Genius Club

(This novel is translated and hosted on Bcattranslation)

“What the hell! Dad! What are you doing?!”

The Big Cat Face scrambled up from the floor, rubbing his sore backside, and stormed into the study.

He stared, stunned, at the walls covered entirely in the number 42.

“It’s over, completely over. He’s lost his mind. Rhine University has to cover my dad’s medical bills—”

Before Big Cat Face could finish, Lin Xian raised a hand to stop him.

Lin Xian approached the wall, crouched down, and met Chen Heping’s gaze.

“Mr. Chen Heping, can you now tell us…”

“What exactly is 42?”

A porcelain cup on the desk released wisps of steam.

Seated in his chair, Chen Heping sipped the hot tea, gradually calming himself.

Lin Xian and Liu Feng sat silently on a single wooden bed, not daring to interrupt the Great Emperor’s thoughts. They both knew deep down that Chen Heping had uncovered some truth about 42.

Unbelievable.

In the Second Dreamscape, it had taken Chen Heping over thirty years of studying Introduction to the Universal Constant to reach this step with walls covered in 42. Yet now, leveraging Liu Feng and Gao Wen’s research, he’d achieved a breakthrough in just a month.

Indeed.

The heavens do not forsake humanity.

Even though he was no longer part of this world, Emperor Gao Wen’s legacy continued to shine brightly.

“Sigh…”

Chen Heping exhaled after another sip of tea and turned to Lin Xian and Liu Feng.

“What do you think is the smallest scale in the universe?”

Lin Xian and Liu Feng exchanged glances.

“Quarks.” “Planck length.”

They gave their answers simultaneously.

Chen Heping nodded.

“Although Planck length is much smaller than quark particles, neither of your answers is wrong.”

“But in reality, this is merely the understanding of human physics—the limits of human mathematics, not the limits of the universe.”

“From a macroscopic perspective, the definition of Planck length is not incorrect. However, from a microscopic or higher-dimensional viewpoint, Planck length is far from being the smallest scale.”

“According to my recent research and calculations, the smallest scale and fundamental unit in the universe is—”

“42.”

…

Chen Heping’s explanation was abstract and difficult to grasp.

Even Liu Feng, who had studied the Universal Constant for many years, couldn’t fully understand it—let alone Lin Xian.

Liu Feng scratched his graying hair, staring at Chen Heping.

“42?”

Chen Heping nodded.

“Just that number?” Liu Feng pressed further. “No unit, no additional explanation? Why would the smallest unit in the universe… be the Arabic numeral 42?”

“No.”

Chen Heping shook his head.

“You’re misunderstanding the concept entirely. 42 is just 42. It’s an exact concept, an exact term, an exact existence. It has no units, nor does it require any description.”

“Think of 42 in the same way you think of quarks or Planck length—both are constants. Don’t try to interpret it with conventional grammar or traditional logic.”

Lin Xian rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

After a moment, he spoke.

“That means when Einstein first proposed the concept of the Universal Constant, he wasn’t wrong. Who would’ve thought that back in the early 20th century, Einstein had already touched upon the core of the Universal Constant?”

“At the time, Einstein concluded that the Universal Constant was an incredibly small entity—so small that it was negligible even on the scale of the Milky Way, meaningful only on a cosmic scale.”

“But clearly, Einstein’s thinking had its flaws. He believed the number was small enough but failed to realize it was a microscopic concept that couldn’t be explained by the laws of the macroscopic world.”

“That’s why Einstein eventually refuted his own idea in his later years.”

Liu Feng chimed in, “A genius is still a genius. Even though Einstein missed the mark by a fraction and ended up far off course, his visionary ideas were centuries ahead of the world.”

Lin Xian stood from the bed and walked again to the wall, staring at the intricate patterns of 42. The digits overlapped like a web of spider silk or mosquito legs, yet not a single stroke intersected or overlapped.

“So that’s it.”

He spoke softly.

“No wonder none of these 42s overlap. If what Mr. Chen Heping says is true, and 42 is the smallest unit and scale in the universe, then it makes sense. Each 42 is absolutely independent—there’s no room for overlap because they’re already the smallest. There’s no smaller scale to divide them further.”

