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“If you want to join us, I’d be thrilled. Having someone trustworthy with us means one more ally for the future. But like I said before, hibernation is a one-way ticket. Once you go, you can’t come back for 200 years. You have to be sure about this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gao Yang sighed. “If you ask me if I want to go, I’d rather not. Who wouldn’t want to enjoy their life here and now? Besides, you’re the one who has the power to save humanity’s future, not me. Why would I get all worked up over it? I’m just what Zhao Ying Jun described—someone who history won’t blame for being powerless.”

Gao Yang paused, then added, “But, to be honest, if I had your kind of power, I’d go into hibernation for the future too.”

“Why?” Lin Xian was surprised by Gao Yang’s answer. When did this guy become so high-minded?

“Because,” Gao Yang hesitated, scratching the back of his head, looking frustrated, “I’d regret it otherwise.”

He looked up, and with a pained expression, he continued, “For the first twenty or thirty years, you’d be fine. You’d look at your wife and kids by the warm stove, and you’d think you made the right choice by staying. But when you get old and realize that your choice led to a future where humanity perished, that the world was destroyed, and that you lied to Chu Shan He—making him hibernate to the end of the world without ever seeing his daughter again—you’d regret it. You’d regret not stepping up to take responsibility. Just like when people see a child drowning but don’t jump in to help because they’re afraid of drowning too, and then live in guilt for the rest of their lives. That guilt can crush a person.”

“Honestly, I just didn’t want you to go before. But in truth, I admire what you’re doing. I can understand it too.” Gao Yang paused. “It’s like those people who jump into rivers to save others. It’s not that they don’t have families. Firefighters run into burning buildings—they have families too. Drug enforcement officers risk their lives for us—and they have loved ones as well.”

Gao Yang looked at Lin Xian seriously. “I wouldn’t have said this if I thought it wouldn’t change your mind. And, well… Chu An Qing’s situation—I can’t just sit back and do nothing about that either.” He looked up, meeting Lin Xian’s eyes. “That day, it was Chu An Qing who jumped from the plane—our friend, our partner. But what if it was us? What if it was us who jumped, who disappeared? If we were in her place, do you think Chu An Qing would do what you’re doing now and hibernate to save us?”

“She would,” Lin Xian replied softly without hesitation. An Qing would do that. She had always been that brave. He blinked, looking at Gao Yang. “She dared to cheer me on alone at the conference in the US. She dared to take on a mission from the space shuttle at nineteen. She even dared to jump from the plane to catch a spacetime particle for me.”

“If it were us who died instead of her, Chu An Qing would hibernate without a second thought, searching for a chance to save us.”

Bang!

Gao Yang pounded his fist on the table and shouted, “Then there you have it! Damn it, if An Qing would hibernate to save us, and now there’s a chance we can save her in the future, how can we back down?!”

“Screw it, forget work, let’s go drink. We’ll have a good talk.”

“I don’t have time today.” Lin Xian waved his hand. “I need to go to Nangong’s lab to sort some things out.”

Gao Yang made a disappointed sound. “Well, I’m not in the mood to work either. I’ll go with you, and then we’ll drink after.”

“Alright, alright.”

They left together, heading to Nangong Meng Jie’s lab.

In the car, Gao Yang picked his nose and said, “Nangong Meng Jie—that’s a nice name. Never heard you mention her before. Is she an academician at the Research Institute?”

“Not an academician,” Lin Xian explained. “She’s young, probably doing her PhD or just graduated. I can’t quite remember. She’s the one leading the research on the micro nuclear battery.”

“Is she hibernating too?”

“No, definitely not.” Lin Xian shook his head. “There’s still too much work to do with the micro nuclear battery—scaling it up, commercializing it—things she can’t leave behind. Plus, Nangong and I aren’t that close. It’s purely work.”

“A PhD at the Research Institute, huh,” Gao Yang clicked his tongue. “Never met someone that educated before. Are these people like, superhuman or something? How do they score so high in exams?”

“You can count when we get there,” Lin Xian said with a laugh.

