Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

Lin Xian sighed softly as he settled into the car. He couldn’t help but think aloud, “Chu Shan He truly is a great man. And I mean great in every sense of the word.”

He glanced at Zhao Ying Jun beside him, smiling as he remembered the first time he had attended one of Chu Shan He’s grand banquets. “I still remember the first time you took me to meet Chu Shan He. I was baffled by the respect everyone had for him—even Professor Xu Yun, who never really gets involved with worldly matters, held him in such high regard.”

Lin Xian shook his head, his expression filled with admiration. “Now, I understand. He deserves all the praise and respect.”

Zhao Ying Jun turned to look at Lin Xian, her gaze softening. “You’re not bad yourself, Lin Xian.” Her voice was firm, and her eyes held a warmth that made him blush slightly. “To me, you’re just like Chu Shan He—you’re responsible, driven, and you have principles. From a young age, I was taught that ‘every man has a role to play in the rise or fall of a country.’ You may be young, but the weight of the responsibilities you carry is even heavier than Chu Shan He’s.”

She paused, then added, “And the most incredible thing about you is that you’re willing to make sacrifices to uphold those responsibilities and save what you can. That’s the most commendable quality. Many in your place wouldn’t think about saving the world 600 years into the future. They wouldn’t sacrifice their lives now for a faint hope. In our era, most people would just live for the moment, which is perfectly fine, but… I prefer people like you.”

Lin Xian lowered his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He softly replied, “Because… they lack the power to change things.”

He lifted his head, meeting Zhao Ying Jun’s gaze, the fire in his eyes glowing. “It was you who said it—that history won’t blame those without power. If I have a power that others don’t, then it’s my duty to do things that others can’t. Why else would I be given the power to dream of the future? Maybe that is the meaning of my life, my purpose.”

When they arrived home, Zhao Ying Jun busied herself with changing into casual clothes and soon left for her scheduled prenatal checkup at the hospital. Meanwhile, Lin Xian fed VV—their fluffy little Pomeranian—half a bowl of dog food, then prepared to head to bed and enter the world of dreams.

“V?” Lin Xian was about to walk away when VV clamped down on his pants leg with her teeth, her eyes wide and accusing. “Woof! Woof woof!” She barked, puffing out her stomach.

“What is it with you, little fellow?” Lin Xian squatted, looking at the half-filled food bowl and shaking his head. “Seriously, can’t you see it? It’s half a bowl already.” He rubbed VV’s round tummy, sighing as he continued, “You really need to cut down on the eating, VV. Are you competing with Ying Jun to see whose belly can grow bigger? She’s expecting a baby, but you aren’t. Keep this up, and one day, you’ll suffocate in your sleep. You were even snoring with pauses the other night.”

“Woof!” VV barked indignantly, almost as if to say, “Live for today! Enjoy every bite you can! Why worry about tomorrow?”

In the end, after a bit of back and forth, the negotiations concluded with VV getting two-thirds of a bowl of dog food.

Lin Xian took a quick shower and got ready for bed. Today, his plan was to enter the underground hibernation base, find Mai Mai, and use the brain neural electric helmet on her—the device should help restore her memory and reveal the true inspiration behind her novel, “Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor.”

A few days ago, with Lin Xian’s permission, Du Yao had sent all the technical information about the brain neural electric helmet to the Research Institute. As per their agreement, all the official benefits and credit would fall to the Research Institute, keeping Rhine Company out of the spotlight. It was a safety measure, after all.

Right now, apart from himself and Elon Musk, there were three geniuses left whose purpose and plans remained a mystery—Newton, Galileo, and Gauss. Lin Xian had no clue who they were, where they might be, or what they were scheming. Thus, caution was the best course of action.

The same went for the micro nuclear batteries Nangong Meng Jie was working on. Officially, the Research Institute was in charge of the entire project, including all patents and profits. Rhine Company had thoroughly distanced itself from everything.

