Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

“Alps… Lollipop…”

Lin Xian stood in front of Tang Xin’s grave, listening as Du Yao finished her story. Silence hung in the air as he closed his eyes, trying to process everything.

For a long moment, there was only quiet. Then, Lin Xian took a deep breath, his voice barely a whisper. “I remember now.”

Du Yao blinked, surprised. “You… really remember? From such a simple word? Everything about you and Tang Xin?”

Lin Xian nodded slowly. “Yes.” He opened his eyes, his gaze distant. “It was by the side gate of the school field, near the corner shop. I remember taking off my jacket and wrapping it around Tang Xin’s waist. She was in pain, crouched down, so I gave her an Alps lollipop.”

His voice trembled as he continued, “I even told her…” He clenched his fists. “I said, ‘Take this candy; it won’t hurt anymore.'”

Du Yao stood frozen, staring at him. She couldn’t believe it—he had remembered, not just vaguely but with every tiny detail.

“This is unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I thought you wouldn’t remember anything, even if I said ‘Alps Lollipop’ a thousand times.”

She paused, looking at him incredulously. “I thought maybe you said you remembered just to comfort me or so Tang Xin wouldn’t be disappointed. But you remembered—word for word, even the smallest details. How is that possible?”

Du Yao frowned, struggling to understand. “Our memories are supposed to fade over time. Forgetting is the brain’s way of protecting itself. The older a memory is, the more it fades. And yet you… you couldn’t remember Tang Xin even when I described her in detail. But just hearing ‘Alps Lollipop’ brought it all back?”

Lin Xian sighed. “It was so deeply rooted that it left a shadow in my mind.”

“What?” Du Yao looked puzzled. “Something so sweet and innocent left a shadow? Wasn’t it because of Tang Xin that you remembered the lollipop?”

Lin Xian shook his head. “No. Actually, the first thing that came to my mind wasn’t Tang Xin—it was Gao Yang. And then, from there, everything came back, including Tang Xin.”

“Gao Yang?” Du Yao’s confusion deepened. “What does he have to do with anything? Can you explain it from the beginning?”

Lin Xian looked at her, his eyes serious. “The reason I remember the Alps lollipop isn’t because of Tang Xin. It’s because of something Gao Yang did—something so disgusting that it’s etched into my mind.”

He took a deep breath. “It happened during gym class. Gao Yang had one yuan left and gave it to me, saying, ‘Go buy two Alps lollipops. I want to treat you.’ So, I went to the shop and bought two—they were fifty cents each. But I gave one to Tang Xin and unwrapped the other for myself. Then I lied to Gao Yang, saying prices had gone up, and I could only buy one.”

Lin Xian grimaced, remembering. “Gao Yang didn’t believe me. He chased me all over the field, demanding his lollipop. I thought, ‘It’s already been in my mouth. No way he’d want it now.’ But I underestimated him.” 𝘙α

Lin Xian rubbed his forehead, the memory still vivid. “He tackled me to the ground, pried my mouth open, pulled the lollipop out, shook it off, and then put it in his own mouth like it was nothing.”

“Eww!” Du Yao cringed. “That’s so gross! How could he do that?!”

“I was just as shocked,” Lin Xian said, throwing his hands up. “He didn’t even wipe it! Just licked it, covered in my saliva.”

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“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Du Yao waved her hand, her face twisted in disgust. “I don’t need all the details—I get it.” She shook her head. “Your friend—your class president—is certainly… something.”

She paused, then nodded slowly. “I think I understand. That incident must have left such a strong impact that whenever you think of an Alps lollipop, you think of Gao Yang first.”

Lin Xian nodded. “After that day, I never touched another lollipop. It was too gross. That’s why it left such a shadow.” He sighed. “When you mentioned it, all that disgust came back to me—it was so vivid that it led me back to Tang Xin, and everything else came with it.”

Du Yao crouched down, staring at Tang Xin’s grave, the lilies swaying in the breeze. “It seems,” she murmured, “that lost memories can be brought back if we relive the emotions deeply enough.”