The car stopped, and they got out, heading into the lab. Nangong was busy, so Lin Xian led Gao Yang to find her directly.

Lin Xian pointed through the glass to show Gao Yang. “See that one wearing glasses and a white lab coat? That’s Nangong.”

Whooosh!

Gao Yang’s eyes widened at the sight of the graceful figure working at the lab bench—adorable face, large chest, glasses, smart, capable.

With a dramatic sweep of his arm, Gao Yang blocked Lin Xian from moving forward. “Brother, I’m in love.”

“Huh?” Lin Xian looked confused. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, no,” Gao Yang shook his head vigorously, like a rattle. “I’ve never felt this way in my life. She’s exactly what I dreamed of in a partner—perfect!” He turned to Lin Xian. “Wait here. I’m going to make a move. I don’t want our relationship influenced by your work dynamic. I need it to be pure.”

“What?” Lin Xian pulled Gao Yang back. “Are you already planning the future? Thinking about which school district to buy a house in? Are you sure you’re thinking straight?”

“I’m very clear-headed,” Gao Yang said, pulling his collar open to reveal his chest, puffing it up. “I’m going in. Wish me luck.”

“Hey, hey, are you still planning to hibernate?” Lin Xian called after him.

“Of course I am!” Gao Yang turned back, a confident smile on his face. “Don’t worry, with my charm, I’ll definitely convince Meng Jie to hibernate with me!”

And with that, he strode off.

Lin Xian watched him go, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

He wondered if the Hibernation Manual covered whether someone with Gao Yang’s level of delusion could actually enter hibernation.

Hmm?

Suddenly, Lin Xian’s eyes widened as he recalled an old thought—was it possible that Gao Wen the Great, humanity’s pinnacle of genius, could be a descendant of Gao Yang?

He quickly dismissed the idea. Gao Yang’s mission in life seemed more about spreading chaos than contributing anything that could lead to someone like Gao Wen. But…

If there was a genetic upgrade involved? Say, hypothetically…

Could Gao Yang actually win over Nangong Meng Jie, end up having a family, and through hibernation or not, their descendants eventually give rise to Gao Wen the Great?

“No way,” Lin Xian muttered. The thought seemed absurd. Could it be… another twist of fate? A historical loop?

Bang!

The door to the lab suddenly burst open.

“Waaah!” Gao Yang came running out, wailing dramatically, “This is too humiliating! I’m outta here! I can’t stay a second longer! The world has no place for this clown! I’m going into hibernation right now!”

“What?” Lin Xian looked at Gao Yang in disbelief. “You just got rejected, right? Not the end of the world. It’s not like this is your first time. Have you ever even succeeded before?”

“Goodbye! I’m done with this time period! Too disappointed!” Gao Yang sobbed as he fled.

Lin Xian shook his head, watching his friend go. He sighed, “Should have known better. Just typical Gao Yang. Consistent as always.”

For a brief moment, Lin Xian thought maybe, just maybe, Gao Yang was part of that historical loop—contributing to humanity’s future and playing a role in Gao Wen’s story.

It made him hesitate, even about pushing Gao Yang into hibernation. If forcing Gao Yang to hibernate somehow meant Gao Wen was never born… that would be a huge loss for humanity.

But, luckily, Gao Yang never lets you down. From the way he came running out in despair, it was clear his connection with Nangong was doomed before it even started.

Lin Xian pushed open the door and went inside, greeting Nangong with a wave. She looked up and smiled at him.

“That guy earlier, is he a friend of yours?” she asked.

“Sort of,” Lin Xian replied cautiously, not quite sure how much Gao Yang had embarrassed himself. “What happened just now?”

Nangong chuckled softly. “He tried to ask me out to dinner and a movie, so I took this out of my pocket to show him.” She pulled out a silver ring.

It was a wedding ring. Lin Xian’s eyes widened.

“You’re married?”

“Yes,” Nangong said, her face glowing with happiness. “I got married pretty early, back in college.”

“That’s quite early. Was it a fellow student?” Lin Xian was curious.