The Research Institute, being a government institution, was naturally more cautious. The director had made it clear that, to preserve the country’s reputation, they couldn’t afford any slip-ups; everything had to be flawless before it could be announced to the public.

Fortunately, the micro nuclear batteries were relatively easy to test, and they would likely hit the market in just a few months. In this way, Einstein’s prophecy wouldn’t align exactly as predicted—a small ripple in the timeline, a subtle butterfly effect that Lin Xian attributed to Galileo and Da Vinci’s pointed questions. Otherwise, the batteries would likely have been released back in January.

As for the brain neural electric helmet, its release and sale would take even longer. The cautious Research Institute insisted on waiting until the first batch of hibernators lost their memories in 2033 before conducting clinical trials. Only after ensuring there were no safety risks would it be introduced to the public.

Lin Xian and Du Yao had no objections. Du Yao, as a researcher, knew the importance of thorough clinical trials. As for Lin Xian, he didn’t care much about when the helmet would be released in the real world, as long as it worked in the dream world and allowed him to deal with Mai Mai.

“I’m coming for you, platinum author,” Lin Xian murmured, closing his eyes and rolling onto his side. Soon, he drifted off to sleep.

A motorcycle roared across the barren plains, racing straight toward the southwestern canyon. Lin Xian had traveled this path so many times now that he had it down to an art. He climbed, leaped, and ascended until he reached the underground hibernation base, dusting off his hands as he arrived at the entrance.

He approached Mai Mai’s hibernation chamber. It was the same as always, but when he opened the storage compartment, he noticed something different.

“The memory storage drives are missing,” Lin Xian muttered, frowning. He checked the other storage compartments, but it was the same everywhere—all the memory storage drives were gone.

“This means the brain neural electric helmet has already become commonplace,” Lin Xian deduced. “If the helmet makes it easy for people to regain their memories, then those memory drives and notebooks are no longer needed. So, somewhere in this underground base, there must be a completed neural electric helmet.”

Lin Xian began searching through the ruins, and it didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for—an “octopus-like” contraption, smaller and more portable than the prototype Du Yao had shown him, but otherwise very much the same.

Lin Xian picked up the brain neural electric helmet and examined it. “Great. It already has the micro nuclear battery embedded. All I have to do is press this button, and it will activate automatically.” Ṙ

After figuring out how to use it, he set the helmet aside and started the awakening sequence for Mai Mai’s hibernation chamber. The lights flickered on, and the temperature of the filling liquid began to slowly rise. He would have to wait two hours before Mai Mai would be fully awake and ready for the treatment.

In the meantime, Lin Xian opened Mai Mai’s masterpiece, “Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor,” which still lay in her storage compartment. He sighed. “It really is her obsession. She must have truly wanted to become an author. If only she had a time-travel machine—if she had published ‘Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor’ around the year 2000, it could have shaken up the literary world.”

Two hours later, Mai Mai finally awakened from her hibernation chamber. Lin Xian picked up the helmet and approached her.

“Wait!” Mai Mai shrieked, her eyes widening as she took in the eerie, tentacle-like contraption. “That thing looks terrifying! It’s like it has tentacles!”

Lin Xian turned the helmet over, nodding thoughtfully. “You’re not wrong. These things are here to secure it to your head.”

Mai Mai’s brows furrowed. “To keep me from moving? Is it going to hurt?”

“Of course not,” Lin Xian said dismissively, trying to reassure her. “It’ll just tickle a little—nothing more. Trust me, restoring memories isn’t painful at all.”

He needed Mai Mai to cooperate, so a small lie wouldn’t hurt. She sighed in relief, patting her flat chest. “As long as it doesn’t hurt… I’m fine with tickling.”

“Alright then, come over here.” Lin Xian guided her to a chair, strapping the helmet securely in place. Once he was sure it wouldn’t budge, he gave her shoulder a gentle pat. “Ready?”

