When the cargo lift from Rust Street began to rise toward the mid-tier, Qi Luo had a brief, unreal feeling.
The iron plate under his feet creaked and groaned. At his boots were other passengers' tightly bound sacks and crates, packed with scrap metal, stripped parts, and strong liquor brewed in the lower tier. The lift crawled upward along one of the city's inner support pillars. Wind poured through seams in the metal, carrying the mixed smell of spices and ink from above.
Rust Street shrank beneath his feet.
The patchwork roofs he knew so well, the mended curtains, the tangle of stolen wires and temporary prayer sheds—all of it flipped past like pages of an old account book being riffled shut, pressed quickly out of sight.
In their place came Covenant Chains, denser and denser.
Qi Luo lifted his head and saw, overhead, layer upon layer of pale-gold lines, as if someone had woven a precise net through the middle of the city. Each strand was straight and evenly spaced, every angle measured and re-measured. It was nothing like the chaotic, strangled tangle above Rust Street.
"Nervous?" Garth's voice came from behind him.
Qi Luo glanced back.
Garth wasn't wearing his beat-up black armor today, just a thick canvas coat washed almost white. With his beard trimmed cleaner than usual, he looked more like an ordinary porter. Only the faint black mark circling his wrist betrayed the fact that he'd once hung on one of the High Gods' chains.
"I'm fine," Qi Luo said.
It wasn't exactly nerves. It felt more like… discomfort.
The mid-tier light was far harsher than Rust Street's, and the density of chains made his scalp prickle. He could feel those lines passing signals back and forth; many carried words like assessment, admission list, eligibility review—like a swarm of unseen eyes patrolling.
"Remember," Garth lowered his voice, "today you're just some kid from Rust Street here to sit the exam. You're not a black-market tinkerer. You are not someone who bargains with gods."
"I know." Qi Luo nodded.
"If you see Chains, don't stare," Garth added. "Somebody will notice. If you can keep your hands off them, do."
"What if the questions are rotten?" Qi Luo gave a quick grin. "Like they set traps on purpose, so kids from the lower tier sell themselves to some High God as 'trial material'?"
Garth was silent for two seconds. "Then… use your judgment."
The lift jolted and shuddered to a halt at a mid-tier platform.
This was a side entrance reserved for Star-Signet Academy. Unlike the holes and gaps in Rust Street anyone could squeeze through, this doorway had two guards in light-blue uniforms standing watch. Short batons hung at their belts, each wrapped with a neat, thin Covenant Chain—the mark of "temporary enforcers."
"Exam pass." One held out a hand.
Qi Luo passed over the copper token the man in the brown cloak had given him. The guard scanned it, fingertips brushing a few glowing lines that rose from the surface. He nodded. "Contract Department test hall is in the Silver Ring Hall on Level Three. Once you're inside, turn left and follow the guide-chain."
"Guide-chain?" Qi Luo echoed before he could stop himself.
The guard gave him a disbelieving look. "That bright line floating in the air. Don't tell me you can't see it?"
Qi Luo let out a dry laugh. "I can see it."
Of course he could. To him, that "guide-chain" blazed so hard it was almost painful, packed full of temporary clauses—examinee, queue, maintain order—each one big and obvious, as if they were afraid anyone might miss them.
He nodded once to Garth, then stepped through the academy's side door.
The moment it shut behind him, the stink of rust seemed to vanish into another world. In front of him stretched waxed stone floors and gleaming copper mirrors on the walls, their frames carved with stars and locks. At the end of the corridor, a great stone tablet bore the motto of Star-Signet Academy. Beneath it, in neat rows, were the insignia of each department.
The Contract Department's emblem was a key that hadn't been pushed all the way in.
"Examinees, please follow the Silver Ring guide-chain to queue for entrance." A gentle, emotionless female voice sounded in his ear.
Up in one corner of the ceiling, a short transparent "voice-chain" hung, dedicated to announcements. As soon as it finished speaking, it dimmed and settled flat against the wall again.
