novelraw Chapter 70 The Focusing Unit and the Circuit Board (1)
Chapter 70 The Focusing Unit and the Circuit Board (1)
The same refreshing smile.
The same words that warmed the heart.
Jiang Ran seemed to see Cheng Mengxue’s silhouette, to hear her voice.
Before he even realized it—
He reached out and accepted the spacetime-particle Rhine Cat plush Chi Xiaoguo handed him.
Small.
Soft.
Warm.
It felt as though some kind of energy really did surge into his body like an electric current, filling his exhausted, powerless limbs with strength. He planted his palm against the flowerbed, pushed himself upright, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and let out a self-mocking smile.
“Sorry. I must look pretty ridiculous.”A man over 1.8 meters tall, being comforted by a tiny girl barely 1.5 meters—yeah, that was embarrassing.
“Not at all! Not at all!”
Chi Xiaoguo waved her hands in a fluster.
“Everyone has days when they feel awful. Back when I was filling out my applications and waiting for admission results, I was so nervous every day I couldn’t sleep. I was terrified I’d get bumped and fail to get into Donghai University.”
“But look—I still made it in, didn’t I? Sure, I was admitted to the School of Art as the very last rank, but once you squeeze in, everyone’s the same. Who still cares how many points you scored on the college entrance exam?”
“So, Senior, giving up on your experiment now is still too early. When you get down to it, we’ve only failed ten times so far.”
“Don’t worry! I’ll keep doing experiments with you the whole time! If this month doesn’t work, we’ll continue next month! If we can’t succeed this semester, we’ll go again next semester!”
“No matter how long it takes in the end, I’ll stay with you. Anytime you call, I’ll be there!”
A small club president, bearing a huge responsibility.
Chi Xiaoguo was still just as loyal as ever.
Jiang Ran studied the spacetime-particle Rhine Cat in his hand for a moment, then handed it back to her.
“You should keep this. From what I know… this plush is pretty expensive.”
“Huh? It’s not expensive at all.”
Chi Xiaoguo explained,
“This spacetime-particle Rhine Cat is really cheap. Just a few dozen yuan.”
Hmm?
Jiang Ran frowned in confusion.
“Isn’t this supposed to be paired with the rice-cooker Rhine Cat? Didn’t you say a single rice-cooker Rhine Cat costs 4,000 yuan?”
“Wow! Senior! You really know your Rhine Cats!”
Finding another shared interest, Chi Xiaoguo got excited.
“But the spacetime-particle Rhine Cat that comes with the rice-cooker Rhine Cat is a huge one.”
She grabbed the air with both hands, outlining a space about the size of a volleyball.
“That one really is expensive, because it’s a one-to-one matching set with the rice cooker.”
“But mine is just a keychain plush. You can see it yourself—it’s only about the size of a baseball. You can buy it for twenty yuan at a boutique shop.”
So that was it.
Jiang Ran finally understood.
It seemed that even within the Rhine Cat legion, there was a strict hierarchy.
“Senior, senior—are you a Rhine Cat fan too?”
Chi Xiaoguo blinked, full of anticipation.
“Sorry, I’m not.”
Jiang Ran shook his head.
“I only know the rice-cooker Rhine Cat, the spacetime-particle Rhine Cat, and an astronaut Rhine Cat… beyond that, I’m completely clueless.”
“I only know these things because someone else told me. She’s an out-and-out Rhine Cat fanatic.”
“You know… that person I mentioned before. The friend I told you about, who also applied to Donghai University’s School of Art but didn’t get in?”
Chi Xiaoguo nodded.
“I remember. You said she was later admitted through her second choice.”
“That’s such a shame. If she’d been able to come to Donghai University too, maybe the two of us would’ve become good friends.”
Jiang Ran looked at the Rhine Cat plush in his hand, then at the petite, adorable Chi Xiaoguo.
“Probably.”
He said softly,
“After all, the two of you both like Rhine Cats that much.”
