Prodigy’s Playground

Chapter 98 Little Prodigy

“Ah?”

Jiang Ran froze slightly.

“Th-that’s a bit exaggerated.”

Yes, he had written the script.

But during filming, plenty of revisions must have been made according to real circumstances.

Not to mention being credited as “Original Work” and “Screenwriter.” That hat was far too big to wear.

The so-called original work had been nothing more than a wild fantasy inspired by enlightenment back in middle school. As for screenwriting—he hadn’t participated at all.

Yet the way Xu Yan presented it, it sounded as though the greatest credit for the film belonged to him—as if it were his personal showcase.

Still—

There was no point saying anything now.As Xu Yan had said, the awards were already decided internally. They were only waiting for public announcement. Forget about changing anything.

“Then I’ll get going~”

Xu Yan waved and turned to leave.

“Oh, right.”

Her heels paused, scraping softly against the floor as she pivoted back.

“No matter what prize we win—there will be prize money. Our club already discussed it. No matter how much it is, we’re giving all of it to you as a token of thanks.”

“It’s everyone’s shared intention, so… please don’t refuse when the time comes.”

It was hard to reject such sincerity.

Jiang Ran couldn’t very well bruise her pride.

“All right. When the time comes, I’ll treat your entire club to dinner. We’ll go somewhere nice.”

He had no intention of pocketing the prize money. Better to treat everyone to a proper meal and enjoy themselves.

In truth, he wasn’t short of money.

Academician Gao Yan had told him he would apply for confidential research funding and bonuses—funds that would not be disclosed or publicly announced.

The state had long maintained such policies. They simply weren’t publicized. The primary purpose was to protect individuals whose identities and research projects could not be exposed.

If Jiang Ran were willing to publicly attach his name to Goldbach’s Conjecture, he would naturally receive greater honors and wealth.

But since he insisted on remaining anonymous, this was the compromise.

“Funding in the tens of millions, bonuses in the several millions—those are guaranteed,” Academician Gao Yan had assured him.

The money hadn’t arrived yet.

But it would.

Jiang Ran wasn’t worried.

At the very least—

By the time he returned to Donghai University next semester, he would once again be a multimillionaire.

With that money, conducting research and advancing future plans would become far more convenient.

After parting ways with Xu Yan—

A WeChat message arrived from Chi Xiaoguo. Her exams were over.

“I should pass.”

Her tone carried a hint of guilt.

“With participation points added in… I should pass.”

Jiang Ran smiled helplessly.

Still a long way to go, little president.

If the Positron Cannon were repaired, he could have sent Chi Xiaoguo a time-traveling text before the exam—leaked a few major-question answers.

Unfortunately, the Positron Cannon was now version 2.0—battle-damaged. It had lost its original function.

They met outside the Film Camera Club window.

“We’ll climb in.”

Jiang Ran pointed at the window.

With practiced movements, he disengaged the now purely decorative latch, pushed the window open, braced his hands on the sill, and vaulted up in one fluid motion. Turning midair, he dropped neatly to the floor inside.

“Your turn.”

“S-Senior! How am I supposed to get in?!”

Jiang Ran looked back outside.

The club window faced a flowerbed, which sat lower than the interior floor. That meant Chi Xiaoguo, standing outside, could only barely show the tops of her two bun-like pigtails above the sill.

She jumped desperately, but couldn’t reach.

“Hold on.”

Jiang Ran climbed back out.

He interlocked his fingers to form a makeshift foothold and lifted her upward.

After much scrambling and flailing, she finally tumbled inside.

“I was supposed to be calm and composed.”

Chi Xiaoguo panted.

“Instead I was scrambling and rolling.”

Jiang Ran burst into laughter.

“You’ve got endless memes.”

He had long noticed that Chi Xiaoguo’s internet speed was alarmingly fast—likely spending far too much time online. Probably watched plenty of anime too. No wonder her grades were so abysmal.

She brushed dirt off her clothes and lifted her chin.

“So, Senior, are we activating the Positron Cannon now? Doesn’t it have to be early morning?”

Jiang Ran nodded.

“The reason we activate it at dawn is because the building’s electrical load is minimal—reduces the risk of frying circuits.”

