My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 7

At 2 a.m., the entire camp finally quieted down.

The corridor lights were switched to a dim, nighttime mode, leaving only a few wall lamps emitting a yellowish glow. Music was no longer playing on the loudspeakers; instead, a low-frequency white noise, like distant ocean waves, continuously washed over everyone’s consciousness.

Lin Jiqiu lay on the bed with her eyes open.

Xiaoyu had fallen asleep—or rather, she was finally too tired to sleep. Her breathing was shallow, and she would occasionally twitch, as if she were having a bad dream.

Lin Jiqiu waited for an hour to make sure Xiaoyu’s breathing had entered a deep sleep rhythm before slowly sitting up.

She wasn’t wearing shoes; her bare feet touched the cold floor without making a sound.

The curtains were drawn tightly, plunging the room into near darkness. But her eyes adapted well to the darkness—a result of structural deformation; her night vision, while not at its limit, was sufficient.

She walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain with her finger, and looked outside.

The courtyard was deserted. All the lights in the building across the street were off. The barbed wire on the wall gleamed coldly in the moonlight.

Cheng Ran’s voice came through the headphones, very softly, like a whisper.

“I’ve replaced the surveillance footage. From now on, the hallways and rooms they see will be empty.”

“How long can it last?”

“It depends on how long you need it. But it’s best not to exceed two hours—replacing screens for too long will cause timestamp anomalies, which may be detected.”

That’s enough.

Lin Jiqiu closed his eyes.

She wasn’t hesitating; she was “releasing” herself.

The form of the bluebird coalesced in her consciousness—not “split” from her body, but summoned from “possibility.” A small, light, grayish-blue shadow silently emerged in the darkness.

A bluebird landed on the windowsill, tilting its head, its bright, black bean-like eyes sparkling.

Lin Jiqiu looked at it and gave it a command in his mind.

The bluebird didn’t chirp; it simply flapped its wings slightly and then slipped out through the gap in the curtains.

It flew very low, close to the wall, like a gray shadow.

The night wind was a bit strong, and the small bluebird was blown slightly off course. It adjusted the angle of its wings to steady itself, then accelerated and flew towards the main building of the camp.

——

Cheng Ran sat in his studio, with Qing Que’s live feed on the screen in front of him.

The footage was shaky—the bluebird’s gaze was unstable, bobbing up and down and swaying left and right. He adjusted the algorithm to stabilize the footage somewhat, but it still retained the natural shakiness of birds in flight.

“I received the video,” he said. “It’s a bit shaky, but you can see it.”

There was no response from the earphones—Lin Jiqiu couldn’t speak right now, and although the room was well soundproofed, she wasn’t sure if there were any hidden microphones.

“If everything is okay, take a breath.”

He heard a soft inhale.

“Okay. I’ll start taking notes.”

The bluebird flew to the side of the main building.

All the windows on the third floor were closed, and the curtains were drawn tightly. A few windows on the second floor were slightly ajar—probably for ventilation, since the weather wasn’t cold.

A bluebird landed on the windowsill of an open window.

Peering through the crack, I saw an empty room. The bed was neatly made; no one lived there.

Qingque squeezed through the gap.

When it landed, its claws touched the tabletop, making a very soft “thud”.

Lin Jiqiu’s toes curled slightly—40% tactile feedback, not painful, but noticeable.

Qingque circled around the room.

Four beds, four bedside tables, a wardrobe, and a mirror. There were no cameras or suspicious devices.

An ordinary dormitory.

The bluebird slipped through the crack in the door and went into the corridor.

The corridor was dark, with only a few emergency lights on. There were closed doors on both sides, with no numbers on them, only some strange symbols—circles, triangles, and wavy lines.

“These symbols…” Cheng Ran zoomed in on the image, “are not ordinary markings. They might be some kind of encoding.”

Lin Jiqiu took a breath.

“I took a screenshot, I’ll analyze it later.”

The bluebird flew forward along the corridor.

As it passed through a door, it heard a sound—someone was crying.

It was very light and oppressive, like crying under the covers.

A bluebird landed on the doorknob and peered through the crack in the door.

The room was dark, but moonlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, revealing a person curled up on the bed.

A white T-shirt.

Returning student.

Qingque noted down the symbol on the door—a circle with a wavy line in the middle.

Keep going.

At the end of the corridor was a closed door, unlike the other doors—it was made of iron, had no handle, and only a small window, like the kind found in prisons.

The bluebird flew to the small window and looked inside.

It was dark inside, and I couldn’t see the whole thing. But I could smell a strange odor—disinfectant, and something else.

Qingque’s night vision was limited, and he could only make out the general outlines—a bed, a chair, and something on the wall.

“Can we see more?” Cheng Ran asked.

Lin Jiqiu took a light breath—indicating “no”.

“It’s okay. Just remember the location.”

Just as Qingque was about to turn around, she suddenly heard footsteps.

It came from the other end of the corridor. The sound was neither too loud nor too soft, neither too fast nor too slow, like a patrol.

