24 Flaws

Over the next few days, Wu Qingchen’s life unfolded in calm and simplicity, his routine as straightforward as a line drawn in sand: rise, work, morning prayer, work, furtive hunting, eat, work, furtive hunting, eat, sleep. Nothing changed until the ninth day, when the second phase of his journey into the Medieval World was drawing to its close and a small ripple disturbed the surface of monotony.

Medieval World, Year 01, January 19th.
8:20 in the morning.
The hour of morning prayer.

Wu Qingchen stepped into the chapel precisely on time. By this day, the place he stood in had changed dramatically from his first entrance; now he walked past rows of long tables, slowing as he neared the altar, positioning himself near Pastor Playa and young Andre.

Since their conversation days ago, the pastor had greeted Wu Qingchen at morning prayers and invited him to stand where he stood now. Pastor Playa glanced up at him, adjusted the stream water Andre had brought, opened the sacred text, finished his preparations, and began the ritual morning prayer.

Twenty minutes later, the prayer ended. The pastor cast another glance at Wu Qingchen, nodded lightly, stepped down from the altar to stand beside Andre, opened the sacred text once more, and began to explain the day’s lesson.

Wu Qingchen stood throughout with utmost composure, his expression intent, and as the lesson commenced, he straightened his posture a bit more. After more than ten days in the Medieval World, he was finally beginning to encounter its script. Yet after only a few days of observation, without targeted training, the curling script on the sheepskin scroll was nearly incomprehensible.

However, in previous training sessions, dozens of experts in archaeology, sociology, and linguistics had imparted their knowledge. Even by examining only the most superficial, direct aspects of the sacred text, Wu Qingchen gleaned much:

The margins and other parts of the sheepskin scroll were made of the same material, with no special treatment; wear was obvious, indicating the Medieval World lacked effective means of preserving books. The civilization had not long possessed written records, and their methods of preservation were poor, meaning books were scarce.

For this reason, the scroll was wrapped in cloth at the cover and back, revealing the pastor or church’s reverence for books and indirectly proving their preciousness, with knowledge restricted to a narrow circle.

The script itself was intricate, its symbols rarely repeated, clearly not a phonetic alphabet but a system evolved from pictographs. This suggested a civilization either highly exclusive and aggressive or geographically isolated, with little exchange with neighboring cultures.

Occasional illustrations appeared on the scroll—mostly portraits, finely composed and realistic—showing that the religion, founded on this text, was rooted in idol worship, and that its development was not yet ancient, still focused on consolidation.

And so on, and so forth...

In just a few days, from a text in which he recognized not a single character, Wu Qingchen discerned content spanning a dozen fields.

But as he stood beside Pastor Playa and young Andre, Wu Qingchen’s purpose was not to study the book, nor to listen to the sacred words sung by these clerics.

Regarding the church, pastor, religious objects, and especially books so entwined with civilization, Wu Qingchen was following a detailed plan devised by the advisory team for every opportunity he had to approach.

Standing by the wooden table, listening to the pastor’s explanation and Andre’s recitation, Wu Qingchen tried to match their pronunciations with the text on the scroll. Meanwhile, he held his breath, every few minutes subtly shifting his position or angle, ensuring the projection from Earth’s orbit could capture the book from more directions, more comprehensively and accurately.

“All right, Andre, that’s enough for today.”

At these words, Wu Qingchen, intensely focused, coughed as if by accident, prompting the pastor to look up. Wu Qingchen immediately raised his head, adopting an innocent expression he had prepared, and shuffled his feet as if apologetic.

Through these actions, Wu Qingchen succeeded in delaying the pastor’s closing of the book by a few seconds, allowing the projection above Earth to glimpse more pages, collecting precious information.

The entire process took no more than four or five seconds; Andre was already standing straight, bowing slightly to Pastor Playa, “Thank you for your guidance, Playa—teacher.”

Waiting for Andre to put away the sacred text, Wu Qingchen also bent forward, shifting slightly to one side, helping Earth capture the last images of the book, and bowed to Playa, “Thank you, pastor.”

Playa nodded. At this point, it was customary for Wu Qingchen to take his leave.

Keeping his posture, Wu Qingchen stepped back, ready to turn away, but the pastor, who had been watching his every move, suddenly smiled and raised his right hand, “Los, wait a moment.”

“Pastor?”

Wu Qingchen halted.

The pastor paced a few steps, as if pondering, then stopped, “Los, how have you found the morning prayers these past days?”

“I understand more now.”

“Can you remember them?”

“I still only recall part.”

