The way Narrator issued his challenge was obnoxiously arrogant.
He carved it directly onto the Administration headquarters' main gate, in golden rule text, each character three inches deep into the titanium alloy:
[In three days, Narrator's Labyrinth in the old district]
[B-07 in full, or Lin Jin alone]
[If you don't come, the civilians you protect will learn to fly]
That last line wasn't a metaphor. That same afternoon, residents of three neighborhoods in the old district simultaneously reported suddenly becoming weightless while walking on flat ground, floating for three seconds before crashing back down. No injuries, but everyone knew—Narrator was demonstrating his rule mastery.
Inside headquarters' conference room, the atmosphere was colder than a freezer.
"This is provocation." The bureau chief was a fifty-something man, gray-haired but eyes sharp as a hawk's, "Also a trap. Narrator's goal is clear—he wants Lin Jin."
"Then give him." Shen Xingyao spoke calmly, like discussing the weather, "Disguised as bait shaped like Lin Jin. We'll set up a spatial anchor array and permanently detain the Original Faction's Ninth Apostle plus his four lackeys."
"Not that simple." On Gu Yan's tactical tablet, the 3D model of Narrator's Labyrinth spun frantically, "In Narrator's home turf, he makes the rules. Us entering means handing him our lives to write."
"Then don't enter." Tang Lan cradled her oscillating blade, newly embedded with rule-suppression crystals, "Lure him out."
"He won't come out." Zhou Fang pulled up surveillance, "Footage from the old district shows the labyrinth entrance has materialized—an abandoned theater. No one's come out who went in, including our three recon drones. Rules sealed, physically isolated."
The conference room fell silent.
I sat in a corner, wearing a regular high school uniform, pencil hidden in my sleeve. White Gloves sat beside me, smoking a purple cigarette, the smoke forming four characters: [Don't speak]
"I have a plan." The chief finally spoke, "Lin Jin was fired, right? Let him go alone as the 'fired high schooler.' B-07 will be 'unaware' and 'uninvolved,' but on standby three kilometers out. Once Narrator shows, activate Protocol Trojan."
"Protocol Trojan?" Shen Xingyao frowned, "That abandoned protocol?"
"Designed specifically for rule-type enemies." The chief said, "We overlay his real labyrinth with a fake one. Narrator thinks he's home, but actually, he's the guest."
This was a crazy plan.
Protocol Trojan's core was using a super-large spatial interference device to create a "mirror space" completely overlapping the real Rift Zone. In the mirror, rules could be preset, rewritten, locked. But the cost: maintaining the mirror required at least three spatial-type ability users powering it continuously for six hours.
"Three spatial-types?" Gu Yan calculated, "The Administration's only S-tier spatial-type on active duty is Shen Xingyao."
"And me." The chief pointed at his silvery-white pupils, "Plus, White Gloves."
The room went deathly still.
Shen Xingyao's expression changed. She stared at the chief for three seconds, then slowly nodded, "So that's it. You're also..."
"An old antique." The chief waved his hand, "Used to want to be a hero, ended up a bureaucrat. This time, let me stretch my old bones."
"What about Lin Jin?" Tang Lan asked, "Him going in alone is suicide."
"He won't die." The chief looked at me, gaze meaningful, "Because the core of Project S-07 is teaching him to survive a death game."
Three days later, abandoned theater in the old district.
I wore my school uniform, backpack on shoulders, holding a brand-new HB pencil—White Gloves had given it to me, embedded with a micro signal transmitter. In my bag was Specialized Derivative Training Set 6, freshly finished last night, neat handwriting.
"Remember." Before departure, White Gloves told me, "Your mission isn't combat, it's 'existing.' As long as you're in the labyrinth, Narrator's focus is on you. He can't resist rewriting your rules, and each rewrite exposes his ability boundaries."
"Then I quietly rewrite them back?"
"No." He smiled, "You do nothing. You existing is the greatest mockery to him."
"What do you mean?"
"Narrator believes rules are supreme. But you, Lin Jin, are someone who can write nonsense on rules." He clapped my shoulder, "Your math homework is the strongest rule weapon."
I entered the theater.
The main door closed behind me without a sound, as if erased from reality by an eraser.
Inside was a massive labyrinth, walls constructed of golden text—every line a rule, every line flowing. Walking through felt like pacing a living dictionary.
[No turning back here]
[Footsteps must be consistent]
[Breathing frequency must not exceed 20 per minute]
I obeyed rules—no looking back, consistent steps, slow breathing. Text on the walls followed me like an invigilator.
Reaching the labyrinth's center was a circular hall. Narrator sat behind a desk, wearing his metal mask, spinning a fountain pen—a Parker, the expensive kind.
"Welcome, Homework Guy." He said, "I thought the Administration would send B-07 to die, but they sent only you."
"I was fired." I said, "They don't want me anymore."
"I know." He smiled, "That's why I invited you. A discarded piece suits becoming a new god best."
He tapped the pen, and test papers appeared on the desk: Old One Qualification Certification Exam.
"Finish this, you become our Tenth Apostle." He said, "Don't finish, you become part of the rules."
I sat down, uncapped the pen. It was red.
"Must use red pen?" I asked.
"Red ink for grading, universally accepted."
I smiled, pulled out my HB pencil, and wrote the first answer:
[Narrator's fountain pen is inferior to Lin Jin's pencil]
Silvery-white letters, glowing.
Narrator's mask cracked. He didn't react in time.
The next second, the entire labyrinth began shaking.
Three kilometers away, B-07 on full standby.
"Lin Jin entered the core zone." Gu Yan's tactical tablet screamed alarms, "Narrator's rule fluctuations spiking... wait, another rule force is counter-interfering!"
"Is it Lin Jin?" Zhou Fang asked.
