Earthquake Cloud

After autumn arrived, Xia City became a kingdom of crows.

These ugly yet intelligent creatures were the city's true masters. They gathered in the roadside trees, using their hoarse, monotonous voices to mock the passersby hurrying to and fro:

"Caw, caw, go be unlucky!"

Sometimes, beneath skies covered in radial bands of cloud, they would show off their superb flying skills.

Most pedestrians wore expressions as ugly as if both their parents had died. They stared with hateful eyes at the black shadows circling overhead, and at the even higher, bizarre arrangement of clouds.

After late September began, Xia City's sky had been blanketed by these clouds. In less than a week, there had been six earthquakes around magnitude 3, three at magnitude 4, and two at magnitude 5.

The magnitudes and intensity were still far from the city's limits of endurance, yet fragile Human Hearts had already begun to waver.

More than half the sound waves and radio waves moving through Xia City's air were frantically crying out:

Earthquake Cloud, Earthquake Cloud!

This "popular science concept" openly appeared in the words of experts and scholars, as well as in media reports, in an age of civilization on the verge of entering the twenty-second century.

Ronan had been affected by it somewhat as well.

When he stepped off the low-altitude bus with the Black Leather Notebook that never left his side tucked under his arm, the bracelet on his wrist vibrated. Once the connection went through, his aunt, Lady Luo Shuqing, immediately snapped:

"Come home for dinner tonight. Your uncle has cooked!"

Because earthquakes had been frequent lately, his aunt, who had originally allowed him to live independently, had immediately torn up their agreement and repeatedly ordered him to move back in with them so they could look after him.

Ronan absolutely could not agree. Hadn't he worked so hard to get into Zhi Xing Institute precisely for an independent, free life? Besides, this was the most critical juncture. Delaying for even one day—who knew what the consequences might be?

The problem was that Ronan had never been good with words. His reasons were utterly unconvincing, and things had become increasingly deadlocked. It seemed his aunt was about to reach through the phone and drag him home herself.

Just as he was getting a headache over it, a message came in. Ronan only skimmed it before silently thanking his luck and hurriedly adding another bargaining chip. "I need to study today. I have a club interview tomorrow..."

"An interview? Which club?"

"Uh, the Mystic Studies Society."

"Mystic studies?"

Lady Luo Shuqing sounded somewhat suspicious. Soon, she called out from the other end:

"Mo Ya! Mo Ya!"

Before long, a slightly husky voice joined the call. That distinctively lazy tone belonged to Ronan's cousin, Mo Ya, who had graduated from Zhi Xing Institute just last year.

"The Mystic Studies Society? I know it. I hear they're rich, and the people there are pretty willful too."

Luo Shuqing could not stand her daughter's attitude and immediately scolded her. "Speak properly!"

Mo Ya gave a laugh. "No matter how nicely I put it, your 'real son' is in trouble. School started a month ago, and he's still interviewing. He obviously doesn't fit in! Zhi Xing Institute is all about blending Eastern and Western traditions, and Western-style thinking is a serious thing there. Without club life, they'll cut his credits first. As for further studies, finding a mentor, and the school's recommendation letters, there definitely won't be anything flattering..."

Her attempt to add fuel to the fire instantly sparked another mother-daughter war. With the focus of the conflict shifted, Ronan, over a hundred kilometers away, was able to escape unscathed.

By then, Ronan had been standing in his own living room for nearly half an hour. It was already dark outside, and the automatically activated living room lights cast his shadow onto the windows of the high-rise apartment across from him.

Ronan gave a command, and the curtains automatically closed.

But at that moment, a black shadow slipped through the narrowing gap in the curtains and landed on the open balcony. It used its thick beak to pry open the sliding glass door, then swaggered in with indescribable calm and ease.

This uninvited guest was a typical Carrion Crow. Apart from the grayish-white base of its beak, its entire body was black. It looked sturdy and robust, a full size larger than others of its kind. Under the soft lighting, its feathers shifted between deep black and dark blue.

After pacing around the room for a few steps, the crow spread its wings and hopped onto the living room coffee table. It then leaned forward, and a sealed glass test tube the size of a thumb slid from its thick beak onto the table. It contained more than half a tube of white powder.

Having spat out the foreign object lodged in its throat, the crow looked much more comfortable. It cleared its throat ostentatiously.

"Caw, caw!"

"Ink, shut up!"

Inside an enclosed space, a crow's cry was a disaster. Ronan snapped at it, took the test tube away to clean it, then brought out prepared strips of cooked meat to plug its beak.

Named Ink, the crow was actually quite easy to deal with. It ate elegantly, and even gestured with its wing for Ronan to pour it a glass of water.

Dinner had also been set out on the nearby dining table. It perfectly matched the bland handiwork of the household Smart Brain: nothing to speak of in color, aroma, or taste, but generously portioned enough to fill three to five people. Ronan displayed an extraordinary appetite and ate at great speed, finishing at exactly the same time as Ink.

Once Ink had eaten and drunk its fill, it decisively slipped out through the sliding glass door, spread its wings, and flew away.

