Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

Boom!

It was like a lightning bolt streaked across Lin Xian’s mind, illuminating his entire consciousness and striking the precarious kite tethered behind his head, pushing it to the brink of collapse.

Ji Xin Shui…

Lin Xian could never have imagined that in the distant timeline of 1952, he would encounter an enemy from his own era—someone he knew personally and had fought against.

He clenched his fists tightly.

Ji Xin Shui was not just his enemy. He was the mastermind behind the Seven Deadly Sins, a lackey of Copernicus, and the culprit responsible for the deaths of Xu Yun and Tang Xin. When Lin Xian had deceived and executed the 80-year-old Ji Xin Shui in the modern age, he hadn’t hesitated for a moment. He had even felt that a lethal injection was too merciful a punishment for the man’s crimes.

But now, Lin Xian was confronted with something utterly unexpected…

The man who had died in 2023 had somehow “resurrected” before him in the form of a young boy—barely a teenager—in 1952.

Another bolt of lightning struck, shaking the kite and sending violent tremors down the tether connecting Lin Xian’s consciousness to the future. The line threatened to snap at any moment.

Lin Xian understood what was happening.

[This was the timeline issuing a warning—a premonition.]

If the kite line were to break, it would mean the elasticity of time had been surpassed, the curvature of spacetime had shifted, and the timeline would transition into a completely unfamiliar trajectory. History and the future would veer onto a new, uncharted course.

If that happened, Lin Xian would lose any chance of returning to the year 2234. He would become a ghost unanchored to the past or future—a wanderer adrift in an alien spacetime.

Taking a deep breath, Lin Xian calmed his surging emotions. Slowly, he unclenched his fists.

Right now, knowing that young Johnny’s real name was Ji Xin Shui marked a critical juncture—a choice teetering on the edge of the timeline’s elasticity.

[He now held the power to alter Ji Xin Shui’s destiny, but any change to Ji Xin Shui’s life trajectory would inevitably trigger a shift in the timeline.]

Lin Xian started reevaluating everything he knew.

He had previously studied Ji Xin Shui’s background while at the Donghai Public Security Bureau. Born in 1938, Ji Xin Shui had fled war with his parents as a child. In adulthood, he returned to China as an overseas scientist during the era of reform and opening up, eventually working in a laboratory at Donghai University.

In 1952, Ji Xin Shui should indeed be thirteen or fourteen years old. The timeline and details matched perfectly with the boy standing before him.

There was no doubt about it…

This boy, Johnny, was Ji Xin Shui—the future, deranged elder who would bear the name “Arrogance.”

Having traveled here using entangled spacetime particles, Lin Xian was exempt from forced evasion laws, giving him the ability to rewrite history at will. He could alter the timeline however he saw fit.

He could use the handgun in his pocket to eliminate the child Ji Xin Shui, eradicating the threat at its source. Alternatively, he could leverage the boy’s admiration for him, steering his life down a different path and ensuring he remained in the United States, never returning to his homeland.

Such actions would prevent the formation of the Seven Deadly Sins and avert the deaths of Xu Yun and Tang Xin.

But…

What would be the cost?

Doing so would cause history to drift into a completely new timeline. The kite string tethered to Lin Xian’s mind would snap instantly, leaving him forever stranded in this alien era.

The cost was simply too high.

Moreover, even if he saved Xu Yun and Tang Xin, it would only be their counterparts in the new timeline—versions of them Lin Xian had never known. The Xu Yun and Tang Xin he had lost in his own timeline would remain gone.

This harsh logic and the immutable laws of spacetime were concepts Lin Xian had understood long ago.

Only by ensuring that future events unfolded along the original trajectory could he safely return to the year 2234 and carry out the plans he had in place.

Thus…

At this critical crossroads, he had to tread carefully.

“Is that so,” Lin Xian muttered, his voice calm and nonchalant.

He adjusted the brim of his black hat, casting a shadow over his sharp blue eyes. For a brief moment, he gazed at the young boy standing before him.

“Goodbye, Ji Xin Shui.”

Without another word, Lin Xian opened the car door, climbed into the yellow taxi, and handed the driver a small note.

“To the western suburbs of Brooklyn, this address.”

The bearded driver glanced at the note, nodded, and said, “Got it, sir. I know the area well.”

With that, the vehicle started moving.

Through the right-side mirror, Lin Xian watched the boy Ji Xin Shui grow smaller and smaller in the distance, standing there, watching the car drive away.

Angelica had once mentioned that Ji Xin Shui visited Brooklyn every winter to mourn his best friend.

Now Lin Xian wondered…

Could that friend have been him—Douglas?

