CTMAD - Chapter 1

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The morning heat clung to Lin Zeyan like damp cloth. 

He sat at the back of Class 3-B, the only seat with a broken fan above it, and pretended to read from a math textbook he had no intention of opening. Instead, he let his gaze drift over the classroom. The classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and damp wood, the kind of scent that clung to old school buildings even in warm weather. The ceiling fans spun lazily overhead, their blades clicking every few seconds, stirring the thick afternoon heat rather than chasing it away.

Lin Zeyan sat in the back row by the window, half in shadow, half in the harsh sunlight slanting through the dusty glass. His desk bore the scars of years of bored students — ink stains, shallow carvings, a groove worn smooth where countless elbows had rested.

He had a math textbook open in front of him. The pages were covered with neat, printed formulas and diagrams, but his gaze wasn’t on them. Instead, his eyes wandered across the room, taking in the easy chatter of classmates, the faint squeak of chalk against the blackboard, the rhythmic tap-tap of a pencil somewhere near the front.

It was… almost peaceful. Too peaceful.

In his last life, the world had stopped being peaceful early on. Even before the sky turned black and the infected flooded the streets, there had been a heaviness in the air — shortages, news reports, whispers of things moving in the shadows. But here, now, everything was too alive. The sunlight was too bright, the air too warm, the voices around him too careless.

His eyes eventually found the boy sitting two rows ahead, by the far window.

Lu Qingshan.

If he hadn’t read the book, Lin might have overlooked him entirely. Average build. Faded green school uniform, collar slightly rumpled. A satchel with a worn strap that looked like it might snap any day. He kept his head down, taking notes in small, precise handwriting, as if trying to shrink himself into the background.

Exactly as described in the novel.

In Ashes Reclaim the Sky, Lu Qingshan’s story began quietly. An unremarkable student in an unremarkable city — until the outbreak came. Until the abandoned subway tunnel by the old market swallowed him whole. Until he found the crystal that would become his golden finger. The ability it unlocked in him would make him the most dangerous survivor in the new world.

How envious he had been of the powers that were described. Powers that hadn't existed in his reality.

Lin Zeyan closed his eyes briefly, letting the weight of memory settle. He had lived in an apocalyptic world before — not as the protagonist, not even as a notable side character. He’d been a scavenger, running from the infected and fighting over scraps until cold and hunger had taken him. 

Not this time.

This time, he had the script.
And the script said the golden finger would appear in three months.
All he had to do was get to it first.

The bell rang, its shrill tone cutting through the room. Chairs scraped against the floor, students surged toward the door in clusters, laughing, shouting to each other over the noise.

Lin Zeyan didn’t move immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the back of Lu Qingshan’s head as the boy stood, slinging his satchel over one shoulder. He left alone, not waiting for anyone, his steps measured and unhurried.

Lin Zeyan followed.

The hallway was crowded, students pressing shoulder to shoulder as they spilled into the late afternoon sun. The heat hit like a wave, thick and humid, carrying the smell of hot asphalt and frying dough from the vendors outside the gates.

Lu Qingshan cut through the crowd like water flowing around stones — not rushing, but somehow never colliding with anyone. Lin Zeyan trailed a few steps behind, watching the boy’s route: through the side gate, down the narrow road that wound past a row of shuttered shops, then left toward a quieter residential street.

On the first day, Lin Zeyan told himself he was scouting. Learning the boy’s habits. On the second and third, he told himself the same thing. By the fourth, he knew Lu Qingshan ’s routine by heart: school, home, a stop at the corner shop for bread or instant noodles. No friends, no detours, no wasted time.

Perfect for his plan.

And yet…

On the fourth day, something unexpected happened.

Lu Qingshan was halfway down the road to the corner shop when three older boys appeared ahead of him. Local punks — cheap leather jackets, loud laughter, the kind of swagger that came from having nothing better to do than make other people’s lives worse.

One of them shouldered Lu Qingshan hard enough to make his satchel drop.

Lu Qingshan crouched, picked it up, and stepped aside without a word. His face didn’t change — no flicker of anger, no embarrassment. Just a quiet, unbothered calm.

Lin Zeyan watched from a distance, arms folded loosely, he was simply a mere spectator with no intention of intervening. The punks moved on, and Lu Qingshan continued to the shop as if nothing had happened.

It should have been nothing.

But Lin Zeyan had seen the faintest flash of something in the boy’s eyes as he’d stepped aside — something sharp, hidden under layers of quiet. A glint that didn’t fit the picture of the soft, unnoticed student he was supposed to be.

That night, lying in the narrow bed of his cramped apartment, Lin Zeyan replayed that moment over and over. He told himself it didn’t matter. A small detail. Not important.

But it stayed with him.

Because sometimes, the smallest details were the ones that tore even the perfect plan.

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