transfer student
Liang An rubbed his temples.
Suddenly, it was as if a sophisticated, cold instrument had been implanted in his mind, abruptly starting up in the sulci of his brain—tick, tick, tick…
Like the ticking of a second hand, each "tick" seems to take away a faint trace of life from his total lifespan.
He couldn't help but lower his gaze again, looking at his left wrist through the slightly rolled-up cuffs.
The black bracelet remained silent as ever.
On the dark gold storyline, a golden cursor is slowly but steadily spreading forward at an extremely slow pace, almost imperceptible to the naked eye.
It didn't stop because Wen Zhi was away; on the contrary, it seemed to be instantly activated by Wen Zhi's appearance, initiating a kind of default, background progression.
Liang An looked down at his palm. The lines were clear, but he felt inexplicably that the color under his skin seemed to have dimmed by an indescribable amount.
On the wrist, the amber-colored life "bar" still glows warm and full under the white light, but if you observe it with extreme focus, you can feel an extremely faint, continuous plundering of life force.
The ticking of the countdown echoed in my head.
The dark gold cursor silently permeated the space.
The vitality of life is silently slipping away.
The story begins quietly in the sunlight on the first day of class assignment.
The bracelet has been activated.
Liang An raised his head, ignoring the annoying "tick-tock" in his mind, and looked out the window at the world again.
The figures running on the playground, the clouds drifting across the sky, the music coming from afar... everything remains vivid and lively.
However, in Liang An's perception, all of this was veiled by a faint, gloomy filter.
This seemingly normal campus was, in essence, a massive device that was slowly absorbing his life force.
The countdown in my mind was still ticking away, forming a double shackle with the dark gold progress bar on my wrist.
How can he win back his own chance at life in this deadly countdown?
-----------------
As the days slipped by, the students in the experimental class finally shed the initial chaos of entering high school and gradually got used to the fast-paced learning rhythm of high school.
For others, the days after the start of the school year are a fresh, busy, and occasionally tinged with the anxieties of adolescence—ordinary campus life.
For Liang An, however, it was a cruel torture of slowly drowning in an invisible countdown.
The ticking sound in my mind seemed to be a constant background noise in my consciousness, present at every moment, whether I was in class, eating, or even trying to fall asleep.
It wasn't sharp, but incredibly stubborn, like a cold thread coiling around his nerves.
This made it difficult for him to concentrate; the words in his textbooks would sometimes become a blur, and the teacher's explanations seemed to come through a layer of frosted glass.
He would often drift off into his own thoughts, as if his energy was quietly leaking away from his limbs and bones, and a persistent feeling of exhaustion would keep creeping in.
The weakness within him clung to him like vines, gradually severing his soaring spirit. In the end, he withdrew his edge, avoiding a direct confrontation with the plot.
In an attempt to explore the possibility of confrontation, he would observe Wen Zhi from a distance during breaks, as if conducting some kind of experiment.
In that instant, a burning sensation erupted violently in my left wrist, and the dark golden progress bar seemed to be injected with a stimulant, the light stream suddenly surging forward a small section! Clearly visible!
At the same time, intense dizziness and palpitations made his vision go black, almost causing him to lose his balance. He felt a tightness in his chest, as if someone had drained most of his strength. He had to hold onto the wall to keep from losing his composure.
He simply stood and observed, without making direct contact, without letting Wen Zhi notice him, and without even entering the same social circle.
The results of the experiment were cold and cruel: getting close to Wen Zhi, especially engaging in any form of interaction (even a one-sided "gaze"), would exponentially accelerate the plot's progression and the depletion of life. He was like a piece of iron near a strong magnet; the closer the distance, the faster the iron was attracted, assimilated, and consumed.
Thus, avoiding Wen Zhi gradually became a survival instinct.
He completely transformed into a ghost on campus, precisely calculating the time and space when Wen Zhi might appear, and planning the most circuitous and concealed route of action.
He gave up all clubs and activities that might lead to interaction, and even took a detour to use the restrooms in another building. This highly stressful life, like walking through a minefield, further depleted his already weakened spirit due to continuous "bleeding."
He became increasingly silent, his face an unhealthy paleness, with a persistent bluish tinge under his eyes.
The weakness and helplessness of being unable to break the deadlock made Liang An think of dropping out of school again—getting away from the campus and away from Wen Zhi.
Forget about defying the supreme god and declaring that my fate is in my own hands...
Escaping may be shameful, but it's useful!
The moment this thought crossed my mind, my body trembled uncontrollably, as if I had been electrocuted.
The temperature of the story bracelet on his wrist continued to rise, as if it would explode along with him at any moment.
It prevented Liang An from escaping the area affected by the plot.
-----------------
As the first rays of dawn shone through the classroom windows at seven in the morning, the students in the experimental class were already engrossed in their morning reading session.