The two of them walked a full circle around the student activity building, then returned to the Film Camera Club activity room.
Jiang Ran went straight to the workbench and checked the Positron Cannon.
Sure enough—
[…The capacitor still hadn’t blown.]
Based on his and Qin Feng’s research on the Positron Cannon in Worldline 0, every time the Positron Cannon was activated, the capacitor would definitely burst and burn out after 0.7 seconds.
But on this Worldline 1, he and Chi Xiaoguo had already conducted eleven experiments. Each time, the Positron Cannon activated as scheduled, with the activation time still exactly 0.7 seconds. Yet the one baffling thing was—
The capacitor that should have reliably blown every single time hadn’t burned out even once. Not only that, it could be reused repeatedly.
During the second experiment, Jiang Ran had already worried that maybe the time-space signal hadn’t been sent successfully because the capacitor hadn’t been replaced. He had even removed the original capacitor and swapped in a brand-new one.
The result was still the same. Nothing changed. The time-traveling text still failed to send.
Under this kind of controlled-variable verification, it was enough to conclude—
The current failure of the Positron Cannon had nothing to do with the capacitor at all.
The capacitor not blowing was merely a result of the Positron Cannon’s malfunction, not the cause.
“At this point, it looks like the Positron Cannon itself is malfunctioning.”
Jiang Ran pointed at the dent in the casing and explained to Chi Xiaoguo,
“It’s probably from when it got smashed in the storage room. That hit caused ‘internal damage’—meaning it looks fine on the outside, but some components inside are actually broken.”
Chi Xiaoguo nodded.
“Broken, but not completely broken. Like that?”
“Like when a phone gets dropped and the screen cracks. It can still barely function normally, but the touch sensitivity is definitely affected, and sometimes it’ll temporarily stop responding.”
Her analogy was spot-on. That was basically the situation.
Standing by the table, she lightly touched the capacitor with her slender fingertip, then quickly pulled back, feeling the heat that hadn’t yet dissipated.
“Senior, you were the one who fixed the Positron Cannon before. Can you find the problem again and fix it this time too?”
Unfortunately—
Jiang Ran shook his head.
“My previous repairs were child’s play—just swapping a circuit board or reconnecting a wire.”
“But this kind of failure clearly involves the Positron Cannon’s non-disassemblable [core component].”
“Forget me—even if you dragged in some top science prodigy, or even found the inventor who originally cobbled together the Positron Cannon, they wouldn’t be able to fix it either…”
His voice grew smaller as he spoke.
Suddenly—
A reclusive master crossed his mind.
Old Qi!
That gruff old man, who claimed to have over thirty years of experience repairing old household appliances, an authority in the field. Even Qin Feng had praised his skills.
“I sell my stuff with after-sales service guaranteed. I won’t let you take a loss. If this board breaks later, just bring it back—I guarantee I’ll fix it for you. If I can’t fix it, I’ll refund you!”
“Just call me Old Qi from now on. Any old junk you can’t fix or don’t know how to fix, bring it to me.”
Thinking back on Old Qi’s confident assurances…
Could he fix the Positron Cannon?
Half an hour later.
Jiang Ran carried the Positron Cannon in both arms and arrived at the appliance repair street, finding […Old Qi’s Appliance Repair Shop]. He gently set the Positron Cannon down on the glass counter. Old Qi stared wide-eyed, cigarette in hand, then stood up.
“What the hell is this thing?”
Even with decades in appliance repair, this was the first time he’d seen such a bizarre contraption.
“A picture tube? One of those big-back TVs? No, that’s not it either—there’s not even a screen. What is this thing supposed to be?!”
Old Qi looked up at Jiang Ran, suddenly remembering a past deal.
“Oh, oh—it’s you, kid. The one who bought a bunch of capacitors in one go.”
“So? Capacitors okay? I told you—domestic capacitors, use them however you want, they won’t break!”
