The main body of the city was still asleep in the darkness, leaving the neon and streetlights to decorate and blur its outline. The city's hazy glow scattered into the sky, illuminating the cloud formations overhead, which carried an ominous aura.
The earthquake clouds had yet to disperse. Fortunately, the crows were still resting quietly in the trees, preserving the calm of the early morning.
Perched atop a large tree near a high-rise apartment building, Ink seemed to sense something. It opened its eyes, watched Luo Nan run beneath the tree, then closed them again and drifted back to sleep.
In a massive metropolis like Xia City, magnetic rails, elevated bridges, green corridors, and self-propelled conveyor belts connected the towering buildings. The entire city resembled a dense forest, intertwined with vines and foliage.
Luo Nan was like a tiny insect within it, swallowing the morning air as he pressed forward step by step.
His lips moved slightly, opening and closing. His throat, mouth, and nose vibrated in unison, producing a low sound—like the buzzing of insect wings.
In truth, Luo Nan was repeating the words:
"My heart is a prison. My heart is a furnace. My heart is a mirror. My heart is a nation."
But the syllables were compressed and blended with the rhythm of his breathing, forming that strange, continuous hum.
Occasionally, other early joggers passed by. Hearing the sound, they glanced at him in confusion. Luo Nan paid them no attention. From beginning to end, he focused solely on moving forward, maintaining a steady speed and rhythm.
After running for an hour, he stepped onto a self-propelled conveyor belt that spanned the wide gap between two buildings. This marked his designated rest point. His physical movement paused, but his chanting continued without interruption.
His breathing remained smooth. The prolonged resonance and chanting caused slight oxygen deprivation, making his head feel faintly swollen. But compared to the effects of the drug spreading through his body, this discomfort was insignificant.
The psychotropic compounds he had injected before leaving home were beginning to take effect.
In reality, any normal person—even a long-term addict—would die almost instantly after injecting such high-purity substances directly into their bloodstream.
Yet after nearly two thousand carefully controlled tolerance adjustments, Luo Nan appeared outwardly normal. Internally, however, his nervous system had undergone subtle but profound changes.
He was still alive—and carefully sensing every transformation within his body.
More than twenty types of psychotropic compounds crossed the blood-brain barrier. Like invisible blades, they targeted different neurons, modifying and reshaping them again and again.
This "sculpting" process was inherently crude and violent.
The brain itself felt no pain, but under the influence of the drugs, it released a cascade of neurotransmitters—dopamine, norepinephrine, glutamate, vasopressin—flooding his system like a tide. Signals spread through his nerves, affecting every inch of his body.
The sensation was indescribable, and Luo Nan had no desire to describe it. At the very least, it was far more bearable than the early stages—when his limbs convulsed uncontrollably, his body lost all control, and even his heart and lungs nearly failed.
To alter the fundamental structure of the human body, shaped over thousands of years, in just a few short years—there was always a price.
Luo Nan had long accepted this.
He closed his eyes, focusing more deeply on his breathing and chanting.
This breathing technique had been passed down from his grandfather. In theory, it assisted the drug-induced transformation. But Luo Nan doubted that human will alone could control changes at the cellular level.
Instead, he believed its true purpose was to maintain mental focus, regulate his body, and serve as a form of visualization rooted in mysticism.
With his eyes closed, the tetrahedral diagram corresponding to the sixteen-word incantation appeared clearly in his mind. The tetrahedron, along with its inscribed and circumscribed spheres, rotated steadily around a central axis, layer upon layer, as if suspended before his eyes.
About ten seconds later, Luo Nan opened his eyes and exhaled slowly.
The visualization remained stable. Everything was normal.
He had only traveled halfway across the conveyor belt. Relaxing slightly, he observed the early morning city. Not far away lay one of Xia City's nightclub districts.
Many people said that life in Xia City truly began at midnight. The morning was merely its lingering aftertaste, while the daytime served as little more than a recharge period. Within this vast city, every cluster of lights was a playground for indulgence—and the nightclub district was the most vibrant of all.
Under the neon lights, a group of men and women stumbled out of a club. Their clothes were disheveled, their movements unsteady. A minor delay caused the car behind them to bump into the one in front, sending them tumbling into a tangled heap—like a writhing mass.
