novelraw Chapter 146 Last Wish
Chapter 146 Last Wish
[September 15, 2025, Weather: Strong Wind]
[Tomorrow is the day of divine punishment.]
So, this is probably the last entry in this diary.
Come to think of it, this notebook has been with me for quite a long time.
It’s just that I was never someone who liked writing diaries—writing on and off, forgetting characters as I went… even until today, I never managed to fill it.
Sigh, whatever.
Maybe these thoughts were never meant to be recorded. They should leave this world together with me.
Tomorrow has finally arrived.
The tomorrow I’ve been waiting for.
I once thought that when this moment came, I would feel overwhelming excitement—or overwhelming fear.But now, as I write this entry, my heart is indescribably calm.
Why is that?
Could it be… the calmness that comes from having one’s regrets resolved?
It feels like I’ve already lost the ability to distinguish right from wrong.
Or perhaps… I’m just numbing myself with indifference.
Outside, the wind has picked up.
A strong wind.
The glass and the window screen rattle loudly.
Tomorrow, in Donghai City—
It won’t rain heavily, will it?]
—
“Hey!”
“Hey!”
—
“Hey!”
Jiang Ran’s eyes widened. He had never expected to hear the name “Zhou Xiong” from the Killer’s mouth!
At that high school reunion, Zhou Xiong had taken out his phone, called out Lilith’s name, and granted all sorts of outrageous wishes for his classmates—
Only to be struck by a truck while sitting in his Maybach, his body crushed beyond recognition—
That Zhou Xiong—
Had been killed by the Killer! And the murderer had been right in front of him!
However—
There was no time for shock or realization.
The moment the electronic clock struck 12:00 a.m., the familiar dizziness hit right on time.
His vision went black.
He fell into the spinning vortex of spacetime—
Leaving the endlessly looping future of 2045 behind.
Two seconds later, all discomfort vanished.
In the cool night wind, Jiang Ran—
Opened his eyes.
“Senior!”
From inside the Film Camera Club window, Chi Xiaoguo leaned on the windowsill, looking at him.
“We need to hurry back to the dorm! The curfew’s about to start!”
Jiang Ran picked up his phone and checked the time.
Indeed—it was almost 11 p.m. He had to make sure Chi Xiaoguo got back in time.
Graduate dorms didn’t enforce lights-out or power cuts, but the entrance control was just as strict as the undergraduates’—doors locked at exactly 11.
“You go ahead!”
Jiang Ran waved to her.
“I’ll close the windows and lock up.”
Considering Chi Xiaoguo was a girl and would take longer with her routine, Jiang Ran let her leave first while he handled everything behind.
After locking the doors and windows, Jiang Ran left the student activity building and returned to the graduate dorm.
He pushed open the door—
And found Fang Ze already done washing up, sitting under the desk lamp in light blue pajamas, reading a book. The faint scent of shampoo and body wash lingered in the air.
“You’re back?”
Fang Ze looked up and smiled slightly.
“Mm. Made it just in time.”
Jiang Ran took off his coat, hung it up, and walked over.
The book Fang Ze was reading was still the same English edition of
For some reason, Fang Ze’s reading progress seemed slow. It was already mid-September, and he didn’t seem to go out at night—
Yet he still hadn’t finished that book.
It didn’t even look that thick. It shouldn’t be that hard to get through.
“Is that book good?” Jiang Ran asked.
“So-so.”
Fang Ze answered honestly.
“Mainly because of the limitations of its era—it’s hard to feel immersed. And those things you mentioned before, like literary and artistic value… they’re actually difficult to express in English writing.”
“The aesthetic of character form, combination, and omission—I think that’s something only pictographic writing systems possess.”
“For example, Chinese characters can be freely combined, freely coined. There’s no absolute right or wrong, no fixed grammar or sentence structure.”
“So the freer the language, the more freely beauty can emerge. In that regard, Chinese is far superior to English.”
Jiang Ran chuckled.
“So what you’re saying is—you think the book is neither interesting, nor literary, nor artistic. It doesn’t even have aesthetic value in its language.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Fang Ze closed the book and looked up at Jiang Ran.
“
Jiang Ran tilted his head.
“What’s that? A line from the book?”
“Yes.”
Fang Ze smiled lightly.
“A very interesting sentence.”
