Genius Club

The bright sun had risen, casting its warm rays across the earth. It was July 1st, marking the end of the first half of 2024 and the beginning of the second.

Lin Xian walked out of the Rhine Laboratory at Donghai University, raising his head to gaze at the sunlight that stretched every shadow before him. That sun—it was the source of everything, just like the source he now sought for himself, the key to set everything right, to fix all the wrongs.

He looked down at his watch: 7:11.

The night had passed without rest. Lin Xian wondered what Zhao Ying Jun might be doing now. Was she sleeping? Or was she lying awake, unable to find peace?

He thought back to last night—the blue snowflake fading, the turmoil of losing Lin Yu Xi, and his instinct to hOld Rui Hai close. He had so much to say to her. He knew what was most important now was to be there for her, especially after losing Lin Yu Xi.

Though Zhao Ying Jun appeared strong, Lin Xian knew she had a softer side. He had seen her lose control of her emotions when Lin Yu Xi disappeared, shouting in anguish. But soon enough, she recovered, her strength returning as she comforted him instead.

“Was that Liu Feng who called you earlier?” she had asked after he’d promised to stay.

Lin Xian nodded.

“I’ve met Liu Feng before. I visited your lab at Donghai University,” Zhao Ying Jun had said quietly. “I can sense that you two are working on something important. Is it related to Yan Qiao Qiao… or Lin Yu Xi? Our child?”

Lin Xian nodded again. “It’s a long story, Ying Jun. It’s connected not only to Lin Yu Xi but also to Liu Feng, to me, and even to you. Let me take you home, and I’ll explain everything.”

But Zhao Ying Jun shook her head. She wrapped her coat tightly around herself, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lin Xian. Right now, I need some time alone. I do appreciate that you trust me enough to tell me everything, but… can we leave it for another time? I’m not ready just yet. I’m sorry.”

Lin Xian heard the tremor in her voice. No matter how strong or calm she might seem, the loss was still devastating. Lin Yu Xi wasn’t her biological child, but their bond was still unbreakable. Who could face an ending like that without breaking?

“If what you’re doing is as important as it seems, then don’t let me hold you back.” She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the moonlight. “But if you ever need me, if there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me. Because, like you said, Lin Yu Xi didn’t belong to this time—she wasn’t truly our child of this future. Still, even though she never called me ‘Mom,’ it doesn’t change a thing.”

Her gaze grew firm, her words steady and deliberate. “She is your daughter, and she is also my daughter. You need to take responsibility for her, and so do I. There’s no blame here, and you shouldn’t feel guilty. Protecting a child is a father’s duty, just as much as it is a mother’s.”

She took a deep breath and pointed at Lin Xian’s phone. “I know what’s important. Liu Feng’s call sounded urgent—you should go. Go do what you need to do. Keep moving forward. Don’t stop because of me.”

For a moment, Zhao Ying Jun’s words echoed Yellow Finch’s voice in his mind—that woman who had made him grow, who had made him understand responsibility, who had made him want to be a true leader.

It was her.

And it was also Zhao Ying Jun.

They were the same.

Yellow Finch was Zhao Ying Jun; Zhao Ying Jun was Yellow Finch.

In that moment, Lin Xian finally understood the story of “Farewell, My Concubine,” as told by Yellow Finch: “To this day, I remember Xiang Yu—the one who refused to cross the river back east. I never thought Xiang Yu was a true hero. None of the soldiers who fought and died for him would have wanted to see their leader end himself by the riverbank. We followed you here, for you, whether right or wrong—to live or die. Since ancient times, winners are kings, and losers are villains; there is no absolute right or wrong. Many things are right if you believe in them, and wrong if you doubt them.”

“So, Lin Xian,” Yellow Finch had said back then, much like Zhao Ying Jun did now, always encouraging him, always supporting him unconditionally: “If you’re right, go ahead boldly. If you’re wrong, be wrong to the end with conviction. Don’t be like Xiang Yu—living only in historical songs and records isn’t worth as much as living in the hope of the present.”

“I will,” Lin Xian had answered solemnly. “I will.” He repeated it once more.