“But here’s the problem.”

Lin Xian turned back to Chen Heping.

“Now that we know 42 is the smallest unit in the universe, the foundational building block of everything… what’s next?”

He spread his hands.

“What can we actually do with this knowledge? What practical applications does it have?”

“I don’t know.”

Chen Heping clasped his tea cup in both hands and shook his head.

“I can only understand that it’s the smallest unit in the universe. Beyond that, I don’t comprehend anything else.”

“But I believe this discovery must have its uses. In science, there are many things we need to first understand conceptually before we can observe them and uncover their secrets.”

His eyes burned with determination.

“Take, for example… before humanity understood astronomy, even if they gazed at the stars every night, they had no idea what they were looking at. They couldn’t imagine that every tiny star was a massive celestial body, tens of times larger than the sun.”

“Similarly… mathematics, physics, chemistry—these disciplines have existed since Earth’s inception, in every corner of the universe. Yet before humanity understood them, the answers were all around them, and they still couldn’t discover them.”

“Based on the materials you’ve given me, I’ve already reached this point. I believe that with enough time, the right equipment, and proper experimental tools, I can achieve a deeper understanding of the Universal Constant 42!”

Lin Xian smiled faintly.

“Mr. Chen Heping, this is exactly why we came to seek your counsel. Both Liu Feng and I firmly believe that your immense talent shouldn’t be wasted in a small village like this.”

“So… we sincerely hope you will join us at Rhine University. With access to advanced equipment and state-of-the-art laboratories, you and Liu Feng can work together to research the Universal Constant.”

Hearing the invitation, Chen Heping’s expression turned troubled.

He wasn’t foolish—he had already guessed Lin Xian’s purpose in visiting. However…

Thinking about his responsibilities and obligations in the village, the impoverished and underdeveloped families, and his idle, aimless son… Chen Heping hesitated.

He loved research and innovation, but he couldn’t abandon the land that raised him.

Beside him, Lin Xian noticed Chen Heping’s hesitation and spoke up.

“Our second purpose in coming here today is to change Rhine University’s previous external policies. We hope to unite every force that can be united, bringing together the people within and outside Donghai City into a cooperative and supportive whole.”

Chen Heping sighed.

“I understand your good intentions, but it’s unrealistic.”

“With just us, it’s truly impossible.”

Lin Xian pressed on.

“But if you join this plan—if you, Big Cat Face, Li Cheng, and others put aside your differences and work together to develop Donghai City—then it might not be so impossible.”

Liu Feng stepped forward, offering a more detailed proposal.

“At Rhine University, we have plenty of knowledge and technological reserves, but we lack the population to turn that into productivity. On the other hand, Donghai City’s outskirts have a large population, but they lack technology and guidance.”

“In the past, Rhine University was too preoccupied with its own survival and had to isolate itself. But now that Lin Xian is back, we have a leader, and we can finally take this step.”

“In the future, the inner and outer walls of Donghai City will open. People will build, work, and rebuild their homes together. Children will be able to go back to school and learn. Rhine University will open its doors to aspiring youth from all backgrounds.”

“This is the future we all hope for. Mr. Chen Heping, I believe this is a future you’d want to see as well.”

Chen Heping, middle-aged but still spirited, blinked and took a deep breath.

Countless visions flashed through his mind…

Children with bright smiles walking into school, their backpacks bouncing behind them.

Hardworking laborers constructing towering buildings.

Engineers in hard hats watching airplanes take flight.

Students at Rhine University’s laboratories overcoming challenge after challenge.

This.

This was the world Chen Heping had always dreamed of!

“Could…”

Chen Heping pressed his lips together.

“Could this really be achieved?”

Lin Xian nodded solemnly.

“From a theoretical and foundational standpoint, it’s entirely feasible. But there’s one critical prerequisite—”

“Humanity must have a tomorrow. We must have a future. Only by resolving every crisis we face can we allow time to move forward and secure survival for future generations.”

“So…”

Lin Xian extended his hand in a gesture of partnership, meeting Chen Heping’s eyes.

“Join us. Let’s protect Donghai together. Let’s protect the future.”

Chen Heping looked up.