After that, Jiang Ran went to the bathroom to wash up.
After drying his face, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, his brows slightly furrowed.
He thought of what the Killer had confessed after the successful prison escape in 2045.
The matter of the time machine could be set aside for now.
The most important piece of information—
[The target hunted by the Killer Fang Yang was not someone within Donghai University, as Fang Ze and Jiang Ran had assumed—but Zhou Xiong, who had already been dead for two months.]
This was information that couldn’t be shared with Fang Ze.
Otherwise—
Fang Ze would be just as shocked as Jiang Ran.
The two of them had been foolishly waiting at Donghai University, expecting the Killer to walk into their trap, planning to save the victim and stop a crime driven by brotherly affection—
But in reality—
The Killer had already completed the murder two months ago, while the two of them waited here like idiots in the dark.
They couldn’t even catch up to the aftermath.
“But… why did the Killer kill Zhou Xiong?”
This was something Jiang Ran couldn’t figure out.
Originally, he had thought Zhou Xiong’s death was due to his flamboyance and wealth—he had drawn envy and become a target.
He had even suspected the Maybach driver was an accomplice, the motive being simple robbery and murder. And taking the phone made sense—who wouldn’t want an all-powerful assistant like Lilith?
With Zhou Xiong’s blatant behavior, the driver must have known about Lilith long ago, must have realized that phone could grant any wish.
Under such temptation—
It would be natural to develop malicious intent.
However—
Tonight, the truth was revealed.
The one who killed Zhou Xiong was none other than the man who had unconditionally supported Jiang Ran in the future prison, the refined-looking man like a domineering CEO—
And also Fang Ze’s half-brother—
Fang Yang.
Alias: the Killer.
According to him, he had no grudge against Zhou Xiong. They were complete strangers.
But this was a task assigned by the [Mutual Aid Society of Regrets], ordered by the [Priest].
He had no choice but to carry it out.
The reason the Mutual Aid Society killed Zhou Xiong had nothing to do with money or power.
Or rather—the organization itself already possessed both. They had no need to care about such things.
The mission assigned to the Killer was to seize Zhou Xiong’s [phone]—the one that could contact Lilith—and the [gold coin] engraved with a princess.
What ultimately happened to those items—whether they were handed over to the Priest and destroyed, or passed to someone else—
Jiang Ran didn’t know.
There hadn’t been enough time to ask.
The Killer had also said—
The front of the coin bore a princess in relief, with the English word PRINCESS engraved below.
And on the back—
A strange [Ferris wheel] symbol.
A Ferris wheel.
That immediately caught Jiang Ran’s attention.
He instantly thought of the strange symbol in Qin Feng’s family mural—
Also a simple drawing of a Ferris wheel.
Were these two symbols the same?
In Jiang Ran’s mind, the two Ferris wheels overlapped—
The coin and the mural drew closer, intersecting, merging—
And at the center, a giant eye suddenly opened, observing the world.
“So… many things are actually connected.”
With his finger, he traced across the fogged mirror, linking together several key points—
[Mutual Aid Society of Regrets, Priest, Lilith, phone, Ferris wheel, Qin Feng, Magician, gold coin, princess—these things must all be connected!]
But for now, the information was too fragmented to form a complete structure.
Jiang Ran shook his head, deciding not to dwell on it for the moment.
It was better to focus on the matter of the Killer and Zhou Xiong.
“Haa—”
He breathed onto the mirror, wiped away the finger marks with a tissue.
“For now, the Killer’s identity is clear—he’s a member of the Mutual Aid Society of Regrets, working under the Priest.”
“In 2025, the Killer is about twenty-five years old. He does dirty work for the Priest, mainly for money, for his younger brother, and perhaps to make up for the loss of his family.”
This aligned with what Fang Ze had said.
Fang Ze had already mentioned that his brother did dirty work for the organization in exchange for high pay.
He had also said that during the summer, Fang Yang had transferred him a large sum of money.
Now, the pieces fit together perfectly:
1. Zhou Xiong somehow obtained a phone that could contact Lilith, along with a [Princess Coin].
2. His flashy behavior quickly drew the attention of the Mutual Aid Society of Regrets, which sent Fang Yang to silence him and seize the phone and coin.
3. Fang Yang completed the task and handed the items to the Priest, who revealed that Zhou Xiong was merely a decoy—there was a deeper mastermind behind him.
