Chapter 1

At midnight, the rain poured in torrents.

The downpour fell like a waterfall, blurring the face of the entire city.

The bricks on the walkway were loose in places. Holding a convenience-store transparent plastic umbrella, Song Ci stumbled unevenly toward the roadside apartment.

“Bang!”

A human-shaped shadow suddenly crashed in front of him, splashing up a massive wave of water. A large pool of fresh blood spread across the bricks, horrifying to behold.

Song Ci pulled out his phone, just about to call for emergency help, when the man turned his blood-smeared head and slapped the ground in regret: “Wrong… the password was wrong!”

Scarlet blood splattered onto Song Ci’s legs, chillingly cold. He crouched down, trying to hear clearly what the man was saying.

Suddenly, the man’s body shot up. His blood-red eyes widened, his face twisted in ferocity as he clutched Song Ci’s neck: “The next one is you!”

“The next one is you!”

A curse-like, piercing scream echoed through the rainy night.

Song Ci suddenly opened his eyes. The luxurious-style ceiling and the familiar astronaut chandelier came into view.

It was only a dream! He let out a long breath and yawned.

Two days earlier, when he braved the midnight rain to buy instant noodles downstairs, he had witnessed a fatal fall from above.

The deceased was a barber who lived on the other side of the city. The police were still investigating the details. So far, no one knew why he had crossed half the city in the middle of the night to appear here.

Song Ci squeezed his long legs together, hugged the soft, fluffy cat paw pillow, rolled over, and prepared to go back to sleep.

[The Hera Syndrome is several times more severe than the previous Zeus Syndrome. Rumors claim the source of infection is the cherry-flavored new product launched last quarter by beverage giant Liangpin Cola…]

[The current time is exactly 10:00 a.m. Today’s weather: overcast turning to light rain, temperature between 12 and 19 degrees Celsius, southeast wind at force 2 to 3, air quality index: excellent, ultraviolet index…]

Suddenly, all kinds of sounds rose and fell inside the room.

“Life Assistant, what program did you secretly bind again? Mute it!” Song Ci scratched the two tufts of messy hair sticking up on his head and muttered groggily.

The waves of sound stopped abruptly.

[Ding ling ling… ding ling ling… ding ling ling…]

The phone beside his pillow began ringing in relay.

Song Ci, lying on the bed, ignored it completely. His body instinctively arched, revealing a smooth waistline with relaxed contours.

He tried to bury himself between the pillow and the cushion, escaping the assault of the ringtone. Yet the phone persisted, ringing relentlessly.

After half a minute, he finally gave in, stretched out his hand in defeat, and fumbled to grab the phone.

“My buddy’s food livestream channel just hit over one hundred thousand followers!”

On the phone screen, Qi Huan’s excited face popped up. He must have just finished a broadcast; the counter was cluttered with kitchen utensils and leftover ingredients like flour and eggs.

Still half-asleep, Song Ci replied lazily, “Congratulations.”

As a freelance illustrator and a veteran of all-night sessions, ever since he graduated last year and moved into this apartment, his daytime usually began in the afternoon.

Waking up at ten in the morning was something that almost never happened to him—unless it was because of a nightmare or someone like Qi Huan.

On the other end of the line, his former university roommate suddenly realized, “Did you stay up all night drawing again?”

“I finished the draft at four. But I kept struggling with the installation program for that new robot vacuum until six-thirty.”

“Did you get it set up?”

“No. The installation process was like a full background investigation, ridiculously complicated. It even asked about how long I sleep and how deep my sleep is. It made me wonder if this robot vacuum has some hidden surveillance function.”

Speaking of it filled him with anger. Song Ci sat up irritably, grabbed the cushion beside him, and stuffed it behind his neck.

That movement made the wide collar of his T-shirt slip, revealing a smooth, straight collarbone. The cold white glow of the phone screen shone on his neck, making his skin look like fine Dehua porcelain, stirring the imagination and tempting one to reach out and touch.

“Wait a second, I’ll open the livestream room,” Qi Huan said with a mischievous grin.

“What for?” Song Ci asked, puzzled.

“I was just worrying about what kind of benefit to give my one hundred thousand fans. Perfect timing. I’ll show them a handsome guy with a little accidental exposure. They’ll be thrilled.”

Song Ci glanced down in confusion, then silently raised his index finger toward the screen. Showing a collarbone hardly counts as exposure.

“What do you mean by making a gesture of ‘1’?”

“It’s not a number, it’s a Chinese character.” Song Ci raised his brows slowly. “This character is read as 丨, meaning ‘roll.’”

“You heartless man! I got up early on a weekend morning like Cinderella to cook, planning to feed you and the boss with a proper dish.” Qi Huan lowered his brows in a sad expression, even pretended to wipe away nonexistent tears. “Today’s beer duck is especially fragrant.”

He picked up the large bowl beside him and exaggeratedly sniffed it.

