She didn't slow down as she left the courtyard.
Didn't look at the boy curled over his fractured wrist.
Didn't acknowledge the staring students.
She moved like she always did—efficient, unshaken, unbothered.
By the time she reached the street outside the campus gate, the sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. She paused only to adjust the strap of her bag, then kept walking. Head down. Expression blank. Eyes low, scanning.
Her pulse hadn't even spiked.
She could still hear the boy's sharp inhale, the pop of ligaments tearing, the way his weight hit the ground like dropped metal.
Not a threat.
Not even close.
But he touched her.
And where she came from, that was never allowed.
Her body responded before her thoughts caught up. Reflex. Training. Programming. Control was survival. Distance was survival. Precision. Obedience. Silence.
Everything else was unnecessary.
She passed a street vendor selling fried buns, a trio of students laughing over iced coffee, a mother crouching to tie her daughter's shoe.
The contrast was... jarring.
This world was loose. Messy. Loud. Its people stumbled and forgave and reached for each other like nothing could go wrong.
She didn't understand it.
But she'd survive it.
Her phone buzzed again.
She answered without looking. No greeting.
"You made it out of the registrar's office?" Shen Rui's voice was clipped, cautious.
"Yes."
"And?"
"I received my slip."
A pause. Then, "Anything happen?"
"Someone approached."
Another pause. "And?"
"He no longer approaches people."
A beat of silence.
"…What did you do?"
"Corrected a boundary violation."
"Lin Xie."
"I didn't kill him."
"That's good. Just be careful. Keep a low profile."
"Define 'low.'"
"Don't break anything unless you absolutely have to."
"Noted."
She ended the call.
Kept walking.
The city blurred around her—sounds, color, warmth. She let it all pass by. Let it filter through her like wind through a cracked wall.
This world might be chaotic and disorganized.
But she was adapting—slowly, efficiently, precisely.
Her identity file was clean. Her presence, temporary.
The boy had been a glitch.
An anomaly.
She'd correct the code.
No one would touch her again.
---
Lin Xie moved through the bustling streets with the same measured pace she used for every new environment—calculated, detached, precise. The noise around her was a constant hum, but it never pierced the shield she wore like armor.
Her mind ran through the checklist Shen Rui had given her: prepare for the exam, avoid drawing attention, stay under the radar. Simple enough instructions, but in this world of unpredictability, simple wasn't always easy.
She ducked into a quiet café, the air fragrant with roasted beans and sweet pastries. The low murmur of conversations washed over her, an ocean of unfamiliar social cues she neither understood nor cared to engage with. She slid into a corner seat, opening her bag to reveal the exam slip once more. The weight of the paper was oddly grounding.
She folded it carefully, tucking it into her jacket pocket.
Outside, life continued—students chatting, couples holding hands, a street musician playing a soft melody.
Lin Xie observed all of it with clinical interest. She noted how people leaned on one another, how laughter came easily, how moments stretched and bent without a clear purpose.
She envied none of it.
Her future was a sequence of missions, tasks, and survival. This was a detour—a necessary one, but only that.
Still, something flickered briefly inside her—a question she quickly pushed away: What if this place could be more than just a stage?
But she had no time to entertain such distractions.
The exam was approaching.
She would face it on her own terms.
And when it was over, she would return to the shadows where she truly belonged.
---
Back at Shen Rui's penthouse, Lin Xie set her bag down with deliberate care. The place was spacious but sterile—functional rather than comfortable—but it was hers for now.
On the sleek desk by the floor-to-ceiling window sat the computer Shen Rui had given her. She approached it cautiously, eyes narrowing in curiosity. The screen glowed softly as she powered it on, fingers hovering over the keyboard like it was a strange weapon.
She recalled the missions that required tech—hacking into foreign systems, navigating firewalls, retrieving encrypted data. Those had been moments she understood: precise, goal-driven, necessary.
But using a computer simply to browse or pass time? That was foreign.
She hesitated, then began exploring the interface, clicking through files and applications. The world inside the screen was a different kind of battlefield—quiet, intangible, but no less complex.
Her mind flickered to her past successes—how she'd infiltrated secure networks, bypassed protocols, manipulated code with surgical precision.
Here, the stakes were different, but the skills were the same.
She reminded herself: gadgets were tools for missions, not toys. She would use them when needed, nothing more.
She glanced around the penthouse. Tomorrow would bring new challenges.
For now, she was alone with the hum of the machine and the silent promise of the unknown.
----
Later that evening, a discreet knock came at the penthouse door. Lin Xie looked up from the computer just as Shen Rui's subordinate stepped inside, carrying a neat stack of books and study materials.
Without a word, the assistant set the bundle down on the desk beside her. The covers bore titles on advanced mathematics, literature, science, and critical thinking—everything Lin Xie might need to prepare for the entrance exam.
The assistant offered a brief nod and slipped out as quietly as he'd come.
Moments later, her phone buzzed.
"It's Shen Rui," his voice came through—calm, measured. "Don't feel pressured. The exam is important, but it's just one step. Focus on what you can control. Study at your own pace."
Lin Xie stared at the books, then at the screen.
Pressure wasn't in her programming.
Preparation was.
She picked up the first book and opened it, letting the quiet weight of knowledge settle around her like armor for the challenges ahead.