Prodigy’s Playground

Chapter 154 The Playground and the Round Table

By the time Jiang Ran returned to the graduate dormitory building, it was already past 11:00, and the main gate was tightly shut.

Fortunately, the dorm supervisor hadn’t gone to sleep yet. After giving him a brief scolding, she opened the small side door and let him in. “Come back earlier next time. The school has been strict about access control lately—especially after what happened on campus a few days ago. Don’t cause trouble for me, alright? If something really happens, I won’t be able to explain it.”

“Understood. Thank you, Auntie.”

After thanking her, Jiang Ran entered the dormitory building.

Recently, because of Old Tian’s shooting incident, dormitory management at Donghai University had become much stricter.

Not only were inspections more frequent, but a responsibility system had been implemented. Every rule was enforced to the letter, making life miserable for students across the entire campus.

Graduate dorms were still somewhat lenient, leaving a bit of room for flexibility.

But on the undergraduate side, if you dared not return to your dorm on time, it was an immediate phone call to your counselor—followed by a scolding and a demand for explanation.

It was a strange phenomenon—

Even though the age difference was only one or two years, sometimes even the same age, in the eyes of teachers and the school, graduate students were “adults,” while undergraduates—even seniors—were still “children.”Sure enough, the upgrading of one’s identity in life often happens in an instant.

Like graduation.

Like the birth of a child.

Like the passing of one’s parents.

Like—one day, when you turn around and realize there is no one left behind you, and the world forces you to stand on your own.

Ah.

Pushing open the dorm room door, the lights were already off. Fang Ze was no longer sitting by the window reading The Narrow Gate—he had already curled up under the blanket and gone to sleep.

“Hm?”

Seeing Jiang Ran come in, Fang Ze rubbed his eyes and sat up. “You’re back? I thought you weren’t coming back to sleep tonight.”

“Heh.”

Jiang Ran smiled helplessly. “If I didn’t come back, where else would I sleep?”

Fang Ze sat up and looked at him with interest. “You and that President Xiaoguo—there’s really nothing going on secretly?”

“Of course not!”

Jiang Ran quickly explained, “That whole ‘sugar daddy’ or ‘father’ thing is just a misunderstanding. I told you before—Chi Xiaoguo likes playing around with internet memes like that. Don’t take what she says seriously. That’s just how online language works here.”

“Oh, I see.”

Fang Ze looked bored, the kind of disappointment that came from having no gossip to enjoy, and slid back down into bed. “From the Chinese books and films I’ve seen, places like clubs are where youthful, passionate, innocent yet profound love is most likely to spark—”

“You should really start consuming something more serious.”

Jiang Ran scoffed. “You were just saying Chi Xiaoguo has no practical experience and is only a theorist. I’d say you’re about the same—half a pound, eight ounces.”

“Besides, there’s nothing between Chi Xiaoguo and me. Why would you even get that idea? Between us—how should I put it… is it really that obvious?”

Fang Ze blinked, noncommittal. “Anyway, you two are [sneaky].”

He said it plainly, “Like you’re hiding something, sharing some little secret together.”

Jiang Ran licked his lips but didn’t respond.

Alright.

That was something he couldn’t refute.

There were indeed some secrets between him and Chi Xiaoguo that couldn’t be told to outsiders. There was no denying that.

“Forget it, forget it. Going to sleep.”

Fang Ze yawned. “So boring. I originally thought I finally understood why you used to wake up early every day and later started coming back late, always staying in the Film Camera Club room.”

“I thought you were secretly dating President Xiaoguo. Turns out you’re actually doing club activities. Honestly, you two really are pure—your true love is film cameras.”

“Sleeping, sleeping. I’m going to sleep. Turn off the lights after you’re done washing up. So boring.”

Watching Fang Ze flop down in disappointment at the lack of gossip, Jiang Ran couldn’t help but laugh. “I never realized you liked gossip this much. Do students over in the U.S. also spend their days talking about relationships and rumors like this?”

“Haha, what gossip would there be among U.S. students—”

Fang Ze chuckled, turning over and pulling the blanket tight. “In American schools, there’s never gossip, never rumors—everything is basically confirmed fact.”

Jiang Ran took his towel and went into the bathroom to wash up.

The night had finally quieted down, giving him time to think.

Today’s trip to the future world of 2045 hadn’t been without gains. It was time to sort and summarize.

First, there was the matter of the [Mutual Aid Society of Regrets].

That priest didn’t deceive believers with brainwashing or empty promises. On the contrary, he was unexpectedly sincere—any regret he promised to resolve, he would resolve; any wish he promised to fulfill, he would fulfill.

From a certain perspective, it was precisely this sincerity and reliability that made those believers utterly devoted to him.

Even someone as sharp as Fang Yang the “Killer” had never doubted the priest. That alone proved the priest had real capability—he had never disappointed his followers.

But—

“How exactly does he do it?”

This was a question Jiang Ran had been unable to figure out for days.

If it were something solvable through money, power, or connections, Jiang Ran wouldn’t find it strange. He had long believed the priest must be someone of immense status and wealth.

But many of the wishes he fulfilled, many of the regrets he corrected, couldn’t be resolved through power.

