Super God: Vector Control, I Redefine Newton

Lin En, a gifted university student in Earth’s scientific research, travels to a supernatural world. Here, powerful beings abound, angels and demons clash incessantly, and he begins his journey as a humble, underdog, despised figure. However, he unexpectedly acquires a special ability, transforming the world into colorful vector lines, visually and manipulating force and speed. This power empowers him to fight with a scientific mindset, reverse-engineer data, and develop cutting-edge technology. From a despised underdog, he rises to a formidable presence, widening the gap between himself and others. Ultimately, he will redefine the rules of the universe with his vector manipulation, defeat the Lord of the Void, and become the “First Law” of the universe.

Super God: Vector Control, I Redefine Newton
Chapter 1: Transmigration and Awakening of the Vector Eye
There was a loud bang, as if the glass of the entire universe was smashed to the ground.
Lin Cheng’s mind exploded, his vision turning white, even darkness vanishing. The lab alarms, the smell of burning circuitry, and the final “beep” of that damn particle collider before it went haywire—all were reduced to echoes in the vacuum of space. He felt like he was falling, but couldn’t tell if he was headfirst or feet-first. His skin burned, and his ears buzzed like a hundred thousand mosquitoes at a rock concert.
Then, “bang”!
My back feels cold and my buttocks hurt.
He fell into a puddle.
Raindrops dripped down the broken water pipe at the entrance of the alley. The moment he opened his eyes, the world had changed.
Not blurry, not ghosting, but… torn down.
Each raindrop trailed a blue arrow, pointing straight down, labeled “9.8 m/s².” The cracks on the wall glowed red, spreading like a spiderweb, each line pulsing with the message “Compressive Stress: 0.3 MPa.” A sparrow flew overhead, its wings fanning out two golden vortices, a small label dangling from its wake: “v=6.2 m/s, a=1.1 m/s².”
“Am I…burned silly?” Lin En murmured.
He raised his hand, and a drop of rain was about to hit the tip of his nose. He subconsciously put his hand out to block it.
At that moment, he “touched” the momentum of the drop of water.
It wasn’t a touch, it was a feeling. It was as if the drop of water was no longer water, but a tiny arrow, bearing direction and speed, hurtling towards his face. With a thought, he gently pushed with his finger—and the drop of water made a strange turn in the air, flew away at an angle, and hit the corner of the wall.
“What the hell?”
He widened his eyes, looked down at his palms, and then looked up at the sky.
“Can I…change direction?”
The alley was too narrow, and overhead was filled with rusty water pipes and broken awnings. He took a deep breath and stared at his center of gravity—a small red dot hovering just below his navel. He gritted his teeth and raised his mind sharply: “Get up!”
The body feels lighter.
My feet are off the ground.
He was suspended in mid-air, thirty centimeters off the ground, the hem of his white coat fluttering slightly, and mud spots on his sweatpants were still dripping.
“Newton can’t control me!” he grinned.
The smile didn’t last for two seconds before my temple suddenly felt like it was being drilled by an electric drill.
“Buzz!”
Vector lines flashed before my eyes, and my head felt like it was about to split open. My nose felt hot, and a streak of blood dripped down the tip of my nose, hitting the bluestone slab and drawing a crooked arc.
“Fuck… three seconds… just three seconds…” He stumbled to the ground, leaned against the wall and retched twice. He reached into his pocket and wiped his black-framed glasses. He pulled out a small notebook from his inner pocket and wrote tremblingly:
“Vector control initial test record:
Ability to manipulate single macro vectors (such as gravity, momentum)
Duration ≤ 3 seconds; exceeding the limit may cause increased intracranial pressure and nose bleeding
The accuracy of your thoughts is positively correlated with your mental strength—currently about the same as a poor student pulling an all-nighter before an exam.”
He closed the book. On the cover were crooked words: “Humanoid Physics Simulator V0.1”. There was also a picture of Newton’s head in the corner, crossed out with a red pen.
“I calculated this wave.” He wiped the blood from his nose and muttered softly, “It’s just that the calculation is a bit expensive.”
Suddenly, footsteps were heard at the entrance of the alley, along with the scraping sound of a metal mop.
“Hurry! She’s running this way!”
“Damn, this policewoman is really good at chasing!”
“When she crosses the alley, I’ll hit her on the back of the head with a steel pipe!”
Lin Shang shrank his neck and looked out.
Three thugs, steel pipes in hand, were perched on the opposite rooftop, staring at the alley entrance. At the far end, a ponytailed policewoman approached with a gun pointed. Her tactical uniform fitted her tightly, her eyes cold enough to freeze flames.
It’s Qilin.
Lin Shang didn’t know her, but just by looking at her aura of “I will blow the head off anyone who dares to touch me”, he knew that this girl was not someone to be trifled with.
But she didn’t notice that the rusty steel pipe above her head had been loosened by one of the thugs.
“Three, two, one—go!”
The steel pipe fell from a height of five meters, drawing a parabola and heading straight for the back of Qilin’s head.
Lin En’s pupils shrank.
In his eyes, the steel pipe was no longer an iron rod, but a thick red vector line, carrying a data stream of “m=8.3kg, v=9.1m/s, momentum direction: 35° depression angle”, approaching the target at high speed.
0.3 seconds.
He had no time to think and acted instinctively.
He locked onto the steel pipe’s center of mass with his mind, and made a feint with his right hand—”Turn 15 degrees!”
The vector line trembled slightly.
It seemed as if there was an invisible hand in the air, gently pushing the direction of the steel pipe’s momentum at the moment it fell.
“Whoosh—”
The steel pipe rubbed Qilin’s ponytail and was nailed into the wall, making a loud “clang” sound and splashing gravel.
Qilin turned around suddenly and raised the gun, but there was no one on the roof.
She narrowed her eyes and took out her sniper scope to replay the moment just now.
The mirror reflected an image: standing on the edge of the roof was a young man in a white coat and black-framed glasses, with a grin on his face, as if to say, “I’ve calculated this one.”
Next frame, signal snow.
Monitoring blind spots.
She frowned, put the camera away, and cursed under her breath: “Psycho.”
At this moment, Lin Shang was covering his nose and jumping down from the roof next door. He stumbled when he landed and almost fell into the trash can.
“It hurts, it hurts…” He leaned against the box, his head felt like it was being stewed in a pressure cooker, and his nose bled uncontrollably.
With trembling hands, he flipped open the notebook and added a line below the previous entry:
“Actual test: Successfully deflected the momentum of a macroscopic object (steel pipe, m=8.3kg), with a deflection angle of 15°. A sudden rise in intracranial pressure and accompanying nosebleeds. Conclusion: Saving the life is possible, but at the cost of a nosebleed.”
He took a breath and looked up at the sky.
The rain was still falling, and each drop dragged a blue arrow, like countless tiny codes, flowing before his eyes.
“So… now I can see the underlying code of the world?” He grinned, a bit foolishly. “Doesn’t that mean… the humanoid physics simulator is officially online?”
The sound of sirens was heard at the entrance of the alley, and the gangsters were caught in one fell swoop.
Lin Shang stuffed the notebook back into his pocket, touched his still bleeding nose, and muttered softly, “Next time I have to calculate accurately, don’t let myself die first.”
He stood up with the help of the wall, his white coat was stained with mud and blood, and his sweatpants were wet and stuck to his calves.
In the distance, the city lights blurred into a halo in the rain.
He didn’t know this was Juxia City, he didn’t know about the Super Seminary, and he didn’t know that he was about to be involved in a war across the galaxy.
He only knew that in that second, he changed the fate of a steel pipe.
And from that moment on, his fate changed 15 degrees.
“Newton can’t control me.” He slapped his face and staggered forward, “But headaches really do control me.”
In the rain, a young man with a bleeding nose staggered towards an unknown street corner.
The puddle behind him reflected the night sky. A golden grid flashed in the depths of his pupils and disappeared in an instant.
Twelve hours later, the Juxia City surveillance system captured an unusual video during routine data review:
Time: 20:17:03
Location: Next to the third drainage well in the East District
Content: The pupils of the youth’s reflection displayed an unnatural geometric structure for 0.8 seconds.
Tag: [Unknown high-dimensional information flow resonance traces, first-level confidentiality]At this moment, Lin En was squatting in front of a 24-hour convenience store, using vector control to prevent the soup in the instant noodle bucket from spilling out.
“Auntie, you have such a steady hand.” He said to the clerk with a smile.
The clerk looked confused: “I didn’t make you any soup…you took it yourself.”
Lin En blinked. “Oh, that might be… gravity is being particularly cooperative today.”
He held the instant noodles in his hand and wrote in his notebook as he walked:
Application expansion ideas:
Hanging clothes – vector balance, no leaks
Canteen food delivery – blocking ‘hand tremor syndrome’
Fighting – let the enemy trip themselves”
He closed the book and looked up at the night sky.
A shooting star streaked across the sky.
In his eyes, it was not light, but a burning vector line marked “v=12km/s, Direction: Declination +45”.
“This world…” he grinned, “is becoming more and more like my scratch paper.”
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ActivityRegister as a Filo member and receive 200 points![Register Now]Chapter 2: Cafeteria Incident – Humanoid Physics Simulator (Old Version)
Lin Shang’s nosebleed hadn’t completely subsided as he crouched in front of the convenience store, holding a handful of instant noodles. He wiped it with his sleeve, pretending it was sweat, and while staring at the scallion dangling in the soup, he quietly adjusted his buoyancy. The soup didn’t spill, and the scallion didn’t sink. Perfect.
He grinned and thought: This ability will allow me to eat double meatballs in the cafeteria sooner or later.
Twelve hours later, in the cafeteria of the Super Seminary in Juxia City.
At noon sharp, the line for lunch stretched to the door. Lin Shang was among the crowd, his white coat stained with mud from the previous night, his sweatpants still damp at the cuffs. He clutched an empty plate, his eyes fixed on the large iron spoon in the aunt’s hand.
“Meatballs, three,” he said.
The aunt’s hand shook, and she raised the spoon. Three round meatballs flew into the air, drawing three standard parabolas and were about to fall into his plate.
Now is the time!
Lin En’s pupils shrank, his vision instantly expanding. A dense web of blue arrows appeared in the air—wind resistance, gravity, and angular velocity, all broken down into vector lines calculated in real time. With a single thought, he locked onto the falling trajectory of the middle meatball, gently pushing against the air resistance component and then fine-tuning the vertical component of gravity’s acceleration.
The goal: to place the ball on the plate accurately without spilling any.
But he forgot that his head still ached from the push with the steel pipe last night.
His mental strength barely lasted 1.8 seconds when he felt like two needles were piercing his temples.
“Buzz—”
The vector lines in front of my eyes were shaking, and the meatball in the middle suddenly stopped in the air.
It’s not slow, it’s really stopped.
Then, the two on the left and right seemed to be held up by invisible hands, hanging in the air and spinning around.
Three meatballs, thirty centimeters above the ground, motionless.
The entire food window was quiet for half a second.
Then it exploded.
“What the hell?!”
“Who turned off the gravity?”
“Take a quick shot! This will go viral!”
Lin Cheng’s face turned green. He wanted to stop, but his mental strength was like a drained battery; even severing the connection was a struggle. He could only watch helplessly as the three meatballs, under everyone’s gaze, floated in the greasy cafeteria air, like three forgotten planets.
Ge Xiaolun passed by with a plate in hand, looked up, and burst out laughing: “Oh my god, Lin En, you’re at it again? Can you go to the rooftop to post if you have a chuunibyou? Don’t disturb me while I’m eating!”
There was laughter all around.
Lin En gritted his teeth and, with the last bit of consciousness left, suddenly cut off the control.
The three meatballs slammed into the plate with a “bang”, splashing a drop of oil that landed right on the lens of his glasses.
He lunged forward, pretending to slip, and crashed into the dining table, causing the plates to clang and the soup to spill.
“Ouch!” He covered his knee, looking embarrassed. “The floor is too slippery… What bad luck.”
No one doubted it. After all, who would believe that someone could use their brain to make a meatball levitate?
Only Ge Xiaolun squatted down to pick up the meatball, took a bite, chewed it twice, and suddenly frowned: “This meatball…why does it feel like it was calculated when chewed?”
Lin Shang’s ears twitched and he didn’t dare to respond.
He lowered his head to wipe his glasses, and the back of his hand brushed across the tip of his nose, leaving another streak of blood. He quietly wiped it off with the sleeve of his white coat, pretending it was sweat.
In the distant training ground, on top of the sniper tower.
Qilin crouched behind cover, her sniper scope fixed firmly on the cafeteria window. She had just finished a set of precision shots when she activated the remote monitoring system, only to find the image frozen on three floating meatballs.
She squinted, zoomed in, and replayed.
In slow motion, the falling trajectory of the meatball showed a horizontal deviation of 0.3 seconds at the last moment, which completely violated aerodynamics.
“This guy…” She snorted, her finger on the trigger, “If you don’t stop, I’ll help you verify the conservation of momentum.”
She didn’t shoot, but the next second, the red dot of the sniper scope pressed accurately on Lin Shang’s forehead and paused for three seconds.
Lin Shang felt a chill on the back of his neck and looked up suddenly.
There was nothing at the top of the tower in the distance.
But he knew that someone was watching him.
He raised his hands with an innocent look on his face: “I just want to eat an extra meatball! The cafeteria aunt’s hands are shaking, what can I do?”
The students watching laughed even more happily.
He took the opportunity to lower his head to sort out his plate, but his eyes glanced at the training ground.
A group of students are practicing against each other, punching and kicking with great force.
In Lin Cheng’s eyes, each punch dragged a golden vector line, like a burning trajectory. A fighter threw a punch, marked with “v=8.7m/s, a=12.4m/s²,” and the air vortex stirred up by the fist wind was also marked with red stress lines.
He was so engrossed in watching that the golden arrows were unconsciously reflected in the depths of his pupils, and the corners of his eyes twitched slightly.
It was too dense. My newly recovered mental strength couldn’t withstand the onslaught of this information flow.
He quickly looked away, lowered his head to eat his rice, chewed the meatballs in his mouth, but his mind was quickly memorizing:
“Microscopic vector intervention threshold: ≤0.5kg, duration ≤2 seconds. Consequences of exceeding the limit: nosebleeds, headaches, and suspected preconcussion symptoms.”
“The air resistance aerodynamic coupling model is not yet solved, and the basics of fluid mechanics need to be supplemented.”
“Warning: The attention window of onlookers is approximately 3.2 seconds. Physical interference will be required for the next experiment.”
He ate and wrote at the same time, the tip of his pen making a scratching sound on the small notebook.
No one noticed that there was a very thin arc-shaped indentation on the edge of the plate, as if it had been pressed by an invisible force.
Late at night, at the Entropy Energy Research Institute.
Lin Shang slumped in his chair, a piece of scratch paper spread out before him, covered in diagrams of the force applied to meatballs. He had just finished reviewing the cafeteria’s data and was about to derive the air resistance correction factor when his mind suddenly went beep.
The golden vector flow is here again.
He didn’t watch it on his own initiative, but the combat data automatically emerged in his memory like a virus. The speed of punches, kicks, and energy fluctuations were all replayed before his eyes.
He scratched his hair irritably and wrote:
“Perhaps… the world is an equation?”
I was stunned after writing it.
“Damn, that’s too childish.” He quickly crossed it out and added, “But it seems… not wrong?”
The lights in the laboratory flickered, as if breathing with his emotional fluctuations.
The metal grille of the vent vibrated slightly.
No one saw a tiny wormhole quietly open in the shadows and then close silently.
The next second, the hairs on the back of Lin Shang’s neck stood up.
He turned around suddenly, but there was no one there.
“Who?” he asked in a low voice.
No one answered.
He stared at the vent and suddenly smiled: “Du Qiangwei, I know it’s you. Can you please say hello before you peek next time? I get easily frightened and my nose bleeds when I get excited.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a line of blood oozed out of the tip of his nose.
He was too lazy to wipe it off, so he just rubbed it with the corner of the draft paper and continued writing:
“New variable: Unknown observer. Energy signature: Space distortion rate 0.7%, speculated to be a short-range wormhole projection. Threat level: Low (currently only observing, not taking action).”
“Countermeasures: Conduct the next experiment in a sealed shielded room, or deliberately release false data as a deceptive method.”
He closed the notebook, rubbed his temples, and looked up at the whiteboard on the wall.
There was a screenshot of the cafeteria surveillance camera posted on it. The moment when the three meatballs were suspended was circled, and a line of large words was written next to it:
“It’s not a superpower, it’s physics.”
There was also a picture of Newton’s head at the bottom, with a cross through it and a note next to it: “Obsolete, recommended for recycling.”
He stared at it for two seconds and suddenly laughed out loud.
“Newton can’t control me, but the cafeteria lady can,” he muttered. “Next time I have to calculate the time accurately, so I don’t starve to death first.”
He stood up to pour some water, and paused as he passed the vent.
“Hey,” he said to the iron fence, “you can watch if you want, but don’t always show up when I’m bleeding from the nose. It’s so embarrassing.”
No one responded.
He shook his head, turned back to the table, and just sat down, before he could even hold the pen steady –
The lab lights suddenly went out.
In the darkness, the words “Perhaps… the world is an equation?” on the draft paper glowed faintly with golden light.
Lin Shang paused his pen.
He slowly looked up.
The metal grille of the vent was bulging outward at an extremely slow speed.
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Chapter 3: Street Observation and Vector Calculation Model (Old Version)
At six o’clock in the morning, the iron grille of the vent shook slightly.
Without even raising his eyelids, Lin Shang tore off a piece of draft paper, peeled off the portrait of Newton with a cross on it, and stuck it on the gap in the grille.
“You can look, but don’t block my light.”
He kicked the instant noodle bucket into the corner. The noodle head he’d drawn a small wormhole on was still grinning. The raised metal pattern from last night had long since returned to its original state, as if it had never been touched. He didn’t pierce it, but simply stuffed the small notebook into the inside pocket of his white coat, fastened the last button, picked up the empty plate, and left.
He squatted under the eaves of the convenience store on the corner for three days.
On the first day, he sat against the wall, his head buzzing, as if someone were twisting a screw with a wrench. Every time he opened his eyes, sand and rocks flew across the training ground, and the golden vector lines created by fists and feet were as dense as the subway during the Spring Festival travel rush. He could only stare for two seconds before his nose started to itch, and he quickly lowered his head and pretended to blow his nose.
The next day, he learned to be lazy. He found a piece of glass to reflect light, and squinted his eyes to look at his reflection, allowing him to capture vector trajectories without having to look directly at it. He traced the edge of his plate with his fingertips, secretly noting the peak times of ground reaction forces when several fighters threw punches. As a result, he was chased away by patrolling security guards as if he were a homeless person.
“I’m doing research!” he shouted, holding up his plate. “Do you know what muscle torque coupling is?”
The security guard rolled his eyes: “I understand. I told you to get out of here.”
He retreated back under the eaves, muttering, “No one understood Newton back then. It’s a good thing he didn’t run into a local cop like you.”
On the evening of the third day, he finally caught the pattern.
The warrior in black combat boots always threw three punches in a row, but the third one always went astray. It wasn’t the magnitude of the blow, but the axis of the blow was tilted for a fraction of a second, as if his knee had suddenly seized up. Lin En’s pupils constricted, and his vision automatically replayed the scene—the first two punches landed smoothly, but when the third punch was launched, the muscle vector of his right ankle broke, causing a sudden shift of three degrees in direction that lasted for 0.1 seconds.
It’s like a gear running at high speed and suddenly a tooth falls out.
He slammed the notebook shut, the tip of his pen scratching a long mark on the back cover: “Muscle fatigue → force line shift → resonance instability, predictable!”
He stared at the sandbags in the training ground across the street, his mind already racing. This wasn’t just a physical issue; it was a breakdown in the vector transmission of the power chain. If he could have added a slight reverse adjustment 0.05 seconds before the breakdown, he would have fallen flat on his face.
The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He almost stood up to demonstrate, but his temple suddenly jumped and golden lines flashed before his eyes.
“Hold on.” He pinched his brows. “This is just the beginning. We still have to consider wind speed, ground friction coefficient, and the degree of sole wear…”
Before he could finish his words, his stomach growled.
He fished out the last packet of instant noodles and chewed them dry, crunching them as a snack. As he was chewing, a whistle blew in the distance at the training ground, and a group of soldiers lined up. The soldier in black boots was at the end, and his right foot paused slightly as it landed.
Lin En narrowed his eyes.
It’s this node.
He pulled out his notebook, flipped to a blank page, and wrote: “Observation Log D-3, Critical Deflection Angle ≈ 3, Trigger Condition: Continuous high-intensity punches x 2, right ankle lateral muscle load ≥ 78%.”
After writing, I drew a noodle bucket at the footer, poked a small hole in the bucket, and marked “Someone’s exclusive observation tool” next to it.
On the fourth day, he came even earlier.
The sky was overcast and the wind was strong. He squatted under the eaves, his white coat blowing against his legs. He held a cup of hot soy milk in his hand, but he didn’t drink a single sip. He stared at the opposite side with his vector vision.
The fighters began the seventh set of combo training.
Lin En closed his eyes, mentally recalled the data from the previous three days, and began to calculate. Wind speed: 2.3 m/s, northwest; ground humidity increased, friction coefficient decreased by 0.15; soldier’s body temperature increased by 1.2°C, muscle elasticity decreased—combined, the probability of ankle fracture was 91.7%.
He opened his eyes and stared at the black-booted warrior’s right foot.
First punch, v=9.1m/s, vector stable.
The second punch, a=13.6m/s2, with slight shaking.
The third punch—coming!
The warrior twisted his waist and punched, pushing off the ground with his right foot. Just as his ankle was about to complete the thrust, Lin En’s pupils shrank and he blurted out:
“This punch deflects 3 degrees to the left!”
Before he could finish his words, the soldier slipped and the heel of his boot got stuck in the gap of the manhole cover. He lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud, causing the sandbag to shake violently.
The whole audience was silent for half a second.
Then burst into laughter.
“Who shouted that? It’s so accurate!”
“Can this even be counted? You counted it!”
“Dude, can you give me the odds? I bet he’ll fall to the left in the next round!”
Lin Shang didn’t laugh. He squatted under the eaves, his fingers trembling slightly, not because he was nervous, but because – he had calculated correctly.
He looked down at the soy milk cup in his hand. Condensation on the wall of the cup was slowly sliding down, leaving a wet streak on his palm. He stared at the streak, his mind replaying the previous frame: the moment the force vector of his ankle broke, like a circuit losing power, the flow of energy abruptly stopped.
This is not a coincidence.
It’s calculation.
He stood up abruptly, put his plate on the ground, and turned to walk away. Passing by a convenience store, he casually stuffed his soy milk cup into the trash can. The remaining liquid at the bottom of the cup drew an arc along the rim of the can. With a flick of his finger, the vector line of the liquid’s trajectory in the air was gently pushed, and the water droplets landed precisely in the center of the can.
“If I can even control this…” he murmured, “Then what’s a fall?”
He rushed back to the laboratory without stopping. He pushed the door open, threw off his white coat, grabbed the chalk and wrote furiously on the blackboard:
“Muscle Vector Resonance Hypothesis V1.0
Core mechanism: In a multi-stage force chain, local muscle fatigue leads to vector transmission faults, causing overall movement instability.
Predictable window: Within 0.1 seconds before the fault, there is a 3±0.5 deflection trend.
Intervention methods: External micro-force intervention (such as ground reaction force adjustment and air resistance coupling) can amplify the imbalance effect.
He wrote too fast and the chalk broke with a snap. Half of it flew out and hit the corner of the table and bounced twice.
He ignored it, picked up another one, and continued writing. The formulas piled higher and higher, and the subscripts were as dense as ants moving house. Just as he got to the point where “the critical deflection angle is negatively correlated with the coefficient of ground friction,” his mind went dark.
The vector lines in the field of view begin to double.
He held onto the edge of the blackboard, took a breath, and blood oozed from the tip of his nose, sliding down his philtrum and dripping onto the “μ” symbol in the formula, spreading a small red patch.
He wiped it with his sleeve and continued writing.
“Verification Case: Day 4 of training, Black Boots Warrior’s seventh combo, predicted hit. Intervention Method: Sound wave disturbance + psychological suggestion (shouting to break the action), indirectly triggering a physical stress response, superimposing vector faults, achieving an imbalance effect.”
After writing the last word, he fell back and slumped in his chair, his chest heaving as if he had just finished a marathon.
But the corners of his mouth were grinning.
“It’s not a superpower.” He stared at the ceiling. “It’s physics.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the terminal on the table made a beep.
The screen lights up and a red pop-up window appears:
Abnormal energy fluctuations detected
[Source Location: Entropy Energy Research Institute – Lin Entropy Dormitory]【Frequency: 12.7THz】
[Matching Database: Angel Civilization ‘Holy Atom’ Resonance Index 73%]Lin Shang raised his head and glanced at the screen.
He lowered his head again and glanced at the blackboard.
Chalk dust fell on the surface of his shoe, mixed with the drop of blood, and left a gray and red mark.
He suddenly laughed out loud.
“73%?” He shook his head. “That’s not even close. Once I get to 100%, it won’t be too late to call the police.”
He was trying to stand up by supporting himself on the table, but his elbow knocked over the chalk box, and several pieces of chalk rolled to the ground. One of the pieces of chalk broke into two pieces, with the broken end facing upwards, like an arrow pointing to the sky.
He ignored it and bent down to open the drawer to find new chalk.
The drawer was halfway open and got stuck.
He frowned and tugged hard.
“Click.”
There was a crack at the bottom of the drawer, revealing a metal corner.
He was stunned.
Reaching out and touching it, the metal corner was cold, with very fine lines engraved on the edge, like some kind of vector symbol.
Before he could react, the lab lights suddenly flickered.
Next to the formula “μ” on the blackboard, the drop of blood trembled slightly.
Like being blown by an invisible wind.
Chapter 4: Genetic Rating: Declaration of the Ant (Old Version)
The cracked metal corner of the drawer was still cold at his fingertips. Lin En stared at the scratch, as if he had seen some kind of code.
He didn’t touch it again.