“Talking about them as consumables… you really made your old man laugh.”
Jiang Ran smacked his lips.
He had to admit—Old Qi really got to show off this time.
“I want you to help me take a look at this thing.”
He got straight to the point.
“It’s an old gadget our university club dug out. No idea which senior made this ‘toy.’”
“It used to work normally, but you see here… it got hit by something, and after that it hasn’t been very responsive.”
“Can you check where the problem is?”
“Of course, I hope you’ll be careful when disassembling it. Try not to damage its structure if possible.”
Old Qi didn’t say a word. He grabbed a screwdriver and snorted disdainfully.
“Looking down on your old man? I’ve taken apart more of these things than you’ve eaten bowls of rice! Move aside—watch me work!”
To be fair—
Despite his rough manner, Old Qi’s hands were incredibly meticulous. He removed every visible screw one by one, laying them out neatly, and dismantled the Positron Cannon’s external components piece by piece.
“Anywhere there are screws, it can be taken apart. You can rest easy on that.”
As he worked, Old Qi explained to Jiang Ran,
“Screws exist to be removed in the first place.”
Before long, all external components of the Positron Cannon were disassembled, leaving only the non-removable, non-openable [vacuum picture tube]. Taking out a multimeter and several instruments Jiang Ran didn’t recognize, Old Qi began a highly professional inspection.
“Mm. These circuits—you wired them correctly.”
Old Qi shot Jiang Ran an approving glance.
After all, these days, young people who liked to tinker with circuit boards were rare.
After a round of testing—
Old Qi lit another cigarette, patted the Positron Cannon’s core area—the non-disassemblable vacuum picture tube—and said,
“Found the cause. The [focusing unit] on this side is broken.”
“What?”
Jiang Ran’s eyes widened.
On one hand, he was shocked by Old Qi’s skill. On the other hand, he was shocked that the broken part was precisely the [focusing unit].
According to Qin Feng’s theory, by adjusting the focusing-unit intensity, one could set the point in the past to which the time-space signal was sent.
So if the focusing unit was now broken—
Didn’t that mean the Positron Cannon had completely lost its ability to send text messages to the past?
“Can it be fixed?” Jiang Ran pressed.
“Are you kidding…”
Old Qi laughed.
“A picture tube is a vacuum. How do you fix that? Decades ago, when I fixed TVs for people, if the picture tube had a problem, we just replaced it. These things are disposable.”
“What’s more, your machine’s obviously been modified. It only looks like a picture tube on the outside—inside it’s all cobbled together, a total mess I can’t make sense of…”
[…That this thing can even run at all is already a miracle. I can’t understand the principle, and I don’t know what effect it’s supposed to have.]
As expected.
In the end, Old Qi reached the same conclusion as Qin Feng.
Unknown principle. Unknown effect. A completely cobbled-together [accidental product]. That was the maddening, unsolvable Positron Cannon.
“Are you willing to let me take it apart?”
Old Qi asked around his cigarette.
“If you’re willing to let me dismantle the picture tube, I can crack it open and take a look.”
“But I can guarantee you this—once it’s taken apart, it will never go back together. Once it’s taken apart… this toy will definitely never run again.”
“You’d only be gambling that after I open it up, I can understand the principle inside and then figure out a way to replicate one for you.”
“Of course, I can’t guarantee that either. So the choice is yours. You decide.”
Hearing Old Qi’s words, Jiang Ran hesitated.
Take it apart?
Or not?
If the core component was dismantled, the Positron Cannon would essentially be finished. He’d be betting on Old Qi understanding the principle and successfully replicating one. If he didn’t dismantle it, the Positron Cannon’s integrity would be preserved—but now that the focusing unit was confirmed broken, it had already lost the function of sending messages to the past.
It was a brutal decision.
Strictly speaking, the probability that Old Qi could replicate one was vanishingly small. But relying on the currently malfunctioning Positron Cannon to save Cheng Mengxue had a probability of exactly zero.
