From young, Jia Li's mother repeated the same sentence until it stopped sounding like advice and became a rule.
Work hard enough and you will reach your goals.
So Jia Li worked.
At night, the apartment went dark except for the small circle of light over the dining table. Books covered the surface. Her pen moved for hours. When her eyes burned, she washed her face and returned. Sleep felt like theft.
Romance had faded early. Her father had left behind debts and a silence that never lifted. Study became the only place where effort returned something solid. Rankings. Scores. Proof.
When results were posted, she stood before the board, found her name at the top, and felt a quiet relief spread through her chest. She never smiled. She only nodded once and walked away.
"It will be worth it in the end," she told herself.
In group photos, she stood at the edge. Sometimes half cut off. No one called her forward. No one noticed when she blended into the background. Only her grades pulled her into view.
Her mother worked double shifts at a textile factory. Jia Li learned to count bus fare before she learned algebra. She learned how to make a week's meals from rice and pickled vegetables without complaint.
At school, she passed girls who smelled of perfume and wore shoes that never touched dust. She never hated them. She looked once, then looked away.
If they were born into comfort, she would study her way out of obscurity.
She decided this quietly and never spoke of it again.
The morning of the Gaokao arrived in heavy summer heat. Jia Li woke before sunrise. Her hands were steady as she dressed. She held her ID card and her pens like they were the only things anchoring her to the ground.
When the final paper ended, she did not join the noise outside. She went home, washed her hands, and sat on the edge of her bed for a long time. Her mind felt empty and full at the same time.
She had given it everything.
The days waiting for results dragged. Each morning, she checked the portal before eating. Each night, she checked again before sleeping.
On the day the scores were released, she woke before dawn and went straight to the computer. Her fingers trembled as she typed.
The page loaded.
She stared.
Refreshed. Logged out. Logged back in.
Her knees touched the floor without her noticing when they gave way. The number did not change. It sat there, flat and final.
Her mother entered the room and stopped. Jia Li did not need to speak. The air between them felt tight, like something had been pulled too far and snapped without sound.
Later that day, a name appeared everywhere.
Wang Meilin. Provincial top scorer.
Jia Li stared at the photo. Meilin smiling beneath a banner. University offers arriving before the week ended.
Her chest felt hollow. Not anger. Not jealousy. Something colder.
She began asking questions.
She spoke to teachers. To the school office. To the examination bureau. Each place gave her the same answer.
"The scores have been verified."
"There is no error."
"Please refrain from further contact."
Every reply felt like pushing against a wall that did not move.
Someone mentioned a man named Mr. Lu. She found him outside an archive building on a rainy afternoon. He stood beside a rusted bicycle, smoking without hurry.
She explained what she wanted. He listened. Then he lowered his voice.
"These decisions are made before the ink dries. Quietly go to university. Live your life. Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."
She walked home in the rain without opening her umbrella. The water soaked through her clothes. She did not feel it.
After that, she stopped talking about the exam.
She attended a third-tier university in a distant province. Years later, she returned with a degree in information systems and a plan for a small startup. She carried a folder against her chest and went from office to office.
Banks. Investors. Government offices.
Meetings were cancelled. Calls were not returned. People described her in ways she did not recognize.
Difficult. Untrustworthy. Not a team player.
Eventually, she stopped carrying the folder.
She took a marketing job in a small county. She went to work. She returned home. She ate dinner in silence. The lamp that once stayed on past midnight no longer did.
Her mother began arranging blind dates.
Jia Li went without protest. She dressed neatly, spoke politely, and returned home with the same quiet expression each time.
One man leaned back in his seat as if evaluating a purchase. He asked her age, her assets, the dowry her family could provide.
She stood before he finished speaking.
"You wouldn't be worth a packet of instant noodles," she said, her voice calm and flat.
After that, she stopped commenting on the dates.
Life moved forward without asking her opinion. She went out with colleagues sometimes. She laughed when expected. She felt nothing when she did.
One night, after working late, she missed her bus. She chose a quieter road to walk home. The streetlights flickered. The road was empty.
Headlights appeared without warning.
The impact came before she understood what was happening.
Pain tore through her body. The ground felt cold against her cheek. Her ears rang. Voices reached her through the noise.
A woman's voice. Shaking.
"I hit someone! What do I do?"
A man's voice. Calm.
"Calm down. There are no cameras here. I'll handle it."
"Should we call the police?"
"We'll take her to the hospital. You're not at fault. Just stay calm."
Through blurred vision, Jia Li recognized the woman.
Wang Meilin.
She listened to the softness in their voices. The way he protected her. The way she cried as if she were the victim.
A slow, bitter thought rose through the pain.
You hit me. And you are the one crying.
The sounds around her began to fade. The pain began to dull, not because it lessened, but because her body could no longer hold it.
Then another sound appeared. Faint. Mechanical. Precise.
"Detection of a suitable host…"
She could not tell where the voice came from.
"Detection of a suitable host. Initiating synchronization."
A sharp chime cut through the darkness.
"System binding: 10%… 40%… 85%… 100%."
"Binding successful. Congratulations, Host. You have been bonded to the Heaven's Face, Earth's Vengeance System. I am your assigned navigator. System 419."
The cold ground beneath her vanished. So did the pain. So did the night.
When her eyes opened again, there was no road. No voices. No sky.
Only endless white.