He turned around, grabbed his white coat, pulled it on, buttoned it all the way to his neck, picked up his plate, and left. The lights in the hallway hummed. As he passed the surveillance camera, he raised his hand to adjust his glasses. The lens reflected a flash, and the red light on the camera went out for half a second.
The rating hall is on the third floor and is noisy.
“E-level people, stay out of the way and go to the training room on the east side. There are scrap metals for waste there.” The instructor’s voice was so loud that it shook the ceiling. He held a stack of rating cards in his hand, flipping through them one by one with a rustling sound.
Lin En stood at the end of the line, facing a bald, burly man. As soon as the tester touched his temple, a spark erupted from the screen, and the words “F-Class: No Potential” popped up. The bald man’s face turned green, and the instructor kicked him in the ass: “Get out! Don’t contaminate the equipment!”
When it was Lin En’s turn, the instructor glanced at him and said, “White coat? Where did this lab rat come from?”
“Borrowed it.” Lin En put the dinner plate into the storage compartment and sat on the testing chair.
The moment the electrode touched his temple, his vision blurred—not with pain, but with a burst of multicolored arrows. Current vectors, signal flows, and data packet transmission paths all formed a dynamic topological diagram in his pupils.
This crappy machine doesn’t even have an encryption layer.
“Start the test.” The instructor pressed the start button.
The screen went black for a few seconds, then a string of garbled characters popped up, and finally froze at [E-level·Basic gene not activated].
“Ha!” the instructor ripped off the electrodes. “You can’t even sense dark energy fluctuations. Is this a rented body? Or did your mother forget to install the superpower module when she gave birth to you?”
Several students nearby laughed.
Lin En didn’t move, his fingertips resting lightly on the tester’s data port. Current was flowing through the wire at a constant frequency, and the output signal read “E-level confirmed.”
He narrowed his eyes.
With a thought, it moves in the opposite direction along the current vector, like throwing a small stone into the river – with a gentle push.
The voltage vector of the output signal deflected by 7 degrees, the frequency increased by 1.8 times, and the data packet was instantly tampered with into a Class A template.
“Sizzle——”
The tester screen shook violently, sparks flew, and the words [Grade A, High Potential to be Verified] flashed for half a second before the screen went black.
The whole place was silent.
The instructor glared at the smoking machine, “What did you do?!”
“Me?” Lin Shang spread his hands. “Maybe the voltage is unstable? Your equipment doesn’t even have a voltage regulator module. It’s even less reliable than the electric kettle in my dorm.”
“Bullshit! E-grade is E-grade. Do you think this is bargaining at the market?”
“Then call the police.” Lin Shang stood up and tucked the dinner plate under his arm. “By the time they come to investigate, I might already be S-rank.”
He turned and left, his nose felt hot, and a drop of blood slid down his philtrum and dripped onto his cuff, forming a small red dot.
The instructor yelled from behind, “East training room! Don’t even think about entering the main gym!”
The east training room’s doorplate was half-missing. The smell of motor oil hit me as I pushed open the door. Inside was an old robotic arm, its hydraulic hoses jutting out copper wires. The control console had a cracked screen, displaying “E-Class Trainees Only Use Basic Mode.”
Lin Shang put the dinner tray on the ground and sat down in front of the console.
He opened the little notebook and turned to the page titled “Muscle Vector Resonance Hypothesis.” He stared at it for three seconds and suddenly laughed out loud.
“If people get tired, machines will get tired too.”
He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeve, and put them back on. The entire robotic arm was disassembled into its components. The flow rate of the hydraulic oil, the meshing angles of the gears, the fluctuations in the motor’s torque—all a jumble of pulsating colored lines.
He reached out and pressed on the control panel, his fingertips moving slightly.
His mind followed the oil line of the hydraulic valve and found the stuck throttle port. Every time pressure was applied here, the fluid vector would become turbulent for 0.3 seconds, causing a delay in the action.
With a gentle flick, he realigned the turbulent vector flow.
The robotic arm jerked violently, its joints emitting a low-frequency humming sound, and then it slowly lifted up. The movement was so smooth that it didn’t seem like something this broken machine could do.
Lin Shang curled his lips, tapped his fingers on the console a few times, and called up the manual command mode.
“Come on, let’s try our limits.”
He closed his eyes and ran a model in his mind: hydraulic pressure increased by 40%, servo motor overload allowed by 15%, and joint lubrication coefficient calculated according to the ideal value.
After opening his eyes, he pressed the control panel with both hands, as if he was playing an invisible piano.
The robotic arm moved.
The first punch was so fast that it left an afterimage.
The second punch hit the sandbag, but before the sandbag could shake, the third punch arrived.
Starting from the fourth punch, the whole arm turned into a silver light, and the punching frequency increased three times. The sandbag was hit and spun on the spot, and the filling sprayed out from the cracks.
The console screen was originally stuck in “basic mode”, but suddenly it jumped a few frames and a line of words flashed: [Non-standard operation detected, it is recommended to upgrade the control system].
Lin En ignored it and continued to increase the pressure.
The joints of the robotic arm began to heat up, the buzzing sound became sharper and sharper, and a very light golden grid appeared in the air, like a heat wave distorting the light.
His nose felt hot again, and he raised his hand to wipe it, and his fingertips were stained with blood.
“Not even close.”
He took a deep breath and focused his attention on the hydraulic cylinder at the end of the robotic arm, which was under extreme pressure. He redistributed the hydraulic pressure vectors, transferring 30% of the load to the lateral support rods to reduce the burden on the main axis.
“boom!”
The robotic arm delivered a powerful punch, causing the sandbag to explode and sending cotton wool flying everywhere.
The console screen suddenly went black.
Lin Shang leaned back in his chair, panting. His glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose, and the back of his white coat was wet.
The door was pushed open with a bang.
Cheng Yaowen stood at the door, holding a stack of training records, and sneered, “Wow, an E-level student can actually blow up a sandbag? Did they secretly stuff explosives in there?”
Lin Shang didn’t say anything. He slowly closed the notebook and put it back in his pocket.
Cheng Yaowen approached and glanced at the smoking mechanical arm. “Don’t waste your energy. Salted fish should be flopping in the mud. You’re a broken machine. You can’t even beat an F-class warrior.”
Lin Shang looked up and adjusted his glasses.
The reflection of the lens revealed the hydraulic lines inside the robotic arm, and those colorful vector lines were still flowing in his eyes.
He didn’t say anything, raised his right hand, and gently hooked his index finger.
The next second, the robotic arm moved.
It was not a punching bag, but a sudden turn, with four hydraulic claws precisely clamping the four legs of Cheng Yaowen’s seat and applying pressure instantly.
“Crack!”
There was a sound of metal deforming, and the chair was locked to the ground. Cheng Yaowen was pinned to the chair, unable to move.
“You–!” He struggled violently, but the mechanical arm did not move at all, and the hydraulic pressure was still rising slowly.
Lin Shang stood up, walked in front of him and looked down at him.
“You said it can’t beat an F-class warrior?” He said softly, “But now, it can’t even get you up.”
He raised his hand and lightly stroked the console with his fingertips.
The robotic arm released and the seat bounced with a clang. Cheng Yaowen almost fell off the chair and only managed to steady himself by supporting himself with his hands.
Lin En turned and left. The hem of his white coat swept across the console, and a piece of printed paper was picked up and rolled into his sleeve without him noticing.
When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at the smoking robotic arm.
“Do you know how ants turn over?” he said. “They don’t rely on strength, they rely on torque.”
He pushed open the door, and the light from the corridor shone in for a moment, making his lenses reflect brightly.
“My computing power surpasses three dimensions.”
The door closed behind him.
Cheng Yaowen sat in the chair and didn’t move for a long time.
The console screen suddenly flashed, and a few words popped out from the cracks: [System abnormality: 12.7THz resonance signal detected, source: robotic arm core valve].
He looked up at the door and his lips moved.
Lin Shang was walking in the corridor, and his nose started bleeding again. He wiped it with his sleeve and continued walking forward.
Passing by an empty classroom, he heard someone talking inside.
“Just now, over in the East District, the robotic arm exploded?”
“I heard it was an E-class who did it. He blew up the sandbags.”
“E-level? Don’t be ridiculous. E-level can’t even open the gene lock.”
Lin Shang didn’t stop, turned the corner and walked into the men’s restroom.
He turned on the faucet and lowered his head to wash his face.
Drops of water slid down the ends of her hair and splashed in the sink.
He stared at the drops of water, then suddenly raised his hand and lightly flicked the air with his fingertips.
The water droplets paused in the air for a moment, then flew out at an angle and landed precisely in a trash can two meters away.
“If I can even control this…” He wiped his face dry and looked up at himself in the mirror, “Then what does the rating mean?”
He walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for the laboratory.
The first thing I do when I open the door is to look for chalk.
He opened the drawer and searched a few times but couldn’t find it.
Looking down, I saw several broken pieces of chalk on the ground, one of which was broken upwards, like an arrow.
He bent down to pick it up.
As my fingertips touched the chalk, the terminal on the table suddenly made a “beep” sound.
[Abnormal energy fluctuations detected] [Source location: East District Training Room – Robotic Arm] [Frequency: 12.7 THz] [Match database: Angel Civilization ‘Holy Atom’ resonance index 81%]Lin En stared at the screen for two seconds.
Then he laughed.
He picked up the broken chalk, walked to the blackboard, and wrote:
“Mechanical Vector Resonance Application V0.1 Core: Reverse-engineering the muscle vector hypothesis to hydraulic systems, achieving overclocking of movements by fine-tuning fluid vectors. Key point: 12.7THz is the resonance threshold, triggering the manifestation of the metal’s internal vector grid.”
He wrote too fast and the chalk broke with a snap.
Half of it flew out, hit the corner of the table, bounced twice, and rolled under the chair where Cheng Yaowen had just sat.
Lin En didn’t care and continued writing.
The formulas pile up higher and higher, and the subscripts are as dense as ants moving house.
When he wrote “resonance frequency is positively correlated with hydraulic viscosity”, his nose felt hot and a drop of blood slid down his philtrum and dripped onto the “η” symbol, spreading a small red patch.
“Verification Case: East District Training Room, robotic arm overclocked, successfully suppressing an F-class target.”
After he wrote the last word, he fell back and collapsed in his chair.
His chest was heaving as if he had just finished a 3,000-meter run.
But his mouth was grinning.
Just as he finished speaking, the terminal on the table beeped again.
A new message pops up on the screen:
[System prompt: Your training data has been uploaded to the public database] [Sync targets: Qilin, Du Qiangwei, Ge Xiaolun, Zhao Xin, Cheng Yaowen]Lin Shang sat up suddenly.
“Who did it?”
Chapter 5: Undercurrents: Data Ghost (Old Version)
Lin En stared at the terminal screen. The line that said “Training data has been synchronized” was like a piece of red-hot iron, burning his temples.
He didn’t move, but his fingers had already touched the broken piece of chalk in his white coat pocket. The golden vector flow that had just exploded from the robotic arm was still spinning in his mind, the 12.7THz resonant frequency like a needle, poking at his nerves.
“We have to figure it out.” He muttered softly, turned around, grabbed the chalk and walked towards the blackboard.
Just as I wrote the term “η=ρv2/2”, my fingertips suddenly felt numb.
It wasn’t static electricity, but something moving in the air—a light blue line floating out from the terminal power port, twisting gently in mid-air like a lazy snake.
Lin En was stunned.
He blinked, and blinked again.
The line is still there.
A closer look revealed more than one. The ceiling light, the socket in the corner, the smoking robotic arm at his feet—all were emitting these thin lines, different colors, thicknesses, and some even swirling.
“Damn… it’s fine if you can see it, but now it can show up?”
He subconsciously reached out to touch the nearest blue line.
As soon as his fingertips touched the light, the lights in the entire building dimmed for a moment, and then flickered as if someone had tuned the frequency, and the rhythm matched his heartbeat.
“Well.”
The tip of my nose felt hot and the blood started flowing again.
He raised his hand and a drop of blood splashed onto the formula on the blackboard, landing right next to the “Δf” symbol, like a small period.
“No way, it jumps frequency just by touching it?” He quickly retracted his hand, but the blue line seemed to be stuck, climbing up along his fingertips, drilling into his skin, and heading straight for his brain.
In an instant, he “heard” it.
It wasn’t something I heard with my ears, but a sudden buzzing in my head, like thousands of old-fashioned radios turning on at the same time, with intermittent numbers mixed in with the noise:
“…0.618…nonlinear perturbation…variable X…”
“Who is chanting?” Lin Shang shook his head violently, and the voice faded away.
He took a breath and looked down at his hand. The blue line was gone, but his fingertips were still numb, as if he had just touched a battery.
“It seems this ability… has been upgraded.” He grinned, almost wanting to laugh. “Before, I could only look at it, but now I can touch it. Will I be able to treat it to a meal next?”
Before he could finish his words, another drop of blood dripped from his nose and landed on the F5 key on the keyboard.
He was too lazy to wipe it off, so he just wiped it with his sleeve and turned around to call up the surveillance log.
“That blow just now must have left a mark.”
The screen lit up, and he clicked on the recording from the East District training room. The timeline moved to the moment the robotic arm exploded. The image was normal at first, then, with a swish, everything turned to snow.
It’s more than just a training room.
The cameras in the laboratory, the corridor, and even the toilet door – all turned into garbled characters at the same time.
“It’s not bad.” Lin En narrowed his eyes, “It was taken away by someone.”
He drummed his fingers on the table and suddenly reached out to touch the power socket on the wall.
This time he learned his lesson and just placed his fingertips lightly on the edge, using his mind to probe inside along the electric current.
Colored vector lines immediately appeared: red for voltage, green for current direction, and yellow for frequency fluctuations. He followed the main cable to the distribution box and discovered that the flow of electricity throughout the building was disrupted, as if an external force was constantly adjusting the frequency.
“We have to push it back, or the whole floor will trip.”
He closed his eyes and silently said in his mind: “Anti-gravity jump doesn’t make me fly, it makes me move in the opposite direction of the force.”
Thoughts are like hooks, catching the chaotic current and leading it little by little to the underground ground layer.
The light swayed a few times and finally stabilized.
Lin Shang opened his eyes; his nosebleed had already trickled down to his chin. He looked down and saw a nearly invisible crack in the tile where he was standing, oozing a tiny, abnormally bright purple liquid.
“Underground cable well?” He frowned. “Why is that thing colored?”
Without thinking too much, he turned back to the terminal and reopened the formula on the blackboard.
The “Δf” written in blood was still there, but he suddenly found that there was something wrong with the edge of the bloodstain – as if it had been moved.
He leaned in for a closer look.
That small piece of blood-red was shrinking inward at a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye, turning several sharp corners, and finally stopping at a strange shape: like the letter G, and also like the “Gödel symbol” in mathematics.
“…Who will photoshop this for me?”
He reached out to wipe it, but just as his fingertips touched the blackboard, the symbol suddenly flashed and disappeared.
Lin Shang froze.
Looking again, the bloodstains had returned to their original state, as if nothing had happened.
“Hallucination? Is the nose bleeding too much?” He raised his hand to adjust his glasses, and cold sweat slid down the back of his neck.
Just then, the terminal made a beep.
New message pops up:
[System prompt: Abnormal energy fluctuations detected][Source location: this laboratory][Frequency: 12.7THz → 13.1THz][Matching database: None]Lin En stared at the line of “nothing” and the corners of his mouth twitched.
“No? Didn’t we just match with the Angel Civilization?”
He clicked on the details and found that the database record had been cleared, leaving only a line of small text:
“Data has been archived to an encrypted level.”
“Archived? Who filed it?”
He suddenly raised his head and looked out the window.
The city was brightly lit at night, but in his eyes, the entire Juxia City’s power grid had become an interwoven vector network, with densely packed red, blue, yellow, and green lines, like a giant net.
And this net was vibrating slightly at an extremely slow speed.
It’s like someone is recording each one of them from a distance.
“Someone is copying homework.” Lin Shang whispered, “And he’s using a secret copy.”
He turned around, grabbed his white coat, stuffed a new piece of chalk into his sleeve, and put the broken one into his trouser pocket.
Just as he was about to leave, his peripheral vision caught sight of the corner of the terminal.
The indicator light on the old router was originally green, but when he touched the vector line, it flashed purple so fast that it seemed like an illusion.
He walked over and touched the router casing.
Iced.
But this thing has been running for three years and has never cooled down.
“Fine.” He sneered, “You can peek, but don’t use my electricity bill.”
He unplugged the power cord.
The router is black.
But three seconds later, the indicator light came on again, purple.
Lin En stared at it and suddenly laughed.
“Getting excited, huh?”
He raised his hand, pointed his fingertips at the router interface, and slowly extended it.
It’s not about touching, it’s about hanging in the air, like plucking an invisible string.
Vector lines immediately emerged: an extremely thin purple data stream emerged from the cable in the wall, bypassed the powered-off router, and went directly into the terminal in the laboratory next door.
“Take a detour? You’re quite adept at avoiding things.”
He suddenly wanted to cut the line.
But just as I reached out, my head buzzed, and the noise came again, this time more clearly:
“…variable X has been activated…the denominator of the death formula needs to be restructured…it is recommended to be labeled ‘entropy’…”
Lin Shang suddenly withdrew his hand and sat back in the chair.
There was no nosebleed this time, but my temple was throbbing as if a small hammer was hitting it.
“Who’s behind my back?” he gasped. “And calling me a nickname?”
He raised his hand to wipe his face and found that his palms were full of sweat.
But at this moment, he suddenly realized something –
That sound didn’t come from the router.
It came from the vector line he just “touched”.
In other words, it’s not the device that’s leaking data.
It is the data itself that is actively transmitted outward.
“Fuck.” He whispered, “Is this thing a spirit?”
He stared at his still numb fingertips, suddenly remembered something, and took out his little notebook.
Turning to the page titled “Muscle Vector Resonance Hypothesis,” I noticed a line of small text had appeared next to the manhole cover pattern at the footer:
“When the observer becomes a variable, the world begins to recalculate.”
The handwriting… looks like his.
But he was sure he didn’t write it.
Lin Shang closed the notebook, his hands shaking a little.
He stood up, walked to the blackboard, picked up the chalk, and crossed out the formula written in blood.
The chalk broke with a snap.
Half of it flew out and hit the corner of the wall.
He ignored it and turned around to turn off the terminal.
As my finger touched the power button, a bolt of lightning struck outside the window.
Not thunder.
The city’s power grid suddenly flashed collectively, and all the lights turned purple at the same second, and then restored instantly.
He turned his head slowly.
The formula on the blackboard, the “Δf” that he had crossed out, was gradually reappearing from the chalk dust.
Moreover, purple fluorescence began to seep out from the end of the stroke.
Chapter 6: Wormhole Training: Gravity and Spacetime (Old Version)
Lin Cheng had just stuffed the router’s power cord into a drawer, the cool touch still lingering on his fingertips. He glanced down at his watch. It was 2:17 AM, and the lab light bulbs were humming like a hummingbird running out of power.
He was just about to take off his white coat and take a nap when he suddenly heard a soft “click” above his head.
It wasn’t thunder, nor was it a crack in the ceiling. It was more like a hole in the air was torn open, with lavender electric sparks coming out of the edges.
He looked up and saw a swirling vortex appearing out of thin air on the dormitory ceiling. The edges were gleaming with metallic light, as if someone had drawn a crooked circle with a ruler.
“Again?” He frowned. “Last time you snuck a peek at my data, and now you’re trying to steal my person?”
Before he could finish his words, the vortex suddenly expanded, and a suction force suddenly grabbed his ankles, and the whole person flew into the air.
“Why–!”
He instinctively reached out to grab the corner of the table, but as soon as his fingertips touched the terminal shell, he was sucked in.
It’s not falling, it’s being “thrown”.
He was in the laboratory one second, and the next second he was hanging in the cold wind ten thousand meters above the sky.
The oxygen was thin, his ears were buzzing, and his down jacket was blown like a blower. Lin En rolled over and almost fell face down.
“Damn it! Whose wormhole opens without any notice?” He cursed, and his glasses were almost blown away by the wind.
He looked up and saw Du Qiangwei floating on a cloud in the distance, with her hands behind her back and her red hair swinging like a whip in the wind.
“Training.” Her voice was low, but it pierced the wind. “If you survive landing within three minutes, you’ll pass.”
“You call this training? You call this murder!” Lin Shang had just finished yelling when he caught a glimpse of a dazzling white light at the end of the horizon from the corner of his eye.
“boom–“
The nuclear bomb exploded.
The shock wave was like a wall, pushing the air towards him, so fast that he didn’t even have time to react.
Lin En’s pupils shrank, and countless colorful lines exploded in front of his eyes: the red one was the leading edge of the shock wave, the yellow one was the air flow shear, and the blue one was the direction of thermal radiation diffusion. They were densely packed, like a three-dimensional spider web.
“Wow, this amount of data…” His mind was swelling, and his temples were throbbing. “It’s ten times more than the last time I touched the current!”
But there was no time to retreat. He closed his eyes and forced himself to recall the feeling of “touching the vector line” from the previous chapter, converting visual information into tactile prediction.
The vibration of compressed air, like fingers scratching sandpaper, rushed up from the soles of my feet.
“Anti-gravity doesn’t make me fly, it makes the force go in the opposite direction.” He muttered to himself, and with a thought, he drew out a vector line from his body, aimed it at the direction of falling, and twisted it lightly.
“Lift it up for me!”
The body suddenly stopped, the falling speed dropped sharply, and a 0.8-second still frame was abruptly created in the air.
That’s enough.
He opened his eyes, and the momentum structure of the nuclear explosion shock wave in his field of vision was instantly disassembled: the radial direction was thrust, the tangential direction was a rotating vortex, and there was a pressure trough in the middle.
“Use the opponent’s force to counterattack, Newton can’t control me!”
He manipulated the vector, deflecting the direction of his own gravity by 15 degrees, and crashed into the side vortex of the shock wave, and was thrown out like surfing.
The wind exploded in his ears, and his whole body drew a crooked arc in the aftermath of the explosion, barely avoiding the head-on impact.
“I’ve calculated this wave!” After he shouted, he suddenly caught a glimpse of the edge of the wormhole under Du Qiangwei’s feet. A circle of spiral light patterns emerged, like some kind of mathematical sequence glowing.
“Fibonacci? Kepler is joining in the fun too?” A thought flashed through his mind, and the ring finger of his right hand suddenly felt hot. A tiny purple mark appeared, and its shape looked very much like a closed wormhole.
Before he could take a closer look, Du Qiangwei raised her hand and waved, and the wormhole moved instantly, blocking his escape route.
“Want to run?” She sneered, “This is just the beginning.”
Lin En was sucked in.
It’s not teleportation, it’s “folding”.
He felt like he was being stuffed into a washing machine, space distorted, upside down, and his internal organs shifted. All he could see was a distorted vector flow, like countless rubber bands pulling at him.
“Her wormhole… is encrypted.” He gritted his teeth, his head feeling like it was about to explode. “Conventional force field intervention is ineffective.”
Blood began to flow from my nose, and drops of it floated in the air like little red balls.
He remembered the purple data stream that bypassed the power-off router in the previous chapter—path avoidance, energy folding, exactly the same as this wormhole.
“Since we can’t get in, let’s find a new exit.” He wiped the blood from his nose, stared at the energy flow of the wormhole, and forced himself to break down the three sections of “entry/maintenance/exit” into a function model.
“The entrance coordinates remain unchanged, and the structure remains the same… The exit point—” He thought, “Move to behind you!”
The wormhole trembled violently, and the light pattern twisted into a Z shape.
The next second, Lin En popped out from the other end of the vortex and appeared three meters behind Du Qiangwei.
“What?!” She turned around suddenly, but the wormhole had not closed yet.
“This move is called ‘Space Dolls’.” Lin En grinned, blood dripping down his chin. “You taught me that.”
But after he finished laughing, he felt something was wrong.
My head felt like it had been hit by a hammer, my vision was full of double images, and vector lines were overlapping, making it impossible to tell which was which.
“Dual control…over the limit.” He gasped and his body began to tremble.
The downward acceleration returned, and it was even stronger than before.
“You can’t smash it on the ground…you have to keep it steady.”
He remembered the operation in the previous chapter of directing the turbulent current into the ground, and immediately did the same.
With a sweep of his mind, he split his own gravity vector into dozens of strands, which were then introduced into the structural support points of the surrounding buildings, as if temporarily adding a few invisible pillars to the building.
The ground shook and the glass of several tall buildings buzzed at the same time.
“The buffer zone… is done.” He gritted his teeth.
But that’s not enough.
He put all his last bit of strength into his feet.
Using itself as a fulcrum, it constructs a micro Lagrangian equilibrium point – a mechanical singularity that theoretically allows an object to levitate.
“Stop…!”
His body suddenly stopped, hanging completely thirty centimeters above the ground.
The wind died down and the dust slowly settled.
Lin En’s eyes were open, his pupils still calculating at high speed, but his consciousness had begun to blur.
Just 0.3 seconds before he fell into a coma, he saw the miniature wormhole behind Du Qiangwei suddenly change shape.
It was no longer a standard vortex, but a spiral twisted into a rose, layer upon layer, like some kind of high-dimensional structure flashing.
“Four-dimensional… rose?” he murmured.
Before he could finish his words, he fell straight down.
Before it hit the ground, the broken piece of chalk in his hand snapped into three pieces, forming a crooked triangle on the concrete floor. The sides were of unequal length and the angles were asymmetrical. It didn’t look like something that could be explained by Euclid.
Du Qiangwei landed, walked to his side, and looked down at the three pieces of chalk.
“Nonlinear modeling… so fast?” She raised an eyebrow.
She reached out to feel his breath, and just as her fingertips touched his cheek, she suddenly stopped.
A corner of Lin En’s white coat sleeve was torn by the wormhole, revealing the lining underneath.
There was a bottle drawn on it with a fluorescent pen. The bottle body was twisted and connected from end to end, like a sketch of a Klein bottle projected from four dimensions.
“This stuff… I haven’t even taught him.” She narrowed her eyes.
In the distance, the smoke from the nuclear explosion was still rolling, and the sky was dark red.
