The Rift Zone black market matter had temporarily come to a close, but everyone knew that was just the surface.
The clue from Accountant severed Wang Mo's line, but Image Master was still writing scripts in some classroom at Changzheng High, the mole in logistics hadn't been fully caught, and the wish stone market had transferred its stronghold in the old district. Gu Yan's model ran all night and concluded: the black market board of directors had at least three more senior members hidden within the Administration, rank no lower than supervisor.
"If we move now, we'll only startle the snake." The chief said at the briefing, "Let them think we were fooled, think the puppet was real, think the script worked."
"So we have to keep acting with them?" Tang Lan's oscillating blade hummed with discontent in its sheath.
"Act." Shen Xingyao said, "Act until they believe we've bought it."
"What do I do?"
"You go to school." She looked at me, "You've missed 18 days already. The teachers at Changzheng High are about to write complaint letters to the chief's office."
"I have to go back?"
"Must." White Gloves said, "Image Master is waiting for you at school. Only when you go will he move. Only when he moves can we catch him."
"What if he kills me directly?"
"He won't." Shen Xingyao said, "He wants your story, not your life. At least until the story is finished, you're safe."
She paused, adding: "Specialized Derivative Training Set 12, hand it in tomorrow."
The day I returned to school was Wednesday, first period was chemistry class.
When Teacher Zhang saw me, his face looked worse than Rift Zone erosion: "Lin Jin! So you know how to come back? Chemical competition training lets you skip classes?"
"Sorry teacher, family matters." I lied smoothly.
"Family matters? What family matters let you take 18 days off?" He slammed the desk, "Monthly exams: English 142, Chemistry 95, Physics 98, second in school. If you don't want to study, just say it, don't waste the spot!"
I lowered my head in apology, my attitude as sincere as writing a self-criticism at the Administration.
He scolded for ten minutes, finally sighing: "Sit down. No lecture today, the school has introduced a new mandatory skills class—you have to listen too."
"Skills class?"
"Basic skills for ordinary people against Rift Zones." He said, "The Ministry of Education just approved the pilot program, Changzheng High is the first batch. Even if your grades are good, failing this class means no graduation."
I returned to my seat, Li Ming beside me winking: "You got skills, kid, come back from training as a top student."
"Just luck."
"Just luck?" He lowered his voice, "Hear about what happened in the old district the other day?"
"What happened?"
"The abandoned market got busted by the Administration." He said, "Good thing I sold my wish stone early, or I'd be in jail."
My heart skipped: "You sold it?"
"Yeah, sold it to a collector for 200." He chuckled, "He said it's Rift Zone artwork, valuable."
"A collector?"
"Black mask, cloak." Li Ming said, "Voice like it came from a can."
I clenched my pencil, the cracks on the barrel burning hot in my palm.
So the black market didn't relocate—it just switched to a more covert channel.
The class bell rang, the skills teacher walked in.
A woman in her thirties, athletic wear, tactical pouch at her waist, not wearing Administration uniform, but a micro-badge on her left chest—Rift Zone Defense Education Department insignia.
"I'm Chen Lan." She introduced herself, "I'm your skills class instructor. This class doesn't cover theory, only practical drills. Because Rift Zones won't debate theory with you—they'll just tear you apart."
She turned and wrote five large characters on the blackboard:
[Five Basic Systems]
"Ordinary people's abilities differ from adaptoids." She began explaining, "Adaptoids are naturally chosen by Rift Zones; you are mobilized later in life. So your skills aren't talents—they're techniques, trained muscle memory."
"First system: Physical Enhancement." She tapped the blackboard, "Not making you superhuman, but letting you survive three more minutes in erosive environments. Running, weight-bearing, impact resistance—fundamentals of fundamentals. Li Ming, come up."
Li Ming dumbly walked to the podium.
"Squats, one hundred."
"Now?"
"Now."
Li Ming grimaced, started squatting, already panting after thirty. Chen Lan ignored him, continuing: "Physical Enhancement has three levels: Level 1 lasts five minutes, Level 2 ten minutes, Level 3 can tank a Level-C Rift Zone for half an hour. Beyond Level 3, you need equipment."
She tossed Li Ming a weighted vest: "Put it on, continue."
Li Ming put it on and suddenly felt lighter, easily completing one hundred.
"This is the civilian version of a rule stabilizer." Chen Lan said, "It reduces Rift Zone erosion sensation but lowers nerve sensitivity. Simply put, you become slower, but less likely to go mad."
