After autumn, Xia City becomes the realm of the crows.

These hideous yet intelligent creatures are the true masters of the city. They gather on roadside trees, mocking the hurried passersby with their raspy, monotonous voices:

"Caw, caw, off to your misfortune!"

Occasionally, under a sky filled with radiating clouds, they would show off their extraordinary flying skills.

The expressions of the pedestrians were as grim as if they had just lost a loved one. They watched with hatred the circling black shadows in the sky, and the strange cloud formations even higher up.

Since late September, Xia City's sky has been covered by these clouds. Within less than a week, there were six 3-magnitude earthquakes, three of 4-magnitude, and two of 5-magnitude.

The magnitude and intensity of the earthquakes were still far from the city's limit of endurance, but the fragile human hearts were already trembling.

More than half of the sound waves and radio waves in Xia City's air were frantically shouting:

"Earthquake clouds, earthquake clouds!"

This "pseudo-scientific concept", as the 22nd century of civilization was approaching, was openly being discussed by experts and scholars, appearing in media reports.

Ronan was somewhat affected.

When he got off the low-altitude bus, notebook in hand as always, his wristband vibrated. As soon as the signal connected, his aunt, Ms. Luo Shuqing, blurted out:

"Come home for dinner, your uncle has cooked!"

Due to the recent earthquakes, his aunt, who had previously allowed him to live independently, promptly rescinded the agreement, repeatedly insisting he move back in so she could look after him.

Ronan could not agree. He had worked hard to get into the Knowledge-Action College for a life of independence. Moreover, it was a critical moment; a day's delay could lead to who knows what consequences!

The problem was that Ronan was not good with words, and the reasons he presented were not convincing. The situation became more tense, and it seemed like his aunt was about to reach through the phone and drag him back.

As he was getting a headache, a message came in. After a quick scan, Ronan secretly sighed in relief and hurriedly added another excuse: "I have to review today, and I have a club interview tomorrow..."

"Interview? Which club?"

"Uh, the Mysticism Research Club."

"Mysticism?"

Ms. Luo Shuqing seemed puzzled, but soon she was calling out on the other side:

"Moya, Moya!"

Shortly after, a slightly hoarse voice joined the call. With her distinctive languid tone, it was Ronan's cousin, Moya, who just graduated from Knowledge-Action College last year.

"The Mysticism Research Club, I know it. It's said to be wealthy, and the people in it are very capricious."

Luo Shuqing couldn't stand her daughter's attitude and promptly reprimanded her, "Speak properly!"

Moya let out a hearty laugh, "No matter how nicely you paint it, your 'favorite son' is not doing well. It's been a month since the start of school, and he's still interviewing for clubs. It's clear he's not fitting in! Knowledge-Action College emphasizes the integration of Eastern and Western thinking, and club activities are taken very seriously. Absence of club participation will lead to a deduction in credits. As for further studies and mentor selection, there won't be any good words about him in the college's recommendation letter..."

With her inflammatory words, Moya ignited yet another mother-daughter war. The focus of the disagreement shifted, and Ronan, hundreds of kilometers away, was able to retreat unscathed.

By this time, Ronan had been standing in his living room for nearly half an hour. As night fell, the automatic living room light cast his silhouette onto the windows of the high-rise apartment building across.

Ronan issued a command, and the curtains began to close automatically.

However, at that moment, a shadow darted through the curtains about to close, landing on the open balcony. It used its beak to slide the glass door open, strolling into the room with unparalleled ease. This uninvited guest was a typical bald-nosed crow, jet-black except for its grayish-white beak base. It appeared strong and robust, larger than its peers. Under the soft lighting, its feathers shimmered between deep black and a subtle blue.

The crow paced around the room for a bit, then flapped its wings and landed on the living room coffee table. It leaned forward, and a thumb-sized sealed glass test tube slid out of its beak onto the table, half-filled with a white powder.

Having disgorged the obstruction in its throat, the crow appeared quite relieved and croaked triumphantly, "Caw, caw!"

"Ink, shut up!"

Inside a closed space, the crow's cawing was a disaster. Ronan scolded it, took the test tube to be cleaned, and then brought out some cooked meat strips, blocking the bird's beak.

Named "Ink", the crow was generally compliant. It even gestured with its wings, asking Ronan to pour it a glass of water.

The dinner table was also set with food, made with the monotonous skill of the home AI. The meal lacked taste and aroma, but there was plenty to eat. Ronan demonstrated a superhuman appetite, finishing his meal just in time with Ink.

After having its fill, Ink neatly slipped out of the glass door and flew away.

Ronan tidied up the plates and was about to head to his study when his wristband vibrated again. This time, it was his cousin Moya who contacted him, starting off in the same manner as her mother:

"So, how are you going to thank me this time?"