4. Fang Yang received a large reward and transferred it to his younger brother Fang Ze at Harvard, telling him to study well and live properly.
5. After making his final call, Fang Yang disappeared completely. The last call’s location traced back to a base station near Donghai University.
6. Fang Ze came to Donghai University as an exchange student, hoping to intercept his brother’s crime—but he arrived too late. The murder had already happened two months prior.
That was the full sequence of events.
It was clear that Zhou Xiong was just another unfortunate pawn drawn into the game.
No matter how high-profile he had been, from the moment he obtained that phone and coin—
His fate had already been sealed.
So, in this game—
Who was sitting at the board, seeing everything from above?
The Priest?
Yes—but not entirely.
[The one who gave Zhou Xiong the Lilith phone and the Princess Coin—that person is likely the true mastermind.]
Jiang Ran reached this obvious conclusion.
Without those items, Zhou Xiong would most likely never have drawn death upon himself.
[What was the purpose behind staging Zhou Xiong’s death at a class reunion?]
Jiang Ran stored each question in his mind, planning to ask the Killer again in 2045 the next day.
There was another contradiction—
According to Fang Ze, his brother’s last call came from near Donghai University, implying the target should also have been there.
But the Killer said he killed Zhou Xiong in Hangzhou.
Hangzhou was 200 kilometers away.
Why would he go to Donghai University after the murder?
That didn’t make sense.
There had to be something hidden there.
Gulp, gulp.
Jiang Ran spat out the water, wiped his mouth with a towel, and walked out of the bathroom.
He decided to talk to Fang Ze again.
“Fang Ze.”
Lying on his bed, Jiang Ran asked casually:
“Any news about your brother? Can you contact him?”
Fang Ze shook his head.
“No.”
He sighed.
“It’s frustrating. All I know is that his last call was near Donghai University. I have no other clues.”
“So finding him—or his target—in this vast crowd is like searching for a needle in the ocean. There’s no hope in sight.”
Jiang Ran turned onto his side, resting his head on his hand.
“Are you sure your brother was really near Donghai University? Could it be that he just passed by, or came here for something unrelated—not because his target was here?”
Fang Ze shook his head slightly.
“Jiang Ran, that’s my brother. I know him well.”
“He’s not someone who travels or wanders around. Those words don’t exist in his life.”
“When he’s not working, he stays in the city where I study—taking care of me, cooking, training. He has no other hobbies.”
“Before this summer, he had already come to Donghai University several times. And when he called me—it was also from there, right after transferring the money.”
“[If there wasn’t something important at Donghai University, why would he come here so many times in such a short period?]”
Jiang Ran listened and nodded.
That made sense.
The Killer was a very simple person.
His entire nature seemed to revolve around two things—
Loving his younger brother.
And killing people.
Well…
In the end, even the second existed for the sake of the first.
Could it be—
—
The Killer was still hiding something from him?
Jiang Ran closed his eyes.
Hard to say.
Or perhaps… Fang Ze was the one lying.
At present, Fang Ze didn’t know that Jiang Ran had met Fang Yang in 2045. Likewise, Fang Yang didn’t know that Jiang Ran and Fang Ze were roommates in 2025.
Under these circumstances, many of their “testimonies” didn’t line up.
Fang Ze said his brother was going to kill someone at Donghai University.
But Fang Yang said the killing took place in Hangzhou.
Fang Ze said his brother wouldn’t lie like that, and that their relationship wasn’t overly affectionate.
But Fang Yang, in the future prison, appeared soft-spoken and gentle, clearly deeply attached to his younger brother—and had come to Donghai University for his sake.
“Two ‘testimonies’—”
“Which one is lying?”
“…I’ll go ask the Killer again in 2045 tomorrow night.”
Jiang Ran thought to himself:
“The Killer seems more reliable. After all, I was the one who saved him—he’s grateful and has no reason to hide anything from me.”
“On Fang Ze’s side, I can’t afford unlimited trial and error. This isn’t like the future prison in 2045—over there, no matter what mistake I make, I can always redo it, always start over.”
“That settles it.”
Jiang Ran lay flat on his bed, pulled the blanket over himself, and prepared to sleep.
“It’s late. I’ll think about this tomorrow.”