The bluebird shrank into the shadow of the door frame, its wings tucked tightly, and remained motionless.

The footsteps grew closer.

A flashlight beam swept across the corner and swayed a few times in the corridor.

A man appeared in the corridor—wearing a security guard uniform, in his forties, and with a muscular build.

He walked up to the iron gate, shone his flashlight inside, then turned around and continued walking forward.

The bluebird held its breath—if it could breathe at all.

The security guard passed by the door frame where it was hiding, less than a meter away.

He didn’t notice.

Once the footsteps had faded into the distance, the bluebird glided out of the shadows, flapped its wings gently, and flew back in the direction it had come from.

——

When I returned to room 203, Xiaoyu was still asleep.

Lin Jiqiu was still sitting by the bed—she hadn’t left. Qingque was an avatar; the real her had always been here.

She closed her eyes and retrieved the blue sparrow.

In an instant, everything Qingque had seen—the corridor, the symbols, the iron gate, the figure crying in the blanket—rushed into her consciousness. Not just “saw,” but “remembered.” Every detail was as clear as if etched into her mind.

There’s also a 40% feeling of fatigue.

It wasn’t heavy, but her eyelids felt heavy.

“You’re back?” Cheng Ran’s voice came through the earpiece.

Lin Jiqiu took a soft breath.

“Let me organize what you’ve seen,” Cheng Ran said. “The location of that iron gate… might be their ‘special area.’ I’m looking up the code for the symbol; it might take a while.”

Lin Jiqiu took another breath.

“There’s one more thing,” Cheng Ran said. “Xiao Yu’s heart rate spiked for a moment just now. Not like in a dream, but… a sudden feeling of fear.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at Xiaoyu’s bed.

Under the blanket, Xiaoyu was curled up, her breathing a little more rapid than before.

She’s having a nightmare.

Lin Jiqiu did not move.

We can’t wake her now. If we do, she’ll only be more frightened.

She lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes.

I have classes tomorrow.

But she knew—what was hidden behind that iron gate.

——

The next morning, at the restaurant.

Xiao Yi sat down opposite Lin Jiqiu with her tray in hand, her expression not very good.

“Did you sleep well last night?” she asked.

“good.”

“I had a nightmare,” Xiaoyi said, taking a bite of her bread. “I dreamt… I became someone else.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at her.

“What kind of person?”

“I don’t know,” Xiaoyi shook her head. “I just feel like it’s not me.”

She lowered her head and continued eating her bread, but put it down after only a few bites.

“Lin Qiu, don’t you feel… something’s not right here?”

Lin Jiqiu took a sip of porridge.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Xiaoyi’s voice trailed off. “It’s just… that special course. After I got back, I kept thinking about what Teacher Mingyi said. He said I’m not myself. Then who am I?”

Lin Jiqiu looked at her.

There was a sense of bewilderment in Xiaoyi’s eyes—a bewilderment that made her begin to doubt herself and unsure of what was real.

This is not a good sign.

“Xiao Yi,” Lin Jiqiu put down his spoon, “No matter what Teacher Mingyi says, you are still you.”

Xiao Yi looked at her, as if trying to find some support in her words.

How did you know?

“Because if you weren’t yourself, you wouldn’t ask this question.”

Xiao Yi paused for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“That seems… to make some sense.”

Xiaoyu carried the tray over and sat down next to Lin Jiqiu. Her eyes were still swollen, but they were better than yesterday.

“morning.”

“Good morning,” Lin Jiqiu said. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Xiaoyu paused for a moment.

I had a dream.

“What dream?”

“I forgot,” Xiaoyu said softly. “I don’t remember it when I woke up.”

But Lin Jiqiu noticed that her fingers were trembling when she said this.

——

The morning class was still meditation.

But today is different.

Today, Teacher Mingyi didn’t have them close their eyes and imagine light. He had them open their eyes and look at a mirror in front of them.

I see myself in the mirror.

“Look into your eyes,” Teacher Mingyi said softly. “What do you see?”

Some saw exhaustion. Some saw fear. Some saw unfamiliarity.

Xiaoyu looked at herself in the mirror, her lips trembling slightly.

“I saw…” she said softly, “a stranger.”

Who is that?

“have no idea.”

“Do you want to know?”

Xiaoyu fell silent.

Teacher Mingyi walked behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t be afraid.” His voice seemed to come from a great distance. “No matter who you are, we will accept you.”

Xiaoyu’s body stiffened for a moment.

Then I gradually relaxed.

Lin Jiqiu noticed that her eyes had become somewhat vacant—not because she had lost consciousness, but rather… as if she had entered some kind of state.

This is hypnosis.

She had researched similar cases online. Prolonged meditation, low-frequency sounds, and physical contact—these combinations can induce a highly suggestible state.

Teacher Mingyi removed his hand from Xiaoyu’s shoulder and walked behind the next student.

Lin Jiqiu looked at herself in the mirror.

