The air in the old district's abandoned market smelled of rotting leather.
The five of us in black cloaks stood at the entrance like grim reapers who'd wandered into the wrong film set. The cloak material was special—could block 90% of rule detection—but wearing it slowed movement, even breathing had an echo. I tried raising my arm, the sleeve catching wind like dragging a wet quilt.
"Don't speak after entering." Shen Xingyao's voice came through the cloak, three octaves lower than usual, "Let Lin Jin handle negotiations—he looks the most like an idiot."
"Thanks, Captain." I pulled my hood lower.
Inside was livelier than outside. Twenty-plus stalls, vendors uniformly in black masks and matching cloaks, silently hawking purple crystals. Buyers played along—no questions, no chatter, cash exchanged for goods. The entire transaction felt like a religious ritual, eerily quiet.
I approached a stall. The vendor was tall and thin, his mask painted with a smile, but the eyeholes were two black voids.
"Student?" He asked, voice like it came from a tin can.
"Yeah." I nodded, "Want a wish stone."
"Wish stones sold out." He pointed at an empty box on the stall, "But we have advanced version—Rift Essence, better results."
He produced a glass bottle containing golden liquid, like melted sunlight. The sync monitor in my sleeve buzzed: 40.2%.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Stories." He said, "The story behind each Rift Zone. Drink it, and you become the protagonist."
"How much?"
"Free." He laughed, mask creaking like grinding metal sheets, "Costs trust."
"How to get that?"
"Stay here seven days, buy a crystal daily—don't buy, die." He said it lightly, like "wear more tomorrow, it's cooling down."
I bought one. Purple crystal, fifty yuan, pocketed it. The vendor pressed a handprint on my cloak—black, like a brand from a hot iron.
"Day one." He said, "In six days, if still alive, go to the innermost door and knock."
I turned to see the rest of B-07 also bought crystals, cloaks bearing black handprints.
"Trust mark." Zhou Fang's voice came through the encrypted channel, "Branded by Rift Zone rules, can't wash off unless the mission ends."
"Or we die." Tang Lan added.
---
Days two through five passed peacefully.
We arrived at the market daily at 19:00, bought crystals, listened to vendor nonsense, left. The crystals weren't purified—Administration took them back for analysis each time, finding nothing—just ordinary C-level Rift Zone core fragments, energy concentration too low to raise normal people's sync by even 0.1%.
"They're testing." Gu Yan said, "Testing if we're from Administration. Real buyers would keep crystals and make wishes."
"How do we act real?"
"Wish." Shen Xingyao said, "Lin Jin, make a wish."
I clutched a crystal, eyes closed, pretending. But actually, I used my pencil to write on its surface: [fake]
Silver letters flashed and vanished. The crystal trembled in my palm like a heart skipping a beat.
"What did you do?" Zhou Fang's voice exploded in the channel.
"Marked it." I said, "With a rule mark. If it's activated, I'll sense it immediately."
"Don't mess around!" He panicked, "These crystals might be networked—mark one, expose all!"
"Already exposed." Gu Yan's tablet screamed alarms, "Rule distribution in the market changed—something's back-tracing Lin Jin's mark."
Shen Xingyao decided instantly: "Retreat!"
But too late.
The market ground transformed into golden text, like a script come alive:
[Buyers, welcome to Day Six]
[Today's special—buy one get one free]
[Free gift: your own story]
All masked vendors turned simultaneously, void eyeholes aimed at us.
"Discovered." Tang Lan's oscillating blade was already drawn, edge humming, "Fight?"
"No." Shen Xingyao said, "Mission incomplete."
She removed her cloak, revealing her uniform, spatial marks spreading beneath her feet into a silver circle.
"We're here for business." She said clearly, "Not violence."
"Business?" The tall vendor laughed, his mask cracking to reveal half a human face—blurred like a mosaic, "B-07 Squad, the old district black market doesn't welcome your kind of 'big shots.'"
"But we have money." She tossed a suitcase, opened to reveal neat cash, "Buying your trust."
The vendors fell silent.
