Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

Lin Xian opened his laptop, his eyes focused as he clicked on a folder. Inside were hundreds of blueprints—designs for all the components of the time travel machine. It was the result of his relentless effort over the last three months, working night and day.

Even after all that effort, he’d only managed to copy the core parts. He estimated that it would take at least another two months to copy the rest. It was more exhausting than when he had copied VV’s code, and every day of memorizing left Lin Xian with a throbbing headache.

“Once I find Du Yao, the timeline is bound to shift, right?” Lin Xian muttered to himself.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure when the point of no return would come. Would it be when he found Du Yao? Or perhaps when she made a breakthrough in her brain research?

“There’s still one question we haven’t answered,” Lin Xian said, scratching his head. “It’s 2024 now… how old is Du Yao? Has she even been born yet?”

Gao Wen’s handwritten letter mentioned that Du Yao died in the middle of the 21st century. If she really was a genius, she might have made her breakthrough in her twenties or thirties. If that were true, Du Yao might not have even been born yet.

And then there was the problem with her name. “Du Yao” wasn’t exactly unique. If Lin Xian searched the national database, he might find dozens of people named Du Yao, from infants to young women.

But then what?

There was no way to tell.

He couldn’t just bring every single Du Yao to Donghai City and protect them all. It was simply impossible.

“Ugh,” Lin Xian sighed, rubbing his temples.

How could he figure out which Du Yao was the one he was looking for? If she had already made a name for herself, it would be easier. But what if she was still a child? Or worse—what if she hadn’t even been born yet?

“If I can’t find her, I’m in trouble,” Lin Xian thought, narrowing his eyes.

Next month, on October 1st, Galileo would be able to use Einstein’s calculations to identify the correct Du Yao. Whether she was a baby or a high school student, they’d find her. Even if she hadn’t been born yet, Einstein could locate her parents. That would put Lin Xian in a tricky situation.

“It’s good that I’m going to the capital with Ying Jun tomorrow to meet her parents,” he said aloud. “Might as well arrange a meeting with Director Liu An too.”

Snap. He closed his laptop.

He wished he could go looking for Du Yao as soon as he finished copying the blueprints, but life didn’t work that way. He had to rely on others.

“I’ll have to trust Liu Feng and the modern scientists,” Lin Xian said. “I’ve copied the core components—that’s 80% of the job done. Liu Feng and the others should be able to figure out the rest.”

Although Gao Wen had called Liu Feng a “lucky fool” who stumbled into success, Lin Xian had faith in him. As Rhine’s top general, Liu Feng wasn’t just lucky—he was smart. He might not have Gao Wen’s or Chen Heping’s expertise, but when it came to unconventional thinking, Liu Feng was unbeatable.

After all, who else could have come up with discoveries like the Cosmic Constant Introduction or the Arithmetic Sequences? Not even Chen Heping could calculate the Universal Constant of 42 without Liu Feng’s insight.

“If Liu Feng can’t finish it, there’s still Nangong Meng Jie and the Research Institute,” Lin Xian reassured himself. “I’ll worry about the time machine when I need it. Einstein said it wouldn’t be ready until 2234, so it’s unlikely I’ll ever use it.”

Lin Xian got up from his desk, switched off the study lights, and walked into the kitchen. The soft glow from the insulated cabinet revealed a glass of milk that Zhao Ying Jun had left for him.

It was such a small gesture, but it made Lin Xian feel warm. Maybe that’s what people meant by warmth—someone thinking of you, leaving a warm glass of milk for you to drink when you finished working late into the night.

Sometimes, happiness wasn’t grand at all. Sometimes, it was just this simple.

Lin Xian drank the milk, feeling the warmth spread through his body. Then he turned off the kitchen lights and headed to the bedroom.

Their Pomeranian, VV, was sprawled at the foot of the bed, snoring softly. Lin Xian smiled; the dog had definitely put on some weight lately. VV hadn’t snored when he was leaner, so Lin Xian decided it was time to cut down on VV’s food.

