Chapter 80: Decay and Static

5:40 AM. The alarm didn’t ring. He woke first. The water stain on the ceiling had faded slightly since last night. He sat up, didn’t turn on the light. First, he checked his left foot. The gauze was dry, no new seepage at the edges. The dull ache remained, but sleep had flattened it. He got out of bed, moving lightly. His roommate, Chen Hao, was still asleep, breathing evenly. Lin Chen walked to the window and pulled it open a crack. The air was damp, carrying the smell of soaked earth and asphalt saturated by rain. It wasn’t raining. The clouds were thick, pressing low. He stepped back to the bed and began changing the dressing. Iodine. Cotton swabs. Alcohol degreasing. Fresh gauze. Medical tape. Secure. Put on his shoes. Laces tied tight, leaving a two-finger gap to avoid pressure on the instep. Stride: thirty centimeters. Weight distribution: seventy percent right foot, thirty percent left. Light touch. Adapt. Muscle memory recalibrating.

6:00 sharp. He packed his canvas bag. Exam ticket, 2B pencil, eraser, ruler, scratch paper, insulation box, desiccant, spare gauze, grid paper. Arranged in order of use. Weight evenly distributed. The strap dug into his collarbone. He walked to the door and stopped. Reached under the pillow for the fifty-yuan money order, confirmed it was still tucked inside the error notebook’s inner pocket. Zipped it up. Click. Left the room. The window at the end of the corridor was open, wind pouring in. He went downstairs. The duty room on the guesthouse’s first floor glowed with a dim yellow light. An old wall clock pointed to 6:15. He pushed open the glass door and stepped into the morning fog. The road was slick, puddles reflecting the streetlights. He walked along the edge of the sidewalk, avoiding depressions. Stride: thirty centimeters. Didn’t step in puddles. His soles scraped the ground, making a faint rustling sound. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the exam site. Provincial Electronics Institute, Laboratory 3. The iron gate stood half open. A security guard dozed in the booth. He showed his ticket, registered, and entered the lobby. The air smelled of disinfectant and dust blown from old instrument vents. A schedule was posted on the wall: 9:00 AM, practical exam. Equipment: HP8591E spectrum analyzer. Manual attenuation setting. External power supplies prohibited.

8:20. Candidates filed in one after another. He found his seat: Row 3, Seat 7. The desk was scratched, bearing initials carved by some long-gone student. He set down his bag and took out his items. Insulation box on the right. Scratch paper laid flat. Pencil sharpened. 8:45. Invigilators distributed the equipment list and exam rules. He scanned them quickly. Core clause: Power will be turned on uniformly after the exam begins. Warm-up time counts toward the exam duration. His finger stopped on the words “uniformly powered on.” Cold start: 0–5 minutes, +0.4dB. 5–12 minutes, +0.25dB. After 12 minutes, returns to zero. The prep window was only twenty minutes. If powered uniformly, the warm-up would be compressed. Errors would accumulate. He raised his hand. An invigilator approached. “Teacher, the HP8591E requires fifteen minutes of warm-up from a cold start. The rules allow twenty minutes of prep. If powered uniformly, the warm-up will be insufficient, which will affect the noise floor readings.” The teacher frowned, checked the wall clock, then looked at him. “Rules are rules. All equipment powers on simultaneously. Compensate for the error yourself.” He nodded. “Understood. I request powering on five minutes early, strictly for warm-up. I won’t touch the knobs.” The teacher hesitated, then looked toward the chief examiner. The chief examiner was checking the roster behind the podium, glanced up. “Five minutes early. Power on only. No adjustments. Violation means disqualification.” “Thank you.” He sat down. Heartbeat steady. Breathing even.

