Chapter 22 – Morning Assembly

Qin Yuezhang followed the crowd out of the conference room.

His initial purpose had been to attend the meeting, so he hadn’t taken the time to properly look at the place where Wei Qinzhou had once worked. Suddenly, he remembered Wei Qinzhou’s face when he returned to China—so full of ambition and vigor.

They had studied abroad together, drank together, and discussed their dreams together. Everything felt like it had happened just yesterday. Yet, he never could have imagined that the next time he heard news of Wei Qinzhou, it would be of his death.

“I heard you and Xiao Wei were very close friends,” Xu Anran said as he walked beside Qin Yuezhang. “You can take another look at his office. I didn’t have anyone touch his things.”

Qin Yuezhang sighed. “Thank you.”

“This is the most basic display of humanity from our company. His belongings… well, his things will be handled by his family and friends.”

Qin Yuezhang adjusted the cuffs of his suit. “His mother is abroad and in poor health. I’m here on her behalf this time. I’ll take his things back to her.”

Xu Anran’s expression darkened, and he said nothing more.

Qin Yuezhang took the elevator all the way to the top floor of the Weiyao Technology building. The technicians worked in this “isolated” area, allowing them to focus without distractions.

Wei Qinzhou’s office was at the very end. With guidance, Qin Yuezhang pushed open the door that had once belonged to his friend.

The office wasn’t large—just a desk, behind which stood a bookshelf filled with professional texts and the martial arts novels Wei Qinzhou had loved.

Actually, Xu Anran’s assessment was quite accurate. Wei Qinzhou had been a man of great chivalry—because this fool had loved martial arts novels since childhood, constantly reciting lines like, “A true hero is one who serves his country and his people,” or “If it benefits the nation, I would gladly face death, never shirking from misfortune,” and “When the deed is done, brush off your sleeves and leave, hiding your name and fame.”

In the past, Qin Yuezhang had often teased him for being obsessed with books to the point of foolishness.

Now, those once-treasured books were covered in dust.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a suffocating grief.

Qin Yuezhang felt deeply and acutely that his good friend—the passionate, sincere Wei Qinzhou—was truly gone.

“Ding—”

A long, piercing bell shattered the morning fog, piercing through the dim dawn light and waking all dreams.

The moment the bell rang, I instinctively opened my eyes. It seemed habits formed in one’s youth really did last a lifetime.

From the other side of the room came rustling sounds as Gu Lanshan scratched his head and lazily complained, “So noisy.”

Yan Ru had already finished getting ready. He said to Gu Lanshan, who was still stubbornly clinging to the bed, “It’s Monday. There’s a morning assembly. Don’t be late.”

Gu Lanshan didn’t even open his eyes, just murmured a vague “Mm,” then added in a sleep-slurred voice, “It’s fine, you go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Is he… really getting into character?

No, I’m not yet familiar with Blizzard. I should ask Gu Lanshan for more details before acting.

Otherwise, any misstep might arouse suspicion.

“You go ahead. I’ll wait for him.”

Yan Ru’s expression darkened. His lips moved slightly, but he said nothing before turning and leaving.

As soon as Yan Ru was gone, Gu Lanshan rolled over to face the wall and continued sleeping. I walked over and unceremoniously kicked him in the ass. “Still sleeping? You can’t even wake up in your own dreams?”

Gu Lanshan clutched his butt and mumbled a few words before sitting up. “We won’t get any answers right away. There’s no rush.”

“What’s wrong with Yan Ru? Suddenly talking about class and morning assemblies?”

Gu Lanshan picked at his ears. “Oh, right. This phenomenon is what we call ‘dream rationalization.’ It’s a sign of entering a deep dream state and helps patients integrate better into Snowscape with Blizzard’s assistance.”

“Dream rationalization,” I repeated softly.

“Let me give you an example. Even though we’ve long since graduated from high school, if we dream about the college entrance exam, we’d still feel nervous and scribble away at the test. Or, say, if we’re flying in a dream, we wouldn’t find it strange. Hmm… Would you still find it acceptable if you were flying while taking the exam? Dreams often aren’t coherent. You might suddenly jump from one place to another without finding it absurd. That’s dream rationalization. Blizzard just maximizes this effect.”

I suddenly understood.

Earlier, on the train, none of us had any obvious identifiers, but Yan Ru had carried a woven bag—consistent with the scene from back then. That was Blizzard helping him integrate into the dream. His sudden mention of “class” and “morning assembly” was also Blizzard’s work, pushing Yan Ru deeper into the dream.

But… My eyes snapped open. There was one more person who had an identity on that train.

My thoughts were a chaotic mess. I didn’t want to ask Gu Lanshan any more questions. The more I asked, the more likely I was to slip up and arouse suspicion.