"Da, da, da..."
The sound of heels striking the ground grew clearer as it approached, breaking the silence of the corridor.
The homeroom teacher pushed open the door with light steps and led an unfamiliar face into the classroom of Class 1, Grade 11.
She walked to the podium, cleared her throat, and announced loudly, "Class, please be quiet. This is our new transfer student. Let's welcome him."
A small commotion broke out in the classroom as dozens of curious eyes turned to look.
Liang An was tormented by the constant clicking in his head, and slumped drowsily on the table, not looking up. Just a transfer student; he wasn't interested.
The homeroom teacher gestured for the new student to come to the podium and say, "Please introduce yourself."
"Hello everyone, my name is Ling Xiao—meaning soaring high into the sky. It's an honor to be classmates with you all. I previously attended Nancheng No.1 Middle School, and I enjoy outdoor sports. I hope to integrate into the class quickly and keep up with everyone's learning pace. Thank you!"
A clear, youthful voice rang out in the quiet classroom, its tone unhurried and its ending notes light and gentle, like a feather, tickling the heart.
Lingxiao!
Liang An suddenly looked up, his gaze fixed on the new student on the podium, filled with disbelief and astonishment.
The new transfer student stood there, his nearly 1.9-meter height particularly eye-catching. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, a tall and straight figure, and was slender yet powerful. He wore a well-fitting, brand-new school uniform and exuded a just-right sense of aloofness.
His features were deep and defined, his eyes were bright and expressive, and his gaze was calm and gentle as he looked at the students below the stage.
When his gaze accidentally met Liang An's shocked look in the air, he was clearly taken aback for a moment.
However, his shock was fleeting. He quickly composed himself, a gentle smile playing on his lips, and nodded kindly to Liang An.
Buzz...
It was as if the power had been suddenly cut off; the "tick-tock" sound in my head disappeared.
It wasn't a decrease, nor a blurring; it was an abrupt end, a complete and utter silence.
At the same time, Liang An felt a strange sensation in his left wrist that he had never experienced before—neither hot nor cold, but rather a feeling of stagnation.
He instinctively clenched his wrist, his fingertips clearly feeling that beneath his sleeve, the dark golden "plot" progress bar—the slow, continuous "immersion" that had never truly stopped since the start of the semester—had completely ceased. The cursor remained in its original position, the light steady, showing no further sign of spreading forward.
Even the ever-present feeling of weakness seemed to have been paused. Although strength wasn't immediately restored, the terrifying "leak" of life force being continuously drained was temporarily sealed off.
Lingxiao.
The name, along with that gentle and handsome face, was instantly imprinted in Liang An's mind.
He thought of the snow-capped mountains and cliffs, the cold nights in the tent, the yak meat inside the tent, and the steadfast protection in the wind and snow.
After an initial stillness, Liang An's heart began to pound wildly. Blood rushed to his head, making his eardrums buzz.
Why?
This transfer student... Ling Xiao—is the teammate who was always by his side during the snow mountain climb.
Is he a plot blocker? A firewall? Or... a game-changer?
The disappearance of the ticking sound and the pause of the progress bar—are they temporary? Is it some inherent quality of Ling Xiao himself? Or is he unconsciously "resisting" the forces of the plot?
Countless questions and vague hopes exploded in his mind. For the first time in weeks, he felt the suffocating noose around his neck loosen slightly.
For the first time, in this malicious "plot world," he saw a glimmer of hope for breaking the deadlock.
If Wen Zhi is the engine of the plot, getting close to him will hasten destruction.
So, what about Ling Xiao? The one who can freeze the plot's progress and banish the ticking countdown in your mind...
Liang An gripped his left wrist tightly, his fingertips digging deep into his skin, the pain keeping him conscious.
"Alright, the new students have finished their self-introductions. From now on, we should all get along well, help each other, and make progress together," the homeroom teacher said loudly, tapping the podium.
The homeroom teacher assigned Ling Xiao a seat—coincidentally, or perhaps by some inexplicable force—right behind Liang An, across an aisle.
After a brief period of attention, the classroom quickly returned to normal, and the sound of students reading aloud rang out again.
Liang An buried his face in his arms, leaned on the table, his eyelids half-closed, and stared at the slender, upright figure behind him out of the corner of his eye.
The weariness and despair in his eyes vanished as quickly as the tide receded, replaced by a sharp, almost scorching light, a desperate glint in his eyes.
Ling Xiao once again descended into his life like a savior.
Avoiding Wen Zhi is a way to delay death.
So, could getting closer to Lingxiao be the key to finding a way out?
Liang An slowly loosened his grip on Ling Xiao's wrist and subtly adjusted his posture to get a clearer view of Ling Xiao's profile.
The world keeps turning, but the plot seems to be temporarily dormant.
And he finally discovered the first variable in this desperate game, one that might not belong to the original script.
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