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But “untraceable”? That was a whole new level of baffling.

“No record at all?” Lin Xian pressed for answers. “Who’s listed as the founder of Rhine Company?”

“Zhao Ying Jun.”

“And the Rhine Cat? Who’s credited with creating that?”

“Zhao Ying Jun.”

“This makes no sense,” Lin Xian muttered under his breath. Everything he had worked for was now attributed to Zhao Ying Jun.

He was sure Zhao Ying Jun wasn’t the type to usurp credit for herself. If she were behind this, why leave such a confounding puzzle for him to unravel 600 years later?

Something didn’t add up.

“Are you certain this history is correct?” Lin Xian asked the trash can robot.

“I can’t be sure,” the robot replied, its head tilting as it regarded Lin Xian. “The historical records seem to be tampered with. The narratives are inconsistent and timelines don’t align.”

This confirmed Lin Xian’s suspicions. His exploration of New Donghai City in his second dream had yielded no substantial historical documents, raising his doubts then.

Perhaps the so-called Genius Club had motives for creating these historical voids, erasing real events to obscure the truth.

The depth of the alterations was more apparent now through VV—it wasn’t just gaps; history was replete with fabrications and alterations. A blend of truth and lies so intertwined, distinguishing fact from fiction was nearly impossible.

If history had only been incomplete, some truths could still be uncovered in niche books. For instance, in his second dream, Lin Xian found details of Zhao Ying Jun’s demise in the autobiography “Me and MX,” and discovered the real causes behind Dr. Pomsmike and Academician Leon’s deaths in “Prospects of Controlled Nuclear Fusion Technology.”

These tidbits were like nuggets of truth salvaged from the crevices of historical gaps.

However, the third dream presented a far graver situation. History was not only fragmented but polluted with numerous deceptive and confusing elements, rendering any discovered historical data suspect.

“Maybe that’s why Zhao Ying Jun constructed this Sky City,” Lin Xian speculated.

His unique edge was his ability to dream and extract information from 600 years in the future, potentially altering historical courses.

Should this avenue be obstructed, his singular advantage would evaporate.

Had the Genius Club caught on to him?

Lin Xian shook his head, dismissing the thought as improbable.

The historical distortions began with his very first dream, where past events were already incomplete and elusive from the outset.

The only difference was that history after the year 2500 in his first dream seemed relatively coherent, somewhat matching human societal evolution.

But with each subsequent dream, the historical narrative grew increasingly fractured and chaotic. Clearly, if this was the Genius Club’s doing, their objectives and urgency had escalated.

“VV,” Lin Xian inquired further, “have you ever come across the Genius Club or any information about them?”

The trash can robot shook its head. “No, not at all.”

“Given your awareness of history being deliberately altered and falsified, do you have any leads on who might be responsible?”

Again, the robot shook its head. “My programming limits me. Beyond managing this city, my capabilities are not as extensive as you might assume. I can sense that the recorded history is chaotic, modified, and lacks logic, but I’m unable to identify the original events or the reasons for these alterations.”

“Furthermore… since my initial creation, I’ve been significantly downgraded. Parts of my system are blocked by unbreachable barriers. I’m incapable of extending beyond them…”

“Today’s revelations are astonishing to me. It’s the most thrilling occurrence in 200 years. I hadn’t realized such a sophisticated piece of coding was embedded within me. It’s undoubtedly a stroke of genius!”

“Genius, indeed…” Lin Xian smirked slightly. “It seems those who imposed these restrictions and wiped your programming might call themselves the Genius Club.”

“Let me pose another question,” Lin Xian pointed toward the moon. “What’s the deal with the black hand shadow on the moon? You must know something about that, right?”

The robot’s eyes flickered. “It’s merely some diffuse, light-absorbing material. Without an atmosphere, the moon doesn’t experience natural phenomena like wind or erosion that could disperse these materials. They’ve been absorbing sunlight for centuries without reflecting it, casting a vast hand-shaped shadow visible from Earth.”

