At 5 AM, I was jolted awake by the electronic bracelet on my wrist.
Not an alarm—a synchronization rate monitor. The Administration issued these to every adaptoid, like an electronic handcuff, except the function upgraded from "restricting freedom" to "real-time broadcasting how close you are to becoming inhuman." The numbers on the screen flickered: 11.3% → 11.4% → 11.5%.
"Fuck." I stared at the tiny green text, feeling like I was watching a Gaokao countdown board.
The bracelet vibrated because my synchronization rate had fluctuated more than 0.2% within an hour, triggering a lowest-level alert. According to Administration regulations, I needed to immediately report this to my supervisory specialist. I stared at the dormitory ceiling for three seconds, deciding to pretend I hadn't seen it.
The ceiling was made of light-absorbing material, same as the First Contact Room. The five-pointed star I'd drawn on the wall last night still glowed faintly silver in the darkness, like a malnourished star. That HB pencil was hidden under my pillow, the cracks on its barrel now deeper, feeling like some creature's blood vessels when I touched it.
Someone knocked on the dormitory door—three short raps, one long, like Morse code.
"Lin Jin, I know you're awake." Shen Xingyao's voice came from outside, "Synchronization rate fluctuation of 0.3%. The bracelet data already synced to me."
I sighed and got out of bed. The Administration-issued uniform was black, a material like silk mixed with Kevlar that automatically conformed to your body shape, the belt buckle embedded with a micro-transponder. I stared at myself in the mirror—in the dim light, my silvery-white pupils glowed like two small moons.
"Still not used to your own eyes?" Shen Xingyao leaned against the doorframe, holding two cups of coffee, "Adaptoids with synchronization rates over 10% all get this—irises turn metallic. Congratulations, you don't need flash for photos anymore."
She handed me one cup. The coffee was hot, the cup wall printed with the Administration emblem. I took a sip—bitter as drinking chemical reagents.
"Starting today, your schedule syncs with the squad's." She checked her watch, "06:00 breakfast, 07:00 morning training, 08:30 theory class, 10:00 tactical simulation, 12:00 lunch, 14:00 practical simulation, 18:00 physical recovery, 20:00 free time. Any questions?"
"Yes." I raised my hand, "About my specialized derivative training..."
The folder landed precisely on my temple.
"The Administration already negotiated with Changzheng High School." Shen Xingyao retrieved the folder, "You'll take leave under the name of 'chemistry competition training.' You can still take Gaokao, but only at Administration-sanctioned exam venues. Now, shut up and eat."
The cafeteria was on the third floor of B Sector, fully automated. Mechanical arms on the ceiling moved like octopus tentacles, precisely grabbing trays and food. I followed Shen Xingyao with my tray, feeling like I'd walked into a giant 3D printer.
"B-07's fixed seating is here." She pointed at a four-person table by the window, "Zhou Fang and Gu Yan are already here."
Zhou Fang was poking at a protein block on his plate with chopsticks—the thing looked like tofu but had the texture of rubber. At 22, repair technician background, his uniform sleeves were forever rolled to his forearms, revealing tanned skin and a collection of old and new scars. Seeing me, he grinned: "Homework Guy, sleep well? The bracelet vibrated three times. I thought you were gonna explode."
"Just synchronization rate fluctuation." I sat down. A mechanical arm immediately delivered a glass of milk, "Normal range."
"Normal my ass." Gu Yan adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. His uniform was always buttoned to the top, like he'd just graduated from military academy, "An adaptoid's fluctuation during stable periods should be controlled within 0.05%. Your 0.3% fluctuation means your ability is growing spontaneously, or—" he paused, "you secretly used your ability last night."
I guiltily touched my pocket. The pencil was still there.
"Alright, stop scaring the newcomer." Tang Lan walked over with her tray—stacked with protein blocks, at least five portions. 23, former special forces, 1.8 meters tall, muscle definition stretching her uniform into something skintight. The metal chair groaned in pain when she sat.
