novelraw Chapter 149 The Final Battle
Chapter 149 The Final Battle
Jiang Ran arrived at the First Affiliated Hospital of Donghai University.
He went straight to the rehabilitation ward where Tian Xiaoli was supposed to be, only to find that there was no one inside.
He turned back to the door and checked the nameplate.
Rehabilitation Ward: No. 42
Name: Tian Xiaoli
It seemed Tian Xiaoli hadn’t been moved—she had probably just gone elsewhere for examinations.
└ 42——————┘
Jiang Ran narrowed his eyes, staring at that number as if it had been prearranged… as if it had always been expected.
Could it be—
Check… check, ???? 5??????This “42”… had it actually been pointing to the answer all along, and he simply hadn’t understood it?
Believe in 42————
42 is correct————
Follow 42————
These were the “three sacred truths” that Qin Feng—the Magician of 2045—had once taught him.
But even so, he had to admit it.
He really couldn’t extract any useful information from a single, absurd number like this.
“…This is way too cryptic.”
97
Jiang Ran muttered helplessly.
From a hindsight perspective, that “42” on the ward door did seem to confirm certain things.
But from the perspective of someone in the moment, he simply couldn’t connect that number to Old Tian’s situation.
“In the end… I just don’t understand 42 well enough.”
“You could even say… I don’t understand 42 at all.”
He turned around, walked to the nurse station, asked for the location of Tian Xiaoli’s attending physician’s office, then knocked and entered.
The doctor looked up at the visitor and put on his glasses.
“And you are…?”
“Hello, doctor. I’m here to visit Tian Xiaoli in Rehabilitation Ward 42.”
“Oh, oh.”
The doctor nodded.
“A family member, right? What’s your relationship with Tian Xiaoli?”
“Uh…”
Jiang Ran scratched his head.
“I’m not her relative. I’m a friend of her father.”
“Her father?”
The doctor immediately frowned.
“You mean that murderer?”
His tone turned noticeably harsher.
“You’re so young—how did you end up being friends with a murderer? What exactly do you do?”
“I’m a student at Donghai University,” Jiang Ran answered honestly.
“Oh~~”
The doctor’s attitude softened instantly.
After all, this was the First Affiliated Hospital of Donghai University. Many of the doctors had graduated from its medical school, and they naturally felt some degree of affinity toward younger students from the same institution.
“What’s your major?” the doctor asked.
“I’m a graduate student,” Jiang Ran replied. “My advisor is Professor Zhang Yang from the School of Physics.”
“Zhang Yang!”
The doctor suddenly realized.
“That would be Academician Gao Yan’s final disciple. Then you must be—what’s your name?”
Jiang Ran was a bit surprised. Had he run into someone who knew him?
“Doctor, my name is Jiang Ran.”
“Ah! So you’re that super genius Academician Gao Yan keeps praising!”
The doctor’s demeanor changed completely. He chuckled warmly.
“Academician Gao Yan is also my mentor. We’re quite close. Your Professor Zhang Yang—didn’t he break his leg and get hospitalized here? Haha, I did rounds in his ward this morning.”
“By the way—what brings you here? Are you particularly concerned about Tian Xiaoli’s condition?”
Jiang Ran nodded.
“To be honest, doctor, I’ve visited her before and know a bit about her situation.”
“As her attending physician, you must also know that for a vegetative patient who has been in a coma for ten years, with brain atrophy… there should be absolutely no possibility of waking up.”
“But—facts are facts. She really did wake up. I’d like to hear your professional opinion. Is something like this… realistic?”
The doctor listened.
He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Sigh. Since you’re Zhang Yang’s student… come here.”
He gestured Jiang Ran over, opened several brain scan images, and pointed at the screen.
“See this? The image on the left—this was Tian Xiaoli’s brain condition three months ago.”
“Do you see this cavity here? That’s a symptom of brain atrophy. Since you’ve looked into it, you should know—brain atrophy is completely irreversible in medicine.”
Jiang Ran nodded.
Brain damage was irreversible. That was common knowledge.
