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It seemed like he was listening to Gauss talking to himself, or maybe he wasn’t. He was just patiently waiting for Gauss to ask his question.

Gauss took a deep breath, rubbing his left arm, and said softly, “Thank you, Einstein. You’re the only one in the club who… never interrupts me when I’m speaking.”

“But I understand, too… the others mean no harm… it’s just that I… speak too slowly.”

Einstein smiled a little, shaking his head. “I’m different from you all. I have all the time in the world.”

Finally, Gauss looked up, staring at the sad mask Einstein wore. “Now, it’s time for me to ask my question. If I can get an answer from you, then I’ll know I really succeeded.”

Clearing his throat, he spoke as quickly as he could. “I once asked you when humanity will be able to completely enhance its immunity, so that no virus can ever infect us again. You told me that it would never happen. You said that viruses will keep evolving, that new viruses will always emerge… that the way our bodies are made means we’ll always coexist with them, each affecting the other.”

“This answer gave me comfort. I also understand that no matter how deadly a virus is in the beginning, over time, as it keeps infecting people, it will inevitably get weaker and weaker, until finally, every virus will lose its potency and its ability to spread.”

“So my question is this—”

Gauss, small and thin, pressed his lips together, filled with hope, and asked, “That virus I injected into myself a few days ago—how many years will it take before humanity is entirely immune to it, so that it no longer has any effect?”

“In other words, how long will this virus remain potent? How many years until it weakens to the point it can’t infect anyone anymore?”

Einstein stayed as calm as ever, responding without hesitation. “One hundred and ninety-four years. From around a hundred and eighty years onwards, the virus you created will already have significantly weakened. But even then, weaker individuals may still be infected.”

“So the answer to your question is 194 years. After 194 years, the virus will completely lose its potency and ability to spread, becoming incapable of infecting anyone. It will vanish from the world forever.”

Hearing the answer, Gauss breathed a sigh of relief, looking very satisfied. “That’s enough… it’s enough.”

“It means the virus I created is quite powerful. A lifespan of 194 years… that’s enough, more than enough.”

With that, he stood up from the leather armchair and gave Einstein a deep bow.

“Thank you, Einstein, and also Copernicus.”

“To be honest, the only reason I had the determination to carry out this plan… was because of Copernicus’s death, Newton’s question, and your answer.”

“Equality… death is the ultimate equality for all life, for everything in the world, even in the universe.”

“Elements will decay, stars will extinguish, and one day the universe will fall silent. Death is the true equalizer.”

“Goodbye, Einstein.”

He straightened up, waved at the elderly man opposite him. “The days spent meeting in the Genius Club were the happiest of my life.”

—

Just outside the secret room, in the golden hall, Lin Xian and Elon Musk no longer had to pretend to be strangers after Gauss went inside. They started chatting directly.

“What a surprise!” Elon, wearing his Tesla mask, turned his head. “I didn’t expect that the final gathering would allow us one-on-one questions! Even though the rules are still the same—we can’t ask about the club itself or its members—there’s way more room to maneuver this time!”

“In the past, everyone kept their questions shallow, hiding their true plans and purposes, fearing that others might figure them out. I mean, I wasn’t afraid to let people know about my future plans, but sometimes I still didn’t want them hearing the answers to my questions. So there were many things I couldn’t ask.” Ɽ�

“But it’s different now. In the room, it’s just us and Einstein. No matter what we say, what we ask, or how Einstein answers, no one else will hear!”

“This opportunity is so rare. Except for the earliest members of the Genius Club, none of us newcomers ever had such a chance.”

“True,” Lin Xian nodded. “Now, we can ask some sensitive, crucial, and hidden questions.”

“Exactly.” Elon smiled. “So, given how rare this chance is, are you sure you still want me to ask ‘how many people will there be in the world in 2622’? It doesn’t seem like a valuable question.”

