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You are cordially invited to… witness… the unveiling of a new product…

Included below were a URL and a QR code.”

Lin Xian extracted his phone and scanned the code, which redirected him to the Apple 2023 Spring Launch Event page.

“Damn it,” he whispered under his breath.

His efforts to infiltrate Zhao Ying Jun’s office now seemed futile; the invitation was nothing but a clever ruse.

In recent days, Lin Xian had harbored doubts about the legitimacy of the invitation and its recipient, Zhao Ying Jun, whose credentials appeared mismatched for such an event. The thought of an ancient, clandestine organization distributing invitations in such a haphazard manner was highly unlikely.

Only now did he acknowledge the invitation’s falseness, feeling a sting of foolishness.

“That woman. ‘Yellow Finch,\'” he muttered, contemplating the clearly fabricated name. Names, whether genuine or not, are mere labels.

It was evident now that this woman’s intention in delivering the fake invitation was to pique his curiosity about the Genius Club. Regardless of whether Zhao Ying Jun disclosed the invitation’s contents or he discovered them on his own, the outcome would be the same—the mention of the Genius Club aligned too neatly with his recent dream.

But the lingering question was her identity and her motives. She had professed neutrality, yet she offered neither aid nor information.

Lin Xian paused, reflecting on the residual warmth of the couch—a sign of her prolonged presence.

Initially, he mistook her for Zhao Ying Jun during a flash of lightning. Although they shared similarities, subtle differences marked their appearances. Zhao Ying Jun possessed an elegant oval face, while this woman’s features were rounder, her eyes a striking blue amidst distinctly Chinese features, suggesting a mixed heritage. Her mature demeanor contrasted with Zhao Ying Jun’s youthful 24 years.

“Who is she?” Lin Xian pondered, unable to deduce her identity.

From their conversation, several facts were clear:

She was intimately acquainted with him, aware of his secrets and his theories on temporal mechanics.

The invitation, albeit counterfeit, bore a genuine wax seal—evidence of a darker influence from the dream world.

She promised a future meeting at the Genius Club, hinting at her membership.

Her intentions did not seem malevolent; had they been, he might not have survived their encounter.

Perhaps the Genius Club was not involved in Xu Yun’s demise. If she was privy to his secrets, she would know about his data transfer to Xu Yun. Had she intended harm, sparing him would not make sense.

Was the true perpetrator someone else?

And what of Big Cat Face’s father’s untimely death? Was the Genius Club uninvolved?

Lin Xian grappled with these thoughts, his once orderly theories now a jumble of confusion.

“Too complicated,” he sighed, returning the bogus invitation to Zhao Ying Jun’s drawer.

“Insufficient evidence, neither in reality nor in dreams. We’re all clueless, and misinformation abounds.”

Echoing Yellow Finch’s earlier advice seemed prudent now: “Securing a legitimate invitation from the Genius Club is the simplest path to the truth.”

With a decisive thud, he shut the drawer, placed the Ferrari key inside, exited the secured room, and cast a final glance at the moonlit desk and the recently occupied couch. He then closed the door behind him.

Bang!

The following day, Zhao Ying Jun entered her office through the double security doors, her eyes adjusting to the immaculately tidy space. Lin Xian, who had arrived early to erase any traces of the previous night and to ensure nothing was inadvertently left behind, was now watering the plants.

“Remarkable… your efficiency is impressive,” she commented.

Lin Xian smiled, placing the watering can aside. He had tidied the office thoroughly—sweeping, wiping down surfaces, and organizing—efforts befitting a diligent part-time secretary. He planned to address any remaining tasks after the New Year.

“Do you need these?” he gestured towards a pile of miscellaneous items on the coffee table, the fake invitation lying atop.

Zhao Ying Jun skimmed through the pile, then shook her head dismissively. “It’s all redundant. Dispose of it as you see fit. The company is officially on holiday now. You should leave early to avoid the holiday traffic.”

“Understood.”

As he disposed of the trash, Lin Xian retained the counterfeit invitation, considering its potential insights.

At the train station, Lin Xian felt a surge of anticipation. Although Donghai and Hang City were merely a short distance apart, he hadn’t visited home in a year. Laden with fine wine, cigarettes, and an assortment of gifts for his parents, he prepared for a festive reunion. At home, he skirted around specifics of his financial success, knowing his parents’ modest inclinations.

He proposed buying them a city apartment for retirement, but they preferred the familiarity of their neighborhood. Nonetheless, he left them with a bank card, which his mother swiftly concealed.

With the advent of New Year’s Eve, Lin Xian immersed himself in the festive preparations, a brief respite from his convoluted pursuits. As the celebrations commenced, he hoped to avoid any unintended consequences that might ripple through time.

As the clock struck midnight, fireworks illuminated the sky, heralding the traditional Chinese New Year. His phone vibrated with a message from Zhao Ying Jun: “Happy New Year.”

Simple yet timely. As he prepared to respond, his phone buzzed with additional messages from colleagues, all commenting on Zhao’s unprecedented New Year’s greeting.

Recognizing it as a group message, Lin Xian replied courteously: “Happy New Year to you too!”

He then stepped outside, the sky ablaze with colors, as Hang City celebrated the lifting of the fireworks ban. Amidst the spectacle, another message from Zhao Ying Jun appeared on his phone, unnoticed as it blended into the night’s festivities, the screen eventually fading to black.