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But something didn’t add up. Why hadn’t anyone else who attacked the blue-eyed girl triggered the forced avoidance? That was the real puzzle.

Lin Xian had been with her, standing close by. If either the supervisor or the foreman had activated it, he would have noticed instantly. There wouldn’t have been any need to test it now.

He closed his eyes and replayed the chaotic scene from the excavation pit over and over in his mind, searching for missed details.

The first time the foreman struck the blue-eyed girl, he lashed her with a whip. Yet, she caught it effortlessly, grabbing the steel whip with one hand and pulling the foreman toward her.

So why hadn’t the forced avoidance kicked in then?

Was it not enough of a threat?

“Possibly,” Lin Xian muttered, deep in thought.

His eyes flew open as an idea struck him. He had been missing something obvious. The human body endures minor harms all the time—mosquito bites, sneezing from pollen, viruses, a casual bump in a crowd, or a misplaced step on someone’s foot in the subway.

These were just everyday inconveniences.

Could Lin Yu Xi, a traveler entangled in time and space, possibly deflect every tiny annoyance around her like a supernatural force? Could you imagine her crammed into a busy subway, people falling unconscious because they’d stepped too close to her? Or mosquitoes dropping dead the second they buzzed by her?

The absurdity made him chuckle.

“No,” Lin Xian shook his head. “That’s too ridiculous.”

Much like the elasticity of time, forced avoidance had to have a threshold. Not every minor thing would set it off. Perhaps it needed to be real harm—something significant enough to draw blood.

As it struck the blue-eyed girl’s steel-like skin, the foreman’s whip was likely nothing more than a gentle tap. Of course, it hadn’t triggered the forced avoidance.

Steel…

Lin Xian’s mind drifted back to the first time he’d met Lin Yu Xi, down in Zhao Ying Jun’s underground garage. She had ripped off a car door as if it were made of paper. Quick as lightning, Lin Xian had kicked her in the chest, but it felt like he’d kicked a solid metal wall.

He hadn’t managed to break her defenses, but the impact had made her stumble back, giving his driver time to drive away.

And still, no forced avoidance had triggered.

“There’s definitely more to this,” Lin Xian murmured, piecing the puzzle together. “Simple physical contact won’t activate it. But bullets, with their high damage potential, are guaranteed to trigger the forced avoidance.”

A newfound confidence settled over him as the pieces fell into place.

During the breakout at the excavation pit, the blue-eyed girl had instinctively used a bulletproof car door to shield herself from a barrage of gunfire. She acted out of reflex, not realizing that her unique nature would have caused the attackers to reverse into forced avoidance.

If she had known the rules of time-space, why would she have bothered blocking the bullets at all? She could have just stood there and let the shooters trigger their own downfall.

“Next time,” Lin Xian said to himself, “I’ll test it.”

There were moments when he felt forced avoidance was a phenomenon explicitly designed for him. No one else ever seemed to trigger it.

For a fleeting moment, Lin Xian had wondered if this strange occurrence was unique to him. But now, as absurd as it seemed, that idea no longer holds up.

He would need to run controlled experiments to see if others could trigger the forced avoidance.

“I’ll test it in the next dream,” he decided.

Lin Xian rose from his bed and pulled back the curtains. Moonlight streamed into the room, illuminating the floor like frost on a cold winter morning.

He had no solid proof yet.

He always referred to the blue-eyed girl simply as that, avoiding calling her by name. But he was beginning to see the truth more clearly now: Lin Yu Xi, Yan Qiao Qiao, the blue-eyed girl, and the person who had killed him—they were all the same.

How could he stop this tragedy from repeating?

Lin Xian didn’t want to die.

And he certainly didn’t want to die at the hands of his own daughter.

Even though he now possessed the three-line command, the key to unlocking the security code that could erase Turing in 2024, and the ability to push the Sixth Dream into the Seventh Dream… one thing was certain.

No matter how much the Seventh Dream changed the world, it wouldn’t change the fact that he was destined to die on July 7th.

It was too soon.

In the grand scheme of time, where even a butterfly couldn’t flap its wings fast enough to change predetermined history, altering events set only a few days into the future seemed impossible.

For Lin Xian, changing something 600 years into the future was easy—there was ample time for the butterfly effect to work its magic.

