novelraw Chapter 69 It’s Over
Chapter 69 It’s Over
The next day, Jiang Ran brought the film camera Nan Xiuxiu had given him and arrived early at Donghai University’s Film Camera Club.
It was still early. The activity room door was locked, which meant Chi Xiaoguo hadn’t arrived yet.
So he went to the corridor window, took out the spare key for the activity room from beneath a small flowerpot, and opened the door…
Everything was just as before.
It was already mid-May. No matter what, the Film Camera Club’s activities would be postponed until next semester.
So before summer vacation, aside from Jiang Ran and Chi Xiaoguo, no one else would be coming into this room for the time being.
Sunlight spilled in through the glass windows. The Positron Cannon—something capable of changing the entire structure of the world—lay quietly on the experimental bench, having passed another peaceful, silent night.
To be honest, there really was no need to hide this thing at all.
It had lain here like scrap in this shabby activity room for so many years. No one had stolen it in all that time. Odds were, no one ever would.
On this Worldline 1, only two people could possibly know the secret of the Positron Cannon.One was himself.
The other was Qin Feng.
He wasn’t sure whether the time-traveling text Qin Feng had sent ten years into the past had mentioned the Positron Cannon.
Seventy characters—neither long nor short. If you truly wanted to explain many things, you had to make choices about what to include.
“Forget it. I won’t think about Qin Feng for now.”
Jiang Ran shook his head to clear away stray thoughts and sat down on the sofa.
He took the dustproof bag out of the gift box, then took the film camera Nan Xiuxiu had given him out of the bag, carefully examining the heavy old object.
Leaving it in the dorm wouldn’t be very useful anyway, and he’d worry about bumping and damaging it. Keeping it in the Film Camera Club activity room felt more appropriate.
He turned the camera over and looked at the position of the film canister.
On the first frame of the film inside…
Was engraved the very first photo he had taken of Nan Xiuxiu.
Those were the most real colors in the world, and also the most real history of this worldline.
He suddenly found it amusing.
Who would’ve thought—
What had originally begun merely as a way to retrieve the Positron Cannon had forced him into contact with the Film Camera Club; yet through a series of coincidences, his connection with the club had only grown deeper and deeper.
He had even ended up owning a film camera of his own.
“Hey, Senior! You’re already here!”
A bright, energetic voice called out from the doorway. Chi Xiaoguo pushed the door open with a smile.
“Sorry to keep you waiting—GGGGGGGW690!!!”
For some reason, Chi Xiaoguo suddenly broke down like a jammed radio.
“Huh?” Jiang Ran looked up.
“My god! GW690!!!”
Like a wind-up toy frog, Chi Xiaoguo bounced over in three quick steps! Her face nearly pressed against Jiang Ran’s palm, panting—panting hard!
“Oh.”
Jiang Ran lifted the old camera.
“You mean this?”
“Mhm mhm mhm!!”
Chi Xiaoguo bobbed her head like a pecking chick, eyes wide, her gaze never leaving it.
“This is super amazing! Super precious! Super epoch-making—the [Fujifilm GW690, third generation]!”
Only then did Jiang Ran understand that this was the camera’s name.
“Is it expensive?”
“Super expensive!”
Chi Xiaoguo restrained her hands that were itching to touch it.
“On the normal second-hand market, it usually goes for seven or eight thousand, but one in such good condition like the one you’re holding—definitely over ten thousand!”
Hiss…
Ten thousand.
Although he had been mentally prepared, knowing Nan Xiuxiu wouldn’t give him a cheap gift, he still hadn’t expected this plastic-feeling old camera to be worth that much.
“This thing really is heavy,” Jiang Ran said honestly.
“Of course it is! Because the materials are solid!”
Chi Xiaoguo’s eyes sparkled.
“This Fujifilm GW690 is extremely famous in the film photography circle. It’s one of the standouts among medium-format cameras. If I remember correctly… it weighs about three jin, so it really is much heavier than ordinary cameras.”
“I’m honestly shocked by how good the condition is. You know, this thing was made in the 1990s—almost thirty years ago! And the one in your hands looks practically brand new!”
“Senior, senior! Where did you get this camera?!”
Jiang Ran chuckled softly.
“A friend gave it to me.”
