JFWCM Chapter 14

Time Rust

Time Rust

Immediately after this incident, the sports meet arrived.

The sports committee member’s hand trembled as he held the registration form. The morning light illuminated the blank space for “Shot Put: 0 Registrations,” making it glaringly obvious. The metal sphere beside the sandpit coldly reflected the light, standing alone. The rainwater from last night’s storm had accumulated at the bottom of the pit, where a withered cherry blossom petal floated—much like Jiang Wan’yuan’s pale face at this moment.

“I’m begging you!” The class monitor raised the loudspeaker for the seventh time. “As long as we get three entries…” Before he could finish, the boys in the back row collectively lowered their heads and started scrolling through their phones, the fluorescent glow of the screens reflecting a uniform set of photos: absence requests. Jiang Wan’yuan suddenly slammed her hands on the desk and stood up, the star and moon bracelet on her wrist creating a crisp sound: “I’ll sign up for the running event!”

Jiang Wan’yuan stumbled the moment her spiked shoes touched the starting line. The morning wind carried cherry blossoms into her hurried breaths. The sports committee member’s fingertips, holding the stopwatch, turned white. Yi Shang leaned against the plane tree with her arms crossed, the nebula scars peeking through the gaps in her bandages brightening and dimming with the ticking of the second hand.

“Ready—”

The instant the starting gun fired, Jiang Wan’yuan’s star and moon bracelet suddenly tightened around her wrist bone. Like an unbalanced spinning top, she rushed off the track, tripping over her own shoelaces on the tenth step, her palm scraping sparks on the plastic surface. Distant snickers could be heard, and Yi Shang’s mineral water bottle left a dent in the railing.

Jiang Wan’yuan curled up on the edge of the track, the blood droplets oozing from her palm congealing into a crooked star shape on the plastic surface. As the mocking sounds washed over her ears like a tide, Yi Shang’s shadow suddenly loomed over her—she was crushing cherry blossoms with her bandaged fingertips, and the pale pink juice dripped into the wound, the burning sensation instantly turning into coolness.

“The 37th fall,” Yi Shang’s voice was mixed with the metallic sound of the opening and closing first aid kit, “Two seconds faster than yesterday.” The way she tore open the new bandage was like disassembling a precision instrument, the blue-purple star marks flashing on her wrist.

When the metal clasp of the first aid kit popped open, Jiang Wan’yuan saw yellowed medical records lining the bottom. The 1970 ink printed “Star Orbit Project Experimental Subject No. 437,” and the photo showed seven-year-old Yi Shang lying on a surgical table, intravenous tubes flowing with a blue-purple liquid the same color as the bandage.

“Don’t move.” Yi Shang suddenly pinched her chin, a cotton swab dipped in cherry blossom juice swiped across her collarbone. Jiang Wan’yuan gasped, realizing that the temperature of the other girl’s fingertips was colder than the medical equipment—just like the bronze armillary sphere she had touched in the equipment room that night.

The moonlight was suddenly swallowed by the clouds, and the floodlights next to the track turned on automatically. Jiang Wan’yuan’s pupils contracted sharply: Yi Shang had no shadow under the lights, only nebula scars cast tiny spots of light on the side of her neck, like shattered constellations.

“What exactly are you…” The question was interrupted by an energy bar stuffed into her mouth. Yi Shang’s posture as she packed up the medicine kit was like she was collecting experimental equipment.

A faint electronic hum emanated from the bottom of the first aid kit, and Jiang Wan’yuan’s gaze was firmly fixed on the wriggling ink on the medical record. The old-fashioned 1970s printer font was slowly reorganizing, gradually piecing together her own name—Jiang Wan’yuan, Star Orbit Project Reserve Experimental Subject No. 438.

“You should have noticed it already,” Yi Shang’s voice was mixed with metallic resonance, her fingertips brushing the edge of the medical record. The blue-purple liquid suddenly seeped out of the paper, flowing down Jiang Wan’yuan’s collarbone towards her heart, “From the moment you first let the paint automatically bleed in the studio.”