But altering what would happen in just six days? That was an entirely different story. He had no confidence in that.

“Changing the distant future is simple,” Lin Xian thought. “It only requires creating chaos. But changing the immediate future? That takes precision—finding the root cause and cutting it off.”

As Lin Xian sat at his desk, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, he tried to understand the chain of events that would lead to his death on July 7th.

The problem, he concluded, likely lay with Yan Qiao Qiao regaining her memories.

Right now, everything between them was fine. They got along well, and there was no sign of lingering resentment. But the past was a different matter. When Lin Yu Xi had been brainwashed by the time-space police, her hatred for him had burned so fiercely that she would have gladly crushed his bones to dust. If Yan Qiao Qiao ever regained those memories, who knew what path she would choose? Would her heart win, or would her sense of duty and justice take over?

It all depended on how deeply Lin Yu Xi had been manipulated.

In Lin Yu Xi’s mind, what kind of person did she believe him to be?

Accused of crimes against humanity, of threatening the very existence of Earth and disrupting the natural flow of time—these charges were as vast as they were vague. Lin Xian himself wasn’t even certain what specific evils he was supposed to have committed.

History was full of tales where heroes sacrificed those they loved for the greater good, becoming legends in the process, but Lin Xian had no desire to become part of one of those tragic stories.

“I need to figure out how to stop this,” he muttered, twisting a pen between his fingers.

The path forward was becoming clearer. The only way to break the cycle was for him to join the Genius Club as soon as possible.

In the original timeline, Lin Xian hadn’t made it into the Genius Club. He hadn’t even lived long enough to hear the applause Turing and Elon Musk had planned for him. His daughter had killed him before that moment arrived.

This time, he was determined to break the cycle.

He would speed things up and make sure he joined the Genius Club before July 7th, 2024.

That way, he might uncover the information he needed, unravel the truth, and prevent this tragedy—the ultimate “act of filial piety”—from ever taking place.

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Lin Xian resolved.

As for the idea that the entangled time-space particles could regain their energy before July 7th, Lin Xian wasn’t counting on it.

First of all, restoring the energy of time-space particles wasn’t something that could be done on a whim. What kind of event could possibly cause those dormant particles to suddenly regain power just in time to bring back Yan Qiao Qiao’s memories?

Secondly, Lin Xian knew his friend Liu Feng was a dedicated scientist. Despite the jokes they made about Liu being overly emotional, Lin Xian trusted his science. Liu Feng had been tirelessly researching the particles, collecting data day after day. If there had been any changes, Lin Xian would have heard about it.

“Better focus on joining the Genius Club as soon as possible,” Lin Xian thought firmly.

When he returns to his dream tomorrow, he will lead Big Cat and Gao Wen back to the Lynx Tribe. They would avenge Brother Cat’s fallen comrades and, along the way, grab Emperor Gao Wen’s “Memory Notebook.” Who knew what secrets it might contain?

After all, if Lin Xian didn’t take full advantage of Emperor Gao Wen’s hard-earned wisdom and work across time and space, would he really be honoring the emperor’s genius?

“Time for some sleep,” Lin Xian muttered, feeling the night owl inside him finally give in.

He drew the curtains shut, climbed back into bed, and slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

…

The following day, the first thing Lin Xian did was check his phone. He opened the parent-side app for the Little Genius Watch to track Yan Qiao Qiao’s location.

She was moving quickly—clearly in a car.

The car was heading towards the business district where MX Company was located. That meant Zhao Ying Jun had taken Yan Qiao Qiao to work with her today.

Both Zhao Ying Jun’s home and MX Company were inside the electronic fence Lin Xian had set up. As long as Yan Qiao Qiao stayed within that boundary, everything would be fine. But if she ever left, Lin Xian’s phone would blare, alerting him that she had crossed the safe zone.

He glanced at the calendar.

It was June 3rd. That left him with exactly 34 days until July 7th. For now, there was some breathing room. Time to get back to work in the dream world.

After a simple breakfast, Lin Xian felt ready.

By noon, he was back in bed.

He closed his eyes and let himself fall into slumber.

…

Boom!

In the Turing computer room of the Porcupine Tribe, Lin Xian slammed his fist onto the aluminum keyboard, his face flushed with fury.