“No, not a classmate,” Nangong said, smiling as she looked at the ring before putting it back. “He was my childhood sweetheart, a few years older than me. We grew up together; he was like the older brother next door.” She looked out of the window, her eyes softening. “He joined the military during university. Now he’s in the border defense special forces. We don’t get to see each other often—sometimes only once a year, if that.”

“Oh, you’re a military spouse,” Lin Xian said, suddenly feeling a surge of respect.

He had never guessed Nangong was married, let alone to a soldier. She’d never mentioned it, and her youthful appearance made it easy to assume she was younger than she was.

“We got our marriage certificate while I was doing my master’s,” Nangong said. “His leave was short, and we didn’t have time for a ceremony—just signed the papers and that was it.”

“Why not wait until after he left the military?” Lin Xian asked. “Was he in a rush to settle down because of his age?”

“No,” Nangong shook her head, smiling. “Getting married was my idea.”

Lin Xian frowned, puzzled. “You were only about twenty-three, twenty-four—why rush it?”

“I wanted him to have peace of mind,” Nangong explained. “He’s protecting our borders, facing danger every day. I wanted to give him something—a promise, a certainty—that he could hold onto. He’s out there defending our country for us, so I wanted to give something back to him. I willingly married him, to let him know I’d always be here for him.”

Lin Xian nodded. “Thank you both for everything you’re doing for the country. I have immense respect for soldiers and their families. Don’t worry, I’ll kick my friend for bothering you. He needs a reality check.”

Nangong laughed. “No need for that. It’s just that, since I can’t wear rings or jewelry in the lab, I kept it in my pocket. If I wore it on my finger, this awkward situation wouldn’t have happened.”

Lin Xian and Nangong Meng Jie hadn’t spoken much before, except for work, but he was pleasantly surprised by how easy she was to talk to.

While their conversation flowed, Lin Xian asked, “Since you don’t see your husband often, do you miss him?”

“Of course I do,” Nangong replied with a gentle smile. “But it’s not just about not seeing each other. Because of the secrecy of his missions, we can’t even chat online most of the time.”

She gave a wistful smile. “That’s why so many people don’t even know I’m married. My husband isn’t around, so I don’t have the chance for all those romantic calls or dates.”

Lin Xian hesitated, then asked, “Does it feel lonely?”

Nangong thought for a moment, then answered, “Yes and no.”

“Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s out there, keeping us safe. He had a chance to leave the military once, but he chose to stay because where he was stationed wasn’t stable. He asked for my thoughts, and I told him, ‘Stay as long as you need to. You’re protecting the country, and that means you’re protecting me, too. Whenever you come back, I’ll be here.’”

Lin Xian was deeply moved.

He remembered what the director of the Research Institute had told him about Nangong. “I heard from the director that your father and grandfather were both soldiers—heroes of great renown.”

“Yes,” Nangong nodded. “That’s something I’m very proud of. Getting into the National Defense University, marrying a soldier—those are things I’ll always take pride in.”

Lin Xian smiled. “Hearing you say all this makes me feel reassured. There was a family back in my hometown where the parents refused to let their daughter marry a soldier. They broke them up and made her marry a local worker instead.”

“I can understand that, too,” Nangong said, leaning against the lab bench, looking out the window. “Not everyone is capable of such dedication. Not everyone is willing to make those sacrifices. But some people have to, or we wouldn’t have the life we enjoy now.”

She closed her eyes, her expression softening. “My grandfather fought in the war. He left when my father and aunt were still very young. My aunt was still nursing. But he left because my grandmother scolded him for hesitating. She told him, ‘Every soldier has a family. Many have seen three generations die on the battlefield. All of it is for the sake of giving our children a better future.’”

She paused, smiling softly. “She asked my grandfather, ‘If one soldier’s absence—your absence—is what loses this war, could you live with that?’ That’s what made him go. And my grandmother prepared herself for him not coming back, but she would still raise my father and aunt—if my grandfather couldn’t finish the fight, then my father would. And if he couldn’t, then it’d be us.”

