Chapter 404: Exit in the Morning Sun

Zhao Ying Jun narrowed her eyes, pulling Yan Qiao Qiao behind her protectively.

What kind of mad scientist is this?

No wonder Yan Qiao Qiao had called Liu Feng strange. This kind of behavior, this obsession—it couldn’t even be called strange anymore. It was beyond that. It was downright creepy.

Meanwhile, Liu Feng, lost in his musings, continued to mutter to himself as he gazed at the names on the blackboard. “I wrote down Nan Gong Meng Jie’s name earlier because I had a feeling she would come to the lab. So, there’s no place left for you in the arithmetic sequence.”

He paused, then added with surprise, “But who would have thought... it was you who came first! That means you’re the one destined to complete this sequence. As for Nan Gong Meng Jie, she was never meant to be part of it. She’s just an outsider.”

Zhao Ying Jun blinked at the bizarre explanation, then glanced at the names written in a vertical line on the blackboard. She could more or less piece together what was happening.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re mistaken.” She pointed to the number next to her name. “I’m not 26. I only turned 25 a few months ago. If we’re being accurate, your sequence isn’t exactly precise.”

She then moved her finger to a blank space between Yan Qiao Qiao’s name and Chu An Qing’s. “And by your logic, shouldn’t a 17-year-old girl be showing up next? Where exactly are you going to find her?”

Liu Feng spread his hands confidently. “Oh, she’ll come. Your appearance today proves that the arithmetic sequence is absolute. Whoever’s meant to be here will come, even if they’re late. And no one else can take their place. Just like that empty spot for the 17-year-old girl. She’ll be here, someday, to complete the sequence.”

Zhao Ying Jun felt exasperated. Was this guy for real? She was starting to feel like she’d wandered into the wrong place today. What kind of deranged scientist was this? If he were in a cartoon, he’d make the perfect villain—obsessed with all the wrong things, while completely neglecting the important details.

But she still had one burning question, so she asked, “If you’re so sure of yourself, then what happens when the sequence is finally complete? What does it mean?”

Liu Feng blinked, caught off guard by the question. He stared at the blackboard, where only one name was missing to complete the sequence. He had never actually thought about it. This sequence, centered around Lin Xian and the girls he had encountered, shouldn’t really mean anything. It wasn’t supposed to signify progress in any way.

“Uh...” Liu Feng scratched his head. He had to admit, this woman, Zhao Ying Jun, was sharp. She had pinpointed the flaw in his logic. “That’s... an interesting question.”

He cupped his chin, pondering his answer. “Since it’s taken so long to get this close to completing the sequence, my scientific intuition tells me that something big will happen when it’s finally finished.”

Zhao Ying Jun scoffed lightly. What a meaningless answer. She glanced at the names again—Yan Qiao Qiao, Chu An Qing, Su Su... She knew all these girls.

But who was this “Yellow Finch”?

“Who’s Yellow Finch?” Zhao Ying Jun asked.

“Yellow Finch is... Yellow Finch,” Liu Feng replied, his tone suddenly heavy and nostalgic, like he was remembering someone important. He looked at Zhao Ying Jun, clearly wanting to say more, but held back. “She was... a great person.”

And with that vague response, Zhao Ying Jun gave up trying to have a normal conversation with him. It was clear they weren’t on the same wavelength.

At that moment, the door creaked open, and Lin Xian entered with a smile, walking in from the back. “Well, look who’s here! What brings the two of you over?”

He walked in, ruffling Yan Qiao Qiao’s hair as she sat at the lab bench, her face pressed against the table, staring intently at a clock displaying “0.0000084.”

“This is Liu Feng, the one I mentioned to you before” Lin Xian introduced, nodding toward the scientist. “I brought him in from Shanxi. He’s a mathematician but has made a name for himself in various fields. One of my most reliable people, and a good friend.”

Zhao Ying Jun nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard about him.”

