Archived Sequence

The equipment specially designed and built by the Azure Alliance for fusion testing was called the source energy stress device—with a deliberate emphasis on the word "stress." The device operated on a single-circuit connection. Mounted on the back was a source energy cartridge, but it remained empty, devoid of any source energy blocks; a single metal band ran straight to the heart. Its operating sequence was entirely automated, requiring neither manual input nor any proactive action from the candidate throughout the process. The first phase: as soon as the candidate entered the source energy field and sensed source energy, the blue light of the cartridge would ignite. This initial phase concerned the matter of source energy sensitivity. The source energy field itself resembled an air-raid shelter, but featured several turns inside. Among them, the first corner, roughly thirteen meters from the entrance, had a traditional name passed down through generations of researchers: the Gazing Corner. Typically, whenever a group of recruits entered the source energy field, the researchers in the monitoring observation center would look on with anticipation, collectively gazing at their receding figures. Yet once their figures rounded that corner without the blue light igniting on their backs... the team leaders and senior scientists would abandon further observation to brew tea, use the restroom, or simply recline in their seats to rest their eyes, chat, and leave the remaining tracking and measurement work to the instruments and subordinates. There was no helping it; during every test session, their workload and the degree of repetition were overwhelming. Having seen it all too often, it was hard to maintain enthusiasm and anticipation for ordinary results. Furthermore, a person's degree of fusion was completely random. It bore no relation to physical traits, innate aptitudes, or even genetics and bloodline, so there was no question of them paying special attention to or favoring anyone beforehand. In short, put simply and plainly, the Gazing Corner was the dividing line between "exceptional" and "ordinary." History had already proven that ninety-nine point nine percent of candidates who failed to sense the presence of source energy before rounding this corner ended up testing at an ordinary degree of fusion. In truth, the historical statistical figure was a flat hundred percent. The only reason it was never cited as a hundred percent was that scientists felt they did not yet understand source energy well enough, so they retained an element of prudence. As for whether a candidate could simply dawdle in front of the corner and refuse to move? Pointless, and forbidden. The device had a preset timer and would shut off automatically once time was up... regardless of whether you walked or stood still, and regardless of whether you lingered indefinitely near the entrance where source energy was comparatively at its thinnest. As for the current session, the assessment for this batch of recruits was nearing its end. Before that young man appeared, not a single person had triggered the blue light prior to reaching the Gazing Corner. This was the norm—or rather, routine reality during testing. Regardless of sample size, the vast majority of candidates yielded results clustered in Grades D and E. And then... what had just transpired went like this. The observation room kept its usual gaze on the newly stepped-up group, treating them no differently. Han Qingyu, like the other tested recruits, had donned the device outside the entrance, taking a deep breath... In reality, his palms were sweating from nervous tension, worried that the "heavy truck might suddenly slam into him once more." Finally, he gritted his teeth, bowed his head, and took his first step forward alongside the others. With that first step, the very instant the sole of his foot touched the floor, the blue light on his back ignited. To be precise, one of his feet was actually still outside the entrance. At that very instant, the two officers on site froze in disbelief, and the scientists in the monitoring observation room exploded into pandemonium... Only the remaining batches of recruits on site, having no idea what was going on, were still murmuring in confusion: "Hey, look, it lit up." "Oh, so that thing can glow?" "Why, though? Could it be... because it's dark inside?" "...Nonsense." "Exactly. If it's dark, wouldn't they just install lights?" "...Then what does that mean?" "Probably means he's kind of impressive." ... The monitoring observation room. After the field director, scalded by boiling water, had shouted, "Watch him! Watch him!", not another word was spoken, save for his agonized, muffled hisses of pain. In the silence, every gaze was riveted onto that lone silhouette. Grade S? S... In truth, during daily life, when ordinary soldiers and officers of the Azure Coalition discussed the degree of fusion, they never mentioned Grade S. Most had never heard reliable information, and on the rare occasions rumors surfaced, the stance from above was always the same: neither confirm nor discuss. Yet in reality, it did exist. Perhaps owing to its vast size and population base, or perhaps due to other unknown reasons, the Huaxia Front of the Azure Coalition had produced a total of nine individuals over its eighty-year history whose degree of fusion surpassed Grade A+—that is to say, Grade S. Of those nine, five remained alive today. Among the five, the name and all records of one