Listening to her story, Lin Xian remembered a line from the movie “The Battle at Lake Changjin”: “If we fight now, our children and grandchildren won’t have to fight.”

This was the legacy—the spirit—passed down through generations.

“Thank you for being who you are,” Lin Xian said sincerely. “People like you are the hope of our nation, the spirit at our core.”

“No need to thank us, Lin Xian,” Nangong said, smiling. “There are many people like us—so many more. That’s what makes us proud to be part of this country. There are countless people in the news and around us every day who act bravely, sacrifice themselves, and put others first. We’re just the same as them.

“So we aren’t special, and we don’t need special thanks.”

Lin Xian nodded, understanding.

They spoke briefly about their work ahead. Lin Xian handed over Zhao Ying Jun’s contact information, mentioning that a colleague named Wang would introduce her to Ying, who would take over from him in liaising with the lab.

Afterward, Lin Xian found Gao Yang and gave him a solid kick. “What kind of frog are you, anyway?”

In the days that followed, Lin Xian brought his parents to the Capital City and spent time with Zhao Ying Jun’s family, cherishing their last days together.

On April 16th, in the afternoon, Lin Xian was packing up when a sudden thud came from the living room.

Lin Xian rushed over, finding Zhao Ying Jun sitting on the sofa in a strange posture.

“Ying!” He hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?!”

“Quick,” Zhao Ying Jun said through gritted teeth, grabbing his arm. “Quick… go to the hospital. My water broke.”

Lin Xian looked down. Sure enough, it was time.

Yu Xi was coming early!

He quickly drove them to the hospital they had arranged. He paced anxiously outside the delivery room, stopping a nurse as she came out. “How is she?”

The nurse smiled. “Everything’s fine, sir. It’s all going as expected. She’s three centimeters dilated, she’s had her pain medication, the baby’s positioned well, and the heart rate is stable. We’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, thank you,” Lin Xian said, though his heart still pounded.

The nurse was clearly used to this, but it was Lin Xian’s first time facing such a situation—his daughter was about to be born. He was about to become a father.

It was so special—that morning, everything had been calm. Even little Yu Xi, who was usually quiet in the day, had suddenly decided to make her entrance. It was as if she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Lin Xian!” Gao Yang rushed in, wiping sweat from his forehead. After hearing what was happening, he burst into laughter. “Your daughter knows you’re leaving. She’s coming early just to meet you!”

An hour later, Angelica also arrived.

She informed Lin Xian that Elon Musk had entered hibernation in his secret facility and left SPACE-X in her care.

“I’m here to see you off,” she said to Lin Xian. “I thought our last meeting would be at the Research Institute’s hibernation facility, but instead…”

She looked up at the delivery room’s display monitor and smiled slightly. “It turns out it’s right here, outside the delivery room. It’s wonderful, Lin Xian—being able to witness a new life coming into the world, getting to meet your daughter. It’s a special moment.”

“Garbage! Garbage! Found garbage!” Everyone turned, startled.

It was Brother Wang, running over with a vacuum robot in his arms.

“President Zhao Ying Jun specifically asked me to bring this robot from home, to the hospital… Geez, this thing is so loud. The head nurse almost kicked me out because of it. Lin Xian, what kind of vacuum robot did you buy? It’s always shouting about garbage, like it’s rushing me or something. Nearly tripped a few times on the way.”

He bent down, setting the vacuum on the floor.

It slid across the floor, bumping against the delivery room door before spinning back to bump into Lin Xian’s ankle. “Garbage! Garbage! Found garbage!”

“Stop that,” Lin Xian said, picking up the robot and patting its casing. “This is a delivery room. Keep it down, or the head nurse will toss you out.”

The waiting felt endless.

Time seemed to crawl, the clock hands barely moving. Finally—a loud, clear cry echoed from the delivery room.

Gao Yang jumped up, cheering, and hugged Lin Xian. “She’s here! She’s here, Lin Xian!”

“Garbage! Garbage! Found garbage!” The vacuum robot was bumping into Lin Xian’s foot repeatedly.

Angelica sighed in relief, smiling.