“Fang Ze, I’m a bit tired today. I’m going to sleep first. Turn off the light later.”
“Mm.”
“…”
Fang Ze stood up from his chair, placed
“I’m heading to sleep too. I’ll turn off the light.”
He walked to the window, reaching for the curtains.
Outside, branches and leaves swayed wildly in the growing wind, twisting in the darkness like countless reaching tendrils.
“The wind’s picking up.”
Fang Ze closed the window tightly, holding the curtain as he looked at the pitch-black sky.
“Tomorrow… it might rain heavily.”
—
The heavy curtains were pulled aside.
A massive floor-to-ceiling window revealed itself.
A middle-aged man stood there with his hands behind his back, looking out over the brightly lit skyline of Lujiazui and the surging waves of the Huangpu River.
Behind him—
An elderly man in traditional attire sat at the conference table, sighing.
“That’s an electric curtain. Could you not yank it around like that?”
It wasn’t that he disliked the expensive, hand-crafted French curtains—
He simply didn’t like such rough, forceful behavior.
“Too troublesome.”
The middle-aged man stared at the storm outside.
“And too slow.”
The old man turned his chair to face the window, speaking earnestly:
“You’re always like this—impatient, lacking composure. That won’t do. I’ve told you many times.”
The middle-aged man said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed outside.
Finally—
He lowered his head and spoke:
“There’s something… even after all this time, I still can’t understand.”
The old man watched his back, slowly turning a golden King Coin between his fingers.
He didn’t speak.
It was as if—
He already knew what the other was about to say.
“I truly don’t understand.”
The middle-aged man turned around, looking at him.
“[Why did you have to destroy that Princess Coin, instead of giving it to me?]”
“[The Prodigy’s Playground seat is so valuable—why not give me the Princess seat? If we worked together, couldn’t we achieve our shared goal?]”
The old man exhaled slowly through his nose.
Just as he had expected.
The other had never let this go.
Especially now—
With the Prodigy’s Playground convening tomorrow, it was only natural he would bring it up again.
“We’ve discussed this many times.”
The old man closed his eyes.
“And I’ve explained my reasoning just as many times. Prodigy’s Playground is not a simple game.”
“Sometimes, having multiple seats actually leads to a result where one plus one is less than one. It creates more trouble.”
“You might think I don’t trust you—but after all these years, you should know me. If I’ve chosen you, how could I have any doubt?”
“It’s just that the [Princess Coin] was clearly a trap. A bait meant to lure us in.”
“At that moment—if a new [Princess] appeared in the Playground, would that give us more strength… or more vulnerabilities?”
He paused.
“Besides, right now, no one in the Playground dares to oppose me. It’s practically become my one-man rule.”
“Any idea you have, I can fulfill for you. There’s no barrier between us.”
“If something happens to me, and I can no longer participate in this game—you can inherit my [Priest] seat and continue our cause.”
“So why insist on the [Princess]?”
The middle-aged man frowned.
“I understand all that. I know our current situation.”
“I trust you more than anyone. That’s why I’m speaking openly.”
“But… it still feels like a waste.”
“We both know this was probably the [Witch] interfering. She’s always like that—unpredictable, chaotic, acting out of pure malice.”
“Even Jiang Ran—we’ve considered the possibility that he’s also a trap set by the [Witch], repeating her usual tactics to disrupt everything.”
The old man shook his head.
“The [Witch] is indeed like that—you described her well.”
“But I can tell—what’s happening around Jiang Ran is not her doing. That’s not her style.”
“Yes, the film made by Donghai University’s film club does create some distraction.”
“But that level of deception isn’t enough. The [Witch] operates on a smaller scale.”
“That’s precisely why I insisted on destroying the [Princess Coin]—to eliminate the [Princess] seat entirely.”
“The [Witch]’s move was too dangerous.”
“We shouldn’t waste time on something we can’t fully understand, nor take unnecessary risks.”
He smiled slightly.
“After all, isn’t the reason she keeps stirring chaos because our control is too strong?”
“Ever since I won at the Labyrinth Playground and obtained the [King Coin], the Playground has practically become mine.”
“No one dares oppose me.”
“That’s why they can’t find a way to break the situation—so the [Witch] resorts to chaos, trying to muddy the waters and disrupt this balance.”
“So—she’s nothing more than a desperate madwoman.”
