Lin Xie settled into the quiet corner of the penthouse, the stack of books spread before her like a battlefield map. She opened the first volume, her eyes scanning the dense text with surgical precision.
Her mind worked differently from others. Thanks to her photographic memory, every page, every formula, every sentence was imprinted instantly—down to the smallest detail. She didn't need to reread paragraphs or struggle with concepts; comprehension was immediate, retention flawless.
As she flipped through pages on calculus, physics, and classical literature, fragments of her past training surfaced alongside. Her enhanced reflexes, her ability to analyze complex situations in milliseconds, the unparalleled endurance she'd developed after endless physical conditioning. All traits honed through years of being the lab's most successful experiment.
She paused briefly, fingers tracing the margin of a page.
Others might call it genius.
She called it survival.
The penthouse's sleek silence wrapped around her, the hum of the city below fading into background noise as she absorbed the material. Study was another mission, another set of parameters to master.
And Lin Xie never failed a mission.
---
Lin Xie stood outside the sleek glass doors of the restaurant she'd found earlier that day while browsing the internet Shen Rui's assistant had set up for her. The place was minimalist yet elegant, soft lighting casting warm glows on polished wood and marble tables. It seemed like a calm corner of the city's chaos—an oasis she hadn't known she needed. The subtle scent of herbs and spices drifted outside, promising something unfamiliar but oddly inviting.
She pushed open the door, the quiet chime announcing her arrival. Inside, soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and the clink of cutlery against porcelain. Waiters moved with practiced grace, smiling politely at guests who lounged in booths or sat around candlelit tables.
Lin Xie's eyes scanned the room like she was surveying an alien ecosystem. Everything here was too calm, too ordered, and the people too relaxed. No one was running, no one was stressed, and definitely no one was trying to break into the security system. It was almost suspicious.
She walked to a corner table, choosing it for the good vantage point—away from the main traffic but close enough to observe. She sat down, folded her hands on the smooth surface, and waited.
A waiter appeared promptly, crisp and polite. Lin Xie took the menu with a small nod, flipping through it with the detached curiosity of someone reading a foreign language textbook. The menu was full of unfamiliar names, each dish described with poetic flair and confusing adjectives like "velvety," "tangy," and "umami" — words that meant little to her.
She narrowed her eyes, her mind recalling a past mission where she had to identify edible plants and fruits in a hostile environment, relying solely on survival instincts and minimal info. She decided to pick something that sounded least likely to kill her.
When her food arrived, it looked like an art installation—bright colors, carefully arranged garnishes, steam curling delicately. She stared at it for a moment, processing the fact that this was a meal, not a test or an obstacle.
Her first bite was tentative. Flavors exploded—spicy, sweet, sour, salty—all at once. Her eyes blinked rapidly, trying to decode what exactly she was tasting. This was not survival fuel; this was something else entirely. Confusing, distracting, but not unpleasant.
She began to eat more confidently, occasionally glancing around to see if anyone was watching her eat like a novice. Most people were too busy with their own meals and conversations to notice.
Then came the check.
Lin Xie reached into her bag and fumbled for the card Shen Rui had given her.
Nothing.
Her brow furrowed slightly. She patted down every pocket, pulled the bag apart systematically.
No card.
No cash.
No phone wallet app either—apparently, that technology was beyond the basic setup she'd been given.
Her mind raced. She considered her options:
Pretend to have a sudden emergency call and escape? Too cliché, and probably suspicious.
Attempt to charm the waiter into forgetting the bill? She didn't have the social skills for that, and her usual deadpan expression definitely didn't help.
Hack the restaurant's payment system on the spot? No device, no remote access, and definitely not the place or time.
Her face remained neutral, but inside she was recalculating all the probabilities of this scenario spiraling out of control.
The waiter returned, holding the bill politely.
Lin Xie looked up and said flatly, "I seem to have misplaced the means to pay."
The waiter blinked, then gave a polite but firm smile. "Would you like to leave your ID as collateral? Or perhaps a contact number?"
She blinked back. Collateral? Contact number? Neither seemed particularly useful or familiar.
Her brain ticked through protocols. No ID to give—her real one was inaccessible. Her fake one was digital. Contact number? The one on the phone, but Shen Rui might not appreciate random strangers having that info.
"Options?" she asked, voice steady but slightly inquisitive.
The waiter hesitated, then said, "We could ask the manager, or you could come back another time with payment?"
Lin Xie paused, then said with deliberate calm, "I will return."
The waiter nodded, still a little unsure, and left her alone.
Lin Xie exhaled slowly, a faint flicker of something almost like amusement crossing her face before it vanished.
She had survived worse situations—broken protocols, hostile environments, assassins on her trail.
But this? This was a new kind of challenge.
One that didn't come with a mission briefing.
One that might involve... social norms.
She stood, gathered her things, and stepped out into the night air.
She made it exactly three blocks before her phone rang.
She didn't even look at the screen this time. "Yes," she said, dry and immediate.
Shen Rui's voice came through, edged with suspicion. "Did you just try to dine and disappear?"
Lin Xie blinked. "The food was paid for with intention."
"That is not how payment works."
"I intended to pay. I simply forgot the card."
There was a long pause. She could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You forgot the only financial asset you have access to?"
"I don't usually carry currency," she said blandly. "In the past, meals were either rationed, injected, or assigned based on performance charts. No card was required."
Another pause. Then, "...Did you leave your name?"
"No."
He groaned quietly. "Lin Xie."
"You said to avoid attention. I'm following your instructions."
"I also told you not to commit financial crimes."
"I didn't commit one. I notified the waiter I would return."
"With what? A time machine and manners?"
She said nothing. It wasn't worth arguing over.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Three blocks east. Near a bakery that smells like sugar and burnt offerings."
"Stay there. I'll send someone."
She hung up. Found a low stone railing outside the bakery and perched on it like a silent crow in a hoodie. The streets were still lit with warm storefront glow, and people passed by in pairs, laughing or checking their phones.
She sat motionless, observing them all with that same cold, clinical detachment. In another life, she might've been one of them. In this life, she was something else entirely.
Fifteen minutes later, a matte black car pulled up. The window rolled down to reveal a stiff-faced man in a black button-up and an earpiece, who looked like he hadn't smiled since birth.
"Miss Lin Xie," he said in a low, flat voice. "Mr. Shen asked me to deliver this."
He handed over the missing card.
Lin Xie took it and slid it into her hoodie pocket. "Too late," she said plainly.
The man gave a slow blink. "I'm also instructed to escort you back to the penthouse."
"I can walk."
"I was told to insist."
Lin Xie stared at him.
He didn't blink.
After a long silence, Lin Xie got into the car without another word.
---
Back at the penthouse, she dropped the card onto the kitchen counter and stared at it like it had personally betrayed her.
Then, calmly, she opened one of the textbooks Shen Rui had sent earlier. Physics. Page 1.
She skimmed through four chapters in ten minutes, photographic memory soaking in equations, theories, and irrelevant motivational quotes printed in the margins.
She paused only once—at a diagram of kinetic chains and energy distribution—and muttered, "Obvious flaw in the momentum model."
Then turned the page.
For most, preparing for an entrance exam meant stress, snacks, study breaks, and desperate review sessions.
For Lin Xie, it was a quiet form of sharpening. Every formula absorbed like a command. Every paragraph a calculation. Every subject a map she already saw the shortcuts through.
She didn't need to cram.
She just needed to remember.
And remembering was something she was built for.
But she had to admit—next time she left for a restaurant?
She'd bring the damn card.
Probably.