"Second system: Perception Training." She pointed at her own eyes, "Not letting you see rules, but making you sense something's wrong. For example, sudden silence, sudden cold, suddenly smelling rust. Wang Fang, come up."
A girl named Wang Fang walked forward.
"Close your eyes, tell me how many people are in the classroom."
Wang Fang closed her eyes, counting for ten seconds: "Forty-three."
"Wrong." Chen Lan said, "Forty-four. The extra one is behind the curtain."
We all turned. The curtain moved without wind, nothing behind it.
"Perception isn't counting heads, it's counting 'existence'." Chen Lan said, "Things in Rift Zones are sometimes invisible, but you can sense they 'are'. Practice more, you can too."
She had me stand: "Lin Jin, try."
I didn't close my eyes, just looked at the curtain and drew in the air with my pencil: [Behind curtain, existence]
Silvery-white letters flashed once.
Behind the curtain, a transparent outline appeared—like ripples, like heat haze, like... a hiding student.
"Excellent." Chen Lan glanced at me, her gaze lingering on that pencil for a second, "Perception Level 2, close to adaptoid standard. As expected from training camp return."
I said nothing, but thought: Perception Level 2? I perceived the rule itself, not just "something wrong." This skills class seemed to break down adaptoid abilities into modules ordinary people could learn.
"Third system: Technical Proficiency." Chen Lan continued, "Using blades, guns, jammers—not randomly, but precisely. Every motion must be mentally rehearsed three hundred times to become muscle memory. Liu Hao, come up."
A PE-class-monitor-looking boy came forward. Chen Lan tossed him a training blade, edge unsharpened.
"Strike me."
Liu Hao froze: "Teacher, this..."
"Strike."
He gritted his teeth and slashed down. Chen Lan sidestepped, the blade grazing her nose. Simultaneously, she struck, palm hitting his wrist—the training blade clattered to the floor.
"The motion was correct, but your prediction was wrong." She said, "You predicted I'd retreat, but I sidestepped. In Rift Zones, one wrong prediction means death."
She picked up the training blade, handing it to me: "Lin Jin, you try."
I didn't take the blade, just drew a line on the hilt with my pencil: [This blade must hit]
Then I slashed down.
The blade traced a silver line in the air, precisely stopping three millimeters from Chen Lan's brow. She didn't dodge—the blade was rule-locked, unavoidable.
"Technical Proficiency Level 3." She said, "Prediction, lock, execution. You did excellently."
She confiscated my pencil: "But such tools aren't allowed in class. Adaptoid equipment interferes with ordinary students' learning."
She tucked it into her waist pouch. I froze, but saw her back to the students, quietly returning it to me, mouthing: "Get it after class."
Fourth system: Resistance Enhancement.
"Not making you tank rules directly, but teaching you 'dissipation'." Chen Lan said, "Rift Zone erosion is like water flow—you can't block it, but you can guide it to bypass the heart, bypass the brain, dissipate through limbs. Survive five more minutes, you can wait for adaptoids to save you."
She had a girl come up, attached a micro Rift Zone core fragment to her arm—purple, energy concentration 0.01%.
"Feel it."
The girl's face paled: "Cold... like needles..."
"Guide it." Chen Lan pressed her shoulder, "Imagine your blood vessels are river channels—let the cold flow out through fingertips."
The girl closed her eyes. After ten seconds, white mist rose from her fingertips, the fragment's glow dimming.
"Resistance Level 1." Chen Lan said, "Those who achieve this increase survival rates by 30% in Rift Zones."
She looked at me: "Lin Jin, try?"
I came up, let her attach the fragment to my arm.
The cold hit, but I didn't guide it. I just wrote two words on the fragment with my pencil: [Bypass]
The fragment immediately dimmed, becoming an ordinary stone.
"Resistance Level 3." Chen Lan said, "Rule-rewrite type, but you're not an adaptoid?"
"Techniques learned at training camp." I lied.
She stared at me for three seconds, didn't press, just continued teaching.
Fifth system: Coordination Synchronization.
"This is the hardest." Chen Lan said, "Not sync rate, but teamwork. In Rift Zones, five must move as one. One lifts a foot, the other four must know where he'll step. No language, no gestures, only feeling."
She had us form groups of five to play a game: walk with eyes closed, hands on shoulders of the person before, the leader guiding through an obstacle-filled classroom.
Li Ming's group collapsed after three steps, knocking over desks, total wipeout.