“We don’t need to concern ourselves with her.”
“Back then, after she killed the [Princess] and took the coin, no one has been able to inherit the [Princess] seat.”
“You should understand why.”
“Sometimes, overreaching leads to mistakes.”
“[If a system is already functioning well, the best course of action is not to disrupt its balance.]”
Heh.
The middle-aged man chuckled.
“That reminds me of something from my computer science days.”
“Our seniors used to say something similar.”
“If a piece of code runs properly, no matter how many bugs or contradictions it contains—don’t touch it.”
“Like an old computer covered in dust—it can run for years if you leave it alone.”
“But once you try to clean it, there’s a high chance it’ll never boot up again.”
“They call this… a kind of ‘gray equilibrium.’”
“Even if it’s not entirely accurate, it’s similar to what you’re saying about system balance.”
The old man nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Don’t focus too much on gains and losses in small battles. Look at the bigger picture.”
“I understand your regret regarding the [Princess] seat.”
“But it was a necessary sacrifice for the greater plan.”
“You’re still not steady enough. That’s your biggest flaw.”
“You’re intelligent, yes—but among all the rare geniuses in history, intelligence alone isn’t what sets them apart.”
“What truly separates them is their ability to remain calm, rational—and avoid mistakes entirely.”
The middle-aged man snorted.
“If geniuses never make mistakes, how are we supposed to win?”
The old man laughed softly, spinning the King Coin on the table.
“That’s exactly why geniuses tend to act alone.”
“And why people often see them as isolated.”
“Sometimes, they fail because of the people around them—friends, allies, companions.”
“But no one can do everything alone. That’s the contradiction.”
The middle-aged man stepped forward, watching the spinning coin.
As it slowed—
It finally stopped.
Face up.
A strange Ferris wheel symbol.
Interwoven arcs wrapped around a circular frame—
At the center, a massive eye.
Deep.
Mysterious.
Terrifying.
From above, it looked like a roundtable—
Participants seated around it, plotting together.
“If only true geniuses could unite,” the middle-aged man murmured.
The old man sighed heavily.
“Yes…”
“This chapter… is indeed like that.”
Murmurs.
Murmurs, murmurs.
Murmurs—
—
Raindrops suddenly began striking the massive window.
Outside, over Donghai City, a steady rain began to fall.
“It’s raining.”
The middle-aged man looked at the blurred glass.
“Tomorrow… there will probably be a storm. It’s typhoon season.”
At that moment—
The electronic clock on the table beeped.
The date changed.
September 16, 2025 — 00:00 a.m.
“Perhaps… this is the moment of divine punishment.”
The middle-aged man glanced at the clock.
“Some people… are about to say goodbye to this world.”
—
Sunlight pierced through the curtains like blades, shining onto Jiang Ran’s face.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Last night—
He had slept unusually well.
No alarm woke him.
No disturbances.
A full, uninterrupted sleep.
He sat up and looked to the side.
Fang Ze’s bed was neatly made. He was gone—likely already in class.
Jiang Ran checked his phone.
It was 9:30 a.m.
—
He had no classes this morning.
He decided to go to the First Affiliated Hospital of Donghai University.
This time, his purpose wasn’t to visit Professor Zhang—
But to see Tian Xiaoli.
He still wanted to help that father and daughter, in whatever small way he could.
Before, they had been strangers.
But after spending time with Old Tian—
He couldn’t ignore it anymore.
If he could help, he would.
After getting up, Jiang Ran left campus and took a taxi to the hospital.
He went straight to the rehabilitation ward.
Room 42.
Name: Tian Xiaoli.
He still couldn’t understand what meaning the number 42 held.
What kind of hint it was supposed to give him.
“After I finish questioning the Killer tomorrow… maybe I should try investigating the execution ground again.”
He pushed open the door.
The room smelled of disinfectant and alcohol.
The window was slightly open. Rain fell outside.
Jiang Ran walked forward.
On the bed, Tian Xiaoli lay still.
Her body thin.
Her face expressionless.
No—
Not even expressionless.
There was simply no expression at all.
Her hospital gown was wrinkled, the bedsheet slightly disturbed.
The nurse had likely come earlier to turn her body and prevent bedsores.
On the monitors beside her, all indicators were stable.
Especially the heart rate—
A flat, unmoving line.
