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Lin Xian turned and left the manor, his mind focused on the mission ahead.

“Home,” he muttered as he reclined in the back seat of the car, closing his eyes to rest.

A little later, he arrived home. Professional electricians from the Rhine Company had already rewired his house, and most of the appliances had been replaced. Aside from a few large items yet to arrive, the house was renewed and ready for living.

Lin Xian ordered takeout to fill his stomach. Only then did he realize he hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days. He had been constantly on the move—from the capital to Qufu, then back to the capital, and finally to Donghai City—flying back and forth, even trekking into deep mountains with Gao Yang to dig up graves.

These activities had been a way to numb himself. But after meeting Chu Shan He today, he felt more relaxed and determined.

Just as he had promised Chu Shan He, no matter where Chu An Qing was or who she had become, he would find her and bring her back. But saying it wasn’t enough; he needed a plan to break through the current situation and make progress.

After eating, Lin Xian cleaned up and went to his bedroom. He turned on the desk lamp and sat at the desk he hadn’t used in a long time, deep in thought.

First, the issue with the Millennium Stake came to mind. He had already considered this during the drive home. The interval between the Millennium Stakes was 24 years, but each stake disappeared when the individual turned 20. This meant there was a 4-year gap between one stake’s disappearance and the next’s birth. This puzzled him.

If the continuity of the stakes was the goal, a pregnancy only takes 10 months, so a new stake could be born shortly after the previous one disappeared. This would make the cycle tighter, allowing more stakes to be planted over 1,000 years.

This detail made Lin Xian wonder. If the stakes were meant to lock history, how much history could one stake actually secure? For instance, Zhang Yu Qian disappeared on January 21, 2000, and Chu An Qing was born on March 28, 2004, disappearing again on March 28, 2024. There was no stake between January 21, 2000, and March 28, 2004. What did this gap mean? Was history locked during this time or not?

“In theory, locked history shouldn’t change, but I’ve been altering history all along,” Lin Xian mused, twirling a pen. “So, the gap must mean history can still be altered before a stake is planted. But this lock doesn’t apply to those in this timeline.”

He realized that the Millennium Stakes weren’t preventing people in this timeline from changing history, but rather, they were preventing time travelers from the future from altering the past.

History locking was meant to prevent these future time travelers from changing history. This thought was reinforced by what had happened to Yellow Finch. She tried to tell him about the stakes but was silenced by an invisible force, becoming almost transparent as if being punished.

Yellow Finch had mentioned that this only happened when “time-space exclusion” and “history locking” occurred simultaneously. This was the second law of time she was teaching him—without a name, just a phenomenon. He needed to think, extend, and summarize it himself.

However, Lin Xian still felt he didn’t fully understand this unnamed law. It seemed similar to time-space exclusion, where time travelers’ actions that exceeded temporal elasticity would result in backlash. Even without doing anything extreme, they would still face exclusion and harm—blue eyes, weakened bodies, etc.

“Is there a significant difference between these two laws?” Lin Xian pondered. Yellow Finch’s forced silence and stillness could also be explained by temporal elasticity and exclusion. Why mention it separately then?

Perhaps the key was in the “forced” aspect. Normal time-space exclusion could be resisted or endured, but this forced exclusion allowed no resistance. Violating it was like being a chick caught in a hand, unable to move or speak.

“Avoidance,” Lin Xian recalled that at Time Bank, Brother Wang mentioned the company’s policy of avoiding staff presence when customers stored or retrieved items. This “avoidance principle” was similar to Yellow Finch’s forced silence and immobility.

“Maybe I should name this new law,” he thought, considering its forced and avoidant nature. He uncapped his pen and wrote on a blank sheet of paper:

[Forced Avoidance]

This was the seventh time law, following the butterfly effect, temporal changes, change anchors, temporal elasticity, time-space exclusion, and history locking.

Despite naming it, Lin Xian felt unsure about his understanding. It seemed incomplete, and he didn’t know what mastering this law would bring him. Yet, recalling Yellow Finch’s painful demonstration of this law, he knew it was crucial. She had said, “Perhaps this is the last thing I can teach you.”