Qi Luo walked along the silver guide-chain.
The corridor was wide. Teenagers of all kinds lined the sides—some in elegant uniforms that screamed upper-tier or mid-tier wealth; others in rough cloth carefully washed spotless, eyes bright with barely hidden nerves.
As he passed, he caught snatches of whispered conversation.
"Heard the Contract Department's only taking twenty this year."
"That few?"
"Half of those spots are already spoken for up top. The rest's on us."
"Which mock clauses did you prep with? I picked three from last year's exams—"
Qi Luo pulled his cap lower, doing his best to look unremarkable.
He joined the end of the line.
The door of the Silver Ring Hall stood half-open. Inside, he could see curved rows of tables and a raised platform in the center. Several thick Chains hung from the ceiling, converging in a bright point above the platform—that was the "cluster node" for all exam clauses today.
Qi Luo took one look and felt his stomach dip.
There weren't just standard academic chains feeding that point. Several lines clearly came from the Covenant Council's oversight Chains. They were straighter and colder than the rest, their color faded toward white. They didn't feel like light so much as a gaze that could strip anything bare.
"Next group, inside."
By the time it was Qi Luo's turn, he realized he'd been placed in the very last batch.
Three other examinees entered with him: a noble boy in a tailored uniform; a girl with her hair pulled back so tight it almost hurt to look at; and another boy even skinnier than Qi Luo.
"Examinees C-71, C-72, C-73, C-74."
The copper token in Qi Luo's hand vibrated. Numbers shimmered up on its face—C-74.
"This round's content: Contract Department entrance exam, Third Ring, 'Simulated Divine Negotiation'." The female voice came again. "You will negotiate the terms of a drafted divine covenant with an examiner holding formal priestly status. Scoring is based on: ability to detect traps; ability to restructure clauses; ability to anticipate risk; and your balancing of mortal interests."
The doors of the Silver Ring Hall closed slowly behind them.
The light inside was soft. Circular bands of stars and sigils were carved into the walls. In the center, four small tables stood atop the platform, each with a priest seated behind it in simplified robes. The colors of their robes differed, marking service to different minor churches or deities.
Qi Luo was guided to the table at the far edge.
His examiner looked to be in his twenties. His vestments were a shade of blue, with wave patterns at the collar. Qi Luo recognized the insignia of the church that served the Lord of Tides and Currents—a mid-tier god who governed shipping and circulation.
"Examinee C-74?" The priest glanced up with a pleasant smile. "From…"
He skimmed the slate in his hand, and one eyebrow rose a fraction. "Lower-tier Rust Street."
Several Chains nearby gave the slightest tremor, as if someone had quietly marked them.
Qi Luo's expression didn't change. "Yes."
"Very well." The priest nodded and slid a scroll across the table. "These are today's clauses. Scenario as follows—"
He raised his voice a little, so all four stations would hear.
"A coastal town has long suffered heavy storms. The City Works Bureau and the Church of the Lord of Tides and Currents propose a covenant to 'calm the storms and secure safe passage.' The mortal representatives wish to reduce storm days and ensure at least twenty navigable days per month. The Lord of Tides and Currents demands an increase in 'Storm Offering Days' and the right to 'temporarily close' certain routes."
Qi Luo ran his eyes over the neat lines of text, but at the same time his gaze slid to the Chain hanging in the air.
It was a blue-gold line with a liquid sheen, like ripples on water. Several nodes were already lit, meaning the draft had been through Council discussion but not fully settled—the exam would be using that "draft state" for simulation.
"You have ten minutes to review the terms. Then we begin," the priest said mildly. "Rules are simple: you may alter or add three clauses. I may alter or add three. The final version will be judged by the 'simulated divine will' monitoring above. We'll see whose version aligns more closely with its inclination."
Qi Luo couldn't help glancing at the ceiling.
Sure enough, higher up on the blue-gold Chain hung a hazy mass of light. Not an actual deity, but a set of template parameters authorized by the Covenant Council—used to determine whether a clause served that sort of god's "overall interests."