Lin Shang was lying on the ground, the purple mark on his right ring finger was slightly shining, as if it was breathing.
Du Qiangwei squatted down and reached out to close his eyelids.
But just as her fingertips were about to touch him, he suddenly moved.
He didn’t open his eyes, but twitched the corner of his mouth and said something in his sleep:
“Variable X… I changed the denominator.”
Chapter 7: Energy Conservation and the Instant Noodle Revolution (Old Edition)
Lin Shang was awakened by the smell of instant noodles.
The concrete floor was cold, and the back of his head still stammered with a dull ache from the fall. He opened his eyes, and the purple mark on his right ring finger was slightly warm, like a fever patch. He moved his wrist and fished out a half-crushed package of braised beef noodles from his trouser pocket. The wrapper was as wrinkled as his white coat.
“Heat is computing power, and instant noodles are energy,” he muttered, setting the bucket of noodles on the ground. “This is a practical application of the law of conservation of energy.”
The power was out in the dormitory, and the kettle lay slumped on the table like a corpse. He squinted at the bottom of the kettle, and immediately the vector trajectory of the last current before the power went out appeared in his mind – crooked, like a draft line scratched by a cat.
“Okay, manual ignition.”
With a flick of his finger, his mind followed the remembered circuitry into the kettle’s core, rearranging the remaining weak electrical charge. Three seconds later, the heating wire snapped red, and the water began to heat up.
“96°C is the most stable. Any higher and it’s a waste, and any lower and it won’t foam up.” He calculated while adjusting the current to distribute the heat evenly. “The foaming time is 3 minutes and 47 seconds, with an error of no more than 0.3 seconds.”
As the water gurgled, he broke the dough into eight pieces, placing each one where air convection was strongest to preheat the steam. Once the seasoning packet was poured in, he used vector control to stir the soup, the oil swirls in the steam in a perfect pattern.
“It’s called molecular-level mixing.” He nodded with satisfaction. “It’s faster than mixing by hand, and it doesn’t splash the soup.”
After taking my first sip of soup, my brain hummed to life, like a circuit board blasted by hot air. The double vision faded, and vector lines became clear again. Even the steam rising from the instant noodles became a visual model of thermal motion.
He stared at the white mist and subconsciously reached out to move it – the movement paths of the steam molecules instantly connected into a golden grid, and the vector form of Maxwell’s equations appeared faintly in the air.
“Oh, that’s pretty good.” He grinned and tossed three pieces of instant noodles into the air, using the airflow to form the shape of “E=mc²”. “Isn’t this more vivid than drawing the formula on the blackboard?”
Just when he was feeling proud, the door was kicked open with a bang.
Qilin stood at the door carrying a Barrett, her tactical boots making the floor shake, her ponytail swung, and the sniper scope automatically focused.
“They reported you for possessing a prohibited energy source?” She glanced at the instant noodle buckets scattered on the floor, frowning. “That’s it? You turned yourself into instant noodles?”
Lin Shang swallowed a mouthful of noodles and wiped his mouth: “This is the site of a high-energy physics experiment.”
“Oh?” She sneered. “Then tell me, how does this bucket of braised beef noodles violate the mass-energy equation?”
“Simple.” He held up the bowl of noodles, the soup still swaying. “Look at the steam rising up, isn’t it?”
“nonsense.”
“But why doesn’t it go down? Because density differences create buoyancy, and buoyancy is essentially a pressure gradient, which comes from the momentum transfer from molecular collisions—” He lifted a finger, and the entire bowl of instant noodles soared into the air, the noodles stretched into thin strands in the air, and the steam formed a closed loop. “Look! This is a vector visualization of Maxwell’s distribution. The second law of thermodynamics, live broadcast.”
Qilin’s pupils shrank.
She didn’t move, but the view in the sniper scope suddenly changed.
Golden lines emerged from the steam, accurately marking the speed and direction of each heat flow, and the trajectory of conservation of momentum was as clear as if it were engraved.
She blinked, and her pupils quietly turned gold – for the first time, her visual system automatically locked onto the precise model of vector movement.
“You… are manipulating thermal convection?” Her voice lowered a few degrees.
“No, I’m having lunch.” Lin En shrugged. “By the way, I’m verifying the energy conversion efficiency.”
Qilin was about to speak when the treetops outside the window suddenly trembled.
Lin Shang’s eyes twitched, and his vector vision instantly penetrated the wall – ten meters away, on the sycamore tree, Cheng Yaowen was holding up his mobile phone, the camera pointed at the dormitory, his finger hovering on the “record” button.
“You again.” Lin Cheng sneered, “Are you addicted to taking secret photos?”
He remained calm, lowered his head, took a sip of noodles, and pinched the last piece of instant noodles between his fingers.
“Eliminate air resistance.” He swept his mind and that part was instantly free from the influence of turbulence.
“Initial velocity: 8.3 meters per second.” He flicked his wrist.
“Parabolic correction, wind speed 0.6, humidity 42%, gravity acceleration takes the local measured value—”
The noodles flew out, passed through the window, and hit Cheng Yaowen’s nose accurately.
“Bang!”
Cheng Yaowen cried out “Ouch” and slipped halfway down the tree, almost losing his phone.
“Lin Shang! Just wait!” He covered his nose and yelled, “I’m going to report this! You used instant noodles as a weapon, violating the student code of conduct—”
Before he could finish his words, Lin En had already slammed the empty bucket onto the table.
“I forgot which one it was.” He pushed up his glasses, “but I know the zeroth law of conservation of momentum: whoever peeks gets beaten.”
Qilin stood at the doorway, still conscious of the vector hologram. She glanced down at the instant noodles on the floor. The edges of the oily stains shimmered faintly, forming a vaguely connected ring structure, like some kind of four-dimensional projection.
She squatted down, and just as her fingertips were about to touch it, the pattern faded.
“You just…used instant noodles as ammunition?” She looked up.
“No,” Lin En corrected seriously, “We use conservation of momentum as ammunition, and the instant noodles are just a carrier.”
“You call this science?”
“I call this efficiency.” He pointed to the buckets scattered across the floor. “Look, zero waste, all recycled. Even the grease stains provide visual evidence. How environmentally friendly!”
Qilin stood up, her sniper scope still gleaming with gold. She stared at him and suddenly asked, “Were you…waiting for him to take a sneak shot from the beginning?”
Lin Shang grinned and took out his cell phone from his pocket. On the screen was a real-time picture of Cheng Yaowen holding up his phone.
“It’s not waiting.” He shook his phone, “It’s welcoming.”
Qilin was about to speak when Lin Shang suddenly raised his hand.
“Don’t move.”
She froze.
Lin Cheng stared at a strand of hair beside her ear – the hair was deflecting at an extremely slow speed, as if being pulled by an invisible force field.
“Your hair… is moving,” he said.
Qilin raised her hand and touched it, but felt nothing.
Lin En narrowed his eyes, his vector vision fully activated. He saw a tiny wisp of air rising from behind her neck, carrying a faint electromagnetic disturbance, like some kind of cloaking device in action.
“You’ve been fitted with a tracker?” He frowned.
“No.” Qilin shook her head. “Training clothes are standard equipment. It’s impossible—”
Before she finished her words, Lin Shang had already flashed behind her, hooked his finger, and pulled out a piece of metal foil as thin as a cicada’s wing from the interlayer of her collar.
“The ‘health monitoring patch’ the academy gave us?” He sneered. “It has a built-in micro vector sensor that can record body temperature and heart rate, and can be activated remotely.”
Qilin’s expression changed: “How do you know?”
“Because it’s sending an encrypted signal to your spine.” Lin Entang crushed the metal foil with his fingertips, and it shattered into powder on the spot. “The frequency is 12.7 THz, the same tune as the last time the robotic arm resonated.”
Qilin’s pupils suddenly shrank.
That was the first time she saw the frequency of vector trails in the sniper scope.
Lin Shang sprinkled the powder, took out a piece of oil paper from the instant noodle bucket, pressed it into a flat plate using vector manipulation, and then swept the debris onto it.
“Don’t worry.” He tapped his fingers. “I’ll have it broadcast in reverse.”
The oil paper heated up slightly, and the debris arranged into a micro-array, starting to release interference signals synchronously.
“In three seconds, all devices monitoring the same frequency will receive a piece of fake data saying ‘Lin Entropy is using instant noodles to calculate the ultimate formula for the universe.'” He laughed. “The attached audio is a recording of me snoring.”
Qilin stared at the oil paper and suddenly asked, “What on earth do you want to do?”
“I want to sleep.” Lin Cheng yawned, “But first I have to make sure no one uses me for experiments in the middle of the night.”
He turned and walked towards the bed, stuffing the last bucket of instant noodles into the drawer.
“By the way.” He turned around, “Next time there’s a surprise inspection, could you please let me know in advance? I can hide the experimental data more securely.”
Qilin didn’t answer.
She stood there, still holding the shattered piece of metal foil in her hand.
Outside the window, Cheng Yaowen was rubbing his nose and walking away. The screen of his mobile phone was still on and the recording mode was not turned off.
Lin Shang lay down on the bed and took a last look at the ceiling before closing his eyes.
The steam from the instant noodles has not yet dissipated, leaving a faint golden trail in the air, like an unfinished formula.
The corners of his mouth curled up.
“Variable X…I changed the numerator this time.”
Chapter 8: Virtual Battle Network: Reappearance of Data Ghost (Old Version)
Lin En was woken up by the vibration of his cell phone.
He squinted his eyes and pulled out the phone that was pressed under the pillow. The screen was lit and a notification popped up: [A limited-time competition is open on the virtual battle network. The winner will be rewarded with three months of free instant noodles].
“Even systems understand human nature these days.” He curled his lips and casually took out the oil paper from last night from the drawer. With a rub of his fingertips, the remaining metal fragments automatically gathered into a miniature antenna and attached it to the back of the phone. “Since you’ve come to my door, let’s go big.”
He clicked on the Battle.net login interface and entered his account number when the world in front of him suddenly changed.
The sky was gray, the ground was a translucent data grid, and in the distance, three sniper towers were hidden in the clouds. As he landed, three gunshots rang out beside him.
In his field of vision, three blue arrows were shooting straight at his forehead.
“It’s the same old routine again.” He grinned, tapped his toes lightly, and his whole body seemed to be held up by invisible hands. Three bullets flew past the soles of his shoes, exploding three data sparks on the ground.
He didn’t rush to fight back, but instead narrowed his eyes and scanned the battlefield.
The wind direction, gravity, air density—all were within normal ranges. But the moment he looked up, a red line suddenly twisted and shot out from deep within the clouds, its trajectory like crumpled paper, swerving left and right with no apparent pattern.
“The fourth person?” He raised an eyebrow. “No, this isn’t a person.”
The red line did not follow a parabola or any ballistic model. It was like jumping on a grid, flashing frame by frame, and each time it appeared, it was nearly ten meters away from him.
Lin En’s pupils shrank slightly, and his vector vision was fully activated. He saw a trail of afterimages trailing behind the red line, like a data stream forcibly folding space, and each jump was accompanied by a faint frequency fluctuation – 12.7THz.
“We know each other.” He chuckled. “I just took apart your little toy last night, and today you’re changing your disguise to trick me?”
He remained calm, deliberately slowing down his movements, crouching down and pretending to adjust his shoelaces. The red line immediately locked onto him and began injecting attack data.
“I’m waiting for you.”
He raised his head suddenly, and with his mind like a hook, he grabbed the vector end of the red data stream and applied a negative gravity traction in the reverse direction.
“Get down here!”
The red line was like a snake with its tail pulled, suddenly bending in the air and smashing straight into the core node on the ground.
boom!
A crack appeared in the virtual earth, and the red data object was shattered into pieces, its afterimages scattered. Just before it completely dissipated, an inverted ∞ symbol flashed in the air, paused for less than half a second, and then exploded into garbled text.
Lin En stared at the symbol and didn’t move in a hurry.
He knew that Cheng Yaowen couldn’t come up with this. At most, he would hire someone to stake out his position, but he couldn’t possibly write a data program that defied the laws of physics.
“Someone’s using my frequency and playing by my rules.” He touched the bridge of his nose, “And they’re playing it quite well.”
He closed his eyes and recalled the jamming array on the oil paper last night. If the other party could crawl in by following the signal, then he could also crawl back along the network cable.
He squatted down, swiped his fingers across the data surface a few times, and used vector perception to simulate the ring structure formed by the instant noodle steam last night, reverse-encoded it into an encrypted anchor point, and directly plugged it into the underlying protocol of Battle.net.
“Signal reverse broadcast, activated.”
Instantly, his vision transformed into a vast force field diagram. All data streams displayed color and direction: blue represented routine operations, yellow represented system feedback, and that strange red line was constantly emerging from the “abandoned log area” of the main server.
“That’s pretty well hidden,” he sneered. “And there’s a clock offset? 0.03 seconds, no more, no less, just enough for you to take a peek and then delete the record.”
He worked his way back through the data flow and discovered that every time a red line appeared, it left an afterimage in the log file. He zoomed in and was stunned.
The shape was the E=mc2 ring structure he had made last night using instant noodle slices.
“Copy me?” He laughed. “You really think I’m an open source project?”
He didn’t rush to delete the log, but instead captured the residual image and stored it in an encrypted cache on his body.
“Keep it as evidence later,” he muttered. “Maybe I can use it to sue you for copyright infringement someday.”
Just as he was about to cut off the tracking, the battle network suddenly began to shake.
The ground twisted, gravity shifted, and the sniper tower, which had been straight a moment ago, tilted. The clouds above were like stirred soup, and data blocks fell away piece by piece.
“The system is going to crash?” He frowned. “Not really, I haven’t done anything yet.”
He looked up and found that Cheng Yaowen’s ID was flashing wildly in the distance, and the terminal prompt sound kept ringing.
“Lin Entang! What have you done! You illegally invaded the underlying protocol! Disconnect immediately!” Cheng Yaowen’s voice exploded from the system broadcast, with a broken sound.
“I violated the rules?” Lin En laughed coldly. “You hired someone to snipe me, and even used a data ghost to launch a sneak attack. Now you’re turning the tables on me?”
“I didn’t—” Cheng Yaowen was about to explain when Lin En had already cut off the communication.
“I don’t want to hear your nonsense.” He closed his eyes and connected the vector perception to the Battle.net core. “Since you don’t admit it, let’s do something big.”
He recalled his experience of manipulating electric current last night, converting the anti-gravity vector into digital pressure, and creating a micro gravitational singularity on the ground.
The remaining red data fragments were like being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner, all flowing towards that point. He clasped his hands together and compressed these fragments into a high-density data ball.
“Conservation of momentum, understand?” He grinned. “You hit me, and I hit you back.”
He raised his hand and pushed, and the data ball bounced back through Cheng Yaowen’s login port, and at the same time a synthesized voice was inserted: “I calculated this wave – you, were killed.”
As soon as the voice message was sent, Battle.net suddenly went dark.
Lin En’s eyes blurred as he returned to the dormitory. He had just unplugged the computer when he heard an explosion from next door.
“Oh my god!”
It was Cheng Yaowen’s voice.
Lin En walked to the window and looked out. Cheng Yaowen was frantically tapping on the smoking computer. The screen was crackling with sparks and finally stopped at a line of small words: [External data intrusion, source: unknown high-dimensional protocol].
“High-dimensional?” Lin En touched his chin. “That’s a rather elegant word to use.”
He turned back to the table, put the terminal away, opened the cache, and called up the copied E=mc2 afterimage.
He stared at it for two seconds, then suddenly reached out and created a new folder next to it, naming it: “Data Ghost Sample 001”.
“Since you love to copy homework,” he hit enter, “I’ll leave some traps for you so your hands will cramp.”
He was about to turn off the phone when the terminal suddenly made a beep.
The cache folder popped up automatically, with a new line of data inside.
Not words, not code.
Instead, there was an inverted ∞ symbol, quietly suspended in the center of the folder, with slightly reddish edges, like a loop made of red-hot wire.
Lin En stared at it without moving.
The symbol suddenly trembled slightly, as if responding to his gaze.
He stretched out his hand, and just as his fingertips were about to touch the screen—
The symbol suddenly collapsed inward, shrank into a point, and then disappeared.
Chapter 9: Solar Engine Power Bank Crisis (Old Version)
Lin Shang had just released the mouse, the warmth of the terminal interface still lingering on his fingertips. His temples were throbbing, as if a wire were pulling back and forth inside his skull. He raised his hand to rub his brow, and a fishy, ​​sweet smell surged up his nose. He quickly tilted his head back to suppress it, but a drop of blood still slid down his back teeth and into his throat.
“Again?” he muttered. “Did this rotten system really screw me over?”
Before he could finish his words, the dormitory door exploded open with a bang. The entire alloy plate flew directly into the wall and trembled three times after being embedded in the cement.
Reina was standing at the door, her red hair was like a dandelion, sparks were crackling from the edge of her star robe, and she looked like a light bulb that was about to melt.
“Xiao Linzi!” Her voice shook the ceiling so hard that dust fell off. “If you don’t charge me, I’ll have to go back home to plant the sun tonight!”
Lin Shang was about to retort when his wrist tightened and he was yanked off the ground like a chicken. He struggled a bit, only to find that this woman hadn’t even bothered with the aircraft, but was simply soaring upwards on sparks of air, dragging him along and smashing three street lamps along the way.
“Be gentle! I just crawled out of the virtual network and my brain is still smoking!” he shouted.
“Smoke helps fuel the fire!” Reina said without turning back, “My energy bar is only 3% left. If I don’t recharge it, we’ll both turn into carbon-based barbecue skewers.”
Inside the aircraft, Lin En was flung into the passenger seat, the back of his head banging against the metal frame with a thud. He felt around, finding nothing broken, but his vector vision automatically popped up before his eyes—the air was filled with chaotic red energy streams, like exposed high-voltage wires, crackling and exploding with sparks.
He frowned, “You’re in a more dangerous state than a lab cauldron exploding.”
“Stop talking nonsense.” Reina slapped the console, and the dashboard turned red. “Hurry and connect the stellar engine to me. I can’t hold on for ten minutes.”
Lin Cheng sighed, fished his glasses from his pocket, and put them on. He’d modified them himself, and the lenses were engraved with microscopic vector filters, filtering out unwanted interference. As soon as he put them on, the world before him instantly disintegrated into countless golden arrows—the thermal motion of air molecules, the flow of energy within Reina’s body, even the crimson crystal that had slipped through the gap in the seat, all glowing with a faint vector halo.
“You dropped something.” He pointed to the gap between the seats.
“What?” Reina looked down and didn’t react.
“It’s okay.” Lin En didn’t say much. He knew this woman’s mind was full of alarms, and she couldn’t care less about small things. He closed his eyes and slowly spread his vector perception, trying to lock onto the energy core in her body.
As soon as it touched, my head exploded.
A golden storm exploded before his eyes, countless fusion vectors shooting up into the sky like lava fountains, each carrying a million-ton momentum. His nosebleed gushed down, dripping onto his white lab coat, leaving him dizzy.
“How can you call this charging?” he gritted his teeth. “You’re going to blow yourself up into a supernova!”
“I don’t want to either!” Reina clutched the console, her knuckles turning white. “I lost a bet last night, and that old man Pan Zhen drained 30% of my energy. Then the system automatically rebooted this morning, and the charging protocol got garbled!”
“So you’re now a runaway solar boiler?” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose and used vector control to fling the blood droplet into a straight line. It then pierced the gap between the seats, trapping the crystal. “Okay, then, don’t move. I’ll give you a temporary diversion.”
As the aircraft came to a complete stop, the energy tower alarm sounded. A crack appeared in the tower, and arcs of blue-white electricity climbed up the outer wall, like lightning gnawing at bones.
Lin Cheng kicked off his seatbelt and dragged his numb legs out. As soon as he landed, he felt the earth’s crust vibrate beneath his feet—the tower’s core had begun to resonate.
He looked up, his vector vision fully activated. The entire tower became transparent to him, the fusion reaction within it like a wildly dancing golden vine, constantly expanding, tearing, and reorganizing. Meanwhile, Reina’s energy flow was surging exponentially, increasing by 17% per second. In three minutes, the entire city would be baked into glass.
“We have to get the radiation out first.” He whispered, raised his hand and pushed, and the anti-gravity vector instantly acted on the ionosphere entrance at the top of the tower.
The air twisted, and a golden arc shot up from the tower’s spire, piercing the sky. A hole was torn in the ionosphere, and violent flare energy spewed out along the channel, exploding a ring of light in the clouds.
“I can take a breath.” He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to rush towards the core module.
Reina slumped in front of the console, her face pale: “You…you can really do it?”
“What else?” Lin Shang grinned, his nose bleeding. “I can even use instant noodles as nuclear fuel.”
He rushed into the core module, his vision instantly engulfed in gold. The fusion vectors were in a tangle, like countless mad snakes, biting and tearing at each other. He fought back the headache and divided his vector sensing into three paths: one to lock onto the main reaction flow, one to monitor the tower stress, and one to trace back to the energy source.
“Here’s the problem.” He suddenly stopped.
Among the dense vectors, there is an extremely weak fluctuation with a frequency of 12.7THz, exactly the same as the data ghost in the virtual battle network last night.
“You again?” He sneered, “It’s not enough to steal my homework, now you even dare to touch the sun?”
He didn’t have time to investigate. The alarm had already become a continuous wailing sound. The tower’s temperature exceeded the critical point, the outer shell began to melt, and the dripping metal looked like golden rain.
“Let’s fight.” He bit his tongue, the smell of blood rushed to his head, and he woke up instantly.
He closed his eyes, the circular trajectory of last night’s instant noodle steam flashing through his mind—a perfect closed-loop energy model. He forcibly dismantled the fusion vector, using anti-gravity to pull out a spiral channel, and then gradually pulled the uncontrolled energy flow into orbit.
The golden rays began to twist, shifting from a violent eruption to a spiral, as if twisted into a pretzel by invisible hands. The tower’s vibrations gradually subsided, and the alarm ceased abruptly.
Lin Shang opened his eyes, his whole body swaying, and he almost fell to his knees. He raised his hand to support the wall, and his fingertips touched the red crystal that had been brought out from the crack of the seat, and he grasped it in his palm.
“Done.” He panted. “Next time you charge, remember to make an appointment in advance. Don’t make it like escaping the apocalypse.”
Reina stumbled in and hugged him: “Xiao Linzi! You are my life!”
“Don’t hug me!” Lin Shang struggled, “I’m about to fall apart…”
She let go of his hand, her eyes shining frighteningly: “What’s that move you just made called?”
“Closed-loop drainage.” He sat down against the wall, his hand loosened, and the crystal rolled into his palm. He looked down and was stunned.
At some point, extremely fine grooves appeared on the surface of the crystal – circles after circles, connected end to end, like a three-dimensional Klein bottle.
Before he could take a closer look, Reina suddenly cried out “Ouch” and raised her hand to touch the back of her neck.
“What’s wrong?” Lin En asked.
“Just now it seemed like… someone was looking at me.” She frowned, “My back is getting hairy.”
Lin En suddenly raised his head, scanning the surroundings with his vector vision. The air was calm, the energy flow was steady, and there was nothing unusual.
But the crystal in his palm suddenly shook slightly.
Chapter 10: Street Simulation: Sniper’s Vector (Old Version)
The crystal in Lin Cheng’s palm trembled again, like an ant crawling between bones. He looked down and saw that the circle of inscriptions was glowing a dark red, flickering like a heartbeat.
He didn’t move, nor did he look up. He simply leaned his left hand against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers of his right hand. As soon as a streak of blood began to appear, he used the vector line to push it back into the vein. His head was still buzzing, as if Reina had stuffed it into a solar furnace and spun it around three times, but he couldn’t wait any longer.
“If we delay any longer, this thing will really grow legs and run away.” He muttered, took out a small notebook from his pocket, turned to a blank page, stuck the crystal on the paper, and with a flick of his finger, a barely perceptible golden line was traced along the edge.
After tracing the picture, he closed the notebook and looked up at the street corner.
At 5:17 AM, the first patrol squad had just passed, their footsteps still echoing in the distance. Lin En narrowed his eyes, his vector vision instantly unfolding—countless flowing arrows floated in the air. Wind speed, humidity, molecular thermal motion—all became streams of data in his vision.
He took out a metal piece the size of a fingernail from his pocket and flicked it lightly.
The metal piece didn’t fall to the ground, but instead hung in mid-air, as if supported by an invisible hand. With a slight movement of his fingertips, the anti-gravity vector acted precisely on its center of mass. Then, with a push along the air density gradient, the small object soared into the sky and landed steadily in the electromagnetic blind spot between two buildings.
“Point one, take position.”
The second and third missiles popped out in quick succession, each one landing on the preset coordinates. He didn’t need to aim or calculate; the golden grid in his vector vision automatically aligned itself. After the twelve markers were deployed, a hexagonal array of light emerged from the sky, like an invisible net, enveloping the entire training street.
“Alright.” He patted his pants. “Now, wait for the gunshot.”
He sat down against the wall, his small notebook open, the tip of his pen hovering just below “variable α,” but he didn’t write anything. The crystal continued to vibrate, its frequency growing steadier, as if responding to something.
He didn’t bother to pay attention, and turned to stare at the shooting range. It was very quiet over there, even the wind had died down.
It was not until 5:43 that the vent cover on the roof of the opposite building was gently opened a crack.
Lin Shang raised the corner of his mouth: “Here it comes.”
He didn’t move or make a sound, simply flinging the holographic projection into the air. Thirty colorful data streams instantly unfolded, all depicting the trajectory of the sniper’s recoil. One particularly striking one—the seventh thoracic vertebra slightly deviated to the left after the force was applied to the shoulder blade, and the vector arrow decayed in a spiral pattern.
“That’s you.” He said softly.
On the rooftop, Qilin lay on the edge of the vent, with the sniper scope against her eye socket and her finger on the trigger, but she didn’t shoot.
“Setting up the net at five in the morning, twelve suspension points, waiting for me to shoot?” she whispered, “Lin En, are you going crazy from being idle?”
Lin Shang looked up and saw that half of her body was hidden in the shadows, with the gun pointed at his head.