“I’d suggest you think it over and treasure this opportunity. Ask something more meaningful, let me ask Einstein on your behalf.”

“I think Newton left immediately after his question. But me, I’ll come out after Einstein gives me the answer, and tell it to you, so you can weigh your last question accordingly.”

Lin Xian blinked in surprise, looking at Elon. “This precious chance for a one-on-one question… you’re really willing to give it up for me?”

This offer took Lin Xian off guard. He never imagined Elon would be so generous.

Actually, ever since Einstein announced the one-on-one questioning, Lin Xian wasn’t planning to take Elon’s chance.

As Elon said, this was the last round of questions. And it was the first time anyone had the opportunity to ask privately. It was incredibly precious.

Elon was someone with dreams and beliefs, and there were plenty of questions he hadn’t dared ask in the past. Now was a rare chance for him.

“Are you sure you want to give it to me?” Lin Xian asked.

“Absolutely.” Elon’s response was easy. “You’re my lifesaver, you know. If it weren’t for you giving me that heads-up, letting me know that the secretary was a spy for Copernicus, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now.”

“I’ve been looking for a way to repay you, but I could never do anything to really help. If you don’t mind, let me use this questioning opportunity as my thank you for that incident.”

“Honestly, I’d probably just ask if humanity will ever leave the solar system, if we’ll have the capability for interstellar travel.”

“But if I think about it… it’s not that meaningful. If humanity really does travel beyond the solar system, I’ll be happy. But asking about it would be kind of a waste. Whether I ask or not won’t change the outcome.”

“After all, I’ve given up on my plans. Even if humanity reaches the stars, it won’t have anything to do with me.”

“And if Einstein says no, well, it’s just going to disappoint me. So what’s the point of wasting this rare chance on a question like that?”

“I don’t know what your future plan is, but it seems good to me. No one knows your future plans, which might just make you the last winner! My journey is done. I’m willing to support yours.”

“Think carefully, and come up with a question that’s worthy of this opportunity, then tell me. Once Gauss is done, I’ll go in and ask Einstein your question, and then I’ll come out and tell you the answer.”

—

Lin Xian nodded, accepting Elon’s gratitude. He was right—Lin Xian had several important questions to ask, and one chance wasn’t enough. This was indeed like help when he needed it most.

It was true, kindness often brings unexpected returns.

“Alright, let me think it over, make a plan,” Lin Xian closed his eyes.

He began to analyze, sorting his thoughts.

Right now, there were several things he wanted to know:

First, the truth of the Millennial Stake—only by understanding it could he save Chu An Qing.

Second, the significance of the Universal Constant 42. He had a feeling this question might be refused.

Third, whether the future he and Einstein had seen was the same. Which vision of the future was real?

Fourth, the meaning behind Zhang Yu Qian’s montage dreams, and why CC dreamed of a blue-eyed version of himself.

Roughly, those were the four questions he most urgently wanted answered.

But unfortunately, counting Elon’s opportunity, he could only pick two.

Out of four. Which ones should he choose?

Firstly, let’s exclude the second one—it’s lower priority and likely to be refused. It wasn’t worth risking a valuable opportunity.

Similarly, the fourth question could be eliminated—it wasn’t as high priority, and involved Einstein, which likely meant it would be refused.

Then, the first question was Lin Xian’s main objective. For Chu An Qing’s safety, he wasn’t willing to share anything about the Millennial Stake, not even with Elon.

So, that left the most suitable plan as having Elon ask the question about verifying Einstein’s vision of the future, while Lin Xian himself would ask about the Millennial Stake and Chu An Qing.

His own question was straightforward—he could just ask it.

But Elon’s question—how should it be phrased to be as effective as possible?

Lin Xian frowned, deep in thought. It was hard. The most challenging part was that, right now, Lin Xian couldn’t guarantee that his dreams were real. So how could he determine if Einstein’s vision of the future was true?

