That thing in the sky had just tilted forty-five degrees, like a compass needle nudged by an unseen hand.

Yekase propped her chin, bored out of her skull, eyes drifting to early autumn outside where leaves skated the glass like shy fish.

History class droned on. She’d blitzed the material like a novel before the bell; what remained was daydream fog and empty time.

“In the era when Sinister Organizations rose like warlords, the discovery of Neptune Energy gave small outfits the power to fight, signaling total war…”

The teacher’s velvety baritone hummed like stable white noise, a rain that lulls you under, sleep tugging like soft current.

Up front, Ling Ya’s head kept drooping like a wilting reed; every nod threatened a slow collapse.

“Ling Ya! Tell me, what’s the scope of each organizational grade?”

“—Uh!” Ling Ya jolted up with a thunk, breath ragged like someone pulled from water, eyes blinking at the teacher in a daze.

“E-grade, district level; D-grade, metropolitan ring; C-grade, provincial; B-grade, regional; A-grade, national.”

Yekase’s voice rose from behind her like a steady lifeline tossed across a desk.

“E-grade city, D-grade… uh, Mancity… uh…”

She couldn’t even copy the rope thrown to her; exasperation in Yekase flared like a spark on dry tinder.

Yekase poked Ling Ya’s back with her pen, a tiny tap like a pebble on bamboo. “Stand a bit and clear your head.”

The history teacher pronounced sentence without mercy, then flowed back into his Warring States saga like a river returning to course.

It was the third day since term began. Yekase had settled into the rhythm like feet finding a drumbeat, earning nods like scattered petals from every teacher.

The real reason was simple: teachers in Class 11 of Grade Two saw a new face and hooked her like a fish; she averaged two answers a class, trivial points that nonetheless won her praise like lanterns lighting a path.

“The rise of Shadow Curtain International marked the endgame of total war. It began as criminals and scientists wanted by nations, grabbing a small island in international waters and crowning themselves kings for survival, living off raiding cargo ships along global routes. Growing to C-grade strength, it expanded through classic annexation wars, finally wiping the map clean and becoming the sole global-tier organization…”

Modern world history is the history of Sinister Organizations—this sentence bobbed up in Yekase’s mind like a buoy in a gray sea.

After college, should she join a Sinister Organization as a clerk? The thought flickered like neon in rain, ridiculous yet warm.

Another ten minutes washed away. Music spilled from the wall speakers like soft bells; class was over, the wave retreating.

“Sis Yekase, short sleep again last night?” Ling Ya’s worry hovered like a pale moth.

“Mm…” Ling Ya scratched her head, sheepish as a cat. “Sis pulled me to play Xin Qi Lou past one.”

“Your senior again. Fine to game by herself, but dragging her little sister like a kite in wind…”

Ling Ya’s sister, Ling Yi, was a senior in Class 10 of Grade Three. She was absent-minded like a cloud, rowdy when people gathered like drums at a fair, and hopelessly into games. Her grades were said to be decent—maybe she was a stealth brain under all that noise.

Yekase glanced at the timetable chalked beside the board; next was homeroom teacher Liu’s Chinese class.

She’d come alone to Twin Towers City for school. After she talked it over with Teacher Liu, they now lived together; seeing each other morning and night like sun and moon, she couldn’t risk a bad impression, so she had to keep her notes straight like lines in calligraphy.

First, stow the history book…

…Thap.

A stack of paper slid from the pages and dropped onto her desk like a bird shedding feathers.

Yekase picked it up. Palm-sized sticky notes glued together—yet she always wrote straight into her books like ink on bark, never used stickies. Where did these drift from?

The top note held a black-pen doodle, like a playground seen from above, lines bare as winter branches.

Along the edge of the field ran several bars, maybe railings, maybe ribs—I couldn’t tell; they looked like fence bones.

The viewpoint felt high, a gaze from an upstairs window looking down like a hawk’s eye on a plain.

But who would be bored enough to stand at a windowsill, sketch the playground, then slip it into her history book like a secret leaf?

She’d only been in the class three days and knew just Ling Ya and the monitor, Dongtang Moka; neither struck her as the type to plant mysterious seeds.

“Strange…” The word fluttered like a sparrow.

The second note had no drawing, just one character—“Secret”—standing like a lone stone on a path.

Peak edgy teen behavior, she thought, amusement rising like steam.

Let’s see what tricks land next.

The third page read “Tight,” a near rhyme, the plot tightening like a noose.

Good—finally forming a word, if not a clue. Tearing this many notes just to write one character per page felt like wasting paper, leaves burnt for no fire; she couldn’t fathom it.

The three remaining pages bore “Mouth,” “Command,” “Sentence.” Counting the doodle, the stack had six sheets, white birds in a small flock.

“Secret passphrase sentence.”

Was this an invite from a secret society? Yekase was just a regular 17-year-old high school girl, her knowledge of secret or Sinister Organizations purely textbook—curiosity rose like tide and drowned fear like a candle in rain.

Go check the place in the drawing, the nest where the feather fell.

Another reason mattered even more.

Those five characters—

were written in Yekase’s own hand, strokes like her familiar footprints in snow.

Was she not only grinding her teeth in sleep, but sleepwalking? Sleepwalking and writing mid-dream like a ghost with a brush? The thought chilled her like a draft through paper windows; she resolved to crack this puzzle, firm as an oak.

…Ah, but recess was too short; noon break would be the first step, the moment the sun tilts like a blade.

“Sis Yekase, did you see the news yesterday?” Ling Ya swung around, voice bright as bells.