“Does your friend need another friend?!”
“Do you want to try it?”
Jiang Ran could already tell Chi Xiaoguo was desperate to get her hands on it, so he passed the camera to her.
“Huh? Really?!”
Chi Xiaoguo took it with both hands, extremely carefully.
“Of course.”
Jiang Ran suddenly regretted his words.
“This is the Film Camera Club. Film cameras should be stored here in the first place.”
“By the way… I wanted to ask you something. If I want to develop the photos taken with it later, where should I go?”
Chi Xiaoguo stretched out her hand and pointed at the mini darkroom partitioned off inside the activity room.
“We can manually develop them right here. If you trust my skills, I can help you develop them when the time comes.”
“Of course… no matter what, developing photos will have to wait until next semester.”
She spread her hands helplessly and smiled wryly.
“Our club doesn’t have any activity funds right now, and we don’t have money to buy the chemicals and materials for developing photos. But once the new semester starts, it’ll be fine—we can apply for funding.”
Jiang Ran listened and nodded silently.
“Alright.”
Next semester…
Such a long, distant time—one that felt like it might never arrive.
“It’s getting late. Let’s start the experiment.”
He pushed himself up from his knees and stood, looking at the Positron Cannon on the experimental bench.
“I hope everything goes smoothly today.”
Once everything was ready, the two returned to their positions from the day before.
Jiang Ran stood outside by the transformer distribution box, responsible for sending the text message.
Chi Xiaoguo stood inside operating the Positron Cannon and counting down in sync.
Jiang Ran lowered his head.
He looked at the already edited message on his phone screen.
[To my past self, I hereby inform you of two future facts:
1. Tomorrow’s college entrance exam essay topic is: The Power of Stories;
2. The morning after tomorrow, Cheng Mengxue will die in a car accident;
Please ensure that Xiaoxue takes the original route to the exam and does not detour!]
The content was no different from before.
The recipient was his own phone number. He had already confirmed it—the number was registered in Hang City, and he had never changed it since high school.
The sending date had already been adjusted on the Positron Cannon: June 6, 2023, the day before the college entrance exam.
That would give his past self enough time to verify the message’s authenticity and enough lead time to save Cheng Mengxue.
“Senior! Are you ready?”
Chi Xiaoguo’s voice came from inside the activity room.
“I’m ready!”
Jiang Ran responded.
“Start the countdown!”
Bathed in the morning light, Chi Xiaoguo took a deep breath.
“5!”
Jiang Ran closed his eyes, feeling the cool breeze mixed with the warmth of the sun.
This time, there wouldn’t be any sudden phone call to interrupt the experiment.
“4!”
Soon, amid the roar of the Positron Cannon, he would press the send button as agreed, sending this text—one capable of triggering a worldline transition—to two years in the past.
“3!”
He took a deep breath. In his mind appeared Cheng Mengxue’s gravestone, and the black-and-white smile of the girl etched upon it.
You have to come back.
Jiang Ran clenched his fist.
In a world without Cheng Mengxue, he felt not even a trace of reality.
If this truly was just a dream, he couldn’t wait to wake up immediately.
“2!”
In the darkness behind his closed eyes, a Ferris wheel began to turn.
In every cabin sat a familiar face—Qin Feng, Cheng Mengxue, Wang Hao, Nan Xiuxiu, Chi Xiaoguo…
Everyone circled evenly around a giant eye in the center, like a roulette wheel waiting for the draw, like a slot machine that hadn’t yet stopped, uncertain whether it would land on luck or misfortune.
“1!”
The Ferris wheel spun faster and faster.
Until even the afterimages vanished.
The giant eye at the very center suddenly opened.
There was another person inside!
That was—
On the other end of the worldline, holding a phone, standing dumbstruck—himself.
“0!”
As Chi Xiaoguo finished the countdown with a slightly forceful call, the Positron Cannon instantly glowed blue and let out a thunderous roar!
Jiang Ran snapped his eyes open. The hallucination vanished at once. His gaze locked onto the phone screen, and his thumb slammed down on the send button!
Two or three seconds drifted by.
Breathing grew rapid.
Beep beep.
The phone immediately emitted the sound of an incoming message. A banner appeared at the top of the screen indicating a new text.
