Day 47. My synchronization rate stabilized at 13.8%.
That damned number, like a Gaokao countdown, was nailed to my bracelet screen. Every morning at 06:00 sharp, it vibrated, reminding me with 0.01% precision that I'd inched another step toward the inhuman. Shen Xingyao said 13.8% was the safety threshold. Over 15% meant inhibitor shots. Over 20% meant solitary confinement. I asked her what about 30%? She didn't answer, just rapped my head with her folder—three times harder than usual.
The past 47 days, B-07 Squad's training schedule was more hellish than senior-year crunch time.
Tang Lan's combat training dragged my melee rating from D- to A-. The price was her single-handedly slamming me into sandbags every morning, followed by her assessment: "Still weak." Worst time, she dislocated my joints in three moves, then squatted nearby waiting for my bones to reknit—adaptoid self-healing was three times faster than normal humans, but pain was five times worse. As I lay on the ground howling, she actually pulled out a protein powder packet and mixed it on the spot: "Nutrition supplement. Still have physical training this afternoon."
Zhou Fang's rule interference class made math look concrete. He locked me in a room full of jammers, had me rewrite rules with a pencil, but each rewrite triggered twelve reverse suppression programs. "Precision!" he'd shout through the glass wall, "Not brute force! You're rewriting rules, not defusing bombs!" To teach me "precision," he sharpened my pencil tip to 0.3 millimeters, then forced me to carve The Teacher's Final Instructions on a grain of rice. When I finally finished carving "spare no effort," my synchronization rate spiked 0.5% abnormally—because the rice was too small, my consciousness almost drilled in with the blade.
Gu Yan's tactical deduction class was the most torturous. He built a model called "Jin's Chaos" specifically to predict my behavior. Every afternoon, I'd run through twenty Rift Zone scenarios on the sand table while he'd sneer beside me: "Your optimal solution has a 3.7% success rate, but your suicide plan clocks 89%." I asked him why. He adjusted his glasses: "Because you always choose the most human option. And what Rift Zones excel at is forcing you to choose between 'being human' and 'staying alive.'"
As for Shen Xingyao... her spatial marking training gave me PTSD. She'd drop marks anytime, anywhere—while I showered, a mark appeared behind the showerhead; while I used the toilet, a mark suddenly flashed inside the bowl; I once dreamed of being pinned to a wall by seventeen marking darts, woke to find two actually hidden under my pillow. Most excessive was Day 31—she stuffed a micro-marker in my toothbrush handle. As I brushed, a dart shot from the mirror, nearly slicing my tonsils.
"Reaction speed: B-tier." She'd expressionlessly retrieved the dart at the time, "Congratulations. Barely meeting my minimum standards."
After 47 days, my combat evaluation sheet looked like this:
[Lin Jin, B-07 Squad Rule Re-writer]
- Single-target damage: ★★★☆ (A-tier)
Can smash three-centimeter-thick reinforced glass barehanded, but Tang Lan's assessment: "Still weak."
- Rule interference level: ★★★★★ (S-tier potential)
Gu Yan's model showed my rewrite efficiency exceeded 95% of secondary adaptoids, but stability only 41%.
- Battlefield survival rate: ★★★ (C+ tier)
Can tank a Level-C Rift Zone for three hours without collapse, but legs turn to jelly at the sight of a Level-B Rift Zone core.
Simply put, solo, I'd already peaked above regular Administration members. But in B-07, I was still the floor.
Shen Xingyao's ratings were triple ★★★★★, Tang Lan's defense was ★★★★★, Gu Yan's rule deduction also ★★★★★. Though Zhou Fang only had ★★ for solo damage, his interference could nullify my ★★★★★ interference.
"So I'm still trash?" I asked, sprawled on the floor after Day 47's training.
"No." Gu Yan adjusted his glasses, "You're now a promising piece of trash."
Day 48. I submitted my 17th mission application.
The request form was written in pencil, neat handwriting, with sound reasoning: "I have completed basic training, combat evaluation reached A-tier, synchronization rate stable. Requesting participation in live mission to test training results. P.S.: Specialized Derivative Training Set 4 completed, no lingering concerns."
Shen Xingyao rejected it with two big red characters: DENIED.
"Why?" I burst into her office, "I can smash bricks with one hand now!"
"That's because Tang Lan had you smash bricks she'd pre-softened with rules." She didn't look up from processing another file, "Your interference level is high, but live experience zero. Letting you on a mission equals sending you to die."
"Then how'd you let me out on the first mission?"