Instead of anger, there was only laughter. They pushed and pulled at one another, giggling wildly. It was obvious they had spent the entire night indulging themselves. Their bodies were exhausted, but the excess dopamine in their systems kept their spirits artificially high.
Their carefree abandon seemed to declare: this is what youth should look like.
A luxurious driverless flying car glided through the chaos and came to a smooth stop nearby. Its butterfly doors opened elegantly.
A tall man finally extricated himself from the pile. As he struggled to stand, he nearly kissed every woman around him. Amid laughter and mock curses, he grabbed a long-legged woman and half-dragged, half-carried her toward the car.
The neon lights illuminated his face clearly.
Luo Nan recognized him.
"So it's him… He could be considered a good specimen."
His interest was piqued. He observed the group more carefully. Half a minute later, he pulled out his ever-present notebook and quickly sketched a rough outline on the flexible e-ink screen.
The conveyor belt carried him forward for another seventy-five seconds. By the time it ended, only a chaotic web of lines remained on the page. He made no attempt to refine it. Once the belt stopped, he put away his pen, glanced down briefly, and left.
As he turned his head, the man below somehow noticed him and looked up blankly.
Their gazes met briefly across the distance.
Luo Nan paid it no mind. His chanting continued, blending into that insect-like hum as he resumed his run.
All noise from afar was naturally filtered out.
Xie Junping felt like he was going insane.
His desperate shout had no effect. The figure on the conveyor belt disappeared without even glancing back.
His companions were still laughing under the influence of stimulants. The long-legged woman—who had seemed so alluring moments ago—now clung to him foolishly, fumbling at his belt.
Xie Junping was truly on the verge of losing it.
"Get lost!"
He shoved her away and dove into the car, locking the doors behind him. Outside, the others shouted in confusion, but he ignored them.
His smart contact lenses displayed the captured data across his vision.
A blurred image of the "photographer" appeared—just a side profile. The Acumen College emblem on the hoodie had been highlighted.
Moments later, the car's AI completed its environmental analysis, providing clearer reconstructed images.
There was no room for doubt.
When Xie Junping saw the hooded figure calmly sketching in his notebook, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel.
"I've been seen… I've been seen!"
He grabbed his head in panic.
Under normal circumstances, a rich young man's nightlife habits wouldn't matter. But this situation was different.
According to official arrangements, he should have been in a satellite city managing a charity event. Instead, he had secretly returned to Xia City for a party—and been caught by a fellow student.
At this critical stage of his advancement within the Honor Society and Student Council, such a scandal could be fatal.
And with the recent earthquakes heightening public anxiety, even minor issues could spiral into major problems.
His phone rang—it was his companions.
Before he could speak, an angry voice came through:
"Xie Junping, you bastard!"
Laughter echoed in the background.
Xie Junping closed his eyes. He had forgotten—Lian Yu had a boyfriend… who was also part of the Honor Society.
"Damn it!"
He slammed the wheel again, then forced himself to calm down.
As long as this didn't spread online, there was still a chance to fix things.
He spoke in a controlled tone:
"Lian Yu, go wash your face. I need to talk to you…"
But the call ended abruptly.
Xie Junping leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the wheel, forcing himself to think.
He knew his own limits—average ability, average intelligence. What had brought him this far was simple: knowing how to rely on professionals.
"Professionals…"
He immediately dialed another number.
A gentle automated voice answered:
"Hidden Indigo Firm at your service…"
After a moment, a lively voice replaced it:
"Long time no see. Hello, sheep."
Xie Junping winced.
"Yingying, right? Good morning… Is Boss Wu available?"
"Are you sure you want the boss?"
"…No, no. You're fine!"
"Good. Either way, someone's going to fleece you. Haha!"
Suppressing his irritation, he got straight to the point and explained everything, sending over the data.
Half a minute later, Yingying replied:
"Secret photography? Should I admire your imagination?"
"…Then what?"
"If someone were secretly taking pictures, would they stand openly on a conveyor belt?"
Xie Junping froze.
Soon after, she sent coordinates.
"Let's verify. If he's just passing by, he's likely a morning jogger heading to Acumen College. Go wait here."
Following her instructions, Xie Junping drove to a pedestrian overpass in the research district—a common route for joggers heading to campus.
He parked and waited, restless.
Then a data profile appeared before his eyes.
The photo showed a quiet, reserved young man—handsome, but unsmiling.