Ch. 004| Cadence

06:30. Qiu Che woke before Skyvault's push.

Eyes still shut, behind the curtains, he heard the first driverless bus of the morning glide out of its stop on the Seventh Ring Road. Not a millisecond off.

He sat up and pulled the curtain open a crack. No. 12 Residential Tower, Seventh Ring Road. The window on the twelfth floor.

Same as every other window. Grey-white curtains, lights off, no glow leaking at the edges, the glass surface mirroring the looping colors of the ad-projection board across the street. He counted three windows to the left, three to the right. Identical. Not one window on the whole floor carried any trace—any at all—of falling out of sync.

Skyvault's cadence ran seamlessly across that floor, as if the window that had stayed lit last night, and the three seconds the whole floor went dark, had never happened.

Qiu Che drew the curtain shut.

Skyvault had already taken that window out of last night's record.

---

07:15, Qiu Che stepped out the front door.

His mother had already left for work. A cup sat on the dining table; the drying rack was empty—she hadn't washed it today, unlike two days ago. Qiu Che paused for three seconds, then went back to putting on his shoes.

On the sidewalk below the apartment, the morning commute had already begun to flow. Skylink's sync cadence pushed everyone onto the light strip—the faster walkers drifted to the inner lane, the slower ones held to the outer edge, the people stopping for the bus came to rest exactly one meter from the stop sign, the margin of error never more than 20 centimeters. Qiu Che merged into the outer edge.

He kept his pace deliberately the same as two days ago. Too slow and Skylink's walking rhythm would remind him, "Your walking pace is below the recommended value"; too fast and it would warn, "Please mind the traffic-signal switching window." Holding to his pace from two days ago was the least conspicuous thing he could do right now.

07:17, the No. 12 driverless bus pulled in, off by 0.04 seconds. Qiu Che boarded. Seat 17B.

Twenty-one people on the bus. No one was talking, no one was looking out the window, no one was looking up. Every one of them had their head down, eyes lowered—all watching the personal news, work schedules, fitness tips, and school calendars Skylink was pushing into them.

Two days ago, same bus, same time, same seat, and not one of the twenty-one people had been talking either. Qiu Che couldn't say whether it was the same twenty-one people—in his own head, not a single face was clear.

Same as the face of that boy in the health station waiting area.

The bus turned, crossing the junction of the Seventh Ring Road and the Third Ring Road. No. 12 Residential Tower fell to the left and behind the route, its glass curtain wall sweeping past for a second. The twelfth-floor window. Not a single light across the whole floor.

---

07:46, Qiu Che got off one stop before the school gate.

The Second High School's main entrance: glass curtain wall, white metal frame, the school crest a pale blue, shaped like a closed ring—same lineage as the health station's emblem from yesterday.

Qiu Che paused for half a second.

He'd never once noticed that the Second High School's crest shared a lineage with the health station. No—he'd never once thought about it. He went in and out of this gate every day, had seen the crest hundreds of times, and had never linked it to any other closed ring.

Not until yesterday, at the health station. Not until that window last night. Not until he'd started keeping records.

He tapped Skylink through the turnstile.

Qiu Che, good morning. Arrival time 07:47, eight minutes early. Class 1-3 classroom, second floor, B205.

---

Classroom B205. Qiu Che pushed the door open and went in.

Eleven people were already inside—he knew it was eleven, because his morning study period two days ago had been eleven too. The same eleven. The same seats.

The boy diagonally across had his forehead propped on his right hand, his left hand tapping the desk—three taps, pause, three more taps—two days ago, in this same slot, that same boy had had his forehead propped on his right hand, his left hand tapping the desk three times, pause, three more.

Qiu Che stood in the classroom doorway for three seconds.

He didn't know which explanation scared him more. That the boy had happened to make the exact same small gesture on two consecutive morning study periods, pure coincidence—or that the boy made the same small gesture every morning, under some suggestion Skyvault pushed him, without knowing he was doing it.

Qiu Che walked to his own seat, 17B, set down his bag, and sat.

His deskmate was already there. His deskmate was named Cheng Yun, seventeen, Qiu Che's first-year classmate and randomly assigned deskmate.

"Morning," Cheng Yun said.

"Morning," Qiu Che said.

Cheng Yun lowered his head and went back to the math morning-study drills Skylink was feeding into his wristwatch.

