My bizarre resurgence: My price is the ability to trade everything.

Chapter 2 7-Day Countdown

The next morning, Lin Xiaofan was awakened by a nightmare.

In the dream, Zhang Hao stood in complete darkness, his back to Lin Xiaofan, his hands frantically typing on a keyboard. With each keystroke, a "7" appeared in the air, and the numbers, as if alive, slowly formed a circle, trapping Lin Xiaofan inside.

Zhang Hao turned his head, his face devoid of features, displaying only a line of numbers: 07:07:07.

Then Lin Xiaofan woke up in fright.

He sat up, panting heavily, his forehead covered in cold sweat. The sky outside was just beginning to lighten; gray light streamed in through the gaps in the curtains, casting a somber atmosphere over the room.

I picked up my phone and glanced at the time: 7:07 AM.

It's 7 again.

Lin Xiaofan's hand trembled, and he almost dropped his phone.

"It's a coincidence, it must be a coincidence." He forced himself to calm down and got out of bed to wash up.

While brushing his teeth, he looked at himself in the mirror—his dark circles were as heavy as a panda's, and his eyes revealed undisguised exhaustion and fear. He couldn't even bear to look at himself like this.

"Lin Xiaofan, can't you be a little more dignified?" he yelled at himself in the mirror. "It was just a prank call, why are you so scared?"

But deep down, he knew it wasn't that simple.

The voice in that phone call was so realistic. And the strange display on the alarm clock could be explained as a fluke if it only happened once, but the repeated anomalies related to the number "7" went beyond mere coincidence.

After washing up, he cooked a packet of instant noodles for breakfast. While eating, his phone rang.

This time it's a local landline number.

Lin Xiaofan hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Feed?"

"Is this Lin Xiaofan?" The voice on the other end of the phone was that of a middle-aged man, his tone very formal. "This is Officer Wang from the Criminal Investigation Division of the Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau. There are some things I'd like to ask you about regarding your classmate Zhang Hao's case. Would it be convenient for you to come to the station this morning?"

coming.

Lin Xiaofan's heart clenched.

"I'm preparing for the provincial civil service exam today, I'm really busy," he instinctively tried to decline, "Could we talk on the phone?"

"It's best to talk in person," Officer Wang said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It won't take up too much of your time, at most an hour. I'll send the address to your phone."

"Okay," Lin Xiaofan knew there was no way to avoid it, "Can I go at nine o'clock?"

"Okay, call this number when you arrive."

After hanging up the phone, Lin Xiaofan stared at the bowl of soggy instant noodles, completely losing her appetite.

The fact that the police are looking for him means things are definitely not simple. Zhang Hao's death is likely not legitimate. And now he's caught up in it, with no way to extricate himself.

"I should have told Su Mingyue about that unfamiliar number yesterday," he thought regretfully.

But it's too late to say anything now.

He quickly finished his noodles, changed into a reasonably presentable outfit—a white shirt and black trousers—and looked like a proper student. Before leaving, he made a point of checking his backpack: his ID card, student ID, wallet, and that "Civil Service Exam Bible."

"If I have to stay in the station for a long time, I can at least read some books," he comforted himself.

But in reality, he brought the book purely for psychological comfort—as if as long as he held it, he could maintain his identity as an "ordinary examinee" and distance himself from all those supernatural things.

Lin Xiaofan left home at 8:30 a.m.

His rented apartment was in the old town, in a row of tenement buildings built in the 1990s. The hallways were piled with clutter, and most of the white plaster on the walls had peeled off, revealing the mottled cement underneath. There were six households on each floor, but he had lived there for more than half a year and didn't even know what his next-door neighbor looked like.

This is the lifestyle he prefers: low-key, inconspicuous, and avoiding trouble.

But today, trouble has come knocking on our door.

As he went downstairs, he counted the steps—purely out of boredom.

Number of steps from the first floor to the second floor: 7.

His heart skipped a beat, but he didn't think much of it.

Second floor to third floor: still level 7.

Lin Xiaofan stopped and looked up at the stairs. The building had standard floor heights, so the number of steps on each floor should be the same. But he remembered that there used to be eight steps on each floor.

He shook his head and continued walking.

From the third floor to the second floor: Level 7.

Second floor to first floor: Level 7.

The entire building has seven steps on each floor, from the sixth floor to the first floor.

"No, this is absolutely wrong." Lin Xiaofan stood at the entrance of the first-floor corridor, his face pale.

He's lived here for over half a year, going up and down the stairs at least twice a day; it's impossible he couldn't have miscounted the number of steps. And why didn't the other residents notice such an obvious anomaly?

Unless only he can see it.

The thought sent a chill down his spine.