"Uh, thanks, sis."

"Ugh, can't you come up with something new?"

Knowing Ronan's lack of eloquence, Moya didn't tease him further and went straight to the point, "The Mysticism Research Club, did someone recommend it, or did you choose it yourself?"

"I chose it myself..."

"Do you know what you're getting into?"

After thinking for a bit, Ronan answered simply, "It's part club, part research institute, privately funded, very powerful, and has a high level of autonomy compared to the college."

Moya scoffed, "Sounds thrilling, doesn't it?"

Ronan didn't know how to respond.

Moya reminded him, "It's just a playground for rich kids. The core members form their own clique, and they spend their days researching bizarre stuff. Students from ordinary families who go there just end up doing odd jobs. It may look glamorous, but that's only true for their 'circle', it's unrelated to academics or skills..."

Ronan interrupted Moya's lecture, "I can do my experiments there."

Moya drew out her response, "Oh?" She exclaimed, "It looks like your experiments are becoming quite a hassle. But little brother, if you want to do experiments, you should join a Physics or Chemistry club."

Ronan calmly replied, "Those clubs have an internship period. I already acquired the necessary qualifications in middle school, there's no need to repeat the process."

"The Mysticism Research Club would allow it?"

"Yes. I've read their introduction and the school forum discussions. It's the only club that allows independent experiments even at the freshman level, many of which involve psychotropic drugs, which fits my needs perfectly."

Moya mocked him, "You think you can conduct independent experiments as a janitor?"

"A skilled worker might, especially if the boss knows nothing about it."

Usually quick-witted Moya was left speechless by Ronan's reply. After a few seconds, she spoke again:

"Alright, Mr. Skilled Worker. I'm just going to warn you, switching clubs at Knowledge-Action College will get you labeled as 'antisocial', and for the next four years... Oh wait, you're in the tenth grade, so that would be eight years, you'll have plenty of time to regret it."

"Oh."

Ronan's response prompted a snort of derision from Moya, "Alright, let's discuss your compensation."

"Compensation?"

"You think a simple thank you is enough for me risking my life to shield you?"

"Eh, what do you want?"

"I need your apartment for a night to throw a small party."

Ronan hesitated for a moment, "When?"

"The 15th of next month, still 20 days away..."

"19 days."

"...Alright, 19 days. I don't need you to prepare anything. Just hide or remove anything that shouldn't be seen by others. I will handle the rest."

Ronan calculated the time, "That should work, but remind me 5 days in advance."

"Not so happy about it, huh? Well, that's settled then."

The call ended on the other side, and Ronan started fretting about the 'temporary relocation' 19 days later. Despite this, he was still grateful to Moya. If it weren't for her years of cover, how could he have continued his dangerous experiments under his aunt's watchful eye?

Shaking his head, Ronan decided to worry about the rest tomorrow.

Now, it was 19:22 on September 26, 2096. The inefficient daylight had finally passed, and Ronan welcomed the peaceful and precious night.

Entering his study, a large black suitcase was neatly placed on his desk. After inputting his fingerprint and password, he opened it. With a soft humming sound, neatly arranged utensils from different layers rose one after another. They were pulled into their designated places, spreading out like petals.

In an instant, the desk transformed into a simple but fully equipped workstation.

Ronan then took a portable medical refrigerator from the bookcase and placed it on the table. After opening it, it contained a variety of sealed drug ingredients. The white powder sent by Moya was also placed in it after a series of tests confirmed its authenticity.

At this point, all the materials and tools needed for the night's work were ready... or at least those that could be prepared were here.

Having done all this, Ronan took a deep breath, opened a secret compartment on the side of the desk, and took out an old notebook.

The cover of the notebook was brown, and its format was similar to the notebook that Ronan always carried with him, both were loose-leaf. But due to years of use and the impact of a large number of ink records inside, the brown leather notebook seemed looser, and the cover was slightly bulging. There was no soft screen made of imitation paper inside.

Ronan put his own notebook aside and carefully opened the brown leather notebook.

Right in the center of the title page of the notebook was a neatly hand-drawn figure. It looked like the tetrahedrons often seen in geometry classes, specifically, a regular tetrahedron. Together with its inscribed and circumscribed spheres, they formed a group of flawless geometric structures.

Under this group of figures, someone had scribbled four cryptic lines in rough handwriting:

My heart is a prison, my heart is a furnace;

My heart is a mirror, my heart is a country.

Ronan wouldn't claim to understand the true meaning of the geometric figure and the sixteen characters, but every time he turned to this page, and silently recited, all the messy thoughts would settle down, and his mind naturally returned to tranquility.

