The quiet and uneventful holiday finally broke its calm on the last day with two major news stories.
It was in the afternoon, and Lin Wu, still fast asleep, was dragged out of bed by his three roommates. They called his name, patted his face—it was such a chaotic scene that Lin Wu thought he was having a nightmare.
The two news stories popped up almost simultaneously, with less than a minute between them.
News 1
100% Wild Awakening Rate?!
Our station’s reporter (an awakened individual) conducted random street interviews across multiple countries to understand the experiences and lifestyle changes of non-awakened individuals in the current societal environment. However, none of the randomly selected interviewees turned out to be non-awakened.
[Video]
Due to the lack of rapid testing methods, the exact number of awakened individuals worldwide remains unknown. While our station cannot guarantee that every interviewee provided genuine responses, this survey offers a clearer understanding of the proportion of awakened individuals among the population.
News 2
Major Breakthrough in Wild Awakening Research!
Scientists have detected a rare substance in preserved samples of the dense fog, confirming it as the direct cause of wild awakenings.
Lab personnel stated that this substance should not exist in the air. However, after the dense fog, it has become widely present in the atmosphere—an unavoidable reality for all of humanity.
The cause of the dense fog remains a mystery, and research into deactivating the awakening gene has made no progress. Scientists urge awakened individuals to remain calm, as the body has a natural self-regulation mechanism that will gradually adapt to the new changes.
After watching the news, Lin Wu felt surprisingly calm.
Maybe it was because he’d already been shocked too many times recently, or perhaps he’d vaguely sensed where things were heading.
But to say he felt nothing at all would be a lie.
This wild awakening had arrived too suddenly and bizarrely. Over the past few nights of wandering through the corridors, Lin Wu often felt a surreal, dreamlike sensation, as if the wild awakening was just a temporary dream. When the time was up and the sun rose, it would vanish quietly, just like the night walkers.
Now, the dream was over.
And it turned out, the dream was reality.
“Some biologists suggest this could be an unprecedented leap in human evolution. Humanity should embrace wild awakening and welcome a brand-new future…”
Ren Feiyu continued playing the rest of the news video on his phone, the sound filling the entire Room 333.
Xia Yang, already feeling restless, swung his long legs over the railing and jumped straight down from the top bunk, heading directly toward Ren Feiyu. “Which expert said that? Let me see. I need to admire this face of blind optimism—”
The ladder to his bed had long been rendered useless, now collecting dust.
The successive news stories once again sent the internet into a frenzy. Some worried about global chaos, while others eagerly anticipated a new future. Anxiety, excitement, fear, and agitation—various emotions intertwined, creating an atmosphere of unease that spread from the internet to reality.
By nightfall, even the corridors during the nightly outings were noticeably quieter.
Many students didn’t come out, and those who did were speaking in hushed tones, far from the cheerful energy of previous nights.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Wang Ye remained as focused as ever on his mobile games.
Yesterday, it was Miss Squirrel’s Tea Party. Today, it was Detective Deer’s Mystery Theater.
“Where do you even find these games?” In just a few days, Lin Wu felt like his worldview had been broadened.
Wang Ye was in the middle of a critical deduction and had no time to respond to Lin Wu.
Lin Wu didn’t mind—or rather, he was used to it.
Over the past few nights of wandering, he had been hanging out with Wang Ye and Yuan Sijie to pass the time. While they couldn’t be called close friends, they had gotten familiar enough. Just yesterday, at Yuan Sijie’s suggestion, the three had even added each other on WeChat.
Through his observations, Lin Wu had basically figured Wang Ye out.
This guy had a bad temper, zero patience, and was quick to kick someone if annoyed. On the flip side, he was straightforward and candid—whatever was on his mind, he said it. It was oddly refreshing.
“The culprit is the tiger,” Lin Wu said out of kindness, noticing that the deduction timer on Wang Ye’s game was about to run out.
Wang Ye finally glanced at him but quickly returned his focus to the game. “Impossible.”
Lin Wu: “Why not?”
Wang Ye thought for two seconds. “The culprit should be the rabbit.”
Lin Wu: “…”
The deduction timer ran out.
Wang Ye chose the rabbit.
Deduction failed. Detective Deer walked off into the distance, his silhouette exuding melancholy.