In other words, this was really a game of betting against a template.
"Remember, your role is 'mortal representative'." The priest added, "You must secure the town's basic safety while maximizing mortal interests."
"I understand," Qi Luo said.
The clauses were very cleanly written.
[The Lord of Tides and Currents agrees to reduce monthly storm days to no more than fifteen.]
[Before each storm, the town must hold a festival, offering incense, grain, and symbolic blood sacrifice.]
[The Lord of Tides and Currents has the right, depending on storm intensity, to temporarily close certain routes.]
[In the event of accidents caused by human negligence or malicious action, the Lord of Tides and Currents may refuse to bear any responsibility.]
…
Plenty of traps.
"Symbolic blood sacrifice" had no limit on headcount or frequency. "Temporary closure" had no maximum duration. The power to declare "no responsibility" sat entirely with the god.
Qi Luo's eyes stung a little—not from the ink on the page, but from the nodes on the blue-gold Chain flaring one by one above it, like a line of locks waiting to snap onto mortal Names. Once signed, those locks would all clasp down with a click, click, click.
Rust Street's winds were meaner than any sea breeze. He'd seen what "temporary closure" looked like—some supply pipe suddenly "sealed for safety" by a god up top, leaving an entire block without clean water for a month.
"Time," the voice said. "Begin."
The priest leaned back, still smiling. "You first."
Qi Luo drew a breath.
He decided to start with the obvious.
"I'd like my first change here," he said, tapping the "symbolic blood sacrifice" clause with his quill. "Since it's symbolic, it shouldn't require actual lives."
"Oh?" The priest's eyebrow flicked. "And how would you phrase that?"
"Rewrite it as: 'Each festival must offer consecrated blood as symbol only; human life may not be used as an offering.'" Qi Luo said. "Animal blood or small voluntary donations of blood from worshippers are acceptable."
The priest's smile deepened. "You bargain very well."
In the air, the corresponding node on the blue-gold Chain flickered. The template divine will seemed to be weighing the god's gain against the loss.
"The Lord of Tides and Currents doesn't need a few mortal lives," Qi Luo went on. "But mortal representatives care deeply about this. Reducing their fear of the contract will stabilize the incense."
"Reasonable." The priest nodded. "I accept."
The node's glow shifted slightly, marking the change as provisionally entered into the draft, pending final judgment.
"My turn." The priest extended a hand. "I'd like to add a line after 'temporary closure of certain routes'—'The specific scope and duration of closure shall be at the sole discretion of the Lord of Tides and Currents, based on storm intensity.'"
Qi Luo laughed silently to himself.
"At the sole discretion" were four words worse than any overt restriction.
"That's unfair," he said, pressing his finger to the line. "Mortals at least deserve to know closures won't last indefinitely."
"You can spend your next change constraining me," the priest said blandly. "If you have room."
Qi Luo fell quiet.
Instead of lunging straight back here, he looked to another spot—the "refusal of responsibility" clause.
It read:
[In the event of accidents caused by human negligence, malicious sabotage, etc., the Lord of Tides and Currents may refuse to bear any responsibility.]
"My second change is here," Qi Luo said. "I propose adding: 'An investigation committee composed jointly of mortals and priests shall determine whether incidents fall under the above categories.'"
The priest blinked.
It didn't look dramatic, but it pulled "power to define" away from pure divine will, into the hands of a fifty-fifty committee.
The Chain in the air quite visibly rippled.
At that node, the blue-gold line sprouted a fine branch and tried to curl back toward the priest's control—but got stuck on the freshly written word "jointly."
Qi Luo could clearly see the line struggle like a snake trying to drag jurisdiction back through too narrow a gap.
His fingertips tingled.
This was a perfect place to "stick a pin."
—Don't.
The forbidden sigils on his chest warmed, like a warning.
These "simulated Chains" were training tools at heart, not yet hanging directly off anyone's Name. If he started tampering here, he wouldn't just be tugging on some forgotten corner of Rust Street. He'd be laying hands on Star-Signet Academy's own "education Chains," and through them, the Council's.