He glanced at Lin Xian, then at Liu Feng, and finally at the walls around him, covered in the numbers 42.

He stood.

Reaching out, he shook Lin Xian’s hand.

“Thank you.”

Chen Heping’s voice brimmed with gratitude.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity, and thank you to Rhine University for opening its doors and helping the impoverished people of these villages.”

“I won’t let you down!”

…

Everything progressed smoothly.

Both Li Cheng and Chen Heping joined Lin Xian’s plan.

Li Cheng quickly rallied the villages surrounding Donghai City. Using the shared knowledge and technology from Rhine University, they cultivated the land, constructed buildings, developed infrastructure, educated the youth, and expanded manufacturing.

The enthusiasm for rebuilding their homes far outshone the intensity of past conflicts, leaving people with a greater sense of accomplishment.

Even Big Cat Face became an official member of the effort, assuming the role of Rhine University’s Security Captain.

He cut an imposing figure but carried out his duties diligently.

As for the pivotal figure, Chen Heping, he distanced himself from the external commotion, dedicating himself fully to research in the university’s lab. Day and night, he worked alongside Liu Feng to push forward the study of the Universal Constant.

Time passed.

The stars wheeled above.

The plane trees on the university campus turned yellow and green, over and over again.

The expansive farmlands on Donghai City’s outskirts yielded harvest after harvest.

Big Cat Face’s daughter grew up and started attending primary school. Three years later, Li Ningning entered the same school, where, on her first day, she made a boy cry.

Er Zhu Zi grew thinner by the day, while San Pang became increasingly plump.

Face Sister-in-Law worked in the university cafeteria, where her Wednesday dumplings were a favorite among students and staff. Meanwhile, Li Cheng’s wife, known for her exceptional management skills, succeeded Liu Feng to become the new Rotational Principal of Rhine University.

In Brooklyn, the spring winds never reached the West Coast, but the stallion Bruce grew stronger, capable of carrying the agile girl on his back across vast rivers and mountains.

More and more micro nuclear batteries were transported from other regions by CC and Bruce. After CC’s father took over as village chief, the Chinese settlement experienced a technological boom, becoming the most dominant force in Brooklyn.

The crisp autumn breeze brought another year to an end and ushered in a new one.

Lin Xian replaced several razors over the years.

Liu Feng’s cane was eventually replaced by a wheelchair.

Not only had his legs become less mobile, but his hearing also began to fail. To communicate with him, people had to speak loudly directly into his ear.

This intermittent deafness left the now ninety-something Liu Feng increasingly silent. He spoke less and often drifted into long periods of thought.

One day, in the laboratory, the three of them sat in their usual places, enveloped in a heavy, oppressive silence.

Liu Feng leaned forward in his wheelchair.

He flipped the calendar to the next page—

[August 29, 2623]

He sighed.

“There’s… just one year left.”

Covering his face with his hands, he hunched over in his wheelchair.

“We’re out of time.”

…

Chen Heping sat in a corner, his lips tightly pressed, saying nothing.

He had been at Rhine University, researching the Universal Constant 42, for six years.

And yet.

It felt as though they had hit a ceiling—the limits of human comprehension—with no way forward.

They understood that the Universal Constant 42 represented the smallest scale and unit in the universe. But the true significance of this smallest scale? That remained elusive.

Smallest!

Smallest!

Smallest!

And then?

What difference did the smallest make?

What could it possibly mean?

“It feels like we’re missing a critical point,” Chen Heping muttered through gritted teeth. “Just a little more. We’re so close—just one step away from a breakthrough.”

Silence once again filled the lab.

Lin Xian, seated in the center, glanced at both of them before standing up.

“Don’t lose heart.”

He walked to the calendar and, with a sharp motion, flipped it down with a slap.

“You’re caught in a spiral of anxiety. If you’re too desperate, you’ll miss things or overlook the bigger picture. Let’s ease up for a moment, stop cornering ourselves, and think carefully—what have we missed?”

Lin Xian picked up a pen, spinning it between his fingers.

“I suddenly thought of something. Why do you think Einstein, the moment he calculated 42, was targeted by the Piling Civilization’s spacetime particles, while none of you experienced the same?”