Click.

Lin Xian capped his pen. Did she not have much time left? Would Yellow Finch vanish like Chu An Qing, turning into blue stardust? Or was there another fate awaiting her?

Thinking of Yellow Finch reminded him of Zhao Ying Jun. They were similar yet different. Lin Xian suspected their relationship was like that between Big Cat Face in the first dream and Big Cat Face in the second, or between Li Cheng in the first and second dreamscapes.

Were they the same person? Clearly, they were. But different experiences and environments had led to different lives and personalities. Though similar, they couldn’t be considered the same person.

Lin Xian saw Yellow Finch and Zhao Ying Jun as similar—biologically the same, but living different lives, resulting in different individuals.

“Mirror,” he muttered, recalling the old puzzle.

What was the mirror? He stood up and went to the bathroom, facing the large mirror above the sink. Staring at his reflection, he thought about Yellow Finch’s words, “Look in the mirror more, Lin Xian. There’s something you want in there.”

He remembered the AI VV in the third dream, who said, “I think it’s literal—just look in the mirror more.”

Even Zhao Ying Jun had said, “If it were me, I’d think the answer is in the mirror. You should look more.”

Alright. If VV and Zhao Ying Jun both said the answer was literal, he should look more. He had tried before, staring for three hours straight, and repeatedly within an hour. He had exhausted all methods because he wanted to solve the mirror puzzle and get what Yellow Finch mentioned.

“Alright,” Lin Xian, now exhausted, decided to try again. He went back to his bedroom and checked the bedside clock—19:21. He took the clock to the bathroom and placed it on the sink, then grabbed a chair from the living room and sat before the mirror.

Yawning, he washed his face to wake up and then fixed his eyes on his reflection. How long should he look this time? The longest before was three hours, so today, he’d go longer.

Lin Xian leaned forward, right elbow on his knee, hand supporting his chin, staring at himself. He blinked, and so did his reflection. He yawned, and the mirror image followed.

He resisted the urge to check his phone, while the reflection mimicked his hesitation. He stretched his neck, scanning the mirror’s edges. The large mirror covered the entire wall behind the sink, which made him wonder if it could be like in cartoons, where mirrors hid another world. But that was silly, he knew.

Another yawn. His reflection did the same. Running around all day had left him exhausted. If not for sitting here, he’d be asleep by now.

He glanced at the clock—20:07. The reflection did the same. Almost an hour had passed. Too slow, he thought, sighing. The reflection sighed back, perfectly synced.

“Keep going,” he encouraged himself and his reflection.

Time passed…

The sound of water pipes echoed from upstairs as people prepared for bed. The noise made the staring contest with his reflection feel more real. He glanced at the clock again—23:48. Four and a half hours. “Should I keep going?” he asked aloud, yawning. His reflection did the same.

Both Lin Xian and his reflection were getting too tired, struggling to keep their eyes open. “Just a bit longer,” they both whispered, squinting to stay awake.

Gradually, the noise from upstairs ceased as everyone settled for the night. It was quiet now. Lin Xian felt like a fool, staring at the mirror for five hours. Another yawn, the largest yet, revealing their tonsils.

Exhausted, Lin Xian decided enough was enough. He checked the clock—00:42.

“Enough. Time for bed,” he said, standing up.

In that instant, a chill ran down his spine. He stepped back, knocking over the chair, pressing his back against the cold tiles. He stared wide-eyed at his reflection—it hadn’t stood up!

Though he had risen, his reflection remained seated, propping its chin on its hand, smiling slowly.

Breathing heavily, Lin Xian tried to retreat but had nowhere to go. The silent reflection finally stood, raising a finger to its lips—

Shhh~

Though silent, the gesture was clear. The reflection then revealed a red card from behind its back, extending it out of the mirror.

It was an invitation Lin Xian knew well, sealed with a red wax stamp. The reflection’s hand moved closer, pushing the card through the mirror, placing it on the sink.

Lin Xian stared at the golden letters on the card’s back:

Genius Club