Chapter 4 - Edict of the Logic Rectification Bureau

At that moment, the scream beyond the mirror door reached an ear-splitting, high-pitched crescendo—then, like a violin string snapped clean by a sharp blade, it cut off abruptly, vanishing without a trace into the drab, yellowish-gray air of the Semantic Slum. Su Yaoguang could feel it vividly: those "faces" that had oozed out from streetlamps, window panes, and even the edges of tables were closing in on her fast. Each face was an exact replica of her own, yet twisted with a sickening, ravenous greed—as if they were eyeing a delicate dessert just served on a platter. She clutched the black umbrella, now dyed a deep, saturated crimson from tip to handle. The inky-black patterns snaking across her right arm writhed frantically beneath the skin, like venomous snakes stirred from their slumber. The blood-red characters Kill Him overlapped repeatedly in the empty air, coiling around her like iron chains, trying to yank her will down into an abyss with no bottom. Just as the fingertips of those fake "Su Yaoguangs" were about to brush against hers, the mirror door—sealed shut tight as a tomb—split open a crack without warning. A pale, dry hand, still reeking of cheap hand sanitizer, shot out from the gap. It latched onto the back of Su Yaoguang's collar with unerring precision, then hauled her entire body into the mirror in one swift, brutal motion—like lifting a soaking-wet kitten by the scruff of its neck. Darkness receded like a tidal wave. Su Yaoguang crashed clumsily onto the cold linoleum floor of a convenience store, surrounded by the familiar, savory aroma of oden and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. She gasped for breath, her vision clearing to see Chu Lin squatting beside her, a roll of clear plastic wrap in his hand. His eyes dripped with the unmistakeable disdain of someone who'd only bothered to save you because you were a loyal customer. "Chu Lin, what—" She started to speak, only to watch in disbelief as he nimbly stuck a crumpled pink price tag to her forehead. Scrawled across it in messy handwriting were the words: Clearance Sale—Expires Soon. Su Yaoguang froze solid. The terror and grief that had welled up inside her curdled instantly into a murderous rage. "What the hell are you doing?!" Chu Lin patted the tag expressionlessly, his tone utterly matter-of-fact. "Didn't I tell you? You're an expired product now. But as a top-tier convenience store clerk, my professional ethics won't let me just toss you in the trash—it's a waste. Slap on a 'clearance' label, wrap you up nice and tight, and bam—you get a 24-hour immunity pass in the logical sense." Su Yaoguang was struck by a sense of cognitive dissonance so intense it made her head spin. She stared at her right arm, still oozing blood and flickering with the words Kill Him, then at the ridiculous price tag stuck to her forehead. Just a minute ago, she'd thought she was going to become part of the urban legend, that this man was going to abandon her to her fate. But no—he'd done all this just to… package her as a discounted item? "What about these red words?" She pointed at her arm, her voice trembling slightly. Chu Lin glanced down, then reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of expired medicated oil from the shelf. He dripped two drops onto her arm. Miraculously, as the pungent, stinging scent spread, the blood-red characters sizzled—like snow melting on contact with sulfuric acid—and faded rapidly back to their original inky black. "Logical allergy," Chu Lin said, twisting the cap back on the bottle. "This so-called higher-dimensional infection is just a form of mental inflammation, plain and simple. In semantics, medicated oil symbolizes mental clarity and physical pain relief—it can forcefully interrupt the auto-writing logic in your brain. Ms. Su, right now you look like a Husky trying to wrap its head around quantum physics. I suggest you put away that umbrella—it's glowing red hot, for God's sake. It's contraband. If the urban management catches you with it, they'll confiscate it on the spot." Su Yaoguang looked down at the crimson umbrella in her hand. The eerie smiley-face patterns that had covered it seemed to wilt a little in the medicated oil's scent. She took a deep breath, trying to suppress the absurdity of surviving a nightmare only to be greeted with a bad joke. She realized then that Chu Lin's cold, clinical classification of her as a "product" had actually been his way of yanking her out of the Semantic Slum's suffocating grasp—by force, no less. Just then, the old cash register behind the counter let out a shrill burst of static. Far away, on the other side of the city, stood the headquarters of the Paranormal Investigation Bureau. It was a bizarre space that existed on the very edge of physical laws. The buildings defied all gravity; staircases twisted and coiled mid-air like the ribs of some colossal, slumbering beast. Lu Chen sat quietly in his dark gold armchair, his eyes sightless, yet his face was turned unwaveringly toward a massive monitor mounted on the wall. The screen displayed no images—only a tangled web of glowing green code. It was a reality fluctuation chart, observed through the lens of "logical algorithms". "Sir… your shadow is trembling." The secretary standing behind Lu Chen bowed his head, his voice so low it was barely a whisper. Lu Chen said nothing. He tapped the tip of his dark gold cane lightly against the floor. Each tap sent a dull, resonant thrum through the air, as if he were testing the very solidity of the world around him. But if one looked closely, they would have seen that although his shadow