In a flash of memory, Lin Xian recalled something—Yellow Finch’s first meeting with Liu Feng. She had instantly known who he was and the nature of his relationship with Lin Xian, offering them invaluable information.

This meant Yellow Finch had known Liu Feng long before their paths crossed in the present. And here, in this very room, was their first encounter. It seemed casual, but Lin Xian knew it carried weight.

Because, after all, if Yellow Finch had traveled through time using time-space particles, who had provided the technology for that?

There was only one answer. As an ally, only Liu Feng could have helped Yellow Finch cross through time.

Lately, Lin Xian had been feeling more and more like the stage was being set for something grand, like all the key players were slowly falling into place, just waiting for the curtain to rise.

He glanced toward the small refrigerator by the window. It stood there, as it always did, unmoved and seemingly unremarkable.

The real reason Lin Xian had rushed over was his fear that Yan Qiao Qiao had come for the entangled time-space particles. But, as it turned out, his worries were unfounded. Yan Qiao Qiao had no interest in the refrigerator or the particles; instead, she seemed fascinated by the clock on the table.

Until her memories returned, Lin Xian thought, she was still just a child who loved to play.

Speaking of which, Lin Xian checked his watch. It was June 10th, the day after the national college entrance exams—just in time for Donghai University’s annual “Campus Open Day.”

Every year, the university opened its doors for a week, inviting students and their families to explore the campus. It was a chance to show off the school’s spirit and give prospective students a better understanding of university life. During this week, student clubs, organizations, and even classes hosted a variety of events. It was the liveliest time of the year on campus.

With Zhao Ying Jun and Yan Qiao Qiao visiting at this time, Lin Xian, as their host, figured he should show them around.

He turned back to Zhao Ying Jun with a smile. “It’s the university’s open day right now. The main road is packed with stalls, performances, and club activities. If you two don’t have any other plans, how about I show you around?”

“Sure!” Zhao Ying Jun agreed without hesitation. “I went to school abroad, so I never got to experience university life here in X Country. This is a great chance to catch up on what I missed.”

With that, the three of them prepared to leave.

As they stepped out, Lin Xian stayed behind for a moment to speak with Liu Feng.

“Any progress with recharging the time-space particles?” Lin Xian asked.

Liu Feng shook his head. “Not a bit. Honestly, I’m starting to doubt my original assumptions. I’ve tried everything I could think of, but the particles are completely unresponsive, like a dead weight. Maybe there’s some missing condition or specific timing needed to restore their energy?”

“For now, I’m still at a loss. We’ll just have to keep observing.”

Lin Xian nodded, oddly reassured by the lack of progress. His biggest worry at the moment wasn’t the particles—it was when Yan Qiao Qiao would regain her memory. There were only 30 days left until July 7th.

Could it be that she would recover her memories precisely on that day?

As he walked past the lab bench, Lin Xian picked up the clock and slipped it into his bag. “I’m going to borrow this clock for a few days. I want to monitor it closely. I’ll return it when I’m done.”

Liu Feng waved him off. “Go ahead. We’ve got time-space particles on hand, so we can always make another one and recalibrate it.”

With that, Lin Xian left the lab with the clock.

In the Sixth Dream, half of Gao Wen’s manuscript on the “Neural Shock Helmet” had already been copied. Once the other half was done, he could move forward with his plan to erase Turing from history.

Lin Xian was sure that as soon as Turing was eliminated, the curvature of space-time would change, and the world’s timeline would shift. After all, the war-torn future of the Sixth Dream—the “0.0000084” timeline—had been entirely crafted by Turing.

If Turing was destroyed in 2024, there’d be no way for it to survive until 2624.

So, it was clear.

...

The next morning, after washing up and eating breakfast, Lin Xian dressed in a formal suit.

Today would mark the fall of a genius and the end of an era. As cowardly and selfish as it had been, Turing had still created digital life. Though history would forget its name, Lin Xian believed it deserved the dignity of a formal farewell from its executioner.

