That very evening, Xin Lan swiftly completed Ivy's job transfer procedures, faster than a college student racing against a deadline.
The matter was settled.
Ivy could no longer continue training as a frontline soldier. Instead, she was assigned to Nana's class—becoming a gatherer like her, with daily training divided into sixty percent physical, twenty percent mental, and twenty percent cultural studies.
The "cultural studies" taught them how to accurately identify which items in the wastelands were radioactive, which could be brought back for research, and which needed to be destroyed immediately.
Self-aware artificial intelligence still existed on Earth, scattered and hiding in the "wastelands" to evade human pursuit.
Across Earth's thirty-five safe zones, humanity maintained complete control, but in the wastelands beyond, abandoned electronic devices and surveillance cameras could become tools for artificial intelligence.
Frontline soldiers could destroy them up close with weapons, while gatherers could only call for backup.
Ivy didn't even eat dinner.
Song Xu was right—her parents had risked their lives to smuggle her from District 23.
Earth's thirty-five safe zones were separated by vast stretches of wasteland, where transporting supplies was most vulnerable to AI interception and sabotage. As a result, each safe zone varied in size and resources.
District 23, where Ivy was born, was located in the north, where half the year was frozen. Whether it was food or other infrastructure, it couldn't compare to the wealthier safe zones—
In other words, just filling one's stomach was already a luxury for those living in District 23.
Under such circumstances, Ivy's parents smuggled her into District 1 by hiding in a supply truck traveling between the zones. Later, they struggled to obtain legal status and, after over a decade of hard work, finally established themselves there.
But discrimination couldn't be eradicated.
Ivy often dreamed of vast wilderness, low-hanging blue skies, sharp yellow-green grass that could cut your fingers, towering banyan trees, kangaroos running alongside their vehicle, humid winds, and the moisture in the air...
And above, countless surveillance cameras watched them like countless eyes in the sky, their cold, rational blue dots recording their every move.
She believed this was her memory of crossing the wastelands with her parents.
To confirm this dream, Ivy collected numerous news reports about the wastelands. After learning about the role of "exploration teams," she became deeply enamored with this dangerous yet liberating profession—frontline soldiers armed with the latest firearms, ready to battle AI at any moment.
If she could choose how to die, Ivy wished it would be in battle in the wastelands.
Now, that wish was shattered.
The weapons provided to gatherers were nothing compared to those of frontline soldiers—only portable handguns. These firearms were already available on the market, and though Ivy didn't have a gun license, she had practiced with them countless times at shooting ranges.
In her first class after the transfer, Ivy fired ten bullets with steady precision, each trajectory perfectly controlled. When the target was retrieved, there was only a single hole dead center.
The instructor exclaimed, "A genius, an absolute genius—with talent like this, why aren't you on the frontlines?"
Ivy lowered her head, carefully cleaning the handgun before reluctantly handing it back. "I want to get used to life in the team first."
Not really.
She didn't even know if she could transfer back to being a soldier.
Ivy didn't tell Nana about this. Nana was a simple girl, and sharing this would only make her worry alongside Ivy.
Nana, sensing her low spirits, excitedly shared the latest news—
"Did you hear? The Iris team found a dodo bird in the wastelands last week!"
"And what might be dinosaur footprints—real dinosaurs!"
"The agricultural institute made a major breakthrough in their ginkgo seed cultivation project. They successfully germinated synthetic ginkgo seeds! If all goes well, we might see extinct ginkgo trees next year."
"The new round of the Marriage Intention Survey will officially open next month. As usual, it's mandatory for all unmarried adults without romantic partners..." Nana read on, surprised. "This time, they're lowering the matching threshold to seventy-five percent to exchange contact information—that's so low! Last year, it was ninety percent."
Ivy was focused on studying, forcing herself to memorize the content on the screen.
Though she hadn't given up on becoming a frontline soldier, she couldn't neglect her current coursework. They were still provisional members and had to pass the assessments to officially join the exploration team.
Never in her wildest dreams did Ivy expect to be forcibly transferred to gatherer duties. She had to pull herself together and start learning from scratch.
Nana offered a suggestion: "Stop memorizing—just get a minor implant. Like this."
She lifted her hair, revealing a small port on the side of her head. "Direct memory transfer. Sure, the transferred memories can't be altered or deleted... but the stuff they teach here isn't wrong."
