Chapter 1: The Earthquake Clouds

As autumn settles over Xia City, it becomes a realm ruled by crows.

These ugly yet cunning creatures are the true masters of the city. They gather atop the street trees, their hoarse, monotonous cries mocking the hurried passersby:    

“Wah, wah, better luck next time!”

Occasionally, beneath a sky streaked with radiating, cloud-like formations, they flaunt their extraordinary aerial skills.

The pedestrians’ faces are mostly sour, as if they had just lost their parents. With eyes full of loathing, they watch the black shadows circling above and the bizarre patterns forming in the higher clouds.

By late September, the skies over Xiàchéng were dominated by these ominous cloud formations. Within less than a week, six quakes of around magnitude 3 struck, three of magnitude 4, and two of magnitude 5.

Though the tremors were far from exceeding the city’s structural limits, fragile human nerves had already begun to fray.

The airwaves and signals that cut through Xiàchéng were more than half filled with desperate shouts:

“Earthquake clouds! Earthquake clouds!”

This “folk-science concept” had, in the approaching 22nd century, become a subject openly discussed by scholars and even reported in the media.

Luo Nan had been somewhat influenced by it.

When he stepped off the low-altitude bus, clutching his ever-present black notebook, his wristband vibrated. Once the connection was made, his aunt, Ms Luo Shuqing, greeted him with a flurry of words:

“Come home tonight! Your uncle has dinner ready!”

Because of the recent quakes, the aunt who had once allowed him to live independently immediately revoked that permission, insisting repeatedly that he return home so she could keep an eye on him.

Luo Nan could not possibly agree. He had worked so hard to get into Zhixing Academy, all for the sake of independence and freedom. Besides, he was at a critical juncture, losing a day could have unpredictable consequences.

The problem was that Luo Nan had never been good with words. His reasons were utterly unconvincing, and the standoff grew tense, so much so that it seemed his aunt might reach through the phone to drag him back herself.

Just as his headache peaked, a message arrived. Luo Nan skimmed it, silently thanking his luck, and quickly added a weighty excuse:

“Tonight I need to study, tomorrow I have a club interview…”

“Interview? Which club?”

“Uh… the Occult Studies Club.”

“Occult studies?”

Ms Luo Shuqing sounded suspicious but soon called out:

“Moya! Moya!”

Shortly after, a slightly hoarse, uniquely lazy voice joined the call. It was Luo Nan’s cousin, Moya, who had graduated from Zhixing Academy last year.

“The Occult Studies Club? I know it. I heard it’s rich, and the members are pretty self-indulgent.”

Ms Luo Shuqing, disapproving of her daughter’s tone, immediately scolded: “Speak properly!”

Moya laughed, “Even if I spoke well, your ‘dear son’ isn’t doing great. One month into school, and he’s still interviewing? Clearly not fitting in! Zhixing heavily integrates Western-style thinking; without club life, credits get cut, and recommendation letters won’t look good…”

Her words fanned the flames of a new mother-daughter quarrel, and the tension shifted away from Luo Nan, leaving him hundreds of kilometres away, unscathed.

By now, Luo Nan had stood in his living room for nearly half an hour. Darkness had fallen, and the automatic lights cast his silhouette into the window of the high-rise across the street.

He issued a command, and the curtains drew themselves closed.

At that moment, a shadow slipped through the nearly closed drapes, landing on the open balcony. With a coarse beak, it pushed aside the sliding door and strutted in, radiating absolute composure.

This uninvited guest was a classic hooded crow. Except for its gray-white beak base, its entire body was jet black, robust and slightly larger than its kin. Under the soft lighting, its feathers shimmered between deep black and a subtle blue.

Pacing a few steps inside, it leapt onto the coffee table. Leaning forward, a thumb-sized sealed glass vial slid from its beak, landing on the table, half-filled with white powder.

The crow seemed relieved to eject the foreign object from its throat, and it flaunted a throaty call:

“Scrr, scrr!”

“Ink, shut up!”

In an enclosed space, a crow’s call is a disaster. Luo Nan scolded it, cleaned the vial, and offered a prepared strip of cooked meat to silence it.

Named “Ink,” the crow was surprisingly easy to handle and ate politely, even gesturing with a wing for a glass of water.

On the dining table, dinner awaited, bland but plentiful, enough for three or five people. Luo Nan, with his superhuman appetite, finished in perfect sync with Ink.

After eating, Ink promptly flew off through the balcony.

Luo Nan tidied the dishes and was about to head to his study when his wristband vibrated again. This time, it was cousin Moya. Like her mother, she wasted no time:

“How do I get thanks this time?”

“Uh, thanks, sis.”

“Ha! Not even trying a new tactic!”

Moya, aware of Luo Nan’s awkwardness, cut to the point: “The Occult Studies Club. Did someone recommend it, or did you pick it?”

“I chose it myself…”

“Do you know what kind of place it is?”

Luo Nan thought for a moment: “It’s part club, part research institute, privately funded, powerful, and highly autonomous compared to the Academy.”

Moya sneered, “Looks fun, doesn’t it?” Luo Nan hesitated.

She continued, “It’s basically a playground for rich kids. Core members form their own circles, spending days researching strange things. Ordinary students are just helpers. So it seems great, but for academics or skills? Irrelevant.”

Luo Nan interrupted: “They allow experiments.”

Moya extended her “Oh?” in surprise. “Looks like your experiments are getting intense. But, little brother, experiments should go in physics or chemistry clubs.”

