moment, and the ever-present status prompt etched into the back of his mind: `Anomaly Level: 0.38%` `Surveillance Status: Priority Observation (Commander's Authorized Observation Period / Disciplinarian: Sven - Daily Deep Scan Active)` `Status: [Cognitive Suppression Resistance] - Minor` 0.38%. A precarious number, a sword of Damocles hanging over his head. And the "Daily Deep Scan" meant he had to hide even his pain and confusion, lest they trigger an alarm. His gaze fell to the totem pole beside the bed. The rough stone pillar leaned silently against the wall—Lina had left it at the door, and the first thing he'd done upon waking was drag it inside. Its carvings loomed silent and mysterious in the dim light. He reached out, his fingers tracing the treble clef-like mark once more. The stone was hard, cold, unyielding. Just then, the morning light slanting through the narrow stone window shifted slightly in angle, following the subtle "movement" of the simulated sun. The edge of the beam swept across a patch of the totem pole's midsection, a spot that had seemed utterly ordinary until that moment. Almost simultaneously—out of habit, or perhaps an unconscious search for comfort—Lin Ge hummed a few notes, so softly the sound barely resonated in his chest: the opening of one of his father's études, a short motif built on the note of E-flat. *Hum…* A faint, almost imperceptible tremor traveled up the stone pillar from beneath his fingertips. Lin Ge held his breath, leaning in closer. In the patch of stone bathed in the precise glow of the morning light, **wispy tendrils of pale golden light, like liquid gold flowing beneath the surface, emerged**! These light patterns were not random. They wove and stretched rapidly, forming **clear fragments of a musical staff**, interspersed with **strange symbols** he had never seen before—some resembling mathematical integral signs, others simplified physics diagrams (variations of α, β, π, and a mark like a sine wave). The light patterns lasted less than ten seconds. As the morning light shifted further, they dimmed and vanished in an instant, as if they had never existed. The stone pillar returned to its rough, gray state. But Lin Ge's heart was pounding. It was no illusion. His father had left more than just carvings—he had left **hidden messages that required specific conditions to reveal**! The fleeting glimpse of notes (a modified combination of C, E, F, G) and the unfamiliar symbols, though incomprehensible for now, were like a faint lamp lit in the dark maze of his existence. He carefully adjusted the totem pole's angle, trying to catch the morning light once more. But the light patterns did not reappear. It seemed the trick required **exact angles**—and perhaps the **specific frequency (E-flat)** he had hummed unconsciously earlier, as a trigger? The discovery brought a flicker of faint excitement, cutting through the suffocating weight of his imprisonment. He pulled the totem pole into his arms, pressing the carved area against his chest, and felt an **extremely faint but steady, soothing frequency field** emanating from it, like gentle water washing over his frayed nerves and lingering headache. The morning passed in silence. Lin Ge experimented with different angles, humming different fragments in the softest of whispers, but he could not trigger the light patterns again. He did not despair, however—instead, he studied every detail of the carvings, burning them into his memory. Then, the time came. Steady, clear footsteps echoed in the corridor outside the door, unhurried, each step spaced with the precision of a pendulum. The faint clink of armor plates was a cold premonition. Lin Ge sat up straight at once, setting the totem pole gently beside him, his hands resting flat on his knees as he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and began to recite the simple mantra he had devised before Carl's arrival, a way to empty his mind of "abnormal" thoughts that might trigger the scan's alarm: **"Stone… tree… stone… tree…"** Simple, repetitive, meaningless words, a shield against suspicion. The door did not open. But an invisible, intangible yet unmistakable "force" pierced the stone walls and the heavy wooden door, shrouding the entire Silence Chamber. Lin Ge felt a fine, static-like tingle prickle across his skin, and then the sensation seeped inward. It was **cold, meticulous, composed of countless invisible, frigid probes**, sweeping slowly over his body—probing muscle tension, the activity of his mana circuits, before focusing its attention on his skull. Unlike Sven's gaze, which held a clear will of "scrutiny," this felt like a precise, unfeeling scanning instrument operating on pre-set programming. It sought to penetrate the shallow layers of his mind, hunting for unstable fluctuations, residual traces of abnormal frequencies. Lin Ge maintained a steady breath, his entire consciousness focused on fortifying the fragile "cognitive blank" he had constructed for himself. He felt the cold probes glide over the simple mental loop of "stone… tree…," pause for a heartbeat, then move on. A thin sheen of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His hands on his knees clenched