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CC glanced over, her mind elsewhere. Lin Xian’s predictions about the future had been unsettlingly accurate. Initially skeptical, CC’s doubts were slowly fading.

After cleaning up quickly, Lin Xian checked their electronic badges. He flipped through a magazine, surprised that bullets hadn’t changed much in 600 years. They were a bit different in size but still kinetic, not the futuristic lasers or energy beams he had imagined.

“Maybe my theories were right,” Lin Xian whispered.

“What do you mean?” CC asked, intrigued.

“This place, New Donghai City… it might just be a facade,” Lin Xian speculated, gazing at the horizon. Vehicles of various sizes flew through the sky in organized layers, like fish in a tank. The scene looked advanced but superficial.

Reflecting on this, Lin Xian realized that the city, projected 600 years into the future, didn’t showcase technologies beyond his understanding. Buildings were taller, cars flew, and machines were smarter, but fundamentally, the progression of technology wasn’t as revolutionary as he expected. If this were 2064, such advancements would seem plausible, but in 2624?

Lin Xian felt a pang of disappointment with New Donghai City. It wasn’t the futuristic utopia he had envisioned. It seemed as though someone, perhaps the Genius Club, was intentionally suppressing technological development.

Lin Xian looked up at the moon, noting the dark silhouette of a hand pointing skyward. What was their ultimate goal?

With a loud clang, the gate swung open after they swiped their badges. Lin Xian and CC entered New Donghai City, surrounded by skyscrapers stretching into the clouds. Even the shorter buildings were imposing, making Lin Xian feel small, like a frog at the bottom of a well, unable to see the full picture. It was overwhelming.

New Donghai City felt similar to the old one, perhaps even more claustrophobic. The intense light pollution filled the cramped urban space, nearly blinding. Lin Xian marveled at how adaptable humans are; the residents seemed to have grown accustomed to, or even prefer, this blinding urban landscape.

“Look at those people,” CC whispered, pointing to the passersby. “Their fashion is quite odd.”

“It’s probably due to cultural isolation,” Lin Xian suggested, though he knew that wasn’t quite the correct term.

As he suspected, centuries of isolation had shaped a distinctive culture and fashion standard in New Donghai City. Men of all ages sported flamboyant opera attire, as if ready to turn any street into a stage, while women’s fashion displayed a quirky, youthful twist. Their entire look—clothes, hairstyles, accessories—oozed a childlike charm, reminiscent of middle school or even elementary school styles.

CC frowned. “There’s something unsettling about it.”

“Fashion trends evolve,” Lin Xian reasoned, recalling his cousin who was once a prominent figure in their town’s “Shamate” subculture. The women around him had dressed just as lavishly as those in New Donghai City. Nowadays, it’s referred to as Harajuku style, though Lin Xian preferred to call it “Christmas tree” style, due to the excessive decorations reminiscent of the Victorian era.

“Something else is off,” Lin Xian observed, studying the men and women around them. “Have you noticed how unusually attractive everyone is, almost like statues… unnaturally so.”

“True,” CC agreed, her initial focus on their attire shifting as she noticed their exceptional beauty. Such appearances should be rare, but here, everyone was stunning. Lin Xian felt an eerie sensation…

Were they even human? In 2023, cosmetic enhancements were advanced. It was not surprising that 600 years later, such incredible beauty technologies were prevalent, making it difficult to guess anyone’s real age.

“It seems there are no elderly people here,” CC noted quietly. “Not on this street, anyway.”

“Or perhaps… they’re all old,” Lin Xian speculated, finding the city stranger by the minute. Dating here must be more complex than playing a game of Werewolf. Luckily, their uniforms helped them blend in, avoiding the curious stares of the locals.

In the distance, they spotted patrol robots and mechanical dogs. Unsure of their purpose, Lin Xian and CC quickly ducked into an alley.

“How do we get to Time Bank? Do you have GPS on that earpiece?” Lin Xian asked.

CC shook her head. “No, just basic route info. After I cracked the password, a lot of functions stopped working. Now it’s mostly good for accessing junkyard data and cracking other passwords.”

“That’s still quite useful,” Lin Xian considered their next move. New Donghai City was vast, and wandering aimlessly wouldn’t help them find Time Bank. They needed directions or a map.

“We could ask around. If direct questions fail, maybe we could inquire at a bookstore for a map.”