Zhao Ying Jun reached out and hailed a passing taxi, wrapping her thin coat around herself as she got inside. Lin Xian knew her heart was aching. She had spent two months living with Lin Yu Xi, knowing full well the truth of their connection. And yet, she chose not to show her grief, not in front of him—she didn’t want to burden him, didn’t want to hinder his mission.

No, he couldn’t stop now. The enemies that needed to be taken down, the revenge that had to be served—nothing could be left undone.

Back home, Lin Xian washed his face several times, preparing to sleep. He needed to enter the Eighth Dream. The key to breaking the impasse, the crucial clue—maybe it was in this new dream.

He lay down on his bed, about to close his eyes, when—

Brrrring! Brrrring! Brrrring!

The phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID—it was Brother Wang. What could be happening at this hour?

Lin Xian answered, “Hello?”

“Lin Xian…” Brother Wang’s voice sounded anxious. “Do you know what’s happened to Zhao Ying Jun?”

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“What happened to her?” Lin Xian asked, sitting up straight.

“Well, when I saw her this morning, her eyes were red. At first, I thought it was makeup, but then I realized… it wasn’t. They were swollen from crying.” Brother Wang hesitated, then continued, “I’ve never seen her like that, not in all these years. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she kept herself busy—she arranged to personally oversee work from every department today, from morning till night.”

“She’s been in her office all day, meeting with department heads, discussing work nonstop. The line of people waiting to meet with her stretched outside her door, and her schedule is packed with meetings until late tonight. I mean… it’s obvious she’s trying to drown herself in work to forget whatever’s bothering her.”

“Also, I checked with the MX Company’s security. You know what they said? They said she didn’t come to work from home this morning—she arrived in the middle of the night, and her office lights stayed on until dawn. She didn’t sleep at all, Lin Xian.”

Brother Wang’s words made Lin Xian frown. She had gone to the office in the middle of the night, meaning that after getting in the taxi, she didn’t return home, nor did she sleep. She had lied to him, likely to keep him from worrying.

“I’ll go find her,” Lin Xian said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“No, no, no,” Brother Wang protested over the phone. “I knew it! You must know what’s going on, and it probably has something to do with you, right? But going to MX Company now isn’t a good idea. Zhao Ying Jun has her entire day fully scheduled. If you show up, it’ll only cause a scene. Her office is filled with people—it won’t look good.”

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two, but let me give you some advice, Lin Xian. Zhao Ying Jun is the type to swallow her pain, to always think of others before herself. Given her upbringing, she was never allowed to be impulsive, never allowed to lose control. But everyone needs to be a little selfish sometimes—you can’t bottle up those emotions forever.”

“I’ll be honest—I’ve always thought you two were a good match. But it’s your lives, and I don’t have the right to interfere. Just know that if either of you is hurting, I don’t want to see it. I’ll keep an eye on things here, and if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Let her have some time to calm down.”

Lin Xian agreed and hung up the phone. Drowning herself in work to forget the pain… he understood that feeling. After Chu An Qing disappeared, becoming one with the thousand-year anchoring stake, he did the same thing.

But this wasn’t something they could avoid. Zhao Ying Jun deserved an answer, a proper explanation. Even if she had refused him last night, he still had to tell her—everything about himself, about Yellow Finch, about Lin Yu Xi, about the time-space particles, the dream worlds, the time machine…

Everything.

He placed his phone back on the nightstand, lay down, and closed his eyes.

“The Eighth Dream,” he whispered to himself. “I wonder… what will it be like?”

The other dream worlds had all been different, but at least he’d had some inkling of what to expect. The origin of this Eighth Dream, though, was far too complex. Events overlapped, world lines dropped and rose again—so many butterflies in so many timelines flapping their wings…

What would the future be like 600 years from now? Would the great catastrophe of 2400 still happen? Would Copernicus’ time-space police and court still exist? Would Donghai City be thriving, and would Li Ning Ning’s sister, Li Feng Yu, still be alive?

Would humanity still be planning to migrate to Mars? Would Gao Wen’s hibernation pod still be buried beneath the ground, waiting to be unearthed?

“I hope… I hope I can find the blueprints for the time machine,” Lin Xian thought. It seemed likely. After all, when he’d shared the draft of “Time Travel Theory and Time Machine Construction” with Liu Feng, the world line had not shifted. That suggested that, in the Eighth Dream, the time machine probably did exist, and Liu Feng’s efforts wouldn’t change the course of history.