“Your muzzle is off by 0.7 degrees.” He pointed. “You can’t hit it.”
“I wasn’t planning on hitting you in the first place,” she sneered. “I was planning on tearing down this whole shabby network of yours, and then taking you to the Academic Affairs Office to explain why you secretly deployed a sensor array in a military restricted area.”
“Sensor array?” Lin En grinned. “It’s called a street physics simulator, get it? I’m building a sniper recoil deflection model.”
“Bullshit.” Qilin narrowed her eyes. “Last month you used instant noodles to calculate Maxwell’s equations, and the week before that you used the cafeteria aunt’s hand tremor frequency for Fourier analysis. Now you’re doing this again? Do you think the academy is your laboratory?”
“The academy is, but you are the experimental subjects.” Lin En flipped open the small notebook. “Look at this—” He raised his hand and the hologram enlarged, and the spirally decaying vector line was stretched into slow motion. “Every time you fire a gun, the recoil is transmitted to the seventh thoracic vertebra, and the uneven contraction of the shoulder blade muscles will cause the vector to deviate 3.2 degrees to the left. Last week’s test, your last shot missed the center of the bull’s eye by 0.8 centimeters, and that was because of this.”
She didn’t say anything, but the sniper scope automatically pulled up the shooting record from last week and played it back in slow motion. The shoulder movement of the last shot was broken down into frames, and the shoulder blade did indeed move slightly to the left at the moment of firing.
She was silent for two seconds, then sneered, “Then tell me, if I fire a shot now, how many meters will the bullet throw someone back?”
“Three meters.” Lin En pointed to the target in the air. “The bullet’s rotation vector combined with the air resistance will cause a secondary deflection before it hits the ground. The impact force will just push the person three meters away.”
“Boasting.” Qilin raised her gun and aimed at the bull’s eye. “I was shooting at a stationary target, not a person.”
“Then let someone stand on it.” Lin En waved his hand, and the security door of the training ground in the distance popped open with a click. Zhao Xin came out wearing a safety helmet and chewing half an energy bar in his hand.
“Hey, Brother Lin? So early?” he asked vaguely.
“Stand there and don’t move.” Lin En pointed at the target, “Cooperate.”
Zhao Xin looked up and saw the muzzle of the gun on the roof. He almost threw the energy bar away. “Wait, I haven’t signed the waiver agreement yet—”
“Bang!”
Gunshot.
Zhao Xin closed his eyes and waited for the pain, but he felt a shock under his feet and slid back three meters. His buttocks sank and he sat directly on the ground.
He was stunned: “…Really three meters?”
Qilin was also stunned. She looked down at the sniper scope, replaying the trajectory of the bullet—the moment the bullet entered the ground, the rotation vector had indeed caused a tiny ground resonance, and the shockwave spread out in a fan-shaped pattern, just pushing Zhao Xin out.
“Coincidence.” She gritted her teeth. “One more shot.”
For the second shot, Lin En raised his hand in advance, and the vector control quietly acted on the bullet’s rotation axis, fine-tuning the deflection angle by 0.03 degrees.
Zhao Xin slid another three meters, and this time even his helmet was tilted.
“Holy crap!” He got up. “Why does this gun have a tracking function?”
Qilin stared at the sniper scope, her fingers trembling slightly. She pulled up the impact data for the two bullets, and the impact curves were almost identical, with an error of less than 1.2%.
“How did you do that?” Her voice cooled, but not as hard as before.
“I didn’t do it.” Lin En pointed at the hexagonal light array in the air. “This network calculated it. I’m only responsible for feeding it the data.”
“So you were outside the energy tower last night to collect residual ionospheric data and predict this morning’s air vector gradient?” Qilin narrowed her eyes. “You even took the wind into account?”
“How else can the markers stay suspended?” Lin Cheng shrugged. “The air density is uneven, and the buoyancy vectors are jumping around. If they weren’t calibrated, they would have fallen off long ago.”
Qilin didn’t say anything else. She stared at the golden hexagonal net and suddenly realized that this wasn’t a prank, nor was it a case of Chuunibyou.
This is a real prediction system.
She slowly lowered her gun, but didn’t put away the sniper scope. Deep within the lens, her pupils had turned golden, automatically tracking the energy fluctuations of each marker.
“What are you going to do with this?” she asked.
“Improve the sniper training system.” Lin En closed the small notebook. “You guys rely on muscle memory now, and I rely on vector prediction. Whoever is more accurate has the final say.”
“Then why did you let me fight just now?” Qilin stared at him, “You could have just given me the data directly.”
“Data isn’t as good as live ammunition verification.” Lin En smiled. “And—” He pointed at Zhao Xin, “I need to let Brother Xin stretch his muscles.”
Zhao Xin had just gotten up when he heard this and rolled his eyes: “So I’m just a test stub?”
“You are the key variable.” Lin En said seriously, “The human body’s cushioning coefficient cannot be measured without you.”
Qilin didn’t laugh. She put away her sniper scope, stood up, and looked down at him. “Can your system predict the trajectory of someone’s gunshot?”
“Yes.” Lin En nodded. “As long as they fire a gun once, the recoil model can be built.”
“Including me?”
“Including you.”
Qilin was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly raised the gun and pointed it at his head.
“Then guess where I’m going to hit you with my next shot?”
Chapter 11: Dark Matter Weapons: Pan Zhen’s Trial (Old Version)
Zhao Xin was still rubbing his butt, but Qilin didn’t put down the gun.
Lin Shang stood there, the skin beside his ear still a little warm from where the bullet had grazed it. He raised his hand and touched it, his fingertips touching it and using vector lines to channel the heat away from the epidermis, leaving no red mark.
“You just said that I couldn’t hit you?” Qilin’s voice was as cold as ice.
“It’s not that I can’t hit it,” Lin Cheng grinned, “it’s that you hit wherever I want you to hit it.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the warning lights in the distant training ground went out with a snap, and were replaced by a circle of red-gold light curtain that slowly rose up. The ground shook, and the metal plates automatically flipped over, spelling out the words “Lieyang Star-Super Seminary Joint Test Area”.
Qilin frowned and the muzzle of the gun tilted slightly half an inch.
“Pan Zhen is here.” she whispered.
Lin Shang didn’t look back, but his vector vision had already scanned it – three kilometers away, a Lieyang standard battleship was entering the atmosphere at supersonic speed. The vector nozzle on the bow of the ship was adjusted by 0.3 degrees. It would not stir up a dust storm when it landed, but it would shatter the glass within a radius of 100 meters.
“The lineup is full.” He muttered, “Are you testing me, or are you trying to make a scene?”
Before he finished speaking, the battleship was already hovering over the training ground. The hatch opened and a figure stepped down into the air. Each step he took was based on the density node of the air, and he walked as steadily as if he was walking in his own living room.
Pan Zhen landed on the ground, threw his black robe, and looked straight at Lin En.
“It was you who said you could stabilize high-dimensional energy vectors?” His voice was not loud, but every word hit like a hammer on steel.
“I didn’t say that.” Lin Shang shrugged. “It was a project submitted by your college. I was just the unlucky one who signed it.”
Pan Zhen narrowed his eyes and took out a pitch-black spear from his arms. The spear was glowing with a dark purple halo, as if it could absorb all the light.
“Dark matter spear, adjust the output power to 1%.” He raised his hand and swung the spear, which drew an arc and headed straight for Lin En’s face.
Lin En didn’t move.
The vector vision exploded instantly – the energy flow inside the spear was like a twisted snake. It seemed to be moving at a uniform speed on the surface, but in fact there was a 0.01% vector jitter at 0.7 seconds, which was obviously a deliberate trap.
“Testing? With parameter adjustment?” He was delighted and moved his fingers slightly. A reverse torque was silently added to the spear’s rotating axis, leading the 0.01% deviation to the ground.
The spear penetrated three feet into the ground, and the sand instantly melted into a glass-like crystal, with steam still rising from the edges.
Pan Zhen raised his eyebrows: “Dodged?”
“I didn’t hide.” Lin En pointed to the ground, “I let it turn on its own.”
“Oh?” Pan Zhen sneered, “Then where’s your ‘vector stabilizer’?”
Lin En turned around and looked at the silver box on the test bench – that was the “prototype” he submitted last week. The outer shell was flashing blue light and looked quite intimidating.
He walked over and unplugged the power cord in front of everyone.
“It’s out of power now.” He patted the box, “but it’s still working.”
Pan Zhen’s eyes narrowed.
Lin En raised his hand, pointing his palm at the dark matter spear, and his vector vision calculated frantically – he wanted to split the energy flow in the spear into seven streams and then reconnect them.
“The more you divide, the smoother I can go,” he whispered.
The next second, the spear body trembled, and a stream of dark purple energy overflowed from the tip of the spear, but was caught by an invisible force field, slowly turning, and finally merging into the molten crystal layer on the ground, forming a circular heat flow.
Pan Zhen’s pupils shrank: “You don’t have any equipment?”
“It’s used.” Lin En pointed to his head, “Here.”
The whole audience was silent.
Qilin stood on the rooftop, the sniper scope automatically zoomed in, and she saw a circle of very faint golden lines appearing under Lin En’s feet, like some kind of topological structure, locking the energy flow in circles.
“This guy… really treats physics like Lego?” she murmured.
Pan Zhen smiled.
“Interesting.” He raised his hand, and six dark matter spears appeared out of thin air behind him, forming a seven-pointed star formation with the first one, and stabbed out from seven directions at the same time.
“This time, I increased the output to 7%.”
Seven spears came through the air, their vector trajectories intersecting into a web, blocking all angles of evasion.
Lin Shang’s eyes went dark, his head felt like it was hit by a hammer, his nose felt hot, and as soon as blood appeared, he used the vector line to push it back into the blood vessels.
“Just in time.” He gritted his teeth, turned on his vector vision, and broke down the momentum, direction, and rotation frequency of the seven spears into data streams.
“You divide it into seven strands, and I’ll connect them into a ring for you.”
He clasped his hands together, and the seven dark matter energy flows were forcibly twisted in direction, connecting end to end to form a high-speed rotating circular orbit.
The energy accumulated more and more, the temperature at the center soared, the air twisted, and a harsh buzzing sound was emitted.
Pan Zhen’s face changed: “Are you crazy? This is dark matter, not your gas stove!”
“Energy is not divided into expensive and cheap ones.” Lin En grinned, veins popping out of his forehead. “As long as the vector is right, even Newton will ignite it for me.”
“boom–!”
A ball of dazzling white light exploded in the center of the seven spears. It was not an explosion, but nuclear fusion.
A controllable, miniature stellar reaction lasting 0.8 seconds.
The strong light dissipated, and seven spears were stuck crookedly in the ground, with the spear bodies charred black, as if they had been baked by the sun.
Lin Shang stood there, with a hole burned in his white coat, but he was fine. He was holding a small notebook in his hand, and was taking notes quickly with a pen.
“I’ve got the formula.” He didn’t even look up. “Dark matter-vector coupling equation, Δ = 0.01%. Perfect match.”
Pan Zhen stared at him and didn’t say anything for a long time.
Suddenly, a sneer came from his earphone.
“Someone is better at playing the vector game than you are.”
Pan Zhen’s eyes turned cold and he raised his hand to turn off the headset.
“This ability of yours…wasn’t given to you by the academy.” He stared at Lin En. “Did you come up with it on your own?”
“Do it? That’s too low.” Lin En closed the notebook. “This is called scientific research.”
Pan Zhen was silent for two seconds, then suddenly smiled. “Okay, you passed. But next time, I won’t use just 1%.”
“I’m always available.” Lin Shang pushed up his glasses. “Next time, remember to adjust the output to 10%. It’s too low, and I’m not satisfied with the calculations.”
Pan Zhen snorted coldly and turned to walk towards the warship.
Lin Shang had just breathed a sigh of relief when he suddenly felt the notebook was a little hot.
He looked down and saw that the line of formula he had just written was moving on its own – the handwriting seemed to be pulled by some force, automatically completing the second half, adding a symbol he had never seen before, like an inverted ∞.
His pupils shrank.
Before I could take a closer look, the notebook snapped shut and automatically turned to the next page. A new line of words appeared on the blank paper:
“External data intrusion, source: unknown high-dimensional protocol.”
Lin Shang stared at the line of words and slowly tightened his fingers.
“Karl?” he whispered. “How long have you been staring at me?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stuffed the notebook into his pocket and turned away.
Zhao Xin was still standing there in a daze: “Brother Lin! Was that light just now the sun?”
“It’s a little smaller than the sun.” Lin Shang said without turning his head, “It’s just a lighter.”
“Then why did you burn your clothes?”
“The lighter is a bit big.” He waved his hand, “I’ll get it reimbursed when I get back.”
Qilin jumped down from the roof, tucked her gun behind her back when she landed. She walked over to him and said in a voice so cold it could freeze ice: “You didn’t rely on that device at all just now.”
“Nonsense.” Lin Shang rolled his eyes. “That crappy box can’t even heat up instant noodles.”
“Then why did you hand it in?”
“Because you all need visible ‘evidence’.” He pointed to his head, “And I just need them to believe that I have the ‘device’ so that I can use it secretly.”
Qilin stared at him and suddenly lowered her voice: “Pan Zhen won’t let this go. There are people behind him.”
“I know.” Lin Shang smiled. “Someone was talking in his headset just now.”
“Did you hear that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.” He touched his ear. “But I saw something—the electromagnetic vector in his headset fluctuated with a 0.03-second delay, which is characteristic of long-range signal injection.”
Qilin was silent.
Lin En continued walking, then suddenly stopped and took out the red crystal from his pocket – the one that Reina dropped.
It was getting hot, and the circle of Klein bottle marks on its surface was glowing slightly.
“You’re reacting too?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is it because of the nuclear fusion just now? Or… because of him?”
The crystal didn’t answer, but the temperature kept rising.
Lin Shang put it back into his pocket and was about to take a step when he suddenly felt something strange on the ground.
He lowered his head.
The melted sand crystals beneath my feet were slowly developing a pattern—exactly the same as the incisions on the crystals, like some kind of resonance.
He squatted down, and just as his fingers touched the line, the crystal popped out of his pocket and rolled to the center of the line.
The moment the two came into contact, a faint pulse of light spread out.
Lin En’s vector vision captured that the frequency of the light pulse was exactly the same as the red data stream he had seen in the virtual battle network.
“It’s no coincidence,” he whispered. “Karl is copying my energy patterns.”
He reached out to pick up the crystal.
As soon as my fingertips touched it, the notebook flipped open automatically. Below the line “Unknown High-Dimensional Protocol,” a new line of words appeared:
“Out-of-control variables detected, initiating cleanup protocol.”
Chapter 12: Absolute Domain: The Heart-Scorching Equation (Old Version)
When Lin En tucked the notebook into his lab coat pocket, it was still scorching, like a piece of iron fresh from the stove. He casually touched the crimson crystal in his pocket; the temperature hadn’t yet dropped. The lines on its surface glowed faintly, resonating with the incisions of the molten crystal on the lab floor, as if by design.
He didn’t have time to dwell on this. He turned and plugged the notebook into the firewall terminal. The logs that popped up on the screen were as messy as a circuit board that had been trodden on by a cat. He squinted his eyes and used vector lines to guide the data flow one by one, forcibly breaking the line “Unknown High-Dimensional Protocol” into pieces and pressing them into the underlying cache. Finally, he added a fake process that read “System Self-Check: No Anomalies.”
As soon as I unplugged the interface, the alarm sounded.
“Authorized access, source: Holy Right.”
Lin En was stunned. Before he could curse, the main control screen of the laboratory went black. Then a string of golden runes popped up, as if they were engraved with light, and it had a sacred feeling like background music.
The door didn’t open, but the air vibrated with a “buzzing” sound. A golden light came down from the ceiling and landed on the ground in the shape of a girl with two ponytails. Seven pairs of light wings spread out, almost blowing off the remaining roof.
“Lin Entropy!” she began, her tone like a class representative checking homework. “You modified the energy matrix parameters thirty-seven times at 3:17 last night without going through the approval process.”
Lin En adjusted his glasses and said, “The approval forms are piled up like a mountain at your senior brother Yan’s place. Do you think I’m delivering a package?”
“Stop talking nonsense.” Angel Zhixin stepped forward and slammed his computer on the table. “You must revise the vector formula for ‘Absolute Domain’ for me today. The model in Kesha’s database is offset by 0.7 degrees within the atmosphere. It will cause problems in actual combat.”
Lin Shang glanced at the laptop. The screen was covered in dense golden runes, like some kind of theological PowerPoint presentation. “Is this thing powered by faith? I need Newton’s support here.”
“Do you dare to say there’s something wrong with Kesha’s formula?”
“I’m not afraid to say it,” Lin Shang picked up the marker, turned around and started writing on the wall, “I’ve already figured it out.”
The tip of his pen scraped across the wall, making a swish sound. Pressure field, electromagnetic vector, and conservation of momentum—three models worked in parallel, arrows and numbers cascading down like a waterfall. He wrote and read, “Your ‘holy conservation’ misses the air resistance vector. When the shield is deployed, turbulence at the edge will cause angular momentum to shift. 0.7 degrees? That’s a conservative estimate.”
Zhixin stared at the wall, her pupils constricting slightly. She called up the simulation interface, entered the parameters, and three seconds later, the data curve showed a slight deviation.
She was silent for five seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud: “You’re really crazy, treating theology as a physics problem.”
“Physics questions are the most straightforward,” Lin Entang said, flicking the cap of his pen. “If it’s wrong, it’s wrong. It doesn’t become right just because you believe it.”
Zhixin didn’t respond, but swiped his finger across the light computer. A golden force field instantly unfolded, and a translucent spherical shield covered the entire experimental table.
“Then give it a try.”
Just as Lin En was about to stop him, his shield had already been charged to the maximum.
The air wave exploded, crushing the tables and chairs into powder, cracking the ceiling into a spider web, and a piece of cement fell down. Lin En used the anti-gravity vector to gently hold it up and slowly moved it to the corner of the wall.
“Big sister,” he wiped the dust off his face, “could you please give me a heads up before starting next time? My lab is not disposable.”
“Look carefully.” Zhixin pointed at the shield. “The energy loop is stable, without any overflow.”
Lin En didn’t say anything. His vector vision activated, and his vision suddenly exploded into a colorful river. Golden energy streams whirled across the shield’s surface at high speeds, seemingly forming a closed loop. Yet, an undercurrent within it continued to emanate in a fixed direction, as if being sucked along.
“How can this be called a closed loop?” He pointed at the edge of the shield. “It’s almost like a one-way drain. Energy is leaking into higher dimensions. Do you think divine power can be infinitely recharged?”
“Impossible!” Zhixin frowned. “Sacred energy circulates in a self-consistent manner and never leaks out.”
“Then tell me,” Lin En stepped closer, “Why is the escape direction always 15 degrees south? And the flow rate increases over time. This isn’t due to system design; it’s due to traction.”
Zhixin froze, then pulled up the deep data stream. Three seconds later, her expression changed.
Yes, there is.
Weak, but steady, like an invisible straw inserted into the shield, continuously drawing energy.
“This…can’t be a problem with Kesha’s system.” She lowered her voice.
“It’s not a system problem,” Lin En stared at the stray flow. “You didn’t account for the external vector interference. This energy didn’t disappear, it was channeled away.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, but you can try it in reverse.”
“You’re crazy! Forcibly reversing the output could cause space to collapse!”
“That’s better than being drained like a power bank.” Lin Shang raised his hand, “Give me control.”
Zhixin hesitated for two seconds, then her brain turned and she pushed it in front of him.
Lin En swiped his finger across the interface, skipping all security protocols and flipping the output vector 180 degrees. He adjusted the parameters while shouting, “Get ready to receive feedback! Don’t just stand there!”
Zhixin subconsciously spread his wings of light, and the energy flow of the shield suddenly stagnated, and then rolled back, like the water that had been sucked out suddenly flowing back.
The molten sand crystal layer on the ground vibrated with a “hum”, and the originally charred surface began to glow, and the cracks closed at a speed visible to the naked eye, as if time was flowing backwards.
“This…” Zhixin’s eyes widened, “Is it repairing itself?”
“It’s not me,” Lin En stared at the ground. “It’s the reflux of energy that triggered some kind of resonance. Look at these lines—”
A circle of fine grooves slowly emerged on the surface of the molten crystal, spirally winding, which is exactly the topological structure of the Klein bottle.
Almost at the same time, the small notebook in his pocket shook violently and popped open automatically. Below the line “Variable out of control detected, clearing protocol initiated”, a symbol appeared in the originally blank space – it looked like an inverted infinity, with a red glow on the edge.
What’s even more bizarre is that the frequency of the symbol is completely synchronized with the patterns on the molten crystal.
“Here it comes again…” Lin Shang stared at the notebook, “Is it Carl’s signal, or something else?”
Zhixin squatted down, lightly touching the surface of the molten crystal with his fingertips, and his wings of light trembled slightly. “This pattern… I’ve seen it in the wreckage of the Battle of Fraser. It appeared at the edge of the void rift, like some kind of… anchor point.”
Lin En didn’t respond, his mind racing through data. Molten crystals, crystals, notebooks, shield leakage—all pointing to the same frequency, the same structure, the same direction.
Someone is using his experiment to build an invisible line.
“Zhi Xin,” he suddenly said, “You just said this shield is ‘Absolute Territory’?”
“Yes, the ultimate defense taught by Kesha herself.”
“Can it be used the other way around?”
“The opposite? You mean… as an attack?”
“No.” Lin Shang shook his head. “As a pipeline.”
“What?”
“If the shield’s energy can be directed out, then it can be directed in.” He stared at the lines. “Directed into one place, or… directed into another.”
Zhixin frowned: “You mean inter-dimensional energy transmission? That requires a stable high-dimensional channel, and-“
“And it needs a receiver.” Lin En interrupted her, took out a red crystal from his pocket and placed it in the center of the molten crystal.
The moment the two come into contact, the light pulse spreads and the entire pattern becomes bright.
The inverted ∞ symbol on the small notebook suddenly jumped, and the handwriting automatically extended to complete a new line of formula:
E_out=-?×(V·S)+αΔ
This was not written by him.
But the formula is clear: the energy output is equal to the negative of the vector curl, plus a perturbation term of the unknown variable α. And that Δ is exactly the same as the 0.01% deviation measured in Pan Zhen’s dark matter spear.
“This formula…” Zhixin looked closer, “Is it calculating on its own?”
“It’s not me.” Lin En whispered, “Someone is using my system as a calculation platform.”
He was about to close the notebook when he suddenly discovered that the piece of cement in the corner of the wall, which he had supported with anti-gravity, was slowly floating up.
No, not floating.
It was sucked over.
It moved towards the center of the molten crystal, little by little, as if there was an invisible force pulling it from the ground.
Lin En squatted down and stretched out his hand – his vector vision instantly captured an extremely thin energy thread that extended from the molten crystal lines, penetrated the floor, and pointed directly to the center of the earth.
At the other end of the thread, the signal source is located and displayed:
Unknown coordinates, depth: ∞
Chapter 13: Wrinkles in Space: Ge Xiaolun’s Curse (Old Version)
The cement block still hung in mid-air, Lin En’s fingertips still hooked on the anti-gravity vector line. He didn’t let it go, nor did he remove his hand. He just stared at the slowly glowing molten crystal pattern on the ground, as if waiting for something.
Zhixin’s light wings had been retracted, but she didn’t leave. She stared at the automatically appearing formula, her finger swiping three times on the computer, scrolling through the data stream seven times, and finally looked up: “This thing… is not our system.”
“I know.” Lin En finally breathed a sigh of relief and gently placed the cement block on the corner of the wall. “Someone is using my experiment as a springboard to insert code into reality.”
“Code?”
“Yes, a mathematical virus.” He pulled out his notebook and flipped to the page with the flashing red inverted ∞ symbol. “Look at this structure. Doesn’t it look like a recursive program? It’s not just reading data, it’s also writing it.”
Zhixin frowned: “Who would use mathematics as a weapon?”
“Mathematics is the most ruthless weapon.” Lin En pressed the crimson crystal into the groove of the test bench, and it clicked tightly. “Ordinary people use it to calculate addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, while lunatics use it to create black holes. I suspect this thing is used to ‘change the rules.'”
Zhixin was about to say something when the alarm sounded.
It wasn’t the lab alarm, it was the vibration of his watch. Lin En looked down and saw it was Ge Xiaolun’s positioning signal—it had disconnected again, then reconnected three seconds later. The coordinates showed he had just been thrown back from the teleportation point ten meters away.
“Here we go again.” Lin En sighed and walked quickly to the teleportation cabin.
As the hatch opened, Ge Xiaolun plunged out, half of his armor fell apart, and a string of glowing marks appeared on his left shoulder, as if someone had written a calculus problem on his armor with a laser pen.
“This is the fourth time.” Lin En squatted down and scanned with his vector vision. “Your armor is almost like a math homework book.”
Ge Xiaolun shook his head, his eyes a little blank. “Where… where did I go just now? I remember I only passed the message ten meters, but then my vision went black. I heard someone reciting pi to three thousand decimal places, and even rhymed it.”
“Don’t recite it, you almost got counted in.” Lin Cheng reached out and pulled him up, “That wasn’t teleportation, it was folding. Someone folded the space, and when you passed through, you got pinched.”
“Clip? I’m the power of the galaxy. I can withstand a star explosion. How can I be pinched by a piece of ‘paper’?”
“It’s not paper, it’s mathematics.” Lin En patted his shoulder. “The marks on your armor are the vector afterimages of the folding of three-dimensional space. Simply put, they are the fingerprints of the wormhole.”
Ge Xiaolun looked down at his arm and said, “So this integral pattern… is for me?”
“There’s more than one.” Lin En pointed to the lining on his left shoulder. “Look here, the small words—Δ=α·?t.”
Ge Xiaolun narrowed his eyes: “What does this mean?”
“What I mean is, you’ve been implanted with a recursive data packet.” Lin En laughed coldly. “Next time I teleport, it might not be ten meters. I’ll send you directly into the antimatter space, or it’ll be a one-way ticket.”
“Then you still want me to pass it on?”