"That was an observation mission. Your role was bait, not fighter." She finally looked up, silvery-white pupils locking onto me, "Now you want to be a fighter, you need to prove you can survive on your own."
"How?"
She didn't speak, just snapped her fingers.
The training room walls vanished. We were teleported into a massive white space. At its center stood twelve Level-C Rift Creatures—"Rule Echoes." Humanoid, translucent, bodies composed of twisted text. Their attack method was tearing at targets' "existence definition."
"This is the virtual sparring ground." Shen Xingyao retreated to the edge, "Rule Echoes have 5% synchronization. Your 13.8% gives you suppression advantage. Thirty minutes. Clear them all."
She tossed me a regular pencil: "Use this, not your Rift Zone pencil."
I caught it, palms sweating.
Rule Echoes lunged. The first one pressed its palm to my chest. I heard my heartbeat stretched like a broken tape. It tore at my "existence," trying to turn me into meaningless noise.
I slashed its wrist with the pencil in reverse.
[Attack Judgment: Invalid]
The text appeared on the Echo's wrist. It froze, then its entire body collapsed into light points.
Effective.
Second, third... twelfth. I wrote "invalid," "nonexistent," "error" in the void with my pencil. Each rewrite landed precisely on their rule cores. After 30 minutes, silence returned. I stood, clutching a pencil broken in two.
Synchronization rate peak: 14.9%.
Shen Xingyao walked over, picked up the broken pencil, and stared at it for a long time.
"Barely passing." She said, "But remember, the virtual sparring ground won't actually kill you. Rift Zones will."
Day 49. 18th application. Rejected again.
Day 50. 19th application. Rejected.
Day 51. I papered the B-07 briefing room with my applications, each written in silvery-white text: "I WANT A MISSION." Zhou Fang laughed until he couldn't straighten up. Gu Yan drew a stick figure self-destruction diagram on my form. Tang Lan tore one up to use as protein powder wrapping paper.
Day 52. Shen Xingyao finally relented.
"There's a Level-C1 mission." She said at the briefing, "Lowest-level cleanup. Target is a newborn Rift Zone in a suburban abandoned warehouse. Estimated three Rule Echoes only, no rule core, no anchor risk."
"Let me go?" My eyes lit up.
"The whole squad's going." She looked around, "B-07's been running nonstop for three months. We need a low-intensity mission to decompress. Meanwhile, let you witness what 'simple' looks like."
Zhou Fang cheered: "Finally no more calculating sacrifices!"
Gu Yan's hand adjusting his glasses paused for 0.1 seconds. I noticed the "Optimal Solution" field on his tactical board rarely displayed: [No calculation required].
Tang Lan said nothing, but her muscles relaxed, like a beast that could finally catch its breath.
Day 53. Pre-mission briefing.
The holographic projection showed a three-story warehouse, exterior walls covered in vines, half the window glass shattered. Rift Zone level: C-1 (lowest). Erosion area: 200 square meters. Internal threats: estimated 3-5 Rule Echoes, no autonomous consciousness, no evolution potential.
"Mission objective: Clear all Echoes, recover Rift Zone core fragments." Shen Xingyao's pointer tapped the warehouse floor plan's center, "Lin Jin handles observation and auxiliary rewrites, no solo action. Tang Lan main assault, Zhou Fang interference, Gu Yan modeling, I handle marking and displacement. Estimated duration: 2 hours."
"2 hours?" I was stunned, "My first mission and it's 2 hours?"
"Level-C1 Rift Zones have the lowest rule stability." Gu Yan explained, "It's newborn, hasn't learned how to 'kill smartly' yet. For us, it's like a post-meal stroll."
He paused, adding: "Of course, for you it's first live combat. Don't die."
Tang Lan tossed me light armor: "Level-C1 doesn't need heavy gear. This can tank three lethal strikes."
"Only three?"
"Three not enough?" Her mouth twitched—rarely, "Enough for you to write three wills."
Zhou Fang shoved a small jammer into my hand: "Press this red button, makes Echoes' rules scramble for three seconds. Within three seconds, you must run behind me or Tang Lan."
"What if I can't make it?"
"Then press the black button." He grinned, "That's the self-destruct. Powerful enough to blow up the warehouse. At least it's a quick death."
I stared at the lighter-sized device, feeling my palms sweat.
Shen Xingyao checked my equipment last. She tapped my forehead. Silver light seeped into my skin like water into a sponge.
"Mark." She said, "If you get separated, I'll pull you back. But don't count on me making it every time."
"What if you can't make it?"