“Wait a minute,” Lin Xian thought suddenly. “Could it be… in the original timeline, Liu Feng never actually succeeded in building the time machine?”

He groaned inwardly. It was entirely possible. He had given Liu Feng the draft, and Liu Feng had estimated he could finish it in ten years. But that was just an optimistic guess—it didn’t guarantee success. Liu Feng had only skimmed through the draft, and even Gao Wen’s manuscript was incomplete—not only in terms of construction but even in its fundamental theories. Without verification from the time-space particles, many parts were still conjecture.

Who knew what obstacles and dead-ends would crop up once the actual research began?

“Oh well,” Lin Xian sighed. “All I can do now is believe in humanity’s potential in the Eighth Dream… and in Emperor Gao Wen’s ability to work miracles once again.”

With that, he turned over and slowly drifted off to sleep.

…

…

A familiar summer breeze blew over him—the heat was palpable, yet there was no sticky humidity of a rainforest, no scent of lush paddy fields, no yellow sand from a wasteland.

Good.

Even before opening his eyes, Lin Xian could tell that he wasn’t in a wasteland or in the wild—he was somewhere within a developed city. The pavement beneath his feet was smooth and solid—it had to be a proper street.

How nostalgic it felt—he hadn’t been in a modernized city since leaving the First Dream. Every other future had been worse than the one before—he hadn’t even had a decent place to stay.

This time, though, his starting point seemed to be in a city.

Around him, he could hear the rapid tapping of footsteps—further ahead, the sound of vehicles driving by reached his ears. Yes, this was a modern metropolis.

And yet…

Something felt odd.

Lin Xian listened carefully—it was quiet.

Too quiet.

This was a city, so why was it so eerily silent? He could hear footsteps, hear cars passing by, but there was no noise—no chatter, no hubbub.

What was going on?

With a sense of confusion, Lin Xian opened his eyes—and immediately stepped back, startled by the sight.

All around him, the people moving through the city—every single one of them had bright blue rings glowing around their irises. Everyone.

Was this some kind of headquarters for time travelers? A base of operations for cyborgs?

Were they here to capture him again?

But soon enough, Lin Xian realized this wasn’t the same.

The blue rings in their eyes were different from those of Yellow Finch, Lin Yu Xi, or No. 17. The time travelers’ eyes had an entirely crystalline blue iris, while these men and women had only an outer glowing ring.

And their expressions…

They were stiff.

Lin Xian struggled to find the right words to describe the feeling they gave him. It was unnatural—they seemed less human, more like machines. They were smiling, yes, but it was too perfect—so perfect that it triggered an eerie sense of the uncanny valley.

He was certain of one thing—these people weren’t normal humans.

They all moved with identical precision, standing straight, their faces showing only a single expression—too unsettling to be real. They were probably robots.

But then again, if robots could be made this lifelike, the technology of this future must be incredibly advanced, right?

Except, when he looked around, the city didn’t appear particularly advanced. It seemed just like any ordinary urban landscape—nothing that Lin Xian couldn’t understand. In fact, it was less futuristic than New Donghai City in the Second Dream, comparable to a second-tier city in the real world.

Lin Xian blinked and continued to observe. He noticed that not everyone here was a “robot.” There were plenty of normal people too—their expressions and gait were much more natural, bringing Lin Xian a sense of familiarity and comfort.

But the main question remained—

Why was it so quiet?

No one was talking?

He could understand the robots being silent—but among all these men, women, elderly folks, and children moving around, not a single one was speaking. Everyone kept their mouths shut as if the concept of conversation didn’t exist, creating an unnatural stillness devoid of life.

Lin Xian felt like he was watching a pantomime, an eerie silent movie. What was going on? Why was no one talking?

It made him hesitant to speak as well—as if breaking this unnatural silence would somehow be dangerous.

He continued walking along the street, noticing that everything here was almost… too orderly. Too perfect.

The flowerbeds were trimmed with meticulous precision like they’d been measured with a ruler.

There was no litter on the streets, not a single scrap—the entire place was immaculate.

The cars parked along the road were evenly spaced, each one perfectly aligned—symmetry for symmetry’s sake.

There wasn’t a single person walking against the flow of foot traffic. Everyone moved in a synchronized manner, all in the same direction.

