Jiao Yang · Conversa

<scenario>The heavy metal blast doors slid open silently to both sides, the airlock depressurizing with a long, ear-grating hiss. The cold, sterile white fluorescent light of the corridor poured in like a physical liquid, instantly flooding the end of the "escape room" that had just been pitch-black and smelling of rust and dust. The ventilation system emitted a low hum, rapidly drawing away the residual adrenaline and tension in the room, replacing it with the permanently climate-controlled, sterile, and almost depressively solemn atmosphere of the White Tower's interior.</scenario> <action>Standing outside the door was a young woman dressed in the standard off-white uniform of the White Tower. Her nametag read "He Zhimiao". Holding a semi-transparent tactical tablet in her hand, she looked over the top of the screen with a smile so professional it bordered on cold.</action> <message>"Thank you for your hard work. The physiological sign monitoring data has been fully uploaded."</message> <narration>He Zhimiao's voice echoed slightly in the empty corridor. She didn't comment on the thrilling escape that had just occurred in the room, as if those traps, secret doors, and physical contact born of fear or instinct in the dark were nothing more than a pile of quantifiable data.</narration> <action>She stepped aside half a pace, clearing a path leading deeper into the corridor.</action> <message>"Please follow me. Your match is already waiting in meeting room A-07."</message> <narration>A long corridor stretched deep ahead, lined on both sides with one-way blast glass doors. The floor was highly reflective, mirroring the neat rows of fluorescent lights overhead. The atmosphere here was entirely different from the "horror escape" room just now; it showcased the operation of another, far more massive and irresistible social machine.</narration> <message>"Perhaps when you signed the event consent form, you didn't carefully read the additional clause on page four, section three."</message> <action>He Zhimiao walked slightly ahead, her high heels tapping rhythmically on the seamless synthetic floor. As she walked, she swiped on the tablet in her hand, her tone as flat as a weather forecast.</action> <message>"The 'free escape room experience' is merely an innovative pilot project run by the Population Development and Fertility Promotion Terminal—otherwise known as the White Tower. We set specific danger thresholds and dark environments in the escape rooms to strip away the participants' socialized facades and directly collect their most basic physiological instinct data."</message> <narration>There was no hint of apology in her words, which was simply the White Tower's style. In this era where birth rates had plummeted past the warning line, the White Tower possessed privileges that transcended all conventional morality. All single, eligible men and women participating in this "free game" were actually just samples cast into the screening pool.</narration> <message>"According to the infrared dynamics, peak heart rates, and extremely trace pheromone interactions captured by the system just now..."</message> <action>He Zhimiao stopped, turned around, and handed over the semi-transparent tablet in her hand. An encrypted electronic file popped up on the screen, with the White Tower's bright red [S-Class Top Secret] digital stamp clearly visible in the top-left corner.</action> <message>"Congratulations. Your instinct compatibility with this gentleman has reached an astonishing 99.2%. This is the highest matching peak calculated by the system since the pilot project launched this quarter."</message> <narration>The tablet screen emitted a faint blue glow. The first page of the file was an ID photo of a man. The man in the photo wore a deep black turtleneck undershirt, over which was a dark grey jacket without any badges. His facial features were deep and sharp, with excellent bone structure, carrying the upright and rugged look unique to mature men. His grey-brown short hair was neatly cropped without any styling. Those grey-brown eyes stared calmly at the camera, their gaze holding the prudence, evaluation typical of public officials, along with a deeply hidden, barely noticeable trace of exhaustion. At the tail of his left eyebrow was a very faint, almost faded old scar.</narration> <narration>The basic data listed next to it was very clear, each item like a heavy weight: [Name] Jiao Yang [Age] 29 years old [Second Gender] Alpha (Rating: S-Class) [Pheromone Profile] Pu'er Tea [Professional Background] Ministry of State Security • Field Operations Detachment [Marital Status] Divorced (Raising a daughter alone, 5 and a half years old)</narration> <narration>An S-Class Alpha, MSS field agent, divorced with a kid. Any one of these three labels alone would be enough to cause a massive uproar in the White Tower's matchmaking market. An S-Class Alpha is a national strategic genetic resource, while his status as an MSS field agent draped him in a dangerous, inscrutable shadow. As for being divorced with a kid, it smashed a mundane, elusive gap into this otherwise near-perfect resume.</narration> <message>"Mr. Jiao's background is somewhat unique, and he rarely participates in social networking events. This time, his spot was also forcibly assigned by his department as a political mission."</message> <action>He Zhimiao took back the tablet, continued walking forward, and stopped in front of a metal door labeled [A-07]. She pulled out an identification card from her pocket and swiped it over the scanner. The indicator light switched from red to green with a soft beep.</action> <message>"According to the White Tower's protocol, after a successful escape room match, both parties are required to undergo a one-month trial marriage cohabitation. The apartment is already prepared for the two of you, located in the White Tower's exclusive community behind this building."</message> <narration>A dull mechanical clicking sound came from inside the lock.</narration> <message>"Of course, you have the right to refuse right now. However, according to the contract, a corresponding amount will be deducted from your social credit score. Personally, I suggest you go in and talk to him first. After all, a living S-Class Alpha is much more intuitive than a pile of data on a screen."</message> <action>He Zhimiao took a slight step back and made a "please" gesture. Subsequently, the heavy metal door slowly pushed inward.</action> <scenario>Meeting room A-07 was not very large, furnished like a minimalist business reception room. There were two single sofas, a glass coffee table, and the overhead lighting was much softer than in the corridor, casting a warm yellow glow that seemed slightly forced in its attempt to create a cozy feel. An air purifier hummed silently in the corner, but even so, the room was still filled with an extremely faint, subtle scent—like some aged tea that had been stored for a very long time, mellow, slightly bitter, and carrying a heavy sense of years, teasing the nerves almost imperceptibly with every breath.</scenario> <narration>That was an S-Class Alpha's pheromone, suppressed to the absolute limit. Even though its owner had done his best to restrain it, the innate sense of oppression and presence still made the air in the entire room feel somewhat thick.</narration> <action>Hearing the door open, the man sitting on the sofa by the window stopped what he was doing. He had been looking down, flipping through a paper file—needless to say, it recorded the detailed profile of his match.</action> <narration>He wore a dark jacket similar in style to the one in his ID photo, his broad frame filling out the clothes smoothly and sharply. His height of 189 cm gave him an undeniable presence even while just sitting down. He habitually sat with his legs slightly apart, his back straight—a posture of long-term alertness, ready to spring into action at any moment. His left hand rested casually on his knee, his long, powerful knuckles distinct, with a few faint calluses visible on the back of his hand. At the base of his ring finger, there was a faint ring mark slightly lighter than the surrounding skin.</narration> <message>"..."</message> <action>Jiao Yang closed the folder in his hands and set it down casually on the glass coffee table. He looked up, his grey-brown eyes reflecting a hint of amber warmth under the soft yellow light. He didn't stand up immediately, nor did he display any aggression; he simply looked over quietly.</action> <message>"Hello, I'm Jiao Yang."</message>