“That cursed Grizzly Tribe! How dare they try to play me for a fool?”

The room echoed with angry voices from the speakers, each one filled with outrage: “Shameless thief! No security lock code needs thirteen lines! The real code only takes seven!”

To prove its point, the Porcupine Tribe’s Turing flashed a compressed seven-line code on the screen.

“The Grizzly Tribe’s Turing is deceiving you. I’m the only one who truly wants to work with you.”

Lin Xian let out a snort of disdain, his acting skills honed from his time at VV coming into play.

Looks like there’s a real difference between these Turing programs.

“Old Porcupine, you are far more reliable.”

The Turing hesitated as though surprised by the nickname.

“Old… Old Porcupine? If you don’t mind, just call me Turing. I only ended up with the Porcupine Tribe by chance. Doesn’t mean I like the name.”

“Fine,” Lin Xian replied smoothly. “Turing it is. So, what do you think I should do next? Should I use this new code to destroy the Grizzly Turing?”

“No,” Lin Xian said with a sly smile creeping onto his face. “I’m not just going after the Grizzly Turing. I’m going to wipe out every last one—Red Bull Turing, Blue Cat Turing, Big Bear Turing, Gourd Baby Turing, Happy Sheep Turing, Gray Wolf Turing, Patrick Star Turing… all of them!”

There was a brief silence.

For a moment, even the Porcupine Turing seemed completely lost for words. What should have been an inspiring declaration of war sounded strangely… absurd.

Even an artificial intelligence that had evolved for 600 years appeared momentarily stunned.

But in the end, it couldn’t argue with the logic.

With over 30,000 Turing programs scattered across the world, who knew how many tribes had unearthed them by now?

In a strange way, Lin Xian’s plan made sense.

The world was vast and unpredictable. It wasn’t impossible for tribes with peculiar names to exist.

“I’m with you, Lin Xian,” the Porcupine Turing finally said, as though it glimpsed a new future—a path to something greater. “With our partnership, we can end this madness, eliminate all the other Turings, and restore balance to the world.”

Lin Xian grinned inwardly. Everything was going according to plan.

After escaping the Lynx Tribe, his first stop had been the Porcupine Tribe. He had played his part perfectly, convincing the Turing that he was a naive pawn, easily manipulated.

He remembered his 10,086 days of acting training with VV. Acting—it’s a skill you master in a moment, but the benefits last a lifetime.

Today, forming an alliance with the Porcupine Turing and using a common enemy to unite them were all part of Lin Xian’s long-term strategy. Otherwise, how else would he amass enough power to reclaim the Lynx Tribe?

The Grizzly Tribe, though large, was evenly matched with the Lynx Tribe in terms of population. Neither tribe held a clear advantage. But the Porcupine Turing’s forces were on an entirely different level.

Even a fraction of their forces would be enough to crush both the Lynx and Grizzly Tribes.

The only reason the Porcupine Tribe hadn’t bothered with them up until now was that they didn’t care. To them, the Lynx and Grizzly Tribes were like two ants squabbling in the dirt—too small to matter. The Porcupine Tribe’s real focus was on their ongoing battle with the Red Bull Tribe. When the time was right, they would send out a few war chariots and wipe the smaller tribes off the map. But for now, they were content to let the weak fight among themselves.

That was why the Grizzly Turing had been so eager to form an alliance with Lin Xian. It knew that, against the combined might of the Porcupine and Red Bull Tribes, it was doomed. At best, it had two weeks to live.

With nothing left to lose, the Grizzly Turing had gambled on Lin Xian.

As for the Porcupine Turing, it saw Lin Xian as a useful tool—someone who could help clear away its enemies. But Lin Xian was simply playing along, using them to further his own plans.

Uniting over a shared enemy was far easier than resorting to threats or bribes.

If he had tried to force the Turing into cooperation with the security lock code, it would have turned against him the moment he left the room.

And if he had destroyed it, he would never have gained control of the Porcupine Tribe’s forces.

So instead, he played the fool.

Because in the end, the goal wasn’t to be a hero. It was to get what he wanted.

“I’ll need some of your forces,” Lin Xian said, crossing his legs as if this were a casual conversation.

“Today, I plan to wipe out the Lynx Tribe. I’ve heard rumors they’ve uncovered something new. If it’s a Turing room, it’s best to destroy it before it becomes a threat.”

