Chapter 3: A Score That Shook the City

At the top of the Jiang City Education Tower, the rain was coming down in sheets, punctuated by rolling thunder. A massive LED screen flickered through the downpour, cycling through the provincial mock exam rankings. The cold, blue light refracted through the rain, casting jagged, broken patterns across the street. Shen Xingluo’s name sat at the very top: a raw score of 710. First in the province. The number hit the city like a lightning strike, igniting a firestorm.

Shen Xingluo’s pupils contracted. Cold sweat soaked through her pajamas in an instant. She whipped her head around to look at the laptop she’d already smashed to pieces, but there was nothing there. That pop-up… how was it appearing right in front of her eyes? No, it wasn’t a pop-up. It was a projection on her own retinas. She looked down at her left wrist. A tiny, contact-lens-like patch had appeared there, glowing with a faint red light as it synced with her phone.

The countdown continued. Shen Xingluo grabbed the water glass from her desk, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white; the icy sensation helped her stay focused. She snatched her burner phone from her pocket. Instead of dialing, she launched the offline wipe program she’d coded months ago. It couldn’t stop the data upload, but it could strip away every identifiable personal marker at the last second, turning the packet into nothing but noise.

She forced herself to stay calm. Her fingers moved with instinctual speed, executing a pre-set jump protocol. This was the "Ghost Path" she’d spent three years perfecting—using the millisecond latency gaps of global distributed nodes to shatter, scramble, and re-encrypt her data, finally firing it off through a satellite relay link that had never been logged.

Who planted it? She replayed the chaos of the afternoon. Only Professor Lin had gotten close enough to her, making a gesture that seemed accidental but was actually surgical—his sleeve had slipped, revealing a silver finger guard that brushed against the back of her hand. At the time, she’d thought it was just an awkward move to cover for Principal Chen’s aggressive posturing. Now, she realized it had been a silent data injection.

She grabbed her flashlight and swept the room. Something seemed to be glinting in the shadows. She shone the beam into the corner, revealing a black card stuck to the wall. It wasn't paper, but some kind of high-tensile plastic. There was no text on it, only a tiny QR code and a single line of laser-etched letters at the bottom:

She turned and headed in the opposite direction of the subway station. There was a 24-hour repair shop there run by an old friend of Gu Yan’s, a guy who’d been involved with the early hacker ethics committees. Shen Xingluo needed to confirm one thing: was the interview invitation Professor Lin had sent her a lifeline, or a lure?

Meanwhile, Su Man was posting on social media. On screens across the city, the cold, biting accusation—"Shen Xingluo faked her scores, bribed the graders"—spread like a virus. Public opinion flipped instantly. The tide of skepticism rose, and the malice of keyboard warriors turned toward the girl who had been standing in the light.

`[SYSTEM OVERRIDE] Shen Xingluo, your recent actions have triggered the ‘Red List’ protocol. Gu Yan’s data packet contained a backdoor. It is currently uploading your biometric data. Completion in: 10, 9, 8...`

The night rain started again. Shen Xingluo stepped out of her apartment. The streets were empty. The dim streetlights stretched her shadow out into a long, thin line. She looked up at the city skyline. The "Qiming" supercomputer center stood on an island in the middle of the river, its massive cooling towers exhaling white mist into the night.

As she tapped "Send," Shen Xingluo yanked the power cord and physically pulverized the hard drive. Her movements were fluid, without a hint of hesitation. Outside the window, a bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the rickety window frame behind her. The wind howled like a beast.

The rain stopped, and a faint glimmer of dawn touched the Jiang City sky. Shen Xingluo walked out of the tower, breathing in the crisp, rain-washed air. The sea of turmoil in her heart finally settled. She knew the new chapter was only just beginning.

The atmosphere in the defense room was suffocating. Spotlights hit the center of the stage, exposing every speck of dust. Professor Lin appeared in the back row, dressed in a grey suit, his gaze deep and unreadable as he watched it all unfold.

The red light suddenly flickered out. Shen Xingluo slumped into her chair, gasping for air. Her phone screen went black; the upload had been forced to a halt. She couldn't guarantee the noise data was entirely useless, but at the very least, the Su Family couldn't pinpoint her location anymore.

The train pulled in and the doors slid open. Shen Xingluo didn't board. Instead, she turned against the flow of the crowd and walked into the deep dark. Her steps were steady, her shadow stretching out behind her as if tethered to some unseen observer.

The screen flickered, and a line of red warning code jumped into her field of vision: `ERROR: ACCESS DENIED. TRACING INITIATED.`

High above the city, behind a floor-to-ceiling window, a pair of eyes watched the tiny figure on the monitor. A fingertip tapped the glass, zooming in and locking onto the card on Shen Xingluo’s chest.

The office door slammed open. Principal Chen stormed in, his face a sickly shade of ash, the veins in his forehead pulsing with every breath. He gripped a stack of exam papers so hard they crumpled—a futile attempt to assert control over a situation already slipping through his fingers.

If Professor Lin knew the true bottom line of the Su Family, he might have made even more radical choices. But behind that lofty promise of "academic freedom," was there a deeper, more dangerous challenge to the system itself?

The roar of an incoming subway train echoed from the distance, sounding like a transport bound for an unknown abyss. Shen Xingluo took a deep breath, pressing the black card against her chest, shivering at its unnatural, icy temperature.