“If I don’t pass it on to you, how will you know what they’re up to?” Lin En turned and walked towards the control console. “Besides, don’t you love being a tester? Last time you tested the ‘Vector Accelerator Ring’ and set the fastest record in the galaxy, you still haven’t collected your prize money, right?”
“That’s because Zhao Xin cheered me on.”
“I’ll yell for you this time, too.” Lin En called up the projection on the wall. It was an unfinished vector model of a Klein bottle. “It’s still ten meters this time. I’ve calculated the error, and it’s less than 0.03 degrees. It’s very stable.”
“You said the same thing last time.”
“Last time was the last time.” Lin En connected the energy of the red crystal to the stabilizer. “This time, I added a resonant frequency lock to suppress the vibration of the space. Trust me, even Newton will stand on my side.”
Ge Xiaolun stared at the model for three seconds and sighed, “Alright, but if you let me hear pi rhyming again, I’ll report you for academic violence.”
“Deal.” Lin En pressed the start button. “Three, two, one, pass.”
Flash of light.
The figure disappeared.
A circle of blue light exploded from the receiving point ten meters away. Ge Xiaolun stumbled to the ground, and two more notches appeared on his armor. This time, they were partial differential equations with boundary conditions.
Lin En immediately called up his computer, magnified the inscribed projection, and activated his vector vision. Colored lines exploded before his eyes, and countless arrows intertwined in the air, forming a non-Euclidean spiral structure that seemed to twist space into a pretzel.
“It’s a fold indeed,” he muttered. “It’s not a wormhole, it’s a wrinkle in space—like a paper with a corner folded, but not completely closed, leaving a gap.”
He was about to record the data when the screen of his computer suddenly went black.
It’s not a power outage, it’s a cover.
All the marks lit up at the same second, the armor automatically activated, and the energy flow reversed to charge. Ge Xiaolun’s feet were empty and he was dragged into a twisted crack.
Lin Shang pounced forward, but only caught a piece of air.
Before the crack closed, he used vector vision to lock the last frame – the internal structure was exactly the same as the “death topology” sketch in Carl’s notebook.
“Fuck.” He slammed his fist on the console. “Are you really using my brother as a data packet transfer station?”
He grabbed a marker, squatted over the molten crystal layer and began to write.
The equations of spatial curvature, the metric tensor, the divergence of a vector field… His pen stroked rapidly, the formulas cascading down like a waterfall. He read as he wrote: “Assuming the folds are closed manifolds, then the coordinate system must use non-directional topology… If there’s no reference point, then create one.”
The tip of my nose began to bleed.
He ignored it and continued to deduce.
The blood dripped down and landed on the molten crystal, and was absorbed by the lines. The circle of Klein bottle structure shook slightly, as if it was activated.
“Okay, you’re just in time.” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose, pulled the red crystal out of the test bench, and smashed it to the ground with his backhand.
The energy exploded, the molten crystal layer became completely bright, and the topological field formed by the lines instantly expanded, like an invisible net, briefly supporting the edge of the space folds.
“Non-directional anchor point, activate.” He closed his eyes, fully activated vector perception, and reverse-injected the inscribed equations on Ge Xiaolun’s armor into the spatial folds. “Don’t you want to transfer data? I’ll let you transfer as much as you want.”
He could feel that the space on the other side was shaking.
Antimatter space lacks a stable vector baseline, so conventional manipulation fails. But he’s not afraid. He’s not trying to recruit people, he’s trying to patch things up—using mathematics to patch reality.
“Closed-loop traction, established.” He gritted his teeth, veins popping out on his forehead, “Coordinates locked… Pull!”
The lines on the ground burst out with a dazzling light, and the crack opened again. Ge Xiaolun fell to the ground as if he was thrown out. His armor was charred, but he was still breathing.
Lin Shang collapsed on the ground, his face covered in blood from his nose.
“You…” Ge Xiaolun coughed twice, “Did you just throw me into Riemannian geometry?”
“It’s not that exaggerated.” Lin En wiped his face, “I just borrowed the non-Euclidean space and took a shortcut.”
Ge Xiaolun struggled to sit up, and was suddenly stunned: “The words in my armor… are gone.”
Lin En raised his head.
The line “Δ=α·?t” on the lining was indeed gone, like erased chalk writing.
But he knew it wasn’t disappearing.
It has been transferred.
He looked down at the little notebook.
Beneath the page of formulas flashing red light, a stream of flowing data slowly converged into the center of the inverted ∞ symbol.
“Good fellow.” He closed the notebook and sneered, “Karl, you stuffed a package into my pocket, and I even signed for it for you?”
Ge Xiaolun stood up with the help of the wall and shook his head. “Can we try a milder branch of mathematics for the next test? For example… elementary arithmetic?”
“No.” Lin En inserted the red crystal back into the test bench. “This matter is not over yet. If he dares to use you as a carrier, I dare to decompile his data packets.”
“What to do after compiling?”
“Throw it into the black hole and let him decipher it himself.” Lin En stood up and patted his pants. “But before that…”
He turned and walked to the console, his fingers typing the next line of instructions on the keyboard.
“I have to pass it on again.”
Ge Xiaolun’s eyes widened: “You’re still coming?!”
“It’s not you who’s being sent this time.” Lin En called up the new coordinates. “It’s the ‘receipt’ I wrote.”
The computer screen lights up and the new taskbar displays:
【Test item: Mathematical virus reverse injection】
[Target coordinates: unknown, depth ∞][Executor: Lin Entropy][Note: A special greeting: “I’ve calculated this wave.”]Lin En pressed the confirm button and the energy ring began to charge.
Ge Xiaolun looked at the crack that was gradually forming and murmured, “Aren’t you afraid…that you won’t be able to come back?”
Lin Cheng smiled, his glasses reflecting the light.
He lifted his foot and stepped into the distorted blue light.
Chapter 14: Energy Battery and Power Bank’s Counterattack (Old Version)
Lin Shang stepped into the blue light, and before he could shout “I calculated this wave”, he was thrown out.
It’s not teleporting, it’s throwing.
It felt like someone had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dumped him out of a washing machine. His head was spinning, and his internal organs were nearly dislocated. He stumbled as he landed, his knees hitting some kind of translucent gel, the rebound force gently offset by the vector lines.
He took a breath and looked up.
The surroundings were pitch black, but not just any black. It was a depth so profound that even photons were pulled and twisted. Space felt like a wet towel, every inch of air trembling. Above, a spiraling gravitational vortex slowly spun. Its center was pitch black, yet it continuously belched forth waves of purple-red energy.
“Reina…” Lin Cheng wiped the blood from his nose and sneered, “Isn’t your revenge too cruel?”
As soon as he finished speaking, a fiery female voice exploded in the air: “Xiao Linzi! Who told you to include me in the black hole decryption tutorial as a case study? And with the accompanying picture of ‘Lord of the Blazing Sun Star – Power Bank Form’? I’m a stellar entity, it’s good enough that I can be your mobile power bank, and you’re using me as a training exercise?”
Lin En looked up and vaguely saw an enlarged face emerging from the edge of the vortex – red hair fluttering, star robes fluttering, it was Reina’s holographic projection.
“That’s teaching material,” he said, scanning his surroundings with Vector Vision. “Besides, don’t you love being an energy battery? The whole universe knows you’re always charging your battleships. Even Xin Zhao’s submachine gun took two bars of your power.”
“How dare you bring that up!” Reina raged. “I just found out my name has been registered as a trademark for ‘Civilian-Grade Stellar Energy Module’! And it was your cousin Cheng Yaowen who registered it!”
Lin Shang’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t respond.
He knew he couldn’t be cowardly or laugh at this moment. The black hole simulator above him had begun to collapse at an accelerated rate, with the gravitational vector changing twelve times per second. An ordinary super-god warrior would be torn into a stream of particles within three seconds.
But he is not an ordinary person.
He is a madman who can crumple up and rewrite Newton’s laws as if they were draft paper.
He closed his eyes, and his pupils suddenly lit up with a golden grid. The whole world exploded into countless colorful arrows in his vision – gravitational tides were purple-red wavy lines, spatial distortions were spiral green ribbons, and even the momentum of his own heartbeat was marked with real-time values.
“Δ=α·?t…” He muttered the equation left on Ge Xiaolun’s armor, his fingers swiping in the air, “This frequency… is consistent with Reina’s energy output pattern.”
He suddenly grinned. “So you’re using the pulse rhythm of solar flares as a control signal?”
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly pulled out a red crystal from his pocket – a compressed solar energy body, the “souvenir” he got from Reina in Chapter 9, and had kept it as a bookmark in his little notebook.
“Now it’s back to its rightful owner.” He flicked his wrist and threw the crystal 0.7 meters in front of the black hole singularity.
The precise control of the vector lines allows the crystal to float steadily at the most dangerous balance point of gravity.
The next second, something strange happened.
A tiny standing wave suddenly appeared in the previously violent tidal flow, like a stone stuck in a turbulent river. The gravitational wave collided with it, rebounded, and collided again, forming a circular resonance.
The space shook three times, and then – it stabilized.
Lin En breathed a sigh of relief and almost fell to his knees, relying on the anti-gravity vector to support his knees.
“Alright,” he shouted into the air. “I’ve figured out the frequency of your simulator. Applying more pressure won’t help. Now this black hole is my metronome.”
Reina’s projection was silent for two seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud: “How dare you use my energy crystal as an anchor? Do you know that if this thing explodes, it can blow through the earth’s crust?”
“I know.” Lin Shang patted his pants and stood up straight, “But you also know that I never do business without calculating.”
He raised his hand, and seven vector lines of different colors wrapped around his fingertips, locking onto the seven key nodes of the black hole jet.
“The next move is called—stellar reboot.”
He grabbed a marker and began scribbling formulas in the air. Vector equations appeared out of thin air, hanging in the air like neon lights. As he wrote, he called out, “Antigravity deflector field, open! Plasma confinement ring, close! Spin amplifier, activate!”
As the last word fell, he tore off the sleeve of his white coat, wrapped the red crystal in it, and threw it towards the center of the guide field like a baseball.
“Newton can’t control me!”
The vector lines instantly entangled the crystal, pushing its spin speed to a critical point. High temperature, high pressure, and high density—the triple conditions were achieved.
A ball of dazzling white light exploded, and a miniature star was born at the edge of the black hole.
It wasn’t large, only about the width of a basketball court, but it burned steadily, releasing pure fusion energy. Even more remarkable, it was firmly locked by Lin Entropy’s vector field, twisting the jet into a spiral plasma beam that pointed like a glowing whip at the energy tower interface overhead.
Reina’s projection widened its eyes. “You…you really transformed it into a stellar engine?”
“More than that.” Lin En wiped the dust off his face, “I want to use it to reverse power supply.”
He turned and rushed to the energy tower control console, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. A red warning popped up on the screen: “Input energy exceeds the threshold by 987%. System denies access.”
“Reject?” Lin En laughed coldly, “I won’t ask whether it agrees or not.”
He took off his glasses and used his vector vision to scan the entire electromagnetic structure of the energy tower. In his eyes, the tower was instantly disassembled into a dense network of current paths, capacitor banks, and superconducting coils.
“Tear it down and reassemble it,” he muttered to himself. “First, adjust the resonant frequency to the matching point.”
He raised his hand, and dozens of vector lines shot into the tower, cutting the old lines as precisely as a scalpel and reweaving them into a superconducting resonant cavity structure.
“Finished.” He tapped the console. “Now, listen to some music.”
He tuned up the output waveform of the stellar engine and modulated it into a sine wave with a steady rhythm, like a slow nocturne.
“Energy Symphony, First Movement—Enter Gently.”
He pressed the confirm button.
The first ray of energy flowed into the tower, instantly silencing the system alarm. Then came the second, the third… More and more energy was slowly released, and the tower began to emit a low hum.
On the screen, the power reading soared all the way – billions, tens of billions, hundreds of billions… and finally stopped at ten trillion joules.
The entire city lights suddenly lit up, illuminating even the overcast sky with a pale glow. Drones in the distant training grounds collectively took off, automatically switching to full power mode. The cafeteria’s induction cooker blazed to full blast, instantly curing an aunt’s trembling hands. Even Ge Xiaolun’s armor remotely charged, automatically repairing three cracks.
Lin En stood at the foot of the tower, looking up at the golden spiral pattern that was slowly emerging at the top, which looked like some kind of ancient symbol.
He didn’t say anything, but just took out his little notebook and turned to the page with the inverted ∞ symbol.
The red light is flashing.
It flickers synchronously with the ∞ symbol at the core of the stellar engine.
“Interesting.” He closed the notebook and put it back in his pocket. “Even Carl’s recursive structure can be used as a startup password by me?”
Reina’s projection was still in the air, her expression complicated: “You’re not even using reverse power… You’re turning my black hole simulator into a perpetual motion machine.”
“No.” Lin Shang pushed his glasses, “I just proved one thing—”
He turned and looked directly at the projection.
“Power banks can also become the main power source.”
Reina was stunned for two seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud: “Okay, Xiao Linzi, next time I get angry, I’ll just stuff you into the supernova core and see if you can still sing the reverse energy symphony.”
“Welcome.” Lin En grinned. “I’m in need of a high-temperature reactor to refine Carl’s math virus.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the stellar engine suddenly shook slightly.
The light of the ∞ symbol suddenly deepened.
Lin En’s brows jumped, and he immediately used vector vision.
An extremely weak reverse flow appeared in the energy flow of the engine core – as if something was crawling along the energy channel towards the real world.
Chapter 15: Dark Energy Resonance: The Mystery of the Womb Revealed (Old Version)
As soon as Lin En’s fingertips touched the energy flow from the stellar engine, the familiar red light followed the vector line and drilled into his nerves. He wanted to withdraw his hand, but his fingers seemed to be welded to the control console and could not move.
The next second, my head exploded.
It wasn’t pain, it was as if his entire consciousness was stuffed into a high-speed particle collider, with countless data streams rushing in from all directions – Reina’s solar pulses, the frequency of the incisions on Ge Xiaolun’s armor, the electromagnetic fluctuations when the Heart-Scorching Shield was deployed, and the propulsion trajectory of Pan Zhen’s dark matter spear… all churning in his mind, like a group of unsportsmanlike mathematical ghosts having a disco party.
“Whose formula is running around!” He cursed, his vision went dark, and he fell straight back, with the back of his head almost hitting the edge of the console. Fortunately, an invisible force in mid-air gently lifted him up, allowing him to land steadily.
The lab was silent for a few seconds.
Then, the weird things started.
Outside the window, a training bullet, which should have been deflected five degrees and embedded in the concrete wall, suddenly retreated from the wall and hovered in mid-air, as if it had been played in reverse. The aroma of instant noodles wafted from the cafeteria. Then, the instant noodle bucket at the end of the corridor, which he had used as a trash can, slid automatically to the door. A series of glowing equations appeared on the bucket: Pan Zhen’s dark matter propulsion model, including the three variable correction terms he had secretly modified last time.
Even more bizarrely, the equation began to move on its own. The blank space at the end was slowly filled with a line of derivation he had never written: “? × E = -? B /? t + □.”
Lin Shang was lying on the ground with his eyes closed, but his pupils were trembling rapidly under his eyelids, as if he was frantically doing homework in a dream.
Deep in his consciousness, a data riot is taking place.
All the vector information he had once observed, manipulated, and tampered with now came alive. They were no longer tools he could manipulate, but rather a group of old acquaintances gathered around him, forming a roundtable conference. The vibrations of Kesha’s silver wings hummed a tune on the left, Carl’s death formula beat the rhythm on the right, and Reina’s stellar collapse rhythm drummed overhead. These three signals intertwined, forming an eerie rhythm—neither fast nor slow, like a heartbeat, yet also like the fetal movements of the newborn universe.
“What kind of background music is this?” Lin En rolled his eyes in his mind. “Who composed this brainwashing song for me?”
But despite his curses, his brain had already begun calculating uncontrollably. Those previously independent vector data were automatically combining, correcting errors, and optimizing, forming a completely new set of computational logic. He tried to stop it, but found that his thoughts were already being carried away by this rhythm, like being stuffed into a washing machine running in reverse, all his knowledge being rinsed, dried, folded, and filed away again.
Just when he was about to be driven crazy by this rhythm, a whisper suddenly rang in his mind:
“You weren’t supposed to wake up here.”
The voice was so soft, almost inaudible amidst the data stream, that it gave Lin Entang a sudden start.
He had heard this before.
Not in the Super Seminary, not in the laboratory, nor on the day of traveling through time.
It was earlier—so early that he didn’t even realize he was wearing it.
Before he had time to think about it, his consciousness was pulled into a deeper vortex again.
When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting up.
He didn’t sit down on his own; his body adjusted itself, as if some program had taken over. He raised his hand and found his fingertips were slightly warm. The world before him had changed.
No longer just vector lines and arrows.
But – data reflux.
Everything he had ever controlled was rebounding on him. The hovering bullet automatically shifted direction, flying towards him, only to stop ten centimeters from his face, floating quietly. The equation on the instant noodle bucket flickered a few times, and the entire data transformed into a red light, burrowing into the palm of his right hand.
“Hey?” He waved his hands. “Can this thing be returned?”
As soon as he finished speaking, he felt a sharp pain in his head and blood from his nose dripped onto his white coat.
He covered his head and bared his teeth: “Damn, there are side effects to upgrading?”
But despite the pain, he found he could now “hear” more. Not with his ears, but directly with his mind. The shift in Zhao Xin’s momentum as he sprinted in the distant training grounds, the subtle force applied by Qilin as she adjusted the elevation of her sniper rifle at the range, even the residual trace of the wormhole Du Qiangwei had left behind when she climbed through his window last night—all of it lit up in his mind, like a pile of unread messages from old friends.
“That’s awesome.” He wiped the blood from his nose and grinned, “Before, I was the one chasing Vector, but now Vector is chasing me and calling me daddy?”
As he was speaking, the air in the corner of the laboratory suddenly twisted, and a small wormhole silently opened up.
“then!”
Du Qiangwei’s voice came from the hole, and then a crumpled piece of paper flew out and hit him in the face accurately.
Lin En took the paper, glanced at it, and was stunned.
This was the half-page of formulas he had written on the energy tower console before he passed out. The ink hadn’t even dried yet. But now, there was a line of handwritten comments on the paper. The handwriting was beautiful but a bit arrogant:
“You’ve made the demon lose its way seven times in three minutes. Your brain is even more devious than Morgana’s navigation system.”
He turned the paper over and drew a small wormhole topology diagram on the back, which perfectly matched his original calculations and even filled in the curvature compensation term he missed.
“…You even peeked at my draft?” he shouted at the wormhole.
“When have I not peeked?” Du Qiangwei’s voice was lazy. “I helped you correct the third line you wrote wrong three times.”
Lin En didn’t respond, but stared down at the paper.
He reached out and touched the formula, and instantly, a miniature space fold unfolded before his eyes – seven intersecting wormhole paths were automatically generated in the void, each with a different gravitational deflection coefficient, like a three-dimensional maze.
He chuckled, “It turns out I don’t have to do anything, my brain has already fought the battle for me.”
This is true evolution.
Before, he had to stare wide-eyed, calculate parameters, and mobilize his mental energy to manipulate each vector. Now, his consciousness itself has become a vector resonance field. Any information it has come into contact with can be automatically reorganized and output in reverse, even continuing calculations while he is unconscious.
This is no longer “manipulation”.
This is “symbiosis”.
He raised his hand and lightly touched the hovering bullet with his fingertips.
The bullet did not fly or fall, but slowly rotated, and a string of numbers appeared on its surface – that was the initial velocity, angle, and air resistance coefficient when it was first shot, all of which were restored.
Lin En looked at the data and suddenly thought of something.
He took out his small notebook and turned to the page with the inverted ∞ symbol.
The red light is still flashing.
Synchronized with the frequency of the stellar engine.
But this time, he didn’t rush to cut the connection.
Instead, he closed the notebook, put it back in his pocket, and stood up.
“Since you want to talk,” he stared at the wormhole that hadn’t closed yet, “let’s have a good chat.”
He raised his hand, fingers spread out, palm facing up.
Seven vector lines of different colors extended from his fingertips. They were not actively controlled by him, but emerged spontaneously – from bullets, from the instant noodle bucket, from the stellar engine, from Ge Xiaolun’s armor, from Zhixin’s shield, from Pan Zhen’s spear, and… from himself.
They intertwine in the air, automatically weaving into a complex three-dimensional structure, like a beating data heart.
Lin En grinned.
“Come on, who’s going to speak first?”
Chapter 16: Genetic Confinement: E-Class Counterattack (Old Version)
Lin En had just stood up, with the seven vector lines still dancing at his fingertips, when the laboratory door was kicked open.
Two burly men in black security uniforms rushed in, clutching a pair of handcuffs that glowed blue. The markings on them were clearly a magic-forbidden alloy designed to counter superpowers. Without a word, they lunged at the man and tackled him.
“Wait, I just—”
“No need to wait.” The man on the left said expressionlessly, “Director Cheng said that E-level student Lin En is to be escorted to the genetic testing chamber immediately. No delay.”
Lin En wanted to struggle, but the back of his neck went numb, and a surge of electricity shot up his spine, causing him to go limp. He glanced down at the smoking cuffs of his white coat—the scorch marks from the previous explosion of the stellar engine—and thought to himself: I didn’t even have time to eat instant noodles, how did I get into trouble again?
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in a transparent cabin, surrounded by flashing data screens. A beam of red light swept across his pupils above his head, and a mechanical voice announced coldly: “Target number L-07, genetic rating: E-level, adaptation protocol activated, starting the confinement procedure.”
“Huh?” Lin En grinned. “E-level? Didn’t I just get promoted to D last month?”
No one paid any attention to him.
A silvery-white liquid slowly seeped from the bulkhead and flowed through the pipe into his arm. The next second, his head buzzed, as if someone had tightened his nerves with a wrench.
He closed his eyes, and vector vision automatically activated.
When I saw this, I almost laughed out loud.
Seven scarlet rings entwined the outer edges of his DNA double helix, each labeled in small print: “E-Level Adaptation Protocol – Cannot Be Disconnected.” These rings, like old-fashioned anti-theft chains, coiled one inside the other, each pulsed at its own rate, contracting every three seconds and causing his brain to swell.
“I was wondering why I couldn’t level up.” He snorted, “So it’s not that I didn’t work hard, it’s that the system welded my genes together?”
He tried to mobilize his mental power to touch the outermost red ring. The moment he made contact, it immediately ejected a series of high-voltage arcs, which shot straight up his nerves and into his temple. He groaned, and blood from his nose dripped onto the console, flowing through the cracks into the circuit board below. With a sizzling sound, a puff of green smoke rose.
Cheng Yaowen’s voice came over the radio, with a hint of lazy sarcasm: “Lin Entropy, don’t waste your energy. This chain is designed based on the genetic commonality of 12,000 E-level students. You, who almost blew yourself up with a stellar engine, still want to rewrite the code of life?”
Lin En didn’t say anything, but closed his eyes.
He summoned all the data that had been running around in his mind just now – the equation on the instant noodle bucket, the trajectory of the bullet, the pulse rhythm of the stellar engine – and pieced them together in his mind like building blocks to form a network, covering the outside of his neural core.
The headache was relieved immediately.
“It turns out it’s not that I can’t hold it, it’s that I haven’t found the right posture.” He opened his eyes, his pupils glowing with gold. “This thing is just like the cafeteria aunt’s hand shaking, it’s ridiculously regular.”
He stared at the outermost red ring, and with a thought, he adjusted his neural signal vector to the same frequency as the data flowing inside the ring, and gently stuck it on.
The red ring didn’t respond.
He applied a little more force, and like tightening a screw, he slowly deflected the ring’s direction of rotation by five degrees.
With a slight sound, the first chain broke.
Before Lin En could even laugh, the entire test chamber suddenly sounded an alarm.
“Illegal vector intrusion detected! Initiate cleanup protocol!”
High-voltage electricity gushed out of the bulkhead, hitting him like a high-pressure water gun. His whole body twitched, his muscles spasming uncontrollably, and his fingers curled into chicken claws.
“Get rid of your sister!” He bit his tongue and the pain made his vision turn white, but the hovering bullet in the previous chapter suddenly flashed through his mind.
At that time, he was still thinking about how to forcibly bend its trajectory, but later he found out that the vector is not pulled by brute force, but by “persuasion”.
He suddenly relaxed and stopped resisting the electric current. Instead, he simulated his own vector field into a standard E-level template and obediently followed the data flow of the red ring like an obedient little fish.
The red ring was indeed calm.
Just when it was about to return to its original position, Lin En suddenly injected the pulse frequency of the stellar engine in reverse!
The red ring vibrated violently, its structure instantly lost balance, and exploded into a cloud of light.
Lin Cheng felt a sharp, audible sigh of relief, as if someone had plucked a nail from his bones. He looked down and saw the broken red ring transform into a thread of light, wrapping around his right index finger. It twisted several times before finally settling into an inverted ∞ mark.
“Huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t this the same as the one I drew in my little notebook?”
Before he could finish his words, the test cabin exploded with a bang.
Glass fragments scattered everywhere, and the data screen crackled with sparks. Lin En stood up from the ruins, still holding half of the red ring in his hand, like a burnt chopstick.
Cheng Yaowen stood in front of the console, his face turning green.
“You…you’re cheating! The gene lock is automatically determined by the system. You can’t possibly—”
“Cheating?” Lin Shang wiped the blood from his nose, twirled the half red ring around his fingertips, and laughed. “I just softened the instant noodles.”
He raised his eyes, his golden pupils staring straight at Cheng Yaowen: “You said that E-level lives are not worthy of upgrading – but dare you measure it, is your current heartbeat vector shifted by 0.3 degrees because of me?”
Cheng Yaowen was stunned and subconsciously touched his chest.
Lin Shang didn’t look at him again and turned away.
But just as he took a step, his eyes caught sight of the screen in the corner of the console.
There was a line of unsent instructions flashing on it:
“Initiate E-level liquidation protocol – Target: Lin Entropy.”
He paused, said nothing, stuffed the half red ring into his pocket, and continued walking forward.