“Because he was the first?” Chen Heping ventured. “Isn’t that what you concluded before? Since Einstein was the first to calculate 42, he triggered the monitoring mechanism of the Piling Civilization. They then established a Millennial Stake and created a Stake Keeper.”

Lin Xian shook his head lightly.

“That was our earlier assumption.”

Pausing, he continued.

“Back then, our understanding of the Universal Constant 42 was too shallow, so we arrived at that conclusion.”

“But think carefully now. If the Piling Civilization truly feared 42—feared humanity calculating it—why would it matter who calculated it first?”

“The conclusion we can now reach is this: the Piling Civilization, like us, understands 42’s immense power but hasn’t fully grasped or harnessed its potential.”

“They’re cautious and methodical. But when you piece everything together, contradictions emerge—things that defy logic.”

“That’s what I’m getting at. Einstein calculated 42 and was targeted, but when you did the same, nothing happened. I believe the reason lies right here!”

Slap.

Lin Xian stopped spinning the pen and flicked it into the pen holder with a sharp motion. He pointed at Liu Feng and Chen Heping.

“The reason they left you alone is that even though you calculated 42, you posed no threat—you didn’t trigger their monitoring mechanism.”

“I don’t think your direction is wrong, nor do I believe your deductions about 42 are off. But I firmly believe—”

“Einstein’s understanding of 42 was deeper, more dangerous, closer to the core, and far more threatening to the Piling Civilization!”

Liu Feng looked up, blinking.

“You’re saying… Einstein didn’t just calculate 42 as the universe’s smallest scale. He uncovered additional secrets?”

“Exactly.”

Lin Xian narrowed his eyes.

“That’s the difference between you and him. And it’s also the key to breaking this stalemate.”

“So, let’s pool our thoughts and think carefully—”

“What are we missing that Einstein had? What set him apart?”

…

“Can you explain again how Einstein calculated 42?”

Chen Heping also felt this was a blind spot.

“Lin Xian, you’re the only one who has interacted directly with Einstein. Only you know the details of how he calculated 42. Please explain it to us in detail. If necessary, we can imitate the method.”

Lin Xian began to recall.

Einstein had mentioned that the inspiration for calculating 42 came from watching footage of a hydrogen bomb explosion on television. As he watched, inspiration suddenly struck him.

“Television. Footage of a hydrogen bomb explosion,” Lin Xian uttered the key phrases.

Chen Heping stood up immediately.

“I’ll go prepare that.”

He rushed out, flustered.

Soon after, Chen Heping returned, holding a flat-screen monitor.

He placed it on the laboratory table and started looping footage of hydrogen bomb explosions.

Lin Xian, Liu Feng, and Chen Heping stared at the screen, watching the mushroom cloud rise over and over…

Again and again…

Day after day…

A week later, Liu Feng collapsed in the lab.

Fortunately, Chen Heping was present and immediately called for the medical team. Liu Feng was resuscitated in time.

“It’s not a major issue,” the school doctor said after reviewing Liu Feng’s medical record. He turned to Lin Xian.

“It’s due to mental exhaustion and overwork. Liu Feng is simply burned out.”

Closing the file, the doctor raised his head and added, “To be honest, Principal Liu Feng’s age makes him unfit for this level of intense scientific research. His health and mental state have been deteriorating steadily over the years.

“Have you noticed? Especially in recent years, he’s been like a taut wire, constantly under strain, never allowing himself to relax. But in this world, no wire can remain unbroken forever. I knew from the start that this high-pressure mindset would lead to trouble sooner or later.”

“He’s pushing himself too hard. Or perhaps… he has unresolved inner conflicts that are crushing him.”

“I understand,” Lin Xian responded softly. “How is he now? Can I visit him?”

“There’s no issue now,” the doctor said, glancing out at the dark night beyond the window.

“But I hope this doesn’t happen again.”

…

Fifth floor of the inpatient department.

The curtains swayed gently in the night breeze, allowing slender beams of moonlight to filter through like a series of fleeting projections. As the curtains moved, the light seemed to vanish just as quickly as it appeared.

Lin Xian pushed open the door to the hospital room and stepped inside.