“The boss will tell you that’s just the smell of ethyl acetate, formed by alcohol and vinegar through esterification.” Song Ci rested one arm behind his head, lazily yawned, and the dimples on his cheeks faintly appeared.

Their dormitory boss was a well-known ‘study fanatic’ in the chemistry department.

Qi Huan: ………………

“So are you eating or not?” Qi Huan asked in mock anger.

“Eat, eat, eat! The cooking skills of a master deserve a pleated chef’s hat.” Song Ci quickly bowed to the power of food.

“Of course. Sometimes I think the country should break the rules and award me a logistics contribution prize.” Qi Huan proudly lifted his chin. As a child, he cooked for the research experts in his family; in college, he cooked for his top-student roommates who were future researchers. From childhood to adulthood, he had single-handedly fed countless talents for the nation.

“You’re overacting,” Song Ci said mercilessly. “Do you have anything important? If not, I’m hanging up.”

“Don’t! I’m serious. You know about that Tianma matter, right?” Qi Huan dropped his exaggerated expression, casually grabbed an egg, tossed it up, and caught it again.

Song Ci’s eyes darkened as he recalled the nightmare he had just experienced.

Since October, multiple cities around the world had begun to see frequent “jumping” incidents. After autopsies, police in different regions reached nearly identical conclusions: all of these people had died from falling from high places.

At first, everyone assumed these were suicides caused by the global economic crisis and the surge in unemployment.

However, the identities of the victims varied widely. Among them were ordinary office workers, students, housewives, young entrepreneurs, and wealthy tycoons. Their professions, ages, and backgrounds spanned a broad range. Some lived comfortable lives without financial worries. Clearly, the suicide theory did not fully make sense.

Upon further investigation, police discovered that in the buildings near the victims’ locations, there were no surveillance records showing them entering. Moreover, whether on rooftops or high balconies, no evidence such as shoe prints, hair, or clothing fibers could be found.

There were even some locations where no tall buildings existed nearby, and in more extreme cases, people were found dead from falling directly onto rooftops.

It was as if the victims had appeared out of thin air in midair, only to plunge downward.

Even more puzzling was that all of these strange falling incidents occurred uniformly between 10 p.m. and 5 a.m., never during the daytime.

It was as though the entire planet had suddenly entered a “high-altitude human drop mode.” Aside from the police and related personnel, the ones most concerned were ordinary internet users. With fear spreading, keywords related to these incidents appeared daily on the trending topic lists of global SNS platforms.

At the beginning, most people believed the matter was connected to airplanes or hot-air balloons. Those with wilder imaginations suggested alien spacecraft.

Then, in the early hours of a November morning, a netizen uploaded a picture. After marking all the locations of the incidents on a world map, a massive pattern resembling a QR code astonishingly appeared.

Scanning the pattern produced the message: [Sorry, you do not have permission to log in for now!]

The uploader shared a screenshot of the message and claimed this was the Tianma Code, a password written to humanity by a higher-dimensional civilization. Only those recognized by such a civilization could gain access to read it. The uploader also insisted that the Tianma Code was not yet complete, and that the hidden information would be revealed once the final falling incident occurred and the pattern was fully formed.

This explanation attracted many puzzle-solvers and spread widely, giving rise to multiple interpretations, including the radical “divine punishment theory” and the pessimistic “doomsday theory.”

As a result, people began referring to the falling incidents collectively as the Tianma Incident.

Song Ci did not know whether the falling case he had witnessed belonged to this series. However, following police instructions and to avoid worrying others, he never mentioned the event from two days earlier to Qi Huan.

“What, are you worried about the end of the world?” Seeing that Qi Huan had no intention of hanging up, Song Ci knew his plan to go back to sleep was ruined. Lazily, he lifted his hand and pressed the third switch by the bed.

The electric curtains slowly opened, revealing the gray sky outside and a window filled with the sticky drizzle of Jiangnan rain.

“A real doomsday wouldn’t be so bad. Then I wouldn’t have to pay off my long twenty-nine years and four months of mortgage.” The newly minted homeowner Qi Huan released the egg in his hand, which dropped straight into the pile of flour, leaving a perfectly round pit. “This morning, Qi Qing called me. She said she signed up for the Tianma research group and would even be going to the scene with the police. I asked if it was dangerous, and she told me danger and reward are like a continuity equation. What does that mean?”

Song Ci half-closed his amber eyes carelessly. “The continuity equation, simply put, means that the change of a certain quantity in a region equals what flows in or out through the surface, plus what is generated or consumed inside. Applied to charge conservation, it becomes Kirchhoff’s current law. Applied to energy conservation, it becomes the heat flow equation. Applied to quantum mechanics, it gives the Schrödinger equation for the probability of finding a particle at a certain time and place…”

Qi Huan picked up the fork beside him and waved it threateningly at the camera. “Speak in plain language, or we’re done being friends.”

“……” Song Ci scratched the ends of his hair that stuck up from sleep. After pausing for two seconds, he switched to a simpler explanation. “I guess your sister meant that without effort there is no reward, and taking risks is worthwhile.”