Ronan cleaned up the cups and plates and was about to head to the study when his bracelet vibrated again. This time, it was his cousin Mo Ya. Just like her mother, she opened with a blunt question:

"So, how are you going to thank me this time?"

"Uh, thank you, Sis."

"Tch. You can't even come up with a different line?"

Mo Ya knew Ronan was awkward with words, so she stopped teasing him and went straight to the point. "That Mystic Studies Society—did someone recommend it to you, or did you choose it yourself?"

"I chose it myself..."

"Do you know what kind of place it is?"

Ronan thought for a moment before answering simply. "It's half club, half research institute. It has private funding, substantial resources, and a high degree of autonomy compared to the Institute."

Mo Ya sneered. "Sounds great, doesn't it?"

Ronan did not know how to answer for a moment.

Mo Ya reminded him, "It's a playground for rich kids. The core members form their own circle and spend their days researching weird, exotic things to pass the time. Students from ordinary families only go there to do odd jobs. So it looks wonderful, but only to that 'circle.' It has nothing to do with academics or skills..."

Ronan cut off her lecture. "They can conduct experiments there."

Mo Ya drew out an "Oh," sounding impressed. "Looks like your experiments are getting more and more troublesome. But little brother, if you want to do experiments, you should join physics or chemistry interest clubs."

Ronan replied calmly, "Those clubs require an internship period. I already obtained the relevant qualifications in middle school, so there's no need to repeat work I've done before."

"And the Mystic Studies Society allows it?"

"Yes. I read the introduction and checked the school forums. It's the only club where freshmen can conduct independent, unrestricted experiments. Many of them also involve psychotropic drugs, which is exactly what I need."

Mo Ya mocked him. "Can an odd-job worker conduct independent experiments?"

"A skilled worker might be able to. If the boss is an outsider, that would be even better."

Mo Ya, normally sharp-tongued, was actually choked speechless by Ronan's remark. Several seconds passed before she spoke again.

"Fine, Mr. Skilled Worker. I'll just remind you of one thing. If you change clubs at Zhi Xing Institute, you'll definitely be labeled someone who doesn't fit in. For the next four years... oh no, you're in Tenth Grade, so that makes eight years. You'll have plenty of time to regret it."

"Oh."

Ronan's response made Mo Ya sneer. "Fine. Now let's discuss payment."

"Payment?"

"I threw myself into the line of fire for you. You think one thank-you is enough?"

"Uh, what do you want?"

"Let me borrow your apartment for one night. I want to throw a small party."

Ronan hesitated. "What date?"

"No. 15 next month. There are still twenty days..."

"Nineteen days."

"...Fine, nineteen days. I don't need you to prepare anything. Just hide or move out all those things you don't want people seeing. I'll handle the rest of the setup."

Ronan calculated the timing. "It should be fine, but remind me again five days in advance."

"Not very accommodating, are you? Fine, that's it."

She hung up from the other end. Ronan, meanwhile, began worrying about the "temporary relocation arrangements" nineteen days later.

Even so, he remained grateful to Mo Ya. Without his cousin's cover over the years, how could he possibly have continued his dangerous experimental work right under his aunt's nose?

Shaking his head, Ronan decided he would leave all the trivial matters for tomorrow.

It was now 19:22 on September 26, 2096. The inefficient daytime had finally passed, and Ronan welcomed the quiet, precious hours of the night.

He entered the study. A black leather case sat squarely on the desk. It was rather large and looked conspicuous.

After entering his fingerprint and password, he lifted the lid. Amid a faint hissing sound, the neatly sorted, layered instruments inside rose one level after another. Drawn by their individual carriers, they unfolded like blooming petals and moved into their designated positions.

In an instant, the desk became a simple yet fully equipped workbench.

Ronan took a medical portable cooler from the bookshelf and set it on the table. Once opened, it revealed various sealed pharmaceutical raw materials. After the white powder Ink had delivered passed a series of tests, it was placed inside as well.

At this point, all the materials and tools needed for the night's work were ready... at least, everything that could be prepared was here.

After finishing all this, Ronan took a deep breath. He opened a hidden compartment at the side of the desk and took out an old notebook.

The notebook had a brown cover and was the same loose-leaf style as the notebook Ronan carried everywhere. However, due to years of use and the copious ink records within, the brown leather notebook appeared looser, and its cover had even become slightly swollen. It also did not contain an Imitation Paper Soft Screen.

Ronan set his own notebook aside and carefully opened the brown leather notebook.

At the center of the notebook's title page was a neat hand-drawn figure. It was like one frequently seen in geometry class: a triangular pyramid—more accurately, a Regular Tetrahedron—along with its Inscribed Sphere and circumscribed sphere, together forming a flawless geometric structure.

Below the figure, someone had written four short, awkwardly phrased lines in messy handwriting:

My Heart is a Prison, My Heart is the Furnace;

My Heart is the Mirror, My Heart is the Kingdom.

Ronan could not claim to understand the true meaning of the figure or those sixteen characters. Yet whenever he turned to this page and silently observed and recited them, all his chaotic thoughts would settle, and his mind would naturally return to clarity and calm.