Lying flat on the bed was Liu Feng, his hair now nearly gone. He stared blankly at the ceiling as the IV dripped slowly into the back of his hand.

He turned his head slightly, his weary eyes falling on the young man and old friend standing at the door.

For a moment, sorrow welled up within him.

“I’m sorry…” he murmured.

Lin Xian chuckled softly and walked over to the bedside.

“What are you talking about? What do you have to apologize to me for? If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. You’re already at this age, and yet I…”

“No.”

Liu Feng shook his head, cutting Lin Xian off.

“I’m not apologizing for what happened today, but for… everything. Everything up until now…”

His voice was faint, trembling with emotion.

“To tell you the truth, Lin Xian… this apology has been buried in my heart for years…”

He paused, his breath uneven as he struggled to continue.

“I’ve held it in for so many years, never daring to say it out loud, never having the courage to face it.”

“Back then… you created a meteor shower for Qi Qi, fulfilling her wish and saving my life in the process. I really wanted to repay you for that, to help you calculate the Universal Constant and master the Power of 42.”

“But… it’s been 600 years. From the moment you gave me this task, 600 years have passed. And yet… I’ve done nothing. I’ve achieved nothing to help you.”

“Don’t say that.”

Lin Xian sat down at the bedside, gently holding Liu Feng’s arm.

“You’ve already helped me so much. Without you, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“But Lin Xian… it’s meaningless.”

Liu Feng’s eyes reddened, tears brimming at the corners.

“If we can’t stop the World-Ending White Light, if we can’t allow time to move forward, then no matter how far we’ve come, it’s all completely meaningless.”

“If only… if only Gao Wen had survived that day. He would have been able to do it… If it were him and Chen Heping together, they would’ve found a way…”

The pain that resides in a man’s heart is one only another man can understand.

At that moment, Liu Feng’s tears broke free. Sparkling droplets slid down the deep creases of his face, glistening against his aged skin.

He clenched his fist, the needle in the back of his hand trembling as he did so. Through the blur of his tears, he looked at Lin Xian.

“Lin Xian, I’m sorry.”

His voice quivered as he shut his eyes tightly.

“I… I’ve been so useless…”

…

Large tears streamed down Liu Feng’s face, unstoppable.

It was hard to imagine.

An elder, over ninety years old and having lived through six centuries, could cry with such sorrow. His words must have been buried deep in his heart for a long time.

Liu Feng was indeed overwhelmed with guilt.

He still vividly remembered the meteor shower Lin Xian had created for Qi Qi. Those golden trails, like a dreamcatcher, had not only taken Qi Qi away but also reignited his hope and passion for mathematics.

But.

Six hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye.

And he had achieved nothing. Solved nothing.

He had authored Introduction to the Universal Constant, yet he could not unlock the true secret of 42.

For six centuries, he had relentlessly studied without pause, yet his progress couldn’t match the few years of Chen Heping’s calculations.

Time and time again, it wasn’t his quiet demeanor, but Chen Heping’s rapid breakthroughs in the research of the Universal Constant that silenced him. He had long since surpassed Liu Feng, leaving him with nothing to contribute or say.

Every time he found himself helpless, Liu Feng thought of his late friend, Emperor Gao Wen.

If, on the day of the Super Catastrophe in 2504, it had been Liu Feng who perished instead of Gao Wen…

Would things be different now?

Would the two emperors working together have already unraveled the mystery of 42?

They must have been capable of it. Surely.

Liu Feng knew very well that Emperor Gao Wen was a genius, someone who could match Chen Heping’s intellect and brilliance. Not like himself, who could do little more than hold them back.

“That day… it should have been Gao Wen who survived…”

Liu Feng’s voice was pained and full of regret as he relived the nightmare countless times.

“I can’t accomplish anything. I’ve wasted so much time for nothing.”

Suddenly—

Crash—

The dim hospital room was filled with a sudden, brilliant light.

Liu Feng opened his eyes in confusion.

He realized—

It wasn’t the room’s lights that had turned on.

It was Lin Xian, standing by the bed, yanking the curtains open with force. The moonlight, long eager to pour in, flooded the room, painting the small, closed space in radiant white.