slightly, his fingertips pressing into his palms, using the faint pain to anchor his focus. At the same time, the faint, steady frequency field from the totem pole pressed against his chest seemed to sense his tension, strengthening ever so slightly—like an invisible hand, pressing gently against the frayed edges of his restless consciousness. The scan lasted approximately three minutes. Then the cold, probing sensation receded like a tide. Outside the door, Sven's calm, emotionless voice rang out, muffled by the wood: "Rigwarl Stonehoof, status check for today. Are you experiencing persistent abnormal visual or auditory hallucinations, or physical pain?" Lin Ge swallowed, his voice as steady as he could make it, laced with the faint weakness befitting a "patient": "No, sir. Only a mild headache, better than yesterday." "Are there any uncontrolled surges or blockages in your mana circuits?" "No, sir." A brief silence followed, broken only by the faint ticking of a data pad. Then the footsteps sounded again, regular and steady, fading into the distance. Lin Ge let out a long, ragged breath, his back soaked with cold sweat. He glanced at the status bar at the edge of his vision. The Anomaly Level had flickered slightly during the scan: `0.380% → 0.379% → 0.381%`, finally stabilizing back at `0.38%`. The temporary label `[Deep Scan in Progress - Daily]` that had appeared after the scan marker slowly faded away. Once a day. This feeling of being "dissected" by a cold machine was more draining than any direct punishment. It was a silent reminder: *You are being watched. You are not "normal." Your safety is as fragile as paper.* In the afternoon, when the simulated light through the stone window turned to a lazy orange, different footsteps sounded outside the door—one heavy and slightly unsteady (accompanied by the clink of a wine flask), the other light and silent, barely making a sound as it touched the ground. The door was pushed open, and Kunkka squeezed in first, bringing with him a whiff of sea breeze (or perhaps it was just an illusion) and fermented malt (undoubtedly alcohol). He still wore his hat askew, his one eye sweeping over Lin Ge as he grinned: "Yo, kid, still among the living? Your face looks less like a corpse than yesterday's." Following him was a man dressed in a plain gray robe. His silver-white hair was tied back simply at the nape of his neck, and his features possessed an androgynous beauty that transcended gender—but upon closer inspection, his skin was covered in extremely fine, delicate lines, like the ice crack patterns that mar ancient porcelain with the passage of time. In his hand, he held a strangely shaped wooden staff, its tip crowned not with a gem, but with three slowly rotating geometric light forms: a cube (icy blue), a sphere (bright yellow), and a tetrahedron (crimson). The moment the gray-robed man stepped into the Silence Chamber, Lin Ge's frequency hearing picked up an **extraordinarily complex, multi-layered energy fluctuation**, as if it contained the compressed echoes of countless pieces of information and time—emanating primarily from the staff. Unlike Lina's fire, which blazed outward fiercely, or Sven's scans, which were cold and coercive, this fluctuation was deep, restrained, heavy with the weight of knowledge and a hint of… weariness. "Kid, this is Carl," Kunkka said, jabbing a thumb at the gray-robed man with his wine flask, his tone casual, but his one eye flicking a meaningful glance at Lin Ge. "Old mate of mine from back when I sailed the Endless Sea. Now he's… uh, a wandering sage of sorts. Pretty damn good at fixing weird ailments. Brought him in specifically to take a look at your mana circuits, which seem to blow a fuse at the drop of a hat." He let out a rough laugh. "You two chat. I'm gonna step outside for some air—this room's suffocating." With that, he actually stumbled out, "thoughtfully" leaving the door slightly ajar. Only Lin Ge and the man named Carl remained in the Silence Chamber. Carl's gaze fell on Lin Ge gently, as if it could pierce flesh and bone to see the very essence of a person. When his eyes swept over the totem pole Lin Ge clutched tightly, Lin Ge noticed a **fleet, almost imperceptible flicker of complex emotion in the depths of his right eye—the ice-blue one**—as if he had laid eyes on a relic from a distant memory, ripples of nostalgia mixing with a deep, quiet sorrow rising to the surface. "Do not be afraid, child," Carl said, his voice warm and laced with a strange, soothing cadence. "Kunkka always exaggerates, but this time, he is half right. You do need some… guidance." He took a few steps closer, not reaching out to touch, but holding his palm out toward Lin Ge's forehead. "May I sense the fluctuations in your mana circuits? It will help me judge the 'illness.'" Lin Ge hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Carl's hand did not touch his skin, stopping a few inches from his forehead. A **gentle, pure stream of energy, like spring water flowing over smooth stones**, drifted from his palm, wrapping around Lin Ge's head. It was a world away from Sven's scan. It did not feel like probing—it felt more like **listening softly**—listening to the