The track floodlights suddenly burst with electric sparks, the light beam projecting a strange double shadow behind Yi Shang. Jiang Wan’yuan realized that it was not a human shadow at all, but a projection of some kind of mechanical structure—a spine nested with bronze gears and quantum circuits, with a familiar hexagonal bolt embedded in the seven lumbar vertebrae.

As the blue-purple liquid congealed into an inverted pentagram at Jiang Wan’yuan’s collarbone, the track suddenly quantumized. The projection of Yi Shang’s mechanical spine swelled under the floodlights, the sound of the bronze gears meshing resonating with Jiang Wan’yuan’s heartbeat. She realized with horror that each heartbeat would stir up stardust ripples in the void—the unique biological pulse of the Star Orbit Project experimental subjects.

“Breathing rate exceeds the standard by 37%,” Yi Shang’s voice was mixed with static electricity, her fingertips flicking out a scalpel-like alloy blade, “Do you need a sedative?” Jiang Wan’yuan staggered backward, her heel sinking into the softened plastic track. The moment the moonlight pierced through the clouds, she saw her hands were quantumizing, barcodes identical to Yi Shang’s appearing at her knuckles.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the dull sound of a metal ball hitting the sandpit had already torn apart the silence of the campus. Jiang Wan’yuan wiped the frost from her eyelashes, placing the shot put against her neck for the 37th time. The terrifying memory of the medical room last night was still burning in her veins, but at the moment she was more concerned about the numbers on Yi Shang’s laser rangefinder—21.36 meters, still short of that damned 0.01 for a perfect parabola.

“Left shoulder sinks three millimeters,” Yi Shang’s voice was coated in a metallic tone, her mechanical knuckles beneath the bandages pinching her scapula. Jiang Wan’yuan gasped in pain, smelling the bronze rust seeping from the other girl’s cuff. When the shot put was released again, the sandpit suddenly quantum trembled, the metal sphere piercing through the markers of three parallel time-spaces, hitting sparks on the 1970 satellite wreckage.

“Error rate of 0.3%,” data streams flashed across Yi Shang’s lenses, “An improvement from yesterday.” As she turned around, Jiang Wan’yuan glimpsed the reflection of the bronze spine peeking out from the collar of her sportswear, like a dormant mechanical centipede.

The light was shattered by the leaden clouds, Jiang Wan’yuan placed the metal sphere against her neck for the 101st time. The bronze liquid at the edge of the sandpit quietly surged, congealing into the face of the missing team leader from three years ago. When she completed the throw, the shot put suddenly split into seven time-space projections, each landing precisely on the coordinates of the 1970 satellite wreckage.

“Error rate of 0.3%, qualified.” Yi Shang’s voice was mixed with electrical noise, her mechanical knuckles crushing the floating stardust crystals. Her lenses reflected the back of Jiang Wan’yuan’s neck—the newly formed star key imprint there was resonating with the underground star chart, bronze-colored blood vessels surging beneath the skin.

Stardust clung to Jiang Wan’yuan’s eyelashes, the strawberry candy wrapper beside her pillow reflecting the copper rust color of 1970 in the moonlight. As she tried to close her eyes, the sound of bronze liquid dripping echoed deep in her cochlea—drip, drip, each sound precisely corresponding to the heartbeat of the underground star chart. Pale gold liquid seeped from the ceiling, congealing into a countdown projection: 06:23:17.

When the sixth drop of bronze liquid pierced through the pillow core, Jiang Wan’yuan’s retina suddenly loaded the Star Orbit Protocol. The pale gold countdown began to flow in reverse, the mattress fibers transforming into bronze tendrils, dragging her into the 1970 calibration chamber. The seven-year-old version of herself was crying inside the glass chamber, three bronze catheters inserted into her neck, each connected to her throbbing temple.

“Six hours left.” The child’s crying suddenly turned into Yi Shang’s mechanical voice, the stardust erupting from the catheter piecing together escape coordinates in the air. Jiang Wan’yuan’s star key imprint began to dissolve, blue-purple liquid seeping into the bedsheets, corroding the cotton into four hundred and thirty-seven memory mayflies.