Lin Xian tilted his head up, gazing at the magnificent galaxy spread across the distant night sky.

“When was the last time you looked at the stars?” he asked.

“It’s been a long time,” Liu Feng murmured. Slowly, he propped himself up against the headboard and spoke in a low voice.

“I don’t have the courage to look at the stars anymore.”

Lin Xian turned to face him.

“Why? Are you afraid of the World-Ending White Light drawing closer at the speed of light?”

“Of course not.”

Liu Feng wiped his eyes.

“Who would fear something like that? If I were truly afraid, I would’ve started fearing it centuries ago.”

“I just… sigh… I just can’t bear to look at the stars… can’t face Qi Qi.”

For once, Liu Feng turned his head, gazing out at the eternal, glittering stars through the window.

“On the last card Qi Qi wrote to me, she said she would become a star… watching over me, protecting me, waiting for the day I proved the Universal Constant to the world.”

“She said she’d always stay up there with me. Always so close, yet so far. But no matter what… she wouldn’t get any farther away.”

“To me, every star in the sky is Qi Qi; every twinkle is her smile.”

“You know this, Lin Xian. Back in those days, everyone believed Introduction to the Universal Constant was wrong. Everyone… except Qi Qi. She was the only one who believed my research was correct.”

“Back then, when she saw the meteor shower you created, she said in her final moments, ‘Let me go with Lin Xian. He’s the meteor that came for me, specially here to take me to a brighter starry sky.'”

“But now… look at me. I’ve accomplished nothing. Or worse, maybe everything I’ve done has been meaningless. The World-Ending White Light will arrive in just one year, and we are still nowhere near understanding the truth behind 42.”

“In this situation, I not only feel ashamed toward you, but I also can’t bear to face Qi Qi… I’ve let everyone down. I… I’ve failed.”

…

Lin Xian watched Liu Feng, lost in his solitary repentance.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he exhaled slowly, saying nothing.

A 90-year-old man bearing the weight of 600 years—Liu Feng’s burden was indeed immense.

Especially for someone like him, a stubborn scholar who was entirely out of his depth when dealing with matters beyond the laboratory. Even during his time as a Rotational Principal, he had been a hands-off leader, incapable of handling responsibilities outside his expertise.

But… after the Super Catastrophe in 2504, where everyone else either perished or vanished, Liu Feng had no choice but to shoulder responsibilities far beyond his capabilities.

And so it went.

He endured alone for over a hundred years.

It wasn’t until he reunited with Lin Xian that he allowed a glimpse of vulnerability to show. And today, when all hope seemed lost, he finally broke down completely.

“I’m sorry,” Lin Xian said softly.

A thousand words condensed into a single apology.

He stepped forward to Liu Feng’s bedside. First, he removed the IV from its stand and reattached it to the mobile rack on the wheelchair. Then, gently, he lifted Liu Feng and placed him in the wheelchair.

How light he was.

The frail, withered Liu Feng felt as light as a handful of feathers.

After securing the straps and ensuring Liu Feng was comfortable, Lin Xian pushed the wheelchair out onto the balcony. He positioned it in a spot offering the clearest, most expansive view of the sky.

Tonight’s weather was beautiful.

Moonlight and starlight danced together, weaving a tapestry across the galaxy.

These lights, emitted by stars tens of billions of light-years away, crossed the vast cosmos to fall upon Liu Feng, draping him like a warm blanket—as if Qi Qi herself had wrapped him in her care, just as he had cared for her 600 years ago.

“Actually, I’m the one who’s all talk and hasn’t accomplished anything,” Lin Xian said, standing behind Liu Feng’s wheelchair and gazing at the flowing river of stars.

“You, Gao Wen, and Chen Heping have all dedicated yourselves to studying 42. I haven’t been able to contribute anything meaningful or provide any professional insight.”

“But, from the beginning until now, not once—not for a single day—have I ever doubted the correctness of your Introduction to the Universal Constant. I have always believed in it.”

“Do you remember what I told you back then? I said that in this world, in this universe, many things aren’t so absolute. Even if you’re wrong a thousand times, ten thousand times, a billion times—as long as you can be right just once, then you are right.”