The light at the end of the corridor flickered, and there was a burning smell in the air.
He walked to the corner and suddenly stopped. He took out a small notebook from the inner pocket of his white coat and opened the page with the inverted ∞ symbol.
The frequency is consistent with the mark on his finger.
He closed the notebook, stuffed it back into his pocket, and stepped over a pool of smoking circuit fluid.
Behind him, in the wreckage of the test chamber, a piece of light slowly sank into the micro-receiver at the bottom of the console, silently.
Lin Shang walked ten meters and suddenly felt his right hand was a little hot.
He looked down and saw that the inverted ∞ tattoo was glowing slightly, as if responding to something.
He raised his hand to the emergency light at the end of the corridor.
The light passed through the fingertips and cast a shadow on the wall, but the shadow was not in the shape of a hand.
It’s a spinning Klein bottle.
Chapter 17: Virtual Reconstruction: Data Controller (Old Edition)
Lin Shang’s right hand was still burning, the inverted ∞ mark pulsating slightly like a circuit board burned into his skin. He didn’t look at the emergency light at the end of the corridor, nor did he pay attention to the small notebook in his pocket, which was blinking red. That one glance was enough—the shadow wasn’t a hand, it was a Klein bottle spinning.
He turned the corner and headed straight towards the main control room without stopping.
The cuffs of his white coat were still smoking, but he couldn’t bring himself to change them. His mind was filled with the data stream from the moment the genetic lock snapped: seven red rings, pulsing every three seconds, a 0.7-degree deviation in the contraction angle, a striking resemblance to the rhythmic trembling of the cafeteria auntie’s wrist as she served food. He had “persuaded” it, not forced it.
“Since we can trick the system into authentication,” he muttered as he walked, “can we…get inside the system and change its entire existence?”
There were two guards standing at the door of the main control room. They were obviously new guards. Their armor was shiny and their guns were pointed downwards, but their fingers were too close to the triggers, and they looked nervous.
Lin Shang took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeve, and when he put them back on, a golden grid appeared in his pupils.
He didn’t get close, but stood five meters away and put his palm on the data interface on the wall.
The guard was stunned: “What are you doing? You can’t just—”
Before he could finish his words, Lin Shang’s palm felt warm and the inverted ∞ mark suddenly lit up.
The next second, his consciousness seemed to be sucked into a glass tube, and a golden torrent exploded before his eyes.
Data wasn’t code, not 0s and 1s, but rather a directional line—a vector. Transmission rate, flow direction, encryption level, firewall response delay… all became visible arrows, forming a queue before his eyes, like the flow of people at a subway station during rush hour.
“Oh,” he said softly, “so you also teach physics.”
He “walked” along the data stream, using the oscillation frequency of the broken red ring as a key. With a slight vibration, the firewall’s verification module tilted five degrees. The system didn’t alarm, because it thought it was a misstep made by its own people and could correct it immediately.
But Lin entropy didn’t let it correct itself.
He amplified the shockwave, like throwing a stone into water. The ripples spread out, instantly covering the entire authentication protocol. The main control system blinked, then silently opened a backdoor for him.
“I can’t control Newton,” he laughed, “but I can control Ohm’s law.”
He didn’t rush to change the permissions or delete the logs. Instead, he took his hand away from the interface and turned to walk towards the virtual battle network access area.
Dozens of trainees were testing combat procedures there, their consciousnesses connected, their bodies lying in the cabin, their heads plugged into data cables. A large screen displayed a map of a tropical rainforest, densely covered with vines and venomous insects, a standard high-level survival test scenario.
Lin Cheng took a glance and raised the corners of his mouth.
“Isn’t this just a large physics simulator?”
He walked to the server array and pressed it.
Golden vectors exploded from his palm, pouring into the data stream through the interface. Every line of code became a computable equation in his eyes. Terrain parameters, gravity coefficients, air resistance… all became arrows he could bend.
“Come on, let’s adjust the taste.”
He closed his eyes and mentally deduced the reflection function of a logarithmic spiral—the kind of curve that gets tighter and tighter, with no way out. Then, he rewrote all the terrain vectors on the entire rainforest map.
On the big screen, the rainforest has not changed, but there is an invisible “field” in the air.
Three seconds later, the first student opened fire.
The bullet flew out but didn’t hit the target. Instead, it followed an invisible spiral trajectory, made a big circle, and blasted a crack in his teammate’s shield.
“Damn it! Who hit me?!”
The second student threw a concussion grenade. As the shock wave of the explosion spread, it was captured by some force field, compressed into a ring, rolled along the ground, and blew himself away.
“There’s a bug in the system!!”
The third student started running, but every step he took felt like he was walking on a slope, and his body slid uncontrollably towards the center point. Finally, with a plop, he fell into the trap he had dug.
Outside the big screen, the monitor slammed his head on the table in frustration: “What’s going on?! All the attacks are bouncing back! The terrain parameters are all messed up!”
Lin En stood in front of the server, his fingers still burning, but he smiled like a fox who had just stolen a chicken.
“It’s not chaos, it’s an upgrade. This is called a math maze, understand? You’re not fighting people, you’re fighting the Fibonacci sequence.”
He was just about to add some more ingredients and let the vines whip the person’s face according to the golden ratio, when suddenly the air behind him trembled.
A wormhole opened silently, and the red-haired woman jumped out of it, her tactical boots breaking a floor tile when she landed.
“E-grade trash,” Du Qiangwei sneered, “You broke into the control room and tampered with the Battle.net environment. What’s your crime?”
Before she finished speaking, the wormhole had not yet closed, and the second door opened above her head, the third on her left, and the fourth under her feet – she was instantly surrounded by six wormholes, forming a high-dimensional pincer attack.
Lin En didn’t even turn his head.
He simply raised his right hand, stared at the inverted ∞ mark on his palm, and said softly, “You’ve come just in time.”
His pupils suddenly shone with golden light, and his vector vision was fully activated. In an instant, he disassembled Du Qiangwei’s wormhole into dozens of space-time vector lines – entrance, exit, curvature, energy gradient, folding angle… all became parameters that he could control.
“You said I’m E-level?” He raised his hand as he spoke, his fingertips tracing the air as if drawing an invisible picture. “Then take a look at this. Does it look familiar?”
He used the Klein bottle structure he discovered from instant noodle steam as a model and reversely constructed a closed, undirected vector field.
There is no starting point and no end point. All exits are connected to entrances, and all entrances lead to oneself.
The six wormholes twisted instantly, as if being pinched at both ends by an invisible hand and forcibly stitched together. Du Qiangwei was about to leap out when her foot slipped and she was spit out of the wormhole she had just opened. She fell to the ground five meters away, a layer of dust on her tactical vest.
“Ahem…what did you do?!” She looked up suddenly, and a few strands of her red hair were messed up.
Lin En shook his smoking cuffs and smiled, “Welcome to my laws of physics.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the vector cage began to dissipate, leaving a string of faint symbols in the air, like a formula written casually by someone with a light pen: ∫∮?×φ=0.
Du Qiangwei stared at the string of symbols, her pupils shrinking slightly.
“This…is not any of the wormhole codes Morgana taught me…”
Lin En didn’t respond, but looked down at his right hand.
The inverted ∞ mark was still flashing, but the frequency had changed, completely synchronized with the red light on the small notebook.
He suddenly thought of something, took out a notebook from his pocket and turned to the page with the picture of the Klein bottle.
The red light was brighter than before.
Moreover, the edges of the bottle, which was originally just a sketch on the paper, began to heat up slightly, as if it was about to float out of the paper.
He closed the notebook, put it back in his pocket, and looked up towards the control room.
“Okay, warm-up is over.”
He walked to the main console and typed a line of instructions on the virtual keyboard:
“CREATE_KLEIN_FIELD=TRUE”
The system was silent for a second, and then a confirmation box popped up.
He was about to press confirm when his eye suddenly twitched.
On the screen in the corner of the console, a line of log records flashed by that he had never seen before:
“High-dimensional topological structure injection detected, source: unknown.”
He did not delete the record or trace the source. Instead, he copied the line of words, pasted it into his own notebook, and wrote it next to the Klein bottle sketch.
Then he pressed confirm.
Golden vectors erupted from the server array, spreading along the cables throughout the academy. All running virtual programs instantly refreshed, and the terrain, gravity, and energy fields were completely reconstructed.
On the big screen, the rainforest disappeared.
Instead, there is a mathematical maze consisting of countless spiral staircases, each step marked with a differential symbol, and rotating geometric shapes floating in the air, as if someone has poured out the formula of the entire universe.
Lin En stood in front of the server, his white coat still wrinkled and smoking from his cuffs.
He raised his hand, palm facing the ceiling.
The inverted ∞ mark is dazzlingly bright.
The projection appears again, but this time it is no longer a Klein bottle.
Rather, it was a four-dimensional hypersphere folding in on itself, with incomprehensible symbols flowing on its surface.
He stared at the light and shadow and whispered:
“You said I’m E-level?”
With a flip of his finger, the hypersphere suddenly shrank, turned into a point of golden light, and drilled into his palm.
Chapter 18: Stellar Engine: Angelic Form (Old Version)
Lin En had just pressed the confirm button, and before the inverted ∞ mark on his palm had time to cool, the entire foundation of the academy shook violently. It wasn’t a fluctuation in the data flow, but a real physical tremor, like someone hitting the earth’s knee with a hammer.
He stumbled and nearly bumped into the server cabinet.
“Who’s doing nuclear fusion again?” He muttered, raising his hand to adjust his glasses. As soon as the lenses focused, a golden and red vector torrent exploded in his field of vision – countless burning particle streams were gushing out from the direction of Lieyang Star, with their trajectories spreading out in a fan shape, heading straight for the civilian area of ​​Juxia City.
His pupils instantly flashed with golden grids, automatically marking the speed, mass, and momentum of each flame stream. Even more outrageous, these trajectories… were exactly the same as the “logarithmic spiral force field” he had written on the virtual battle network three minutes ago.
“Holy crap, this can resonate?” His scalp tingled. “They’re not stopping after modifying the system, and they’re even throwing a linkage gift pack in real life?”
Before he could finish his words, the lab’s emergency broadcast exploded: “Warning! High-energy reaction detected! Unauthorized activation of the stellar engine within Lord Reina’s body! Energy output uncalibrated! I repeat, this is not a drill!”
Lin Cheng: “…She’s crazy!”
Before he could finish his curse, the sky outside the window had already turned a molten gold. The flames were no longer fire, but golden arrows with tails of flame, densely packed and slicing through the atmosphere, tearing the air into sharp whistles.
His mental strength had just experienced a surge on the virtual battle network and was still in a brief period of decline. His head felt like a wrung towel, dry and aching. But as the rain of arrows fell right over the Third Elementary School and the breakfast stall where the Cainiao courier often camped, he gritted his teeth and thrust his hand into his chest—there was an invisible energy circuit there, the “vector resonance body” left behind during his coma in Chapter 15.
“I missed this wave!” He growled, pressed his hands down, as if inserting them into a boiling oil pan, and forcibly pulled the momentum vector group of the golden and red arrow rain into his body.
hot.
It wasn’t scalding, but rather the heat of a star’s core, rushing through his blood vessels to his forehead. His white lab coat instantly carbonized, curling and blackening at the edges, and the smoke from his cuffs sparked with sparks.
Energy raced through his body, stretching his DNA like a rubber band stretched to its limit. His legs gave way, and he fell to one knee. The ground melted into glass with a sizzling sound.
Just when he was about to lose consciousness, the skin on his back suddenly split open into six cracks.
Not blood, but light.
Golden vector lines gushed out from the wound, automatically weaving in mid-air into six enormous wings of light. Each wing was composed of a flowing Fibonacci spiral, its edges gleaming with golden ratio spots of light. As they slowly unfolded, the air currents above the entire city were drawn in, forming an invisible force field.
Lin Cheng was even confused: “I have wings… growing on my back?”
Before he could complain, his body automatically activated “physics simulator” mode. Its subconscious mind modeled the turbulence within its body into a “stellar-black hole binary system,” automatically calibrating its anti-gravity vector. The six wings swept away all the dissipated energy, condensing it into a ring of stars that hovered above the city.
Like Saturn’s rings.
But what’s even more amazing is that the arrangement of the light spots on the ring happens to be the golden section point, and it rotates once a second in a very regular manner.
On the rooftop, Qilin had just set up the sniper rifle, raised the scope, and almost pulled the trigger.
“Lin En is being parasitized?” She frowned, her finger hovering over the trigger without moving. “That thing on his back… is it an angel or a barbecue grill?”
She subconsciously activated the vector stabilization pattern in her sniper scope and began recording the ring’s rotational frequency. One revolution per second? No, 0.9876 revolutions. Her pupils constricted—this number was exactly the same as the “soldier rib offset” Lin En had calculated on the street three months ago.
“This guy even has a formula for farting?” She put away her gun and muttered, “Pervert.”
At the door to the lab, Reina collapsed on the ground, her star robe dimmed, and the miniature star behind her seemed to have been unplugged and completely shut down. She opened her eyes dazedly and saw Lin En’s six wings spread out, the star ring above his head slowly rotating, and the whole person looked like a god who had walked out of a math textbook.
“Xiao Linzi…” She weakly got up and rushed over to hug his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I sensed a sudden change in the academy’s energy, and I thought it was an invasion, so I… I subconsciously started the engine…”
Lin En retracted his six wings, the light traces dissipated, and he staggered two steps. His white coat shattered into pieces, leaving only a T-shirt with the words “Newton can’t control me” printed on it. The collar was crooked and one side of his belt was loose.
His face turned pale, and the inverted ∞ mark on his palm was jumping up and down like a hiccup.
“It’s okay…” He waved his hands and tried to laugh, but ended up feeling a surge of anger in his stomach. “I can still…”
Before he finished speaking, he opened his mouth and——
“belch.”
A miniature black hole spewed out from his mouth, three centimeters in diameter, suspended in mid-air, its edges distorting the light, and it was eerily quiet.
Reina: “???”
The black hole floated for three seconds, sucked in the hairpin on her head gently, and then disappeared with a “pop” sound.
Lin Cheng touched his mouth, looking bewildered: “Have I been eating too much instant noodles recently?”
In the monitoring room, Cheng Yaowen was retrieving data when a Hawking radiation code suddenly popped up on the screen. He squinted and froze.
“This fluctuation…how come it’s exactly the same as the anomaly in the solar energy crystals in Chapter 9?” He silently took a screenshot and annotated it with a line of small text: “E-grade waste’s burp is more expensive than a supernova.”
Just as he finished saving, the lights in the laboratory flickered twice.
Lin En stood there, the collar of his T-shirt askew, the inverted ∞ mark still flashing, his fingers unconsciously scratching the corner of his mouth.
Reina held her empty head, her hairpin was gone, and her hair style was half collapsed. She said aggrievedly: “Xiao Linzi, my hairpin is gone…”
Lin Shang blinked and was about to speak when his stomach churned again.
His face changed and he raised his hand to cover his mouth.
Reina stepped back in fear: “Don’t—”
He opened his mouth.
Another miniature black hole slowly floated out with a faint smell of instant noodles.
Chapter 19: Spacetime Wormhole – Morgana’s Peep (Old Version)
Lin Cheng was staring at his fingertips. The tiny black hole that had just appeared was spinning slowly, and a wisp of white smoke with the smell of instant noodles drifted from the edge. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but his stomach tightened again, and the black hole shrank into a dot with a “pop” and disappeared.
“Is this digestive system equipped with an antimatter reactor?” he muttered, looking down at his T-shirt with only half the sleeves left. The collar was crooked as if it had been chewed by a dog, and his belt was hanging on one side. He looked like a homeless man who had just crawled out of a garbage dump.
Before he could finish his words, a cool breeze blew from behind.
“Let’s go and work.”
A voice sounded right next to his ear, and then his wrist tightened. The cold tactical rope was wrapped around him with a “snap”, and the force was so strong that it pulled him forward two steps.
Lin En stumbled and looked up, meeting Du Qiangwei’s face, cold enough to freeze. She stood before a slowly rotating miniature wormhole, her red hair rustling in the high-dimensional air currents. The small, suspended wormhole behind her opened and closed like breathing.
“Can you wait until I clear the black hole in my stomach before kidnapping me?” He struggled to retreat. “My computing power is only at 30% right now. I can’t even calculate the expiration date on a bag of instant noodles.”
“I don’t have time to wait for you to burp.” Du Qiangwei pulled the rope and dragged it into the wormhole. “The space-time structure of the Demon Castle has collapsed, and the navigation system is completely blind. You are the only living compass that can understand vector turbulence.”
“Then you’ve got the wrong person. I just stabilized the atmosphere by farting.”
Before he could finish his words, he was pulled into the wormhole.
In an instant, the vision exploded.
It wasn’t light, it wasn’t color, it was a madly twisting turbulence of vectors. The golden grid flickered before his eyes, flickering like an old television with a bad signal. He subconsciously tried to use vector control to steady himself, but the moment he thought, a piercing pain shot through his temple, and the tip of his nose felt hot, and a trickle of blood trickled down.
“Don’t force yourself.” Du Qiangwei loosened the rope but didn’t reach out to help. “You’re having trouble even standing up straight now. Stop wasting your time.”
Lin En wiped the blood from his nose, drew a crooked Riemann curvature correction on the fragment of his white coat, and said breathlessly, “You professional female ghost knocking on the window, can you choose to carry out this mission when I’m not on my period?”
“When are you not on your period?”
The interior of the wormhole was like a wrung towel, space constantly folding and tearing apart. Lin En leaned against the twisted wall, the golden grid in his pupils barely reforming, but just as it modeled a trajectory, it snapped and broke.
He bit his tongue, the smell of blood rushing to his head, finally sobering up for a moment. Using this energy, he stuffed the formula he had just written on his clothes into a USB drive and pressed it against the inner wall of the wormhole.
As soon as the data stream was injected, the scene in front of me suddenly changed.
The previously chaotic vector lines began to automatically align, forming two intertwined spirals, resembling double-helix DNA or a flattened Möbius strip. His pupils shrank, and he looked up suddenly.
“No… this isn’t a wormhole,” he said, his voice trembling. “It’s a space-time corridor! The exit and entrance are at the same point. The entire castle is folding in on itself!”
Du Qiangwei frowned: “What do you mean?”
“You’ve led me into an infinitely looping maze.” Lin En laughed coldly. “Every step we take now might be a repeat of the trajectory of the previous second. The place you just dragged me in might be the exit we’ll be leaving from in three minutes.”
He raised his hand and pointed to the depths of the wormhole, where the outline of a black castle vaguely emerged. The outer walls were covered with twisted runes, and the vector lines of the entire building were collapsing inward at an extremely slow speed.
“It’s shrinking.” Lin En stared at the spiraling force field. “Like a wound-up spring. If this continues, the entire space will shrink into a singularity. By then, not only will we not be able to conduct reconnaissance, not even a slag will be left.”
Du Qiangwei’s expression changed: “What should we do? Retreat?”
“We can’t withdraw.” Lin En shook his head. “We’re already in a loop. If we withdraw now, we’ll just be thrown back to the previous node and repeat the process.”
He looked down at the USB drive. The screen was still on, and the coordinates he had just burned into it were automatically corrected to synchronize with the pulsation frequency of the wormhole.
“Unless…” he grinned, “we add a ‘breakpoint’ to this corridor.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Create a bug.” He pressed the USB drive against the wall of the wormhole, “to freeze the system.”
The moment the USB flash drive made contact, a miniature vector bomb detonated along the data stream. There was no sound of explosion, only a golden Fibonacci spiral, like a chisel scratching glass, deeply engraved into the outer wall of the demon castle.
The entire space shook violently.
The spiral pattern lit up, like a circuit energized, spreading along the wall. The continuously collapsing force field suddenly froze, as if a grain of sand had been stuck in a gear, stopping for a second.
At this moment, the pulsation of the wormhole became disturbed.
Lin Shang was about to laugh, but he caught a glimpse of the edge of the wormhole opposite, and the air was rippling like water waves.
A figure slowly emerged.
She was wearing a black dress, had long hair, and a faint smile on her lips. She stood on the other side of the wormhole, watching them quietly as if through a layer of invisible glass.
“Interesting.” Her voice was not loud, but it echoed directly in my mind. “Not many people can see the corridor.”
Du Qiangwei raised her hand instantly, and the wormhole behind her began to close.
“Don’t leave so quickly.” The woman chuckled. “I just want to see who’s rewriting my facade with vectors.”
She raised her hand and lightly touched the wormhole wall with her fingertips. The Fibonacci spiral pattern that had just been engraved actually began to rotate in the opposite direction.
“Is this what you carved,” she tilted her head, “an invitation?”
Lin En didn’t say anything and silently stuffed the USB drive into his pocket.
“Or…” Her eyes fell on his face, and her smile deepened, “You want to play a game with me?”
“I don’t play games with strangers.” Lin En finally spoke, “especially not with someone wearing a black dress and playing their own background music.”
“I’m not a stranger.” She waved her hand gently, and a string of familiar symbols suddenly appeared on the inner wall of the wormhole – ∫∮?×φ=0, which was the remnant of the equation left by Lin En in the virtual battle network.
“Your traces have been here a long time ago.” She chuckled, “You just forgot.”
Lin Shang’s heart skipped a beat.
Du Qiangwei suddenly pulled him back: “Go!”
The wormhole began to shrink rapidly, but the woman opposite did not move at all. She just raised her hand, and her fingertips passed through the air, as if plucking an invisible string.
Lin En only felt a tightness in his chest, and the inverted ∞ mark suddenly became hot, as if it was gently touched by something from a higher-dimensional space.
“Next time we meet,” her voice faded, “let’s not play navigation. Let’s play something more interesting—for example, who can calculate the initial vector of the universe first?”
The wormhole closed with a snap.
The two men fell to the laboratory floor, the USB drive was still smoking, and the spiral pattern and the inverted ∞ mark on the screen overlapped, forming a composite symbol that had never been seen before.
Lin Cheng was panting and raised his hand to touch the corner of his mouth. There was no black hole, but the smell of instant noodles was still there.
Du Qiangwei sat up, looking grim: “How did she know your data?”
“I don’t know.” Lin Shang stared at the USB drive, “But I think… this isn’t the first time she’s seen me.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the USB flash drive suddenly popped out automatically.
A small piece of paper slid out from the interface, with only one line of words written on it:
“The last time you came, you were wearing a plaid shirt.”
Chapter 20: Street Combat: Vector Amplification Cheat (Old Version)
Lin En stared at the charred handwriting on the USB drive, his fingertips still stained with half-dried blood from his nose. The lab lights crackled as he carved the final line of Riemann’s formula into the back. He casually popped a mint into his mouth—it was Zhixin’s special “nerve sedative,” supposedly made from quantum foam collected from the edge of a black hole. If you eat too much, you’ll burp and spew stars.
He shook his head, and the golden grid in his vision finally stabilized, no longer twitching and flickering like it had the previous second. His white coat was tattered beyond recognition, with only half the sleeves left, and the collar so crooked you could fit a fist in it. He dug a spare from the bottom of the cabinet, shook it, and found a stiff circuit board sewn to his left chest.
“VA-01… I almost forgot about this thing.” He muttered, spread his white coat on the table, took out a wire as thin as a hair from the drawer, and pinched it between two fingers.
The air trembled slightly, and the wire began to move on its own, as if drawn by an invisible hand, weaving back and forth across the crack. He closed his eyes and silently calculated the resistance coefficient, adjusting the vector direction so that the tension of each stitch just offset the fabric’s rebound. After three minutes, the needle and thread automatically tied a knot, and the broken end was precisely retracted onto the spool.
“Fluid dynamic tailoring, patent applied for.” He patted his collar, pressed the circuit board back into place, and pressed it lightly.
“Beep—Vector Amplifier activated, mode: Street Combat.”
The tiny indicator light on the inside of the cuff flashed blue and then disappeared.
He flexed his wrists and felt his entire body lighten. It wasn’t the kind of weightlessness that made him feel like he was floating, but rather a feeling as if every movement had been calculated in advance, his muscles simply executing the command. He glanced down at his notebook, flipping to the latest page. It was densely covered with vector trajectory diagrams of the street brawl three days prior.
“B-rank fighter Zhang Meng, right leg exerts force with a 0.3-second lag, and peak elbow torque with the third punch occurs at 0.47 seconds…” He muttered, closing the notebook. “That’s him.”
The fighting arena’s floor still bore scratches from last night’s training. The auditorium was mostly empty, save for a few trainees yawning over energy drinks. Lin Shang walked in, wearing a patched white lab coat. No one recognized him from behind as the “Black Hole Burp Man” who had been vomited out by the wormhole yesterday.
Zhang Meng was already warming up in the center of the field, his muscles as tense as a fully drawn bow. He threw a punch, and the air was torn apart with a muffled sound.
“Are you sure you want to fight?” He glanced at Lin Cheng. “You’re here to write a paper, fighting in a white coat?”
“Almost.” Lin En put the notebook into his pocket and raised his hand. “I call this field data verification.”
As soon as the referee shouted “start”, Zhang Meng rushed over.
The fist, whirling with wind, aimed straight at his face. Lin En didn’t move, but his pupils instantly transformed into golden grids, and the world before him immediately became a flowing rain of arrows—every inch of Zhang Meng’s muscle contraction, every turbulence of airflow, every shift in his center of gravity, all were disassembled into readable vector lines.
He lightly pushed off with his right foot, and the air resistance returned to zero. His whole body seemed to be pushed out by an invisible hand, passing by with the wind from his fist.
“The edge of the sound barrier… barely enough.” He muttered, and threw a straight punch with his backhand, hitting the force fault point of Zhang Meng’s right shoulder accurately.
Zhang Meng stumbled a step, his brows furrowed. “You’re lucky.”
In the second round, he picked up speed, his flurry of kicks cracking the ground. Lin En remained calm, dodging left and right, squatting, and lunging forward, each step fitting in the gaps between his opponent’s movements, as if he had read the script beforehand.
“I’ve calculated this wave!” He punched out, hitting the old wound under his ribs.
Zhang Meng groaned and took two steps back: “Have you ever peeked at my training video?”