Jiang Ran had worn a smartwatch before.
He knew normal heart rates fluctuated constantly.
But this—
Was lifeless.
That monitor—
Was her life indicator.
If it ever began to fluctuate—
That would be a miracle.
If it started beeping—
That would mean danger.
Afterward, Jiang Ran went to the nurse station.
“9,213 yuan,” the nurse said.
“Her father came yesterday and deposited quite a bit. With insurance, it’ll last about a month.”
“Alright. Add more.”
Jiang Ran deposited another 100,000 yuan.
That should ease Old Tian’s burden significantly.
After finishing everything—
He headed toward Professor Zhang’s ward.
“Wow, a rare guest—dropping by on duty—”
“That’s enough.”
Jiang Ran cut off the cold joke from the self-proclaimed witty Zhang Yang without hesitation. “You don’t need to be lying in bed anymore?”
When he had just come in, he’d seen Professor Zhang Yang coming out of the restroom on crutches.
Damn—
Way too smooth.
There was something about him that felt like a crippled master from a martial arts novel—crutches in hand, yet moving with astonishing agility, almost like some kind of cyberpunk mechanical ascension.
“You know, walking like this actually feels pretty great.”
19
Zhang Yang even demonstrated a few “new techniques” for Jiang Ran. “Dragonfly Spin! Look—don’t my crutch skills resemble Li Yi?”
“Heh.”
Jiang Ran let out a helpless laugh. “Professor Zhang Yang, that meme is older than me. And you expect me to understand it?”
“See? You understood it just fine.”
Zhang Yang flicked one hand out and gave Jiang Ran a thumbs-up. “As expected of my top disciple.”
“Just lie down and rest already—”
Jiang Ran pressed him back onto the bed, speechless. “Your bones only just healed. Don’t tragically break the other leg too.”
“Who the hell visits a patient like you do?” Zhang Yang stared at him in disbelief.
“So you finally remember you’re a patient—”
Zhang Yang told him the doctor planned to discharge him after National Day. By then, attending classes on crutches wouldn’t be a problem. “Your teacher’s wife will come take care of me. She’ll stay at my faculty apartment. When the time comes, bring those two foreign trainees over—come eat at my place and try her cooking.”
“They’re exchange students, not trainees.”
For some reason, Jiang Ran suddenly saw someone else’s shadow in Zhang Yang. “Professor Zhang Yang, when the time comes, I’ll bring another friend too. You two will definitely get along.”
“Who?”
“Chi Xiaoguo.”
As Jiang Ran said the name of the small-statured Film Camera Club president, he couldn’t help but laugh. “She loves internet memes—she’s basically your clone.”
“Have her come do graduate studies,” Zhang Yang said without a second thought.
“Can you be serious for once?! How can you just say something like that so casually?” Jiang Ran couldn’t help complaining.
“See? You people really have zero sense of humor. Can’t even recognize a joke.”
Zhang Yang picked up two oranges from the table and tossed one to Jiang Ran. “Has anyone ever told you you’re stiff as a board?”
“Yeah.”
“See!”
Zhang Yang clapped his hands. “Sharp eyes! You walk around every day with that tense face, like you’ve got national affairs bottled up inside you. Can’t you be a little lively, like someone your age should be?”
“As your teacher, I must correct you—being a silent tsundere is no longer in fashion. That trope’s been obsolete for ages.”
“So you’re an old-school anime nerd too?” Jiang Ran was speechless.
Before this, he had never realized that the refined and gentle Professor Zhang Yang had this side to him.
In that instant—
He definitely had to bring Chi Xiaoguo over for dinner, let them meet properly.
“Don’t interrupt me!”
Zhang Yang waved at Jiang Ran, signaling him to keep listening. “As your teacher, I’m instructing you—become more likable in the future. Believe it or not, when I was young, I was extremely popular with girls at Donghai University! I received piles of love letters every day!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Heh. Trying to provoke me? Useless, my dear stubborn cat.”
Faced with the doubt, Zhang Yang didn’t mind at all, smiling it off. “Rumors don’t hurt people—truth is the real blade.”
“When you come to my place for dinner, I’ll show you photos from my university days. Then you’ll understand just how popular I was.”