Zhao Ying Jun lay quietly on the bed, her back to VV, her face turned towards her pillow. The faint moonlight filtering through the curtains outlined her soft features, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

Lin Xian carefully got onto the bed, his eyes drawn to Zhao Ying Jun’s flat stomach. It still looked the same, but he knew that a little life was growing inside.

“Goodnight, Yu’er,” he whispered softly.

In truth, he didn’t know if the baby would be a boy or a girl. Zhao Ying Jun had suggested they could ask the technician during an ultrasound, just to satisfy his curiosity, but Lin Xian had chickened out. He wanted it to be a surprise.

“You’re just scared it’ll be a boy!” Zhao Ying Jun had teased, tweaking his nose playfully.

“Don’t say that,” Lin Xian had replied. “People say you get what you fear most.”

Zhao Ying Jun had laughed at that, clearly amused.

“Then take a guess—boy or girl?”

“A boy,” Lin Xian said confidently.

“Why do you think so?” Zhao Ying Jun had asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lin Xian had grinned. “Because, based on my experience… my guesses are usually wrong.”

Zhao Ying Jun had huffed. “At least you’re self-aware,” she’d said, her eyes twinkling.

Lin Xian looked at her now, at the peaceful scene in front of him, and felt a deep sense of responsibility. As a man, a husband, and soon a father, he knew what he had to do.

“I’ll protect this,” he whispered, brushing a gentle finger across her cheek. “I’ll protect our present, and our child’s future.”

The next day, Lin Xian and Zhao Ying Jun went to Pudong Airport and flew to the capital.

Zhao Ying Jun’s family took their visit very seriously. Her father, Zhao Rui Hai, invited many relatives to a big dinner to welcome Lin Xian.

“This is Lin Xian,” Zhao Rui Hai said proudly, introducing him to everyone. “You must have seen him on TV, right?”

“Whoa!” Zhao Ying Jun’s young nephew jumped up excitedly. “It’s Donghai 007!”

Everyone laughed.

Zhao Ying Jun leaned over to Lin Xian and whispered, “That’s the one who talks nonsense all the time.”

Zhao Ying Jun’s uncle smiled at Lin Xian. “Not only is Lin Xian a young hero, but he also won the world hacking competition,” he said. “I once met Director Gao Yan of the Research Institute, and he couldn’t stop praising Lin Xian.”

“I’m flattered,” Lin Xian said modestly. “I’ve learned a lot from President Gao. He’s helped me a lot.”

The dinner was lively, filled with warmth and laughter. Zhao Ying Jun’s parents were pleased with Lin Xian—they appreciated his achievements, his character, and his sense of responsibility. They were confident that he was the right person for their daughter.

Of course, much of that confidence came from Zhao Ying Jun’s praise of him. As Lin Xian listened to everyone talk about him, he was sometimes surprised himself. He hadn’t realized just how highly Zhao Ying Jun had spoken of him.

“I heard you even went to space this year?” Zhao Ying Jun’s aunt asked, her eyes wide. “Was it for a secret mission?”

Her uncle nudged her. “If it’s a secret mission, you shouldn’t ask.”

It almost felt like they believed Lin Xian was a secret agent. He leaned closer to Zhao Ying Jun. “You’ve really overdone it this time,” he whispered. “I can’t keep up with these stories.”

“What? I only told them the truth,” Zhao Ying Jun replied with a wink.

After dinner, they went back to her parents’ house. They spent time talking about their wedding plans, and her parents’ only request was that they marry soon and bring their child into the world.

“Just think of it as a dream we experienced in advance,” Zhao Rui Hai said, remembering the month they had spent with their granddaughter, Yu’er. It had felt like a beautiful dream—bittersweet yet cherished.

The news of Zhao Ying Jun’s pregnancy had helped ease that sadness. Now, they were filled with excitement for the future.

Later, Lin Xian made his way to the National Security Bureau to meet Director Liu An. After explaining why he was there, Liu An led him to an operations room where an employee typed “Du Yao” into the system.