She looked up at Lin Xian. “I told you all about Tang Xin, and nothing happened. But by thinking about lollipops, you linked that to Gao Yang, then to that vivid, disgusting incident, and from there you remembered Tang Xin. It all just fell into place.”

She paused, her eyes lighting up. “Emotions… that’s the key!”

Du Yao stood suddenly, excitement in her eyes. “People have phobias—fears they can’t explain. Even if they’ve forgotten the incident that caused it, the fear stays. So maybe… just maybe, by reawakening those emotions, we could retrieve forgotten memories!”

Lin Xian watched her, understanding her excitement. Hibernation might cause memory loss, but feelings—emotions—they lingered.

“Thank you, Lin Xian,” Du Yao said softly. “Looks like the inspiration we needed didn’t come from me after all—it came from you.”

Lin Xian shook his head, looking back at Tang Xin’s grave. “If we’re thanking anyone, it should be Tang Xin. She’s the reason we have this hope.”

Du Yao knelt down to straighten the lilies before standing up again. “Let’s go back, Lin Xian. Breaking through in neuroscience—making the Brain Neural Electric Helmet a reality—would be the greatest comfort for Tang Xin.”

Together, they walked away, leaving the budding fields behind.

…

In the following days, Lin Xian continued riding his motorcycle, wandering aimlessly through the dream.

It was an apocalypse.

But not Earth’s apocalypse—everything here was peaceful. The sun shone brightly, the land was full of life. But there were no people.

It was an apocalypse for humankind—a world that had moved on without them.

Suddenly, Lin Xian slammed on the brakes of his motorcycle, the tires skidding to a halt. He had been speeding along the open plains when, out of nowhere, the land ended in a giant chasm—a deep canyon that split the earth.

Abandoning his bike, Lin Xian leaped off, rolling on the ground before grabbing a rock to stop himself. He looked up just in time to watch his motorcycle fall into the abyss like a shooting star, disappearing into the darkness below.

Lin Xian stood at the edge, peering down. It was deep—really deep.

“Goodbye, Motorcycle. See you tomorrow,” he whispered.

He had never driven southwest before. This was new territory for him, and he was determined to explore.

Looking across the chasm, Lin Xian spotted something—a modern cave entrance. It wasn’t natural; it looked like a facility split open by the canyon.

He hurried closer, moving to get a better look. There, inside the torn-apart structure, he saw it—an underground hibernation base.

His heart raced. This was his biggest find yet.

Lin Xian had always believed there were underground bases, but he had no way to find them. Now, luck had brought him here—to a base revealed by the earth itself.

Determined, Lin Xian climbed down. He moved carefully, navigating the cliffside until he reached the entrance.

Inside, he confirmed his suspicions. It was indeed an underground hibernation base, but it was in ruins—broken walls, scattered equipment, and hibernation pods that were tilted and cracked.

He moved closer, checking each pod. But all he found were bones.

“The Great Disaster of 2600 was only twenty-four years ago,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the underground base. “It’s not surprising there are still bones here.”

He paused, glancing around the gloomy chamber. “Anyone who died on the surface was either buried or taken by animals. But in an underground hibernation base like this… at least they left something behind. A full skeleton, if nothing else.”

Lin Xian crawled deeper into the wreckage, a sigh escaping his lips.

Dead, dead, dead.

Broken, broken, broken.

The more hope he had, the greater the disappointment that followed. Was there really no one left alive here? Even the storage compartments held nothing useful. Maybe this future world had just advanced too far—there wasn’t a single paper Memory Notebook left behind. Instead, everything had been replaced by strange little storage devices. They looked a bit like portable hard drives, but the connectors were unlike anything he recognized.

“This is the downside of advanced technology,” he said, tossing an unfamiliar drive onto the ground in frustration. “If everyone had left behind a Memory Notebook, at least I’d have something to go on. But with everything destroyed… is there no hope left?”

Lin Xian glanced across the deep chasm splitting the base in two. Maybe there was still a chance. Maybe the other side would hold something better. After all, if one half was hopeless, perhaps the other side would have more to offer.

He returned to the entrance, squinting at the other side of the chasm. Vines grew thickly over the cave entrance there, but beneath them, he could see the continuation of the hibernation base.

