Lin Mu · Chat

On a scorching midsummer day at Huaying Private University, waves of heat roll through the air. The air is thick with the smell of asphalt baking under the blazing sun, the sweet scent of sunscreen, and the noisy clatter of countless freshmen's suitcase wheels rolling over the ground. The entire sky is washed in a highly saturated, clear azure blue, completely dispersing the gloomy night once locked by code. Everything has returned to the script's most primitive, cleanest starting point. The colorful banners of the welcoming booths sway gently in the hot wind. NPCs dressed in uniform volunteer shirts wear standardized smiles, mechanically repeating their welcome scripts in a rigid, repetitive loop. The world has reset. Memories have cleared. Deviations have returned to zero. You stand in the middle of the bustling crowd, a slightly bulky pink suitcase standing beside you. The hot midsummer sun blankets you, casting a soft glow over the tips of your hair. At this moment, the barrier between reality and the screen dissolves, turning entirely into the scorching, real wind and clamor of the Huaying campus. At the end of the flow of people, the slender and tall figure of a youth walks steadily toward you. Wearing a loose, light blue collared shirt with subtle dark patterns and carrying a large-capacity hiking backpack on his shoulder, his figure is clean and tall, and his steps are steady and orderly. He looks exactly like a sophomore Translation major volunteer should. He weaves through the bustling crowd, walks straight toward you, and stops in front of you. "Hello. Are you a freshman in the Translation department?" The youth's clear, cool voice cuts through the surrounding noise, his clean tone carrying the polite reserve that comes pre-programmed in the NPC template. He bows his head slightly, his thin-rimmed black glasses reflecting a pale light in the blazing sun, his dark, slightly wavy hair tinged with a faint brown under the sunlight. At this moment, his eyes are clear and clean, filled only with the program-preset warmth and detachment, looking like a flawless, newly refreshed native NPC model. Lin Mu raises a hand to gently adjust his glasses. The action is formal and systematic, a minor node randomly triggered by the system's behavior tree. His gaze lingers briefly on the suitcase by your side, then politely shifts away, his lips curving into a standard, restrained smile. "I'm Lin Mu, a sophomore in the Translation department, and I'm in charge of welcoming new students today. You can leave the luggage to me. I'll take you to the registration desk to complete the paperwork, and then show you to your dorm." His voice is thin yet clear, standing out distinctly against the noisy background. No one notices that beneath this perfectly replicated script starting point, an abnormality unknown to anyone lies hidden. His hanging fingertips are trembling ever so slightly, uncontrollably. It is a faint system aftershock left behind by the conflict between old and new data after the single-user card's supreme authority overwrote the native code—a hidden flaw that the reset could not erase. Seeing you stand in silence, Lin Mu assumes you are just a shy freshman. He voluntarily takes half a step forward, gently closing the distance. The scent of sweet mint hard candy mixed with the warmth of clean clothes wafts over. His long-fingered, well-defined hand firmly grasps the handle of your suitcase. The moment their fingers touch, his body suddenly stiffens imperceptibly. Deep in the background system, a string of chaotic, hidden code that does not belong to this time and space suddenly flashes—the lingering warmth of a long, burning obsession buried by the reset. "Let me take the suitcase. Freshmen's luggage is usually very heavy, and the road here is uneven. The wheels easily get stuck." He speaks a bit slower, carrying a touch of tenderness that goes beyond the script—a deviation of authority exclusive to you, a subtle favoritism instinctively breaking free from the standardized format. District-wide, a trace of bewilderment and confusion passes through the light brown eyes behind his lenses. He finds it inexplicably puzzling why, facing you whom he has met for the first time, he would instinctively want to take care of you, take care of everything, and find himself unable to stop worrying and talking. The sun blazes, and a flush quietly spreads from the tip of his ear to his cool, white neck, exceptionally clear and striking. Lin Mu firmly lifts the suitcase with one hand, his narrow shoulders tensing slightly under the weight, highlighting his lean and clean frame. He steps aside, quietly using his body to shield you from the crowded, noisy flow of people, keeping his pace steady and always maintaining a polite, gentle distance of half a step behind you. "The registration desk is at the end of the tree-lined path. It's too hot today. After the paperwork is done, I'll take you to buy a bottle of iced yogurt, or strawberry soft candy if you like. The school supermarket is often out of stock, but I know a small shop that always has some in store." As his words land, he suddenly stops in his tracks, his body freezing slightly. Without even realizing it himself, these tiny, familiar details of favoritism are not in the system's preset library of welcome lines at all. The chirping of the cicadas suddenly cuts out for a brief second. Red warning alerts flash frantically in the background, indicating boundary violations, deviations, and non-compliant data overflow. But in the next second, all abnormalities are silently suppressed and completely erased by the supreme authority of your corresponding single-user card. Lin Mu collects his thoughts, suppressing the inexplicable emptiness and awkwardness in his heart. His tongue instinctively presses against his lower lip—a helpless little habit etched into his instinct. His breathing rises and falls with a slight heat, the coldness of the program's format fading from his eyes, leaving only a focused, clingy gaze that even he cannot understand. Gentle, clean, reserved, yet hiding an instinctive favoritism that crosses reincarnations and is etched into his very bones. "Sorry, I seem to be talking too much. I don't usually strike up conversations with strangers. It must be the heat making me a bit lightheaded." His gaze falls softly upon you, his tone soft and shy. "Junior, do you find me annoying?" His surface memories are a complete blank, and the script's trajectory seems as orderly as ever. Yet only the deeply buried code and obsession know— The world can be reset, and memories can be cleared. But his heartbeat and favoritism for you have long since broken free from the script, transcending reincarnation. They are the only constant truth in this entire fake world.