Lin Xian extended one finger, pressing it against his chest.

“Just once,” he emphasized.

“The Universal Constant is the same. Even if it’s like a blind cat stumbling upon a dead mouse, it only needs to be right once. Just once… and that’s enough to save everything.”

Liu Feng blinked, staring blankly at the stars.

Following Lin Xian’s lead, he raised his right index finger and pressed it against his chest.

“Once,” he murmured.

His hoarse voice repeated, “Once… that’s enough.”

He clasped his left hand over his right index finger, pressing it against his heart, feeling the faint and fragile rhythm of his aging heartbeat.

“I guess I’ve always been the type to doubt myself,” Liu Feng said quietly.

“It’s so easy for me to lose confidence. No matter what I do, I always need someone to give me a push—first it was Qi Qi, and then it was you.”

“I don’t even know when this lack of confidence and constant self-doubt began. All I know is, the qualities I lack most are the ones both you and Qi Qi share: determination, persistence, and unwavering resolve.”

He clenched his fists tightly against his chest.

“These past few years, I’ve been so anxious, so restless. No matter how wildly I let my thoughts run, I just can’t imagine any way to win this fight…”

“Lin Xian, we’re up against the Piling Civilization, capable of deploying light-speed weapons. They’re several tiers ahead of humanity’s level of advancement. I see no hope at all.”

“I even had a dream once,” Liu Feng continued with a dry laugh, “where you locked yourself in an underground lab, and somehow, out of nowhere, you achieved enlightenment. Your eyes turned blue, and you fired a blast that destroyed the World-Ending White Light.”

Lin Xian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“If only it were that simple! What’s next, achieving enlightenment like in some mythical dragon tale? As much as some joke about science leading to mysticism, I think we’d better keep believing in science.”

Liu Feng turned his head to look at Lin Xian.

“Lin Xian, your heart is incredibly strong.”

“I’ve always wanted to know—what gives you such unshakable faith? What keeps you going, even when things seem impossible and there’s no way out?”

Lin Xian reached for the blanket draped over the back of the wheelchair and gently covered Liu Feng with it. Then, he pointed toward the university gate.

“Look over there.”

In the silver moonlight, the statues of Zhao Yingjun and Yu Xi were bathed in a luminous sheen, appearing both beautiful and sacred.

“What gave Yellow Finch the resolve to cross over, knowing it was a mission of certain death?” Lin Xian asked softly.

“What gave Yingjun the determination to found Rhine University, leaving us a beacon of hope?”

“And what drove Yu Xi, someone who never even met me, to build Rhine University into a stronghold, all for an unworthy father like me?”

“What was it?” Liu Feng asked.

Lin Xian shook his head.

“I can’t explain it.”

“Then you—!” Liu Feng started, but his excitement made him cough violently, realizing he was being teased.

“I only know this: my wife, my daughter—they must have faced countless difficulties, countless moments of despair. Yet they never thought of giving up,” Lin Xian said, his voice steady.

“And besides,” he continued, “Yingjun mentioned it many times in her letters: ‘Don’t look back. Keep moving forward.’ So, as you said, I’ve never once considered giving up…”

Lin Xian’s gaze lingered on the ivory-white statue in the distance. Gripping the wheelchair handles tightly, he declared, “I believe in my family.”

Suddenly—

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud!

The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Bang!

The door to the hospital room flew open, and Chen Heping burst in, panting heavily.

“I found it!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with laughter.

“I figured it out! I know the answer!”

He strode quickly into the room, pointing at the flat-screen monitor by the bed.

“Back in 1952, when Einstein was alive, there was no such thing as a flat-screen monitor! He must have used an old cathode ray tube television, or maybe even a black-and-white TV!”

“And the cameras used to record hydrogen bomb explosions back then would have been ancient film cameras, hundreds of years behind today’s electronic cameras and digital storage!”

“Think carefully—what’s something that only shows up on cathode ray tube televisions and old film recordings? Especially when it involves capturing high-radiation, high-energy explosions like a hydrogen bomb!”

Liu Feng’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening.

In an instant, he understood.

“Snowflake noise!” he exclaimed.

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation