The city moved as if it hadn't noticed someone had died.
Outside Lin Xun's apartment, neon lights flickered on cracked pavement, cars hummed past, and a child laughed somewhere far off, muffled by concrete. But inside, the air was thick—like a room sealed too long, like something old had awoken and was watching.
He hadn't touched his laptop since returning from the warehouse. It didn't matter. The system had migrated.
His phone vibrated again. Same no-number message.
[The Sin Ledger] Task #002 issued. Subject: Wen Yufei. Status: Active. Deadline: 19:00.
Another name.
Another person.
Lin's stomach churned.
He hadn't even processed what had happened with Peng Jie. He didn't even know what "removed" meant. Did it mean Peng had… died? Fled? Disappeared?
Or worse—was Lin complicit?
He opened his browser, typed "Peng Jie" into every news site, public registry, criminal archive he could access.
Nothing. No updates. No arrest. No obituary.
As if the man had never existed.
⸻
He thought about declining the task.
But there was no option this time.
The screen simply updated:
Auto-accept enabled. Your ledger has been initiated. Refusal will result in penalty.
His ledger?
He clicked the corner icon—a file-shaped glyph had appeared overnight. When he opened it, he saw:
User: Lin Xun
Entries: 1 completed / 99 remaining
Status: Pending Redemption
Sin Count: 1
Debt: 0.00 (float)
Moral Deviation Index: -0.002
A moral deviation index.
What the hell was that?
Even more disturbing was that small label in red under it:
Target Morality: Neutral.
⸻
He plugged Wen Yufei's name into his research software.
A woman. Thirty-seven. Former corporate lawyer. Accused of embezzling client assets three years ago. The case had vanished from news outlets almost immediately.
Lin cross-checked court documents, public forums, and social media. Most records had been wiped or sealed.
But not all of them.
There was a single forum post, five months old, archived from a legal watchdog site:
"Wen Yufei helped bury the Liu family case. The little boy never got his settlement. She redirected the compensation into a dummy account. Nobody talks about it, but she walked free."
The thread had no replies. The poster's account was deleted.
But Lin remembered the Liu family. It was one of the cases that had made him consider quitting journalism altogether.
He stared at his phone. It now showed her address.
Unit 4-B, West Pearl Tower. Entry permitted 16:45–19:00. Surveillance neutralized.
No excuses. No time to debate.
His "task" had already begun.
⸻
The Pearl Tower was a cold building. Too clean. The kind of place where the halls smelled like sterilized plastic and the air conditioning never quite matched the seasons. Rich. Quiet. A perfect place to disappear.
The elevator ride up to the 4th floor was silent except for the hum of electricity and his heartbeat in his ears.
The door to Unit 4-B was slightly ajar.
He didn't knock.
Inside, Wen Yufei was seated cross-legged in a white armchair, scrolling her phone. Her eyes flicked up. She didn't look surprised.
"Close the door," she said softly.
Lin obeyed.
She set the phone down and looked at him as if seeing an old friend.
"You're the second one this week," she said.
He froze.
"The second what?"
She gestured toward the kitchen. "Last Wednesday. A courier came. Said I had unpaid debts. He never explained. Just… stood there until I told him something. Then left. You're from the same app, aren't you?"
Lin nodded, slow. His throat dry.
"You didn't ask to be part of this either, did you?" she added.
"No."
She smiled sadly.
"It's always like that. The ledger doesn't pick saints. It picks the ones with unresolved fury. The ones who know something is broken."
"You sound like you've seen this before."
"I built systems like it. Not as… sentient. But predictive justice platforms. We trained models to flag high-risk individuals, to predict guilt before trials began. I told myself it was for efficiency. Safety. But the truth is—I was drunk on the idea of control."
Lin stepped forward. "You stole from the Liu family."
Wen's face paled slightly. But she didn't deny it.
"I rerouted the money. Yes. But not for me. I was trying to clear other accounts, close debts tied to shell companies. I thought if I buried one tragedy, I could prevent three more."
"Do you hear yourself?" Lin asked, voice rising. "That's not justice."
"No," she agreed. "It's survival."
⸻
The phone buzzed again in Lin's pocket.
Judgment Required. Time Remaining: 00:34:51
It was the first time he noticed it explicitly: the system didn't tell him what to do. It presented a subject, a history, and a countdown.
It left the decision—apparently—to him.
But if he refused, if he walked away… what then?
Would she vanish like Peng Jie?
Or worse—would he be punished?
"I don't know what it wants from me," he said aloud.
Wen stood, walked to the window. "It wants us to choose. That's the real test. Not just to see sin—but to weigh it. To pay it forward. Or forgive."
She turned to face him.
"So… will you?"
⸻
Lin didn't answer.
Instead, he opened the ledger.
A new option had appeared:
Render Verdict: Guilty / Not Guilty
Method: System-Enforced / Self-Enforced / Forgive and Archive
Warning: All choices are final.
He looked at Wen again.
She didn't plead.
Didn't flinch.
She simply watched.
"You regret what you did?" he asked.
She nodded. "But not for the reasons you think."
He hovered over "Guilty."
Then over "Forgive and Archive."
And in that moment, something inside him shifted.
He clicked Forgive and Archive.
The app flickered.
Verdict recorded. Subject archived. Reward forfeited.
Moral Deviation Index: adjusted +0.005
Redemption Path: Activated.
A strange warmth filled his chest.
For a moment—just a moment—he felt human again.
⸻
Back at home, the screen displayed a new message:
You chose mercy. Not all debts demand blood. But every choice carves your path.
New Task: Pending.
Rest. You will be needed again soon.
Lin leaned back, eyes closed.
He thought of Wen Yufei.
Of the Liu family.
Of the systems they'd both tried to build—different shapes of the same flawed machine.
And he realized something terrifying.
The Sin Ledger wasn't punishing him.
It was shaping him.