The bouncing sound of a basketball came from nearby.
Several boys in jerseys laughed and joked as they walked toward the track field.
Huh?
Jiang Ran blinked blankly.
What was going on?
Why…
Why was there no buzzing dizziness?
Why…
Why was there no temporal fluctuation?
[No worldline transition occurred?]
He lowered his head to confirm.
There was no mistake.
Just now, both his and Chi Xiaoguo’s operations had been correct. The Positron Cannon had activated as scheduled. He had definitely pressed send within 0.7 seconds.
This had worked time and time again on Worldline 0.
So why… had it failed now?
A sense of dread crept up his spine.
No.
Jiang Ran didn’t dare think further.
“Senior?”
Chi Xiaoguo leaned over the windowsill and poked her head out of the activity room.
“How was it, Senior? Did the experiment succeed this time?”
Jiang Ran fell silent.
In the end, he sighed.
“No.”
He pressed his lips together.
“It didn’t succeed.”
Chi Xiaoguo opened her mouth.
“Th-then… how about we try again tomorrow morning?”
She already knew that the Positron Cannon needed twenty hours of rest before it could be activated again—like a skill cooldown in a game. So if they wanted to try again, it would have to wait until tomorrow morning.
“Mm.”
Jiang Ran answered softly.
Though his heart churned like raging waves, he forced down the fear and unease and refused to think about it.
The next day, morning.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0!”
The third day, morning.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0!”
The tenth day, morning.
Fine sweat dotted Chi Xiaoguo’s forehead. Her fist was pressed tightly against the Positron Cannon’s activation button as she shouted loudly toward the window.
“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0!”
The Positron Cannon emitted its familiar blue glow and roar.
Jiang Ran tensed and immediately pressed the send button—
Beep beep.
The phone signaled an incoming message.
As always, nothing happened.
That carefully edited text, for the tenth time—extremely stably—was sent to his current phone, instead of two years into the past.
“Ah…”
When the taut nerves finally slackened, when the precarious city wall collapsed with a crash, an overwhelming fatigue washed over Jiang Ran.
He staggered and leaned against the transformer distribution box.
Then his body went limp. Sliding down the metal casing, his clothes scraping against it, he finally dropped with a dull thud into the flowerbed.
“Senior!”
Seeing Jiang Ran suddenly collapse, Chi Xiaoguo turned pale with fright.
She hurriedly braced both arms on the windowsill, trying to jump out.
After several attempts, she realized helplessly that her height simply made it impossible. She turned and ran out the door instead.
The hum of electricity from the distribution box and transformer filled the air.
Jiang Ran couldn’t hear it.
He sat slumped in the flowerbed, head lowered, hands bracing his face, his entire body ice-cold.
[…It’s over.]
Cheng Mengxue’s frozen smile on the gravestone.
[…It’s over.]
The burned-down house of Qin Feng’s family.
[…It’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over it’s over.]
He felt his heart being squeezed tight. He couldn’t breathe. He was on the verge of suffocation.
Ten consecutive days.
There had been no operational errors. He had tried every possible method.
Yet the time-traveling text had not been sent successfully even once!
The worldline had not changed in the slightest!
Without a doubt—
Even though he had been desperately avoiding this thought—
All the evidence pointed to one conclusion.
[The Positron Cannon… seems to have truly malfunctioned.]
This malfunction wasn’t a matter of simple repair.
It was the Positron Cannon itself—its very core—where something had gone wrong, preventing the time-traveling text from being sent.
Was it… that dent in the casing?
Most likely.
That accidental collision in the school warehouse must have damaged some core component of the Positron Cannon.
The damage didn’t affect its operation, but it prevented it from sending texts to the past like it had on Worldline 0.
What now?
What now?
Jiang Ran was panicked, terrified.
[If he couldn’t send messages to the past… then there was no way to save Cheng Mengxue!]
Changing the past—changing history—was the only chance to bring Cheng Mengxue back to life.
And now, that path had been blocked at its very source.
He couldn’t save Cheng Mengxue.
He couldn’t save Cheng Mengxue.
So was it really like this… had Cheng Mengxue truly, permanently died?
“Senior!!”
Chi Xiaoguo shouted as she ran around the corner of the student activity building.