At this moment, it was impossible. Lin Xian knew he couldn’t afford to spread himself too thin. He needed to be cautious—step by step.

Lin Xian decided to verify whether Einstein’s vision of the future was the same as what he’d seen in his dreams. He also wanted to check if Einstein’s future mentioned anything about the apocalyptic white light he’d dreamt of.

“I’ve made my decision,” Lin Xian said, his voice steady.

He looked at Elon. “Ask him for me—on August 29th, 2624, at 10:00 AM, what will the population be within the boundaries of Donghai City, in X Country?”

This question was important—it could verify two things. If Einstein said “zero,” it could mean one of two things: either humanity had indeed gone extinct, or the apocalyptic white light at 00:42 on August 29th had wiped everyone out. Either way, the outcome for human civilization would be the same.

Then, they could see what Einstein had to say about the “most beautiful future” he kept talking about.

If Einstein answered with a number like a dozen or a few dozen, it would mean the apocalyptic white light at 00:42 hadn’t happened, and people were still alive by 10 AM. It would also imply that Einstein’s future vision was similar to Lin Xian’s dreams. In a huge city like Donghai, a few survivors could easily be missed—he could do another thorough search next month.

But if Einstein gave a large number, in the hundreds of thousands or millions, then it would be clear—Einstein’s future vision and Lin Xian’s dream weren’t the same. One of them was false. But which one? That would need further investigation.

Step by step.

Creak—

Just as Lin Xian finished explaining to Elon, the red wooden door slowly opened, and Einstein’s dignified voice echoed through the hall: “Tesla, it’s your turn. Come in.”

Elon nodded at Lin Xian, got up, and walked inside. The door closed.

He sat down. The old man, wearing his sorrowful Einstein mask, looked calmly at Elon. “Tesla, go ahead—what’s your final question?”

Elon repeated Lin Xian’s words word-for-word: “My question is—on August 29th, 2624, at 10:00 AM, what will be the population within the boundaries of Donghai City, in X Country?”

Einstein was silent for a moment, then finally said, “The exact number will be forty-one million, one hundred and twenty-two thousand, five hundred and eighty-one people.”

“Wow!” Elon exclaimed. “A super metropolis! Right now, in 2024, Donghai has just over 24 million people—it’s almost doubled in 600 years!”

“Donghai is already pretty crowded, and doubling the population means they must have expanded the area, or maybe they’re building super high-rises or going underground,” Elon mused. “Considering it’s 600 years in the future, it’s possible they’ve developed something like a layered or folded city—it makes sense they could accommodate over forty million people.”

He smiled, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “Now you’ve got me curious… do you think there could be ultra-mega cities with over a hundred million people by then?”

Einstein simply gestured for Elon to leave. “Tesla, your question is done. You may leave.”

“Alright, alright,” Elon nodded, pointing at the red door. “Do I have to leave from here? I’d like to step out and say goodbye to Rhine if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Einstein leaned back into the soft chair. “In the Genius Club, you can do anything beyond the limits of the charter.”

With that, Elon opened the red door, stepped out, and approached Lin Xian, shaking his hand. “Einstein doesn’t care about these little actions of ours. He’s still the same… detached from everything.”

“He said forty-one million, one hundred and twenty-two thousand, five hundred and eighty-one people—he told me that, in 600 years, Donghai will have over forty million people!”

Lin Xian nodded. “Thank you, Elon.”

Elon waved. “I’m off. Take care.” He mimed taking off a VR headset, his virtual figure turning transparent and slowly fading away.

Lin Xian turned slowly. He looked at the open door to the private room, saw the warm fireplace inside, and the steady figure of Einstein sitting in the leather armchair. Suddenly, he had a strange feeling—

Einstein was lying.

He knew it.

There was no real reason for the suspicion, no evidence to prove Einstein’s vision was false. But in the Ninth Dream, Donghai had been razed to the ground. And when he left the dream at 00:42 on August 29th, 2624, Donghai was still a wasteland.

