The old man in the mechanical swivel chair stared in disbelief at the scene unfolding before him. He glanced at Elon Musk, then at Angelica, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I never thought...”
The surprise on his face quickly faded, replaced by a bitter smile. “This is impressive. Truly impressive,” he said. “I must admit, kids, this time... you actually managed to fool me. It seems that, sometimes, old age really does catch up with you.”
His eyes showed a touch of resignation. “I’m not as sharp as I was in my youth—unable to see through everything or think through every outcome.”
The old man leaned forward, trying to push himself up with his frail arms.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Lin Xian acted swiftly, shooting four precise shots—one at each of the old man’s elbows and knees. The shots were quick, the result of years of experience in his dream battles.
The gun Elon Musk had given Lin Xian was a large caliber, highly destructive. Four bursts of crimson sprayed out. The old man stumbled back into his chair, his thin arms severed below the elbows, leaving fragments on the ground. His left knee shattered, and his lower leg hung at an awkward angle.
“Ah... Aghh...”
His face turned crimson from pain, teeth clenched, unable to scream properly. Blood flowed freely.
Lin Xian had noticed something earlier—buttons on both sides of the swivel chair. He didn’t know what they were for, but from his years of battle in his dream world, he knew never to give the enemy a chance. Just like when he took out Kevin Walker—mercy to an enemy was cruelty to oneself. Allowing an enemy even one more word could mean giving them another chance to strike back.
“Copernicus,” Lin Xian stepped forward, his cold gaze locking onto the now limbless old man.
“As much as I’d love to settle things properly, every second you keep breathing is an insult to the departed.”
Lin Xian raised the large-caliber pistol, pressing it firmly against the old man’s forehead.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
One shot. Another. Then another.
Each name of a fallen loved one flashed through Lin Xian’s mind—Xu Yun, Tang Xin, Yellow Finch, Yu Xi—as he squeezed the trigger, each shot filled with pain and rage.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The old man’s head exploded like a watermelon, but even the sight of it couldn’t fully release Lin Xian’s pent-up sorrow and anger.
Click. Click.
Lin Xian kept pulling the trigger until the gun clicked empty. Only when the barrel became scorching hot, and the trigger softened did he finally lower the weapon.
The old man was now a headless corpse in the chair. Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, even breaking apart the chair’s backrest. Bits of his skull were lodged in the wreckage—completely unrecognizable.
In the vast underground base, only the sound of dripping blood and the three of them breathing filled the silence.
“Letting him die like that... it was too easy for him,” Angelica muttered, stepping forward.
She discarded her red-framed glasses and removed her wig, standing side by side with Lin Xian as they looked at the gruesome sight before them.
“I’ve seen him before,” she said softly. “When I was a child, I saw him talking to Ji Xin Shui. He wasn’t this old then, but I never forget a face due to my almost photographic memory. I can remember facial details just from a single glance.”
She looked at Lin Xian. “I’m certain it’s him. It must have been about twenty years ago. He and Ji Xin Shui definitely met, but I have no idea what they talked about.”
Lin Xian pulled out his phone, glancing at the top right corner—no signal. This deep underground, it wasn’t surprising.
He had specifically instructed Liu Feng that if there were any changes to the time-space clock, any fluctuations in the timeline, he should inform him immediately. But now... he imagined Liu Feng would be yelling at him again for missing another call.
Lin Xian had anticipated this confrontation—he, Elon Musk, and Angelica against Copernicus—fully prepared for a timeline shift. Although they hadn’t yet finished copying the blueprints for the time-travel machine, building it had always been about destroying the entangled time particles—preventing Copernicus from stealing them and sending assassins from the future.
If they could kill Copernicus now, that would remove the root of the problem. Whether or not the machine was ever built wouldn’t matter as much.
Time travel had never truly interested Lin Xian. It wasn’t fear of the unknown that held him back—it was the uncertainty of being able to return. He had seen no successful cases of someone returning to their original timeline. Neither Lin Yu Xi nor Number 17 had made it “home” due to the changes in the timeline.
That made him wary. Especially now, with Ying Jun and their child on the way. Next year, they would be a complete family—he would be a husband and a father. The thought of traveling back in time, only to be stuck due to some mishap, terrified him. One wrong step, and he’d be lost forever.
So, killing Copernicus would be enough. Whether or not the machine was built, he would have no regrets.
Lin Xian put his phone away and looked at Angelica. “So, it’s confirmed—that was Copernicus?”
“No doubt about it,” she said.
Elon Musk stepped closer, nodding. “Both Angelica and I have spoken to Copernicus on the phone. The voice matches perfectly. Besides, our plan was flawless, and we didn’t slip up anywhere. You even used the real entangled time particles as bait. I can’t see where we could have gone wrong.”
“Neither can I,” Lin Xian said, shaking his head. “The plan was perfect, but...” He bit his lip, the rest of his thoughts left unsaid.
Something feels off.
First of all, everything had gone too smoothly. It wasn’t a logical problem—not every fight in life had to be challenging, with twists and turns. But still, killing Copernicus had felt almost... unreal, like it had been too simple.