“Ugh, you kicked me awake,” Gu Lanshan grumbled as he climbed out of bed. “Let’s go. We should check it out too.”

The schoolyard was already filled with students.

Xuehua Middle School was located in a remote, mountainous area. Without standardized uniforms, the students stood in a riot of colors. The school wasn’t large—just three grades with nine classes and a little over three hundred students.

Most of the students were on the shorter side. A few older ones loitered at the back of the crowd, quietly playing some unknown game.

In front of the banyan tree by the teaching building was a small platform, barely large enough for four or five people. The thin, wiry principal stood atop it, delivering the same old speech with booming energy.

“…We believe that as long as you study hard, you will surely change your fate!”

The students responded with scattered applause.

I stood at the very back of the crowd. No one found it strange—some students even glanced at Gu Lanshan and me before indifferently looking away.

“Rationalization?” I whispered.

Gu Lanshan grinned. “Right now, we’re like NPCs in a game… Well, no—more like players! How would an NPC know if the person they’re seeing isn’t from their world?”

I turned my gaze back to the platform.

Normally, after that line, the assembly would end. But today, the principal remained on the platform, in no hurry to dismiss everyone.

“Today, I have another piece of good news to announce!” The principal waved his right hand excitedly. “Starting today, the volunteer teaching team from Xue City University has arrived at our school and will begin a three-month teaching program. They are all outstanding individuals, and we hope you can learn knowledge and skills from them in the coming months!”

As he spoke, a young man and woman stepped onto the platform, bowing with bright smiles. A few more young men and women stood below the platform—had there been space, they would have joined them.

The students had never seen anything like a volunteer teaching team before, but the mention of Xue City University drew gasps of awe. In this high school, only a handful of students made it to university each year, let alone a prestigious one like Xue City University.

Amid the cheers and exclamations, a few teasing whistles could be heard.

Suddenly, my entire body went cold. My blood felt like it had frozen, leaving me suffocated.

I remembered.

I knew exactly when this was.

My thoughts involuntarily raced backward, memories flashing like beams of light, taking me back to the summer when I was seventeen.

“Consultant Qin? What’s wrong?”

Gu Lanshan’s anxious voice sounded beside me. I took a few deep breaths, suppressing the turmoil inside, and said calmly, “Nothing. Just a sudden dizzy spell.”

Gu Lanshan immediately said, “Any other symptoms? It better not be Blizzard’s rejection effect. We’ve all undergone extensive training before carrying out missions. You’ve held on this long—that’s impressive. If it’s really too much, just exit Snowscape.”

I frowned. “No.”

“I’m not just here to complete the mission—I also have to ensure your safety! Remember what the training said about how to exit Snowscape before the official mission?”

Wake up from this dream?

I hadn’t participated in any training. As a prisoner, I’d been blindfolded when they brought me into the Weiyao Technology building. I had no idea what they intended to do or how they operated.

But…

I smiled faintly. “Of course. Death, or exposure to an intense light source.”

Gu Lanshan nodded approvingly. “Right. Glad to see Consultant Qin hasn’t forgotten.”

“How could I forget something so important?” I patted Gu Lanshan’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Probably just didn’t sleep well.”

But Gu Lanshan suddenly threw an arm around my shoulders, leaning in with a suggestive look. “You and Yan Ru were up half the night. Of course you didn’t sleep well.”

“You knew?”

I tried to push him off, but Gu Lanshan seemed to think we were now close enough to be this familiar, his grip firm around my neck.

“Of course I knew. Did you really think I, the ace technician of Weiyao Technology, would actually sleep like a dead pig during a mission?”

He even winked, his short hair sticking up like freshly sprouted weeds.

I lowered my eyes and flattered, “You’re amazing, of course. ‘Planning strategies from a tent, winning battles a thousand miles away’—happy now?”

“Hahaha!” Gu Lanshan laughed loudly, drawing glances from the students in front. But he paid no mind. “What did you two talk about last night? Get anything useful?”

In Gu Lanshan’s mind, it was all about extracting information. He seemed eager to complete the mission as quickly as possible.

“No,” I said, suddenly feeling an odd sensation, as if someone was watching me from the shadows.

Following my instincts, I turned my head and unexpectedly locked eyes with a deep, penetrating gaze.

Yan Ru stood among the students, silently watching me and Gu Lanshan. His eyes swept over Gu Lanshan’s arm around my neck before meeting mine.

My heart inexplicably skipped a beat. There was something unsettling about his gaze, though I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Just then, the platform began introducing the members of the volunteer teaching team. I averted my eyes from Yan Ru, pretending to focus on the stage.

The introductions continued one by one.

“Next up is the brother who will be teaching everyone math. His name is—Xu Anran!”

The person on stage bowed as cheers and applause erupted below.

Gu Lanshan whooped along, clapping with his hands raised high.