“Now the entire building is sealed and cut off. No one is using electricity. It’s even more suitable for experimentation than early morning.”

“I see.”

After so many operations, Chi Xiaoguo was already proficient.

She walked straight to the workbench, adjusted the direction of the Positron Cannon, and aligned it toward the transformer distribution box outside.

Once Jiang Ran confirmed everything was ready, he climbed back out the window and stood beside the transformer distribution box.

This was likely—

The last time they would use the Positron Cannon before next semester.

Originally, he hadn’t planned to activate it today.

But seeing the seal and the total lack of electrical load, he decided to make one final trip to the year 2045.

He had two primary curiosities.

[First: Would the aged Professor Zhang Yang accurately remember his name this time?]

Previously, the bluish-green mark from the pencil stab had already confirmed much. It proved the future world was real. It proved temporal continuity.

But verification from multiple angles was safer.

Before, it had been reasonable that the elderly Zhang Yang did not recognize him. Their interaction had been too limited to remain memorable across twenty years.

But now it was different.

As the super genius recommended by the founding master.

As the sect’s chief disciple.

As the rebellious student who had nearly angered Zhang Yang to death yet insisted on researching the spacetime shuttle—

Jiang Ran was confident Zhang Yang would never forget him in this lifetime.

“I really wonder how Professor Zhang will evaluate me twenty years from now.”

Every time he imagined it, he couldn’t help laughing.

Rebellious disciple?

Fool?

Shame of the sect?

Dead weight?

In any case—

It certainly wouldn’t be “proud and praised favorite student.” That much self-awareness he possessed.

Then there was the second matter.

[Second: Did the research project between Zhang Yang and himself ultimately succeed?]

Quantum tunneling.

The spacetime shuttle.

Two absurd seeds planted in 2025.

Would they bear fruit within twenty years?

Quantum tunneling likely had results.

Otherwise, why would Zhang Yang be imprisoned?

At one point, Jiang Ran had considered—if Zhang Yang truly abandoned quantum tunneling, then in 2045 he probably wouldn’t be in prison at all. Cell No. 4 might be empty. Or occupied by someone else.

But fortunately—or unfortunately—Zhang Yang had not given up.

Which meant he would most likely walk the same future trajectory: deeper research, breakthrough results, imprisonment, mental torment, becoming a timid old man.

Not so bad.

At least it guaranteed that Jiang Ran would still encounter a familiar face in prison.

He could also ask Professor Zhang directly whether the spacetime shuttle project had achieved any breakthrough—whether a finished product had ever been born.

“I’m ready!” he shouted toward the room.

“I’m counting down!”

Chi Xiaoguo picked up her phone, dialed Jiang Ran, and shouted out the window:

“5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0!”

Blue light surged from the Positron Cannon.

It roared to life.

Jiang Ran pressed the answer button.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

The familiar dizziness arrived precisely on schedule. The world spun violently.

The Positron Cannon 2.0 (battle-damaged version) performed stably.

Though this “traveling to the future” function was decent—

Jiang Ran would much rather repair it fully as soon as possible.

Whether by locating the 2005 manufacturing materials.

Or by finding the trio of senior students from the 2005 Film Camera Club.

Repair it sooner.

And he could revive Cheng Mengxue sooner.

In his previous life, he had never gone this long without seeing her.

Even if they didn’t meet every single day, they at least saw each other every other day. Even holidays didn’t disrupt that rhythm.

Now—

It had already been two months.

The high school reunion would be held this summer.

This time—

Cheng Mengxue would certainly not attend.

What a pity.

Two seconds later, his senses returned.

Jiang Ran opened his eyes.

“Do you know what’s most important for a successful prison break?”

The familiar wailing soundtrack arrived right on cue.

Jiang Ran sat on the innermost bed, waiting through the unskippable cutscene.

“It’s weapons.”

From Cell No. 2, Jia Qing said:

“If you want to break out successfully, you must rely on weapons and charge straight out.”

Jiang Ran pressed a hand to his forehead.

Letting out a quiet sigh.

Day after day.

Unchanging.

Their dialogue was so familiar he could recite it backward.

Sometimes, in nightmares, it was these exact lines—word for word—circling his ears like a monk chanting scripture, lingering endlessly.

Cell No. 2’s Jia Qing finished speaking.