Topological Oracle

2046. Line cutting day. The price of the speaker is quoted at five o'clock: the line is cut today, 7.8 Watt-hour. If the amount is lower than this, please take the initiative to register at the recycling point. A life, clearly marked with a price. Eight pieces of water, nine air filters, and seven watts of sleeping space per night. Watt-hour is the only blood in the world - it can buy water, medicine, and a bed to sleep in until dawn; it cannot afford a disease or a person. Wu Yuanheng was sixteen years old and worked as a scavenger in a graveyard. The registration book is fake, the name was chosen by myself, and the file says "Basic Level Scrap Weapon Sensing and Repair" - the cheapest registration, the least valuable identity. He lived by repairing old machinery, by pretending to be stupid, and by "not causing trouble." But the strange thing is that when the blue light sweeps over everyone, it will ring. Sweeping it over him, there was no sound. There is no record of him in the registry. He dug out a section of silver ash spine from the ashes, which looked like a spine and the keel of a machine. After four years of repairing the old weapon, he couldn't recognize what it was. That night, it felt like an extra bone had grown, digging into his ribs. Every time he was close to death, it would do something for him - at the cost of nosebleeds, headaches, and erased memories piece by piece. The system started chasing him. The wrong name was found, the source column was blank, and there was an extra line "to be verified" in the register. The blue light search swept through the entire Half-Life Collection - not looking for people, but looking for records. Someone began to count his price: from the sleeping place list, to the famous list, to the fate list. The regulation bureau wants to flatten him, the old system wants to archive him, and the spiritual beings want to devour him. And the real mystery is: Why can't the rules of this world read him? All the way from the ashes of the half-life collection