“Good, good.” The pastor’s smile deepened. “Aside from morning prayers, the church also holds afternoon prayers. Andre will have lessons then and needs to clean the church. You should help him.”

What?

Wu Qingchen barely restrained himself from swearing.

Damn it, squeezing out an hour in the morning to listen to these two with their soul-crushing chanting was torment enough—now another round in the afternoon?

Thinking of extracting another hour from already grueling farm labor, Wu Qingchen’s face twisted into misery, “Pastor, in the afternoon... in a few days, my family is to till the lord’s land…”

“Bang!” “Clang!” “Crash!”

Almost simultaneously, on Earth, tens of thousands of advisory and analysis team members seized whatever was at hand—phones, pens, documents, keyboards—and hurled them in fury.

“This is pigheaded!” “His brain is full of shit!” “Can he even understand human speech?!”

Indeed, Wu Qingchen had once again stoked the fiery rage of the real-time advisory and analysis teams across dozens of countries, hundreds of departments, tens of thousands of frontline experts.

These teams, able to pinpoint key details and respond almost instantly to developments in the Medieval World, were the cream of the crop—experts among experts.

So, with only a line or two of dialogue, a glance at the pastor’s expression, nearly all instantly recognized the pastor’s intent to foster Wu Qingchen.

As expected, when Wu Qingchen replied about afternoon work, the pastor, who had been about to turn away, stiffened slightly, his face showing surprise. After a moment, he spoke again, “No matter, come in the afternoon for now. The work in a few days can be dealt with then.”

Unfortunately, even with the pastor’s insistence, after more than ten days of labor reform and constant reminders from the advisory team to prioritize his safety and avoid exhaustion, Wu Qingchen hesitated, unable to answer promptly.

“SHIT! Has his brain died?” “Quick, think of something!” “Damn! This idiot’s about to ruin everything!”

As the frontline advisory teams urgently notified departments and cursed Wu Qingchen, eager to grab him through the screen and make him agree, the pastor finally shook his head, turned toward the side door, and at the threshold delivered a final, non-negotiable order, “That’s settled, Los. Go home now, but remember to come this afternoon.”

Phew… A small mercy. Hundreds of thousands of analysts exhaled in relief.

Sigh… Another headache. Still clueless, Wu Qingchen sighed.

Twenty-four. Defect (Part Two)

Ten minutes later, Earth. Country Z. Capital. Temporary Training Command Center. Unified Cooperation Coordination Office. First Deputy Director’s Office.

“Director Jiang…” An advisor hurried into the room.

“Hmm?” Hearing the voice, Jiang Fengming, who had not slept for twenty-seven hours straight, laid aside his papers, lifting bloodshot eyes.

“Secretariat forwarded a request. Sixth Training Office, Language Training Group.”

“Hmm.” He rubbed his reddened eyes and gestured to the mountain of documents before him, “Leave it here.”

The advisor put the file down, saluted, and exited.

Quickly finishing the file on “Summary of Phase Two Agricultural Activities of the Celestial Event Subject and Training Program for Phase Three,” Jiang Fengming closed his eyes, focused briefly, then reopened them and signed his opinion on the fourth line of the last page’s table, beneath “Comprehensive Division,” “Review Office,” “Secretariat.”

When done, a soldier approached, took the still-wet pages, copied five sets on the office’s copier, then returned the original to the summit of the tallest stack on Jiang Fengming’s desk.

At the same time, two other soldiers hurried out with the remaining copies.

Three minutes later, these two soldiers returned, passing others carrying documents—the file from the Sixth Training Office’s Language Training Group had completed its processing.

With no pending files, Jiang Fengming still had no rest. After rubbing his eyes, he pressed Enter on the keyboard, and the large screen to his left resumed playback.

On the screen were selected clips—key content filtered by the secretariat from military academies, research institutes, and national cooperation offices. Each clip was annotated with guesses or conclusions from analysis teams, and had undergone editing, synchronization, replay, segmentation, color adjustment for night scenes, and highlighting of key areas.

These processed clips, along with real-time updates from advisory teams, were Jiang Fengming’s crucial reference for file handling—and the direct cause of his bloodshot eyes.

“Director Jiang…” Having just finished viewing the exchange between pastor and Wu Qingchen during morning prayers on January 19th, another advisor entered, “Secretariat forwarded a request. Third Comprehensive Training Office, Life Coaching Group.”

Life Coaching Group…

Jiang Fengming paused the clip, acknowledged, and took the file.

The Life Coaching Group’s file was light, only three thin pages, but each page was densely packed with tables listing, line by line, the group’s analysis, research, discussion, and recommendations for Wu Qingchen’s third training—specific suggestions for life training.