“And not just that—your teacher here is offering you everything I’ve got. I want to turn you into a heartthrob. Tell me honestly—shouldn’t you reflect on why, despite being good-looking, you don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Why are you so sure I don’t have one?” Jiang Ran challenged.
“Do you?”
Zhang Yang pressed him. “Have you ever been in a relationship?”
“I—”
For a moment, Jiang Ran didn’t know how to answer.
From his current perspective, the answer was no.
But in terms of facts, there had indeed been someone—a former girlfriend.
“She’s very pretty,” Jiang Ran said plainly.
“Look at you, still being stubborn.”
Zhang Yang scoffed. “Forget it—you’re like a block of wood. Later, just follow your teacher and learn properly. I’ll teach you how to attract girls. That whole ‘pretending to be deep and melancholic, half-charming half-brooding’ thing? Totally outdated.”
“Can you teach something actually useful?” Jiang Ran was increasingly convinced his teacher wasn’t reliable.
“Something fun?”
Zhang Yang smiled knowingly. “Then learn quantum tunneling from me.”
“Goodbye.”
Jiang Ran stood up and left without looking back.
—
All day, Donghai City had been shrouded in a light drizzle.
But the clouds above grew denser and darker, covering the sky completely, as if brewing a massive storm.
The phone kept pushing thunderstorm alerts, reminding citizens to stay safe.
In the evening, Jiang Ran sent Chi Xiaoguo a message on WeChat, asking if she still planned to go to the club activity room.
After all, with light rain outside and forecasts of heavy thunderstorms at night, skipping the experiment for a day wouldn’t matter.
But Chi Xiaoguo replied that she would still go:
“Senior, I want to reorganize and check all the cameras on the shelves, see which ones need repairs. We’re going to start club activities soon, after all.”
97
“And if you’re doing the Positron Cannon experiment tonight, just come find me in the activity room.”
“Even if it’s raining, your experiment only takes a few seconds. Just bring an umbrella—it won’t affect anything.”
Jiang Ran thought about it.
She was right.
Even in heavy rain, the main operation only required him to stand by the transformer distribution box for five seconds.
Even though, on the main timeline, he would spend two hours in 2045—
in the real 2025 world, the time wasn’t synchronized. To Chi Xiaoguo, he would only disappear for one second.
“Alright. See you tonight.”
—
10:30 p.m.
The student activity building was almost empty. Aside from the Film Camera Club room still lit, the entire building was pitch black.
Holding Chi Xiaoguo’s Rhine Cat umbrella, Jiang Ran stood by the distribution box outside the window and gave her an OK sign.
“I’m ready!”
The rain grew heavier and denser. Dark clouds swallowed the neon lights, blending sky and earth into one.
Everything pointed to a coming downpour.
Jiang Ran decided to finish quickly.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0—”
“—”
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
With the familiar eclipse of sun and moon, the world spun violently—
Jiang Ran arrived in the 2045 prison, proceeding with the escape as usual.
“WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
“We did it! We escaped!!”
“Incredible! Incredible!”
Inside the prison transport vehicle, the inmates erupted in cheers once more.
Thud.
Jiang Ran slapped the electronic clock onto the dashboard.
11:56 AM.
The same time, every time.
He only had four minutes to question the Killer.
But that was already the limit—there was nothing left to optimize in this ultra-efficient escape.
Fortunately, four minutes per day would add up.
“Fang Yang.”
Jiang Ran directly called out the Killer’s real name. “You said you were imprisoned for killing Zhou Xiong.”
“Yes.”
“You killed Zhou Xiong in Hangzhou, on July 21, 2025.”
Jiang Ran continued, “But before July 21, you had been wandering around Donghai University. And you told me before—there must be a spacetime device at Donghai University.”
He stared at him.
“Are you hiding something from me?”
“I’ve risked everything to help you escape. If you’re still lying now, there’s no point.”
The Killer chuckled lightly.
“As you said, Jiang Ran—at this point, why would I still hide anything?”
“I was willing to stake my life to escape with you. If life itself doesn’t matter, then what are a few old secrets from ten or twenty years ago?”
“I admit, before the escape succeeded, I kept things from you out of caution.”
“But now that we’ve escaped, I have no concerns.”
“You’ve clearly asked me these questions more than once.”
“So go ahead. I won’t hide anything.”
“I only have one question.”
