Volume One Chapter Eight The Sound of the Tide

"I'm back." The door unlocked, and steady footsteps echoed from afar, drawing closer. The man in white, hunched over his desk, looked up to greet the newcomer, then immediately buried himself once more in the mountain of books before him.

"I'm back," Shu replied with a nod, pulling out a chair and sitting down. From his pocket, he took a box of nicotine lozenges and drew one out.

"The Tide notifications have all been sent. Everyone should have received them except for the group in the far south. The new secret orders for each division's heads have also been confirmed. All electronic files regarding him have been erased; all paper files are right here." He gestured to the books piled before him, stretched languidly, then leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette.

"The aftermath is mostly taken care of. Only the matter of the Ferryman remains..."

"Temporarily seal the extradition system. Freeze all subsequent missions. Cancel all tasks assigned to that child and unlock the commission permissions," Shu said in a low voice, holding the heavy silver lozenge between slender fingers, tapping his gold-rimmed glasses with his ring finger. "All commission permissions."

"No more mandatory missions, and commissions can be accepted at will... Isn't this just another Immortal?" the man in white muttered, but his hands never stopped moving. Blue and white lights flickered on the screen, and in moments, all of Qin's permissions were adjusted.

"That child, Qin, was brought into the Tide by him. He's the last one left in the extradition system and should inherit everything. As for the position of Ferryman, for now..." Hesitation lingered in Shu's voice.

"I get it, I get it. Tall trees catch the wind. Qin can't live up to the title of Ferryman yet. Better to lie low and bide his time," the man in white said, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette and getting up to make himself a cup of coffee.

"Whitecoat, do you think what we're doing is right or wrong?"

She wished she could simply process the child's retirement, let him return to ordinary life, become just another high school student, far from the tangle of right and wrong. In these times, among those who walk the edge of madness, only that man could move with such ease and calm.

The extradition system didn't fall from the sky; it was built by him, who proved with his strength that he could transcend the constraints of missions and wield even greater influence through a more autonomous commission system.

"If none of you can arrange it, let me choose for myself." Even now, Shu remembered the man's light tone and relaxed expression as he uttered these words. That time, he decided on his own, and no one objected; thus, the extradition system was established, and Ferryman Li Changsheng took full responsibility.

"What else can we do? Do you really want Qin to retire early? Even if we paid him another stipend, Yao wouldn't complain much," Whitecoat suddenly interjected. His peach-blossom eyes rested on the stream of brown liquid falling through the filter into his cup. After a pause, he continued.

"But what do you really want Qin to become? Don't forget how hard Changsheng worked to change that child's nature. Do you really think that if you throw him back into ordinary life now, he'll quietly hide away in the Safe Zone for the rest of his life?"

"Don't forget, the world has already changed. The ordinary life of going to school, working, marrying, and growing old exists only within the Safe Zone—fragile, ready to shatter at a touch. You, me, Qin—we've all seen the madness of this world with our own eyes, and we're already part of it."

The last drop of coffee fell, not into a pristine porcelain cup, but into the cold sink, shattering as it hit.

"There's no going back."

"...I understand." After chewing and swallowing the last piece of his lozenge, Shu stood up and left.

"I know you worry too much. We all watched Qin grow up; it'd be a lie to say we're not concerned. But we have to learn to let go, let the kids make their own way." Whitecoat sipped his coffee and returned his focus to the work at hand.

He hadn't left his post for nearly a week now—half cleaning up after the last operation, half preparing for the next.

After all, another upheaval was looming on the horizon. The lunar tides were about to arrive.

"We really don't have enough people. If I'd known, I wouldn't have approved their trip to the far south as a group... What a time for trouble," Whitecoat grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

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In Tianshui High School of Qinghe District, Mo De paused abruptly in his note-taking and covered his mouth to stifle a yawn before continuing to meticulously copy down the cryptic symbols on the blackboard, his expression focused. But beneath the surface, his heart was unsettled.

His phone, tucked against his chest, had just vibrated. He'd received a "Tide" notification.

After class, Mo De slipped into the restroom, took out his phone, and logged in for verification. Opening his unread messages, he saw an alert about a permissions adjustment.

His commission interface was once again open to him—and with a vast array of options. An endless, varied list filled his screen. Swiping left yielded nothing; the mission sequence was gone.

This meant he no longer had to periodically carry out missions; he could freely accept commissions as he wished.