“So that’s what she meant.” Qi Huan suddenly understood, tossing the fork onto the table. “Oh right, Qi Qing said the research group is now recruiting volunteers to help decode the Tianma Code. Do you want to sign up and give it a try?”

“Thanks, but no. That research group is full of top professionals. It would make sense for our dorm boss and second-in-command to join, but me? I’m just an administrative management major. What would I do there, hand out boxed lunches?” Song Ci showed no interest. “Besides, my brain isn’t that good.”

“Your brain isn’t good? I think mine is great, yet I still can’t understand what my sister was saying.” Qi Huan challenged. “Also, may I ask, does an administrative management major study the Schrödinger equation?”

Song Ci choked for a moment. “…I…I’m very busy.”

“Busy with what? Busy sleeping?”

Song Ci: ………………

“For someone whose desk is less than five meters from the bed, and who spends more than twelve hours a day tangled up with it, you still dare to say you’re busy? What did the dorm boss call you back then? Ah, right—self-indulgence syndrome!” Qi Huan launched into full “Qi the Roaster” mode with great momentum.

Song Ci muttered softly, “Life lies in stillness.”

“Stillness my foot. You’re just lazy—lazy to the point of being outrageous. Tell me, who chooses their university major based on which one has the fewest class hours?”

“Brother, you three have mocked me about this for years. Isn’t it time to stop?” Song Ci pressed his lips nervously, and the dimples at his cheeks flickered awkwardly.

“This should be nailed to the pillar of shame in your salted-fish life.” Regaining the upper hand, Qi Huan bent his middle finger and raised the other four toward the screen, shaking them emphatically. “Never-ending (middle finger).”

Song “Salted Fish” Ci: ………………

“Oh, by the way, I asked Zhang Chi to send you the beer duck by human express delivery. It should be arriving about now, so remember to open the door for him. As for your robot, let him look at the manual and fix it for you.” Qi Huan reminded him, worried he would hang up and go back to sleep.

Zhang Chi was Qi Huan’s cousin. Last year he was admitted to Huada University’s sports department, and whenever he had no classes he liked to drop by Qi Huan’s place. Since he often freeloaded on food and drinks and was sent on errands, he had also become familiar with Song Ci and the others.

“You just bully the kid,” Song Ci complained.

“You’re only one month older than him, and you still dare call him a kid?”

“I’ve decided. Next time we play games, I’ll beat you until you kneel and call me dad.”

“Dream on. Why don’t you just fly to the sky?”Qi Huan pretended to slap the camera, but just as he raised his hand, the voice signal suddenly cut off.

At the same time, the doorbell rang.

Zhang Chi? Remembering what Qi Huan had just said, Song Ci quickly got up. Before opening the door, he grabbed a red baseball cap from the coat rack and pulled it down over his head, pressing down his messy hair that stuck up like a Norwegian forest.

Sure enough, Zhang Chi was standing at the door.

He wore a light gray crewneck sweatshirt, with a lemon-yellow sports headband across his forehead that matched the graffiti on his shoulder bag. His whole appearance radiated the words “full of youthful energy.”

“Senior, this is the beer duck and date snacks my brother made, and this is the package the security guard downstairs asked me to bring up for you.” Zhang Chi carried a paper bag with a mini enamel pot in one hand and a delivery box in the other, smiling brightly like sunshine.

Song Ci quickly let him in. Seeing the words “Liangpin Flagship Store” printed on the delivery box, he guessed it was the cola he had ordered yesterday. Hugging the box, he immediately prepared to open it. “What do you want to drink? Is cola okay?”

“Anything’s fine. Senior, do you want me to help with the robot?” Zhang Chi waved Qi Huan’s text message on his phone.

“All the stuff is on the coffee table. I’ll leave it to you.” Song Ci was more than happy to have someone else do the work.

After searching for a while, Song Ci finally found the end of the tape and was about to tear it open when Zhang Chi, holding the manual, asked a strange question. “Senior, which floor do you live on?”

“The fourth floor.” Was this kid being silly? Hadn’t he just taken the elevator up? Song Ci, still struggling with the tape, felt puzzled.

“Can you see clouds from the fourth floor?” Zhang Chi’s tone carried a hint of doubt.

“What’s so strange about seeing clouds…” Song Ci began, remembering that his brother had bought this apartment for its view of East Lake in spring. Wait—wasn’t it raining outside just now? He lifted his head to glance at Zhang Chi, and the rest of his words stuck in his throat.

Outside the window, huge white clouds floated by.

They were so close it felt as if they were face-to-face, shoulder-to-shoulder, within arm’s reach. It was as though this wasn’t his apartment window at all, but the porthole of an airplane.

No way… had they really gone up into the sky? Song Ci frowned at the clearly abnormal view outside the window.

Slowly, a line of blood-red characters came into sight: [Approaching Game Zone 233, welcome new player to log in…]