光根电影院yy11111

Up until now, Lin Xian had seen nine different world lines—nine possible futures for humanity—each one connected to the nine dreamscapes he had experienced. These futures ranged from a world of stagnant technology to bizarre, twisted societies to a painful rebirth of civilization after disaster.

Were these futures good or bad? Did they bring happiness to humanity? It all depended on perspective. But one thing remained the same in each one: on August 29th, 2624, at precisely 00:42, a blinding white light destroyed everything.

Every time the world line shifted, Einstein would say, “Humanity has no future.” Lin Xian had always thought Einstein was referring to the destructive white light—what else could it be?

Without that blinding light, none of the nine futures seemed completely hopeless. Human history had always been a story of destruction and renewal; as long as humanity had time, anything was possible. Even the most oppressive future—like the Eighth Dream, where mechanical androids ruled over humans—could change. Maybe not immediately, but perhaps in a thousand years, things could be different. Extremes often lead to reversals. The more something is suppressed, the stronger the eventual pushback. Sin City’s power was growing, and it was only a matter of time before humanity regained control.

Take the Fifth Dream—civilization had fallen to its lowest point, with only a few hundred thousand survivors struggling to survive, barely better off than people in the Stone Age. But what did that matter? Humanity had clawed its way up from primitive times before; this was just another beginning. Without the white light, given a thousand years, places like Big Cat’s Village, Rhine Village, and Queen Town might rise again, becoming the centers of a reborn world, much like Donghai once was.

This was what puzzled Lin Xian the most. Shouldn’t the real reason behind humanity’s lack of a future be that blinding white light?

Einstein had just said, “For decades, I’ve worried about humanity’s future. I’ve seen people destroy themselves in countless ways, and I’ve watched civilizations fall for all kinds of reasons.”

Self-destruction? So many reasons for extinction? None of this matched the futures Lin Xian had seen in his dreamscapes. In every future he’d witnessed—except the still-uncertain Ninth Dream—humanity hadn’t destroyed itself. No matter how dire things became, there were always survivors, people struggling and fighting to stay alive. And except for the Ninth Dream, there was only ever one reason for humanity’s destruction: the blinding white light.

Contradictions. There were contradictions everywhere.

Summarizing it all, the contradictions came down to three key questions:

If Einstein believed that a future where humanity destroys itself was not a good future, then why was he now calling the Ninth Dream—where all of humanity perished—the most beautiful future?

Was the future Einstein saw really the same as the one Lin Xian had seen? Could he truly see the white light at 00:42?

If Einstein couldn’t see the white light, then why dismiss the First and Seventh Dreamscapes, which seemed to be the brightest and best possible worlds?

All of these inconsistencies led Lin Xian to wonder if the future Einstein saw was different from what he himself saw. And if their visions were different, then one had to be real, while the other was fake.

Who had seen the real future?

Lin Xian remembered his discussion with the super AI, VV. VV had implied that Lin Xian’s visions of the future and his understanding of the rules of spacetime were flawed, suggesting that his dreamscapes were fake—like scenes from a movie set. This prompted Lin Xian to share his concerns about verifying the dreamscapes with Chu An Qing, who had touched a spacetime particle and left him a small note.

“You’ll understand once you’re there,” she had told him.

The note and the spacetime particle had been stored together in a spacetime particle capturer—an old rice cooker—and locked away in an aluminum alloy safe at the Time Bank. Lin Xian thought there was no longer a need to verify the reality of his dreamscapes. After all those shifting dreamscapes and the information he had used to take down Turing and Copernicus, wasn’t that enough proof that the dreamscapes were real?

But Einstein’s words brought back the question of whether the dreamscapes were real. Everything was muddled again. Lin Xian wanted to open that safe. He and CC needed to understand the truth behind what VV had said, and he wanted to decipher the clues Chu An Qing had left on that small note.

But there was a problem—he couldn’t find it.

The catastrophic event of 2400 had wiped out all of Donghai City. He and CC hadn’t seen the safe in ages. And now, the Ninth Dream had brought another calamity, pushing humanity even closer to extinction. The hope of finding that aluminum alloy safe seemed almost impossible.

Lin Xian was unable to confirm whose future was real—his or Einstein’s.

Logically, Einstein’s visions seemed more credible. He had faced years of questioning from the other geniuses and had never been wrong. He had predicted comets and even Lin Xian’s death date with precision. Unlike Lin Xian, who could only see up to August 28th, 2624, Einstein could see every minute and every second that lay ahead.

This made Lin Xian uneasy. Was it really the worst-case scenario?

Were his dreamscapes false?

He needed to find a way to verify this. He needed to understand what Einstein had seen in the future.