“There are 2,281 matches,” the employee said.

“That many?” Lin Xian asked, surprised. “Filter out all the males.”

“1,921 matches remaining.”

“Filter out those over fifty,” Lin Xian instructed. Then, reconsidering, he said, “Actually, make that sixty.”

“1,778 matches remaining.”

Lin Xian shook his head with a wry smile. “That didn’t cut it down by much.”

“The name ‘Yao’ wasn’t popular in older generations,” Director Liu An explained. “It’s more common in the younger ones—those born in the ‘90s, ‘00s, and ‘10s. You’ll need to think of more specific filters, Lin Xian.”

Lin Xian was stumped. He knew so little about Du Yao—finding her felt almost impossible. He didn’t even know her approximate age.

Lin Xian filtered the list again, this time by age. If he excluded everyone under twenty, it would shrink to half the size. But that wouldn’t do—he couldn’t risk missing her. A young Du Yao might still grow up to be a genius in brain science. There was no room for random exclusions.

He sighed, staring at the endless names on his screen. “Du Yao…” He’d seen this name more times than he could count. Out of the 2,000 names listed, it could be any one of these people.

He scratched his head, lost in thought. But try as he might, there weren’t any more clues to help him filter. No magic criteria to cut the list down.

What if none of these 1,778 Du Yaos were the right one? What if she wasn’t even born yet?

“This is impossible,” Lin Xian muttered under his breath. “It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

But he had no choice. He needed to find that needle, no matter what.

One month. That’s all he had. After that, Einstein or Galileo would be able to find the real Du Yao with just a question.

“Can I get a copy of these records?” Lin Xian asked.

Director Liu An shook his head, frowning. “No, I’m afraid not. Just letting you view this is already bending the rules. It’s private information, and you don’t have formal authorization or law enforcement privileges.”

“But,” Liu An continued, “you can access the records at the Donghai City Police Bureau. The household registration system is connected nationwide. If you can’t stay here in the capital, you could check it back in Donghai. I could give you a letter of introduction if you need.”

Lin Xian nodded. He wasn’t looking to break rules. “Does the system include information on education?”

“It does,” Liu An confirmed. “The government’s been linking information systems—educational data, health records, household info—you name it. But keep in mind, educational records are only for domestic schools. If someone studied abroad, it wouldn’t be in our database.”

“Let’s start with the local ones,” Lin Xian said. “Filter out anyone without a bachelor’s degree or higher. Then I’ll go through the remaining ones by their major.”

Three long days went by in the National Security Bureau’s records room. Lin Xian went through the profiles of the 1,778 Du Yaos under sixty years old. But none had a major related to brain science.

Some had advanced degrees, but in subjects like literature and linguistics. Nothing close to brain science.

Finding Du Yao was proving even harder than he’d imagined.

That evening, Lin Xian discussed the progress—or lack thereof—with Zhao Ying Jun. “Maybe we should look into people who studied abroad,” she suggested.

“The brain science field started earlier abroad than here,” she reasoned. “And anyone studying abroad would need at least a bachelor’s degree and foreign language skills. That fits someone who might volunteer in Africa.”

Lin Xian nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking about that too. But my worry is Du Yao might still be a student… If that’s the case, we’re stuck. There were over nine hundred Du Yaos under eighteen on that list. I can’t bring them all to Donghai. Their parents would never allow it.”

“Let’s head back to Donghai then,” Zhao Ying Jun suggested. “I have a friend there who can help us check overseas education records. We can find out which Du Yaos studied abroad, then get him to help us search foreign education databases.”

With that plan in mind, Lin Xian and Zhao Ying Jun headed back to Donghai.

Once there, Lin Xian didn’t even need Liu An’s letter. The Donghai City Police Bureau still owed him a favor, and they were happy to help.

After narrowing it down, they were left with eleven Du Yaos who had studied abroad. With Zhao Ying Jun’s connections, they soon managed to get their overseas education histories.

