The purple plasma clouds never dispersed. They didn't churn or roar, but pulsated slowly at a frequency almost imperceptible to the naked eye, like a network of blood vessels covering the entire city. The old-fashioned meteorology was long obsolete; people no longer discussed the weather, only "brightness," "stability," and "whether it crossed the line."
Ordinary people habitually called it "purple clouds," while cultivators referred to it in official documents as the "emotional projection layer." The two names weren't contradictory; the former was everyday language, the latter administrative.
Every morning when Lin Jin woke up, the first thing he did wasn't to check if he was still alive, but to check the brightness of the purple clouds.
Brightness meant that fear had exceeded the limit in the city the previous night; darkness meant that sorrow and exhaustion dominated; if rare white streaks appeared, it meant that an unregistered joyous event had occurred somewhere.
That was against the rules.
He lived in the third district of Lin City, in a rationed room of less than twenty square meters. The walls were composite materials left over from the old era, their surface covered with fine cracks from long-term plasma erosion. The cracks glowed faintly in the night, like random thoughts forcibly suppressed deep within consciousness.
The dwelling was minimally furnished: a fixed bed, a water dispenser, and an emotional stabilization mirror. The mirror would softly reflect light when your expression fluctuated too much, reminding you to "adjust."
The public address system outside the door sounded precisely on time: "Attention mortals, today's emotional index baseline has been updated. Suggested range for fear: 0.42-0.57. Suggested range for sadness: 0.31-0.44. Please keep joy within your natural fluctuation range; collective amplification is strictly prohibited. Wishing everyone a stable day." The tone was calm, gentle, even with a hint of concern.
Lin Jin finished washing up and hung his identity tag around his neck.
Mortal, Level Three. This meant:
• Having a stable job
• Having a minimum food ration
• Being eligible for continuous monitoring. He stepped out of his dwelling. The streets were wide and clean, almost devoid of decoration. The road surface was paved with emotional cushioning material to absorb the vibrations of large footsteps and prevent people from unconsciously creating excitement. There weren't many pedestrians; everyone kept their heads down, walking at the same pace, as if calibrated by an invisible metronome. No one spoke. It wasn't indifference, but rather a sense of familiarity. Lincheng had taught them: emotions don't need communication, they only need to meet certain standards.