Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

December 11, 2234, Rhine University, Secret Laboratory.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Thud.

The time machine, which had just been successfully activated, suddenly made a muffled sound from within, startling Gao Yang, Gao Wen, and Liu Feng in the lab. The three exchanged puzzled looks.

“What’s that sound?” Gao Yang scratched his head and asked, “The time machine didn’t break down, did it? Did Lin Xian make it back successfully?”

“He must have,” Liu Feng said quickly, operating the monitor. Just moments ago, Lin Xian’s biological signal had indeed disappeared, and the weight of the travel chamber had decreased. Gao Yang rushed over, cautiously lifting the lid of the chamber.

“Hello? Anybody in there? Are you human or ghost?”

Thud, thud, thud. From inside the chamber came three knocks—two long, one short—the prearranged signal.

“It’s Lin Xian! It’s him!” Gao Yang shouted, thrilled. He waved at Gao Wen. “Quick, quick, open it up and let him out. Why’s he back already? He only just left for 1952.”

“Good grief, Lin Xian! Why are you naked?” Gao Yang exclaimed, shielding his eyes. “Where’s the otter fur suit we gave you?”

Lin Xian planted his feet firmly on the floor, rubbing his temples as he recovered from the dizziness of time travel. “No idea where the suit went,” he mumbled. “By the way, what’s today’s date? How much time has passed here?”

“It’s still the same day and time you left!” Gao Wen pointed to a small, hovering aluminum-alloy trashcan robot, affectionately called Vivi, which rolled forward, dragging a lab coat behind it. “Garbage, garbage! Found garbage!” Vivi declared, its small screen displaying the current date and time.

Lin Xian took the coat, slipping it on. After glancing at the date, he frowned. “This is exactly when I left? So, I was gone for a week, but only a second passed here?”

“That’s exactly it,” Liu Feng confirmed. “While you might’ve experienced a full week in 1952, for us, it was instantaneous. This indicates our time flows aren’t synchronized.”

Gao Yang circled Lin Xian, inspecting him for missing limbs. “Still, why come back so fast? Couldn’t you have stayed longer to explore?”

“I couldn’t risk it.” Lin Xian shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “You don’t understand. I barely made it back. My connection—my ‘kite string’—almost snapped.”

The others exchanged baffled glances. “‘Kite string’? What are you talking about?”

“It’s hard to explain now,” Lin Xian replied. “Let’s just say things got very dicey. Einstein figured out the truth and bombarded me with questions. For a moment, even breathing felt dangerous—like any tiny clue might let him deduce something that could shift the entire timeline.”

Lin Xian shivered at the memory. “The storm was raging, and the kite was on the verge of snapping. I had no choice but to climb back up the string and return here immediately.”

“Well, at least you made it back safely,” Gao Wen said, still puzzled. “But seriously, what’s this about a kite string?”

“Don’t worry about it now,” Lin Xian replied with a wave of his hand. He turned to Liu Feng. “First things first—check whether the quantum-entangled spacetime particles were fully consumed during the trip.”

Liu Feng stepped forward and opened the sealed chamber of the time machine. The group peered inside, only to find it completely empty. The once violently swirling and entangled spacetime particles had vanished without a trace.

“Perfect.” Lin Xian let out a sigh of relief. “It seems our earlier hypothesis was correct. Due to the unique properties of these quantum-entangled spacetime particles, they can only be completely consumed through a round-trip journey across time.”

“This finally puts an end to one worry,” Liu Feng agreed. “We no longer have to fear Terminator-like assassins from the future.”

“Well, Lin Xian, did you complete all the tasks you had planned for this time travel?” Gao Yang asked eagerly, moving closer.

“Yes, yes! Tell us where you went and what you did!” Gao Wen chimed in, his excitement evident. “Or better yet, let’s head to a meeting room. While your memory is fresh, you can give us a full debrief and help us untangle all these mysteries!”

Lin Xian shook his head. “Those things can wait. Right now, I have something more urgent to do.”

“What is it?” Gao Yang asked, puzzled.

“I need the fastest plane ready for me immediately.”

“We have plenty of planes here at Rhine University,” Gao Yang replied, still confused. “You can just use one of our private jets. But why the rush? You just got back!”