“Lin Qiu”.

It wasn’t her.

But when she saw “Lin Qiu” in the mirror, there was something in her eyes that didn’t belong to “Lin Qiu”—warning.

She needs to tone it down a bit.

She adjusted her expression to make herself look even more confused and bewildered.

Like a real nineteen-year-old girl, she was at a loss when faced with the question “Who are you?”

——

Free time in the afternoon.

Lin Jiqiu did not attend.

She stayed in the room, sat on the edge of the bed, and took out her notebook to write.

—Actually, I wasn’t writing; I was waiting.

Wait until it gets dark.

Tonight’s task: Find what’s behind that iron gate.

She closed the notebook and put it in the drawer.

She pulled out the button-sized locator from under her pillow—the one Cheng Ran had given her. She hadn’t put it on, worried it would be detected in the camp.

But now, she needs to confirm one thing.

She held the locator in her palm, walked to the window, and pretended to look at the scenery.

“Chengran,” she said in a voice only she could hear, “can the locator detect if there’s any signal jamming nearby?”

There was a few seconds of silence in the headphones.

“Yes. But you need to apply it to areas that will come into contact with your skin.”

Lin Jiqiu attached the locator to the inside of her wrist and covered it with her sleeve.

“And now?”

“Testing… wait a minute…” Cheng Ran’s voice paused for a moment, “There’s a signal. There’s no jamming. But there are several unidentified signal sources nearby, which may be their surveillance equipment.”

“Is it possible to bypass this?”

“Yes, but it will take time.”

“Before tonight?”

“……Can.”

Lin Jiqiu removed the GPS tracker and put it back under the pillow.

She lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes.

The image in her mind was of the iron gate that Qingque had seen last night.

The smell of disinfectant.

The thing on the wall—she couldn’t see it clearly, but her intuition told her it was important.

“Lin Qiu.”

Xiaoyu’s voice came from the doorway.

Lin Jiqiu opened her eyes and saw her standing at the door, her face even paler than in the morning.

“What’s wrong?”

“Teacher Mingyi is looking for me,” Xiaoyu said softly. “He wants me to go to the third floor.”

Lin Jiqiu sat up.

“one person?”

“Um.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at her.

There was something indescribable in Xiaoyu’s eyes—not fear, not nervousness, but… a kind of resignation.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No need,” Xiaoyu shook her head. “He told me to go alone.”

She turned and left.

Lin Jiqiu watched her retreating figure, his fingers slowly tightening on the bed sheet.

“Cheng Ran”.

“I heard you.”

“Xiaoyu went to the third floor.”

“I know. Her heart rate is rising—not from fear, but from… tension.”

“I’m going to follow them.”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s not me going. It’s Qingque.”

Cheng Ran remained silent for two seconds.

“……careful.”

Lin Jiqiu closed his eyes.

The bluebird slipped out through the gap in the curtains, flew close to the wall, and headed towards the main building.

It flew to the third floor, slipped through the window at the end of the corridor, and flew along the ceiling.

There was no one in the corridor.

The bluebird flew to the door of the round room—the door was closed, but not completely closed, leaving a crack.

It landed on the door frame and looked inside.

Xiaoyu sat in the chair in the center.

Teacher Mingyi stood behind her, with his hands on her shoulders.

“Very good.” His voice was soft. “You are very brave.”

Xiaoyu didn’t speak. Her eyes were looking straight ahead, but her gaze was unfocused.

“Now, I have a question for you,” Teacher Mingyi’s voice lowered slightly, “Do you want to stay?”

“Leave?”

“Stay here. Be a part of us,” Teacher Mingyi said. “You don’t need to go back to face those things that scare you anymore. You don’t need to worry about whether others like you or not. Here, you are safe.”

Xiaoyu fell silent.

“I……”

“You don’t need to answer now.” Teacher Mingyi removed his hand from her shoulder. “You can think about it slowly.”

He walked to the side, picked up a cup, and handed it to Xiaoyu.

“Have some water.”

Xiaoyu took the cup and took a sip.

Lin Jiqiu noticed that the liquid in the cup was not transparent—it was milky white, like some kind of powder.

“Cheng Ran, did you see that?”

“I see it. That cup…it’s not an ordinary cup. There might be a hidden compartment at the bottom.”

“drug?”

“Uncertain. But possible.”

Xiaoyu took a few sips and put the cup down.

Her eyelids began to feel heavy.

“Tired?” Teacher Mingyi’s voice was very gentle.

“Um……”

“Then take a nap.”

Xiaoyu’s head slowly drooped down, resting against the back of the chair.

Teacher Mingyi stood in front of her, looking at her with a slight smile on his lips.

“Soon, you will become a part of us.”

Lin Jiqiu’s fingers clenched tightly on the bed sheet.

Qingque’s claws tightened a little on the door frame—the 40% feedback made her knuckles turn white.

“Cheng Ran”.

“Um.”

“Tonight. We can’t wait any longer.”

“……good.”