Unaware that he had inherited the privileges of that man, Mo De simply assumed the organization was worried he might starve and had lifted the lock on his commissions.

After washing his hands, Mo De ambled back to the classroom, only to find Su Ziwen wasn't reviewing notes as usual, but quietly staring at him.

"What's up, class president? There's nothing on my face, is there..." Mo De nervously touched his face.

"Taking leave again?" Su Ziwen ignored his attempts at humor and asked directly.

"No way, not during finals! The coursework is so intense; if I take another leave, I'll really be done for—not to mention how hard you've worked to help me catch up. Besides, I'm not the kind of guy who skips class for no reason, right? Haha..."

Mo De could finally speak with a bit more confidence, since this time, the Tide notification wasn’t about a mission.

"You really don't skip class for no reason," Su Ziwen replied coolly. "But you do have a lot on your plate."

The words left no room for argument, and Mo De could only keep laughing awkwardly. Thankfully, Su Ziwen didn't press further and, after that sharp remark, turned away.

"Next week the whole school will participate in a two-day study tour, followed by the autumn hunt for sophomores, lasting six days. You'll return Saturday morning. After you get home, your parents need to sign off..." That night in study hall, the entire Tianshui High classroom building erupted in cheers. The second-year floor was especially exuberant. Amid the commotion, Wu Fan winked at Mo De, as if to say, "Told you my info's solid."

It took homeroom teacher Old Qiao half an hour to calm the restless students enough to explain the details of the study tour and autumn hunt.

"...Prepare toiletries and a change of clothes. The first two days are likely your only chance in this life to visit the Archive Pavilion. It records all the significant events of this era—your most direct window into the world you live in. Make the most of it." Old Qiao took a sip of tea to moisten his dry throat before continuing, "The autumn hunt will be your first exposure to the outside world. Though teachers and military personnel will accompany you, don't let your guard down. There is no such thing as a 'leisurely field trip' these days. Your first combat experience will happen there."

At the mention of combat, the students below the podium grew more excited, their whispers swelling into chatter.

"The death rate for the autumn hunt is not zero." At these words, silence fell like a dropped pin.

"Go home and discuss with your parents before deciding whether to participate. If you choose to go, don't expect it to be a vacation. I hope that when the event is over, every one of you will return to this classroom whole." Old Qiao tightened the cap on his water bottle, pointed to a stack of papers on the podium, and said to Su Ziwen, "Class president, distribute the consent forms. School ends early today; your parents have been notified. Everyone, stay safe." With that, the tall figure strode out of the classroom.

Mo De could hear the heavy, desolate tread of his footsteps.

Flowers raised in a greenhouse must one day face the real storms outside the window. Even if they choose afterwards to hide away in the warmth of their shelter, they will never again be the naive children once under his care.

Irretrievable growth, the truest reality of this world.

"Help me out." The clear, cool voice called, and Mo De looked up to see Su Ziwen beckoning him to help distribute the forms.

Consent forms.

Those two words instantly doused the students' excitement, and silence fell, broken only by the sound of papers being passed from hand to hand.

The dismissal bell, half an hour early, eventually broke the oppressive silence. As they packed up their books, the chatter gradually returned. After all, they were just teenagers—no matter the danger or the unknown, there was always a measure of anticipation.

"Mo De, do you think Old Qiao was just scaremongering? He killed the mood with a single sentence," Wu Fan complained, slinging his backpack over the chair in front of Mo De. "This trip is what’s keeping me going through the week!"

"It's not that dangerous, but caution is wise," Mo De replied, though he couldn't shake the feeling that Old Qiao was mourning something.

"The nationwide autumn hunt for sophomores does have real casualties," Su Ziwen, usually silent, unexpectedly added. "The year before last, 502 deaths and 3,305 severe injuries. Last year, 275 deaths and 1,427 severely injured. But Qin City has been safe for the past five years—no major incidents during the autumn hunt."

"President Su, don't jinx it!" Mo De hurried to stop Su Ziwen from tempting fate.

"Let's go, you two should head home early too. This damned weather, the fog’s really creepy. The forecast says it’ll last a while—so annoying," Wu Fan groaned, springing to his feet and sauntering out.

"Shall we start?" Su Ziwen asked.

"Let’s begin." Mo De sighed, bracing himself for another evening of mental exhaustion.

Outside, the night deepened and the fog grew heavier.