"Rising synchronization rate isn't bad." Her voice was low, like sandpaper rubbing, "Means your compatibility with the Rift Zone is improving. When I awakened my shield ability, my rate jumped 30% in a week. Still alive."
"But you were hospitalized for two months then." Shen Xingyao said flatly, "Lin Jin is different. He's rule-rewrite type. Rising synchronization rate means his 'humanity' is being diluted. Another 10% increase and he'll probably start forgetting why he writes math homework."
The atmosphere suddenly froze.
Zhou Fang coughed, trying to change the subject: "So, uh, what's today's training? More Inverted Classroom simulation?"
"No." Shen Xingyao pulled up a holographic projection. A 3D model of a C-3 Rift Zone floated above the dining table, "Today is rule cognition training. Lin Jin needs to understand the underlying logic of Rift Zones, not rely on instinctive scribbling."
The projection rotated, showing an inverted classroom. Desks and chairs floated on the ceiling, the blackboard was on the floor, gravity direction was chaotic, doors and windows had turned into text rules.
"This model was reconstructed based on yesterday's experience." Gu Yan pointed at the text on the blackboard, "The core mechanism of Rift Zones is 'rule manifestation.' It turns abstract concepts into interactable text or symbols. Interfering with these symbols equals interfering with reality. What you did yesterday—slashing the exit condition—was essentially 'rule deletion.'"
"But deletion has a price." Shen Xingyao added, "Every rule you delete raises your synchronization rate, because your body spontaneously fills the deleted rule's blank space. That's why the stronger your ability becomes, the further you are from humanity."
I stared at the inverted classroom in the hologram and suddenly noticed a detail: on the blackboard's lower right corner, there were faint pencil marks, crooked and strained, as if carved with all one's might.
[Lin Jin, don't sleep, Teacher Zhang's calling you.]
That was something I'd absentmindedly written during class. But in this reconstructed model, it had become part of the rules.
"What's this?" I pointed at the text.
Gu Yan adjusted his glasses, his expression uncharacteristically serious: "This is an 'observer residue.' Rift Zones record all behaviors of entrants and convert them into rule fragments. Your casual writing could become the Rift Zone's underlying code. Similarly, your deliberate rule rewrites also leave indelible traces."
"So?" My heart sank.
"So every interference you make leaves a 'Lin Jin' coordinate within the Rift Zone." Shen Xingyao looked at me, her silvery-white eyes emotionless, "What the Administration fears most is adaptoids being reverse-tracked by Rift Zones. If one day, the Rift Zone learns to imitate you, or—"
She didn't finish, but everyone understood.
Or, Lin Jin himself became the Rift Zone.
Theory class was on the seventh floor of D Sector. The classroom resembled a small planetarium, the dome covered in a star map of Rift Zone distributions. The instructor was an old man, surnamed Chen. Rumor said he'd lost a leg in a Rift Zone and now walked with a mechanical prosthetic.
"The essence of Rift Zones is reality's instability." Old Chen paced the podium, his prosthetic leg making slight mechanical sounds, "It's like cancer—self-replicating, spreading, eroding the normal world. Our mission is to clean the cancer cells, or—" he paused, "cut out the entire tumor, even if it damages healthy tissue."
The PPT flipped to the next slide—a massive Rift Zone classification table:
- Level C: Localized rule anomalies, affected area less than 1000 square meters, cleanup time 1-3 days
- Level B: Regional erosion, affected area up to one square kilometer, requires stable anchor point, 3-7 days
- Level A: City-level threat, complete rule reconstruction, requires boundary-sealing ritual, 7-15 days
- Level S: Apocalypse-level, affected area unpredictable, sealing success rate below 5%
"Student Lin Jin." Old Chen suddenly called my name, "Yesterday you encountered a C-3 Rift Zone. According to your report, you escaped by rewriting the exit condition. Question: If the exit condition had been 'sacrifice a living creature,' what would you have done?"
The classroom fell silent.