Brother Wang was the calmest, chuckling as he reassured Lin Xian that once the doctors cleaned the baby, checked her reflexes, and wiped away the vernix, they’d be allowed inside.

Not long after, the door opened, and they all hurried inside, with the robot trailing behind, bouncing off obstacles in its hurry.

“Ying,” Lin Xian said, rushing in and seeing Zhao Ying Jun, who looked tired but smiled softly from her bed.

Next to her was a small crib. In it lay a tiny baby, quietly gazing around.

“The doctors said she’s healthy,” Zhao Ying Jun said, smiling at Lin Xian. “Six pounds, seven ounces. A big baby for a girl. Look at her—eyes already wide open, looking so curious and clever. Come, Lin Xian, hold Yu Xi.”

For Lin Xian, approaching the crib felt almost sacred—like meeting something divine.

This was his daughter.

Yu Xi.

Lin Yu Xi.

He leaned over, adjusting his arms awkwardly. She looked like she was made of clouds, so delicate, as if even touching her was risky.

Thankfully, his dream experience with Li Feng Yu and Li Ning Ning had given him some practice.

With painstaking care, Lin Xian managed to cradle her in his arms—her soft face, tiny nose and mouth, ears snug against her head, and her big, bright eyes.

“Yu Xi,” Lin Xian whispered, his voice cracking.

He wanted to hold her tighter but didn’t dare, afraid of hurting her.

This—this was truly his precious one.

The phrase ‘precious as a pearl in the palm’ suddenly made perfect sense.

Everything about her seemed so fragile, he couldn’t bear to do anything but marvel at her.

How could such a tiny, precious being exist in this world?

This was a life—a person—a miracle he’d never thought he’d get to hold again.

“Yu Xi,” Lin Xian said again, gently. It felt… like something warm, yet unbreakable, was pouring into him through their gaze.

Something that made him firm—made him resolute.

At that moment, Angelica entered, stepping past Lin Xian, sitting beside Zhao Ying Jun, and asked, “How are you feeling? Is anything bothering you?”

She looked at Lin Xian with a smirk. “New dads are always like this. Can’t take their eyes off their daughter and forget the real hero here.”

But Zhao Ying Jun shook her head. “No worries.” She looked at Lin Xian and their daughter, smiling softly. “Yu Xi wanted to meet her dad before he left, so she came early.”

It seemed the baby heard her mother’s voice. Little Yu Xi stirred, blinking, her head tilting slightly.

Lin Xian, holding her, sat down beside Zhao Ying Jun, letting her also see their daughter’s wonder.

Zhao Ying Jun looked at Yu Xi, then back at Lin Xian. There was something different about him—his eyes were more determined.

“I thought seeing Yu Xi today would make you hesitant,” she said, “but instead… you seem even more resolute.”

Lin Xian nodded. “I feel… grateful.”

“Grateful for what?” Zhao Ying Jun asked.

Lin Xian looked at Yu Xi, who was closing her eyes, looking ready to sleep. He smiled. “I’m grateful that if a battle has to be fought, it will be me who goes, not Yu Xi.”

He turned to Zhao Ying Jun. “I spoke with Nangong Meng Jie the other day. She told me about her husband, her father, her grandfather…”

“And I realize I’m nothing special. Decades ago, countless others in our country stood up, taking on battles for future generations. People left their homes, their loved ones, and fought so that we could have today. I’m simply walking in their light—continuing that legacy.

“Someone has to fight this battle, sooner or later. If I don’t, Yu Xi will have to. And if she doesn’t, her children will. It could go on until 600 years from now, with our descendants still facing that destruction.”

He held Yu Xi closer. “She’ll have children, and they’ll have children—so that future will one day be theirs. But I can change that. I have the chance to change that. I don’t dare imagine making her face something like that—she’s so small, so fragile. As her father, how could I let that happen?”

Zhao Ying Jun gently cupped the back of Lin Xian’s head, her fingers softly stroking his hair.

