Prodigy’s Playground

Chapter 99

Just as expected, it should’ve been the Bookworm in Cell No. 4—Professor Zhang Yang—speaking next.

He would say it was timing.

Then he’d ramble on with an analysis.

After that, once Professor Zhang finished, it would be the Killer.

He would say it was luck.

“It’s luck.”

Huh?

In an instant, Jiang Ran’s back went ice-cold.

What was going on?

What the hell was going on?!This had never happened before—

Why did the Killer speak early, before the Bookworm in Cell No. 4 had even answered?!

“Without enough luck, everything is bullshit.”

On the right, from Cell No. 5, the Killer’s voice was still clear.

“Wrong!!”

From Cell No. 1, Sang Biao roared:

“Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!”

“You fuckers’ astronomical-theory analysis is just paper warfare—what use is that?!”

“I’m telling you! The most important thing for a successful prison break is fucking breaking out! You’ve gotta dare to break out to succeed!”

Sang Biao cursed nonstop.

Jiang Ran stood there inside the cell, dazed, with no mind to listen.

What was going on?

Where was the Bookworm in Cell No. 4—Professor Zhang Yang?

Everything else in the plot was the same as before, yet the only thing missing was Professor Zhang’s part!

Where were his lines?

Where was his scene?

Or…

Was he even there?

“Professor Zhang Yang!”

Jiang Ran took two big strides to the iron bars.

“Professor Zhang! It’s me, Jiang Ran! Can you hear me?”

He stared into the dark, bottomless Cell No. 4.

There was no light inside. He couldn’t tell whether anyone was there at all.

“Professor Zhang!”

Ignoring Sang Biao’s suspicion about his sudden appearance, Jiang Ran shouted again.

And yet…

Still no response.

Thunk.

Suddenly, he heard a crisp sound from Cell No. 4.

The sound of a toilet lid.

That meant—

There really was someone in Cell No. 4!

Who was it?

Was it still Zhang Yang?

If it was…

Why wouldn’t he respond to Jiang Ran? Why wouldn’t he answer Sang Biao’s question? Why no reaction at all?

A bad premonition surged through Jiang Ran. He grabbed the bars and shook them.

“Sang Biao! Open the door!”

“Ah?”

Sang Biao froze.

“You’re willing—”

“I’m willing!”

Jiang Ran urged him.

“Break out, break out! Right now! Hurry up and open it!”

Clatter. Clatter. Clatter.

Sang Biao opened Jia Qing’s door, Jiang Ran’s door, and the Killer’s door in sequence, then waved everyone forward.

“What are you doing?”

Jiang Ran stood rooted in place and pointed at Cell No. 4.

“You missed one! Why aren’t you being professional this time? Hurry up and open that one!”

“Why the hell do you care about him?!”

Sang Biao barked.

“You wanna bring him with us when we break out? Give me a break! Are you gonna carry him on your back?!”

Carry him?

What did that mean?

Did it mean the person in Cell No. 4 couldn’t even walk anymore?

Thinking of the aged Zhang Yang—white hair, face full of wrinkles—Jiang Ran felt even more panic rising in his chest.

“Just open the door first.”

Sang Biao, helpless, could only curse under his breath as he pried at the lock.

Klang.

When the lock gave, Jiang Ran yanked the iron gate open and rushed inside.

Sure enough.

There was someone inside.

But unfortunately…

It wasn’t Zhang Yang.

It was a young man in his thirties, buzz cut, wearing a prison uniform. He was small-framed, thin—abnormally thin.

His eyes were empty, his expression blank. Curled on the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees, his pupils didn’t focus on anything. He stared at the air in front of him, yet seemed to be looking at nothing at all.

Most importantly—

His mouth hung half open, drool steadily spilling out. It had already soaked a patch of the bedding, and he still didn’t react.

This was…

Who?

Where was Professor Zhang Yang? Where had he gone?

Jiang Ran turned and looked at the Killer.

“Did someone named Zhang Yang ever live here? He used to be a teacher. Gray hair, about this tall—and he wore glasses. Looked sixty or seventy. Nickname was Bookworm.”

He rattled off every feature he could.

“No.”

The Killer shook his head.

“Only Cell No. 3 ever had a short guy living in it. Then it was you. After that, no one else ever came in or went out.”

Jiang Ran frowned.

So that meant…

Professor Zhang Yang had never been in this prison at all.

For a moment, Jiang Ran couldn’t tell whether that was good news or bad news.

Because—

If he looked at it optimistically, maybe Professor Zhang really did come to his senses later, gave up quantum tunneling, and avoided prison.

But if he looked at it pessimistically, maybe he had been locked up in a different prison—or maybe, after digging even deeper into research… he’d lost his life, died somewhere unknown.

“Then who is this?” Jiang Ran looked at the drooling, vacant man.

This guy was clearly mentally unwell.

And the closer Jiang Ran examined him, the more details he saw.

The prisoner was thin to an absurd degree—almost skin and bones. Yet even so, his body was still covered in scars.

Whip marks. Cuts. Stitched-up scar tissue—everywhere. There wasn’t a single patch of clean skin.

Even more unsettling—

You could clearly see needle marks, all over—on his arms, on his calves.

They were old needle marks, but because his skin’s function had been damaged, they had never fully healed.

Jiang Ran couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath.

He thought he understood.

This young man had likely suffered inhuman torture before—maybe severe interrogation.

And probably because of that, his brain had been damaged. His mind had broken, leaving him like this—blank, drooling, vacant.

“Little Prodigy.”

The Killer answered Jiang Ran’s question.

On this trip to the future, aside from Professor Zhang Yang and the new prisoner in Cell No. 4, everything else was basically unchanged.

The Killer was still extremely cooperative with him. Asked a question, gave an answer.

“Little Prodigy?”

Jiang Ran was puzzled.

“Why call him that?”

People said nicknames were never given wrong. So what had this man done to deserve such a title?

“Tch. You don’t know him?”

Sang Biao shoved his head in and slapped the vacant man on the head.

But the man kept drooling, kept staring, didn’t react at all—not even the slightest shift of his gaze.

Sang Biao grabbed Little Prodigy by the ear, yanked him up, and forced Jiang Ran to look at his face.

“Look again. Recognize him now?”

“No.” Jiang Ran shook his head.

“Doesn’t make sense. This kid used to be famous as hell. All kinds of news reports had his name. He was even in textbooks.”

Sang Biao tossed him back down by the ear, treating Little Prodigy like a toy.

“You seriously don’t know?”

Jiang Ran gave up trying to communicate with Sang Biao and looked straight at the Killer.

“Who is he, exactly?”

The Killer walked in slowly.

He stared at the drooling man on the bed and sighed.

“Sang Biao wasn’t wrong. This was once a genius everyone knew. Back then, you could see this face everywhere.”

“His real name is…”

“Lu Ning.”