Neurons in the brain could not regenerate, nor could they proliferate. Once they died, they were gone.
Which meant that any loss of brain function—regardless of cause—was destined to be permanent.
“You see these atrophied areas?” the doctor continued. “Many functions here were already completely lost. I told the Tian family long ago that their daughter had no chance of waking up.”
“Because her brain was already damaged. If the atrophy continued, you could even say she would essentially have no brain left. And a person without a brain—can they still be considered alive?”
As he spoke, the doctor’s expression suddenly turned tense.
“But now—look at the image on the right.”
Jiang Ran followed the cursor to the right.
Even as a non-professional, he could clearly see that the brain on the right was larger, fuller, with narrower gaps.
He instantly realized what it meant.
“Doctor… could this be—”
“Exactly.”
The doctor frowned deeply, as if facing a formidable enemy.
“This was taken at noon today, after Tian Xiaoli regained consciousness.”
“You can see it too—this is simply unbelievable. Her brain seems to have suddenly come back to life. Not only are its functions gradually recovering, but the atrophied areas also appear to be expanding again.”
“This is terrifying. I even wondered if the imaging machine was malfunctioning. In all my years as a doctor, I’ve never seen anything this absurd!”
“You might not fully grasp what this means. Let me give you a more concrete example.”
“This kind of reactivation of atrophied brain tissue…”
He paused.
“…is roughly equivalent to turning a boiled egg back into a raw egg—and then hatching a chick from it.”
Hearing such a grounded analogy, Jiang Ran finally understood the doctor’s earlier fear.
Indeed.
This was a complete subversion of traditional biology and medicine.
Turning a boiled egg back into a raw one—and then hatching a chick?
Even Darwin would flip the table at that.
And yet—
This utterly unreasonable, completely anti-biological phenomenon was happening right before their eyes.
Who could possibly explain it?
Suddenly—
Jiang Ran recalled something Professor Zhang Yang had once taught in a general-education class on Worldline Theory.
Murphy’s Law.
Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. No matter how small the probability, it will happen eventually.
Then—
Turning a boiled egg back into a raw egg, and hatching a chick…
Was that a zero-probability event, or just an extremely small-probability event?
“Doctor, I’d like to ask you a question.”
Jiang Ran spoke softly.
“In your opinion, turning a boiled egg back into a raw egg, and then hatching a chick…”
“…is that something that is absolutely impossible—one million percent impossible?”
“Or…”
“…is there an extremely tiny, almost negligible probability that it could happen?”
The doctor was momentarily speechless.
He stared at Jiang Ran, puzzled.
He simply couldn’t understand.
This was the “super genius” Academician Gao Yan had praised?
What kind of strange question was this?
What kind of bizarre line of thinking?
Wasn’t this obvious?
Once an egg is boiled, the proteins denature. High temperature destroys the molecular structure, turning ordered globular proteins into disordered chains.
How could that ever be reversed? Pure fantasy.
But—
Just as he was about to lecture this ignorant young man, a flicker of doubt arose within him.
Granted, such a scenario was impossible both in theory and in practice.
But from the standpoint of academic rigor…
Could he truly assert it with 100% certainty?
Was there truly not even the tiniest, most negligible possibility?
He swallowed, making a faint thinking sound.
His gaze toward Jiang Ran gradually shifted—
From shock, to surprise, to doubt, to confusion… then to seriousness, calmness, composure, and finally, uncertainty.
“As a scholar… if one is truly rigorous, one cannot easily define anything as 100% or 0%.”
There were two famous thought experiments concerning extremely small probabilities.
One was the Infinite Monkey Theorem:
Given infinite time, could an infinite number of monkeys randomly typing on typewriters produce the complete works of Shakespeare?
The other was the Tornado Junkyard Theory:
If a massive tornado swept through a junkyard full of scattered parts, could it assemble a Boeing 737?
From a scientific and practical standpoint, this was absolutely impossible—even if the universe ended.
But from a probabilistic perspective, it was possible—an almost infinitesimal possibility.
So—
Returning to Jiang Ran’s question.
On the surface, it was about boiled eggs and raw eggs.