She looked at me, silent. But that gaze was clear—if she couldn't, I'd become one of the Echoes, or get eaten by the Rift Zone core, or my synchronization rate would spike straight to 50% and I'd lineify on the spot.
"Don't worry." I finally found the right line, "I haven't died yet."
This was B-07's catchphrase. My first time saying it, lacking conviction.
Zhou Fang laughed. On Gu Yan's tactical board, the stick figure in the "Jin's Chaos" zone gained a line: [Survival Rate: 94.7%].
Tang Lan patted my shoulder—hard enough to nearly knock me down: "Don't die."
Day 54. 06:00. Before takeoff.
We rode the same black helicopter, but the atmosphere was completely different. Zhou Fang was humming. Gu Yan rested with closed eyes. Tang Lan polished her oscillating blade, the edge humming softly. Shen Xingyao placed the final mark on the map.
I cradled that HB pencil. The barrel's cracks had extended to the end, like a net about to shatter.
"Nervous?" Shen Xingyao suddenly asked.
"A bit." I admitted honestly, "But more... bored."
"Bored?"
"47 days of training, beating puppets in virtual sparring daily, writing rules until my hand cramps." I watched the city gradually fade in the distance, "Now finally seeing the real thing,反而觉得...不过如此."
She said nothing, just pulled a folded paper from her pocket and tossed it over.
I opened it—Changzheng High School's 58th monthly exam report card. In my chemistry score column, red pen wrote: 95 points, first in school.
"The Administration took it for you." She said, "Using remote-controlled robots, syncing with your brainwaves. Now you're a chemistry competition seed candidate at Changzheng High School. Student status secure, Gaokao qualification retained."
I stared at that 95 for a long time.
"So," I finally found my voice, "I can now die in peace?"
"No." She turned back, silvery-white pupils flashing a rare hint of emotion, "You can now live and return in peace, to keep writing your math homework."
The helicopter crossed the city's edge. Below lay abandoned industrial zones—that warehouse stuck on the barren horizon like a rotten tooth.
Rift Zone's purple erosion light seeped through window cracks, like rotting entrails.
Zhou Fang stopped humming. Gu Yan opened his eyes. Tang Lan stood, blade unsheathing with a soft hum.
"Remember." Shen Xingyao's voice rang in the cabin, "Level-C1, lowest difficulty, but lowest doesn't mean zero risk. Lin Jin, stick close, don't scribble randomly."
I gripped the pencil, nodding.
The helicopter hovered, cabin door opened, rope dropped.
The wind was fierce, stinging my eyes. But when I looked at my teammates, I suddenly realized they were all smiling—that rare, relaxed smile, like getting a weekend off after three months of overtime.
"Let's go." Zhou Fang patted my back, "Let you witness what real 'cheats' look like."
I was last down the rope, boots hitting concrete before the abandoned warehouse. Erosion's purple light spread at my feet like hungry thorns.
The sync monitor buzzed: 13.8% → 14.0%.
But I didn't panic. Just tightened my grip on that HB pencil, silvery-white light flowing within its cracks.
Behind me, Shen Xingyao's spatial marks already shrouded the entire warehouse area. Tang Lan's shield condensed into visible ripples in the air. Zhou Fang's jammer emitted high-frequency hums. On Gu Yan's tactical tablet, all data streams pointed to one conclusion:
[Level-C1 Rift Zone, Threat Level: Low]
[B-07 Squad, Combat Status: Relaxed]
[Lin Jin, Sync Rate: 14.0%, Emotional Status: ...Bored]
I looked up at the purple-light-emanating warehouse and suddenly realized something:
This might be the last mission where I'd feel "bored" in the next three years.
Because Administration records showed Level-C1 missions had a 0.3% mortality rate—while B-07 Squad's 11 Level-C1 missions to date had a 0% mortality rate.
I wasn't afraid of dying, I was afraid that after this mission, I'd never return to the version of myself who could feel "bored."
"Lin Jin." Shen Xingyao called.
"Here."
"Don't space out." She walked first toward the warehouse entrance, "Your first mission begins now."
I followed, spinning the pencil in my palm, leaving a trail of silvery-white light.
The warehouse door creaked, purple light pouring out like a tide.
Behind me, the helicopter slowly ascended. The pilot said something into the radio that I didn't catch.
But it didn't matter anymore.
What mattered was, I was now B-07 Squad's rule re-writer, sync rate 14.0%, holding a Rift Zone pencil, facing a Level-C1 Rift Zone, with four genuine monsters at my back.
And, my Specialized Derivative Training Set 4 was indeed finished.
Then, let's get to work.