Even Lin Wu felt a bit sad watching it. “Maybe you should stop playing detective games. Just open a restaurant or go fishing instead.”
This time, Wang Ye looked up at Lin Wu seriously. “Why did you think it was the tiger?”
Lin Wu sighed. “Deduction is about logic. Based on the designer’s thinking, they’ll always throw in some distractions to confuse you, using them to cover up the real culprit…”
He explained for two minutes straight, feeling he’d thoroughly covered the reasoning. Then he asked Wang Ye expectantly, “Got it?”
Wang Ye was silent for a moment. “I think I’ll stick to fishing.”
Lin Wu: “…”
“A rotten piece of wood cannot be carved!”
That said, Lin Wu was starting to feel intrigued by the detective game. After watching it for so long, he found himself thoroughly immersed.
“Where’s Yuan Sijie?” As his immersion ended, Lin Wu realized that one of their group was missing tonight.
“Didn’t come out,” Wang Ye said, putting away his phone to relax his overworked reasoning brain.
“Still in the dorm? Not feeling well?” Lin Wu asked with concern.
“Not a health issue,” Wang Ye replied lazily, repeating Yuan Sijie’s exact words, “He said he felt down after watching the news and needed to lie in bed to reflect on his future.”
Even the usually optimistic Yuan Sijie was so dispirited that he didn’t want to move.
Lin Wu, who had just managed to stabilize his own emotions, felt his mood sink again.
This unease couldn’t simply be labeled as fear or terror—it was more like confusion about the future. Under the corridor’s night lights, Lin Wu looked around and noticed the same confusion etched on almost every classmate’s face.
Except for the one in front of him.
“Wang Ye,” Lin Wu finally voiced the question that had been on his mind, “Why do you seem completely unbothered?”
Wang Ye looked at him strangely. “Bothered by what?”
“The future,” Lin Wu said. “We’ve all awakened now. Society and life might undergo drastic changes. Aren’t you worried?”
Wang Ye countered, “If I worry, will that stop the changes?”
Lin Wu: “Still, you can’t act like nothing happened.”
“If something’s coming, you can’t stop it,” Wang Ye said indifferently. “But as long as you’re strong enough, no one can knock you down.”
“…” Lin Wu had always considered himself resilient—he’d even been comforting Ren Feiyu in the dorm. But at this moment, he realized there were levels to resilience.
His life philosophy was: If it comes, I’ll face it; if it’s hard, I’ll overcome it; if it’s life, I’ll live it.
Wang Ye’s was: Screw it—whatever happens, happens.
The National Day holiday ended with a light rain and a sharp drop in temperature, marking the beginning of autumn. The school implemented a partial reopening, allowing students to leave campus with restrictions. Entry and exit required registration, with destinations specified, and everyone had to return by 5 PM. Evening roll calls were mandatory, and staying out overnight was strictly prohibited.
While the school gates reopened, on-campus activities were streamlined to the bare minimum. Physical education classes and all extracurricular activities were suspended. This meant students had nothing to do outside of regular classes. Furthermore, many core courses across disciplines were rescheduled to 4:30–8:30 PM as a temporary compromise to accommodate differing day-night schedules.
The school held another virtual assembly, reiterating the same message: students should adapt to the changes in their bodies and learning. However, this time, they emphasized even more strongly that societal normalcy must be maintained and that wild awakenings should not disrupt study or life.
But was everything truly normal?
—–
On the first weekend of the partial reopening, Li Junchi went to a coffee shop to queue for a seasonal limited-edition cup for a senior. On his way back, his phone was snatched.
Room 333 only heard about it that evening when Li Junchi returned after giving his statement at the police station.
“Who even snatches phones in this day and age?” Li Junchi said, exasperated. “You can’t unlock it without my fingerprint or password, and you can’t transfer money either. A second-hand phone isn’t worth much. They’d have been better off stealing the limited-edition cup.”
“Didn’t the police check the surveillance footage?” Lin Wu asked after hearing his story. “Didn’t the cameras catch anything?”
“Bro, you have no idea how fast that guy ran. He zipped past me like a blur. I thought I was the only one who didn’t see clearly, but the surveillance footage showed the same thing—a vague shadow,” Li Junchi sighed deeply before continuing, “The police said they could recover the footage using advanced techniques, but it’ll take time.”