rhythm of mana flowing through Lin Ge's body, to the faint tremors of his spiritual world, and even… as if listening to the unspoken confusion and fear buried deep in his soul. After a moment, Carl withdrew his hand, his eyes softening with understanding. He glanced at the closed door, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, yet it cut through the silence clearly, reaching Lin Ge's ears without fail: "Child, the 'old wound' deep in your temples… and the 'silent sheet music' etched into this stone pillar in your hands—they were crafted by the same 'composer,' were they not?" Lin Ge's body jolted, and he looked up at Carl in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. This was one of his deepest secrets! Carl did not seem to need an answer. A faint, almost ethereal smile tugged at his lips, crinkling the fine cracks on his face: "He was, to my knowledge… the most unorthodox, boldest, and gentlest 'composer' who ever lived. It seems he left the most complex, and most precious, melody of all for the one who was meant to hear it." The geometric forms atop his staff glowed faintly, their light shifting. "These 'notes,'" he said, gesturing to the totem pole, "are not merely music. They are keys, to unlock doors that have been locked tight; they are maps, to lead you to paths that have been forgotten or hidden. But to read them safely, child, you must first learn to protect the 'listening room' within you." He tapped his own temple. "To shield it from the too many noisy 'sounds' of the outside world, and to keep the 'sounds' you make from drawing unwanted attention." In the days that followed, Carl came to the Silence Chamber for a short while each day, under Kunkka's "protection." His "treatment" soon turned into secret "lessons." "This world," Carl explained, using terms Lin Ge could understand, "is like a grand symphony, with many different 'voices.' The physical laws of reality are a steady, deep drone; the operating rules of this virtual world are another, more complex and ever-changing harmony; and those 'anomalies' born of intense emotion or accident… they are like sudden, dissonant notes that intrude, sad or fierce." He tapped his staff lightly, and the three geometric forms projected simple but clear images of frequency fluctuations. "Your 'hearing' allows you to listen to all these voices at once. It is a gift, and a burden." The core of the lessons was **cognitive defense**. "Imagine your core consciousness as a room where you need quiet to listen to music," Carl guided him. "Now, build a 'shell' around it. The material is not stone, but…" He hummed a **strikingly simple, almost monotonous hum, lingering only in the low frequency range**, like the most primal of foundations. "Use this frequency as a base, and construct it in your mind. It conveys no specific information—it merely *is*, dense, non-resonant, capable of absorbing and scattering external, malicious probing waves." Lin Ge tried. At first, it was difficult; his thoughts kept wandering. But when he paired the simple melody with the mental image of a dense, sound-absorbing "membrane" wrapping around his core thinking area, he felt a **faint, but unmistakable sense of separation**. "Excellent," Carl nodded. "That is the Cognitive Shell. Next, Frequency Misdirection. When a powerful probe comes, do not leave the inside of your 'shell' completely blank—that would only arouse suspicion. On the surface of the shell, actively simulate some of the most common, harmless mental 'noise.'" He gave examples: recalling an ordinary battle scene (only to the level of muscle memory for swinging a weapon), or imagining a quiet forest. "Let these harmless frequencies be your outermost disguise." Finally, there was Anchor Stabilization. "The totem pole in your hands—its internal frequency field is stable, pure, and homologous to your own. When you feel shaken, afraid, or overwhelmed by the pressure of a scan, 'connect' your consciousness to it, like a ship mooring its cables to a dock. It will help you regain calm quickly and fortify your 'shell.'" Lin Ge drank in the lessons, practicing relentlessly. He found that during Sven's daily scans, actively maintaining his Cognitive Shell and simulating "training memories" and "scenery imaginings" on the surface really did make the cold probes glide over him faster, easing his tension significantly. Clutching the totem pole, the steady frequency field was a rock to anchor himself to. After a successful defense practice, Carl allowed him to conduct a safer "experiment." "Now, do not attempt to use your 'voice' to influence the outside world. It is too dangerous. But you may try, inside your 'shell,' to silently recite fragments of your father's sheet music—only recite them—and observe the faint changes in the flow of your own mana, or… feel the totem pole's passive response." Lin Ge obeyed. As he silently recited the few notes that had appeared in the morning light, he felt the mana that normally flowed sluggishly through his body (the base mana of the Earthshaker template) begin to **resonate, ever so faintly, in time with the rhythm of the notes**, flowing a little more smoothly. And the totem pole in his arms emitted an almost