person had been declared taboo and completely erased by the Azure Alliance. The other four were still in active service within the Coalition. Two were stationed at the research institutes; one had special authorization to roam freely; and the last one... had helmed the Sole Witness Legion for more than twenty years. In short, Grade S individuals were exceedingly few. Because of their sheer rarity and the deep secrecy surrounding them, the true core populating the brilliant galaxy of history in the Azure Alliance and the Huaxia Front consisted of the Grade As and Grade Bs who had left behind real stories and legends, along with countless other Azure personnel who, despite their modest fusion ratings, had accomplished great deeds. As for outside the Azure Alliance, discounting that taboo name, currently confirmed intelligence indicated that at least the "Snow Lotus," one of several organizations within the Cleansing Faction, definitely possessed a Grade S. At least one person, with specific details, development, and combat strength unknown. Whether any Grade S existed within the organizations of the Self-Preservation Faction remained unclear for the time being, given the comparatively lower degree of vigilance and scrutiny directed toward them. "Judging solely by source energy sensitivity, even counting those nine, he ranks in the top three." Inside the quiet observation room, a white-haired elder scientist, eyes glued to the surveillance monitor, suddenly uttered this statement. Then, he said nothing more. Top three did not mean third; rather, it was impossible to distinguish between them for now. Or perhaps he was actually first... Otherwise, the scientist who had reported earlier would not have used a descriptor like "Super Grade S." Meanwhile. Han Qingyu naturally had no inkling of any of this. He had only just taken his fourth step inside the source energy field, the blue light on his back shining uninterrupted... Starting from that very step, source energy had begun surging toward his body; the process of absorption and fusion was already underway. *Sure enough, refined source energy blocks aren't as pure as the metal chunk itself.* The surging sensations in his body once again verified Han Qingyu's earlier suspicion. Although this feeling of source energy gently enveloping and permeating him from all sides was very comfortable, the metal chunk had vanished in an instant—*whoosh*. *Still, this isn't slow either,* he thought. And so, enjoying this absorption, Han Qingyu finally stepped past the Gazing Corner. To those outside the entrance of the source energy field, his figure disappeared. Then, *thump*. Han Qingyu froze... It was back. This time, no heavy truck slammed straight into him, nor did the source energy field collapse or let out bizarre shrieks. But Han Qingyu could clearly sense it: An immense oppression, like an invisible heavy truck primed to strike... ready at any second to crash head-on into him. "Why did he stop?" someone in the monitoring observation room asked. No one answered. Hesitations were common, and the speaker had only voiced it out of sheer tension. *What is going on?* Han Qingyu stood there, thoroughly vexed. *From ramming me, to not ramming me, to wanting to ram me again... what's the difference between them?* *At first, I still had a bit of liquid source energy left in my body; after getting rammed just now, it was completely drained; now that I came in and absorbed more, I have some again... Is that it?* *But that doesn't match what the officers outside said at all. They clearly stated: you don't need to do anything, and there's nothing to fear... the source energy will fuse with you automatically.* *If the source energy field were aggressive, even with a one-in-a-hundred-thousand chance, they definitely would have warned us, wouldn't they? Of course they would. So this isn't normal.* Thus, the source energy field failed to provide an answer. Han Qingyu still hadn't figured out the question of *what on earth am I*. "He moved. He's walking forward," someone in the monitoring observation room spoke up again, sounding as if letting out a breath of relief. Indeed, after that brief pause and reflection, Han Qingyu chose to press on. If he couldn't figure it out, he wouldn't dwell on it. Since "it" seemed intent on forbidding him from absorbing, he would steal it, snatch it... Time was precious. Driven by his craving for source energy, the reckless, obstinate "bandit streak" Lao Jian often spoke of flared up once again. To an outside observer—even to those watching in the monitoring observation room—Han Qingyu appeared to be walking with a calm, steady stride. In reality, the scene playing out in his own mind was akin to snatching an egg right in front of a vicious goose guarding its nest. Just like that, hovering right on the edge of triggering an impact that his senses could gradually perceive and anticipate, he remained cheekily defiant, greedily taking more... Past the halfway mark. The blue lights on the other four recruits in his group ignited one after another. Before long, Han Qingyu noticed that one was quietly sobbing as he walked, another was laughing loudly, and yet another was indistinctly shouting something. Between them, none seemed remotely aware of the others. *Is this what the guide mentioned... the emotions amplified and concentrated by the source energy field?