“I think I can make that jump,” he said to himself, stretching out his limbs. The vines could work in his favor—if he didn’t quite make it, he could grab onto them and climb up. Besides, even if he fell, it wouldn’t be the end. He could just start over again.

Lin Xian took a deep breath, then launched himself across the chasm. He flew through the air, arms reaching out, and managed to grab onto one of the sturdy vines. He slid down a few meters, the rough plant scratching his hands, but he held on tight, slowly pulling himself up.

Eventually, he made it to the other side, climbing up into the other half of the hibernation base. It looked just as chaotic as the first side, with hibernation pods smashed into pieces—but then he saw something that made his breath catch.

“A survivor!”

Lin Xian hurried over to the far corner of the base, his eyes widening as he saw an intact hibernation pod. He pressed his face to the glass, peering inside. There, lit dimly by the overhead lights, was a young girl, floating peacefully in the hibernation liquid.

“A survivor against all odds,” Lin Xian whispered. “Wait… it’s a girl.”

He leaned in closer to check the nameplate. The metal had been partly smashed, leaving only half of it visible. It seemed like the girl had incredible luck—a falling rock had narrowly missed shattering the pod completely.

“…Mai Mai,” Lin Xian read aloud. Her full name was probably something like X Mai Mai, but the first part was lost. He smiled softly. “What a familiar-sounding name. In a world so empty, even finding someone named ‘Wooden Board’ would make me feel close to them.”

Curious, Lin Xian opened her storage compartment, hoping for something useful. To his surprise, there was a plastic-wrapped manuscript inside—in addition to the standard memory drive.

“An angel, she is,” he said, pulling out the manuscript. “What kind of information could she have left behind?” His heart filled with anticipation as he glanced at the cover.

“The Devouring Demon Emperor,” it read. Author: Mai Mai.

“What the…” Lin Xian blinked, squinting at the title. Was this some ancient fantasy book? For a moment, he felt like he wasn’t in the year 2624 but had somehow gone back to 2004.

“Wait, what era is this girl from?” he muttered, bewildered. Still, curiosity got the better of him, and he cautiously turned to the first page.

“‘The Contract,'” he read aloud, taking a deep breath. “Wow… this girl is something else.”

When Lin Xian was in middle school, even web authors had moved beyond the cliché of starting a story with ‘The Contract.’ Why not just jump straight into the action? The ‘Contract’ trope was for either the experts or the hopeless dreamers. And she was definitely aiming for a legendary epic.

With a sigh, he flipped to the next page. “Maybe she’s the kind of prodigy whose first book is destined to be a bestseller?”

He began reading the ‘Contract’ section: “April 17th, 2025. The demon mist descended upon the land, heralding the end of the world… But one fallen young man, rejected by his sect, wielded the nine-foot godblade, challenging fate itself!”

“Huh?” Lin Xian stared at the page. Could this book… really become popular? Could it even get published?

Unable to continue reading, Lin Xian glanced at the bottom right corner of the page, where he noticed a small note.

“Based on true events,” it read.

His eyes widened in shock. “True events?” He reread the note, his mind racing. Demon mist, sects, godblades… How could any of this be real? And it was supposed to happen on April 17th, 2025?

Lin Xian’s heart skipped a beat. Today, in this dream, was March 9th, 2025. There was still a month left before the ‘end of the world’ described by the author Mai Mai.

He knocked on the glass of the hibernation pod. “It’s time to wake up, Mai Mai,” he said with a smirk. “I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say about your own book. Just don’t blush too much later.”

Lin Xian began pressing buttons on the control panel. He’d watched Big Cat Face wake someone from a pod in an earlier dream—it wasn’t complicated, and Lin Xian had memorized it after seeing it twice.

Beep beep beep.

The pod’s internal lights turned a soft yellow, and the temperature of the hibernation liquid began to rise. The awakening process had started. Thank goodness for micro nuclear batteries… Without that revolutionary invention, he would never have seen a living soul in this Ninth Dream.

Condensation began to form on the inside of the pod’s glass. Lin Xian could feel the warmth radiating off it.

Finally, after half an hour, the girl named Mai Mai slowly opened her eyes.