He strode out of the building and into the courtyard. The morning air was damp and chilly. Several elderly people were practicing Tai Chi in the courtyard, and the radio was playing traditional opera.

Everything seems normal.

Lin Xiaofan took a deep breath, trying to suppress those chaotic thoughts. He checked the navigation on his phone; the police station wasn't far, just seven bus stops away.

"Seven stations," he said with a wry smile, "It's seven again."

But this time he was really overthinking it—the bus route was fixed, and he already knew there were seven stops.

He boarded the bus and found a window seat. The bus wasn't crowded; besides him, there were only a few middle-aged women who had gotten up early to buy groceries and a middle school student in a school uniform.

After the bus had traveled two stops, the middle school student suddenly turned around and stared straight at Lin Xiaofan.

That look made Lin Xiaofan very uncomfortable—empty, numb, like looking at a dead person.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lin Xiaofan couldn't help but ask.

The middle school student didn't say anything, but simply raised his hand and pointed to the "GG" sign in the carriage.

Lin Xiaofan looked in the direction he pointed.

The sign features the logo of a real estate company, with a background image of a tall building bearing a giant banner that reads: "Phase 7, Limited-Time Offer!"

The words "Seventh Issue" on the banner were deliberately enlarged and bolded, making them particularly glaring in the morning light.

"What's wrong?" Lin Xiaofan turned around, only to find that the middle school student was gone.

The seats were empty, as if no one had ever sat there.

He suddenly stood up and looked around the entire carriage. The middle-aged women were still there, but the middle school students seemed to have evaporated, vanished without a trace.

"Driver, did you see that student in the school uniform get off the bus?" Lin Xiaofan asked the driver.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror: "What student? You're the only one who got on at this stop."

Lin Xiaofan's breath hitched.

He sat back down, his fingers gripping the backpack straps tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

hallucinations.

It must be a hallucination.

He's been under too much pressure lately, which has caused him to have mental health issues. Once this is over, he definitely needs to see a psychologist.

The bus continued its journey, passing three more stops. Lin Xiaofan forced herself not to think about those strange things, took out her "Civil Service Exam Bible," and tried to distract herself by reading.

Turn to the chapter on graphic reasoning, the first example question:

"Please find the pattern in the following sequence of figures and select the next figure."

The given sequence of shapes is: triangle, square, pentagon, hexagon.

According to the pattern, the next one should be a heptagon.

However, the heptagon was not among the options.

The four options are: A. Octagon B. Circle C. Heptagon D. Complex pattern composed of heptagons

Lin Xiaofan stared at the question and suddenly realized that the heptagon had been broken down into a "seven-pointed star" and a "complex pattern composed of heptagons", but there was no simple "heptagon".

What kind of pattern is this?

He shook his head and turned to the next page.

The second question is a number reasoning question:

"2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, ?"

This is a sequence of prime numbers; the next one should be 31.

But Lin Xiaofan's gaze fell on the seventh number: 17.

In the prime number sequence, 7 is the fourth prime number and 17 is the seventh prime number.

It's 7 again.

He closed the book, shut his eyes, and tried to calm himself down.

But my mind started calculating uncontrollably:

From the time he received that strange phone call until now, he glanced at his phone; it was 8:47 AM.

The phone call came at 11:33 last night.

Nine hours and fourteen minutes apart.

Converted to minutes: 9 × 60 + 14 = 554 minutes.

554 divided by 7 equals 79 with a remainder of 1.

Remainder 1.

Lin Xiaofan didn't know what "remaining 1" meant, but he felt it was definitely not a good omen.

The bus has arrived at the station.

He got out of the car and followed the navigation to the police station. He passed a convenience store on the way, hesitated for a moment, and then went in to buy a bottle of water.

When I paid, the cashier gave me seven yuan in change.

Lin Xiaofan looked at the three banknotes in his hand—one five-yuan note and two one-yuan notes, totaling seven yuan.

"Why are there so many things related to the number 7 today?" he couldn't help but mutter.

The cashier, a young woman, upon hearing this, casually asked, "What's the date today? The 7th?"

Lin Xiaofan paused for a moment, then took out his phone to check the date.

11 month 7 day.

His birthday is January 7th.

张浩的告别仪式是11月9日——9，反过来是6，加上1就是7。

Everything seems to be converging on the number "7".

Lin Xiaofan walked out of the convenience store, feeling her steps growing heavier and heavier.

He wasn't stupid; so many anomalies occurring simultaneously couldn't possibly be a coincidence. The legend about the "taboo of the number 7" was probably true. And now, he had been drawn into some kind of supernatural rule.

"Rule-based mysteries"

He remembered the word he had searched for last night.

According to online sources, this eeriness is not a ghost or a curse, but rather a "rule." Like the rules of a game, once triggered, one must act according to the rules, or face punishment.