Luo Nan calmly replied, “Those clubs require internships. I already have the qualifications from middle school; no need to repeat.”

“Occult Studies Club works?”

“Yes. I read the description and the forum. It’s the only place freshmen can start independent experiments, many involving psychoactive substances, exactly what I need.”

Moya laughed, “Helpers can do independent experiments?”

“Skilled ones might. If the boss is clueless, even better.”

The usually sharp-tongued Moya was momentarily speechless. After a few seconds:

“Fine, Mr Skilled Worker. Just remember, switching clubs at Zhixing will label you a misfit. The next four years… oh, you’re tenth grade, so eight years, you’ll have plenty of time to regret.”

“Mm.”

Luo Nan’s calm reply drew a smirk from Moya. “Alright, now let’s talk compensation.”

“Compensation?”

“Risking myself for you, and you just say thanks?”

“Uh… what do you want?”

“Your apartment for one night. A small party.”

Luo Nan hesitated. “When?”

“Next month, the 15th. Twenty days from now…”

“Nineteen days.”

“…Fine, nineteen. I don’t need you to prepare anything, just hide or move anything embarrassing. I’ll handle the rest.”

Luo Nan calculated. “Should be fine, but remind me five days in advance.”

“Done.”

The call ended. Luo Nan groaned at the thought of the “temporary relocation” in nineteen days. Yet he remained grateful; without Moya covering for him, how could he continue his dangerous experiments under his aunt’s watchful eye?

Shaking his head, he decided to postpone mundane matters until tomorrow.

It was now September 26, 2096, 19:22. The inefficient day had passed, and Luo Nan embraced the quiet, precious night.

In his study, a sizable black case sat on the desk, out of place but imposing.

Entering the fingerprints and password, he opened the lid. A faint hiss sounded as layered instruments lifted, unfolding like petals into their designated positions.

In an instant, the desk became a simple yet fully equipped workspace.

He also placed a medical portable fridge on the desk, filled with sealed drug materials. The white powder from Ink, verified, was stored inside.

With all materials and equipment ready, Luo Nan took a deep breath, retrieved an old brown notebook from a hidden compartment, and carefully opened it.

The cover was worn, like his always-present notebook, both loose-leaf. Years of use had swollen the cover. But unlike his black notebook, it had no simulated paper screen.

On the first page was a precise hand-drawn geometric figure; a regular tetrahedron with its inscribed and circumscribed spheres, forming a flawless structure.

Below, four short, cryptic phrases were scribbled:

My heart is a prison, my heart is a furnace;
My heart is a mirror, my heart is a nation.

Luo Nan couldn’t claim to fully grasp the meaning, yet each time he viewed and silently recited it, chaotic thoughts settled, and his mind calmed.

He flipped through the dense notes, seeking information on drug formulations, pondering the complex terms and molecular formulas:

“Weak, substitute, simplified… Grandfather, help me out here!”

Time passed quickly. Outside, lights flickered; inside, Luo Nan focused on the notebook and apparatus, adding ingredients according to his notes.

He only dozed briefly during slow reactions, for about two hours.

At 3:15 a.m., with the last drop added, the solution boiled violently, gradually changing color.

Luo Nan watched intently, ensuring the reaction proceeded correctly. After two minutes, he moved his stiff neck and began cleaning the workspace, quietly recording:

Dimethyltryptamine stock: 0, Kassidone stock: 0, Methoxyphenamine: 2mg, Cetirizine: 5mg…

His notebook screen automatically updated the records. Most drug stocks were now zero or approaching zero.

Cleaning the containers took about half an hour, after which the workspace was restored.

The pale green solution slowly cooled, confirming that his night’s efforts hadn’t been wasted.

The brown notebook contained a brief record: “Q-11R developed multiple peripheral neuropathies; Q-27R allergic, near death; others normal… basic substitution effect achieved, side effects uncertain.”

Estimating the time, Luo Nan logged into his usual “Mystar” forum. Even at this hour, night owls were actively debating.

At the centre: Xiàchéng and its recent strange “earthquake period.” Discussions ranged from geological structures to qi leakage. Some claimed secret experiments by a major corporation caused it.

Luo Nan cared about only two things:

1. Would the quakes affect his experiments?
   
2. Would the growing panic force his aunt to drag him home?
   

He attempted to enter the forum’s private section, but a message appeared: “Insufficient permissions, please contact an administrator.”

He slammed his forehead because he had been locked out. Reason: During the emergency, all purchase posts were treated as phishing.

Being locked out was minor; losing his drug source was the real problem. With current supplies, even without his aunt’s interference, he was close to halting experiments. Most of the fifty essential drugs were now controlled psychoactive substances, impossible for a minor to purchase legally.

Resorting to the “black market” was dangerous.

The Mystar forum channel, though illegal, was relatively safe for manufacturer “extra transactions”, circumventing strict regulations, still barely commercial. True black-market sources, however, were run by gangs.

Compared to dealing with drug dealers, being a helper in the Occult Studies Club seemed trivial. Even if the club didn’t provide all materials, any new avenue was a gain.

Finally, the solution ceased boiling and cooled. Luo Nan dismissed all distractions, opened the valve, and transferred the massive dose of psychoactive mixture into a prepped needle-free syringe, injecting it into his upper arm. His expression never wavered.

He meticulously cleaned the equipment, restored the case to its black exterior, removed gloves, returned the brown notebook to its hidden compartment, stowed the fridge, washed, and at 4:00 a.m., donned a hoodie, grabbed his black notebook, and went out for his unchanging morning run.