One week later, at Cangnan No. 2 High School.
"Hey, is that guy from our school? Why's there a blindfold over his eyes?"
"He's wearing our school uniform. Must be one of us."
"He's holding a white cane... looks like he's blind."
"Strange, I've never seen him before."
"Probably a freshman."
"Honestly? That black ribbon around his eyes kind of makes him look cool."
"But how does a blind person attend classes? I don't think we have a special needs program."
"No idea."
"..."
As expected, the moment Lin Qiye stepped through the school gates, a wave of curious gazes washed over him.
But this was hardly unfamiliar. Lin Qiye had grown used to such scenes. Unfazed, he made his way along the maple-lined path, heading steadily toward the teaching building.
Truth be told, before arriving, Lin Qiye had mentally prepared himself to deal with troublemakers—those stock characters from lowbrow webnovels: arrogant campus bullies who would mock and provoke him, only to be humiliated later for narrative flair...
Yet, nothing of the sort happened. On the contrary, several students actually stepped forward, offering help.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Lin Qiye felt a trace of disappointment.
Come to think of it, these were students raised under nine years of compulsory education—how many reckless fools could there really be? Even the small cliques that did exist now tended to uphold a certain "code of honor." Resolving petty disputes for the sake of brotherhood was one thing, but bullying someone with a disability? That would spark an outrage and social death by lunchtime.
Climbing the stairs, Lin Qiye soon found his new classroom—Grade 11, Class 2. Having attended a specialized school during his first year, he was now transferring in as a mid-year student.
From film to fiction, transfer students were usually depicted as outcasts—isolated, miserable, unwelcome. After all, friendships and cliques had long since been established during the first year. Without initiative, it was hard to find one's place.
Lin Qiye was fully aware—he was not the "initiative" type.
Even if he had started with them in Grade 10, with his distant, aloof demeanor, he would likely still be walking this path alone.
But solitude wasn't a burden. In fact, Lin Qiye relished the quiet. No distractions. No drama. Just calm introspection and focus on his studies...
Force him to play nice with others, and he'd be completely at a loss.
He took a deep breath at the door, collected his thoughts, and stepped inside.
The moment Lin Qiye entered, the lively classroom fell abruptly silent. The air grew still.
One second... two seconds... three...
Just as he was about to speak, the room erupted.
"You're Lin Qiye, right? Your seat's ready—it's over there."
"Are you visually impaired? Let me guide you."
"Watch your step, there's stuff in the aisle... Hey! Move your backpack already!"
"..."
Before Lin Qiye could even process what was happening, several classmates had already gathered around him, carefully leading him to his seat. A tall boy even slung Lin Qiye's backpack over his own shoulder without a word.
Surrounded by helpful hands and warm voices, Lin Qiye was "safely" escorted to his desk.
Lin Qiye: …?
This script felt entirely wrong.
"I'm Jiang Qian, the class monitor," said a ponytailed girl, patting her chest. "If you need anything, just come to me."
"I'm Li Yifei. Let me know if you want to grab lunch—I'll show you around," said the tall boy with a grin.
"And me! I'm Wang Shao..."
"..."
Voices overlapped as students clustered around him, greeting him with cheerful enthusiasm.
For a moment, Lin Qiye stood dazed.
To be honest, this was nothing like what he had envisioned.
"You... already know who I am?" he asked, somewhat puzzled.
"The homeroom teacher told us about you," Jiang Qian replied. "But what really stood out was your aunt. She came in that day with a basket full of boiled eggs, handing them out to everyone, begging us to look after you..."
Like a lightning bolt across a clear sky, Lin Qiye froze in place.
He barely heard anything after that. His mind was adrift, conjuring the image of that stooped middle-aged woman, lugging a steaming basket of eggs, her voice earnest and pleading.
"Please, help take care of my nephew—his eyesight's not good, and he's a bit withdrawn…"
"Sweetheart, you're so pretty—my nephew's handsome too. You two would look great together…"
"Qiye's a bit cold on the outside, but once you get to know him, he's warm at heart. You'll get along wonderfully…"
"..."
At some point, the black ribbon over Lin Qiye's eyes had become damp.
"Auntie…" he murmured.
As the class chattered around him, a female teacher entered the room, books tucked under her arm. She walked up to Lin Qiye, offered a few kind words, then turned to the rest of the class.
"Everyone, open your textbooks to page ninety-one. Today we're discussing the modern history and hardships of the Great Xia."
Perhaps because of Lin Qiye's arrival, the teacher skipped the usual skimming of content and launched directly into the lecture.
"One hundred years ago, the Earth was home to over two hundred nations, spread across seven continents and four oceans. Cultures and traditions varied widely, yet even in an age of modest technology, people could still sail across the seas to experience the wonder of distant lands…"
"But on March 9th, an event shattered that world forever. A strange mist appeared from nowhere over Antarctica, and within a mere twenty-four hours, it engulfed nearly ninety-eight percent of the planet."
"Skyscrapers built by man, primeval forests untouched by time, oceans that plumbed the very heart of the earth—all were swallowed whole by the fog. Countless nations vanished without a trace."
"But when the mist reached the borders of the Great Xia... it stopped."
"No one knows why. It simply—ceased."
"Over the past century, scholars have proposed countless theories. Some claim the mist is a living organism that ceased its advance after devouring most of the world. Others believe the unique magnetic field of our lands repelled it. Still others speak of five thousand years of accumulated cultural essence shielding our soil…"
"The composition of this mist defies all understanding. Neither light, sound, radio waves, nor any other method of detection can pierce its depths. No one knows whether the lands it consumed—those lost nations—still exist on the other side."
"Experts estimate the chances of survival inside the mist to be nearly zero. Contact with it—whether through inhalation or skin exposure—is invariably fatal."
"In the last hundred years, our nation has dispatched countless expedition teams, armed with the finest equipment, into the mist. None have returned."
"Fifty years ago, we launched our first satellite. The images it sent back showed a world turned ashen. Only one stretch of green remained—our homeland."
"Today, the Great Xia stands as the last bastion of humanity. A lone island on a dead planet."
"And so, the day the mist first appeared—March 9th—is solemnly remembered as the Day of Survival."