After lingering on the title page for a few seconds, Ronan flipped through the densely packed words, looking for content and keywords related to drug formulations. Frowning at the obscure words and complex molecular formulas, he muttered to himself:

"Weak effect, substitute, simplify... Grandpa, please help me!"

As he murmured, time seemed to slip away.

The lights outside the window were turned on and then extinguished. In front of the workstation, Ronan's attention was constantly oscillating between the notebook and the experimental utensils. He added various drug ingredients according to the data in the notebook.

During this period, he only took a short nap during the slow reaction stage of the ingredients, sleeping for about two hours.

At 3:15 in the morning, with the addition of the last drop of solution, the turbid liquid in the reaction vessel began to boil violently, and its color slowly changed.

Ronan kept his eyes fixed on the transparent vessel that seemed about to explode at any moment, verifying whether the reaction was as expected. Two minutes later, he moved his somewhat stiff neck and began to clean up the mess on the experimental table while quietly counting:

"Zero storage of dimethyl tryptamine, zero storage of ketamine, 2 milligrams of methoxyphenamine, 5 milligrams of orlistat..."

As he spoke, the old notebook spread out on the workbench. The flickering soft screen changed the relevant data automatically, and the stock of most of the drugs had either reached zero or was infinitely close to zero.

The clutter Ronan cleaned was mainly the packaging containers of these drugs. He recycled what could be, cleaned and disinfected them, and sorted the unrecyclable ones. After about half an hour, the small workstation had returned to its original order and cleanliness.

The pale green drug in the reaction vessel had also slowly cooled down after the continuous boiling. At this step, it was pretty much certain that his hard work throughout the night had not been in vain.

However, the brown notebook also had a corresponding brief record: "Q-11R showed signs of multiple peripheral neuropathy; Q-27R had an allergic reaction and was on the verge of death, no anomalies in other subjects... Basically has a substitution effect, but the side effects are hard to determine."

Ronan shook his head, guessing that there was still some time left. He swiped the soft screen to access his regular forum, "Secret Star."

Although it was late at night, the night owls on the forum were still having a lively debate.

The center of the debate was none other than the city of summer.

The recent strange "earthquake period" in the city of summer stirred up wave after wave of climax on this forum full of mysticism. Many people were discussing the causes of the earthquake, geological structure, plate resonance, aura leakage... Any weird topic could be linked to it.

Some even assured that a major company was conducting secret experiments in the city of summer recently, which might be the source of this "earthquake period".

Ronan had no interest in these boring topics. If he had any concerns, there were only two:

One, whether the earthquake would affect his experiments;

Two, whether the escalating panic would force his aunt to drag him back!

Ronan habitually inputted the access password, preparing to log into the internal section of the forum, but a website prompt jumped out: "Your access is insufficient, please apply for verification from the administrator."

Realizing his mistake, Ronan lightly tapped his forehead. Yes, he had been kicked into the black room, and the reason for his ban was simple: during exceptional times, all purchase posts were treated as phishing posts.

This was a new rule set up by the forum half a month ago after the police busted an international illegal drug trading network. The situation was tense, but Ronan had walked right into the muzzle.

Getting banned was a minor issue; the real trouble was the disruption of the drug supply.

Looking at the stock of his current drug ingredients, even if Miss Ronan Shuqing didn't make a move, he wouldn't be able to continue much longer. Among the fifty commonly used drugs he needed, most of them were listed as controlled psychoactive substances. As a minor, he couldn't possibly purchase them from a pharmacy.

Did he really have to go down the "black line"?

The channel on the "Secret Star" forum was indeed illegal, but the source of goods was relatively reliable, many of them were manufacturers' "extra transactions", to avoid the strict control of psychoactive substances, barely falling within the scope of "business".

As for the "black line", the sample brought by "Ink" today was of passable quality. But the source of goods on this line was heading for serious crimes, closely linked to the mafia up and downstream - simply put, they were drug dealers!

So... compared to dealing with drug dealers, what was becoming a handyman in a mysticism research society? He didn't expect to gather all the ingredients from the society, as long as he could find a new evolution channel, it would be a win.

Finally, the liquid in the reactor vessel stopped boiling and cooled quickly.

Ronan immediately collected all his distractions, opened the valve, let the drug flow into the already prepared needle-free syringe, and then injected this huge dose of psychoactive drug mixture into his arm.

From beginning to end, his expression didn't change at all.

Next, Ronan meticulously cleaned the experimental equipment, pressed the reset button to return it to a black briefcase, then took off his experimental gloves, carefully put the brown notebook back into the secret compartment, hid the refrigerator back into the bookshelf, and went to the bathroom to clean up.

At 4 a.m., Ronan changed into a sports hoodie, with his ever-present black notebook in hand, walked out the door, and began his unfaltering daily morning run.