“This is the spirit that’s been passed down through our nation,” she said. “During the revolution, so many fathers and children went to war… just like you mentioned—even our great leader’s son died on the battlefield.”

She paused for a moment. “Others might not understand why. But that’s because…”

“They aren’t great leaders,” Lin Xian finished, his voice quiet. “They can’t understand.”

Zhao Ying Jun blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Remember what Yellow Finch told you? She said she would stay by your side when you were ordinary, teach you to be exceptional, watch you grow, and eventually see you become great. Maybe she didn’t live to see that, but I have. And Lin Xian, I know many won’t understand your choice, but being misunderstood comes with leadership. It’s part of the burden.”

Just then, Gao Yang approached, his lips pressed tightly together. “Lin Xian, it’s time. We need to leave. To be safe, we should get to the hibernation base early.”

Lin Xian and Zhao Ying Jun stayed still, silent for a moment. Finally, Zhao Ying Jun struggled to sit up, wrapping Lin Xian and Yu Xi in a gentle hug.

“Look ahead,” she whispered, her eyes closed. “Always look ahead.”

“Believe in me, and believe in yourself, Lin Xian. Remember what Yellow Finch said—’If it feels right, keep going. If it’s wrong, make it right.’ Before something ends, we never really know what’s right or wrong. So, keep going. With everyone’s hopes and trust, keep going.”

Lin Xian nodded, his eyes glistening. He looked at Yu Xi once more, then whispered, “Yu Xi, Daddy takes back what I said earlier. You don’t have to learn music or become refined or well-behaved. If you want to learn Taekwondo, do it. Do whatever you want. Just grow up strong… and protect Mommy for me.”

At his feet, the vacuum robot rolled closer, nudging his leg. In a low voice, it said, “Garbage… garbage… found garbage…”

Lin Xian looked down, a slight smile crossing his face. “You too, little one. We’re the same—remember who you are and your duty. Take care of Zhao Ying Jun and Yu Xi for me, while I’m gone.”

Gao Yang tugged at his arm. “Lin Xian, it’s really time.”

Lin Xian nodded, carefully placing Yu Xi back in her crib. Together with Gao Yang, he walked to the door, but it felt like there was an invisible wall holding him back from taking that last step.

Gao Yang felt it too. He turned, looking at Zhao Ying Jun, Yu Xi, and Angelica. His nose twitched, his eyes beginning to moisten. “We’ll miss you,” he said, his voice breaking.

He quickly turned away, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“No need to be so sad, Gao Yang,” Zhao Ying Jun said gently, watching them pause at the doorway. “We’re just in different times, fighting the same battle. We’re the same—we’ve never truly parted. So, don’t miss us,” she continued, her voice strong, her eyes unwavering. “You are us.”

At the Research Institute’s secret hibernation base, Lin Xian, Gao Yang, and Du Yao were the last to prepare for hibernation. The others had already settled into their long sleep.

They changed into their hibernation suits and glanced at the clock on the wall: April 16th, 2025, 11:21 PM.

“Let’s go,” Lin Xian said, squinting. “To the future.”

A hissing sound filled the room.

Lying down in the hibernation chamber, Lin Xian closed his eyes, feeling the cold liquid slowly engulf his body. The fluid filled his lungs, bringing a sharp discomfort that made his eyes water. But soon, it was bearable—oxygen in the fluid replacing the air in his lungs. His eyelids grew heavy, harder and harder to keep open. Consciousness blurred. Cold seeped in. And then—

Nothingness.

New York City, at the mouth of the Hudson River, under the Statue of Liberty, in the heat of the day.

A thin blond man walked unsteadily to the statue’s base, looking up.

“Equality,” he said softly, gazing at the torch held high by Lady Liberty. “Return to the world, ultimate equality. The death of mankind, a hundred-year lifespan, is equality. The virus’s end, 194 years, is also equality. This is the original equality of the universe—the most balanced state, the most harmonious equality.”

In Switzerland, on Mount Pilatus, in a secret base.