After lingering on the title page for several seconds, Ronan flipped farther back. Amid the densely packed text, he searched for content and keywords related to pharmaceutical formulations, then bent over the profound phrases and complex molecular formulas, thinking hard.

"Weakened effect, substitution, simplification... Grandfather, help me out here!"

Time slipped away amid his quiet muttering.

Outside the window, lights came on and went out. At the workbench, Ronan's attention moved continuously between the notebook and the experimental apparatus as he added different pharmaceutical raw materials according to the notebook's data.

During that time, he only dozed off during the raw materials' slow reaction phase, sleeping for about two hours.

At 3:15 in the morning, when the final drop of solution was added, the cloudy liquid in the reaction vessel began boiling violently, its color slowly changing as well.

Ronan stared intently at the transparent vessel, which looked as though it might explode at any moment, confirming whether the reaction met the requirements. Only two minutes later did he move his somewhat stiff neck and begin clearing away the clutter on the experiment table while quietly listing figures.

"Dimethyltryptamine stock: zero. Cathinone stock: zero. Methoxyphenamine: two milligrams. Cetirizine: five milligrams..."

As he spoke, the Imitation Paper Soft Screen opened on his personal notebook lying flat on the experiment table flickered faintly. The record sheet on its interface automatically updated the relevant data. Most of the medicines within had been reduced to zero, or were approaching zero indefinitely.

The clutter Ronan cleaned up mainly consisted of the packaging containers for those drugs. He washed and sterilized the recyclable ones, sorted the non-recyclable ones, and after roughly half an hour, the small workbench had returned to order and cleanliness.

The pale green medicine in the reaction vessel gradually cooled after its sustained boiling. At this stage, it could basically be confirmed that his night of effort had not been wasted.

However, the brown leather notebook also contained a corresponding brief record: "q-11r developed multiple peripheral neuritis; q-27r developed allergic symptoms and nearly died; other test subjects showed no abnormalities... It basically possesses the substitution effect, but the side effects are difficult to determine."

Ronan shook his head. Estimating that there was still some time left, he swiped across the soft screen and went online to enter the Mystic Star forum he frequented.

Though it was the middle of the night, the forum's night owls were still engaged in a lively debate.

The center of the debate was Xia City.

Xia City's recent bizarre "earthquake period" had stirred wave after wave of discussion on this forum filled with occult leanings. Many people were discussing the cause of the earthquakes: geological structures, tectonic resonance, leakage of primordial energy... Every strange topic imaginable was dragged into the conversation.

Some even confidently claimed that a major corporation had recently been conducting secret experiments in Xia City, and that it was very likely the source of this "earthquake period."

Ronan had no interest at all in such boring topics. If there was anything he cared about, it was only two things:

First, whether the earthquakes would affect his experiments;

Second, whether the escalating panic would make his aunt forcibly drag him back home!

Out of habit, Ronan entered his access password and prepared to log into the forum's internal section. But a notice popped up on the site: "Your permissions are insufficient. Please apply to an administrator for verification."

After freezing for a moment, Ronan lightly slapped his forehead. Right—he had been thrown into the Little Black Room. The reason for his ban was simple: during this special period, all purchase posts were to be treated as entrapment posts.

This was a new rule the forum had established after police dismantled a transnational illegal drug trading network half a month ago. With the situation so tense, Ronan had walked straight into the line of fire.

Having his ID banned was a minor issue. Losing his drug supply channel was the real problem.

Judging from his current stock of pharmaceutical raw materials, even if Lady Luo Shuqing did not intervene, he would soon be unable to continue. Of the fifty common drugs he needed, most had been placed on the controlled psychotropic drug list. As a minor, he could not buy them from pharmacies.

Did he really have to use the "black line"?

The Mystic Star forum's channel was certainly illegal, but its sources were relatively reliable. Much of its supply came from manufacturers' "extra transactions," meant to evade strict psychotropic drug controls. It could barely still be considered within the realm of "business."

As for the "black line," the sample Ink had brought today was of acceptable quality. But the goods on that line were tied directly to serious crimes, and both its upstream and downstream operations had close ties to the Black Gang—in plain terms, they were a bunch of Drug Dealers!

So... compared to dealing with Drug Dealers, what was so bad about doing odd jobs at the Mystic Studies Society? He did not expect the club to provide him with all his raw materials. As long as he could find a new channel for acquisition, it would be worth it.

At last, the liquid in the reaction vessel stopped boiling and cooled rapidly.

Ronan immediately gathered all stray thoughts and opened the valve, allowing the medicine to flow into a needleless syringe prepared in advance. He then injected this dose of psychotropic drug mixture—an amount that could only be called enormous—into a blood vessel in his upper arm.

From beginning to end, his expression did not change in the slightest.

Next, Ronan meticulously cleaned the experimental apparatus, then pressed the restore button and returned it to its black carrying case. Only then did he tear off his experimental gloves, carefully place the brown leather notebook back in the hidden compartment, hide the cooler in the bookshelf, and head to the Restroom to wash up.

At exactly four o'clock, Ronan changed into a hooded athletic sweatshirt, tucked the Black Leather Notebook that never left his side under his arm, and left home to begin his unshakable daily morning run.