Our turn—me, Li Ming, Wang Fang, Liu Hao, and a boy named Zhang Ran.
"Lin Jin, you lead." Chen Lan said.
I closed my eyes. The hand on my shoulder belonged to Li Ming, trembling.
I didn't speak, just wrote in the air with my pencil: [Ahead, no obstacles]
Silvery-white letters formed a path only I could see.
I walked forward, stepping over fallen chairs, around the podium, avoiding ceiling fans, precisely stopping at the classroom's rear door.
"Twenty-eight seconds." Chen Lan called the time, "Perfect score."
The four behind opened their eyes, seeing the twisted obstacle course behind them, dumbfounded.
"Coordination Synchronization Level 5." Chen Lan said, "Close to squad standards."
The class bell rang, she called me to the office, returning my pencil.
"Lin Jin, your abilities can't be taught at training camp." She said, "You're an adaptoid."
I didn't deny.
"Then why return to class?"
"Because adaptoids also need to take Gaokao." I said, "And, someone told me the Rift Zone black market targets students. I need to know if my classmates will be the next victims."
She was silent for a long time: "The five-level system from skills class is beneath adaptoids, but for ordinary people, it's life-saving. You learn fast because you already are one. But don't let them know—it'll cause chaos."
"I know."
"Also." She lowered her voice, "Keep your sync rate below 40%. The school education department's monitors can only detect up to 35%, beyond that triggers alarms."
"Thanks, teacher."
"No thanks." She turned, "Derivative Training Set 12—hand it in tomorrow. Get two wrong, redo."
22:00, stationery shop second floor.
I organized today's class notes—the five systems, each's training methods, grading criteria, key points, filling five full pages.
White Gloves smoked a purple cigarette, smoke condensing into five characters above the paper: [Good Teaching Material]
"What the Administration wanted—this?" I asked.
"Mm." He said, "The black market uses Rift Zone cores to lure students; we use skills class to arm students. This is the real 'Trojan.'"
"And Image Master?"
"He's waiting." White Gloves said, "Waiting for your workbook to accumulate enough 'stories,' then he'll copy the entire B-07 squad in one go."
"Copy us?"
"Right." He said, "What he wants isn't just your story, but everyone's story. Skills class students, B-07 squad members, Administration staff... He wants to copy an 'Administration,' then replace the real one."
A chill ran down my spine.
"So." White Gloves stubbed out his cigarette, "Your mission isn't protecting the workbook, it's contaminating it."
"Contaminating?"
"Right." He said, "Use your 'boring' stories, your teammates' bonds, every 'I haven't died yet' you've written—turn the workbook into 'uncopyable' poisoned bait. Once Image Master swallows it, he'll be poisoned."
"Poisoned by what?"
"Humanity." He said, "He can copy abilities, but not humanity. And humanity is what you write best."
I opened Derivative Training Set 12. Beside the two wrong problems, I'd written three lines in pencil:
[March 17, chemistry class, I wrote my first rule]
[March 18, B-07 squad, Shen Xingyao rapped my head]
[Today, Teacher Chen Lan said my workbook is teaching material]
Silvery-white letters breathed under the light.
White Gloves glanced at them, smiling: "Enough. This will give Image Master a good dose."
He stood to leave, pausing at the door:
"Oh, Wang Mo was caught. At the train station, trying to flee. Interrogation results—he's just a deliveryman. The real mastermind is at Changzheng High."
"Who?"
"Your chemistry teacher." He said, "Teacher Zhang."
"What?"
"Every Wednesday afternoon, he goes to the old district to buy books." White Gloves said, "What he buys aren't books, they're scripts. Scripts Image Master writes for B-07, he distributes them at school, selling to students who want shortcuts."
I stood frozen, mind buzzing.
Chemistry Teacher Zhang, that middle-aged man who daily cursed me for not turning in homework, was the black market's liaison.
"Why..."
"Because teachers know best what students want." He said, "And are best positioned to sell Rift Zones to the youngest market."
He closed the door, leaving me alone.
I walked to the window, looking at Changzheng High's teaching building.
1 AM, the chemistry department office light was still on.
Teacher Zhang sat by the window, writing in his lesson plans with a golden pen.
I took out my pencil, writing on the glass:
[Teacher Zhang, your pen needs replacing]
Silvery-white letters flashed and vanished.
He looked up, toward my direction, a grin spreading across his face.
That grin was identical to the one beneath Accountant's mask.