Chapter 89: Morning Inspection and Blind Spots

5:00 AM. Dawn hasn't broken. The window glass at the end of the corridor glows a dull blue-gray. Lin Chen opens his eyes. Doesn't turn on the light. Movements follow a set sequence. Pushes back the thin blanket. Sits up. Puts on socks. Slips into shoes. Left foot goes in first, avoiding the pressure point of the dressing. Ties shoelaces. Even tension. He walks to the sink. Turns on the tap. Cold water splashes his face. Towel dries it. Evaporation strips away surface heat. Awake. He checks his backpack. Admission ticket. ID card. Two sharpened 2B pencils. Eraser. Ruler. Iodine swabs. Spare gauze. Seven yuan and thirty cents. Packed in an inner hidden pocket. Zipper closes. Silent.

Pushes the door. Goes downstairs. Three concrete steps. Right foot bears weight. Left foot hovers, touching lightly. Stride controlled at thirty centimeters. Avoids puddles from last night's rain. The campus main road is empty. Streetlights cast a dim yellow glow. Water drips from sycamore leaves. Hits the asphalt. Pah. Pah. Steady rhythm. He adjusts his breathing to match his steps. Inhale two steps. Exhale two steps. Heart rate maintained around sixty-five beats per minute. The provincial competition venue is in the old campus engineering building complex. 1.4 kilometers from the guesthouse. Eighteen minutes on foot. He's calculated it. Arrives two hours early. Reserves forty-five minutes for site confirmation and equipment warm-up. Sufficient time buffer.

6:05 AM. The engineering building's silhouette emerges in the morning fog. Lab 5 is on the east side of the second floor. Iron door half-open. Fluorescent light in the security room is on. The old guard on duty dozes in a military overcoat. Lin Chen doesn't knock. Circles to the side window. Glass fogged with condensation. Wipes a small patch with the back of his hand. Looks inside. Long lab tables. Twelve workstations. Arranged along the wall. Fluorescent tubes hang above. Some filaments blackened. Power distribution box in the corner. Red indicator light steady. Power normal. He withdraws his hand. Turns to the main door. Pushes it open. Hinges emit a dry grinding sound. The old man startles awake. Looks up. "Candidate?" "Scouting the route early." Lin Chen hands over his admission ticket. The old man squints, checks, stamps, waves him through. "Don't touch the equipment. Clearing starts at 7:30." "Understood."

The lab interior is cool. Air smells of rosin and old dust. He walks to the third row, window-side workstation. Draw numbers are usually random, but the equipment layout is identical. He sits down. Desk surface has scratches. Power socket at the bottom right. Two-prong. Three-prong. Ground wire exposed for a section. He squats down. Checks the socket panel. Screws loose. Contact might be poor. He takes electrical tape from his bag. Wraps the exposed part tightly. Movements gentle. Doesn't alter the original structure. Stands up. Looks at the reserved equipment spots on the desk. Spectrum analyzer. Signal generator. Oscilloscope. Multimeter. Model labels missing, but interface standards are uniform. BNC connectors. Banana plugs. Power cords. He opens his backpack. Takes out his error notebook. Flips to a blank page. Sketches a layout of the workstation. Marks socket location. Equipment spacing. Cable routing. Warm-up time calculated at a conservative fifteen minutes. Manual calibration steps run through in his mind. Damping feel of the attenuator knob. Reference level zeroed. Center frequency set. All mapped to muscle memory.

The edge of the left foot dressing starts to feel damp. Tissue fluid seeping out. Gauze adhering to skin. He can't stand long. Sits down. Unties shoelaces. Rolls up his pant leg. Dressing intact. No displacement. Reties them. Half a turn looser than this morning. Reduces pressure. Stands up. Walks a straight line in the aisle. Stride thirty centimeters. Heel strikes first, transitions to forefoot. Center of gravity stable. No limping. No compensatory leaning. Gait verification passed. He returns to his seat. Pulls out a steamed bun from his inner pocket. Half a piece. Washes down with cold water from a thermos. Chews. Swallows. Stomach feels full. Energy replenished. Seven yuan and thirty cents. Enough for two bottles of mineral water. Or the cheapest boxed meal. But no eating during practicals. Water intake kept under two hundred milliliters. Avoids frequent bathroom trips. Logical loop closed.

Two hours and twenty minutes until the exam. No new theory questions left to do. He opens the comprehensive science paper. Only reviews wrong answers. Electromagnetism. Thermodynamics. Optics. Formula derivations. Unit conversions. Trap options. Keywords marked in red pen stand clear in the morning light. He closes his eyes. Recites silently. Maxwell's equations. Kirchhoff's laws. Basics of Fourier transforms. Not rote memorization. Retrieval. His brain operates like a low-power terminal. Only calls necessary modules. Wastes no redundant processing power. Fog clears outside. Sunlight slants through the glass. Dust suspends in the light beam. Slow. Chaotic. But trajectories measurable. He opens his eyes. Closes the paper. Lays his admission ticket flat on the desk. The words "Plan C" are printed on the back. He picks up a pen. Adds a line below: If power unstable, switch to battery pack. If equipment fails, request backup unit. If time runs short, secure base points. Drop high-difficulty items. Pen tip pauses. Ink dries. Logical loop closed.

Footsteps begin in the corridor. Candidates arrive one after another. Low murmurs. Pages turning. Plastic bags rustling. Air gradually warms. Lin Chen doesn't look back. Adjusts his sitting posture. Spine straight. Shoulders relaxed. Hands flat on the desk. Fingertips slightly curved. Not clenched. Not crossed. Breathing rate drops to twelve per minute. Heartbeat steady. Dull ache in the left foot remains. But has been categorized as an environmental parameter. Doesn't affect operational precision. He looks at the wall clock. 6:45. The invigilator pushes the door open. Wears a dark jacket. Holds a sealed bag. Counts heads. Checks IDs. Distributes scratch paper. Process standardized. No surprises. Lin Chen takes the scratch paper. Folds in half. Folds again. Edges aligned. Places at the top left. Pencil sharpened. Lead facing up. Eraser placed on the right. All items in position. Forms a fixed array.

The invigilator taps the blackboard. "Theory exam starts at nine. Papers distributed now. Do not write early. Do not whisper. Violators disqualified." Voice flat. No inflection. Lin Chen looks down. At the desk. Wood grain. Scratches. Admission ticket. Pen. Paper. Everything ready. He closes his eyes. Final checklist run. Socket. Cables. Warm-up. Gait. Funds. Contingencies. All confirmed. No omissions. No reliance on luck. Only execution.

Outside. The provincial city's morning rush begins. Car engines. Bicycle bells. Distant broadcast calisthenics music. Faintly audible. The world turns. According to its rules. He sits at his workstation. Like a rivet set into a gear. Silent. Unshifting. Only waiting for the moment of engagement.

9:00 sharp. Bell rings. Piercing. Crisp. Sealed bag torn open. Paper rustling. Distributed. Lin Chen opens his eyes. Takes the exam paper. Flips to the first page. Multiple choice. Single answer. Multiple answer. Fill-in-the-blank. Questions printed clearly. Faint smell of ink. He picks up his 2B pencil. Tip hovers. No hesitation. Sets down. Fills in. Question one. Done. Question two. Reads. Eliminates. Confirms. Fills in. Rhythm steady. No acceleration. No hesitation. Time begins to flow. Measured in seconds. Marked in minutes. He enters the zone. Like the past thousand-plus days and nights. Calculate. Derive. Verify. Output. Dust settles. Stars not yet visible. But the orbit is set.