stretched toward the only cold light source in the room, its edges were rippling constantly—small, jagged waves that shouldn't have existed. "Su Yaoguang's vital signs went offline for three minutes," Lu Chen's voice was hoarse and cold, like gravel scraping against sandpaper. "But just now… she reappeared. And according to the system's definition, she's been reclassified as a 'clearance item'." The secretary froze. "A clearance item? What level of urban legend vector is that?" "It's not a vector at all." A tiny, stiff smile tugged at the corner of Lu Chen's mouth. "Chu Lin is mocking us. He used his absurd rules to force a patch into our surveillance system. He didn't just save Su Yaoguang—he stole her right off our write-off list." "Should we initiate the cleanup protocol, sir?" The secretary's finger hovered over a black button on the console in front of him. Lu Chen fell silent for a long time. He could hear the weight of sunlight streaming through the window panes—a soft, rustling sound like sand flowing through an hourglass. To beings of his caliber, the world was not made of light and shadow. It was made of countless taut strings. And now, Chu Lin—the most unruly string of them all—was plucking at the entire melody, hard. "No." Lu Chen brought his cane down hard on the floor, the sound echoing like a command. "Let Su Yaoguang stay there. If Chu Lin wants to define her as a 'product', then we'll let her become a nail driven into that convenience store. I want to see clearly—whether that man is trying to fix the world… or rewrite the script entirely." He paused, then added, "Tell Su Yaoguang that from this moment on, she is suspended indefinitely. Her new mission: become Chu Lin's roommate. All expense reports must be signed by him personally." The secretary's eye twitched involuntarily. "Sir… this doesn't sound like a top-secret order. It sounds like the script of a low-budget sitcom." Lu Chen turned his head. His empty eye sockets seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality itself. "In the world of urban legends, the more absurd the premise… the more unbreakable its stability." Back at the convenience store, Su Yaoguang was facing the most daunting challenge of her life. Chu Lin led her through a narrow wooden door at the back of the shop, then up a creaky staircase to the second floor. This was his living space—a slum she'd never set foot in, not even as an S-Rank Investigator. A wave of dust and cheap laundry detergent hit her nose—the smell of sunlight baking old things dry. The floor was piled high with expired gaming magazines. In the corner stood a small, yellowed refrigerator, its hum so loud it sounded like a dying piglet whimpering inside. "Your little 'expired mutation' cost me a day's pay," Chu Lin said, dragging an old mattress printed with Tom and Jerry patterns across the floor without looking back. "So until your logical fuel stabilizes completely, this is where you're staying. Rent is free, but water, electricity, gas, and any mental damage compensation I incur because of you—all of it comes out of your salary." Su Yaoguang stared at the mattress, which was clearly sagging in the middle, then at Chu Lin's profile—etched with the unshakable conviction of someone who was broke but totally in the right. Her fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly. "I'm an S-Rank Investigator!" She gestured at the mattress, her voice trembling with cognitive dissonance. "I'm supposed to live in a dump like this?!" Chu Lin stopped moving, turned around, and looked her up and down with his signature dead-fish eyes. "Ms. Su, do you have some kind of misunderstanding about your current situation? You're a 'clearance sale item' now—a defective product that could get tossed in the trash any second if its packaging gets damaged. The only reason you're allowed to stay here is because my shadow isn't hungry enough to eat you for a midnight snack… yet." He walked over to the window and pointed at the street below, which was bathed in the shadow of the setting sun. "Look at that shadow." Su Yaoguang followed his finger. In the glow of the sunset, the convenience store's shadow stretched long and thin across the pavement. The edge of the roof, which should have been straight, rippled in the light—twisting into the shape of a giant umbrella, slowly opening wide. "The world is getting brittle," Chu Lin's voice dropped suddenly, as casual as if he were talking about tomorrow's weather. "Old men like Lu Chen think they can lock away higher-dimensional invasions with formulas and algorithms. It's like trying to catch the moon with a fishing net. Ms. Su, you thought the black ink in your veins was power? Wrong. It's a specimen—left behind by those things to observe us. Every time you use your ability, they understand this world a little bit more." Su Yaoguang froze. She'd always believed her powers were a gift, a badge of honor bestowed by the Bureau. But Chu Lin was saying it was… a mark of corruption? "So… all the shelf-stocking, the price-tagging… even making me live in this dump," she looked at him, her eyes a jumble of emotions, "it was all to make me 'ordinary'?" Chu Lin's slacker demeanor instantly returned. He pulled an unlit cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips. "Urban legends are afraid of one thing above all else—mundanity. When an S-Rank Investigator starts bickering with neighbors over the price of a fried dough stick. When a doomsday vector starts panicking because she has no hot water to wash her hair. That's when the higher-dimensional malice loses its grip. It can't find a foothold in the ordinary." He turned and walked toward the