"Level 242,"
Lin Yi confirmed it with a simple, unadorned "Yes," his tone even, offering no further elaboration or defensive posture, only a quiet affirmation of the truth. He understood the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the silence that followed, recognizing the careful analytical mind working behind Zhao Yuexin's composed facade.
A stretch of quiet settled between them, not the usual pause one might expect when confronted with something surprising or novel. This was a deeper stillness, the kind that indicated a sophisticated mind grappling with a profound systemic anomaly. Zhao Yuexin had already, he knew, run her mental calculations, refined her assessments not once, but twice, since observing his progress.
