Chapter 8: Next time we meet ,may be I will

March 18, 2024, morning, Ting’an City.

Beep—Senior Citizen Card!

On the bus, an elderly man with white hair, dressed in a black jacket and casual pants, shakily pulled a senior citizen card from his pocket.

He swiped it, then shakily tucked it back.

Limping through the aisle, he stepped on a wet floor, as if the rain from hours ago still lingered.

Both sides of the bus were packed with passengers.

He shuffled to the last row, settling into a corner seat.

Once seated, the old man’s body seemed to shed thirty or forty years.

Even the speed at which he pulled out his phone quickened.

“Number A-S003 ‘Chang Yi’ at your service. It is 9:00 a.m., March 17, 2024. How may I assist you, Professor Chen?”

A cold, mechanical female voice flowed through his hearing aid-like earpiece.

This was Ting’an University Spiritual Academy’s AI—Chang Yi.

The old man was accessing it from another dimension.

“Access the Academy database. Count the total number of Shadow Ghosts in Ting’an City,” he commanded softly.

His voice was faint, drowned by the chatter and blaring short videos around him.

“As of 8:50 a.m., March 17, 2024, total Shadow Ghosts in Ting’an City: 0.”

“Last Shadow Ghost death: February 14, 2024. Location: Ting’an City, Youdu.”

“Handler: Su Xi, female, second-year student at Ting’an University Spiritual Academy.”

“Reason: Course requirement.”

Scanning Chang Yi’s summary, the old man adjusted his reading glasses.

A new message popped up on his phone.

“Our principal, Ling Jiming, will soon visit Ky○to University Spiritual Academy for a 30-day academic discussion. His personal assistant, Zena Volmer, has been assigned to serve you,” Chang Yi reported.

“Why’s he going to Japan but leaving his assistant in Ting’an?”

It wasn’t a question.

The old man wouldn’t waste Chang Yi’s processing power lightly—accessing the AI from “Youdu” to the real world cost five to five hundred times more than local use.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to stick to his planned schedule.

“Chang Yi, analyze the Shadow Ghost breach incident from the evening of the 16th in Qingtan’s old district. Case number SOB202403162121. Focus on scene data.”

It was a Shadow Ghost breach from the day before.

The victim was a relative of a pre-admitted freshman.

A decade ago, this would’ve been deemed a “major defense failure.”

The Qingtan branch head would’ve faced severe reprimand and punishment.

But recently, Qingtan City’s situation had grown complicated.

“Your initial hypothesis is correct,” Chang Yi concluded five minutes later.

“Jianye Road 12, Qingtan old district, likely contains a domain not operated by our unit. Probability: 89.17%.”

The old man closed his eyes.

He wasn’t surprised, unless Xia Yin’s photos and videos were fake.

After a pause, he ordered, “Compare the domain’s characteristics with the Contract of former Qingtan branch S-rank ‘Pivot’ Subro Dan Javier.”

Qingtan City, clear.

Morning sunlight at 9 a.m. bathed every corner of Qingtan City No. 8 High School.

For the housewives in the faculty dorms, this was far better than yesterday’s downpour.

But the students trickling onto the field wished the rain had lasted through today—until summer break.

That way, they could skip the daily track runs.

In an unremarkable corner, a hand suddenly gripped the wall near the dorm building.

Seconds later, its owner—a boy in a gray jacket—appeared atop the wall.

“Scouted last night. This is the only spot in the school without barbed wire or glass shards. Before you say goodbye to this place for good, maybe tell security to add some wire here. Save them from headlines like ‘Underwear Thief Strikes Again.’”

With that, Xia Yin tossed a thick rope down to the white-haired girl in a white hoodie below.

Xueqiu hadn’t expected Xia Yin to sneak her back into school like this.

She’d never climbed a wall in her life, let alone in her current form.

Tying the rope around her waist, she gripped it with pre-prepared gloves.

In moments, Xia Yin hauled her up.

He’s strong, Xueqiu thought.

“Keep your balance. Don’t knock me over, or we’ll both tumble off,” Xia Yin said, leaping down and landing steadily.

He glanced back at her.

“Jump! You won’t get hurt. What’re you scared of? You jump, I watch!”

Xueqiu hesitated for a second, then mimicked his stance.

Whether due to her changed body or something else, she felt no strain in her legs upon landing.

The familiar music of the track run blared through her ears.

The broadcast’s “one, two, three, four” rang out forcefully.

Xueqiu couldn’t help but imagine—if none of this had happened, she’d be out there on the field too.

“Just so you know, you’ve got thirty minutes. I didn’t even report this school visit to them,” Xia Yin said, eyeing the dorm building before glancing at the bustling field nearby.

Truthfully, Xueqiu didn’t need to come back to school.

From Xia Yin and Carlos’s words, she’d learned she’d soon leave this high school for a place called the “Spiritual Academy”—if they weren’t lying.

Her desire to return was like a college student’s urge to say goodbye to their parents before heading back to campus.

Except she no longer had anyone to say goodbye to.

“I understand. Thank you,” Xueqiu said, bowing to Xia Yin.

She didn’t know how to repay him.

They’d known each other for two days.

He’d saved her, then showed up yesterday to celebrate her belated birthday.

Though, according to Xia Yin, it was all a task from some Professor Chen.

“No need to be so polite. Makes me sound like some revered senior. Oh wait, I am*. Never mind.”

It was a two-minute walk from the dorms to the teaching building.

Xueqiu crossed the school path; no one else was around.

Ninety-five percent of the students were likely on the field.

“High school… heh, classes from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m.? Heard some junior girls complain about their miserable high school lives,” Xia Yin said as they entered the teaching building.

“7:15 a.m. to 10:40 p.m.,” Xueqiu corrected.

Under the white hoodie, she didn’t bother dodging cameras.

She couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

The path from the dorms was lined with surveillance cameras—practically one for every floor, minus the bathrooms.

She’d heard a rumor that the school spent over two million on the camera network.

But Xia Yin letting her come back meant he had a way to handle it.

When she glanced back, though, Xia Yin was waving at one of the cameras.

“By the way, you can’t go to your classroom or even its floor. That’s the line,” he said as they reached the third floor.

“I understand.”

Xueqiu wouldn’t miss this place.

She just couldn’t let go of her classmates.

Though her friends were few—really just Jiang Cheng and Su Qingyuan.

As she and Xia Yin rounded a corridor corner, a familiar voice called out from behind.

It was one of those two.

“Xueqiu?”