Probability.
One option approached zero infinitely. The other equaled zero.
“Young man—can this machine of yours still be used at all right now?”
Seeing Jiang Ran’s hesitation, Old Qi asked again.
“Is it completely broken, completely unusable? Or… does it still work sometimes? On and off?”
Jiang Ran scratched his head.
That was hard to define.
“It shouldn’t be completely broken.”
Thinking back to May 15—his birthday—when he and Chi Xiaoguo had used the Positron Cannon for the first time…
Because Nan Xiuxiu’s call suddenly came in and interfered, he’d undergone a “time-space journey” of uncertain reality.
And it was precisely that inexplicable “time-space journey” that made Jiang Ran believe the Positron Cannon wasn’t completely broken yet—there was still some effect.
“It can still start sometimes, but the effect is a bit off,” Jiang Ran answered honestly.
“Oh.”
Old Qi spread his hands.
“Then if you ask me, since it can still barely be used, you might as well make do with it for now. There’s no need for destructive disassembly yet.”
“If it really doesn’t work, wait until the day it’s completely dead, then bring it back. At that point, taking it apart won’t be much of a mental burden anyway… since it’s already broken.”
Jiang Ran nodded.
That was what he thought as well.
The Positron Cannon might still be salvageable. And because of the secret of the time-traveling texts, he couldn’t tell Old Qi the whole truth anyway.
What’s more—
[…This Positron Cannon was directly tied to Cheng Mengxue’s life. Jiang Ran couldn’t afford to gamble.]
Until the very last, truly irredeemable moment, he had no intention of destroying the Positron Cannon through disassembly.
“All right.”
Jiang Ran pointed at the table full of parts.
“Then please help me reassemble it. I’ll take it back and try a bit more.”
Old Qi worked quickly, with clear memory. Each component and screw was returned perfectly, without hesitation.
In the end, he pointed at the knob control board he himself had sold.
“This thing doesn’t need to be put back on, right?”
“Hanging it outside looks bad enough—like a urine bag. Since the focusing unit inside the picture tube is already broken, this control board for adjusting focusing-unit intensity is just for show now. It can’t adjust anything.”
Suddenly, he pressed his lips together, looking tense.
Loose lips sink ships!
He coughed twice, glanced cautiously at Jiang Ran, and said,
“But then again, kid, the stuff I sell is final sale.”
“So… even if you can’t use this knob control board anymore, I’m not refunding it, okay?”
“It’s fine.”
Jiang Ran waved his hand.
“I wasn’t planning to return it anyway. I’ll keep it for now.”
To save Cheng Mengxue, he would have to accurately send a time-traveling text two years into the past.
So even if this knob control board was useless right now, it would eventually have to come into play. Keeping it was fine.
“Phew…”
Hearing that Jiang Ran wasn’t returning it, Old Qi let out a sigh of relief and finally relaxed.
“Honestly, I’ll just tell you straight—it’s mainly because this thing is really hard to sell.”
He laughed, pointing at the knob circuit board.
“That day after you left, I suddenly remembered—I actually have [two] of these.”
“The other circuit board looks a bit nicer. More aesthetic.”
“These [two] knob control boards—I forgot what old junk I pulled them out of. They’ve been sitting here for at least ten years. Now that I finally sold one, of course I didn’t want to refund it.”
Jiang Ran looked up, catching the key point.
“Two?”
He frowned.
“Didn’t you say there was only one?”
A few days ago, right here, Old Qi had said there was only one knob control board, and once it was sold, that was it. Jiang Ran hadn’t suspected a thing. In Worldline 0, Qin Feng had said Old Qi still had another, more aesthetic knob control board, but it had already been bought by someone else. At the time, Jiang Ran had assumed that was just an excuse Qin Feng made up to send the time-traveling text—that the supposedly nicer board didn’t really exist.
But now—
From what Old Qi was saying…
That circuit board actually existed?