Lin Xian turned to face the distant horizon, his gaze fixed on the other side of the ocean. “Brooklyn,” he said softly.

A sleek, red private jet soon took off from Rhine University’s internal airport, heading at maximum speed toward the United States.

Gao Yang had initially wanted to accompany Lin Xian, but Lin Xian refused. He had to do this alone—he was going to find Einstein.

During their parting in 1952, Einstein had confided that he had gained the ability to see the future and an immortal body. He also mentioned his plan to use the underground shelter beneath his farm as a secret base. These clues, pieced together, left only one conclusion: Einstein was the founder and president of the Genius Club.

Lin Xian speculated on Einstein’s journey over the years. At first, Einstein had likely felt despair over humanity’s future, falling into deep depression. However, through the encouragement of Douglas, a young companion he trusted and befriended, his outlook improved significantly.

Einstein had later drawn inspiration from footage of the hydrogen bomb’s explosion and successfully calculated the answer to the universal constant: 42. But this discovery came with unexplainable phenomena.

According to Einstein, two spacetime particles emerged from a fissure behind him. One struck him directly, and the other flew toward Lin Xian but ended up hitting the prototype CC instead. This caused CC to disintegrate into blue stardust and enter a 24-year cyclical reincarnation across hundreds of years. Meanwhile, Einstein gained immortality, his aging process halted, and he acquired the ability to glimpse the uncertain future.

Several paradoxes arose here: why did such bizarre events occur around Einstein when he calculated the universal constant, while Chen Heping, father of the “Big-Faced Cat,” experienced no such anomalies during similar experiments? Why did the same spacetime particles yield vastly different results depending on the individual?

Was the cause rooted in Einstein and CC themselves, or was it the inherent nature of the particles? Most intriguing was the question of whether the futures Einstein saw aligned with reality.

The “kite string” attached to Lin Xian’s mind was a representation of his connection to time. As long as the string remained intact, it meant that the future of his worldline had already been determined by the history he had experienced.

Worldlines were meticulous. Like his unique spacetime coordinates, no matter how twisted or turbulent a worldline became, standing on the same one would always reveal the same history and future.

For instance, on worldline 0.001764, a nuclear war in 1991 never occurred. While it might have happened on another worldline, it was irrelevant here. As long as this history didn’t exist on worldline 0.001764, no matter the vantage point along the river of time, one could never observe that nuclear war. And therein lay the contradictions.

If the future Einstein saw was real, Lin Xian’s “kite string” would have to break, causing their worldline to leap onto one where nuclear war erupted in 1991. Even if Einstein managed to prevent the war and pull the worldline back, this could only happen after an irreversible anchor point. In other words, the Einstein of 1952 could not possibly see such a future without his kite string breaking.

The same applies to dreams. One cannot simultaneously stand in the Ninth Dreamscape and witness an imaginary 1991 global nuclear war. It’s like standing on a mountaintop—you can only see one view at a time.

Sitting in the speeding airplane, Lin Xian closed his eyes and muttered, “History and the future are the same. Einstein and I stood in 1952; there’s no way we could see two different futures. Since the future I experienced is real, and humanity did not perish in 1991, then what Einstein saw in 1952 must be false.”

To verify this conclusion, Lin Xian resolved to confront Einstein directly when he arrived in Brooklyn.

In 2234, his home turf, Lin Xian had no fears. The kite string would not break, spacetime would not shift, and the worldline would not leap. He was free to act without worry, able to do whatever he wished.

Reflecting further, Lin Xian analyzed Einstein’s mental journey. After gaining the omniscient ability to glimpse the future, Einstein would inevitably have noticed Douglas’s blue eyes and assumed that Douglas, like himself, could also see the future. This mutual understanding likely deepened their bond, leading Einstein to invite Douglas to join him in saving the world and humanity’s future.

However, as the true Douglas, Lin Xian had escaped before his kite string broke. Einstein, unwilling to abandon his mission to save humanity, had likely founded the Genius Club to prevent humanity’s self-destruction. Over the years, Einstein must have made countless efforts, yet the results remained unsatisfactory.

Lin Xian didn’t yet know what other apocalyptic futures Einstein might have foreseen besides the nuclear war in 1991. But what was clear was that their visions of the future were fundamentally different. While Lin Xian saw the world destroyed by the World-Ending White Light, Einstein seemed to focus on humanity’s self-destruction. This disparity hinted at a deeper conspiracy lurking behind the scenes.