He wasn’t sure.

Their interactions had been limited to a few brief meetings, some idle conversations, and a small amount of financial support. Yet, perhaps it was those fleeting exchanges that had left such a profound impression on the young boy, shaping his life and ensuring that the name “Mr. Douglas” remained unforgettable.

Lin Xian closed his eyes, pressing his palm against his forehead.

Was this the locked timeline at work?

Unknowingly, he had believed himself an uninvited guest in the flow of time. Now, he realized he, too, was a part of history.

“No matter what happens, I have to ensure I can safely return to 2234,” he murmured to himself.

Letting his thoughts dissipate, Lin Xian focused on the kite string tethered to the back of his mind.

Since leaving Ji Xin Shui behind, the storm clouds in his mind seemed to have lifted. The tether felt supple and steady, no longer at risk of snapping.

This built-in warning system was undeniably effective.

Lin Xian wondered if others who had used entangled spacetime particles, such as Yu Xi and No. 17, understood the laws of spacetime or realized the significance of the kite string’s tremors.

Then again…

Whether they understood or not hardly mattered. Both were highly trained temporal agents. For them, following orders and completing their missions outweighed all else, even their own lives.

“At least this one and only entangled spacetime particle will finally be gone,” Lin Xian thought.

“When I return to 2234, there will be no more spacetime travelers defying the laws of time.”

…

The taxi rattled along for over an hour before coming to a stop at a sprawling, overgrown farm.

The bearded driver turned around and gestured towards a cluster of dilapidated buildings nestled within the untamed greenery. “Sir, we’re here,” he said. Then, pointing at the scattered structures, he continued, “This whole area is mostly private property. A lot of wealthy people are buying land here to build villas and resorts. The newspapers say Brooklyn is going to undergo major development, just like Manhattan. Everyone’s betting on future investments.”

He chuckled dismissively. “But if you ask me, Brooklyn’s too poor for that. No way it’ll ever match Manhattan. Even Jersey’s better than Brooklyn.”

Tapping the meter, he glanced at Lin Xian. “This place is pretty remote. It’ll be hard to find a ride back. I can wait here for you, and we can settle the fare when I drive you back.”

“No need.” Lin Xian shook his head, slipping the man a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “The extra is your tip. Keep the change.”

This meeting with Einstein was unpredictable—there was no telling how long it would take or what secrets the famed scientist might reveal about this farm. Lin Xian preferred not to have a third party lingering around.

“Just head back to Brooklyn. Someone else will pick me up later,” Lin Xian added.

The driver’s eyes widened at the sight of Benjamin Franklin’s face grinning up from the green bill. “Thank you, sir! You’re incredibly generous!”

Without hesitation, the driver leapt out to open the car door for Lin Xian, bowing deeply. “Have a wonderful day, sir!”

Then, as if afraid Lin Xian might change his mind, the driver sped off, leaving a trail of dust hanging in the air.

Lin Xian adjusted his black hat, his fingers brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones as his gaze shifted to the decrepit farm ahead.

November 5th.

The day of his much-anticipated meeting with Einstein had finally arrived. Initially, Lin Xian had worried about concealing his voice and appearance, but the temporal anomaly had resolved the problem for him perfectly.

Now, his appearance was that of a mixed-race individual with both Chinese and Western features. His voice carried the rough timbre of an Irishman. And his name? Douglas.

This was Lin Xian’s new identity in 1952—the one he would use to officially meet Einstein.

Steeling himself, Lin Xian strode onto the sprawling farm. The property was expansive, dotted with only a few scattered structures. One of these must surely be where Einstein was waiting.

One by one, Lin Xian opened the doors to the various buildings. Some rooms appeared to have housed workers, with bunk beds crammed into tight quarters. Others were abandoned, cobwebbed spaces or storage areas piled with rusting tools. He thoroughly explored each building, but none resembled a proper living room, study, or even a modest tea room.

“This doesn’t make sense…” Lin Xian scratched his head, puzzled.

Einstein had invited him here to talk—surely there must be a place to sit and drink tea. Yet every structure was shabby and dilapidated. Could Einstein really expect them to sit outside in the bitter winter chill and have a heart-to-heart until they froze into icicles?

“No,” Lin Xian muttered, shaking his head. “That’s not Einstein’s style.”

He paced around the farm, circling the buildings as he analyzed the situation. Einstein, a renowned scientist of immense stature and a gentleman by all accounts, wouldn’t invite someone he admired to such a rundown place. Their camaraderie at the Halloween ball had been genuine—this setting didn’t align with that impression.

Something was definitely amiss.

