Prodigy’s Playground

Chapter 90 The First Disciple

Jiang Ran contacted Chi Xiaoguo on WeChat and checked Professor Zhang Yang’s schedule.

Perfect.

Professor Zhang had a general-education class that afternoon.

Jiang Ran slipped into the large lecture hall and sat in the last row. He listened through the entire class, waiting until students filed out in groups.

Then he walked up to the lectern and looked at Professor Zhang Yang, who was unplugging a USB drive.

Smiling, he greeted him.

“Professor Zhang, do you remember me?”

Zhang Yang looked up.

Seeing who it was, he grinned.

“Well, well—if it isn’t my sect’s eldest disciple?”Jiang Ran burst out laughing at the joke.

No wonder. Teacher and student who had already crossed paths in spacetime—their thinking patterns really were alike.

“I could forget anyone, but not you!”

The young, sharp-eyed Zhang Yang walked over, smiling brightly. He patted Jiang Ran on the shoulder and then pointed to the healed scar on his right palm.

“You carved your name into my hand, remember? Every time I see this little blue dot, I think of you poking me with that pencil.”

Professor Zhang was always humorous, easygoing, never putting on airs. That was why students adored him.

Jiang Ran looked at his palm.

Below the base of the thumb, the pencil wound had long healed, leaving behind that distinctive bluish mark.

That “tattoo” would stay for life—just like the blue dot on Jiang Ran’s own back.

“You’re not actually a Donghai University student.”

Zhang laughed.

“That day you and that girl with the double buns came to ask me questions, I checked the student roster afterward. You hadn’t selected my general-education course, and there’s no Jiang Ran in the School of Computer Science either.”

“But I didn’t think much of it. At noon, Professor Gao called me and told me you were studying at another school.”

“Sorry, Professor Zhang,” Jiang Ran said. “I lied because I wanted to ask you something.”

“It’s nothing.”

Zhang waved it off.

“To us teachers, all students who genuinely want to learn are the same. Doesn’t matter whether they’re officially enrolled in my class or not. If someone asks me a question, I answer it. That’s how it is for every teacher.”

“Director Gao is my graduate advisor. He must’ve introduced me to you. I’m his closed-door disciple—well, temporarily closed.” He chuckled. “He said you’re exceptionally gifted. A genius, even. I just started supervising graduate students next semester, and he said he’d give me a good seedling to cultivate. I didn’t expect it to be you.”

“It seems we’re fated to cross paths.”

Jiang Ran nodded.

Fated? That was an understatement.

In the future, they would even be cell neighbors.

Not only would they share classrooms, they would sit facing each other across prison bars.

He handed over the recommendation letter written by Director Gao. Zhang glanced at it and returned it.

“I’ll handle the rest. The official letter will be sent to me. Keep this one as a souvenir.”

He told Jiang Ran not to worry about anything. When the next semester began, he could report to Donghai University following normal procedures.

Then he asked Jiang Ran to apply for a dedicated email account.

“I’ll send you my research directions and current projects. You can start thinking about your development path during graduate school.”

“It’s early to decide now, but you’re different from most students. You’re a [genius]. You can start planning earlier.”

“Professor Gao is already waiting for you to finish your graduate studies and go to the Academy to pursue a PhD under him. He even joked that I shouldn’t hold you back.”

Hahaha…

Jiang Ran forced a laugh.

Suddenly, his future looked terrifying.

He could already see the scene next semester:

Professor Zhang pushing him proudly to the front of the class—

“Everyone, this is my first disciple, Jiang Ran. A world-class super genius. Your most reliable senior brother. If you have questions, ask him.”

…

Genius?

What genius!

He was nothing more than a time-travel courier who had stolen Lu Yu’s research results.

There was nothing inside his head.

Please, Professor Zhang, don’t expect too much from me…

He didn’t dare imagine returning to the prison in 2045 and hearing Zhang Yang say, “My first disciple is an idiot.”

Under the sudden weight of pressure, Jiang Ran only hoped to repair the Positron Cannon sooner—or build the spacetime shuttle sooner.

Before this “super genius” façade collapsed, he needed to revive Cheng Mengxue, return Goldbach’s Conjecture to Lu Yu, and slip back into Worldline 0 as quickly as possible.

At least there was one piece of good news.

Director Gao had kept his promise and told Zhang Yang nothing about Jiang Ran solving Goldbach’s Conjecture.

Director Gao truly was principled.

Confidential meant confidential—even from his own disciple.

That alone relieved some of Jiang Ran’s academic pressure.