"You think far ahead," the priest observed. "Kids from Rust Street don't usually worry about how liability is allocated."
"People on Rust Street worry a lot about who gets stuck with the blame," Qi Luo said flatly.
The priest chuckled. "I won't object to your second change—yet. But I'll use my second move for balance."
He wrote a new line: "Priest members of the investigation committee shall not number fewer than half of the total."
The fine branch on the Chain relaxed, clawing back a significant amount of ground.
"Final round," the voice reminded them.
Qi Luo sensed most of their time was gone.
He had one change left.
He looked back at "temporary closure of routes."
"Based on storm intensity at the sole discretion…"—the priest's earlier amendment. If that matched the template's preferences, it would slide in cleanly, eating away most of what Qi Luo had just gained.
He needed to reclaim something there—without actually going against the "overall interests" of a storm god.
"My third change is also here." Qi Luo's fingertip rested on the front half of the sentence. "After 'the Lord of Tides and Currents has the right, depending on storm intensity, to temporarily close certain routes,' add: 'but must leave at least one backup route open for essential civilian needs.'"
The priest narrowed his eyes.
Above them, the blob of template divine will gave a subtle stir, as if "thinking." Storms did not inherently resent backup routes, so long as they still had other paths to rage down. Civilian needs weren't entirely outside the calculation either—a god guarding trade routes required living worshippers.
"You're betting the god will give up one route?" the priest asked.
"The Lord of Tides and Currents likes order," Qi Luo said evenly. "Total closure leads to chaos—smuggling, illegal crossings, private altars… all the things you don't want. Keeping one clear lane is actually safer for Him."
The priest stared at him in silence for several seconds.
The node brightened slowly, settling into a glow somewhere between approval and reservation.
"I admit, you're good at thinking from the god's angle," the priest said. "Then my third change will go… here."
He added: "The backup route shall be limited to routes pre-approved by the Lord of Tides and Currents."
Which put final route selection right back in divine hands.
"With that, both sides have used their three changes," the voice said. "The simulated contract will be submitted to the template divine will and the academy's review board for joint evaluation. Results will be announced in three chimes."
Qi Luo set the quill down and forced back the itch in his fingers to do more at that node.
He knew that if, at the signing moment, he stuck a pin into "backup route"—slipped in one nearly invisible definition that said something like "routes crucial to basic sustenance"—then those "pre-approved routes" would get anchored to a handful that actually mattered.
But that would mean tampering on a teaching Chain.
"Now, both parties, please simulate signing." The priest slid over two small stamps engraved with the academy crest. "These represent your confirmation."
Qi Luo reached out.
The instant his fingertip brushed the stamp, the template divine will overhead flashed.
A faint sting spread from his chest to his fingers. A system prompt, of sorts: once that stamp hit, this simulated contract would be officially hung on the academy's "education Chain," a future case in their records.
He could feel that Chain—winding far past Rust Street, into Star-Signet Academy's archives, and above that, into some corner of the Covenant Council's "training clauses."
…If he stuck a pin here, the eyes that turned would not belong to some Drip-God clinging to rusty pipes, but to the entire apparatus.
Qi Luo's hand trembled fractionally.
At that same heartbeat, the template divine will glowed brighter than at any point so far.
It was as if it, too, were curious: would this kid from Rust Street do something… out of bounds?
Somewhere beyond the hall, several proctor Chains shook at once, as if a warning had triggered.
Qi Luo took a deep breath and dropped his gaze.
—Don't. This wasn't the Rust Street black market. This wasn't a place he could play games.
His fingertip pressed to the stamp as he shoved the urge back down, tying a knot only in his own mind—a non-moving clause, just for memory.
"I sign," he said quietly.
The stamp landed softly on the page.
In his sight, the template divine will dimmed for a heartbeat, as if disappointed—and then eased, as if relieved.