But in reality, he was clearly referring to the medical miracle of Tian Xiaoli’s brain recovery.
“…You’re an interesting student.”
The doctor looked at Jiang Ran with approval.
“In academia, we don’t casually give absolute conclusions.”
“This isn’t because we’re being lazy, or leaving room for ambiguity.”
“It’s because we maintain a sense of reverence and curiosity toward the unknown.”
He smiled lightly.
“People once believed humans couldn’t fly, that the Moon was unreachable, that the vacuum of space was empty, that the speed of light couldn’t be exceeded, that time couldn’t flow backward—”
“But as technology advances, these so-called impossibilities gradually become possible.”
“Superluminal phenomena are not uncommon in the universe. Quantum delayed-choice experiments determine results before processes. These counterintuitive things—once considered impossible—have reshaped our understanding.”
“So, back to the original topic.”
The doctor cleared his throat.
“If you ask me whether Tian Xiaoli’s condition has even the slightest probability of occurring, from a scientific and biological standpoint…”
He looked directly into Jiang Ran’s eyes.
“My answer is—”
He emphasized each word:
“[It is possible.]”
Jiang Ran nodded.
That was enough.
Because what he truly cared about was not Tian Xiaoli’s condition itself—
But how the Priest had accomplished all of this.
“Then, doctor, may I ask another question?”
Jiang Ran spoke quietly.
“If you cannot definitively assign 100% certainty to any event…”
“…then—”
“[Is it possible, even with an extremely small probability, for someone who is already dead to come back to life?]”
“—What?!”
The doctor’s eyes widened like walnuts.
This time, he genuinely thought the kid in front of him had something wrong with his brain.
“Are you… alright?”
He laughed helplessly.
“Jiang Ran, academic rigor is good—but overthinking like this is pointless.”
“Different questions are fundamentally different. What you just said—that is absolutely impossible.”
“If someone has been medically declared dead, then you can rest assured—one million percent certain, absolutely guaranteed—they will never come back to life.”
“[If you ever see someone who was confirmed dead standing alive in front of you—then you can decisively conclude: that thing is definitely fake.]”
The doctor picked up his cup, intending to drink water.
Finding it empty, he stood up to go to the water room.
Before leaving, he smiled at Jiang Ran.
“Tian Xiaoli has a lot of examinations today. Her condition still needs time to stabilize. And with what just happened to her father…”
“For various reasons, we’d rather not allow visitors for now.”
“So Jiang Ran, please head back today. Once things settle down, I’ll have Zhang Yang inform you.”
“Alright.”
Jiang Ran nodded.
“Thank you, doctor.”
He followed him out, went downstairs, got into his car, and drove back to Donghai University.
Donghai City. Somewhere inside a police conference room.
A middle-aged man pushed the door open and looked at the elderly man in a Tang suit sitting at the table in deep thought.
“The Donghai police seem to have found quite a few clues about us.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The elderly man kept his eyes closed.
“Lilith will handle everything.”
The middle-aged man walked closer.
“I’m not worried about the police. I know Lilith can handle small matters like that. Everything in Hangzhou, and everything before—that was all resolved by Lilith.”
“But the situation now is different. Besides the police, we’ve encountered a genuinely dangerous individual.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Jiang Ran.”
After a pause, he continued:
“At the Divine Punishment scene involving Old Tian and Si Chongmu, Jiang Ran showed up and witnessed everything.”
“Even though he couldn’t stop it, don’t you find it strange? How did he know the exact time, location, and target of our operation?”
“This isn’t just prior knowledge. He even managed to arrive on time.”
“So my previous guess is probably correct—”
“[Jiang Ran must have some kind of time-traveling device, or a way to obtain information from the future!]”
The middle-aged man frowned.
“Otherwise, there’s no way to explain why he appeared there at that exact moment.”
“This means he clearly knows who we’re going to kill, when we’ll kill, and where it will happen!”
The old man remained still, eyes closed.
He stroked the gold ring on his finger.
“I understand what you’re thinking. But I believe we should wait a little longer.”
“We can’t wait anymore.”