Zhou Fang instinctively straightened. Gu Yan's pen stopped on his notebook. Tang Lan's muscles subtly tensed. Shen Xingyao sat in the back row, silvery-white eyes fixed on me, waiting for my answer.
I thought about it: "I'd rewrite the definition of sacrifice."
"How?"
"Change 'living creature' to 'math homework.'" I said, "I'd tear up my derivative training set on the spot and sacrifice it to the Rift Zone. It wants variables, I'll give it variables."
Old Chen froze for two seconds, then smiled: "Good thinking. Remember, Rift Zone rules are rigid, but interpretation rights forever belong to the observer. That's the purpose of adaptoids."
He turned and wrote on the blackboard:
[Rules are dead, humans are alive. But when humans die, rules come alive.]
"Class dismissed."
During lunch break, Zhou Fang dragged me to the Equipment Department.
"Every newcomer has to choose their standard gear." He swiped his card to open Warehouse B-04 like he owned the place, "Shen Xingyao's spatial markers, Tang Lan's defense generator, Gu Yan's modeling tablet, my interference device—you have a pencil, but Administration regulations require coordinated use with combat gear."
The warehouse looked like a massive mechanical graveyard, shelves stacked with incomprehensible equipment. Zhou Fang picked up something like a vambrace: "This is a rule stabilizer. It can suppress synchronization rate increase speed, but reduces rewrite efficiency. Want to wear it?"
I tried it on. Needles inside the vambrace immediately pierced my skin, beginning blood sample extraction. The synchronization monitor's screen dropped from 11.5% back to 11.3%, but my body felt stuffed into a mold, even breathing became difficult.
"Forget it." I removed the vambrace, "Feels like running in three down jackets."
"Knew you'd say that." Zhou Fang chuckled, "All adaptoids are stubborn bastards, always think they can handle everything alone. But remember, B-07 doesn't nurture individual heroism—we nurture—"
"Team-based death-seeking?" I interrupted.
"Mutual bullet-taking." Tang Lan's voice came from behind the shelves. She carried a massive oscillating blade, the edge embedded with rule-suppression crystals, "An adaptoid's greatest weakness is always thinking they're special. In a Rift Zone, special means priority target for consumption."
She put the blade back and walked over, handing me a metal plate: "ID tag. Administration rule—must wear during missions, makes identifying corpses easier."
The plate was titanium alloy. The front read "Lin Jin B-07," the back had a code and QR code.
"If synchronization rate exceeds limits, the plate turns red." Tang Lan said, "If it's red for more than three seconds, teammates are authorized to execute you on the spot."
She said this calmly, like she was telling me "nice weather today."
I clutched the ID tag, feeling its weight like a tombstone.
Afternoon was tactical simulation—Gu Yan's domain.
A holographic sand table rose in the briefing room center, simulating tomorrow's mission target—C-3 Rift Zone "Inverted Classroom." But this wasn't my school's version; it was a newly-born one in a south-city abandoned middle school.
"Rift Zones have self-learning capabilities." Gu Yan's fingers slid across the sand table, "Rift Zones with the same template will reappear at different locations, and correct themselves based on previous interference records. So Lin Jin, your mission tomorrow isn't to rewrite rules, but to observe."
"Observe?"
"Right." He adjusted his glasses, "We need you to enter the Rift Zone as a 'variable' without making any interference. Your existence alone will trigger Rift Zone reactions. We'll record these reactions to build your ability model."
The sand table began running. The virtual classroom inverted, desks and chairs flying. Shen Xingyao's model figure instantly moved, Tang Lan's model raised a shield, Zhou Fang's model released interference waves, while the stick figure representing me stood in the classroom center, holding an enormous pencil.
"Your safety level is highest priority." Gu Yan said, "Theoretically, as long as you don't move, we four can bring you back intact."
"Theoretically?"
"Theory means Rift Zones always have accidents." He pulled up data streams, "According to my calculations, this mission's success rate is 94.7%. But the remaining 5.3% is 'Jin's Chaos'—the uncontrollable variable you bring."