“No need.” Lin En flicked his wrist. “The deflection angle of your third punch was 0.7 degrees slower than the standard model, and the elbow torque decayed 0.12 seconds earlier—this is the aftereffect of that kick from Zhao Xin last week.”
Someone in the audience laughed out loud: “Did this guy memorize the medical examination report?”
Lin Entang ignored him and pressed on. He activated the VA-01’s secondary amplification, his body’s vector field perfectly syncing with the aerodynamics. His movements were so fluid they didn’t seem human, more like precisely compiled code.
Each of his strikes replicated the rhythm of the fighter on the street three days ago—not an imitation, but the optimal solution after modeling.
“Look, the trajectory of force, center of gravity shift, breathing rate… all can be described by equations.” He said as he fought, as if teaching someone, “Fighting is not art, it’s physics.”
Zhang Meng finally lost his temper and launched a spinning kick, leaving an afterimage. Lin En’s pupils shrank, his calculations soared, and his temples throbbed, but he gritted his teeth and held on, raising his hand to block, while using vector control to deflect the force on the opponent’s calf.
With a slight sound, Zhang Meng’s ankle twisted and he almost fell to the ground.
The referee raised his hand: “Stop! Lin En wins!”
The audience was silent for two seconds, and then burst into boos.
“Is it an act?”
“This movement is too fake!”
Lin Shang took a breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and was about to call it a day when he caught a glimpse of the sniper tower high above the fighting arena from the corner of his eye.
The tower window was open, and the muzzle of a rifle was pointed at him.
He looked up and met a pair of eyes so cold that they could freeze flames.
Qilin slowly lowered her gun and jumped from the tower, landing without even a scratch on the wind. She walked up to Lin Cheng and, with a flick of her finger, pulled the notebook from his pocket.
“Three days ago, two gangs clashed on the East Side.” She flipped through the pages, her voice like an icicle. “Were you there the whole time?”
“I was just passing by.” Lin Shang reached out to take it back. “It’s purely academic interest.”
“Academic?” She sneered and turned a page, which showed a soldier’s punch trajectory. “Then tell me, why did Zhang Meng’s movement just now have a deviation of no more than one degree from this person’s vector model?”
Lin En blinked: “Coincidence?”
“Don’t give me that.” She held the notebook up to his face. “You’re not fighting, you’re doing an experiment. Every move, every dodge, is the result of your pre-calculated calculations.”
Lin Cheng was silent for two seconds, then suddenly smiled: “So?”
“So…” She stared at him, “You planned this all along? Those three days of street scanning were meant to copy other people’s combat patterns?”
“Copy?” Lin En shook his head, reached out to open the last page of the notebook, and pressed the projection button.
Two groups of dynamic vector images appeared in the air: one group was the street fighters, and the other group was Zhang Meng.
The lines intertwine and the comparison data jumps automatically.
“Look here.” He pointed to the deflection angle of the third punch. “Street Fighter’s is 11.3 degrees, Zhang Meng’s is 12 degrees. The one I just threw was 11.7 degrees—I’m taking the theoretical optimal value, not copying anyone.”
He raised a hand and pointed at his head. “I’m modeling, not plagiarizing. Combat patterns can be summarized, force patterns can be deduced, and even…” He paused. “Pain reactions can be predicted.”
Qilin didn’t say anything, but her pupils quietly turned golden. The analysis system of the sniper scope automatically started and began to compare the two sets of data.
After a few seconds, a line of small words appeared on the mirror: “Trajectory Matching: 98.6%.”
She stared at the words, then looked up at him: “You treat combat… as an experiment?”
“What else?” Lin En closed the notebook and stuffed it back into his pocket. “The laws of physics don’t lie. Newton can’t control me, but his formulas are useful.”
Qilin was about to say something when she suddenly caught a glimpse of a half-burned piece of paper slipping out of his sleeve, with a few blurry words written on the edge.
“A plaid shirt…?”
Lin Shang quickly stuffed the note back and pretended not to see it.
“What is that?”
“Oh, that.” He scratched his head. “It’s the remnant of my lab coat from my last experiment. I kept it as a souvenir.”
Qilin narrowed her eyes: “When did you wear a plaid shirt?”
“Maybe… in a past life?” He chuckled and changed the subject. “By the way, are you interested in trying my new cheat? The anti-gravity jump module is coming soon, and Zhao Xin has already booked a test.”
“No deal.” She put away her sniper scope, turned around and walked away, then stopped after two steps. “Don’t use yourself as a guinea pig in the next experiment. If you burp and spew black holes again, I’ll shoot you in the stomach.”
“Roger that, sir.”
She left, and Lin En sighed in relief. He lowered his head to check the status of the VA-01. The indicator light was a steady blue, with an amplification efficiency of 87% and a mental workload of 43%—it could still hold up.
He opened the last page of his notebook, picked up a pen, and added another line below “Anti-Gravity Jump Module Test Appointment”:
“Vector Amplifier Phase II Upgrade: Sniper Trajectory Real-Time Deflection System – Qilin (Not scheduled yet, but will come sooner or later).”
After finishing writing, he closed the notebook and was about to leave when he suddenly felt a burning sensation in his chest.
The inverted ∞ mark began to heat up again, but not as intensely as last time. It was more like… it was gently touched by something.
He lowered his head and touched it. His white coat was intact and there was nothing wrong with the circuit board, but the heat was climbing up his spine, like an invisible thread hanging from the higher-dimensional space, gently hooking his nerves.
He stood there, not moving.
The lights in the fighting arena suddenly flickered.
He raised his hand, and his fingertips unconsciously drew an arc in the air, as if writing a symbol that no one could understand.
When the stroke ends, the air twists slightly, as if at that moment, a vector field of a certain frequency resonates briefly.
He withdrew his hand, tucked the notebook under his arm, and walked towards the door.
Halfway through his walk, he stopped, took out the burnt note from his pocket, looked at it for two seconds, and put it back.
“Next time we meet…” he whispered, “I have to wear a plaid shirt.”
Chapter 21: Data Backlash: Ghost Code (Old Version)
Lin Shang had just stuffed the charred note back into his pocket, the burr of the fabric still lingering on his fingertips. He left the fighting arena. The hallway lights flickered on and off, as if someone had switched on a strobe switch. He ignored it, only to feel the inverted ∞ mark on his chest heat up again, lighter than before, but more persistent, like someone had gently traced a circle on his skin with a branding iron.
He paused and pulled a USB drive from his pocket. The edges of the fragments were still stained with dried blood from his nose. It had been burning in his pocket when he’d calculated Zhang Meng’s elbow torque in the ring. He stared at it for two seconds, then suddenly pressed his fingertip against it.
Buzz——
The vision was instantly flooded with purple code.
It wasn’t a screen, it wasn’t a projection; it was a torrent pouring directly into my brain, a dense web of symbols crawling through my nerves like living worms. He stumbled, his back hitting the wall, cold sweat trickling down his temples. The lab’s alarms hadn’t sounded yet, but the lights on the main console were already flashing frantically, and metal brackets were automatically disintegrating, sending screws flying toward the ceiling like iron filings attracted by a magnet.
“Damn, this data can bite people?”
He gritted his teeth and forced his vector vision on. The world before him suddenly disintegrated into countless flowing arrows—the vibration direction of air molecules, the speed of electric current in cables, the acceleration vectors of metal components… everything was in disarray. These physical parameters should have been under his control, but now they were forcibly rewritten by an external force. The equipment seemed to be assembled by invisible hands, and the alloy plates rotated and welded in the air, making a harsh friction sound.
Three minutes later, a three-meter-high Gothic spire stood in the center of the laboratory, its surface engraved with Riemann symbols, and a slowly rotating inverted ∞ light pattern suspended on top of the spire.
“Holy crap, whose church is this coming to my lab?”
Lin En wiped the blood from his nose. As soon as the droplet of blood landed on the control console, it was drawn by an inexplicable vector field, spreading along the edge of the circuit board, forming a conductive path. The alarm suddenly blared, and the thermometer showed that the temperature in the room instantly soared to 70 degrees.
He realized something was amiss. This wasn’t just some hacker attack; someone had used mathematical logic to directly tamper with the laws of physics. Just as he was about to use his vector control to deflect a metal rod headed for his face, his head felt like it had been struck by a hammer, and a white light exploded before his eyes.
“The harder you push, the more severe the backlash…” He took a breath and suddenly smiled, “Alright, you’re trying to suppress logic, huh? Then let’s try something unreasonable.”
He ripped open his white coat, revealing the glowing pattern on his chest—the solar engine energy matrix, like a miniature star map embedded in his flesh. This was the “aftereffect” left after absorbing Reina’s rampaging energy last time. Normally warm, it was now terribly hot.
“Come, let me conduct electricity for you.”
He pressed his palm against the exposed port on the console, pain racing through his nerves to his brain. Bioelectric signals, mixed with vector energy, poured directly into the data stream. The spire shook, and the symbols on its surface began to distort, but it didn’t collapse.
“Not enough? Okay, add more.”
He bit his tongue, smeared the blood on the edge of the console, drew a circle with his finger, and then drew a line from the middle, connecting it back to the starting point – the topological structure of the Klein bottle. He figured this out while eating instant noodles, the steam swirling around the glass lid and finally biting the tail.
“Infinite loop, understand?” he muttered as he drew. “No matter how good your code is, it still has to follow a closed logic loop. I can make you run for ten thousand years and you won’t be able to get out of it.”
Translucent patterns of light began to appear on the ground, exactly as he had drawn them. The spire’s rotation slowed, and the symbols on its surface began to repeat and overlap like a stuttering video. The inverted ∞ pattern of light at the top of the spire twisted into a pretzel, emitting a harsh electronic cacophony.
“Infinite loop activated, countdown three seconds.” He wiped his face, blood from his nose mixed with sweat, “Three, two…”
The spire trembled violently and collapsed with a loud bang, its metal components scattering to the ground. The main console screen flickered several times, finally freezing on a single frame: a skull composed of mathematical formulas, with the words “Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem” scrolling in its eye sockets.
Lin En’s pupils shrank, and the vector control instantly froze the image. He stared at the words, his head feeling like it was being pierced by a high-voltage current. It wasn’t pain, but a feeling of “cognitive rupture”—as if someone had told him that the rules he had always believed in were incomplete from the beginning.
“Godel… incomplete?” He grinned, his gums still bloody. “Brother, have you forgotten that I never play by the rules?”
He picked up the burnt USB drive and carved a line of words on the blank space on the back with his fingernail: “Your system has exceptions – I am the exception.”
Click.
All external devices are powered off.
The lab went dark for half a second before the emergency lights came on, casting a cold glow on the metal debris on the floor. Lin En leaned against the wall, his chest heaving. The heat from the inverted ∞ mark had finally subsided. He looked down at the Klein bottle pattern he had drawn on the floor; it was still glowing faintly.
“Don’t be so sneaky next time, Carl,” he gasped. “If you try to sneak up on me again, I’ll turn that old clock of yours into an alarm clock and play ‘The Most Dazzling National Style’ every morning at six.”
He bent down to pick up the USB drive and was about to put it away when the afterimage on the screen suddenly flashed.
A line of small words appeared on the charred interface: “Coordinates marked: X-247, Y-89, Z-12. Target: Male Core Battle Armor Marking.”
Lin Shang narrowed his eyes and looked over the USB drive three times, but did not find any receiving records.
“Who sent it?”
He was about to unplug the USB drive when his fingertips suddenly felt numb.
The line of coordinates disappeared, replaced by a stream of dynamic vectors, like the waveform of some biological signal. His pupils shrank. This frequency…why did it resemble the resonance pattern of Ge Xiaolun’s armor core?
Just as he was about to call up the analysis interface, the main power switch of the laboratory tripped with a “click”.
In the darkness, he stood there, holding the hot USB flash drive in his hand.
There were footsteps outside the door, coming closer and closer.
He didn’t move, just stuffed the USB drive into his pocket and rubbed the Klein bottle light pattern on the ground with the sole of his shoe.
The doorknob turned.
He looked up, saw the light coming through the crack in the door, and suddenly smiled.
“Come to check the dormitory?”
The door opened.
Chapter 22: Absolute Domain · Combat Test (Old Version)
Lin Shang was still leaning against the wall, the USB drive in his pocket burning like a piece of charcoal fresh from the stove. He looked up, only to be met not by the cold face of the instructor who was checking the dorms, but by a woman with twin ponytails swaying like an electric fan, holding a laptop in her hands, her eyes bright enough to serve as a searchlight.
“This is the model you modified last night!” She grabbed his arm, “I stuffed it all into the shield core. Now we have to try it out!”
Lin Shang didn’t move. He had just wiped half of his nosebleed, and his head was still buzzing. He stared at her. “Do you know that I was just chased by a bunch of mathematical formulas? I can’t even calculate air resistance right now.”
“That’s perfect!” Zhixin immediately pulled him up from the ground. “The shield just needs a tester who can withstand logical crit attacks. You’re the perfect fit in your current state—it’s almost falling apart anyway, so a little more collapse won’t make a difference.”
Lin En stumbled two steps, the sleeve of his white coat scraping against the wall, leaving a bloody mark. He raised his hand to stop her, but she dragged him towards the testing ground. As soon as his feet touched the metal floor of the training ground, he felt a chill on the back of his neck.
He looked up suddenly.
The seemingly ordinary lines on the ground were now glowing with a faint blue light, and circles of formulas seemed to come alive and converged towards the center. His pupils shrank. “Wait, is this the gravity array Cheng Yaowen wrote? Didn’t he say it was still in the simulation stage?”
“Oh, he secretly went online last night.” Zhi Xin stepped back, holding the laptop. “He said he wanted to test the extreme pressure, so I brought you in.”
“You’re saying this ‘conveniently’? You’re just using me as cannon fodder and throwing me into the reactor!”
Before he could finish his words, the ground beneath his feet snapped shut, and all the formulas lit up simultaneously. The air instantly twisted, and Lin En felt as if his internal organs were being grasped by an invisible hand, squeezing them hard towards the same point.
He looked up, and the void above his head collapsed into a small dark dot with a purple glow at the edges, like a punctured membrane.
A micro black hole has taken shape.
“Shield activated!” Zhixin shouted, and the optical computer projected a circle of translucent barrier, covering the two of them. But as soon as the barrier was erected, it was torn by the tidal force of the black hole, and the energy bar dropped sharply.
Lin En gritted his teeth and forced his vector vision on.
The world exploded into countless colorful arrows before his eyes—the shield’s energy flow was golden, being sucked out by the black hole’s gravitational vector like noodles; the air molecules were tangled into a mess; even the bioelectric current in his own body was stretched and deflected toward the black hole.
“No…” He stared at the flow of shield energy and suddenly laughed out loud, “Is your shield designed to be one-way? Energy only flows in, not out?”
“Yeah, defense, of course, is about absorbing impact!” Zhi Xin stared at the data, his voice tense, “The damage rate is now 37%!”
“So you don’t understand the model I modified at all.” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose and drew his fingers in the air. “I’m not asking you to carry it, I’m asking you to push back! Do you understand the energy closed loop? What goes in must come out!”
He suddenly raised his hand, and with a thought, he forcibly reversed the energy flow of the shield core.
The golden vector line instantly turned around, no longer sending it into the black hole, but instead flowing back into his body along his arm. The inverted ∞ mark on his chest suddenly felt hot, as if a red-hot iron ball had been stuffed into it.
“Ah–!” He groaned and his knees went weak, but he didn’t fall.
The shield’s energy exploded along his vector control system, forming a repulsive field around his body. The black hole’s gravitational force collided with it, like hitting a rubber wall, and it was abruptly deflected.
“Shield damage rate… 58%!” Zhixin’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?! If you keep going like this, you’ll be torn apart!”
“Tears are also data!” Lin En grinned, his gums still bloody, “Come on, let’s see the big one.”
He clasped his hands together, compressing the reverse repulsive force into his palms. The black hole’s gravitational pull raged furiously, veins popping out of his forehead, and blood from his nose dripped down his chin onto the floor. As soon as he touched the ground, he was torn into thin strands by gravity.
But he didn’t care and just stared at the ball of compressed energy.
“Gravity is centripetal, repulsion is centrifugal… The two counteract each other, and a Lagrangian equilibrium point can be formed around the singularity.” He calculated and shouted, “As long as we fold the negative energy flow into a closed loop before it collapses, we can-“
Before he could finish his words, a soft white light burst out from his palm with a “puff” sound.
The ball of light was only the size of a walnut, but it was incredibly stable. Circles of spiral patterns floated on its surface, like the embodiment of some mathematical formula.
A micro white hole has taken shape.
The black hole’s devouring effect was instantly neutralized, and the two extreme gravitational forces stalemated in mid-air, forming a visible force field boundary. Behind Lin En, the gravitational vector lines in the air were pulled by the white hole’s energy, automatically weaving into a pair of unfolding wings of light. Their smooth lines and precise structure resembled a three-dimensional projection of a topological figure.
“What…what is this?” Zhi Xin was stunned. The light brain automatically focused and took a picture of the pair of light wings.
“Mathematical Wings.” Lin En gasped. “I made this temporarily. It’s for now.”
He raised his hand and gently pushed the miniature white hole forward. The ball of white light slowly drifted towards the black hole. The moment the two came into contact, there was no explosion, no flash. The black hole disappeared silently, as if being erased by an eraser.
The testing ground returned to calm.
The formula array on the ground went out with a “pop”, and the edges were charred, as if it had been burned by high temperature.
The radio suddenly started, and Cheng Yaowen’s voice was a little guilty: “Um… Lin Entang, I’m sorry, I just wanted to see if you can withstand my new model… I didn’t expect you to be able to output in reverse…”
Lin En ignored him, bent down to pick up a piece of charred metal, and ran his finger across it twice, reproducing the black hole’s gravitational vector diagram. He then pulled a USB drive from his pocket, inserted it into the optical computer, and called up the algorithm version that Cheng Yaowen had uploaded last night.
“You copied Pan Zhen’s work, and that’s fine,” he sneered. “But you made three mistakes—the gravitational coefficient was missing a correction term, the boundary conditions used an outdated tensor, and most crucially, you didn’t include energy feedback delay compensation.”
He turned the screen around and pointed at the three red circles. “If this were used in real combat, the shield would have exploded long ago. This isn’t a test; it’s murder.”
There was silence on the other end of the radio for three seconds, and then with a “beep”, the call was cut off.
Zhi Xin walked over, staring at the afterimage of the wings behind Lin Shang, and asked quietly, “Um… can you unfold them again? I want to record it.”
“What are you recording? It’ll be gone in a moment.” Lin Shang unplugged the USB drive and stuffed it back into his pocket. “This thing is too exhausting. If I use it again, I might have to lie down for three days.”
“But this structure is so perfect!” She flipped through the records on the optical computer. “The vector spectrum when the white hole was formed automatically generated an encrypted tag called ‘ED-25’. I’ve never seen this kind of encoding before.”
Lin En was stunned: “ED-25?”
He was about to ask for details when the inverted ∞ mark on his chest suddenly felt hot again, as if resonating with the USB flash drive in his pocket, causing his fingers to go numb.
“Again?” He frowned and was about to take it out to have a look when a ray of blue light suddenly emerged from the charred remains of the formula on the ground.
Those burned lines were being reactivated by an invisible force. Gravitational vector lines crawled out from the ashes and automatically pieced together into a complete array diagram.
“Didn’t I just say…” Lin Shang squatted down and traced his finger along one of the lines, “Don’t copy so obviously next time?”
He sneered, injected the remaining white hole energy into his fingertips, and gently tapped the center of the array.
The entire ground lit up, and a complete three-dimensional gravity model appeared in the air, with three loophole locations marked next to it, and red circles flashing like alarm lights.
“Now the whole universe knows you copied my homework.” He stood up and patted his pants. “I suggest that next time you modify the code, at least change the name in the comment.”
Zhixin suppressed a laugh, secretly turned the laptop behind him, and pressed the record button. As soon as the image of the pair of mathematical wings was saved in the folder, the system automatically popped up a naming box.
She thought for a moment and typed a few words: “Science Wings Prototype α”.
Lin En didn’t notice, looking down at his palm. Although the white light had disappeared, a faint pulse remained under his skin, as if something was moving through his blood vessels.
He frowned and was about to take a closer look when the inverted ∞ mark on his chest suddenly jumped.
At the same time, the USB flash drive in his pocket made a slight sound.
He took it out and looked at it. The screen was black, but on the back, the words “Your system has exceptions – I am the exception” that he had carved with his fingernails were emitting a faint white light, as if it was lit from the inside.
Chapter 23: Energy Matrix Power Bank War (Old Version)
Lin Shang was staring at the still-slightly warm lines on his palm, feeling as if a thin thread was twitching back and forth beneath his skin. He was just about to pull out the USB drive for another look when the door was kicked open.
The heat wave rushed in with sparks, almost knocking over the cold cup of instant noodles on his table.
“Xiao Linzi!” Reina rushed in with great strides, her red hair looking like it was on fire, and the tiny stars floating behind her flickered. “You just created a white hole? Didn’t you?”
Lin Shang raised his eyes. His nosebleed hadn’t completely stopped yet, and his cuffs were still stained with dark red. “Who told you that?”
“Zhi Xin posted it on WeChat Moments with the caption ‘Science Wings Prototype α’, and it even has location tracking.” She snatched up the USB drive from his desk and twirled it around in her fingers. “Besides, the equipment in the entire institute is vibrating. Why pretend?”
“That can’t be—”
“No negotiation!” Reina pressed the button on the side of the USB drive, and a golden light instantly swept across the entire venue. “The battle for stellar energy has been forced to start! You and I will team up to face off against all the students in the academy. If you win, I’ll charge your battery for ten years. If you lose—” She raised the USB drive high and pretended to put it in her mouth, “I’ll throw it into the core of the sun like fuel, and you will never be able to connect to the high-dimensional information flow again in your life.”
Lin En stood up abruptly, his head buzzing. The inverted ∞ mark on his chest suddenly burned like a branding iron, and the USB drive in his pocket vibrated. The words he had engraved on the back—”Your system has exceptions—I am the exception”—actually glowed white.
He narrowed his eyes: “Did you move it?”
“It didn’t move.” Reina shook the USB drive, “But it lit up on its own. And…” She grinned, “The system determined that you have high-priority energy remaining and forcibly requisitioned it. Come on, little power bank, it’s time to work.”
Lin En was about to retort when his feet suddenly sank. Rings of light lit up the ground, and projections of sixteen energy cores appeared in the air, distributed at different heights above the training ground. Ge Xiaolun, already in his dark alloy armor, was debugging the glove charging module. Cheng Yaowen crouched in the corner, his fingers swiping across the screen, presumably secretly modifying the code again. Zhao Xin, wearing a ring-shaped device that flashed red light, waved at him, “Brother Lin! I’ve installed an anti-vector interference ring this time. Don’t try to control me!”
Lin Shang adjusted his glasses and sighed, “You guys really take this seriously?”
“Of course!” Reina leaped into the air, the stars behind her suddenly expanding. “The rules are simple—grab other people’s cores and keep your own. The team with the most energy at the end wins!”
Before she finished her words, she clasped her hands together, and the star core simulator floating above her head exploded.
A golden energy tide swept across the entire venue, rushing towards everyone like a tsunami.
Lin En’s pupils shrank, and his vector vision was instantly activated.
The world before his eyes was torn into countless colorful lines – Ge Xiaolun’s energy flow was dark blue, Cheng Yaowen’s was dark purple, Zhao Xin’s had jagged fluctuations, and the torrent released by Reina was pure gold with red, and the trajectory of its force pointed directly to the “annihilation level”.
But just 0.5 seconds before the shock wave was about to engulf the entire arena, Lin En raised his hand.
His fingertips skimmed the air, as if operating an invisible interface, muttering, “Cut, select all, import.”
The next second, everyone’s energy cores went out at the same time.
Ge Xiaolun’s boxing gloves erupted in smoke, Cheng Yaowen’s screen went black, and the interference ring on Zhao Xin’s head flew away with a ding. Even Reina’s newly unleashed torrent of energy abruptly stopped in mid-air, like a fan being unplugged, its speed plummeting.
“You—” Reina glared, “You sucked everyone’s energy… away?!”
“It’s not sucking.” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose and stood still. “It’s unified dispatch. You call it fighting, I call it networking.”
He raised his right hand, palm facing up. Sixteen energy vectors converged from all directions, wrapping around his arm like a flock of fireflies returning to their nest. The inverted ∞ mark on his chest burned intensely, and the residual white hole energy within his body was fully activated, rushing along the vector channel all the way to his brain.
In the field of vision, the spatial structure of the entire training ground began to distort.
He lightly hooked his fingertips, drawing a closed circle.
The air trembled slightly, and the projections of the sixteen energy cores reappeared, but this time they were no longer scattered. Instead, they were connected end to end, forming a circular path with no beginning and no end – like a half-twisted paper tape, looping infinitely.
Klein bottle energy structure, forming.
“This… this is against the rules!” Zhao Xin pointed into the air. “Energy can’t be created out of nothing!”
“Who said that?” Lin En grinned. “Energy hasn’t increased, it’s just not being lost. You’re all fighting over it, and 60% of it is wasted in fighting. I’m now making it flow in a closed loop, increasing efficiency three hundredfold—this is called scientific management.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the aerial structure suddenly shook.
The remaining energy of Ge Xiaolun’s armor automatically reorganized, turning it into a suspended node and starting to supply energy in reverse; the gravity formula written by Cheng Yaowen before was vector-reconstructed and transformed into segments of resonant waves, which were transmitted stably in the loop; even Zhao Xin’s interference ring was transformed by him into a frequency regulator and stuck at the key node of the energy flow.
The entire battlefield became a precisely functioning perpetual motion machine.
“Are you… turning the competition into a symphony?” Cheng Yaowen was dumbfounded.
“Almost.” Lin En snapped his fingers. “The laws of physics are the score, and energy is the notes. Come, let’s hear the big one.”
He suddenly opened his arms, forcibly merging the residual white hole energy stored within his body with Reina’s uncontrolled stellar simulation flow. The two energies collided at high speed within the Klein bottle structure, folding and resynchronizing, ultimately forming a spiraling energy column that shot straight up to the ceiling.