Mai Mai took a deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”

Lin Xian took a deep breath himself, feeling even more anxious than Mai Mai. He braced himself, ready to hold her in place if things went south. Du Yao had warned him that the helmet was extremely unpleasant and that the restraint chair was crucial—too bad the chair in the room had already been crushed by debris.

He pressed his thumb against the red button on the helmet, taking a deep breath before pressing down.

A weak electric hum filled the air, and Mai Mai’s screams soon joined it. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” she wailed, struggling as Lin Xian held her down.

“Hang in there! It’ll be over soon,” Lin Xian called, using his strength to keep her still. “Once it’s done, you’ll remember everything!”

“You said it wouldn’t hurt!” she sobbed, her body trembling.

“Well, everyone’s different.” Lin Xian tried to explain over her shouts. “Almost done! I can see the progress bar!”

He couldn’t see a progress bar. Gao Wen’s wild design style, much like Liu An’s, meant there was no room for unnecessary features like a progress bar.

Mai Mai’s body eventually went limp, her screams turning into soft whimpers. Her eyes rolled back, her mind flashing through old memories, familiar yet distant—moments filled with rejection, anger, understanding, and persistence.

The red light on the helmet turned off, replaced by a green glow as the electric hum faded away. Lin Xian quickly unfastened the helmet, lifting it from Mai Mai’s head.

Mai Mai collapsed to the ground, crying uncontrollably. “No one… no one wants to read my books…”

Lin Xian knelt down and helped her up. “How do you feel, Mai Mai? Did it work? Did you get your memories back?”

Mai Mai nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“That’s good! Why are you still crying, then?” Lin Xian asked.

“Because… it’s just…” She sniffled, wiping her nose. “It’s all so sad. My masterpiece, and no one appreciated it… no one even wanted to sign me as an author.”

“Oh.” Lin Xian sighed, realizing the cause of her sadness.

“And it wasn’t just that!” Mai Mai wailed. “I begged for votes every day! But no one cared…”

Lin Xian winced sympathetically. “Yeah… that’s pretty rough.”

After a moment, he tried to cheer her up. “Listen, I mean it when I say ‘Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor’ is the best story of this era! You’re one of the top authors in Donghai City.”

Mai Mai blinked through her tears, hope flickering in her eyes. “Really? You’re not lying, are you?”

Once Mai Mai calmed down, Lin Xian sat across from her, relieved that the brain neural electric helmet had worked. He observed her reaction carefully, noting how the extreme emotions seemed to trigger the recall of her memories. It was just like the nauseating memory Lin Xian had once shared with Du Yao, involving Gao Yang’s lollipop—an unforgettable moment of disgust.

For Mai Mai, her strongest memories involved the failure and rejection she had faced as a struggling author—the pain, the disappointment, the ridicule. It all came back to her now, and although it made her cry, it also brought back her past.

He waited for her to finish wiping her tears, then leaned forward, his expression serious. “Mai Mai, do you remember everything now? Is it all clear?”

Mai Mai nodded vigorously. “I remember it all. My name is Yang Mai Mai. I was born in 2222 and entered the hibernation chamber in 2239, which means I’m 17 years old now. I remember everything from my life before hibernation, every detail.”

“That’s fantastic.” Lin Xian couldn’t help but smile. “The wonders of science, huh?”

Mai Mai’s eyes grew distant, and she began speaking softly. “Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of becoming an author… but I could never write anything I was proud of. Then, after years of trying and learning from the greats, I finally wrote ‘Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor.’ I was so proud of it, and I sent it to an editor…”

“And what did the editor say?” Lin Xian felt an unexpected sense of anticipation.

Mai Mai looked at him, her eyes full of hurt. “The editor asked if I was a time traveler from 200 years ago.”

Lin Xian couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. “That’s… that’s a bit harsh,” he said, trying to suppress his amusement.

“The editor said my writing was outdated.” Mai Mai sighed. “They said that styles come in cycles, and maybe my work would be popular in a few hundred years… so I decided to hibernate.”

Lin Xian raised an eyebrow. “Really? You went into hibernation just because of that?”