She looked frantic, running so fast that the two Nezha-style hair buns on her head had come undone. Her shoulder-length hair fell loose, fluttering by her ears.
“Senior!!”
Panting, she ran up to the transformer distribution box.
Her face was flushed. She bent over, hands on her knees, struggling to lift her head and look at Jiang Ran sitting on the ground.
“Senior, it failed again… d-don’t… don’t be so sad.”
Chi Xiaoguo reached out, wanting to comfort him, but felt it might be inappropriate and pulled her hand back as if shocked.
She pressed her lips together and squatted down in front of him.
She didn’t understand. It was just an experimental failure—why was Senior Jiang Ran so devastated?
As if what had failed wasn’t an experiment, but his entire life.
Chi Xiaoguo couldn’t understand.
She didn’t even know what experiment Jiang Ran had been obsessing over all this time.
She knew nothing—and had never asked.
Because she could clearly feel that this was Jiang Ran’s secret. And since it was a secret, he naturally didn’t want others to know too much.
Otherwise…
Why would a non-student care so deeply about Donghai University’s Film Camera Club?
She didn’t understand the experiment, but she understood people.
At this moment.
Seeing Jiang Ran sitting there in such despair, she felt a pain in her heart, as if sharing his anguish.
Yet she wasn’t all-powerful. She could only watch him suffer, unable to help with anything.
That helplessness made her feel even more guilty.
“Senior…”
Her voice was soft—without strength, without power.
No.
She had to do something!
Senior was collapsed on the ground like a dead person. She had to get him back on his feet!
Suddenly.
Chi Xiaoguo remembered the fluffy little charm hanging from her keychain.
Immediately—
She slipped her left hand into her pocket, took out that blue, fluffy, crackling-fur little doll from her keychain, and held it out in front of Jiang Ran.
“Senior… have you heard the story of the Rhine Cat?”
Suddenly.
As if a switch had been flipped, Jiang Ran slowly raised his head…
Rhine… Cat?
He opened his eyes and looked at the doll in Chi Xiaoguo’s hand—the one so familiar it made him dizzy.
It was a dazed little cat head.
A Rhine Cat head—just the head. Cute and absurd.
Covered entirely in blue plush, round and chubby, its fur standing on end as if electrified.
He had seen this Rhine Cat before.
Very clearly.
This was—
[Spacetime-Particle Rhine Cat].
Chi Xiaoguo’s eyes widened.
Even if you beat her to death, she wouldn’t have imagined that Senior Jiang Ran would be so knowledgeable—so well-versed!
“Yes, yes, yes!”
She nodded hurriedly.
“That’s right, Senior! This is the Spacetime-Particle Rhine Cat! You’re amazing!”
“Ah—what I actually wanted to say is… you see, in the Rhine Cat’s backstory, in order to obtain this spacetime particle, the cats put in tremendous effort, sacrificed many companions, and failed again and again…”
“Senior Jiang Ran, although I don’t know what experiment you’re doing, I think the principle of facing failure is the same.”
“The Rhine Cat has a famous line it says to its companions—”
[Some things don’t matter if you get them wrong a thousand times, ten thousand times, a hundred million times, because they only need to be right once—at the most critical moment—and that’s enough.]
Chi Xiaoguo mimicked the Rhine Cat’s tone, her voice firm.
[Some things only need to succeed once… to save the entire world!]
The sun had fully risen, illuminating everything under heaven.
Bathed in brilliant light, Chi Xiaoguo held up the sacred Spacetime-Particle Rhine Cat.
“Senior, maybe your experiment that’s never succeeded is the same.”
“Maybe its moment hasn’t arrived yet. But once that moment comes, it only needs to succeed once… and that will be enough.”
Jiang Ran raised his head.
Against the sunlight, Chi Xiaoguo’s hair—now missing its two buns—overlapped with Cheng Mengxue’s short hair.
The Spacetime-Particle Rhine Cat in her hand seemed to truly transcend spacetime, pulling that equally gentle, bright girl out of the worldline grave… turning into light, draping itself over Chi Xiaoguo, shining into Jiang Ran’s pupils.
They were smiling.
Handing over the Spacetime-Particle Rhine Cat.
“So, shall we try one more time, okay?”