Nine hours later. Where could over forty million people have come from, just like that? It was absurd.

The daily trash generated by forty million people could bury a small county, not to mention the infrastructure, food, and water supply they would need.

So, it was obvious.

Now, it could be confirmed—Einstein’s vision of the future and Lin Xian’s dream were not the same. Not only was there no apocalyptic white light, but humanity had also not perished—they had thrived in an almost unimaginable way, with Donghai’s population skyrocketing to over forty million.

If that were true, then the world’s total population would be over ten billion, maybe even twenty billion. Such a crowded and prosperous world could never be the same as the Ninth Dream Lin Xian had dreamed of.

The divergence was there.

So, what was the truth?

Was Einstein’s vision of the future real, or was Lin Xian’s dream?

Sadly, there was no way to verify it. This was Lin Xian’s current frustration. He couldn’t verify it. He couldn’t just hop into a time machine and see August 29th, 2624, with his own eyes. Nor could he find the Aluminum Alloy Safe in the Ninth Dream, or read Chu An Qing’s note to judge the reality of his dreams.

So what… should he do?

“Rhine.”

Einstein’s voice suddenly echoed in the grand hall.

“Come in. It’s your turn to ask your question.”

Lin Xian took a step forward. Step by step, he entered the private room. He closed the red door and sat in the leather chair across the tea table. He glanced at the wall, where the shadows of Einstein flickered in the firelight, then turned his gaze back to the elderly man wearing the sorrowful Einstein mask.

He stared into the empty, regretful eyes of the mask. It felt… as if something was reaching out through time, piercing into his very soul.

“Rhine.” The old man’s voice broke the silence, “What’s your question?”

Suddenly, Lin Xian felt an inexplicable sense of danger, a rising feeling of caution. He resisted. He didn’t want to ask anything about the Millennial Stake or Chu An Qing. This strange feeling… it had been growing for a long time.

Thinking carefully—why would Zhang Yu Qian, the Millennial Stake, dream about Einstein?

And 1952, such a strange year—Sorrowful Einstein, Zhang Yu Qian’s dream, the Universal Constant 42, the Millennial Stake’s vanishing… they were all tied to 1952. And the Genius Club—would refuse to answer anything about itself. Even information about the real historical Einstein was off-limits. Such strict, strange rules… was that really necessary?

The more he thought about it, the stranger, more chilling it felt.

Einstein.

The Millennial Stake.

Could there be some kind of connection?

Lin Xian believed Zhang Yu Qian’s dream and CC’s dream weren’t baseless.

Lin Xian adjusted his posture. He decided—he would ask a bolder question. Even if Einstein refused to answer, that alone would be revealing.

“Einstein.”

Lin Xian spoke softly, “In 1952, a twenty-year-old girl disappeared at 00:42, turning into blue stardust. Tell me why she vanished.”

Silence.

Einstein fell silent.

Lin Xian was surprised. This was the first time Einstein had paused for so long when asked a question.

Finally, after over ten seconds, Einstein slowly lifted his head, his voice calm, “In 1952, nowhere in the world did any girl turn into blue stardust and vanish.”

Lin Xian stared at the sorrowful mask on the old man’s face, “Are you certain?”

Einstein nodded, saying no more.

Lin Xian narrowed his eyes.

Just as he’d thought… his suspicions and unease weren’t unfounded.

If no girl disappeared in 1952 as the Millennial Stake—then why did Zhang Yu Qian dream about that year, remember it so clearly, even set it as the password for her diary? Why did Chu An Qing have nightmares? Why did CC dream of a blue-eyed version of himself?

If the Millennial Stake was such a stable system, reappearing every 24 years, how could it possibly skip such an important, pivotal year like 1952?

Previously, Lin Xian had only doubted, but now he was sure—either Einstein had seen a false future, or—

Einstein was lying.