The middle-aged man’s tone hardened.
“Our progress has been too slow. Even now, we still haven’t figured out who stands behind Jiang Ran—”
“You’re sure it’s not the ‘Witch’, so who is it? We used to think we had the advantage. We were hidden, they were hidden.”
“But now, the situation has reversed. If Jiang Ran really has something like a time machine…”
“…we have no chance at all.”
“If Jiang Ran and whatever is behind him haven’t acted yet, it only means we’ve remained well hidden.”
“But how much longer do you think we can keep that up?”
“I must remind you of two things.”
“[First—this world doesn’t seem to have only one Lilith. Others have it too. Everyone does.]”
“[Second—even Lilith cannot counter a time machine. The ability to change history and know the future is simply too powerful. Once we are locked onto, we will have no way to fight back.]”
The old man slowly opened his eyes.
“Then what do you propose?”
“Speed up.”
The middle-aged man didn’t hesitate.
“This is a race against time—”
“Either we expose them first, or they overturn us.”
The old man straightened.
He placed the gold ring on the table, stood it upright, and flicked it with his finger.
The King Coin spun with a buzzing sound.
As it gradually lost momentum, it finally fell—face up.
The king holding the scepter stared at the ceiling.
“If the other side truly has a time machine… that would indeed be troublesome.”
The old man narrowed his eyes.
“Though I still think the probability is low—scientifically speaking, the possibility is not zero.”
“Very well. This time, do as you wish.”
“But as I’ve told you countless times—be patient, proceed step by step, and be meticulous.”
“Don’t worry.”
The middle-aged man smiled faintly as he stood.
“I know what I’m doing.”
For the past two days, Donghai University had remained in lockdown.
All classes were suspended, and club activities halted.
Two days later, the alert was finally lifted. However, several police vehicles still stood outside the campus gates, ready at any moment. Special officers guarded the entrances, with metal detectors installed—everyone entering or leaving was checked.
At present, only students could freely enter and exit via facial recognition. All outsiders were strictly prohibited.
Today, September 19, was the first day after the lockdown was lifted.
It was also the day of Teacher Si Chongmu’s farewell ceremony.
At the Donghai City Funeral Home, Si Chongmu’s black-and-white portrait rested on the memorial altar.
Wave after wave of students and colleagues came forward—
One bow.
Two bows.
Three bows.
They mourned the passing of a young life.
Jiang Ran, Fang Ze, and Cheng Mengxue, as his students, naturally came together to pay their respects.
Although they hadn’t known him for long, learning that their teacher had been murdered so suddenly was something no one could easily accept.
Cheng Mengxue, already highly empathetic, had been in a dazed state since hearing the news three days ago.
Especially now—
As she bowed before the portrait, Jiang Ran could see her entire body trembling.
After leaving the funeral home, the three of them did not return to campus immediately.
Instead, they wandered aimlessly along the Huangpu River.
They didn’t know where they were going.
They didn’t know where they belonged.
They simply walked in silence.
Only when they grew tired did they sit on a set of stone steps, gazing at the flowing river, its shimmering surface carrying away years upon years of time.
This scene—
felt strangely familiar to Jiang Ran.
It reminded him of Worldline 05.
After seeing Xu Yan’s body at the hospital, the three of them had sat by the same river, reflecting on the fragility of life… and fate.
And whether they should use the newly tested Positron Cannon—
to send a message and save Xu Yan.
“Teacher Si was such a good person… why did something like this have to happen to him?”
Cheng Mengxue sat to Jiang Ran’s right. The breeze lifted strands of her hair, brushing against his face.
“He didn’t do anything wrong. He was just writing… and yet he had to suffer this kind of fate.”
Her voice trembled with suppressed sobs.
She quietly reached out and grasped the corner of Jiang Ran’s sleeve.
“This world… is so unfair…”
Jiang Ran nodded.
Yes.
It really was unfair.
“Jiang Ran…”
Tears shimmered in Cheng Mengxue’s eyes as she leaned closer.
She looked into his eyes and asked softly—
“[Is there any way… to prevent tragedies like this?]”