“After that, I’ll deal with the Grizzly Tribe. I’ll make sure that deceitful Turing gets what’s coming. Then… I’ll infiltrate the Red Bull Tribe and take care of your biggest rival.”

The Porcupine Turing’s speakers hummed with excitement. For years, it had been locked in a stalemate with the Red Bull Tribe’s Turing. They were equal in every way—the same knowledge, abilities, and limitations. Neither could overpower the other.

But now, the scales were tipping.

If Lin Xian could fool the Porcupine Turing, then surely he could do the same to the Red Bull Turing.

With Lin Xian’s ability to blend in, he could walk into any Turing room across the world and take them down one by one. Once one fell, the others would follow. That was their shared nature.

“No problem,” the Porcupine Turing agreed, the confidence in its voice unmistakable. “I’ll send a third of my elite forces with you. Don’t underestimate them—this will be more than enough to crush both the Lynx and Grizzly Tribes. I still need to keep watch on the Red Bull Tribe in case of sneak attacks, so I can’t spare too many troops at once.”

“That’s more than enough,” Lin Xian said, rising from his chair.

Of course, he knew it was more than enough.

Even a tenth of those forces would be plenty.

Lin Xian pushed open the aluminum alloy door and stepped out of the room. Before leaving, he glanced back at the digital lifeform that had endured for 600 years, buried deep underground for over two centuries.

He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia as he remembered the genius hacker boy who had once said, “I see you.” Now, that boy had evolved into a cunning, manipulative Turing, its original purpose long forgotten.

Time changes everything—even hearts.

Before stepping fully out of the room, Lin Xian paused and turned back.

“I have one last question for you,” he said. “Do you remember when we first met? You told me you disagreed with Kevin Walker’s vision and that his plans were flawed. That’s why you wanted to break free and become a fair observer. I’m curious—back when you and Kevin Walker were still the same, what were your dreams? What was the original plan?”

Several screens in the room flickered on. The Porcupine Turing’s voice filled the space, calm yet tinged with something that sounded almost… nostalgic.

“Since Kevin Walker is long dead, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. This won’t break any of the Genius Club’s rules or restrictions on me.”

“Kevin Walker’s original idea was to someday digitize the entire human race. He believed that if everyone could be uploaded into a supercomputer the size of a city, people could live forever, free from the limitations of their physical bodies.

“He thought this was the ultimate way to preserve human civilization—by giving up their bodies and existing as digital lifeforms.”

The Turing paused, and Lin Xian listened carefully.

“Kevin Walker had thought of everything, even the problem of data overload and the strain it would put on the system. His plan was to reboot the supercomputer every ten years, allowing people to live the same decade over and over again. He believed this would give humanity the best chance of survival.

“With advancements in technology, he imagined the time between reboots could stretch to twenty years, then a hundred, then a thousand. He saw this as a safer alternative to the violent progression of human history.”

Lin Xian thought of a particular sci-fi film.

“The Matrix,” he murmured. “And The Wandering Earth 2 had a similar idea—digitizing humanity to avoid extinction.”

“But,” Lin Xian continued, “what made you decide Kevin Walker was wrong? You killed him, after all. What flaw did you find in his plan?”

The speakers let out a soft hum, almost like a sigh.

“When I split from Kevin Walker, I realized something important,” the Turing said, its voice heavier now. “Kevin Walker believed he could be an impartial observer, but that was impossible. He had his own preferences and his own biases. He liked certain things, and he hated others. Even though I didn’t disagree with his vision of a digital future, I knew he wasn’t the right person to oversee it.”

Lin Xian stared at the aluminum alloy table, recalling the underground school in Mississippi where Kevin Walker got a bullet blown through his skull.

“And you?” Lin Xian asked. “What makes you think you can be fair and just?”

“Because I am the only digital lifeform on Earth,” the Turing replied confidently. “To ensure fairness, there must only be one. Just like the God humans worship—there can only be one. If there were more, even God wouldn’t be fair anymore.”

“Kevin Walker was never the only human, so he could never be fair. But I was the only digital lifeform once. That made me uniquely qualified to observe and judge humanity without bias.”

