The Composite Lab smelled of solvent and hot brass. Neutral Bells hummed somewhere beyond the partition wall. Chalk smudged the stone underfoot. Cart wheels ticked over seams like a metronome with grit in its teeth.
A He-line clerk slid into Qin Ye's lane with a routing slate. "Bench format re-route. You're assigned to Station Nine."
Station Nine was a half-hall away. Delay painted as procedure.
"Clause 2.1," Qin Ye said, not slowing. "Route parity. No formal re-route exists."
The slate trembled. The clerk's stamp hovered—then fell, neat and final. "Proceed."
The lane opened like a seam cut in paper.
⸻
His fingers brushed a cool, low rivet on the nearest composite bench rail.
[Daily Sign-In available.]
[Location: Composite Bench Rail.]
[Sign-In? Yes / No]
Yes.
[Ding! Sign-In successful!]
[Reward: Lab Thread (Lv.1, 25 breaths — steady hand micro-motions; tighten part-fit tolerance under motion) + Index Anchor Token (1 use — pin a public index cross-reference to the hall displays in real time).]
The thread slipped into his hands, a quiet steadiness from wrist to fingertip. The token settled like a sealed edict behind his eyes.
⸻
Station A: Clause Assembly Bench.
Parts waited on a moving cart: frame arcs, yoke pins, a clapper with a stamped torque glyph, seals in tidy paper wraps. The cart ticked forward under Device Witness gaze, a thin ring painted on the floor around its path—the node.
He stepped into motion with the cart.
"Clause 6.9. Bell swing tolerance." His hands fit the arc to the yoke, angle clean.
"Clause 4.2. Sealant parity." The wrap tore; his thumb rolled a perfect bead, no spill, no smear.
A marshal cut in. "Verbal-only citation is invalid unless simultaneous node contact is established."
Qin Ye breathed once and let the Lab Thread tighten the world. He twisted the clapper screws to their glyph, motion smooth, foot gliding as the cart moved. The word left his mouth on the same breath as his toes brushed the ring.
"Clause."
The Device Witness orb flickered its replay in the corner of the station: left foot inside the node ring on the instant of "Clause," timestamp crisp.
The marshal's stamp fell, flat with resignation.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Assemble Under Motion."]
[Reward: +180,000 Spirit Stones; Assembly Tolerance +2% (situational).]
He slid the finished bell frame to the pass line without a scrape. Wheels kept ticking.
⸻
Station A—Wedge II.
A second marshal leaned in, pen poised. "Format mismatch. The torque call must be recorded before sealant application."
"Clause 5.4," Qin Ye said, hands already moving the cart onward. "Format is valid when audible and logged. Order of sub-steps can be dynamic if all are within the node window."
The pen halted midair. The stamp followed, dutiful as gravity.
He didn't look back.
⸻
Station B: Parity Calibration.
A master pendulum swung in a glass cage. Two rope lines hummed, tensioned to parity. He braced a palm against the frame, Grip Recall bringing the micro-angle into place from memory.
Tick. Tick.
He lifted the bell to marry cadence to the pendulum—and his thumb found a ridge under the yoke. Tape. Not regulation. He freed a matte-black micro-weight no larger than a seed. Faint ink dust smeared the adhesive: the Null Crest's signature gray.
A clerk swooped with a tray. "Contraband goes to closed bench for inspection."
"Clause 6.3." Qin Ye raised the piece an inch, never halting calibration. His Evidence Seal (master) bloomed over the weight with a clean chime, chain-of-custody lines engraving themselves in the proctor's log. "Unlogged seal impound is public. The chain is open."
The clerk halted. The proctor's stamp hit the ledger like a nail.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Catch the Weight."]
[Reward: +200,000 Spirit Stones; Proctors: Reputation +1 (situational).]
The pendulum and bell met in perfect cadence. The ropes sang at the same note.
⸻
Station B—Wedge III.
"Safety review," a He-line inspector said smoothly, sliding a palm toward the rope post. "Pre-bench relocation."
"Clause 7.1." Qin Ye shifted past him, Silent Step soft as breath. "Audit integrity cannot be interrupted by scheduled drills."
Motion kept motion. Behind him, rubber found paper; a stamp fell.
From the gallery, Liu Shan scribbled: "Lab: zero halts."
⸻
Station C: Duo Micro-Sync (ad-hoc).
Lin Xiu matched pace on his right without a sound. Task plate: three mirrored steps, baton index transfer within a finger-width, simultaneous plate tap—no verbal coaching.
Their Shadow Duet Step engaged out of habit. Three beats, three breaths; the world narrowed to sleeve seam and baton balance. The baton slid from his hand to hers at the exact index ridge, wood whispering on skin. They set forefingers to a brass plate in the same heartbeat.
"Unauthorized non-verbal coaching," a marshal called, reflex more than rule.
Qin Ye lifted one finger and pointed to the placard. The Device Witness overlaid the highlighted line in cool blue: Permitted tactile cues where verbal commands are barred.
The marshal swallowed. The stamp fell.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Two Hands, One Log."]
[Reward: +160,000 Spirit Stones; Duo/Trio Timing +2% (situational).]
They separated without a rub of cloth.
⸻
Composite Interlude: Procedural Wedge.
A He-line inspector drifted to block the next aisle, file already open. "Bench relocation per safety clause—"
"Clause 3.1," Qin Ye said. "Public calibration takes precedence while Device Witness is active."
He passed in his own shadow. The file stayed closed. The stamp that followed him sounded like something conceding.
On the balcony, He Rulong watched, as motionless as cut stone.
⸻
Lab Close & Lights Shift.