As the plane descended through the clouds, the lights of the United States became visible through the cabin window. For humanity, 200 years was a long time; for Earth, it was but a blink. The American coastline and mountains remained unchanged, but the land below had transformed entirely.

After landing, Lin Xian got into a car and headed straight for the western outskirts of Brooklyn. He gazed out at the streets, yet nothing stirred a sense of familiarity. The Empire State Building was gone. The Brooklyn Bridge had been remodeled beyond recognition. The clock tower, once Spider-Man’s perch, had vanished. Even the Highland Promenade, where CC had set off fireworks, was now erased by the passage of time.

This was the loneliness of an era. Lin Xian sighed deeply. Back in 2025, he had felt alive—a true, tangible presence. But here, in 2234, he felt like a ghost. Surrounded by Gao Yang, Gao Wen, Liu Feng, and Jask, the feeling had been faint. Now, alone in an unfamiliar America, loneliness surged back like a tidal wave, suffocating him on dry land.

There was no familiar place, no familiar faces, no familiar scenery—until suddenly, a dilapidated farm appeared in his view. Lin Xian froze, struck by an uncanny sense of déjà vu.

“Stop the car!” he shouted abruptly. Once the vehicle came to a halt, he opened the door and stepped out. Standing before him was a farm, unchanged in every detail from 1952. The fence, the trees, the grass—it was all exactly the same.

It was unimaginably identical. Lin Xian stood there, stunned, unable to believe his eyes.

In 2234, the farm at the same location was, astonishingly, identical in every detail to its appearance in 1952. Lin Xian had just left this very farm in 1952, had walked its grounds countless times. How could he be mistaken?

But as he pursed his lips, doubt gave way to realization. Nearly 300 years had passed. The Empire State Building had collapsed, the Brooklyn Bridge had corroded, and no structure of steel and concrete could withstand such a vast expanse of time. Yet this old, dilapidated farm had somehow endured.

Walking closer, Lin Xian placed his hand on the weathered wooden fence, then looked up at the houses, their bricks appearing strangely pristine. That’s when it dawned on him.

This must be a Theseus Farm. Though the fences, houses, wild grass, and even the trees looked identical to 1952, they were all newly built—painstakingly replicated using modern materials to mirror the past.

Crunching over gravel, Lin Xian stepped through the property, entering the houses one by one. He pushed open the door of the first house, knowing exactly what he would find. Inside, just as in 1952, were the remnants of workers’ quarters—rickety bunk beds left behind long ago.

Creak. The door to the opposite house groaned as he opened it, revealing a room filled with scraps of cloth, clutter, and spiderwebs.

Finally, he approached the northernmost building—a crumbling shed that he remembered clearly. This would be the warehouse. Stepping inside, Lin Xian scanned the familiar scene: a collection of old tools and, in the corner, concealed by dust and shadow, a simple elevator leading to the underground shelter.

Taking a deep breath, Lin Xian inhaled the heavy scent of dust, mingled with the weight of time itself. It didn’t take long to locate the Theseus Elevator. Its frame was constructed from the valuable aluminum alloy, Ha Alloy, but its design was archaic, reflecting the style of three centuries ago. He pressed the button, and the elevator descended with a soft groan, the cables creaking under its weight.

After several seconds, the space below opened up, illuminated by bright lights. Lin Xian stepped into a massive underground chamber, reminiscent of the virtual meeting halls of the Genius Club. In the center stood nine imposing black wooden high-back chairs. Below, arranged in tiers, were 48 smaller chairs—empty, all but one.

On the highest tier sat a figure wearing an Einstein mask. The old man radiated an aura of sorrow as he looked up, his gaze meeting Lin Xian’s as the elevator doors parted.

“Rhine.” The voice was deep and commanding. “I never expected you to find this place.”

Lin Xian chuckled softly. “Einstein, you’ve rebuilt the farm countless times above ground, preserving every detail of its original state. Surely, it’s because you didn’t want an old friend to lose their way.”

Stepping into the light, Lin Xian fixed his gaze on the man, whose posture immediately straightened in his chair.

“Einstein,” Lin Xian said calmly, “I’ve come to retrieve my watch.”