This was one of the popular human augmentation procedures of the past decade—a small port inserted into the skull, adding a corresponding storage area in the brain. It allowed for the rapid, painless acquisition of compressed knowledge.
The benefits were obvious: it enabled someone to quickly master vast amounts of information. The drawbacks were equally clear: limited capacity and no ability to edit or delete.
The most popular knowledge packages on the market were the government-issued language libraries for six languages.
Ivy declined politely. "I'm a traditionalist. I refuse all forms of human augmentation."
Nana didn't mind and continued venting about how the government must be desperate to lower the matching threshold to seventy-five percent—
"When they first introduced it, they insisted only one hundred percent matches could meet," Nana said. "But there was only one pair—out of 3.3 billion people! Last year, the government said about thirty-two percent of the population filled out the Marriage Intention Survey, so at least a billion people participated. Only two pairs were a perfect match. Then they lowered it to ninety percent, and only a hundred or so pairs qualified."
Ivy felt uneasy. "That does seem like a low probability."
"Everyone thinks it's fake. Someone probably tampered with the data. I mean, the one hundred percent match was General Hector," Nana said. "The Hector who repelled AI attacks four times, supported District 23, and is building a new safe zone!"
Ivy: "...Right."
"Too bad he chose to marry in secret," Nana sighed. "I heard only close friends and family were invited—even official news outlets were turned away. I wonder what kind of woman could be a perfect match for him. She must have godlike intelligence."
Ivy: "...Uh."
After her lament, Nana turned to Ivy. "What about you? Are you filling out the survey this year?"
"No," Ivy mumbled. "I have an arranged marriage."
Nana looked at her with pity. "How tragic. You're really a traditionalist? You still follow 'parental arrangements'? Please tell me you're not marrying someone equally traditional who expects you to do housework, bear sons, and take his last name."
Ivy: "...What you're describing isn't traditionalism. That's just someone with a brain full of nonsense."
"Almost unbelievable, you can still find people online who favor sons over daughters. I thought they were just trolling," Nana sighed. "But according to the news, those with a compatibility rate above 90% have such a strong attraction to each other that they can't bear to be apart for more than 24 hours. They’re inseparable every day—doesn’t that sound like the ABO-themed web novels from ancient times? Do they also release pheromones to each other? From the description, it’s like they’re in heat every day..."
Ivy, clutching her tablet, fled the room under the pretext of needing fresh air.
She couldn’t bear to listen any longer.
In truth, Ivy didn’t believe there was any pheromone connection between her and Hector. He smelled like metal, and it certainly didn’t stir any sexual desire in her.
On their wedding night, nothing happened—perhaps he didn’t feel anything special for her either, at least not like what was described in the reports. Despite their supposed 100% compatibility, they didn’t have that intense sexual attraction to each other.
Hector held a high-ranking position, came from a family that had lived in the First District for generations, and had received an elite education. According to her parents, he was "serious but reliable and polite."
Before the Marriage Intention Survey appeared, the only overlap in their records was that they had both played a role in saving the nearly fallen Twenty-Third District—her impoverished homeland.
There was no romantic love story between them. They were simply bound together by a system that might have made a mistake.
Was it really possible to declare someone your soulmate based solely on a table and some data?
Was this the love that humanity had praised for thousands of years?
Ivy didn’t understand it, but she tried to respect it.
Right now, she didn’t have the energy to spare for this absurd marriage. All she wanted was to regain her qualification to go to the front lines.
This had been Ivy’s dream for over a decade.
Thanks to Song Xu, Ivy had managed to get her hands on their class schedule.
The other classes didn’t matter much, but she couldn’t miss the firearms and combat training sessions.
Only in these classes could she get a close look at the newly developed weapons and observe the instructors’ practical combat techniques.
Ivy quietly attended two of these classes.
The first two sessions went smoothly. The instructor, a kind and unfamiliar officer, didn’t mind her auditing the class. He even kindly lent her his gun for practice and study.
Unfortunately, the third session was taught by Lorin.
As soon as his gaze swept over her, Ivy wanted to run.
"My class does not allow any form of auditing," Lorin said, leaving no room for negotiation. "Non-registered students must leave immediately."
Ivy pretended not to hear, deep in thought.
"I’ll say it again," Lorin said coldly, his black-gloved hand gripping a disciplinary baton. "Leave now—unless you want to face the consequences of disobeying orders."
He tapped the podium lightly with the metal-embedded baton. "You have one minute to decide."