Mai Mai straightened up, her face determined. “The old era had no place for my talent, so I decided to take my chances in a new one. Lin Xian, tell me—is this the era for ‘Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor’? Will it be successful now?”

Lin Xian gave her a thumbs-up. “Platinum-tier potential.”

“Really?” Mai Mai’s eyes sparkled.

Lin Xian nodded. “Absolutely. But first, we need to clarify one thing.” He opened the manuscript and pointed at the date written on the first page: “April 17th, 2025. The mist of the Demon God silently descended upon the earth, marking the beginning of its end… You also mentioned that the story was based on real events. What exactly were these real events? Do you remember?”

Mai Mai nodded eagerly. “Of course! I did a lot of research for this book. It was common knowledge back then—I thought it would be obvious to you. It was the day the ‘Anti-Hibernation Virus’ spread worldwide.”

“What?” Lin Xian’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat at the unfamiliar term.

“Anti-Hibernation Virus? What’s that?” he asked.

Mai Mai grinned, her pride evident. “You’re asking the right person! I did a lot of research on this virus to write ‘Devouring Heaven Demon Emperor.’ It’s a virus designed to prevent humans from entering hibernation. People who get infected show no symptoms, no health issues—it doesn’t harm the body or shorten their lifespan. But once someone is infected, they simply can’t hibernate. The virus hides in the brain, and it activates under low temperatures, keeping the person awake no matter how cold it gets.

“The virus has a three-month incubation period, during which it’s non-infectious. But once the incubation ends, it becomes highly contagious, spreading to anyone the host comes into contact with.” She paused, her eyes shining with excitement. “So, even if someone wanted to hibernate, they couldn’t. By the time it was over, almost no one in the world could hibernate anymore. The virus only stopped being contagious after 200 years, in 2219. That’s why I could go into hibernation—I was born after the virus had disappeared.”

“Wait a minute.” Lin Xian frowned, a thought occurring to him. “You said the incubation period is three months. Does that mean it’s non-infectious during that time?”

Mai Mai shook her head. “Correct. During the incubation, it’s completely non-infectious, but the host can’t hibernate.”

Lin Xian nodded slowly, connecting the dots. “And you said the virus spread worldwide on April 17th, 2025. But if there’s a three-month incubation period, how did it spread so suddenly, all on the same day? Shouldn’t the spread have been gradual, with cases appearing in various locations before the big outbreak?”

Mai Mai shook her head, her eyes gleaming. “No, no, no. That’s exactly what makes it interesting—that’s why I modeled the Demon God after the real culprit. The truth didn’t come out until decades later, but the real villain behind the virus orchestrated the spread perfectly. Think about it—if the virus spreads only after three months, then the people who spread it worldwide must have all been infected at the same time, on January 17th, 2025.

“And how do you ensure that so many people get infected on the same day, then spread it across the globe in the following three months? Simple: one person—the Demon God—had to inject himself with the virus on October 17th, 2024, three months before January. On January 17th, 2025, he, the only person carrying the virus, traveled to a major international airport, infecting thousands of travelers. Those thousands then traveled to every corner of the world. When their incubation ended, they all became contagious on April 17th, 2025. That’s when it spread like wildfire worldwide.

“So April 17th was the day of the Anti-Hibernation Virus’s outbreak—the day the ‘Mist of the Demon God’ descended.” Mai Mai finished her explanation, her voice brimming with passion.

Lin Xian listened, feeling a chill run down his spine. April 17th, 2025—just a week away. Today was April 10th, and as Mai Mai spoke, he realized that countless carriers were already out there, waiting for the virus to take hold in just seven days.

He traced the timeline backward, remembering the events of six months ago—October 17th, 2024. By that time, the Ninth Dream had already appeared, and just a few weeks later, Einstein had declared the end of the game.

There was one person who came to mind—the one who had always been elusive, always talking about fairness, a small-statured man who seemed to keep his own agenda hidden.

“Gauss.”