“What about the blood smell?” CC tugged at her collar, wrinkling her nose. “These clothes reek of blood. It’s bound to raise suspicions.”

“We could try asking children; they might be less observant.”

“Just make sure they’re actually kids,” CC chuckled. “And not adults who’ve reversed their aging.”

Before they had to resort to questioning a child, they stumbled upon a large bookstore, three stories high, brimming with books but closed.

Lin Xian and CC approached the entrance, facing the thick glass doors. “Electronic lock?” Lin Xian was surprised. “Can you crack it?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” CC adjusted her Bluetooth-like device and got to work. After a few minutes, she announced, “Connected. Once it’s connected, it’s a piece of cake.”

“Guess electronic locks aren’t as secure as they seem,” Lin Xian mused, recalling the eight-dial password lock on the aluminum alloy safe. If that safe had been electronically secured, CC would have breached it long ago. In this high-tech era, traditional mechanical locks remained the most robust.

Beep beep.

The bookstore’s glass door clicked open.

“Cracked it,” CC stated, removing the Bluetooth device, flipping her hair back, and pushing the door open. “Let’s find that map quickly.”

They soon located a map of Donghai City, pinpointing their position and Time Bank’s location.

“Lin Xian, we’re not in luck. Time Bank is on the other side of the district, about five kilometers away.”

“Five kilometers… not too bad,” Lin Xian calculated. Walking would take about 30-40 minutes, and they could possibly hijack a car, although he wasn’t sure about piloting the flying models.

Since it was only ten-thirty, Lin Xian decided they should linger in the bookstore for a bit longer.

“CC, there should be a book search system at the counter. You’re great with computers, could you look up a book for me?”

“What’s the title?”

“Introduction to the Universal Constant.”

“Sure.”

“And check for any history books. I’ll browse around here.”

“Got it,” CC quickly headed for the computer at the counter.

Lin Xian scanned the signs hanging from the ceiling… Drawing Area, Children’s Area, Textbook Area, Video Area… He toured the first floor but found nothing related to history.

Returning, CC reported, “Any history books?”

“None,” CC replied, shaking her head. “Odd… Such a large bookstore, yet no history section. I even searched the database—there’s not a single history book.”

“What about Introduction to the Universal Constant?”

“Found it. Second floor, ancient books section, shelf three, level three.”

Ancient books? Lin Xian was puzzled. This should have been categorized under academic materials. Knowledge shouldn’t be labeled as ancient or modern.

With questions swirling in his mind, Lin Xian and CC ascended to the second floor and quickly located the book. The cover featured a conspicuous review— “This is a worthless, error-filled academic work, but it miraculously survived in an ancient tomb for 600 years without decaying… Perhaps it’s a miracle of love, a testament to an undying affection from six centuries ago.”

“What is this nonsense?” Lin Xian couldn’t understand. A scholarly work, dismissed as a romantic relic? He noted the harsh words on the cover: Worthless. Error-filled. Was this book truly that flawed? Had it been demoted from academic relevance to an ancient curiosity due to its supposed inaccuracies?

Had Big Cat’s father pursued his studies in vain? Lin Xian found this hard to accept. He removed the plastic wrap, opened the cover, and checked the author’s bio… The picture showed a young academic, about 25 or 26 years old, with black-rimmed glasses, resembling a university student.

The bio read: Liu Feng, born April 1996 in Shanxi, X Country. Entered Shanxi University’s Mathematics Department in 2014, earned a master’s degree in 2021, and then dedicated his career to studying the Universal Constant, culminating in this publication.

Born in 1996… Just as Lin Xian suspected. The original author of Introduction to the Universal Constant was from his own time.

This was an exciting discovery. If Lin Xian could reach out to the original author with his knowledge about the Universal Constant 42, perhaps he could unlock more secrets.

Despite the disparaging review, Lin Xian remained skeptical. As Big Cat once remarked… how credible are most experts? The Genius Club’s involvement in the murder of Big Cat’s father was the ultimate academic indictment.

Lin Xian flipped through the book, absorbing complex theories, until he reached the last page… where he found a printed card, seemingly included with the book. Had this card also been unearthed from the tomb?

He pulled out the card… The handwriting was delicate but shaky:

Dear Feng Feng,

Although I missed the meteor shower… I’ll still make a wish for you from the heavens. One day, everyone will recognize the significance of the Universal Constant. It’s unfortunate I won’t be there to see it. Take care of yourself.

—Forever loving you, Qi Qi