After parting with Professor Zhang, Jiang Ran went to the Film Camera Club activity room. Chi Xiaoguo was waiting.

“Oh my god!”

She held the recommendation letter high and jogged in little circles around the coffee table.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

She looked at the paper as if it were a Holy Grail capable of granting any wish.

“Direct to graduate school! Not bachelor’s—straight to graduate school! Senior, you’re incredible! I’ve never heard of such an ‘ascension route’! Hehe, from now on, you’re officially my senior.”

She was right.

They were the same age, but next semester she would be a third-year undergraduate—and Jiang Ran would already be a graduate student.

Now the title “senior” was fully justified.

“Senior, senior!”

Chi Xiaoguo leaned in eagerly.

“When you come to Donghai University next semester, you must join the Film Camera Club!”

“You saved this club. Without you, our anchor is gone!”

Jiang Ran smiled and nodded.

“Of course.”

In truth, he had to join.

The Film Camera Club was where future miracles would unfold.

“But I have a small request.”

He looked at her.

“I know the club needs to recruit new members and hold activities.”

“But the Positron Cannon—and the experiments I’m conducting—must remain secret from everyone.”

“And next semester, I’ll still need your help operating it during early mornings, late nights, or other suitable times. I hope you’ll continue assisting me.”

“Of course, I’ll repay you however I can. Whether it’s recruitment, club activities, or anything else in the school, I’ll do my best.”

Chi Xiaoguo waved her hand.

“Oh, Senior, don’t be so formal. We’ve been through so much together—we’re friends.”

“Don’t worry. I understand the Positron Cannon is secret. I’ve always understood. I won’t tell anyone. And whenever you need to activate it, I’ll cooperate. I mean it.”

Jiang Ran felt reassured.

She was truly intelligent—and considerate.

Over the past month, after countless future experiments, she had never once asked about the details.

Perhaps…

She had already guessed something.

The knob control board marked with dates, the strange text messages, the phone calls—anyone paying attention could piece things together.

Yet she never asked.

She chose to trust him. To respect his silence.

For that, Jiang Ran was sincerely grateful.

Perhaps one day, when the time was right, he would tell her everything.

Perhaps.

All along, he had treated events in Worldline 1 with detachment.

“The worldline will reset.”

“Once Cheng Mengxue is revived, these relationships will vanish.”

“This is just a dream. Not my true world.”

Those thoughts allowed him to stay clear-headed, to remain focused.

But…

How long could he maintain that mindset?

He often found himself uneasy.

Sometimes he could only bury his thoughts beneath busy work.

After chatting a little and imagining a bright future for the Film Camera Club, Chi Xiaoguo left for class, leaving him alone in the activity room.

“Sigh…”

He leaned back on the sofa.

Whenever he sat here alone, he inevitably thought of Cheng Mengxue. Of Qin Feng. Of the past.

Now, many of the difficult problems had found temporary resolution.

The Positron Cannon was broken, but Chi Xiaoguo had uncovered clues from the 2005 Film Camera Club. Perhaps it could be repaired.

The spacetime shuttle did exist at Donghai University—that much was evident from various signs. Even if the Positron Cannon couldn’t be fixed, he could travel physically two years into the past and save Cheng Mengxue before the car accident.

The graduate admission issue was resolved—more than resolved. He had connected with Director Gao and formally entered Professor Zhang Yang’s academic lineage. Acting within Donghai University would be easier.

Lu Yu—the true genius whose work Jiang Ran had borrowed—would enroll in three months. As a graduate senior, Jiang Ran could approach him legitimately, even recruit him into the team.

These four achievements formed the foundation for reviving Cheng Mengxue and returning to Worldline 0.

All that remained was waiting for the key nodes.

For the miracle to erupt.

[Now it seems there’s only one thing left unresolved.]

Jiang Ran turned toward the window.

Outside, laughter rang like silver bells.

A boy in a basketball jersey pedaled past on a shared bike.

Behind him stood a girl in a white skirt, feet balanced on the rear axle, hands gripping his shoulders, laughing freely beneath willow branches and sunlight.

In that instant, the square window of the Film Camera Club became a camera viewfinder, freezing the scene like a strip of film.

Sweat-damp jerseys on the court. Skirts fluttering in sunlight.

Willow branches coloring young love. Cicadas and magpies singing youth.

But—

That was their youth.

Jiang Ran’s youth remained buried in the grave of the worldline. Buried in the shattered ruins of Kaihua County.

He lowered his head.

“There’s one last matter.”

“It’s time to resolve Nan Xiuxiu.”