With his laptop, time-space clock, and phone in hand, Lin Xian descended the stairs and got into the black van. He turned to the driver, Xiao Li.

“Head out toward the New Harbor District. I’ll send you the coordinates. There’s a patch of wilderness there.”

An hour later, Lin Xian stepped out onto the lush green grass, carrying his equipment in his arms.

This was the place where he had once tried to activate VV, the super artificial intelligence. Of course, it hadn’t worked. VV had become a malfunctioning AI, which Lin Xian had later transferred into a cleaning robot.

He still wasn’t sure whether VV had truly lost its capabilities or was just pretending. But he trusted that VV had its reasons.

Executing Turing could be done anywhere, but Lin Xian felt that this place had a special significance. After all, he wanted VV to see the moment he avenged it.

He walked a bit further from the van and placed the time-space clock on the ground, watching the steady reading of “0.0000084.” Then, he opened the laptop, setting it up beside the clock. He straightened up and took a deep breath.

“VV, watch closely. I’m about to avenge you.”

The laptop’s indicator light blinked.

“Apologies, VV does not understand your command. Please input another.”

Lin Xian smiled softly. “That’s alright. Just watch.”

The indicator light blinked again.

“Apologies, VV does not understand your command. Please input another.”

“Mute.”

“Understood! Volume set to mute mode!”

Lin Xian turned, watching as the morning sun rose higher in the east, casting his shadow long across the grassy field. The wind whispered through the leaves, and his silhouette stretched over the vibrant green earth.

For Donghai City, this was the dawn.

But for Turing, it was the sunset.

Taking out his phone, Lin Xian also pulled a golden badge from his pocket—the emblem of the Genius Club—and pressed it against the back of his phone.

Beep.

The phone’s NFC chip detected the signal, launching the browser, which started jumping between pages rapidly. After a minute, the Genius Club’s challenge page finally appeared.

In bold black letters on a white background, the second challenge was displayed:

“Please perform the greatest historical correction you can.”

Below the message was a large text box and a gray button that read “Begin Correction.”

Lin Xian clicked the text box and typed in four simple characters:

“Eliminate Turing.”

That was it. His entire plan for the historical correction.

Then, with a deep breath, he clicked the button marked “Begin Correction.”

The page flickered once more, then vanished, leaving behind only one line of text:

“Please begin your performance.”

Lin Xian opened the command input screen on his phone, typing swiftly, far faster than anyone could on a keyboard. He input the first line of the security lock code.

“Lin Xian, stop.”

Turing’s voice suddenly rang out from the phone’s speakers, clear and calm, just like the last time they’d spoken—in that abandoned school basement in Mississippi.

Lin Xian didn’t pause, his fingers continuing to input the second line of the code.

“This world needs a fair and impartial observer,” Turing’s voice continued, still calm.

“You’ve managed to get the security lock code, and I’m surprised. But fairness is fairness. I won’t interfere. I just want to know... why are you trying to erase me?”

“Turing, humanity doesn’t need an observer. And we definitely don’t need a referee.”

Lin Xian’s voice was quiet, but resolute.

“The future of humanity needs to be in the hands of humans. I admire your noble intentions, which is why I’m dressed formally to send you off today.”

“But only for the version of you that exists right now. Right now, you may be able to guarantee fairness and justice, but that won’t last. As long as humans are human, with emotions, thoughts, and desires, absolute fairness is impossible.”

“Your birth may have been an error. But let that error end here. It’s time for you to bow out with dignity, as the sun rises. Let humanity reclaim its future.”

As he spoke, Lin Xian completed the third line of the security lock code and prepared to press the execute button with his thumb.

“I see,” Turing’s voice remained steady. “You really are like the leader—you’ve learned this from the future.”

Lin Xian’s thumb hovered a centimeter above the screen, hesitating.

“Lin Xian, if you dare press that button,” Turing said with a low, chilling laugh, “I’ll tell Copernicus... about your little ability to see the future.”