Jiang Ran emphasized:
“[If your target was Zhou Xiong in Hangzhou—then why were you hanging around Donghai University for so long?]”
“Because Zhou Xiong wasn’t my original target.”
The Killer answered plainly.
“My organization initially assigned me to assassinate a teacher at Donghai University.”
“It was summer break, so the teacher hadn’t arrived yet. I went early to scout the area, rent a place, and prepare.”
“But on July 21, I suddenly received an urgent order—go to Hangzhou immediately and assist another member in killing Zhou Xiong.”
“So I went.”
“I completed the mission.”
“After that, I couldn’t carry out the Donghai University assassination anymore. The police were already looking for me. I had to leave the country.”
“I returned once more to Donghai University, cleared out my rental, destroyed all traces, and left.”
“That was the last time I ever went to Donghai City.”
“I cut off all contact—including with my brother.”
Jiang Ran understood.
So the Killer had been at Donghai University because his original target wasn’t Zhou Xiong—
It was someone else.
And just as Fang Yang had suspected—
A teacher.
But then—
On July 21, the mission changed.
Which meant—
Someone else carried out the assassination at Donghai University.
Thump.
Jiang Ran’s heart skipped a beat.
“Killer!”
A face flashed through his mind instantly.
“Who were you supposed to kill at Donghai University?! What was their name?! When was the assassination date?! Do you remember?!”
Only one minute remained.
“Yes.”
The Killer replied calmly.
“I have a good memory—especially for missions.”
“The assassination wasn’t carried out by me in the end. Someone else completed it.”
“The date was September 16, 2025. I paid attention to it—after all, it was originally my mission.”
“The name!”
Jiang Ran shouted, staring at the clock.
“Tell me the target’s name!”
The Killer turned, meeting his eyes, and said word by word:
“Yan Chonghan.”
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
The world spun.
Time was up.
Jiang Ran was kicked back to 2025.
He opened his eyes and gasped—
Clang.
The Rhine Cat umbrella slipped from his hand.
But he didn’t care.
He immediately hung up on Chi Xiaoguo and frantically searched his contacts.
Yan Chonghan.
He had never expected—
The real assassination target at Donghai University—
Was Professor Yan.
And the date—
September 16.
That was tonight.
“Pick up… pick up…”
His hands trembled.
Finally—
“Hello? Jiang Ran?”
Relief flooded him.
“Professor Yan! Where are you right now?!”
“I’m in the lab.”
Yan Chonghan replied calmly. “Old Tian just called me. He said he’s made a final decision about the volunteer simulation project, wants to discuss it with me. We’re together now.”
Thud.
Like a hammer smashing into his chest.
Old Tian.
Old Tian—
Old Tian!
Images flashed through Jiang Ran’s mind—
His hunched back, his honest smile, his tears, his quiet joy, his sorrow—
And then—
Yesterday morning.
“If one day my daughter wakes up… can you… be her friend? Take care of her?”
Awakening.
Regret.
Rebirth.
Compensation.
“Mutual Aid Society of Regrets—!”
“Professor Yan!”
Jiang Ran shouted into the phone.
“Stay in the lab! Don’t move! I’m coming—”
Click.
The call was cut.
“Damn it!”
Jiang Ran clenched his teeth and ran.
Like a madman.
“Senior!”
From the window, Chi Xiaoguo called out, confused.
But by the time her voice faded into the rain—
Jiang Ran was already gone.
Faster.
Faster—
He had to be faster.
If Old Tian had cut the call—
Then Professor Yan was already in danger.
BOOM—
Lightning split the sky.
For a brief instant, the campus lit up—
And Jiang Ran saw—
On the rooftop—
A figure in white—
Hands raised—
Backed to the edge.
“PROFESSOR YAN—!!!”
He screamed.
But thunder and rain swallowed his voice.
He rushed inside the building—
Up the stairs—
Two steps at a time—
Faster—
Faster—
BANG!
He kicked open the rooftop door.
“Professor Yan!!”
And froze.
Under the torrential rain—
Yan Chonghan stood at the edge—
Hands raised—
Stepping back.
And in front of him—
At the center of the rooftop—
A black silhouette—
Holding a gun—
Aiming straight at him.
That back—
So familiar—
Lightning flashed again—
Illuminating the face Jiang Ran least wanted to see.
He stepped into the rain.
“Old Tian—”