Zhang Hao triggered the rule of "writing down seventeen 7s in a row".

As a "key contact" in Zhang Hao's address book, he was also included in the scope of the rules.

So what are the rules?

What is punishment?

Lin Xiaofan didn't know, but he had a bad feeling—it was definitely related to the number "7", and it was definitely not a good thing.

When I arrived at the entrance of the Public Security Bureau, it was 8:57 a.m.

Twenty-seven minutes had passed since he received Officer Wang's call.

2+7=9，9-2=7。

He started calculating subconsciously again.

"Don't think about it anymore, Lin Xiaofan." He slapped his face hard. "The most important thing now is to deal with the police and clear our name. We can talk about the rest later."

He took a deep breath and walked into the police station building.

The hall was bustling with people: citizens applying for ID cards, people reporting crimes, and uniformed police officers hurrying by. Everything seemed normal and orderly, which reassured Lin Xiaofan somewhat.

He took out his phone and called Officer Wang.

"Officer Wang, this is Lin Xiaofan. I'm at the station now."

"Okay, wait for me on the first floor, I'll come down to get you."

After hanging up the phone, Lin Xiaofan found a chair in a corner and sat down. He put down his backpack, wanting to read again, but he couldn't concentrate at all.

My eyes unconsciously began to count the number of people in the hall.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 77 people are in the waiting area.

墙上挂着的时钟，现在是八点五十九分——5+9=14，14÷2=7。

He counted the roadside trees outside the window: seven.

Lin Xiaofan closed his eyes, forcing himself to stop this meaningless calculation.

But the more you try to control it, the clearer the numbers become in your mind.

He recalled a math test from his childhood where he couldn't solve a particular problem. The question was: "Which multiple of 7 is closest to 100?"

The answer is 98.

7×14=98.

It took him a full ten minutes to calculate it back then. But now, the number is etched into his mind and can pop up at any time.

"Lin Xiaofan?"

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

He opened his eyes and saw a middle-aged man in his forties standing in front of him. The man was dressed in casual clothes, slightly overweight, with a professional, gentle smile on his face, but his eyes were sharp.

"I'm Officer Wang." The man extended his hand. "Come with me."

Lin Xiaofan quickly stood up and followed Officer Wang upstairs to a small conference room.

The meeting room was simple, with a table, a few chairs, and a banner on the wall that read, "Confess and you will be treated leniently; resist and you will be punished severely." Officer Wang asked Lin Xiaofan to sit down, and then sat down opposite him.

"Don't be nervous, it's just a routine inquiry." Officer Wang opened his notebook. "What's your relationship with Zhang Hao like?"

"Not close," Lin Xiaofan replied immediately. "In four years of university, we've spoken less than ten times. The last time we met was at a class reunion six months ago."

Why did he save you as a "key contact"?

"I don't know," Lin Xiaofan shook her head. "Maybe it was saved incorrectly."

Officer Wang glanced at him, said nothing, and continued, "Have you received any strange phone calls or messages in the last three days?"

Lin Xiaofan hesitated.

He remembered the phone call from last night, and the text message with the number "seven".

Should we tell you?

If he speaks up, the police may investigate more thoroughly, and he may be implicated even more deeply.

If I don't say anything, what if there really is danger?

His cowardly instincts led him to choose to keep it a secret.

"No," he said. "Everything is normal."

Officer Wang nodded and jotted down a few notes in his notebook: "Did Zhang Hao reveal anything to you before he died? For example, what was he doing lately, or what trouble did he encounter?"

"Really, no," Lin Xiaofan said. "We're not even WeChat friends."

The questioning lasted about twenty minutes. Officer Wang's questions were all routine, mainly to confirm Lin Xiaofan's relationship with Zhang Hao and his recent activities. Lin Xiaofan cooperated throughout, but concealed all unusual information related to the number "7".

Finally, Officer Wang closed his notebook: "Okay, thank you for your cooperation. We may contact you again if needed."

"Officer Wang, was Zhang Hao's death really just a heart attack?" Lin Xiaofan couldn't help but ask.

Officer Wang glanced at him, his expression complex. "The case is still under investigation, so we can't disclose anything at this time. If you remember anything after you get back, please contact us anytime."

"it is good"

Lin Xiaofan got up and left.

As he walked out of the conference room, he glanced at the calendar on the wall.

Today is February 11.

There are two days left until Zhang Hao's farewell ceremony.

Three days have passed since Zhang Hao's death.

3 + 2 + ? = 7.

What could that question mark represent?

Lin Xiaofan didn't know, but he had a feeling that something would definitely happen on the seventh day.

He must find a way to break this "rule" before the seventh day arrives.

Otherwise, he might very well become the next Zhang Hao.

As he went downstairs, he counted the steps again.