Far off, the proctor Chains stilled.
Across the table, the priest watched his hand for two slow seconds, then picked up his own stamp and pressed it down.
"Done," the voice said. "Examinees, please exit and await results."
Qi Luo rose and gave the priest a slight bow. "Thank you, Examiner."
"You're an interesting one." The priest watched him go. "I hope we meet again on campus."
High above the Silver Ring Hall was a semicircular observation room.
Its walls were made of a special glass-stone, its insides inlaid with fine sigils. It could project the Chains' movements from the hall below without disturbing the exam.
Several figures in different uniforms stood before that glass.
An elder in Star-Signet professor's robes was speaking quietly with a young woman in a silver-grey hunter's coat.
"Did you see?" The professor pointed at a section of Chain. "That boy from Rust Street—at the moment of signing, there was a very slight… hesitation."
"All examinees get nervous," the young woman said, tone even.
Her hair was tied up high with a silver chain-clip. A badge at her waist bore the character for Hunt. Faint black Chains glimmered beneath her sleeves—not the glow of ordinary churches, but a colder authorization.
Her name was Ruan Zhi, one of the Covenant Council's stationed hunters in Skycast City, tasked with tracing "violating clauses" and "anomalous talents."
"Not that kind of nerves." The professor shook his head. "He was… conversing with the clause."
Ruan Zhi didn't answer. She simply pointed a finger at the glass.
The stone immediately magnified the segment she'd indicated.
In front of them, the node on the blue-gold Chain blew up huge. They could clearly see that just before signing, a fine, nearly invisible shadow-line stretched from the examinee's location, touched the edge of the node, and snapped back.
"A pin-insertion prep move," the professor murmured.
"But he didn't insert," Ruan Zhi said.
"He restrained himself." The professor nodded. "Which means he either understands the consequences—or he's already used to doing it elsewhere."
Ruan Zhi's gaze followed Qi Luo's retreating back.
Through the glass they couldn't see his face, only that thin figure walking away from the table—unhurried, as if avoiding something, or adapting to a different gravity.
"It's not strange, coming from Rust Street," she said. "That's where most of the Covenant's holes are."
"What do you think?" the professor asked. "By academy policy, he's someone we should protect and train."
"By hunter policy, he's someone we should watch." Ruan Zhi replied. "Potentially… someone we may have to erase."
The professor frowned. "He's still just a child."
"The Council requires that all abilities 'outside the current clause framework' be registered in advance." Ruan Zhi's voice stayed soft. "You know how jumpy they are about 'World Rollback Protocol fragments'."
The professor was silent for a long time, then sighed. "You suspect him?"
"I don't suspect him." Ruan Zhi said. "I suspect what's carved into him."
She flicked the black Chain at her cuff.
A short segment sprang out and hung in the air, forming a small recording loop.
Her fingertip wrote within it:
[Target: Rust Street boy · Qi Luo]
[Suspected: direct sight and intervention of Covenant Chains]
[Suggested threat level: Yellow]
She hesitated briefly, then added:
[Observation period: extended post-admission]
The black Chain snapped back into her sleeve.
"You've reported it?" the professor asked, having seen her motion.
"It's my job." Ruan Zhi's eyes returned to the hall below. "Don't worry. I won't touch him yet."
"Then you plan to…" the professor began, unsure.
"Watch," Ruan Zhi said. "See whether he walks toward the academy—"
Her eyes cooled.
"—or slips toward the Abyss."
Inside the Silver Ring Hall, as Qi Luo stepped out of the test area, a sudden chill ran through his chest.
He rubbed at his shirtfront, feeling as if a very fine line had hooked his Name from far away. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt like being filed somewhere—a sense of having been added to some list.
He looked back once.
The Chains under the high dome hung in silence, betraying nothing.
"Maybe it's just nerves," Qi Luo told himself.
What he didn't know was that far above the academy, on the black Chain that held the Covenant Hunters' task list, a new line of script had just appeared.
That line had quietly filed his Name under one column:
Suspected.