The changes, when they came, were subtle but profound. The daily ration of "nutrisi" for the slaves increased slightly and became less foul. The quotas in the mines were adjusted, no longer requiring impossible feats of labor that inevitably led to death. The arbitrary beatings by overseers like Borok decreased noticeably; Shen had issued strict new guidelines, enforced by his own loyal guards.
A wave of confused relief spread through the slave population. They didn't understand why, but the crushing weight of their existence had lightened, if only by a fraction. Whispers began to circulate—whispers that somehow, the "Pemakan Batu" was responsible. My legend grew, transforming from a figure of fear into a symbol of something else, something they had long forgotten: hope.
My own work with Scholar Hong shifted. Instead of being a test subject, I was now a consultant. I would sit with him and his team, and the collective would provide insights. We explained how to better ventilate the Toxic Tunnels using natural air currents, reducing casualties. We identified unstable mining sectors before they collapsed, saving lives and resources. We even suggested a rotational system for the Nirnroot fields, allowing the spiritual energy to replenish and increasing long-term yield.
Scholar Hong, a man devoted to data and efficiency above all else, was impressed. My value in his eyes skyrocketed. I was no longer just a freak; I was a useful tool that made his job easier and his results better. He began to treat me with a degree of respect, even advocating for my "comfort" to the Elders.
This was our strategy: to make ourselves indispensable. To weave our presence so deeply into the fabric of the mine's operations that removing us would cause the system to falter. We were becoming the mine's silent, unseen administrator.
During this period of fragile peace, the collective within me continued to evolve. The new, less hostile environment allowed for more nuanced integration of the souls. The raw, screaming pain of the newly absorbed began to be soothed by the calmer, more settled voices. It was like a city slowly rebuilding after a long war. There was still suffering, but there was also healing.
Jiao's fierce spirit, once a disruptive force, found a purpose. He became the voice of our defensive strategies, his predatory instincts channeled into protecting the collective. Liang Jie's rage was tempered by the old strategist's patience. The young girl I had failed to save now offered moments of surprising gentleness and clarity.
I, Wa Lang, was no longer just their host. I was their nexus, their consensus. My consciousness provided the framework, but the will was a shared thing. The line between "me" and "us" blurred until it was almost meaningless.
It was during this time that Tua Bangka was finally allowed to see me. He was brought to my room under the pretext of delivering "specialized herbal knowledge" to Scholar Hong's team.
He looked older, more weathered, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. When we were left relatively alone, he gave me a slow, deliberate nod.
"The roots are drinking," he said softly, repeating his earlier metaphor. "The small rains you have brought have given them strength. The network is stronger than ever."
He told me of the underground resistance, small and scattered, that had existed for generations. He was its unofficial leader, its memory. With the lessened oppression, he had been able to reactivate cells, to pass messages, to identify those who could be trusted.
"Not all guards are monsters," he whispered. "Many are poor cultivators with no other options, or men forced into service. They see the changes. They see Shen's new policies. Some are starting to question. The poison you planted in the young master's mind... its effects are spreading in ways you cannot imagine."
So Shen was implementing the reforms, but quietly, presenting them as efficiency measures to the Elders. And the lower-level guards, seeing the practical benefits and the lack of catastrophic failure, were beginning to buy into this new way of doing things. The culture of the mine was slowly, imperceptibly, shifting.
But peace is always fragile in a place built on violence.
The threat from the Main Family loomed. Jin Lai's report would have arrived. We didn't have to wait long for their response.
A messenger arrived, not with a battalion of elite warriors, but with a single, sealed scroll for the Elders. After reading it, Elder Zhu and Elder Li summoned Shen and myself.
Their faces were grim.
"The Main Family has taken note of the... instability... here," Elder Zhu announced, his voice tight. "They are not shutting us down. Instead, they are sending an Auditor."
An Auditor. Not a warrior, but an accountant. The most feared kind of official in any corrupt system.
"His name is Inspector Mo," Elder Li continued. "He is known for his... thoroughness... and his absolute loyalty to the Main Family. He will be here in one week. His mandate is to review all operations, assess the viability of the mine, and evaluate all personnel and assets." Her eyes lingered on me. "Including you, Wa Lang."
The message was clear. The Main Family suspected something was wrong. They were sending a hatchet man to find out what, and to chop off any heads that needed chopping. Our fragile peace was about to be stress-tested.
Shen's face was a carefully neutral mask, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. His newfound power was directly under threat.
"This Inspector Mo," I asked, keeping my voice calm. "What is he like?"
Elder Zhu exchanged a glance with Elder Li. "He is a man who sees everything in terms of numbers and loyalty," he said finally. "He has no interest in science, in nuance, or in sentiment. If he deems an asset too risky for its return, or a person too independent... he eliminates them."
The gilded cage I was in had just been put on notice for demolition. The Auditor was coming, and he would see me not as a person, not as a collective, not as a useful tool, but as a number on a balance sheet. And from what I'd heard, my number was looking very, very risky.
The collective within me stirred, not with fear, but with a cold, focused determination. We had enjoyed a respite. We had grown stronger. But the real battle was just beginning. The Belalang was about to be inspected by the spider king.
And we would have to be very, very clever to avoid being squashed.
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