“Rhine, there’s no need to be so anxious,” said the elderly man wearing the Einstein mask. He sat calmly at the top of the platform, looking down at them.

“Even though this is our final gathering, each of you still has the chance to ask me a question, according to the rules. Please return to your seat and wait for the questioning segment to begin.”

Lin Xian let out a slow breath and returned to his seat. It was clear that Einstein had more to say.

Once Lin Xian was seated, Einstein looked around at the four members still present and continued, “What kind of future is the best future?”

He smiled faintly. “This is the final question you all must answer before joining the Genius Club. Whether you answered ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the question ‘Does humanity have a future?’ you all needed to respond to this next one.

“Everyone’s answers were different, but all were valid. Despite your vastly different ideologies and methods, you all shared one unspoken agreement—that only a future where humanity exists is a true future.

“Thus, when trying to save the world and find a path to the future, the most fundamental thing we must ensure is humanity’s survival.

“But the future I saw couldn’t even meet that basic condition. In nearly all those futures, humanity was on the brink of extinction, caused by its own self-destruction.

“This is a harsh truth. I couldn’t think of a solution, and that’s why I founded the Genius Club—to rely on all of you, hoping that together we could help humanity overcome this challenge. At the very least, I wanted to create a chance for humanity to escape destruction.

“And now, someone has finally done it. This is not the work of one individual, but the result of the efforts of all the geniuses involved. History works that way—every step, every footprint carries meaning, and every small movement can lead us to that bright future. None of this could happen without each butterfly flapping its wings.

“So, have no doubts, my fellow geniuses. The brightest and most beautiful future for humanity is the one you have all worked to create. Hold onto your beliefs and confidence, so that the path ahead stays on course.”

Lin Xian wasn’t sure if the others understood, but he did. The current world line—0.0001764—was, according to Einstein, the most perfect one. Einstein would never explicitly say which genius’s plan had succeeded. Revealing that could lead to arguments and suspicions, which might cause the world line to shift once again.

But it didn’t make sense to Lin Xian. How could Einstein be so sure that the world line wouldn’t change?

Lin Xian still had a few cards to play.

When Du Yao completed the Brain Neural Electric Helmet, wouldn’t that alter spacetime? And if Lin Xian gave Liu Feng the correct plans for the Time Travel Machine, wouldn’t the world line shift again?

Suddenly, Lin Xian thought of something Yellow Finch had said—”Historical Lockdown.”

He hadn’t understood it at the time. Was it possible that Einstein was now so confident because history had been fully “locked down”? Was the future also locked, ensuring the world line could no longer change?

But logically, that didn’t make sense. There was no certainty that Du Yao could create the helmet. Lin Xian could wait or drive her away, let her die in a war. The future was still uncertain; it could still be influenced. Where did Einstein’s confidence come from?

Had Lin Xian underestimated Einstein, or was Einstein underestimating him?

There were too many questions, too many doubts. Lin Xian felt like a fly trapped in a room, bouncing against the walls, unable to find an exit. He needed to reconsider the question he’d ask at this final meeting—perhaps the key to everything lay in this last chance to question Einstein.

A moment later, Musk raised his hand, looking at Einstein.

“You’ve said a lot, but you still haven’t told us what this so-called ‘brightest future’ actually looks like,” Musk said. “But even if we asked, you’d probably refuse to answer for the sake of protecting the future’s course or because it involves other members. So I just want to confirm: is the rule still the same for this final meeting, the final question?”

“Yes,” Einstein replied, nodding. “The rules are the rules. Even though this is our last meeting, it doesn’t mean the Genius Club is ending or that your obligations are over. The terms are clearly written in the charter: regardless of life or death, loyalty or changing beliefs, your seat at the Genius Club will always remain, and the door will always be open to you.

“Therefore, even for this final question, the three principles still apply: no questions about other members, no questions about the Genius Club itself, and the question must be specific enough.

“However, there is a slight change in how the questioning will be conducted.” Einstein straightened up, his eyes fixed ahead. “To further ensure the stability of the future, this time, each of you will ask your question in a private one-on-one setting.”

This announcement didn’t seem to faze Newton or Gauss, but both Lin Xian and Musk reacted noticeably, though they tried not to show it to each other.

One-on-one questioning meant they wouldn’t hear each other’s questions and answers. But it also meant that nobody else would hear theirs.

For Newton, this wasn’t rare—as the second member of the Genius Club, he often had the chance to ask questions when Copernicus wasn’t present. But for Lin Xian and Musk, a private questioning opportunity was incredibly rare.

Especially for Lin Xian.

The Millennial Stake, the Universal Constant 42, the blinding white light—he could finally ask about things he couldn’t discuss openly, without worrying about others listening in.