“Look at this,” Zhao Ying Jun said, pointing at a file. “This Du Yao, born in 1998… She attended Johns Hopkins University. It’s one of the world’s top universities. And her major was brain science. It’s got to be her!”

Lin Xian leaned closer, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Johns Hopkins University…” he murmured. The name struck a familiar chord.

“Where have I heard of this before?” He scratched his head, trying to remember.

He didn’t know many people who’d studied abroad. It could only be a few possibilities.

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

“I remember now…” His voice trembled. Slowly, he whispered a name.

“Tang Xin.”

That was it.

Tang Xin had graduated from Johns Hopkins University. When she’d come back to Donghai, she’d told Lin Xian all about her time abroad—the food, the university, the pressures of studying.

Her university was Johns Hopkins.

“I know now,” Lin Xian said, taking a deep breath.

Memories flashed in his mind, and Lin Xian realized where he’d seen the name “Du Yao” before.

It was in their old chat logs.

Last year, during his cat-and-mouse games with Ji Lin—when Ji Lin had faked chat logs between Tang Xin and other men—Lin Xian had come across so many real and fake conversations, it had all blurred together.

But now he remembered.

In those chat logs, somewhere… there was the name “Du Yao.”

Without wasting a second, Lin Xian rushed to the Donghai City Police Bureau.

He requested Tang Xin’s case files and found the printed chat logs.

There it was.

“Yao Yao.”

Lin Xian stared at the name, written under a profile picture of a smiling girl.

The chat log wasn’t long. It started just two weeks before Tang Xin’s accident. Everything before that was missing.

Lin Xian understood why.

Tang Xin’s workplace had given all employees new phones as a perk. She’d shown it off during dinner one night—a new, top-of-the-line Samsung. She hadn’t transferred her old chat history, so everything had been lost.

Tang Xin had even complained about the phone’s clunky system, and Lin Xian had tried to help her figure it out—but he’d found it just as frustrating.

He quickly skimmed through the chat log. Details could wait—for now, he just wanted to confirm if this “Yao Yao” was really Du Yao.

Most of their conversations were short—just a message here and there, often days apart. And they mostly chatted late at night.

“Found it!”

Lin Xian’s heart raced as he found what he was looking for.

It was an image—a volunteer application form for humanitarian work in Africa, stamped with a blue seal. Along with it, there was a victory hand emoji and a message: “I got accepted!”

The form was in English. Back then, when Lin Xian and Ji Lin had been fooling each other, he hadn’t given it a second glance.

But right there, amidst all that English, two familiar characters stood out.

“Du Yao.”

“It really is her,” Lin Xian said, letting out a deep breath. “She was accepted for aid work in Africa… Everything matches Gao Wen’s letter.”

He stared at the printed pages, his chest tightening.

Tang Xin, a girl whose memory still haunted him, had been close friends with Du Yao.

He didn’t know what to say.

He just felt… an ache in his chest.

Because…

On the following pages, most of the messages between Du Yao and Tang Xin were about him.

“Yao Yao, you were right. Lin Xian forgot about covering me with his school uniform back in high school. When I mentioned it, he had no reaction. But it still happened, even if he forgot, right?”

“Hehe, I watched a movie with Lin Xian today. You know what, Yao Yao? He’s still the same—just as caring and gentle as before.”

“He suddenly grabbed my hand today! I must have blushed so much… Luckily, I had some alcohol in me, so maybe he didn’t notice.”

“Oh come on, he’s not like that. We talked at a bar, and then he took me home—really! We’re… it’s almost like we’ve just met again.”

“I prepared a gift for Lin Xian—a special one. Do you think he’ll remember how he saved me back then when he sees it?”

Tang Xin’s last message to Du Yao was filled with excitement.

The rest of the printed chat log was blank.

Lin Xian stared at the last lines, feeling his throat tighten.

Those final messages were from Du Yao to Tang Xin.

“Haha, I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t come back last night. You must have made the first move!”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t text last night—didn’t want to bother you two lovebirds.”

“Now we can talk, right? How’d it go, Little Xin Xin?”

“Did you confess? Did it work?”