9:00 sharp. The bell rang. The invigilator flipped the main switch. The instrument fans started, emitting a low hum. The screens lit up, self-test progress bars advancing slowly. He stared at his screen. 0–5 minutes. +0.4dB. He wrote on his scratch paper: T0. Noise floor baseline. Screen read -110dBm. He recorded it. 5–12 minutes. +0.25dB. He continued recording. After 12 minutes. Returns to zero. He closed his eyes. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, simulating the rhythm of turning the knob. 0.5dB steps. Manual attenuation. Could not rely on auto-calibration. Had to listen to the noise floor with his ears, watch the pointer jitter with his eyes. 9:20. The exam bell rang. He opened his eyes. Picked up the coaxial cable. Connected it to the RF input. Secured the grounding clip. Reset the knob to zero. Began setup. Frequency range: 9kHz–1.5GHz. Resolution bandwidth: 30kHz. Video bandwidth: 100Hz. Sweep time: Auto. He turned the attenuation knob. 0.5dB per step. Click. Click. Click. The waveform on the screen began to stabilize. The noise floor fluctuated around -110dBm. He adjusted to 10dB attenuation. The waveform cleared. Harmonic suppression engaged. He recorded the data. His left wrist began to ache. He stopped, shook his wrist, took a deep breath. Continued.

9:45. Voltage fluctuation. The clouds outside pressed lower. The lab lights dimmed for a fraction of a second. The instrument screen flickered. The noise floor jumped. +0.15dB. He immediately corrected it on his scratch paper. Compensation value raised. Manually fine-tuned the attenuation knob. 0.5dB steps. Click. The waveform dropped back. Stabilized. He continued recording. Checked units at every step. dB to linear, then back to dB. Intermediate values kept to four decimal places. Avoided cumulative error. 10:20. Final data set. He checked it three times. Signed his name. Handed in the paper. The invigilator collected the record sheet. He picked up his canvas bag, stood up. Stride: thirty centimeters. Weight distribution. Left foot light touch. Walked out of the exam room.

The corridor was quiet. Only the residual hum of the instrument fans remained. He walked to the stairwell and leaned against the wall. His left foot began to burn. A trace of dark yellow seeped from the edge of the gauze. He didn’t treat it. Just propped it up with a dry towel to encourage blood flow. The pain was dull. Like a thin thread tied to his ankle. He didn’t think about it. Only focused on the steps. He took out his grid paper. Wrote: Practical exam. Complete. Risk point one: compensated. Risk point two: controlled. Risk point three: adapted. The pen tip paused. He crossed out “adapted” and wrote “bearable.” No plans for the afternoon. He returned to the guesthouse. Six-person room. The air was stuffy. He took off his rubber shoes. Untied the laces. The gauze was soaked through. He re-bandaged it. Movements practiced. Iodine. Cotton swabs. Dry. Gauze. Tape. Secure. Put on his shoes. Tightened them. He sat on the edge of the bed. Closed his eyes. Ran through tomorrow’s schedule in his head. There was no tomorrow. The practical exam was over. The provincial competition had ended. He opened his eyes. Walked to the window. Pulled back the curtain. The night wind was cool. Distant streetlights formed a single line. He looked down at his left foot. Stride: thirty centimeters. Doesn’t step in puddles. The habit was carved into his bones. He returned to his desk. Opened his error notebook. The fifty-yuan money order was still there. He slipped it back into the inner pocket. Sealed it. Placed it in the innermost layer of his canvas bag. Zipped it up. Click. The room fell completely quiet. He lay down. The water stain on the ceiling looked like an unfinished circuit diagram. He listened to the dripping water outside. Ran through the next steps in his mind. Theory plus practical. Total score ranking. Top twenty: provincial team. Top fifty: certificate. Top hundred: back to the county town. He placed his hand on his chest. Heartbeat steady. Breathing even. No fear. Only waiting. The wind outside passed through the clothesline, making a faint hum. He opened his eyes. Reached under his pillow for the Provincial Electronics Institute score inquiry notice. The paper edges were frayed. He slipped it back into his error notebook. Zipped his canvas bag. Click. The room fell completely quiet. Tomorrow. Wait for the results.