She didn't know what awaited her ahead. Was it a shining hall of academic glory, or just another meticulously crafted trap? But one thing was certain: in this game, there was no turning back.

The crowd’s attitude began to shift. The skeptical glares that had defined the room were replaced by awe, which quickly curdled into outrage against the rumor-mongers. In that single moment, the tide of public opinion turned completely.

Just a second before the screen went pitch black, a strange window popped up in the bottom right corner. No icon, no title—just a string of stark white text flickering against the void:

"Professor Lin..." she whispered the name to herself. She had thought this was an invitation from a mentor, but now, everything felt murky. Was this a gesture of goodwill, or another layer of the trap?

Shen Xingluo stared at the QR code, her fingers trembling. If Gu Yan had left this, why here? And why now, right after she’d wiped the data?

She began her derivation. The equations flowed across the massive holographic screen, the sheer volume of data crushing the opposition. Every symbol, every logical pivot was precise, flawless, and impossible to refute.

Faced with the onslaught from the outside world, Shen Xingluo didn't offer a single defense. She simply sat at her desk, waiting until the official invitation from the Provincial Assessment Center pinged her terminal.

Shen Xingluo stared at the screen, activating her Vision. Countless data streams wove together in her mind to build a complex model; amidst the shifting light and shadow, the truth began to surface.

Elsewhere, Gu Yan pushed the financial data into the public eye. On the giant screen, a complex map of capital flow appeared, with red warning lines pointing directly at the core of the corruption.

Professor Lin’s lab wasn't there. According to public records, he was at the old campus in the north of the city. But her gut told her the real battlefield wasn't there at all.

She tore off a small piece of foil and covered the QR code to prevent any potential optical scanning. Then, she tucked the card away and pulled her coat back on.

"You are not permitted to participate in external defenses without school approval," he barked, trying to use his fading authority to leash a student who had already outgrown him.

Shen Xingluo engaged her Vision, locking onto the vulnerability. The surrounding noise seemed to vanish, her consciousness diving deep into a pure, logical network.

"Provincial invitations carry legal weight that supersedes school policy," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but every word rang like iron in the cavernous hall.

In the quiet office, Shen Xingluo set down her pen. She tapped her fingertip against the desk, the sharp, rhythmic sound shattering the heavy silence of the room.

"The Su Family is manipulating public opinion, and the money trail is clear," his voice boomed over the broadcast system, sounding like a judge’s final verdict.

"My grades are synced to the provincial system. The right to review lies with the Center, not this school," she replied, her voice steady and devoid of emotion.

Gu Yan responded instantly, firing an encrypted file to her terminal. His fingers danced across the virtual keyboard, leaving nothing but a blur of motion.

"The Su Group’s recent fund movements are abnormal," he muttered, his tone laced with the thrill of a hunter finally catching a scent.

Gu Yan stood in the shadows, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he watched the storm gather through the slats of the blinds.

Su Man retreated in disgrace. The elite family was forced to cut ties, sacrificing their own to save face. In the chaos, a new order began to take shape.

"Academic freedom means the rules are written by the geniuses," she declared—a blade cutting through the shell of a rotting system.

Professor Lin issued the interview invitation. His voice was gentle yet carried immense weight, a promise of the future carried on the wind.

"Stay silent. Observe her logic," he whispered to himself, waiting for the decisive moment.

"The conclusion is unique. No review necessary." She stopped writing, looked up at the judges, and met their eyes with calm, unshakable confidence.

"Your depth of thought far exceeds expectations," he said, looking at Shen Xingluo with a flicker of genuine admiration.

Professor Lin stood up and walked slowly toward the stage. His stride was steady, each step carrying the weight of a ritual.

Before the clamor could die down, Su Man’s assistant was already on the phone with a PR firm, her voice sharp and frantic.

"The capital chain is broken. They need academic backing to launder their reputation," she concluded coldly.

"She doesn't meet school standards! I forbid the recommendation!" he roared, his face twisted in desperate, pathetic rage.

Just as Shen Xingluo prepared to take the stage, Principal Chen tried to block her, planting himself in the doorway with a dark, murderous look.

Yet, Principal Chen made one final, desperate struggle. He lunged forward, reaching out to grab her.

"Shen Xing, submit your grade review application immediately!" his voice cracked with fury.

"Variable control error. The hidden assumption is invalid," she said, her voice cool and crisp.

On the judging panel, a senior professor threw out a trap, his eyes glinting with provocation.

Shen Xingluo ignored him entirely, nimbly sidestepping his hand and keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Then move to phase two. Tell her the interview location has changed."

Shen Xingluo ignored his presence, walking straight past him with a steady, determined stride.

The red light grew brighter, searing enough to blister her skin.

"Find out who gave her that score."

"The logic in this problem is ambiguous. Demand a re-proof."

The phone screen shattered, emitting a harsh, crackling static.

"She needs evidence, not sympathy."

"Public defense. Open the floor to cross-examination from the entire field."

The voice was low, carrying a metallic, synthesized edge.

"Next Monday. My lab."

"7, 6, 5..."

"4, 3..."

"1... 0."

They’d noticed.

"She got it."

"2..."

G.Y.

Gu Yan.

On the screen, a new set of coordinates began to materialize. It was a place Shen Xingluo had never been—the abandoned old observatory in Jiang City.