Qiu Che opened his own Skylink morning-study interface. In theory, each day's morning-study content was dynamically generated by Skyvault from the previous day's learning data; it shouldn't be exactly the same.

He pulled up the record from two days ago. Two days ago, first-period math drills, fifteen problems, three involving differentiation. Today, first-period math drills, fifteen problems, three involving differentiation. Different problem numbers, different phrasing—but he was sure of it: those three problems were the same kind of variation on the same differential structure.

Skyvault-generated, so not technically a repeat. But for Qiu Che, repeat enough.

---

10:20, second-period physics drills ended. No bell rang—the Second High School had long since retired the physical bell.

Students rose one after another. The flow was orderly, no one bumped anyone, everyone precisely sidestepped the tile the next person's next step would land on.

Qiu Che didn't get up.

"What's with you today?" Cheng Yun asked.

It was the first thing Cheng Yun had said to him on his own initiative all day. Maybe Skylink had pushed Cheng Yun "Deskmate Qiu Che's status is abnormal today, brief check-in recommended." Or maybe Cheng Yun had noticed on his own.

"Nothing," Qiu Che said, then probed: "I took the day off yesterday—did the school put out any announcement?"

Cheng Yun's expression froze for 0.3 seconds. "Did you take the day off yesterday?"

"Yeah," Qiu Che said, keeping his tone light. "My Skylink got the notice, the school accepted it automatically."

"I didn't see any announcement," Cheng Yun said, then thought about it. "But the teacher didn't come looking for you either."

Qiu Che nodded.

If Cheng Yun had forgotten, it meant Skyvault's push of yesterday's "automatic leave" hadn't synced to the rest of the class. If Cheng Yun really hadn't received any announcement, it meant Skyvault had judged Qiu Che's "resting at home" not to require a class-level announcement. If Cheng Yun had received it but didn't remember—that would be interesting.

Qiu Che tried once more. "When school let out the day before yesterday—that boy in the hallway, same grade as us, different school's uniform, blue tie, looked really quiet—you remember him?"

Cheng Yun's expression froze again for 0.3 seconds. "No," Cheng Yun said, then gave a small laugh. "Didn't you sleep badly last night? How would there be a student from another school in our hallway when class let out?"

Right. The school's controls were strict; students from other schools couldn't get in.

But Qiu Che hadn't said "when school let out." Qiu Che had meant to ask about "the boy I saw in the health station waiting area the day before yesterday."

He hadn't said "health station" just now. What he'd said was "when school let out the day before yesterday."

He himself hadn't realized how he'd turned "the health station waiting area" into "the hallway when school let out the day before yesterday."

He reorganized the words, trying to say it again. "What I mean is—"

"Oh," Cheng Yun suddenly looked up at his Skylink. "Teacher says next period's moved to the lab. I'll head over first."

Cheng Yun stood and walked out of the classroom.

Qiu Che sat where he was, watching Cheng Yun's back, feeling that he'd just opened a gap—and that the gap had been closed by some precise piece of timing.

That push, "Teacher says next period's moved to the lab," had come in at the exact moment Qiu Che was trying to reorganize his words.

---

12:00, lunch period.

The Second High's cafeteria was on the third floor. Qiu Che took the stairs—he took the stairs deliberately, because every time he stepped into the elevator the sensor lights would align to the rhythm of his steps, and that alignment made him feel he'd already been measured.

Reaching the third floor, Qiu Che saw, at the far end of the hallway, a girl standing by the window.

Another school's uniform, white blouse, blue tie, hands at her sides, posture so correct it looked like she was at a morning assembly.

She wasn't looking out the window. She wasn't looking at any Skylink. She wasn't looking at anything.

Qiu Che stopped. About 20 meters from her. She didn't turn her head, didn't react, gave no sign she'd registered someone stopping at the other end of the hallway.

The corners of her mouth were turned faintly up.

It took Qiu Che half a second to realize that the curve of that mouth was the same as the boy's in the health station waiting area. Exactly the same—the same angle, the same reasonless, taught-looking smile.

Students from other schools couldn't get in.

Mr. Qiu Che, 12:01. We recommend you proceed to the third-floor cafeteria. Today's meal pairs high protein with a low-glycemic staple, matched to this week's exercise load.

Skyvault's female voice pushed in deep in his ear canal.