Take the recent incident, for example—Old Tian’s daughter, Tian Xiaoli, waking up from a vegetative state—

Ten years of unconsciousness, yet she woke just like that.

Atrophied brain tissue, miraculously recovering.

This was absolutely not something money or power could accomplish.

And yet, such a miracle—something far beyond common sense—seemed as simple as eating or drinking to the priest. He could make it happen whenever he wished.

Jiang Ran simply couldn’t understand it.

They existed in a rule-bound universe, a scientific world governed by physical laws and the conservation of energy—

[Under such conditions, how could the priest possibly perform those “miracles”?]

Jiang Ran had once asked the Killer who the priest really was.

But the Killer said he didn’t know the priest’s identity, didn’t know his name, didn’t know his background—

Because to them, the priest was simply the priest. That alone was enough.

“Besides, after I killed Zhou Xiong, I stayed overseas in hiding. I never returned to the country, and I never attended another regular gathering of the Mutual Aid Society of Regrets.”

The Killer had said this.

“Later, I was arrested in Los Angeles and deported back. That was the first time I stepped onto the soil of this country again—but only prison soil. And I’ve been there ever since.”

“Back then, the priest was already quite old—around eighty, though in good spirits. But now it’s 2045… he must have long since passed away.”

When Jiang Ran heard that, however, he had instinctively felt a chilling thought—

That old man, the one called the priest, might still be alive even in 2045.

If he possessed such power, could he not also overcome aging and death?

But that led back to the original question—

The priest’s abilities fluctuated. Sometimes he seemed omnipotent, at other times he relied on believers to carry out dirty work. The contrast was stark and inconsistent.

“There’s too little information about the priest right now. It’s hard to continue reasoning in a more precise direction.”

Jiang Ran brushed his teeth, looking at the foam at the corners of his mouth in the mirror. He felt he hadn’t dug deeply enough into the Mutual Aid Society of Regrets, yet had no clear path to go deeper.

The only option was to keep going to the future prison of 2045 every day, to talk more with Fang Yang the Killer and ask more questions.

But—

What Cheng Mengxue had done tonight forced Jiang Ran to become cautious, to develop a sense of danger.

He didn’t know her motive for suddenly appearing at the Film Camera Club, but she had clearly become interested in the Positron Cannon—and in the secret between him and Chi Xiaoguo.

It was unclear whether that interest was mere curiosity or something more deliberate.

To be safe, Jiang Ran decided to suspend Positron Cannon experiments for the time being.

“Safety first. There’s no harm in being cautious.”

That had always been his principle.

At the very least, he needed to fully determine Cheng Mengxue’s identity, purpose, motives, and stance—

Only then would he decide whether to take the risk of continuing to activate the Positron Cannon.

However—

That would have to wait for the results of the investigation from Xu Yan’s boyfriend.

Gulp, gulp.

He spat out the mouthwash, wiped his lips with the towel, and began summarizing the second gain from his conversation with the Killer.

That was—the matter of [identity coins].

Previously, he had only known that Zhou Xiong possessed a Princess Coin. Now, the Killer had told him that the priest also held a King Coin.

These coins, representing different identities, were fascinating.

It made him wonder—if there were coins for titles like king and princess, then would similar titles like priest and magician also have corresponding identity coins?

“I feel like these titles share something in common.”

Jiang Ran began thinking. “And how many people in total have these titled identities?”

Hm?

Suddenly—

he noticed a blind spot.

If—

these identity titles were placed together:

Priest,

King,

Princess,

Magician—

They felt lofty in one sense, yet also oddly [childish], grounded in history yet also reminiscent of [fairy tales].

Indeed.

Priests, magicians, kings, princesses—

weren’t these all common figures in childish fairy tales?

“No—not just that.”

Jiang Ran’s thoughts sharpened, feeling closer and closer to the truth.

It wasn’t just that these characters frequently appeared in fairy tales—

They also commonly appeared in theme parks, amusement parks, and theatrical performances.

He recalled visiting Disneyland, where the [princesses] danced beside parade floats, and the [king] sat high within the castle.

He remembered the mysterious, dazzling [magicians] in amusement parks, and the [priests] who preached goodness and virtue.

Would there be others later?

Like [clowns], [vampires], and so on?

These—

these characters—

weren’t they the most common roles found in theme parks?

“An amusement park—”

Before Jiang Ran’s eyes flashed the missing concept art, Qin Feng’s hooded silhouette stealing something, Lilith’s absurd ability to grant any wish, the setting of eleven geniuses seated around a round table playing a game, the script bought out by a film company at an astronomical price—

“Prodigy’s Playground—”

He murmured softly, and in his mind, the round table of that game belonging to geniuses lit up one shadow after another—

Princess, King, Priest, Magician, Clown, Vampire, Witch, Pirate, Sorceress, Elf, Werewolf, Demon, Angel, Grim Reaper, Pumpkin Head, Knight—

Countless figures, all kinds of amusement park characters, each holding a coin engraved with their own image, seated around the round table. With a crisp ting, they flicked their coins high into the air—

Golden reflections spun and glittered—

Boom!

He straightened abruptly, suddenly enlightened.

“Could it be… that there really exists a game where eleven geniuses compete?”

“Could it be that somewhere in this world—”

[there truly exists a Prodigy’s Playground?]