Three days later, Lin Che once agAIn stood at the foot of Weihuan Tower. The massive, dynamically shifting structure gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen in the morning light, like a silent giant. Unlike his last visit, curiosity and excitement were now replaced by wariness and resolve.
The “Deep Experience Center” was located on a mid-level floor, a place completely different from the ordinary office areas. The entire floor was remodeled into a vast, pillar-less open space where the walls, ceiling, and even the floor were high-resolution holographic projection screens, capable of switching to any environment instantly. The air carried a precisely calculated scent, “optimized for human senses,” and the temperature was constant to a degree that felt imperceptible.
Including Lin Che, eight candidates had passed the initial screening. They were asked to change into uniform silver bodysuits with subtle biometric monitoring functions. Lin Che quickly scanned the other seven—men and women of varying ages, all with the sharp, confident eyes of elites. They nodded politely to each other, but the atmosphere was thick with scrutiny and competition.
Chen Yuan appeared on time, impeccably dressed in his uniform, smiling genially.
“Welcome, future ‘World Architects’,” he said, spreading his arms as if embracing the virtual space. “Today’s test is simple. You will be divided into groUPS and enter a carefully prepared ‘Mirrorworld‘ sandbox environment. The task is to collaboratively solve an open-ended ‘World Stability Crisis’ within the time limit. We will not set specific rules. The evaluation criteria are your collaboration efficiency, problem-solving ability, and… innovative thinking under pressure.”
He gave the group a meaningful look, his gaze seeming to linger on Lin Che for half a second longer.
“Remember, in the ‘Mirrorworld,’ logic is not the only rule. Sometimes, the ‘accident’ itself is part of the solution.”
This statement echoed Hongmeng’s question almost verbatim. A chill ran down Lin Che’s spine.
The groups were announced. Lin Che was grouped with three others: a tall, calm female architect, a young algorithm engineer with thick-framed glasses muttering silently to himself, and a game designer who looked somewhat lazy but had exceptionally keen eyes.
They were guided to four “Oracle” Ultimate Edition link pods lined up side-by-side. These devices seemed even more sophisticated, with more Sensors.
“Connection initiating shortly. Good luck to you all,” Chen Yuan’s voice came through the built-in speakers.
Lying down in the pod, the familiar tingling sensation returned. Darkness fell, only to be dispelled by a surge of data.
Instantly, they found themselves in a bizarre virtual world.
The sky was a flowing vortex of oil-paint-like purple and gold. The ground beneath their feet was made of translucent, self-replicating geometric crystals. In the distance, massive structures defying Euclidean geometry floated in the air, slowly morphing. It was a beautiful place that violated physical laws.
“Task Issued: World Stability is continuously declining. Current Stability: 78%. Please identify the cause and prevent collapse.” The system prompt sounded coldly.
The team sprang into action. The female architect began analyzing the world’s underlying structural rules, the algorithm engineer tried to build a mathematical model of the stability change, and the game designer proposed wildly imaginative hypotheses. Lin Che didn’t join the discussion immediately. He mobilized all his senses, carefully observing every detail of this world.
He noticed that the morphing of the floating buildings wasn’t entirely random. The reorganization of some structures faintly carried that “organic” and “chaotic” style he had sensed in the “Data Ghost’s” encrypted stream. The flowing vortices in the sky, at certain fleeting moments, flickered with an unnatural interference, like digital noise.
“Stability: 75%.” The system prompt sounded again, urging them.
The other team members grew impatient. Their proposed solutions either proved ineffective or accelerated the stability drop.
Lin Che closed his eyes, ignoring the grand, illogical scenery, and focused his attention on his own sense of “presence.” With the “Oracle’s” extreme realism, he strove to feel the very “data stream” constituting this virtual world.
He “heard” it—beneath the perfect ambient soundscape, there was an extremely subtle background noise, like countless people whispering, weeping. This sound shared the same origin as the one he’d heard behind the mysterious door in Weihuan Tower and the distorted whisper accompanying the “Data Ghost”!
This wasn’t a system glitch or part of the test. This was a “sound” buried deep within the “Mirrorworld” system, a concealed noise!
He snapped his eyes open and pointed towards a seemingly normal spot in the center of a swirling vortex in the sky.
“The problem is there!” he shouted. “That’s not a visual effect; it’s a… data overflow breach! It’s consuming this world’s stability code!”
His teammates stared at him, stunned. The algorithm engineer objected, “My model shows the data fluctuation there is within normal thresholds!”
“Your model is based on Weihuan’s public architecture!” Lin Che retorted almost without thinking. The moment the words left his mouth, he felt a jolt of alarm, but it was too late to take them back. “There are ‘things’ in this system even they can’t fully control! Trust me, try using an inverse redundancy algorithm to ‘soothe’ that point, not force a repair!”
The suggestion completely defied conventional troubleshooting logic. The female architect frowned, but the game designer’s eyes lit up.
As they hesitated, a figure appeared silently nearby—the young woman with the calm, water-like demeanor he’d seen briefly in the waiting area, belonging to another group. She seemed to have finished her own group’s task and was quietly observing them. Her eyes met Lin Che’s briefly, holding an indescribable depth.
“Stability: 70%! Warning, approaching critical threshold!”
“Do as he says!” the female architect finally decided.
The algorithm engineer quickly wrote a short inverse redundancy code and directed it towards the vortex center Lin Che had indicated.
A miracle occurred. The agitated vortex seemed smoothed by a gentle force, its expansion rate slowing noticeably. Although the stability didn’t immediately recover, the decline was forcibly halted!
“Stability: 70%… Stabilized. Crisis temporarily resolved.” The system prompt announced.
The group task was barely completed. The environment around them began to fade; the exit sequence initiated.
Back in reality, Lin Che sat up in the link pod, his heart still racing. He saw Chen Yuan standing not far away, the usual smile on his face, but deep in his eyes, there seemed a trace of imperceptible scrutiny and gravity.
The other team members looked at him differently now, with surprise and inquiry. He could feel it—his earlier unconventional actions and the statement about “things they can’t fully control” had caused a stir.
And that calm woman, before leaving, looked at him once more. Her lips moved, making no sound, but Lin Che, reading her lips, faintly made out two words:
“Be careful.”
The test was over, but Lin Che knew the real trial had just begun. He had not only proven his ability but also exposed his knowledge of the “Mirrorworld’s” anomalies. He was like a catfish thrown into a pond, stirring the seemingly placid deep waters of Weihuan Technology.