I stared at the sand table. The stick figure suddenly moved on its own, drawing a circle in the void with its pencil. The entire sand table instantly collapsed, data streams turning to chaos.
"This is what I fear most." Gu Yan sighed, "Your ability isn't active—it's passive. When the Rift Zone threatens your survival, your body will spontaneously rewrite rules, completely bypassing your consciousness."
"So?"
"So you need to learn to control your instincts." Shen Xingyao shut down the sand table, "Starting tonight, 20:00 to 22:00, you receive my spatial marking training. Tang Lan handles your physical fitness, Zhou Fang teaches you equipment principles, Gu Yan tutors you. After four weeks, if your synchronization rate stabilizes below 12%, you'll formally participate in rule-rewrite missions."
"If it doesn't stabilize?"
"Then you're not suited for the frontlines." Tang Lan said, "We'll transfer you to logistics, specializing in drawing rules on paper for other adaptoids to execute. Safe, but boring."
I touched the pencil in my pocket. The cracks on its barrel had already extended to the last stroke of the character "jin" (ashes).
"I choose the frontlines." I said.
"You have no choice." Shen Xingyao turned to leave, "From the moment you woke up in chemistry class, you only had one path leading to darkness."
She reached the door, suddenly turning back: "Oh, and your math homework—the Administration already submitted it for you. Using the 'chemistry competition training' approval slip. Changzheng High School already approved. Now you have no excuse."
At 20:00, the training room.
Shen Xingyao threw me a weighted vest: "Put it on. Ten kilograms. Starting today, you need to learn to think under pressure."
I put on the vest, feeling like I'd been stuffed into a sandbag. She stood at the training room's other end, holding a silver marking dart.
"The essence of spatial marking is coordinate locking." She explained while throwing the dart. The dart arced through the air, suddenly vanished, then appeared three centimeters behind my head, "When you can perceive the mark's existence, your reaction speed improves. This is the only ability adaptoids can strengthen through training—rule pre-reading."
The dart hovered behind my head. I could feel the space around it slightly distorting, like heat ripples rising from hot pavement.
"Now, close your eyes." Shen Xingyao said, "Tell me where the marks are."
I closed my eyes. The world sank into darkness. But in the darkness, there were six silver light points, like stars, distributed in different directions.
"Six." I said, "One behind my head, two inside the vest lining, one under my shoe, and two... in your eyes."
She froze.
"In my eyes?"
"Right." I opened my eyes, pointing at her pupils, "Your spatial marks are hidden in visual focus points. When you look at me, the mark is already placed."
She fell silent for a rare few seconds, then retrieved the dart: "Good. Seems you do have talent."
"Talent?"
"An adaptoid's talent is seeing what others can't." She turned to leave, "Tomorrow's mission, don't disappoint me. B-07 Squad doesn't keep idlers, nor corpses."
The training room door closed, leaving only me and the weighted vest.
I sat down, pulled out the pencil, and drew a circle on the floor. Inside the circle, I wrote:
[Lin Jin, synchronization rate 11.5%, still alive, math homework finished.]
The letters were silvery-white, glowing faintly.
I stared at them for a long time until they slowly faded, as if never existing.
Outside the window, the Rift Zone Administration's silver building flickered in the night like an artificial star. Further away, the city glittered with lights—those other seniors were still grinding practice questions for Gaokao 87 days away.
Meanwhile, I'd signed an indenture, had 11.5% synchronization, and tomorrow I had to "observe" inside a Rift Zone without rewriting any rules.
Plus, the cracks on that HB pencil had already spread to its tip.
I lay down, letting ten kilograms of weight press on me like a coffin arriving early.
But at least for now, I could still breathe, still think, still remember Teacher Zhang's face of utter disappointment.
And when Shen Xingyao said "you'll die," the cold sensation of that dart hovering three centimeters behind my head.
That cold was real—real enough to convince me I was still alive.