An old man with white hair lay down inside a hibernation chamber. Around him, aluminum alloy robots moved, preparing him for hibernation. Gradually—the lights in the base began to shut off. Eventually, even the robots’ eyes dimmed, leaving everything silent, buried under the snowy mountain.

In a deeper underground location—

A lone elder wearing an Einstein mask sat alone, in a vast, empty underground chamber. The place was arranged like an old, formal meeting hall. There was no dust and no sign anyone had been there for a long time. On a high platform was a tall-backed black wooden chair, where the masked elder sat in silence. Below, on either side, were four empty chairs. Much like the entire underground space—empty. Silent.

Time passed.

More than two centuries.

Two hundred years might sound like a long time. But in those two hundred years, the Earth had only spun 70,000 times and only orbited the Sun 200 times. The Sun takes 250 million years to orbit the center of the Milky Way, so from that perspective, two hundred years was nothing more than a blink—not even that.

The Milky Way and Andromeda will collide in four billion years, a fearsome and spectacular event that we can hardly fathom. But after two centuries, the Milky Way and Andromeda remain distant—as distant as ever. Two hundred years feels long, yet it is short. On the timescale of the universe, it’s less than an instant—hardly a blink.

September 12th, 2234, X Country’s secret hibernation base.

Inside a hibernation chamber—

A man opened his eyes.

Where…

Where is this?

He couldn’t move. His vision was blurry, his consciousness vague. All he could make out were two blurry figures outside the glass, moving busily.

Gradually, his hearing returned.

“It’s about time, isn’t it? Let’s get him up. He’s strong—if we give him more time to recover, we won’t be able to hold him down later.”

It was a loud male voice.

“Why are you in such a rush?” another male voice responded, calm and steady. “These wake-up protocols are pre-set. Everything is perfectly timed to make sure their bodies wake up enough to move, but still weak enough that they can’t resist us.”

Suddenly—

A screen inside the hibernation chamber lit up, instructing the man step by step on how to move his eyes, then his body.

Finally—

The man completed the tests, and the chamber lid opened. He slowly sat up, looking at the two men he didn’t recognize.

“You… where is this?” He blinked, confused. “Who am I?”

“You’ll know soon enough!” the loud-voiced man rushed over, trying to pull him toward a chair with restraints.

“Wait, let go of me.” He was wary, trying to pull away, but had no strength. “Let go of me, let—”

He was pushed into the chair, strapped down. Then a terrifying helmet, like an octopus with many tendrils, was fastened to his head, pressing tightly.

The man’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing—ah!!!”

Pain! A sharp, excruciating pain like countless needles piercing his scalp, digging into his brain, down his spine! His body convulsed, his eyes rolled back.

Inside his mind, flashes like a movie reel sped by—

A lollipop in his mouth, a Rhine Cat on a shelf, a body struck at 00:42, the dazzling neon of a cyber city, a shadow hand on the moon, a white jade statue in a sky city, a girl leaping from a space shuttle, blue stardust vanishing in his arms, sparks from a seven-headed girl, a head flying high, an old man wearing an Einstein mask, blue snow covering a city, the soft, laughing face of a newborn in swaddling, a woman’s determined gaze on a hospital bed—”Look forward.”

“Ah!”

Lin Xian screamed, his memories rushing back, the electric shock fading.

“Damn.” He tried to touch his head, but his hands were bound. “This thing’s intense! Ever think of improving it? It’s basically a torture device!” He glared at the two men before him—Gao Yang, who looked just the same, and Liu Feng, who had clearly aged, gray streaks in his hair. He seemed about thirty-five now.

“Enough laughing, untie me,” Lin Xian said, his heart silently apologizing to Mai Mai. The electric helmet had been more brutal than expected. Even thinking of it now made him shiver.

Gao Yang and Liu Feng undid the restraints, and Lin Xian stood, flexing his wrists and ankles, looking at them. “What year is it? What’s the world like now?”

Gao Yang clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”

Lin Xian frowned. “Where are we going? Can’t we just talk here?”

Gao Yang smiled mysteriously. “Zhao Ying Jun and Yu Xi left you a gift. Don’t you want to go see it now?”