imperceptible warmth from its carved area, as if "responding." On the seventh afternoon of the observation period, in front of Carl, Lin Ge carefully adjusted the totem pole's angle, catching a single ray of light from the window that met the exact conditions once more, and silently recited the E-flat motif in his mind. The pale golden light patterns reappeared! This time, the revealed area was slightly different. The light wove a **simplified pattern of gnarled, spreading roots**—the roots of the World Tree. At the end of one thin root tip, a glowing dot was marked prominently. Next to the pattern was a clear, **flowing cursive symbol "F"**, and a line of elegant, small script as annotation: **"Tuning begins with listening; calm comes from resonance. — Lin"** Lin! Lin Ge's heart almost stopped beating. It was his father's signature! So direct, so… familiar yet distant. Carl stared at the pattern and symbol, his eyes thoughtful. "The roots of the World Tree… this is connected to the ancient legend of the Sunken Grove. That place, it is said, is close to the 'veins' of the underlying data of this virtual world." He pointed to the "F" symbol. "This may be a marker, representing a node, a fundamental constant… or a debugging interface." He looked at Lin Ge, his gaze deep and profound. "It seems your father's classroom for your 'first lesson' is not in this Silence Chamber." Sunken Grove… northeast… Windranger had also mentioned a "clean and sad" place to the northeast. The "Listen to the Wind" carving on the wall… The clues, like scattered puzzle pieces, began to converge toward the same direction. The lesson was drawing to a close. Carl stayed an unusually short time that day. "I cannot come often," Carl said, straightening his robe (though it was already neat), his voice warm but laced with a warning. "Captain Sven is extremely perceptive; his loyalty to the Rules is matched only by his sharp eyes. Remember—mastering these defense techniques is not for hiding in this prison of thought forever. It is for allowing you to go out safely, to explore, to listen." He reached the door, paused, and turned back: "When you feel your 'shell' is strong enough, when you… 'hear' the next note waiting for you in the sheet music. Perhaps it will be time to 'listen to the wind.'" "But," he added, his tone growing serious, his ice-blue right eye holding Lin Ge's gaze firmly, "be very careful, child. The 'wind' outside is not always gentle. Sometimes, it will bring sounds and weights that you may not be able to bear alone." Carl left, as quietly as he had come. Shortly after, Kunkka stumbled back in, tossing his wine flask up and down in one hand. "Well? Did old Carl's 'medicine' do the trick?" Lin Ge nodded, and after a moment's hesitation, mentioned the Sunken Grove and the possibility of going outside. Kunkka's one eye lit up, and he grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco and alcohol: "Hell yeah! Didn't waste my Calming Elixir or my favors for nothing! Kid, keep thinking, keep 'healing' until no one can find a single fault with you." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, the salty, boozy breath fanning Lin Ge's ear: "When you're 'well' enough, I'll assign you an easy mission—'go outside to clear your head, gather some medicinal herbs'—take a stroll in the old forest to the east. Cooped up in here all day, even a healthy man would go crazy, right?" He winked his one eye, the implication unmistakeable. Lin Ge was left alone in the Silence Chamber, which had fallen silent once more. He leaned back against the cold stone wall, holding the totem pole to his chest. The carved area still seemed to retain the faint warmth of the light patterns as they had glowed. The system status bar glowed silently in his mind: `Anomaly Level: 0.38% (Stable)` `Surveillance Status: Priority Observation (Commander's Authorized Observation Period / Disciplinarian: Sven - Daily Deep Scan Active)` `Status: [Cognitive Suppression Resistance] - Minor (Slightly Fortified)` `New: [Cognitive Defense - Novice] - Basic mastery of Cognitive Shell construction, Frequency Misdirection, and Anchor Stabilization techniques.` The simulated light outside the window dimmed gradually, and the distant, muffled noise of the camp drifted in on the air. Fear still lingered, and the pressure had not abated. Sven's scan would come promptly tomorrow, as it always did. But at this moment, the ice that had frozen his heart from the punishment and imprisonment seemed to crack open a fissure. The cold sea water still stung, but through the crack, a ray of light shone in, bringing with it a faint, salty breath—of the distance, and of freedom. He had sheet music to decode. He had a way to protect himself. He had a guide, mysterious but seemingly reliable. He had a protector, gruff on the surface but watchful and kind beneath. And he had a… clear direction. "Listen to the wind…" He whispered the two words, his fingers tapping unconsciously against the carvings of the totem pole, keeping time with the simple defensive melody Carl had taught him, recited silently in his heart. Silent sheet music, a prison of thought. But the melody, already, was beginning to stir in the silence.