Yekase instinctively slid the notes into her sleeve like a magician palming cards. She wore long-sleeved thin jackets even in summer, a habit like shade under bamboo, perfect for hiding the MP3 she used to read novels when teachers patrolled.

“I did. Sounded like Sword of Lilies went recruiting?”

“They meant the new amusement park in Jiangbei!” Ling Ya pouted like a child. “Why do you always care about the punch-and-slash stuff?”

Ling Ya’s face leaned close, eyes shining like pond water.

“This weekend, want to go?”

“It’s not impossible… but my MG Wolf King arrives this weekend. My hands already itch like ants under skin.”

“Robots again!” Her lips puffed like a peach; kind of cute.

“Models can be built any night. Hanging out with me isn’t a weekly comet, you know.”

“Talking like some big celebrity.” Her playful jab floated like a paper crane.

“And Sis wants to go too. If you come, I can help matchmake you two…” Mischief danced like sparks.

“Whoa, whoa, where are you going with that?” Yekase flicked her forehead, a crisp tap like bamboo knocking stone. “Eager to ship your sister out, huh.”

“Well, Sis is such a lovable fool; I can’t picture her dating without tripping over her shoes… What if some creep swindles her for money and worse? Better hand her to someone familiar and reliable like you, Sis Yekase.” Her worry fluttered like a protective shawl.

“I’ll pass that along word for word.” Yekase’s smile curved like a cat’s tail.

“Eh—eh—eh—” Ling Ya’s distressed squeak stretched like taffy. She hunched her neck, tidied her desk with quick hands like sparrows, then peeked back. “Really not going? You can still change your mind before Friday.”

“Got it, got it. Let me weigh it a bit,” Yekase said, pushing her head forward gently like aligning a compass, eyes lifting to Teacher Liu as he walked in.

Teacher Liu tapped the lectern, knuckles like woodpeckers. “Class, class now.”

Noise drained from the room like water sliding off tiles.

Yekase glanced at the projector. Today’s text was “A Madman’s Diary,” probably not on the exam; she propped her book like a folding screen and slipped the secret notes from her sleeve like a thief drawing silk.

The doodled playground.

First, the viewpoint had to be a windowsill in the Tech Building facing the field, narrowing the scope like a lens—to corner classrooms, and the north stairwell.

Corner classrooms could be ruled out; their doors stayed locked like sealed jars, keys out of reach.

That left the stairwell—the drawing likely came from a landing, the field framed like a stage, right angle and air.

From the tilt, she could rule out the first and second floors; neither offered a downward gaze sharp enough, no hawk’s angle.

The Tech Building had five floors, four stairwells. That trimmed the choices to two perches where the wind hums like a flute.

So, what would those two spots whisper? Symbols carved small on walls? A riddle pointing to the next nest? Another flock of notes fluttering?

Interesting. Very interesting. Curiosity warmed her chest like tea, sharp and sweet.

On a plain Wednesday morning, something in Yekase kindled, a tiny flame licking paper edges.

“Yekase, tell us: ‘I couldn’t sleep whether I lay or sat; I kept flipping the diary over and over…’ What emotion is the author expressing?” Teacher Liu’s voice snapped like a twig.

“Oh.” Under the class’s gaze, Yekase stood calmly, a reed bending with wind. “He wants to break out, but can’t beat the zombie horde. It’s anger, tight and hot.”

“…Fine. Barely counts.” Teacher Liu’s acceptance fell like a thin stamp.

Yekase sat back down, feigning a reach for her notebook like a painter reaching for water, but in truth fishing through her bag—there, second layer, a fresh stack of sticky notes like blank wings.

A plan unfurled in her mind like a paper fan; proof would follow like footprints on damp soil.

Ten more minutes until noon break; she’d coast on her phone like a skiff on still water. Listening wasn’t an option when the river ran elsewhere.

She remembered she was a “good student,” but her body knew how to slack like a cat finds sun; call it a talent tree unlocked.

Two friends lit green on her chat app, little stars in a dark sky.

One was 333; one was Omega F.

She’d met 333 in a game; both thought the other was a guy, then turned mics on and found they were both girls—shock like popped bubbles, then they just kept playing.

Omega F was a small streamer she’d stumbled upon. Her content was simple and mesmerizing—motor repair, wires like veins, sparks like fireflies.

Yekase had a born fondness for circuits and machines, gears like constellations; she followed, even tipped her. It was only a hundred yuan, but that gift sat first on the board for a whole month like a stubborn pennant, so they added each other privately.

These jobless wanderers online in broad daylight didn’t surprise Yekase; it felt natural as birds singing at noon.

“F sis, you there?” Her text flew like a paper plane.

…

“What’s up?” The reply pinged like a pebble on a pond.

“What does ‘secret passphrase sentence’ sound like to you?” Her curiosity tapped like rain on rice paper.

“? Feels like it’s a password.” The answer clicked like a lock turning.

Consensus reached. The word glowed in her mind like a filament.

Why would she write a password with no memory of it? Where would it be used? The answer approached like footsteps in a hall.

Ring ring ring ring— The bell chimed on cue, silver thread weaving the air.

Whoever planted the notes knew Yekase’s habits like a tailor knows measurements, slipping them into the second-to-last class’s book so she’d see them, then granting one class of not-too-long thinking time, like giving a runner one lap.

She politely turned down Ling Ya’s lunch invite, the smile soft as a fan, then fished a cold meat bun from her bag like a treasure from a pouch. Chewing, she walked toward the spot she’d guessed, feet steady as a chess piece making its move.