Ivy, along with thirty-nine other unregistered students, slunk out of the classroom.
...
This difficult routine of avoiding Lorin while sneaking into classes continued until the first expedition was announced.
The Iris team was currently the top exploration unit in the First District, and they were planning to survey a nearby abandoned zone. As per tradition, reserve members could apply to join the expedition based on their test results and academic performance.
Although they would only be tagging along, outstanding performers had a chance to join the team directly after the training.
Nearly all the students were vying for this precious opportunity, and Ivy was no exception.
She meticulously prepared all her materials and worked hard to secure the top spot in the assessments.
But when the results came out, her name was conspicuously absent from the public list, while Song Xu, who had ranked just below her, was at the top.
Ivy was stunned and repeatedly checked the list.
"...It’s because your gene rating is D," Song Xu sighed. "Just accept it, Ivy. Even though it’s not politically correct to say this—the Iris team values gene ratings highly."
He kept some things to himself.
Ivy’s name had originally been on the list, but it was crossed off by Song Feng, the deputy captain of Iris.
Song Feng, Song Xu’s cousin, came from a privileged background and had an S-grade gene rating, which gave him a sense of superiority.
He had played a significant role in the breakup between Song Xu and Ivy—his reasoning was simple: he didn’t want Ivy’s D-grade genes to taint their family’s superior gene pool.
Moreover, Ivy was a refugee from the Twenty-Third District, which many in the First District considered a "lowly" background.
Song Xu didn’t want to tell Ivy all this.
She had already been through enough lately.
"Your genes and background aren’t something you can control," Song Xu said. "But if the Iris team is so biased, even if you got in, you’d just be harassed by those people... Hey, what are you looking at?"
He followed Ivy’s gaze and saw only an armored supply truck.
Ivy asked, "How many trainees are going with the Iris team this time?"
Song Xu replied, "Nineteen, including me."
"Nineteen people," Ivy mused. "The Iris team itself has fifty members. Everyone wears helmets and protective gear when they go out, so they might not even recognize each other, right?"
Song Xu paled, jumping up in alarm. "Ivy! My dear!—What are you planning?"
"Song Xu," Ivy turned to him with a gentle smile, "Didn’t you say you’re responsible for driving the supply truck?"
...
"Stop looking. Your wife’s name isn’t on the list."
In the office, Xin Lan handed the list to Lorin. "You’re the founding captain of Iris, and you’re teaching here now. With Ivy out of the running, you have no reason to refuse the expedition’s invitation."
"Don’t forget, this is supposed to be my vacation time," Lorin said. "—Why was she rejected?"
"D-grade genes and being a refugee from the Twenty-Third District," Xin Lan shrugged, spreading his hands in mock regret. "It’s better this way, though. It’s less cruel than you crossing her name off yourself—who came up with the rule that teachers and students can’t have romantic relationships, and that expedition captains can’t be involved with their team members?"
"It’s the most basic ethical guideline," Lorin said. "You know that next month—"
"I know," Xin Lan interrupted. "I’ve already arranged for the suppressants to help you—they’ve been placed on the supply truck. Don’t worry."
He looked at his longtime friend.
Lorin always wore his black uniform, his hands always gloved, with only his face and neck exposed.
No matter the season, Lorin’s attire never changed.
Years of continuous warfare had left both physical and psychological scars on this soldier.
The most severe aftereffect came from an experimental drug he had taken during a mission. The cause was still unknown, and there was no cure.
Every two months, Lorin would endure a week-long sensitive period.
During this time, his old wounds would ache, and his senses—smell, hearing, sight, and touch—would become unnaturally heightened. It was only after meeting Ivy that Lorin realized the latter wasn’t a good thing.
Even outside his sensitive period, in the classroom, her scent was unmistakable from a distance.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like during his sensitive phase.
Lorin needed to stay far away from her during that time.
It was just as well.
She hadn’t made it into the Iris team.
Lorin nodded. "I’ll go—what kind of suppressants did you prepare?"
"Sunshade Pharmaceuticals’ oral tablets," Xin Lan said. "If you’re worried, you can check them yourself—they’re on the supply truck outside. It’s better to look now so you don’t have trouble finding them when you need them."
Lorin turned to look outside.
Through the glass window, Song Xu stood by the supply truck, inventorying the contents.
Perhaps it was the heat, but his face was flushed, and he kept pacing and wiping sweat from his forehead.
He looked uneasy, as if he’d done something wrong.