He should have felt happy. After all, he’d avenged his friends, killed his enemy. But the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave him, like he was forgetting something crucial.
Then, there was the mysterious old man in his fourth dream—he looked and sounded different from the Copernicus they’d just killed. Until today, Lin Xian had never actually heard Copernicus’s voice. Elon Musk and Angelica had spoken to him, but Lin Xian had nothing to compare it to.
The voice from the Genius Club was linked to virtual avatars. You could make your avatar any age, and the voice would match. Newton, for example, sounded young and vibrant, even though he was definitely old. Da Vinci was the same—she had a bright, young voice, though she was probably a grandmother.
Lin Xian had never taken the Genius Club’s appearances seriously. His voice there wasn’t his own either—the system altered it, making him sound like a gentle middle-aged man.
But hearing Copernicus’s real voice today—something wasn’t right. Lin Xian believed that future technology could alter appearances, but changing a person’s voice entirely?
The mysterious old man from his fourth dream, and the one he’d just killed, might both enjoy dry chuckles, but their voices were different—clearly not the same person. Unless someone could change their voice along with their face, the two were not the same.
There couldn’t be two Copernicuses in the world... right?
That was the second problem.
Lastly, there was the old man’s physical state. He was much weaker than Lin Xian had imagined—frail, barely holding on, at death’s door.
Could such a man truly survive another two centuries, to wake up stronger and continue thriving?
It wasn’t that Lin Xian didn’t believe in science—he did. It was precisely because he believed in it that he found it hard to imagine.
Perhaps in a future hundreds of years from now, technology will let a healthy young person live a few extra decades; but for someone already frail, with all their bodily functions failing... how could you possibly bring them back to life, bursting with energy?
To Angelica and Elon Musk, the evidence they had was enough to prove that the old man who just died was the infamous Copernicus.
Lin Xian didn’t deny it.
He just couldn’t find definitive proof.
Right now, the most pressing thing is figuring out if Copernicus truly is dead.
But how could they prove it?
With that old man’s death, every lead—everyone in the world who had anything on Copernicus—was gone.
Copernicus had vanished, evaporated from both history and the future.
“Wait a second...”
No, that wasn’t quite right.
Lin Xian blinked, his gaze following the flow of Lake Brienz as it stretched eastward, winding endlessly.
A long river.
It was like a river of history.
So very long, stretching on and on.
Even from now, in 2024, all the way to the distant endpoint in 2624, it spanned six hundred years.
Six hundred years.
It sounded casual when you said it, but it was an absurdly long stretch of time.
The breeze from the grasslands brushed against him as Lin Xian watched the waters of Lake Brienz trickle eastward. The lake had been here for at least six hundred years.
Would it care about one particular rainstorm in one particular year? Would it care about a flock of sheep stopping by for a drink one day?
Of course not, just like that six-hundred-year river of history.
At that moment, Lin Xian truly understood the future plans of the Genius Club members, and the battles between them spanned hundreds of years.
A game that lasts six hundred years—why bother over a few years, or a few decades?
If you considered the futures these geniuses were envisioning, the plans they were setting into motion, all of it lay centuries ahead. So who held a slight advantage in 2024, who was a step ahead—it was all meaningless.
Because the real battleground of this game wasn’t in 2024. It was in that distant future!
And with that in mind, the first thing these geniuses had to do was figure out how to survive long enough to see that future and complete their plans.
Staying alive was the only way to play. Longevity was the real key.
So then—how could you quietly lurk in the river of history, gathering strength, and wait for the perfect moment to leap out and secure victory?
Suddenly, Lin Xian remembered something he’d once said to Ji Xin Shui in the interrogation room, a lie he used to trick him:
“Ji Xin Shui, do you know why the Genius Club has managed to hide so well in the river of history, leaving no trace?”
“It’s because... the members of the Genius Club are history itself. They’ve already fused themselves with history, separated from the real world, so of course they leave no trace.”
“Any living person will leave a mark on history. But the dead are different... The dead don’t attract attention; they leave no real mark on this world. That’s how they can hide themselves, hide their organization within the river of history, subtly plucking the strings of the future.”
“Your final exam is to disappear from reality. To use a grand deception—a ‘fake death’—to completely erase yourself, silently influencing time and destiny.”
Lin Xian took a deep breath.
Those words had been pure nonsense, made up to get Ji Xin Shui to confess and accept the death penalty.
Any of the other Seven Deadly Sins would never have believed Lin Xian’s lies.
But Ji Xin Shui, paranoid and arrogant, took them to heart. He went willingly to meet his death, eagerly awaiting Copernicus’s applause.
Hiding within the river of history...
Plucking the strings of the future...
It had been a lie, just something he came up with off the top of his head.
But now, the more he thought about it, the more it felt real!
Fake death.
That phrase he’d used to deceive Ji Xin Shui...
The words were like a boomerang, circling back to him, echoing in his ears.
“No way...”
Lin Xian held his breath.
He turned, looking back towards the underground base.
In the center, on the mechanical swivel chair, lay a body—limbs broken, skull shattered, all the blood drained away.
Was this...
Could this really count as a ‘fake death’?
He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He swallowed, his throat dry.
“No way it actually came true, did it?”