But now everything had changed. With only one chance to ask a question, he needed to make a choice. He wanted to know about the Millennial Stake, the truth behind the Universal Constant 42, whether his dreamscapes were real, and whether Einstein could see the white light.

Which should he choose?

“Now then, let the questioning begin, my esteemed geniuses,” Einstein announced, standing up from his tall, dark wooden chair.

A heavy red curtain behind him slowly parted, revealing an ornate red door hidden behind it. As the curtain fully opened, the door swung open slowly, without any visible force.

Behind the door lay a small room with only a tea table and two soft, leather armchairs. It was where the private questioning would take place.

“Newton, come with me,” Einstein said, before turning around and walking into the room without waiting.

From the front row, Newton—appearing as a young man in his virtual avatar—stood up and bowed slightly to Gauss, Musk, and Lin Xian.

“Goodbye, my fellow geniuses,” Newton said softly. “What a long and yet fleeting journey this has been. I hope to see you again in the future. I also hope I never do.”

With that, he straightened up and followed Einstein into the room, closing the door behind them with a soft thud.

The red door closed, and Newton turned to face Einstein, who was already seated.

“Take a seat, my old friend,” Einstein said, extending his bony hand to the chair across from him. “This will be our final meeting. What question do you wish to ask?”

Newton slowly walked over and sat down, smiling faintly. “I don’t actually need to ask any questions,” he said. “It’s not that one-on-one opportunities are rare for me—it’s that I’m absolutely certain…”

He leaned back in his chair, looking straight at the masked man before him. “I have won.”

“I’m different from the other geniuses,” Newton continued. “I know things they don’t, things only Copernicus and I had a chance to learn. Apart from Rhine, I can guess every other member’s plan.

“That’s the advantage of joining early—before so many questions became off-limits. Copernicus and I nearly asked everything we could. Now, with Copernicus gone, only I know the real truth. Only I know the secrets. Only I know what humanity truly faces.

“So, obviously, Einstein, I’m the only one who can save the world and protect humanity’s future.”

He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “You know better than anyone that I’m not boasting. I’m not being arrogant. What you told Copernicus and me at the beginning is now beyond what anyone else can ask.

“That’s why the newer members—for all their brilliance—are fighting a losing battle. Without knowing the truth, they’ll never grasp the critical points. It’s tragic, really.

“So, Einstein, all I need now is one thing confirmed. My final question is this—Did humanity, in the end, go extinct?”

Einstein slowly raised his head, sitting upright. He shook his head softly.

“No,” he said.

Newton smiled in satisfaction. He stood up slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “As one who sees the future, Einstein, you said this was our last meeting, so it must be our last. We will never meet again.

“These decades have been long, yet fleeting, and I must admit, I’m a bit sad to say goodbye. Still, all things must end, old friend. I wish you the best.”

Newton gave a gentleman’s bow to Einstein, and then, with a motion like removing a pair of VR goggles, his avatar turned transparent and slowly faded away.

The heavy red door to the private meeting room creaked open once more, and Einstein’s calm, authoritative voice echoed through the main hall.

“Gauss, your turn.”

Gauss, a small-framed man wearing his signature mask, slowly got up from his seat, trembling slightly. He looked over at Musk and Lin Xian, who were seated across from each other.

“This time… can you… not interrupt me?” he asked softly.

Lin Xian and Musk nodded. It was the final gathering, after all; they were willing to give him this courtesy. They both also wanted to hear what this mysterious man, who had been repeatedly denied a chance to ask his question, finally wanted to say.

“Equality,” Gauss began, his voice soft. “There is no absolute equality in this world, not even relative equality. But… everything has an original, primal equality.”

He nodded to Musk and Lin Xian in turn.

“Goodbye, Musk. Goodbye, Rhine.”

“Goodbye, Gauss,” Musk replied.

“Until we meet again,” Lin Xian said.

Gauss smiled faintly at Lin Xian’s words and shook his head. “I’m afraid we won’t meet again,” he said.

He turned away and walked slowly into the private meeting room, pulling the red door closed behind him.

Thud.

“Please, sit, Gauss,” Einstein gestured to the chair across from him.

Gauss slowly moved over and sat down. After a moment, he spoke, his words measured and deliberate.

“So… have I succeeded, Einstein?”

Einstein remained still. “Gauss, is that your question?”

“No, no,” Gauss said, shaking his head quickly. “I’m just… talking. Think of it as me talking to myself.”

He paused, then continued. “I know I’ve succeeded,” he said, his voice growing stronger.

“Because, just a few days ago, I finally made up my mind—I made a decision that can’t be undone, can’t be taken back, can’t be fixed, can’t be changed.

“I’ve fully understood now, Einstein.”

He looked up, his gaze meeting the sorrowful eyes of Einstein’s mask.

“True equality… is only found in equal death.”