* Just as Han Qingyu wondered why he hadn't experienced it, a sudden, dreamlike sound and image surfaced in his mind: "Tsunamis of cheers... I shall lead humanity... It is I who will save Azure... Countless outstretched arms and upturned faces; I shall stand atop the world..." Followed by manic laughter. *That's not me. I just want to fucking live.* Han Qingyu was certain. This was not his personality, and even less was it his own... amplified emotions. Yet another incomprehensible circumstance. Han Qingyu shook his head, made the most of his time, and continued to steal while marching onward. Before he knew it, when he finally stepped out of the source energy field, he was soaked through with sweat. After handing over the device, Han Qingyu turned around and immediately let loose a fierce stream of curses in his heart. ... "This..." In the control observation room, a staff member from the statistical group held the final results, her expression and tone tinged with hesitation. Written on the results sheet in her hand were Han Qingyu's final test metrics: Source Energy Sensitivity: Super Grade S. Degree of Fusion: Grade A. The entire room fell into a brief, dazed silence. "I checked historical records... this situation has never occurred before." A scientist glanced toward the field director, hesitating for a moment before suggesting, "How about... we have him retested?" Fusion testing had never allowed retests, nor would retesting do any good—that was common knowledge. "But his case is different," another scientist chimed in, almost as if advocating for Han Qingyu, or perhaps arguing the point. He pushed forward, pointing at a data sheet in his own hand. "His absorption fluctuated wildly from start to finish. If we went by his initial rate, his degree of fusion would definitely be Grade S." "Indeed, and we have to consider the circumstances—the field had just crashed and rebooted," another voice backed him up. Perhaps they all yearned too desperately for that tenth Grade S, a longing that had hovered between anticipation and disappointment for so many years. The field director hesitated. "Here's what we'll do. You all carry on with your work... I'll make a call." The field director left with the test results sheet. The call required an application for transfer. Before long, a slightly aged yet warm voice, reminiscent of a kindly grandfather from an ordinary household, came through the line. "Hello." "I apologize for disturbing you so late, sir." "It's quite all right. I work night shifts." "Ah, yes. Greetings, sir... I'm calling from the source energy testing grounds." The field director's voice and posture were visibly tense and formal. "I'm calling b-because a special situation just arose here..." Next, he provided the most thorough explanation of Han Qingyu's situation within his knowledge. In terms of organizational hierarchy, every member of the Sole Witness Legion was a soldier under that old man's command. Asking for his opinion and letting him decide was necessary after all, and it was also the field director's way of freeing himself from any subsequent liability. "To begin with, we do not yet understand source energy or everything connected to it well enough," the voice on the other end said placidly after a brief silence. "No need to retest. Leave the result as it is." Leaving the result as it was meant officially assigning Grade A fusion... while sensitivity was never made public. "...Understood." After answering, the field director hesitated slightly and continued, "Then his filing..." Normally, there was no need to ask this question, as filing Grade A into the Second Sequence had been standard rule and common knowledge for decades. After another brief pause, the voice replied, "Sub-Sequence." The old man's voice seemed forever placid, unhurried in speech—yet he was, in fact, always making decisions. From his lips, one felt they would never hear hesitation or ambiguity. "Understood." Sub-Sequence, a two-year observation period. The field director briefly recalled what he knew about this special sequence: it seemed to include that genius who had emerged from the Refusers last year, along with a linguist, and a "blacksmith"... On the other side, the Supreme Command of the Sole Witness Legion, Commander's Office. The skinny, weathered old man put down the receiver, tilted his head in thought, and then smiled faintly. Afterwards, he bowed his head and searched through the stack of documents on his desk for a dossier—a commendation report that had only arrived yesterday evening. It was said that due to the rank of the medal involved, it required his personal signature. In fact, the old man had already read through this dossier when he first received it... It was entirely reasonable, with no issues whatsoever, and ought to be signed. It was just that the thought of signing his name meant distributing several more source energy blocks every year, which pained the old man so much he couldn't bring himself to grip the pen. And so he hadn't signed it at the time, thinking he would pull it out when he was too sleepy to care, grit his teeth, close his eyes, sign it, and go right to sleep. Now, he reviewed the commendation file and the candidate's personal information once more. Still feeling a twinge of heartache, he nevertheless uncapped his pen, lowered his head, and meticulously, stroke by stroke, signed his name upon it: Chen Buer. A thoroughly rustic name. A signature that could only be described as neat, but by no means elegant. ... By the time Han Qingyu returned to the tents, neither Regimental Commander Li nor the chief of staff was in camp. Wen Jifei wasn't in the tent either.