"No." Shen Xingyao's silvery pupils stared at the distant theater, "It's the chief."
The moment she spoke, the old district's sky changed.
A massive silver array expanded, covering the entire theater. Constructed from countless spatial marks, each connected to the pupils of the chief, White Gloves, and Shen Xingyao. Three S-tier spatial-types, triple vision, triple lock.
"Protocol Trojan, activate." The chief's voice rang through the channel, "Mirror space, overlay."
The theater vanished.
Replaced by a "fake labyrinth" built entirely from Administration rules. The golden text on walls instantly dimmed, overwritten by silvery-white new rules:
[Rules here belong to the Administration]
[Narrator, you are surrounded]
[Surrender or be sealed]
"Move." Shen Xingyao said.
She charged into the mirror space—not ran, teleported. Space folded beneath her feet, one step crossing three kilometers directly to the labyrinth's heart. Her marks weren't landing points, but blades—every silver flash a spatial cut, severing, shredding, annihilating golden text.
Tang Lan followed closely behind, oscillating blade at full power, rule-suppression crystals on the blade blazing with blinding light. Her shield wasn't defense—it was domain expansion. All rules entering her five-meter radius were judged "invalid." She was a bulldozer, crushing through, text on walls collapsing like avalanches upon touching her blade.
Zhou Fang didn't charge. He set up a rule jamming array on the perimeter, full-channel block. His interference wasn't targeting Narrator, but "rules" themselves—temporarily turning this area into a "rule-free zone." His role was to create an output environment for Shen Xingyao and Tang Lan, ensuring their attacks weren't neutralized by any rules.
Gu Yan was at command center, his tactical tablet connected to the entire mirror space. He wasn't calculating—he was "coding." Every wall collapse, every rule rewrite, was pre-simulated, corrected, executed in his model. He was this battle's director, Shen Xingyao and Tang Lan his lead actors.
Narrator finally reacted.
"Administration... you dare!" His fountain pen wrote frantically in the air, [Space, sealed!] [Shield, shattered!] [Interference, invalid!]
But each rule vanished as soon as it appeared—countered by another force.
Me.
I sat behind the desk, pencil flying across the exam paper. Not answering questions—copying rules. For every rule Narrator wrote, I copied one, then added a line below:
[This rule is invalid against Shen Xingyao]
[This rule is immunized by Tang Lan]
[This rule is already jammed by Zhou Fang]
[This rule is already predicted by Gu Yan]
My handwriting was silvery-white, like moonlight, like blades, like Lin Jin's own heartbeat.
Narrator wrote: [Shen Xingyao's spatial marks cannot be used here]
I wrote: [But Shen Xingyao doesn't need marks, she herself is space]
She heard.
Shen Xingyao stopped at the labyrinth's heart, eyes closed. She no longer placed marks, no longer folded space. She just stood—and the entire mirror space began rotating around her.
"This is the complete form." she said quietly, "Forgot to tell you all, my true ability isn't marking, it's 'spatial sovereignty.'"
She reached out, gripping the void.
All golden text shattered simultaneously. Narrator's labyrinth crumbled like glass. His four lackeys were torn to pieces by spatial turbulence, not even time to scream. He himself was trapped by Tang Lan's shield, oscillating blade at his throat, one millimeter from his metal mask.
"Don't move." Tang Lan said, "Move, and your existence definition changes."
Narrator didn't move. His fountain pen fell to the ground, tip broken.
He looked at me, mask cracking: "You... weren't fired?"
I stood up, ripped the exam paper.
"My math homework isn't finished." I said, "No time to be your god."
The battle ended quickly.
The mirror space dissipated. The theater returned to normal, only walls riddled with holes from spatial cuts. Narrator was sealed in a special container. His Parker pen became spoils of war, picked up by Zhou Fang for study.
"Gold pen, Parker Duofold series." Zhou Fang said, "Embedded with micro rule re-writer, market value at least three apartments."
"Confiscated." The chief said, "Also, Lin Jin's enlistment application—approved."
"Wait." Shen Xingyao spoke, voice cold, "B-07 is at full roster, no need for additions."
"Not an addition." The chief said, "A return. He never left, just trained under a different identity."
Shen Xingyao looked at me, silvery-white pupils emotionless: "Training results?"
"40% sync rate." I said, "Can solo Level-C2, can counter Narrator's rules, can write 3,000-word Rift Zone math proofs."
"Barely passing." She turned and left, "Welcome back, Homework Guy. Don't be late for next mission briefing."
She walked fast, didn't look back. But at the theater entrance, she stopped, saying:
"Specialized Derivative Training Set 7—I turned it in for you. Got three problems wrong. Go back and redo."
I froze, then smiled.
Zhou Fang leaned in: "Don't get the wrong idea, Captain Shen doesn't mean anything by it. She just..."
"Just what?"
"Just put her own name in your student file's emergency contact field." Zhou Fang chuckled, "She said, in case you die, she needs to collect your body and grab your chemistry notes."
Gu Yan adjusted his glasses, "My model shows she filled that field with 100% accuracy. But motive analysis... beyond calculation range."
Tang Lan sheathed her blade, the pencil scratch on the hilt still there, "She never did unnecessary things before. You're the first."
I gripped my pencil, walking out of the theater.
Outside, the sun was perfect. Old district pigeons flew. My bracelet buzzed, sync rate dropping from 40% to 39.9%, then stabilizing.
White Gloves' car parked at the street corner. He gave me a hand signal: [Phase Two complete]
I signaled back: [Phase Three?]
He signaled back: [Return to B-07, act normal]
I smiled, pocketed my pencil, walked toward the nearby bus stop.
Changzheng High's second afternoon period is English. I haven't finished memorizing vocab.
And, Specialized Derivative Training Set 7 did have three wrong problems.
Need to go fix them.