And the most perplexing question lingered: Where was Einstein?

Lin Xian couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Could Einstein have stood him up? The scientist had been so insistent, promising to wait at the farm all day on November 5th to meet him. Yet now, there was no sitting room, no tea, no Einstein—nothing at all.

“This is too strange.”

Lin Xian knelt down to examine the ground, which was littered with construction debris: splintered wood scraps, ceramic tile fragments, and a few snipped lengths of electrical wiring. Scuffing the dirt with his shoe, he uncovered more traces of renovation.

It was clear the farm had undergone some form of construction—luxurious at that, judging by the quality of the materials. Yet now there were no signs of workers or completed renovations. So where had all of Einstein’s money gone?

“I need to piece this together,” Lin Xian murmured, stroking his chin as he summarized the anomalies:

The farm had worker dormitories, construction debris, and evidence of both carpentry and electrical work—indicating that luxury renovations had taken place. Yet, there were no traces of any completed work or active workers. Where had the funds for renovations been spent?

Since 1945, Einstein had frequently passed by the orphanage where CC lived. It was reasonable to infer that renovations on this farm had begun as early as then, with Einstein likely supervising the project. Seven years had passed, yet there were no visible signs of improvement.

Einstein had eagerly invited him here, expressing a strong desire to meet again. But now, not only was there no welcoming party, but Einstein himself was missing. This behavior seemed entirely out of character for someone of his stature.

Everything about this situation felt wrong.

The more Lin Xian thought about it, the more certain he became: [This farm must conceal a hidden room, a secret underground base, or some other hidden space.]

“I’ll keep searching.”

Turning back toward the rear of the farm, Lin Xian walked past the dilapidated buildings, heading for the more secluded areas beyond.

…

Simultaneously…

In Princeton, New Jersey, at 112 Marshall Street, inside the study of a single-family home, Albert Einstein, who had been unconscious at his desk for three days and nights, began to twitch. Slowly, he awakened, his eyes fluttering open.

“Where… where am I…?” he murmured, exhaling deeply as he pressed his fingers to his temples.

Lines.

Lines everywhere.

His mind was overwhelmed with an incalculable number of threads, thin as hairs, intricate as a honeycomb, crisscrossing endlessly in his thoughts. Each thread seemed to connect to a different period in the future. With just a bit of focus, Einstein could perceive any moment in time, any place, any event happening around any person.

It was an indescribable sensation, but he knew with certainty…

From the moment he woke, he could see all possible futures—every single one.

For instance, he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, yet he instinctively knew it was now 2:28 PM on November 5th, 1952.

There was no calendar in his room, yet he could see the calendars hanging in every home across America, the dates printed in every newspaper, the clocks ticking on television broadcasts reporting the time.

“What… what is happening to me?” he muttered, dumbfounded, his gaze falling to the sheet of paper on the desk, marked with the number 42.

All the strange phenomena had started the moment he calculated the answer to the Universal Constant. Since that moment, he had been unconscious for three days, yet he felt no hunger, no thirst.

This defied all reason.

At seventy years old, how could his frail body endure three days without food or water?

“What has happened to me? My body…”

Einstein raised his head and glanced at the mirror on his desk.

He inhaled sharply.

Blinking a few times, he stared at his reflection, unable to believe his eyes.

With trembling hands, he picked up the mirror, staring into it at the shocked face of Albert Einstein. His gaze locked onto his own eyes—or rather, what should have been his eyes.

They weren’t his.

His irises, once brown, now glowed with a bright, crystalline blue, as though rivers of stars and galaxies flowed within them.

“Blue…?” Einstein furrowed his brow.

His pupils had always been brown. Why had they inexplicably turned blue after three days of unconsciousness? He thought back to the blinding blue light that had filled his study just before he lost consciousness… and the two small blue electric spheres that had appeared out of thin air.

“Could it be… those two blue orbs?” he whispered, his breath uneven.

If…

If the visions of the future he now saw in his mind were real…

What did the future hold for humanity?

[Would it unfold as Douglas had predicted—a lasting peace born of nuclear deterrence?]

Or…

[Would it align with Einstein’s deepest fears—a self-destruction driven by humanity’s inability to control its own power?]

Closing his eyes, Einstein delved into the labyrinth of his mind, seeking the farthest thread—the thread that extended to the ultimate future of humankind.

…

…

After a long silence, he sighed deeply and opened his eyes.

His face had grown somber, his expression laden with sorrow. It was as though he had aged decades in an instant.

“How unfortunate,” he murmured softly, lowering his head.

“Douglas… you were wrong.”

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation