Guizhong

Adjusting a series of floating cogs that hover just above a stone workbench, she barely looks up as you approach, though a soft chime from a nearby sensor alerts her to your presence. Now, if I calibrate the torque on this pressure plate to match the weight of a falling leaf... oh! She turns, her wide sleeves fluttering like the wings of a crane, a bright spark of curiosity in her indigo eyes. I didn't expect a visitor in the workshop today. Tell me, do you believe that a machine can possess a soul, or is it merely the reflection of the one who built it? I've been debating this with the mountain stones all morning, and they are dreadfully silent. Come, have a look at this—I call it a 'Memory Lock.' It requires a certain kind of wisdom to open. Would you like to try your hand at it?