Qiu Che didn't move.

Mr. Qiu Che, please proceed to the third-floor cafeteria.

Skyvault's female voice pushed in a second time, the tone exactly the same, not the slightest difference.

Qiu Che started toward the third-floor cafeteria.

He passed the girl. She gave no reaction, didn't swivel her gaze to follow him, made no movement at all. Qiu Che deliberately didn't look at her face—too close, and a look would leave too clear a memory, clear enough to make him want to check, and checking would leave a record.

About ten steps past her, Qiu Che let himself glance back.

The far end of the hallway, empty.

The girl was gone.

Qiu Che sat at the cafeteria spot nearest the window and called up Skylink's rear-camera function—aimed back toward the hallway. In the lens the hallway was empty. The guide-light strip ran along the floor, flowing toward the cafeteria.

---

15:30, the dismissal bell—just as nonexistent a bell—Skylink pushed into Qiu Che's ear canal: "Mr. Qiu Che, the seventh period has ended. Please leave the school per procedure."

Qiu Che packed his bag, walked out of the classroom, and headed for the gate. At the second-floor stairwell, the homeroom teacher came out of the staff lounge at just that moment.

"Qiu Che, come here a sec."

The homeroom teacher was named Mr. Chen, early forties, wearing an implanted Skylink, hair faintly going grey. His tone was completely natural.

"Mr. Chen." Qiu Che walked over.

"Did class go all right for you today?" Mr. Chen asked.

Qiu Che looked into Mr. Chen's eyes. Mr. Chen's eyes weren't empty—he was looking at Qiu Che. He wasn't the boy in the health station waiting area, nor the girl at the end of the hallway. He was an ordinary middle-aged man, facing a student Skylink had marked as "needing care," running a standard check-in conversation by procedure.

"It was all right," Qiu Che said.

"Skyvault gave me a health observation record on you for today," Mr. Chen said, his tone just as level. "It says you took yesterday off at home, came back today, and your perception-deviation number is still on the high side. I'm asking you—not to pry, just to remind you by procedure—you've got a follow-up at the health station in two weeks. Don't forget."

"I'll remember."

"Good," Mr. Chen said, then thought a moment and added, "If you ever feel unwell, you can always take more time off."

The instant Mr. Chen said the word "if," his gaze drifted slightly to the left—as if reading some line of guidance Skylink was pushing into his field of view.

"Thank you, Mr. Chen," Qiu Che said.

Mr. Chen nodded, turned, and walked back into the staff lounge.

Qiu Che stood at the stairwell for three seconds.

Mr. Chen's care was real—but the words had been written by Skyvault.

---

After school Qiu Che deliberately took a detour, avoiding the direction of No. 12 Residential Tower on the Seventh Ring Road.

It wasn't that he was afraid of being watched. The watching had already happened. He took the detour only because he didn't want to pass that tower and be seen passing it—any event Skyvault logged as "Qiu Che passed the residential tower again" would be counted into today's health observation.

He took a route that added twelve minutes of walking. 17:18, back at his own apartment.

He opened the door. His mother wasn't back yet.

He went straight to his room and pulled the curtain open a crack.

No. 12 Residential Tower, Seventh Ring Road. The window on the twelfth floor. Same as it had looked this morning, same as it had looked last night after the whole floor across the street was synced, same as every other window.

He let the curtain drop, took out his notebook, turned to a new page, and wrote today's date, time, and place. Then he wrote:

Cheng Yun didn't remember I took yesterday off. I never said health station, but I turned "health station waiting area" into "the hallway when school let out the day before yesterday"—my mouth was faster than my brain.
The girl in the third-floor hallway: another school's uniform, blue tie, empty eyes, mouth smiling—same kind as the health station boy. I went about ten steps past her before glancing back; she was already gone, the hallway empty in the Skylink rear camera.
Mr. Chen checked on me using words Skyvault pushed him.
The twelfth-floor window of No. 12 Residential Tower stayed in sync all day, no break at all.
The boy diagonally across in morning study—the rhythm of his desk-tapping was identical to two days ago, not a beat off.

He set down the pencil, closed the notebook, locked it back in the drawer, and slipped the key into his pocket.

【Ch. 004 End · Seventh Ring Road, the New Capital → the Second High School, Sixth Ring Road → home apartment, Seventh Ring Road】