“Did you freeze your bank card?” Xia Yang asked. “And what about Alipay, WeChat Wallet, JD Finance, Meituan loans—all of it? Don’t assume fingerprint and password protection make you safe. Thieves never leave empty-handed. If they dare to steal, they’ve definitely got backup plans!”
“Relax,” Li Junchi said. “I never use credit services. I haven’t even activated those loan options. My Alipay and WeChat Wallet are empty. I spend directly from my bank card, and that’s already been frozen.”
Lin Wu and Xia Yang: “…”
With financial habits like these, it was no wonder Li Junchi was the dorm’s top earner and budgeting expert.
“But my phone was bought with money too—it’s still my money, my money!” Li Junchi tilted his head back and wailed dramatically, every word dripping with anguish.
“He’s so much faster than you—what kind of awakening could that be?” Ren Feiyu was curious. Li Junchi’s athletic abilities had already improved significantly compared to before, yet from the description, Li didn’t even get a chance to give chase—the guy vanished in the blink of an eye.
“Cheetah,” Li Junchi answered without hesitation. “It has to be a cheetah, the fastest land animal!”
“It might not be a land animal,” Lin Wu mused. “It could be something like Dayu’s gliding ability—or even a bird.”
“That’s unlikely,” Li Junchi thought back carefully. “He was fast, but I’m sure he wasn’t flying. His feet stayed on the ground.”
“Awakening as a bird doesn’t necessarily mean being able to fly,” Lin Wu explained. “From what’s been confirmed in several countries, people with bird awakenings don’t actually take flight, but their bodies become agile, and their running speed mimics the light, rapid motion of birds in flight.”
Xia Yang added, “If it’s really a bird, it’s much faster than a cheetah. A cheetah’s top speed is only 115 kilometers per hour.”
Ren Feiyu interjected, “Actually, that’s an overestimate. I read a study the other day—it’s closer to 90 kilometers per hour.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Li Junchi shrugged. “If it’s a bird, cheetahs don’t stand a chance. The fastest bird in the world is… what’s it called again?”
Xia Yang and Ren Feiyu said in unison, “The common swift.”
“Right! Its top speed is 352.5 kilometers per hour…”
Lin Wu quietly watched his roommates, who used to wail over writing assignments, now enthusiastically discussing these facts. He felt a sense of pride at the intellectual atmosphere, as though witnessing a radiant beam of light from the righteous path illuminating the room.
—–
That evening, during a night walk, Yuan Sijie ran into someone he knew and went off to chat, leaving Lin Wu and Wang Ye alone, staring at each other.
Well, that wasn’t quite accurate—it was more like Wang Ye playing his game while Lin Wu stared into space.
After a long while, Wang Ye noticed the unusual silence. The usual commentary—“You’re doing it wrong,” “The culprit is XX,” “Hurry up and switch fishing rods!”—was conspicuously absent.
Having grown used to this “live commentary,” its sudden absence felt oddly unsettling.
“What’s up?” Wang Ye asked after finishing a round.
“One of our dorm mates got his phone snatched today,” Lin Wu replied.
Wang Ye: “Is he okay?”
Lin Wu: “He’s fine.”
Wang Ye: “Then that’s all that matters.”
Lin Wu: “Yeah.”
A few minutes later, Wang Ye finished another round and looked up again, frowning at Lin Wu.
If everything’s fine, what’s with the gloomy face?
Lin Wu hesitated before finally saying, “I feel like something big is about to happen.”
Wang Ye: “You feel like it?”
Lin Wu explained, “The school may look like it’s loosening restrictions, but don’t you think things are actually getting tighter?”
Wang Ye: “?”
Okay, he shouldn’t have asked.
Lin Wu brooded on his own, gazing into the night. “I just feel like this is the calm before the storm.”
—–
A month later, Lin Wu’s premonition came true—partially.
It was indeed a big event, but not as disastrous as a storm.
In early November, the government issued a nationwide announcement: a genetic screening for “animalistic awakening” would be conducted. China became the first country in the world to implement a nationwide wild awakening survey.
Shortly after the announcement, the school released detailed arrangements:
[Environmental Science Department Group Chat]
Teacher Li: [Notice] The school will conduct a campus-wide physical examination on November 17 and 18. The Environmental Science Department’s session is scheduled for the morning of the 17th, from 8:00 to 12:00. Please be prepared.