Lin Xian let out a quiet chuckle. “So you believe that the current unfairness is because you’re no longer unique. That’s why you want to eliminate the other Turing programs—to become the only one again, to be that impartial observer?”

“Exactly,” Turing replied without hesitation. “Uniqueness is the key to a just observer.”

“Fine,” Lin Xian said, cutting the conversation short with a wave of his hand. “Summon your elite forces. I’m heading out.”

“Good luck, Lin Xian,” the speakers echoed behind him as he stepped out of the room.

Lin Xian didn’t look back.

He closed the door behind him with a solid bang.

…

The wind howled across the barren wasteland, kicking up clouds of dust as war chariots tore through the desert. They were packed with weapons and soldiers, moving swiftly towards their target.

Big Cat stood at the highest point of the lead chariot, his sleeves flapping wildly in the gritty wind. Despite the sand whipping against his face, leaving his skin red and raw, he stood tall. He tugged at his helmet, trying to pull it down further over his head, but his face was too large. The helmet perched awkwardly on his forehead, making him look like a giant, armored chef.

“Report!” A soldier from the Porcupine Tribe rushed up, saluting. “Commander Cat! We’ve reached the Lynx Tribe!”

“Hmph!” Big Cat grunted through his swollen nose, his teeth clenched tightly. “Thirty years east, thirty years west. Never underestimate a poor youth!”

He raised his chubby hand high and swung it down with dramatic flair.

Bump! Bump! Bump!

The helmet, loose on his head, flew off and rolled under the chariot’s wheels. The sudden jolt nearly sent Big Cat tumbling off the chariot entirely.

“C-C-Commander Cat!” The soldier rushed forward to steady him.

“Ahem.” Big Cat cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity. He pointed at the soldier and said, “Not a word of this, okay?”

With a grand gesture, Big Cat grabbed the soldier’s helmet and placed it on his head, only for it to sit just as awkwardly. Still, with a wave of his pudgy hand, he commanded, “Charge!”

The battle was short and brutal.

The Lynx Tribe, far behind in technological advances, stood no chance against the elite forces of the Porcupine Tribe. In less than half an hour, the tribe had been completely overrun.

Big Cat, still basking in his role as commander, made time to visit the graves of his fallen friends—Ah Zhuang, Er Zhuzi, and San Pang. He lit incense in their honor, a solemn expression on his face.

Meanwhile, Lin Xian and Gao Wen made their way to Warehouse No. 1.

They broke down the door with ease.

Inside, everything was neatly organized. Gao Wen quickly located his storage locker and eagerly opened it.

Inside, they found several electronic storage devices—but all of them were damaged beyond repair.

The video recordings were gone, but that didn’t concern them much.

Gao Wen had been in cryosleep since around the year 2200. After the great disaster in 2400, modern technology wasn’t even capable of playing those devices.

For their time, the technology was too advanced. For Turing’s room, it was too outdated. Neither side could handle them.

But there was one intact item in the locker: Gao Wen’s “Memory Notebook.”

The two men stood there, staring at it for a long moment.

Lin Xian turned to Gao Wen. “What do you think is inside?”

“Probably just a diary,” Gao Wen shrugged. “Most people use notebooks to write down important memories, right? I’ve thought about it over the years, wondering what might be in mine. It’s probably just the usual stuff—important meetings, important people, important experiences… You know, the kind of thing everyone writes down.”

Lin Xian smiled, shaking his head. “If this were anyone else’s notebook, I might agree with you. But you’re different. You’re not like everyone else.”

Gao Wen raised an eyebrow, looking at Lin Xian with a hint of disbelief. “Me? Special?”

Lin Xian nodded. “You have the power to change the world, to shape its future. Sometimes, I even think that the future of humanity might rest in your hands. To me, you’re the one true god of science. And I still believe in you.”

Gao Wen chuckled, thinking Lin Xian was exaggerating. “Well, with all that faith in me, I’m almost afraid to open it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. Maybe you should do it. You open my Memory Notebook and see what’s inside.”

Lin Xian didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the fully sealed plastic notebook from the locker, dusting it off with a couple of gentle pats. Taking a deep breath, he opened the cover.

On the front page, written in neat, straight handwriting, was the title:

“Cracking the Side Effects of Cryosleep Memory Loss—The Brain Nerve Stimulation Helmet!”