staircase, then paused halfway down, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, and a pun warning—you're part of the staff now. Both physically… and logically." Before Su Yaoguang could unpack the hidden meaning behind those words, Chu Lin had already descended the stairs, leaving her standing alone in the cluttered room, lost in thought. She walked over to the window and stared at the Paranormal Investigation Bureau headquarters in the distance—its towering spire piercing the clouds, a jarring, out-of-place monument in the city skyline. It had once been her goal, the embodiment of order and justice. But now, here she was, hiding in a moldy attic with a clearance sale tag stuck to her forehead. A surge of helplessness welled up inside her. But along with it came a strange, unfamiliar sense of relief. No more calculating logical models. No more facing unspeakable horrors. Just… stocking shelves? At that moment, something in her arms vibrated. It was her Bureau-issued encrypted communicator. Su Yaoguang fumbled with it, her hands shaking. On the screen glowed Lu Chen's iconic dark gold emblem—the symbol of the Paranormal Investigation Bureau. Top-Secret Order: Monitor Chu Lin. Remain at the convenience store. Confirm the progress of his fusion with the "Crimson Umbrella". Assist with his "mundanity" disguise when necessary.Note: All expenses to be covered by yourself. Su Yaoguang stared at the words All expenses to be covered by yourself, her eye twitching. She could almost picture Lu Chen's face as he'd issued this order—calm, composed, and stingy to the bone. At the exact same moment, a searing pain shot through her right arm. She yanked up her sleeve, horrified to find that the inky patterns hadn't faded away completely after the medicated oil treatment. Instead, they were rearranging themselves beneath her skin. The jumbled characters Kill Him were gone, replaced by a clear, distinct golden symbol—one that radiated a faint, sacred light. It was the ouroboros emblem on Lu Chen's cane. No. Wait. Su Yaoguang's blood ran cold. The emblem was changing—being rewritten by some deeper, more profound power. In the blink of an eye, the golden lines turned bone-white, like static on a broken television screen. The emblem split open down the middle, revealing a single eye—glowing with blood-red malice. The eye rotated slowly in her skin, then locked onto the staircase, its gaze piercing and intent. Su Yaoguang's hair stood on end. She realized then that Lu Chen's order hadn't been a mission at all. It had been a sacrifice. From downstairs came the sound of Chu Lin humming a tune—slapping shelves, moving boxes, all the mundane, ordinary sounds of a convenience store clerk at work. But in Su Yaoguang's perception, the entire store was undergoing a terrifying, macroscopic transformation. The sharp, square corners of the walls were softening, rounding into curves. The patterns on the ceiling looked like rows upon rows of tightly closed mouths. She could hear the sunlight on the roof now—not as light, but as a thick, viscous liquid, slowly dripping and oozing down the tiles. She stumbled over to the mirror, desperate to see her own face. Her reflection stared back at her—the clearance sale tag still stuck to her forehead. But beneath the tag, her skin had turned transparent. She could see her skull, the gray matter of her brain… and the brain tissue was rearranging itself, slowly, like a crumpled piece of newspaper being smoothed out. Welcome aboard. A voice echoed inside her head. It wasn't Victor's voice. It wasn't Lu Chen's voice. It was her own. Su Yaoguang stumbled backward, crashing into the yellowed refrigerator. The appliance let out a loud clatter. Chu Lin's lazy voice drifted up from downstairs. "Ms. Su, don't go knocking down the furniture up there. Almost forgot to tell you the first rule of cohabitation: after ten o'clock at night, no matter who calls your name from the mirror… don't answer." Su Yaoguang's throat went dry. She stared at the mirror, her eyes wide with terror. "Why?" Chu Lin paused. The cash register let out a soft click, like he was scanning an item into the system. "Because I'll be processing the return for 'yesterday's you'. If you answer, you'll get bundled up with the logistics waste… and shipped back seventeen years ago." Su Yaoguang collapsed onto the floor, staring at her right arm—the arm with the blood-red eye embedded in its skin. Despair washed over her, cold and heavy. This man's way of saving people… was in itself the most terrifying urban legend of all. Outside the convenience store, the "Open" sign hanging on the door flipped over in the wind. The reverse side didn't say "Closed". Instead, scrawled across it in messy, ink-stained blood were the words: Hiring: Shelf Stock Clerk (Position Filled). Shelf Life: Permanent. Chu Lin sat behind the counter, flipping through a fake notebook. He turned to the latest page, checked a small box next to Su Yaoguang's name, and murmured softly to himself. "Lu Chen… this free gift you sent me… its quality seems a little unstable." He looked up, his gaze fixed on the street outside the store—street that had grown unnaturally dark, pitch-black as ink. Floating silently in the air above the pavement were countless black umbrellas, open wide, like black mandalas blooming on the ruins of the city. And in the center of this sea of black, a single umbrella glowed—red, as red as fresh blood—slowly, steadily drifting toward the convenience store. Chu Lin smiled. He reached under the counter and pulled out a tattered old mop, his voice brimming with quiet excitement. "It looks like we've got a big-ticket customer coming in tonight."