Most entries were suggestions for consolidating previously trained skills, deemed insufficient by the coaching group based on Wu Qingchen’s lived experience in the Medieval World. Some were new subjects thought necessary as more was learned.

These three thin pages, at a glance, made Jiang Fengming instinctively raise his right hand to rub his aching temples.

According to five training plans already submitted for review, Wu Qingchen’s third round of life training would last no more than two hours. Yet, if all items on these three pages were implemented and reached their expected levels, even the best soldiers would need at least half a year.

In fact, in seven hours at the office, Jiang Fengming had received fifty-odd applications from more than thirty training departments, nearly all with the same problem.

This was a helpless situation.

Since Wu Qingchen’s entry into the Medieval World, though his life was spent in a backward village with few people and simple situations compared to Earth, every minor mistake could lead to catastrophic loss for humanity. Every training group, backed by vast advisory teams, had to be meticulous, considering every factor, crafting immense, unwieldy training plans for Jiang Fengming.

Of course, this was anticipated by the Celestial Event Temporary Response Center’s Unified Cooperation Office. When the application files reached Jiang Fengming, the last page’s five-column table had already been filled with opinions from “Comprehensive Division,” “Review Office,” and “Secretariat,” most items already vetoed.

Jiang Fengming’s task was to lead his coordination office’s hundreds of advisors in a final adjustment, forwarding this fourth-tier plan to higher authorities.

Five minutes later, Jiang Fengming finished the file, prepared to sign his recommendations.

“Ring…”

Just then, the telephone rang.

Almost simultaneously, the fax machine chimed with a new document.

The phone was the first on the right, its red color signaling the most important department and the greatest urgency. At the first ring, Jiang Fengming dropped his pen and grabbed the receiver.

“Coordination Office, Jiang Fengming speaking… yes… yes… please wait…”

Jiang Fengming gestured, and a soldier handed him the still-warm fax.

He glanced at the title, then resumed his call, “…already received… yes… yes… nothing at present… currently none… no problem!… yes!”

He hung up and immediately picked up the fax. Though it was brief, he did not skim; two minutes later, his frown deepened, nearly knotting.

Anyone familiar with Jiang Fengming would instantly see his dissatisfaction had reached a peak.

Soon, the document reached its final section:

“…In summary, the Unified Division believes that interpersonal communication training and adaptive communication training for Wu Qingchen should not adopt the same intensive special training. It is decided: the fourth plan is canceled; the interpersonal communication and adaptive communication coaching teams are to stand by; all interpersonal and adaptive communication training will follow the backup scheme of item seventeen from the third plan…”

“Review: Celestial Event Temporary Response Center, Unified Cooperation Office, Li Ziping… Verification: Celestial Event Temporary Response Center Chief, Zhou Xudong, First Deputy Chief, Yan Guangfeng, Second Deputy Chief… Third…”

Seeing this string of seven names, Jiang Fengming’s eyelid twitched, the pain in his swollen, bloodshot eyes vanishing.

These names represented the core opinion of China, and proved the fax’s content had been considered with utmost care.

Unbidden, the essence of item seventeen from the third plan surfaced in Jiang Fengming’s mind:

…Long periods of intense training, unrelenting physical labor, tremendous pressure; the subject’s psychological and physiological fatigue accumulates. Under these circumstances, further intensive interpersonal and adaptive communication training is unlikely to yield good results and poses certain risks…

…Therefore, in light of current conditions, it is recommended the subject take on certain responsibilities, create an environment, combine work and leadership practice, and to some degree restore the subject’s living context, selectively raising his communication ability suitable for the Medieval World from familiar settings…

The next moment, with specific measures of the backup scheme in mind…

Jiang Fengming’s frown returned. He dropped the fax and swiftly dialed the third light blue phone on his desk.

“This is Jiang Fengming… where is your convoy?… No, the plan is activated… Yes! You heard me right!… Accelerate! Immediately!”

He quickly made a second call.

“Coordination Office, Jiang Fengming speaking… arrange traffic control… arrange guidance… item seventeen backup plan’s convoy… good… No, no excuse!… Good, you coordinate. Remember… you have no more than twenty minutes!”

He checked his watch, then the clock on the wall, and set down the phone, his face once again marked by the anxious expression he’d grown used to these days.

Five kilometers away, a dozen vehicles ignited their engines, hundreds of soldiers checked their weapons, seventy helicopters began circling, thirty medical teams assembled.

And so on, and so forth…

Because, in twenty minutes, it would be Wu Qingchen’s biological clock’s first alarm—then, the world’s center could open his eyes and return to Earth at any moment.