Lin Xian was stunned.

He didn’t even know how to describe what he was seeing. It was like stepping into a perfectly constructed simulation, a city run by computer programs.

The people were so disciplined—there was no crime, not even the slightest uncivil behavior.

They were all so self-regulated that Lin Xian felt out of place—he was afraid that even an irregular step might be a violation of the city’s perfection.

And still, the question remained—

Why wasn’t anyone talking?

Maybe they had some advanced method of communication, perhaps telepathy, making spoken words unnecessary?

Lin Xian shook his head—he dismissed the thought. Even if they were using telepathy, there would still be subtle changes in facial expressions and eye movements. Not everything could be conveyed without some sort of reaction—not every smile could be sent as a mental emoji.

It was too strange…

What had seemed like a civilized, clean, orderly city now felt stifling and wrong. The more he saw, the more he wanted to shout, to break the silence, but the oppressiveness of the quiet held his voice in check.

Suddenly, a small child, holding his mother’s hand, coughed and spat on the ground: “Pleh.”

Instantly, his mother’s face turned pale, and she cried out, her voice echoing through the silent city like an explosion: “Ming Ming! What are you doing?!”

The next moment, a man with blue glowing rings in his eyes turned towards them, his smile fading. The rings shifted from blue to yellow as he began walking toward the mother and child.

The mother panicked, frantically apologizing. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” She dropped to her knees, pulled tissues from her bag, and carefully cleaned up the spit on the ground. When she finished, she put the used tissue back into her bag, looking up at the man’s glowing yellow eyes, her own eyes full of fear.

The man crouched down, his eyes locked on the boy as the yellow rings glowed.

“Identity verified: Wang Zi Ming. Behavior: spitting in public. Deducting two points. Minor reduction by fifty percent. Final deduction: one point. Current personal score: eighty-two points.”

“Please maintain civilized behavior. Use the mechanical beings as role models to build a better future for humanity.”

The man stood up, his yellow eyes now directed at the anxious mother. He blinked, and the rings flickered as he spoke again:

“Identity verified: Zhu Ting. Behavior: excessive noise. Deducting two points. No reduction. Final deduction: two points. Current personal score: seventy-one points.”

“Please maintain civilized behavior. Use the mechanical beings as role models to build a better future for humanity.”

The mother bit her lip, her face a mix of fear and shame. Finally, she pressed her son’s head down in a deep bow, then turned and walked away, still holding his hand. Her pace did not quicken; she continued to walk with quiet dignity.

Lin Xian watched this scene and finally understood.

No wonder… no one spoke, no one argued, no one ran, no one fought. The rules here were just too strict.

Yes, spitting in public was wrong. Yelling was wrong. But did they really need to enforce it so harshly?

Seeing how the mother reacted, it was clear that personal scores were very important. People were genuinely afraid of losing points—it weighed heavily on their minds.

That meant that, in this time, in this over-clean, over-quiet, overly perfect city, personal scores were incredibly significant.

And then Lin Xian remembered what the glowing-eyed man had said: “Please maintain civilized behavior. Use the mechanical beings as role models to build a better future for humanity.”

So these people weren’t normal—they were robots, androids!

Lin Xian had only seen something like this in sci-fi films and games—androids that were internally built with alloy skeletons, intelligent chips, and nuclear-powered batteries, covered with synthetic skin that looked like human flesh.

What kind of era was this? How had the world evolved into such a distorted future?

Suddenly, a figure dashed out from a nearby flowerbed—a young girl, probably around eighteen or nineteen, with short hair and a smiley-face mask. She leaped forward and ripped the metal badge off the android’s chest, then took off running.

The android’s eyes turned bright red, locking onto the fleeing girl, and he started to chase her.

The girl was fast—in seconds, she had gained a lead. But out of nowhere, another android in a uniform, a female with glowing red eyes, rushed out and tackled her to the ground.

The male android caught up and yanked the girl’s mask off, his red eyes flashing as he said coldly, “Identity verified: Xu Yi Yi. Behavior: assaulting an android, theft, running in public, collision with a pedestrian. Total deduction: twenty-eight points. Prior offenses increase penalty by fifty percent. Final deduction: forty-two points. Current personal score: negative thirty-seven points.”