The Composite Lab's overheads cooled a shade. Neutral Bells throbbed once and went still. Index terminals woke around the hall with a ripple of pale light. The Live Index Drill began.
Task card: Create public cross-references linking Null Crest → Clause 7.4 history → device parity rules. Entries must survive audit live. No halts.
The map of the hall reprinted itself on the back of his eyes in clean lines. Three terminals would be enough to weave the knot.
He started moving.
⸻
Index Drill: Terminal Three.
The keyboard's lag was deliberate. He felt the throttle in the half-beat stutter of the cursor. The signature behind it was a masked fingerprint he'd already learned to recognize—Proc-Hub Δ.
"Clause 5.2," he said, breath even. "Reporting rate-limit interference while maintaining motion."
A clerk looked up, startled mid-sit. The throttle twitched; the cursor smoothed a fraction.
He keyed the first line without stopping his feet.
Null Crest — under audit (public) → Clause 7.4 (public echo precedent) → Device parity: rope tension parity rule 8.1
He hit transmit. The line took. The hall display to his left blinked and then held.
⸻
Index Drill: Terminal Five.
A different clerk waited with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Internal memo formatting will organize your entry," he offered, fingers already hovering to bury the line.
The cross-ref began to grey.
Qin Ye burned the Index Anchor Token.
A resonant chime rolled across the hall. Every index wall and Device Witness mirrored his cross-reference in bold, center screen, unerasable for the span of the anchor.
Null Crest — under audit (public) — linked — Clause 7.4 — device parity rule 8.1
The clerk froze, hand suspended. The live Assembly index on the far wall echoed it a breath later, then locked.
[Ding! Micro-Goal: "Pin the Line."]
[Reward: +200,000 Spirit Stones; Chain Continuity +1 (situational).]
He added a second cross-reference while the anchor still rang:
Null Crest — chain-of-custody → Clause 6.3 (public impound of unlogged seals) → Evidence Seal (master) log ref.
Transmit. The hall caught it. Held. He moved on.
⸻
Index Drill: Terminal Seven.
He ran on the soft edge of a Quiet Pivot to avoid a rolling cart "coincidentally" clipping his lane. The cursor here flickered a hair faster—different hand at the throttle.
He keyed the third line, fingers a blur on plastic:
Null Crest — calibration parity trail → Clause 3.1 (public calibration precedence) → coil seven variance (logged)
Transmit. The line arrived, then dimmed—someone tried to demote it to "internal."
A thin red border lanced the top right of the hall display: Live Ledger Bind warning. The attempted supersede surfaced in public with its hash—the same masked string as before.
Hash mismatch. Supersede denied.
The line brightened again. Stayed.
He kept walking.
⸻
Index Drill—Wedge IV.
A masked user from a central console pushed a stealthy merge: Null Crest → Internal note: harmless vendor mark (legacy)
The Bind flared red twice, louder.
Public index parity enforces external view. Merge denied.
The hall booed softly without voices. No one on the floor stopped. The motion stayed whole.
⸻
[Ding! Optional Objective completed: "Finish Composite Lab + Index Drill with zero halts & ≥3 public cross-references."]
[Reward: Technique Cache (procedural/index, unlocked).]
He opened the cache on the move. Two techniques pulsed:
• Index Brace — 10-breath immunity to index throttles.
• Clause Weave — bind a citation to a movement beat; citations made on footfall are format-proof.
He chose Clause Weave. Knowledge slid into his stride, a second pulse under his ribs.
The lab looked the same. He didn't.
⸻
The main registry holoplate above the hall doors flickered once.
Proc-Hub Δ : Legacy Key Schedule: 36h
The hash attached to it hadn't changed. The masked node kept its face and its clock.
A fresh supersede pinged—"Unpin cross-reference: internal memo"—and died in the echo of its own exposure. The Bind tagged the same hash, stamped the same refusal. The anchored lines didn't budge.
⸻
Composite Face-Slap Encore.
The earlier He-line clerk reappeared at the edge of the aisle with a ruled slate. "For safety precedence, use a slower lane for your final submission."
Qin Ye didn't touch the Queue Lock Token. He didn't need to. "Clause 2.1," he said, breath already setting the cadence of his next step. "Lane order stands."
The marshal on duty stamped the slate, eyes on the live index. "Order stands."
The clerk's mouth closed like a book at curfew.
⸻
Audit Echo.
Down on the floor, a proctor walked the composite stations with a handheld. He stopped at the Parity Calibration bench and lifted the bell yoke with two fingers, rueful. "Weight taped under yoke. Who signed this off?"
No one answered. The Device Witness did.
Liu Shan's pencil ticked. Weight captured; chain public; lab—clean.
⸻
Standings & Day Post.
The day's board thudded to a halt with the blunt, ceremonial finality the sect favored. Names stacked in clean columns. Qin Ye's sat near the top, procedural metrics a string of clear stamps without smudges. Lin Xiu perched close behind. Yue Hong was a notch lower, a note attached in small script: citation timing variance—no penalty, just a shadow.
A second board rattled into place underneath:
Day 4: Dynamic Parity Gate — Multi-Node Run.
Neutral Bells chimed once in acknowledgement, like a hand laid on a shoulder.
⸻
Closing Movement.
The index wall flickered, testing its own reflection. One of Qin Ye's cross-reference lines dimmed for a heartbeat—then reasserted itself with a faint, stubborn glow. Public bind held.
On the balcony, He Rulong leaned half a degree closer, angle like iron. The hall seemed to tip toward him, a tide without water.
Qin Ye set his toe to the stone and felt Clause Weave hum against his bones. The beat under his foot matched the words in his chest. The day's residue smelled of brass and ink.
He planted his next step on the clause, not the floor.