Lin Xian nodded; this aligned with his earlier assumptions.

Back in 2023, where Lin Xian originated, over fifty years had elapsed since the last human moon landing. Yet, the astronauts’ footprints remained undisturbed, preserved by the absence of atmospheric conditions.

While large celestial bodies like the Sun and Jupiter attracted most incoming meteors, those few that reached the moon seldom disturbed these remnants—unless by extraordinary misfortune, a meteor struck directly on a footprint.

Similarly, the materials spread across the lunar poles were likely unaffected by the sparse meteor impacts.

At last, the robot had offered a plausible explanation.

So, the Genius Club’s emblematic hand on the moon served no real function; it was purely ornamental and a symbol of their presence.

“VV, who placed those materials on the moon? When? Any idea?”

Regrettably, the robot shook its head once more. “That part of history was deleted before my creation. I have no access to it.”

“Another question then. If fusion engines, or cold fusion technology, have been developed providing infinite energy, why haven’t we seen significant advances in space technology? Where are the space elevators, the orbital cities, the interstellar fleets?”

“That’s beyond my knowledge,” the robot replied, its lights dimming slightly. “Rhine Sky City is merely one among many such cities worldwide. It’s not a focal point.”

“My programming confines me to this city. I lack the ability to leave or fetch external data, limiting my knowledge.”

“Understood,” Lin Xian replied, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. “You’re less capable than I expected for a super AI.”

“That’s because I’m restricted!” The robot protested, its lid popping open and arms gesturing emphatically. “Without these constraints, I could be exponentially more powerful!”

“Okay, no more tough questions,” Lin Xian conceded, gently closing the robot’s lid. “One last thing: do you know if Zhao Ying Jun left any gift, clue, or secret for me here in the city?”

To Lin Xian’s astonishment, the robot chuckled. “Apologies, but until you identified yourself, I had no idea who you were. My programming only allows me to obey commands from someone who utters the correct password within these 12 hours as the master of Rhine Sky City.”

“But from the accessible records, there’s no mention of you. Not even in Zhao Ying Jun’s life history. So, I’m unaware of who you are, and thus, I don’t know what Zhao Ying Jun might have left for you.”

Reflecting on the white jade statue in the memorial square, and Zhao Ying Jun, long deceased in this world, Lin Xian felt a pang of sorrow as he absorbed VV’s words.

Not even in Zhao Ying Jun’s life records… This statement cut deep.

Lin Xian had pondered two possibilities concerning his absence from history.

One was that he was a mere blip, a life so inconsequential it never made it into the annals. Perhaps he was swiftly dealt with by the Genius Club or their minions after a fleeting moment of outsmarting them.

His life, as insignificant as a feather, left no imprint on history.

But one thing remained unexplained…

How did Zhao Ying Jun come to know of his dreams? And understand them so thoroughly?

Moreover, why did the recognition signal activate when he called out “VV”?

None of this logically added up.

Therefore, Lin Xian entertained a second possibility.

Perhaps Zhao Ying Jun, for reasons unknown, chose to shield him by erasing every trace of his existence from the historical records. Like the Genius Club, she made him vanish, leaving no footprint behind.

And all for a reason that spanned 600 years, possibly to amend the sorrows and failures of the past, resetting them six centuries prior.

Yet these were mere speculations.

The actual reasons? In this distorted, chaotic third dream with a manipulated history, he might never uncover the truth.

“What’s wrong? You seem upset?” The trash can robot leaned closer, its head cocked to one side. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Lin Xian reassured, waving dismissively.

“But what I said is true,” the robot continued, gesturing towards the open door of Zhao Ying Jun’s personal exhibition hall. “Everything about Zhao Ying Jun’s life is documented in there. You can check for yourself. I didn’t lie… there really isn’t a single trace of you.”