After a long while, the tall one picked up the suitcase, weighing it: "Enough for six days' trust. But day seven requires something else."
"What?"
"A story." He said, "A real story—why you're here."
"For the mission." Shen Xingyao said, "Not real enough."
"Then a realer one." He looked at me, "Student, you speak. Why are you here?"
I clutched my pencil, thinking: "To do homework."
"What homework?"
"Specialized Derivative Training Set 10." I said, "Teacher said only finishing it in a Rift Zone black market counts as true mastery."
Complete silence.
Then the vendor laughed, hysterically, mask shattering completely to reveal a featureless face.
"Excellent." He said, "This answer is worth a door."
He pointed to the market's deepest point—there stood a black wooden door, carved with rule text.
[Day Seven, truth lies beyond]
[But truth needs admission]
[Admission: one corroded teammate]
---
We didn't enter that door.
Because Zhou Fang was compromised.
On day six night, he was inspecting the vendors' equipment as usual—those crystal-selling boxes with micro rule stabilizers inside. He wanted to reverse-engineer them, trace the supply chain.
But the stabilizers held something.
Not rules—"stories."
When Zhou Fang's screwdriver touched the stabilizer core, golden text surged like electricity into his fingertips. He froze, held that pose for three seconds, then collapsed straight down.
We dragged him back to the safe house. His sync rate had spiked to 25%, but the bracelet showed 0%—his existence definition had been rewritten. Instruments couldn't recognize him as an adaptoid.
"Image Master's technique." Gu Yan examined his pupils, "Golden text contamination, direct hit to the existence layer."
"Can it be cured?"
"Yes." He said, "But needs at least three days. Requires building an anti-narrative model, line-by-line deletion of contamination."
"We don't have three days." Shen Xingyao said, "Must enter that door on day seven, or the lead breaks and the black market relocates."
"Then bring him." Tang Lan said, "Erosion isn't deep, he can hold."
"How long?"
"Twelve hours max." Gu Yan brought up data, "After twelve hours, contamination reaches the heart. Then either he becomes a Rule Echo, or we kill him."
Zhou Fang lay on the bed, still smiling: "It's fine, I can still tell jokes."
He told a cold joke, but his voice stuttered like a jammed tape.
"Shut up." Shen Xingyao said, "Conserve energy."
She turned to me: "Lin Jin, can your pencil write 'delay erosion'?"
"Yes." I said, "But only delays six hours. After that, contamination rebounds double."
"Six hours is enough." She said, "Day seven, we enter, find the source, extract it. Zhou Fang, you stay behind."
"No." Zhou Fang sat up, "I have to go, or they won't believe."
"Believe what?"
"That we really have a corroded teammate." He opened his collar, golden text vines crawling across his chest, "This is the admission ticket, isn't it?"
---
Day seven, 19:00.
The tall vendor waited for us at the market. Seeing the golden text on Zhou Fang's chest, he smiled: "Valid ticket."
He opened the black wooden door. Beyond it wasn't a room—it was a Rift Zone.
A Level-C5 Rift Zone, named "Greed Exchange."
"Once inside, you'll meet the real sellers." He said, "But remember, the rule here is 'equivalent exchange.' Everything you take requires an equivalent price."
"What price?"
"You'll know when it's time."
We entered, cloaks flapping in the Rift Zone wind.
The door closed behind us. Market, vendors, black market—all vanished.
Only this exchange remained, walls built of cash, gold, diamonds, floor was auction-house red carpet, ceiling an inverted city, every window lit, someone trading purple crystals beneath each lamp.
"Welcome, B-07." A voice sounded, "We are the Black Market Board."
"Who are you?"
"We are Administration logistics heads, retired adaptoids, Rift Zone survivors... and Image Master's friends." The voice came from everywhere, "You want to eliminate us, but you're now within our rules."
Zhou Fang suddenly coughed, vomiting golden blood.
"Admission ticket activating." Tang Lan's oscillating blade was drawn, "Fight?"
"No." Shen Xingyao said, "Trade."
"Trade what?"
She looked at me, gaze calm like arranging posthumous affairs:
"Trade Lin Jin's homework notebook."