Just as everyone looked up, Lin En laughed coldly: “Rules? I’ll rewrite one today.”
He raised his hand and pressed it.
All the circulating energy suddenly shrank and condensed into a bright red fruit with a halo like water droplets on the surface.
The thing fell slowly and hit the center of the gravity array that Cheng Yaowen had just repaired.
“Boom.”
A soft sound.
The ground shook slightly, and the formula symbols on the edge of the array flashed, automatically updating to a new line of data: “F=ma→E=∞”.
Lin Shang clapped his hands, as if brushing off some dust: “Okay, Newton is off work.”
Reina froze in mid-air, her mouth opening and closing. “Is this…is this still a competition? You’re cheating!”
“Cheating?” Lin En tilted his head. “You asked me to grab the energy, so I did. You asked me to win, so I won. The process was compliant, and the results met the standards. Which one violated the rules?”
“But you changed the rules!”
“Rules are made by humans.” He pointed to the slowly spinning apple of light above his head. “That was called a ‘landing test’. It proved one thing—now, I have the final say.”
The training ground was dead silent.
Ge Xiaolun’s armor was still smoking. Zhao Xin picked up the interference ring from the ground, looked at it over and over for a long time, and suddenly looked up: “Brother Lin, can you change my ring to automatically charge next time?”
Cheng Yaowen stared at the floating apple, his fingers tracing the air again. “Um… could you please send me a copy of your reconstruction algorithm? I promise I won’t copy it.”
Lin Shang was about to speak when his chest suddenly tightened.
The inverted ∞ mark jumped suddenly, and the USB flash drive made a slight sound in the pocket.
He lowered his head and took it out. The screen was still black, but the words on the back – “Your system has exceptions – I am the exception” – were flickering, as if breathing.
At the same time, a string of tiny vector formulas appeared on the surface of the light apple in the air, disappearing in a flash.
Lin Shang narrowed his eyes.
That’s not Newton’s, and it’s not Einstein’s.
It was a symbol he had never seen before. It looked like the number 8 turned sideways, but with a crack in the middle, as if it was being stretched open from the inside by something.
Chapter 24: Void Projection·Carl’s Test (Old Version)
Before Lin En could put the USB drive back into his trouser pocket, the inverted ∞ mark on his chest twitched suddenly, as if someone had hit his ribs with a rubber band.
He hissed, adjusted his glasses, and a burst of vector noise suddenly exploded in his field of vision.
It wasn’t an illusion. The energy flow in the air was completely distorted. The once neat electromagnetic wires seemed to have been twisted with a fork, twisting into a spiral that gathered in front of him. The pen holders on the table began to vibrate slightly, and the tips of the pens all pointed in the same direction—the center of the laboratory.
“Again?” Lin Shang narrowed his eyes, his fingers already on the edge of the table, ready to push the entire table over to use as a cover at any time.
But the twisted vector flow didn’t explode, nor did it lunge. It simply hung there, spinning in circles, like a miniature galaxy taking shape. Then, a voice drifted from the turbulent flow, emotionless, like an AI reading a math textbook.
“You’ve closed the energy loop into a Klein bottle.”
Lin En was stunned: “Do you recognize this thing?”
“I taught you that.” The voice paused. “It existed before the universe was created.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the spiral suddenly shrank, collapsing into a point before exploding with a bang. A figure stood there, naked and without substance. Its entire form seemed composed of a fluid formula, its joints shimmering with mysterious patterns like the Fibonacci sequence, and its pupils swirling with the intricate patterns of the Riemann zeta function.
Lin En almost laughed out loud: “With this look… did you just graduate from the Department of Mathematics?”
“I’m Carl.” The figure raised a hand, his fingertips slicing through the air, leaving a glowing integral symbol. “You rewrote the rules. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose. The wound, which had just stopped bleeding, began to bleed again. “But next time, can you please not use the projection channel when greeting? My lab hasn’t purchased high-dimensional invasion insurance yet.”
Karl didn’t respond, but just waved his hand lightly.
In an instant, all the vector lines in Lin En’s field of vision changed direction. The gravity vector tilted upward by 17 degrees, the electromagnetic field twisted into a Möbius strip, and even the energy flow in his body began to reverse. His brain felt like it was being stuffed into a centrifuge, humming.
“You’re breathing math,” Carl said, “but you’re only using half a lung.”
Lin En gritted his teeth and forcibly stabilized his vector vision. He could sense that this distortion wasn’t a physical attack, but rather cognitive contamination—like someone forcing you to execute a piece of illogical code.
He sneered: “Okay, you’ve finished showing off, it’s my turn.”
He suddenly raised his hand, presetting the gravity vectors of every object in the lab as the reverse anchor point. Tables, chairs, instruments, light bulbs, all quietly gathered force in the vector field, like a fully drawn bow.
Carl seemed to notice, and a smile appeared on his face, made of light and shadow: “You want to use a white hole?”
“It’s not that I want to.” Lin En’s pupils shrank, “It’s that I already have.”
The remaining white hole energy in his body was instantly activated, rushing straight to his brain along the vector channel. He remembered how he had stitched the black hole and stellar stream into an energy column in the last battle – this time, he did it the other way around.
He injected the axis of the collapse vector at the center of Carl’s projection in reverse, forcibly interrupting its energy circulation. The figure in the formula trembled violently, and a crack appeared in its chest, like a torn function graph.
It’s not an explosion, it’s an eruption.
A stream of pure white energy burst out from Carl’s chest, like the first light of the universe. But what spewed out was not fire, not particles, but a piece of yellowed paper.
Lin Shang caught it quickly.
It’s an instruction manual for instant noodles.
He looked down and saw the production date: “13.8 seconds before the birth of the universe.”
“…”
He looked up and stared at Karl: “Your bad taste has been practiced since the Olympiad class in elementary school, right?”
Carl’s projection had begun to reassemble, but it was noticeably slow. He looked at the instruction manual in Lin En’s hand, his voice remaining calm. “You can reverse collapse void energy, which means you’re close to the ‘source code.'”
“Source code?” Lin En crumpled the instruction manual into a ball and threw it aside. “Are you trying to say that this world is a program?”
“No.” Carl raised his hand, and the piece of paper unfolded in the air, the words automatically reorganizing into a dynamic genetic chain. “It’s an equation. And you can solve it.”
He recognized that gene chain.
He had studied the inscriptions on Ge Xiaolun’s armor countless times, the source of the wormhole curse in Chapter 13, but he had never been able to decipher it. But now, it was fully projected, still rotating, revealing the hidden vector sequence.
Carl’s voice dropped a few degrees: “Analyze it, and I will tell you the ultimate equation of the universe.”
He knew it was a trap. A deal of this magnitude was bound to harbor a hidden logic bomb. But he knew even more clearly—the frequency of this gene chain resonated with the inverted ∞ mark on his chest.
“You’re using my brother as a bargaining chip?” He sneered, “You’re quite good at picking on weaknesses.”
“It’s not a chip,” Carl said. “It’s a key. If you analyze it, you can open the door to the ‘iteration template’. Haven’t you always wondered why you can see vectors? Why you can rewrite the rules?”
Lin Shang’s fingers tightened slightly.
Of course he wanted to know. From the first day he crossed over, he felt that this ability was not right – as if someone had installed a driver in his brain in advance.
Carl seemed to read his thoughts: “Because you are not an awakened one. You are the chosen compiler.”
Lin Entropy sneered: “Compiler? What about you? Antivirus software?”
“I’m the questioner.” Carl raised his hand, and the gene chain slowly floated towards Lin Entang. “I’m only responsible for asking questions. It’s your choice whether to answer or not.”
Lin En stared at the rotating gene chain, and his nose started bleeding again, dripping onto the tip of his shoes.
He didn’t reach out to take it.
Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, his vector vision was fully activated. He captured the residual energy from the white hole’s eruption, split it into five streams, and injected them into the five vector anchor points in the lab’s corners. Gravity, electromagnetism, momentum, angular velocity, and gravitational potential energy—the five variables converged in mid-air, forming a stable five-point equilibrium structure.
Lagrange cage, activated.
“That’s a pretty cool trick of yours.” Carl looked at the dots of light that appeared around him, “but it can’t trap me.”
“I know.” Lin Cheng grinned, “But I can only hold you back for five seconds.”
He suddenly clasped his hands together, compressing five streams of energy simultaneously, and the cage instantly closed. The formulaic figure was locked in the center, twisting several times, like a projection with a poor signal.
“Don’t you want to know the answer?” Carl’s voice began to distort. “Don’t you want to know why it was you?”
“I think so.” Lin Cheng wiped the blood from his nose and stared at the center of the cage, “But I don’t believe you.”
“A repairman is better than a liar.” Lin En raised his hand and injected the last of his energy into the core of the cage. “At least I won’t use my friends’ genes as bait.”
The light of the cage suddenly increased, and Carl’s projection began to shatter, like the snowflakes when an old TV is turned off.
But just before it completely disappeared, the ball of light and shadow suddenly stopped.
Karl’s voice became very soft, but every word was clear:
“You think… you’re controlling the vector?”
“You are being manipulated by Vector.”
As soon as the words were spoken, the projection exploded into countless points of light and dissipated into the air.
The laboratory returned to silence.
Lin Shang stood there, his fingers still clasped together. Blood from his nose dripped down his chin, hitting the ground and spreading a small dark red stain.
He looked down and saw the drop of blood on the tip of his shoe slowly sliding down.
The inverted ∞ mark on the chest was so hot that it seemed to burn through the skin.
Chapter 25: Genetic Revolution: The Birth of Iterative Templates (Old Version)
Lin En knelt on the ground, blood dripping from his nose. Before the blood droplets hit the ground, he picked them up with his fingertips. The iron ions arranged themselves into microcircuits along the vector lines, and snapped open the broken signal pathway in the brain.
“Restart… Success.” He took a breath, a string of rapidly scrolling vector parameters appearing on his glasses. “Neural overload relieved, visual disturbance suppression rate 87%, still able to fight.”
He raised his hand and tore open his white lab coat, revealing the inverted ∞ tattoo on his chest. The veins beneath his skin glowed a dark red, as if burning from within. He stared at the tattoo and whispered, “You say I’m a compiler? Fine, then I’ll write a new system today.”
He pulled a metal box from under the lab table and snapped it open. Inside was the solar engine crystal Reina had given him. It was golden red, like a solidified fragment of the sun. He pressed it against the tattoo on his chest, and instantly a burst of heat erupted, and the muscles in his entire arm twitched.
“Stellar energy input…Hold on, hold on!”
He gritted his teeth and used vector control to compress the surging energy into a pulsed stream, like installing a throttle valve on a nuclear reactor. Then, he grabbed a small, suspended black dot from the corner of the table—the remains of the miniature black hole that had formed in the previous test site, still slowly devouring the surrounding light.
“Come on, build a bridge.”
He suspended the black hole above his head and released the white hole jet in the opposite direction, creating a negative pressure anchor point. The air was sucked and distorted, and all the papers on the laboratory table flew up, and he used a horizontal vector to deflect them.
“Solar flow positive injection, black hole negative pressure pull, void data…” He looked at the optical computer in the corner. The waveform of Carl’s projection before it dissipated was still lingering on the screen. “Use it as a variable injector.”
He stretched out his hand and pointed, and the optical computer automatically exported the void data, turning it into a string of dark blue vector flow, which penetrated into his body along his fingertips.
The three energies converged in the chest and exploded instantly.
Lin En was thrown back, his back hitting the wall, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood foam streaked with sparks. His vision was filled with garbled vector lines, the direction of gravity was erratic, and even the airflow from his breath became a stream of charged particles.
“Frequency misalignment… 1.3 Hz difference…” He wiped his face, his nosebleed mixed with sweat, “Almost, just a little bit…”
He suddenly looked up at the cloning chamber in the corner of the ceiling—it was an old device left over from his early biological experiments, with a “To be Repaired” label still affixed to the glass cover. But at the moment the three energies converged, it lit up on its own.
The nutrient solution began to bubble, and a vector preview of the DNA double helix slowly emerged in the liquid, as if someone was drawing a formula underwater.
“Oh?” Lin En grinned, “You are quite sensible.”
He stood up, bracing himself against the wall, and swayed over, his finger resting on the control panel of the cloning pod. With his vector vision fully activated, he recalculated the fusion frequency of the three energies, forcing a four-dimensional topological model into his mind.
“I’ve calculated this wave.” He grinned and slammed his finger on the start button. “Energy conservation? No, it’s energy reconstruction!”
boom–
The lab blew up.
It wasn’t an explosion, it was a flash. Golden vector lines burst from Lin En’s body, like current on a circuit board, spreading along his skin and covering his entire body. His white coat instantly carbonized and fell off, revealing a dense network of energy circuits underneath, each one gleaming with light patterns like mathematical symbols.
The inverted ∞ tattoo on his chest came alive, spinning, swallowing the three energies and spitting them out, transforming them into a new, stable frequency.
“Iteration Template α…start.”
He closed his eyes, his consciousness immersing in the vector model of the genetic chain. The original DNA structure, in his view, resembled a locked string of code, each breakpoint imbued with pre-set constraints. He sneered, then immediately activated the solar engine as the source of power, the black hole as the entropy reduction controller, and the void data as the variable injector, and began rewriting.
“It’s not about breaking the lock,” he whispered. “It’s about rewriting the definition of a lock.”
A golden code rushed into the cloning chamber along the vector line.
The nutrient solution instantly boiled, and countless mathematical formulas rose from the bottom, blooming layer by layer like petals. π, Σ, ?, ∮… symbols intertwined into a spiral, ultimately forming a flower composed of pure formulas, quietly suspended in the center of the liquid.
Flower of life.
Lin En opened his eyes, and a nebula-like pattern flashed in his pupils, disappearing in an instant.
He reached out and opened the hatch, feeling the heat rush in. He plucked a petal from the formula flower, pinched it between his fingertips, and rubbed it gently—the petal transformed into a point of light, spreading along the vector lines in the air.
“It’s done.”
Before he could finish his words, the laboratory door was kicked open.
Cheng Yaowen rushed in, electromagnetic pulse gun in hand, his combat uniform still stained with dust from last night’s gravity array. “Lin Entropy! What the hell are you doing with this illegal genetic experiment?!”
Lin Shang didn’t look back, but just raised a finger.
Cheng Yaowen’s gun muzzle tilted slightly, 0.5 degrees.
The moment the bullet grazed the ceiling and sparks exploded, the cracks automatically formed a Fibonacci spiral.
“You…” Cheng Yaowen glared, “You’re changing the rules of physics again?”
Lin En turned around, his entire body covered in golden circuits, like a glowing armor. He grabbed a handful of formula petals and tossed them away.
The petals drifted in the air like a mathematical snow.
“Instructor Cheng,” he said with a smile, “how do you define life? DNA? Protein? Or—”
He paused, and with a flick of his finger, a petal flew to Cheng Yaowen’s shoulder and gently landed on the circuit interface of his combat uniform.
“—Who will write the code?”
Cheng Yaowen was about to speak when he suddenly froze.
The energy reading of his combat suit suddenly jumped, soaring from E-level to mid-D-level.
“What did you do to me?” he glared.
Lin Cheng shrugged: “I didn’t do anything, just sowed some seeds.”
He walked to the lab table, picked up an empty USB drive, and inserted it into the computer. A line of words popped up on the screen:
【Iteration template · α has been saved】
【Copyable】
【Upgradeable】
Definable Life
He unplugged the USB drive, put it in his trouser pocket, and took out a pack of instant noodles from the drawer.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “After I finish this packet, we can talk about how to rewrite the genes of all mankind.”
He tore open the package and was about to pour hot water when he suddenly stopped.
The small words on the back of the USB flash drive lit up again:
“There are exceptions to your system.”
Lin En stared at the line of words and smiled.
He put the instant noodles back on the table, reopened the cloning chamber, reached in, and gently touched the floating formula flower.
The petals trembled slightly, and then the whole flower slowly turned towards him, as if it had regained consciousness.
Lin Shang’s fingers were still suspended in mid-air.
Chapter 26: Simulated Battlefield and Tactical Simulation (Old Version)
Lin En’s fingers were still suspended in mid-air, the flower of the formula trembling slightly, as if responding to his previous words, “It’s done.” He withdrew his hand, and a trace of warm vector fluctuations remained on his fingertips, as if they had just touched a live chip.
He didn’t look at the flower again. He turned and walked to the tactical terminal, inserting the USB drive into the port. A string of green characters popped up on the screen: [Neural Stabilization Protocol Loading…] He leaned against the table, closed his eyes, and waited for a few seconds. The conflict between the solar current and the void frequency in his body finally stopped, and his head no longer felt like a spring being pulled by two forces.
“Just barely able to move.” He muttered, and took out an old-fashioned virtual battle network helmet from his pocket. There was a label on the plastic shell that said “For E-level students only, no use by higher-level students allowed.”
As soon as he put on the helmet, his vision went dark for half a second before a loading screen popped up: [Liangshan Exercise: Connecting to Virtual Battlefield]. Just as Lin En was about to complain about this crappy system that couldn’t even do a proper opening animation, his field of vision exploded with golden light.
Vector visuals automatically expand.
The mountain’s shape, wind speed, air density, and the kinetic energy trajectories of allied and enemy units were all broken down before his eyes into colorful arrows and lines. The direction of gravity was marked more clearly than on a navigation map; even the reaction force of a bird’s wings was marked with a small light blue arrow.
“Wow, this is nice terrain,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on a rock formation on the west side of the mountain. There was a gravity anomaly there, with extremely small fluctuations, imperceptible to ordinary people, but to him, it was like an LED light in the dark.
He pulled out his tactical tablet, drew a circle, and marked: [Anti-gravity trap pre-embedded point], adding a note: “Conservation of momentum, we need to be a little romantic.”
After loading, Lin En’s virtual image appeared at the edge of the battlefield – wearing a washed-out E-level combat uniform, with his iconic white coat on the outside, and a pack of unopened instant noodles bulging in his trouser pocket.
“Hey, isn’t that the idiot from the lab?” A nearby D-class student turned to look. “I heard he created a white hole last time and blew his nose off. Now he dares to go to the battlefield?”
“He’s a ‘pioneer of the genetic revolution,'” another student said sarcastically. “Maybe he’ll pull out a formula bomb and send Sun Wukong back to Flower-Fruit Mountain.”
Lin En pretended not to hear and lowered his head to check the pocket inside his white coat – the micro vector amplifier was still there. A press of the button could block air resistance for three seconds, enough time for him to jump to the top of the mountain.
“System prompt: E-class prisoner-of-war camp has been activated. Countdown is three minutes. The enemy commander is about to enter.”
As soon as the broadcast ended, a golden light exploded from the top of the opposite mountain. Sun Wukong strode out carrying the golden cudgel, followed by a team of elite soldiers, all of whom were well-equipped and their armor glowed red.
“Brothers, whoever captures the guy in the white coat over there will be rewarded with a bottle of anti-aging potion!” Sun Wukong grinned and slammed his stick into the ground, creating a shock wave that sent all the gravel within a hundred meters flying away.
Lin En looked up, silently took out a small notebook, and opened a page with the words “Analysis of High-Energy Body Combat Mode”.
“The kinetic energy is greatest during the seventh charge, and the deflection angle is most stable at 4.8 degrees.” He memorized this while attaching the amplifier to his lower back. “I’ve calculated this wave.”
The countdown ended, and the enemy squad immediately pressed forward. Lin En didn’t move, waiting for the first wave of fire to sweep past before activating his amplifier. With a leap of anti-gravity, he leaped to the top of the mountain in three steps, as if stepping on invisible steps.
“Hey? How did that guy get up there?” someone exclaimed.
“Never mind, fire!”
Bullets, energy cannons, and shockwaves all blasted at him. Lin En stood at the edge of the cliff, unblinking, his vector vision fully activated. All the attack trajectories seemed to him as slow as a snail’s pace. He tilted his head slightly, pinched two fingers, and unexpectedly twisted the momentum vector of a bullet. With a backhand flick, it struck the energy valve of the enemy turret.
The fort exploded.
“Who did this?!” the operator yelled.
Lin En was already squatting at the edge of the crevice, inserting the anti-gravity device into the crack. With a push of his fingertips, the vector field silently coupled with the crustal stress.
“Done.” He clapped his hands. “Wait till you exert your strength, Monkey.”
As expected, Sun Wukong didn’t make him wait too long.
“Hey guys, get on top! Let me meet this nerdy guy in a white coat!”
He charged forward with the stick in his hand, and the mountain shook with every step he took. He raised the stick high and charged for the seventh time, compressing the air into circular ripples.
Lin En closed his eyes and fully activated his vector vision.
The world instantly transformed into a giant dynamic diagram. The golden cudgel’s momentum vector, like a fiery python, lunged straight at the very position beneath his feet.
“Right now.”
He raised his right hand slightly, and his mind moved.
Anti-gravity layer activated.
The direction of gravity is reversed the moment it contacts the rock layer.
The golden cudgel smashed down, but the impact didn’t penetrate the mountain; instead, it bounced back completely. As if struck by an invisible giant hand, the cudgel violently bounced back along its original trajectory, even faster than when it came.
“What?!” Sun Wukong stared.
The golden cudgel hit him right on the forehead, sending him flying backwards. He knocked down three bunkers along the way and finally got stuck on a tree on the edge of the cliff, with the cudgel still smoking.
The whole audience was silent for two seconds.
“He…he bounced back Monkey Brother’s attack?”
“That’s not a rebound, that’s conservation of momentum!”
“Fuck you! Who’s ever seen gravity working backwards?!”
Lin Shang stood on the top of the mountain, took off his glasses, wiped them with his sleeve, and pushed them back on his nose.
“Newton can’t control me,” he smiled, “but the law of conservation of momentum… has to obey me.”
As he finished speaking, an alarm suddenly sounded from the enemy’s main position. The previous attack had triggered a chain reaction, causing the mountain’s stresses to shift, and the entire position began to collapse. Energy towers collapsed one after another, and the command post slid directly into the ravine.
“System prompt: The enemy’s core position has been destroyed. E-class team wins.”
Lin Shang breathed a sigh of relief and was about to take out some instant noodles from his pocket when his eyes suddenly caught sight of the edge of the battlefield.
That gravity anomaly point is still fluctuating.
It’s not a drill setting.
It is a real vector disturbance, and the frequency is exactly the same as when the Carr projection appears in Chapter 24.
His pupils shrank, and he immediately pulled up his tactical tablet to replay the previous battle data. The instant the golden cudgel rebounded, an encrypted line popped up in the system log: [Abnormal code segment: Klein bottle topology, archived].
“Interesting,” he murmured, “even the exercise system is starting to record a black account on me.”
Just as he was about to track further, the tablet screen suddenly went black.
When it came back on, there was a blank document on the desktop with the title: [What you see is not all].
Lin En stared at the line of words and slowly moved his finger to the delete key.
The document moved on its own.
The cursor flashed twice, and a new line of words appeared:
“The flower formula you wrote last time bloomed beautifully.”
Chapter 27: Data Core·Carl’s Trap (Old Version)
Lin En stared at the words that had just appeared on the tactical tablet: “The flower formula you wrote last time is blooming well.”
The screen didn’t move, and the document didn’t disappear. His finger hovered over the delete key, and his heart skipped a beat—this thing wasn’t just some remnant from a practice exercise; it was alive.
He ripped off his helmet, and the virtual battlefield instantly dissipated, leaving the sandy terrain of the Liangshan training grounds in his sight. The wind blew dust onto his face, but he didn’t bother to wipe it off. The gravity anomaly was still fluctuating, like a bad pixel stuck in reality.
He rushed forward, taking two steps at a time, then crouched, palms pressed to the ground. His vector vision activated, revealing a twisted stream of data beneath the surface, glowing dark purple and moving like a twisted dough stick. This thing wasn’t Earth technology, nor did it resemble the coding logic of angelic civilization.
“Old Ka, are you here to cause trouble again?” He muttered, took out a folding knife from his trouser pocket and cut the surface of the ground.
A palm-sized black metal plate was exposed, with spiral patterns engraved on its surface. There was an interface in the center depression, shaped like a flattened Klein bottle.
Lin Shang narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t this just a modification of my sketch? Who stole my sketch and 3D printed it?”
He reached out to take it, and as soon as his fingertips touched the metal plate, his whole body froze.
The shadow moved.
It wasn’t the kind of movement that shifted with the light, but rather it was as if it had been copied. Countless silhouettes of Lin En split out from under his feet, each with a hand raised, each touching the board, layer upon layer, infinitely recursive, extending deep into the ground.
“Damn, mental pollution is wholesale?” He immediately closed his eyes, forcibly shutting down his vector vision. His head was buzzing, as if someone was writing calculus on his skull with a power drill.
He recalled the structure of the data flow from memory. Klein bottle topology… one-sided surface… infinite loop… wait, isn’t this the same trick they used to deal with the Ghost Code last time?
“Okay, you play with logic, and I’ll play with optics.”
He fished out the instant noodle tub he’d just finished eating and poured the remaining oil onto the floor. Using the lighting from the training range’s ceiling, he reflected the light onto the tactical tablet screen. The oil film distorted the light, creating a refraction blind spot. He stared at the blur, working backwards to deduce the data flow.
“The interface is on the lower left, three millimeters offset. The oil stain is just enough to block the overflow frequency…”
He pressed the bottom of the instant noodle bucket onto the metal plate.
“drop.”
With a slight sound, the data core automatically activated, and a hair-thin optical cable popped out of the interface and headed straight for his wrist.
Lin En was well prepared. He swung his hand back, wrapped the optical cable with the sleeve of his white coat, and pulled it, pulling the entire core into his arms.
“Want to fuck me? Ask my clothes first if they agree.”
He stuffed the core into his tactical backpack, zipped it up, turned around and ran to the nearest tactical terminal.
As soon as the door of the college’s main control room opened, all the screens lit up at the same time.
It’s not an interface, it’s not a warning, it’s a whole mathematical proof.
Gödel’s incompleteness theorem.
Each symbol seemed to come alive, crawling out from the screen. The edges of the text began to distort space, forming tiny vortexes that seemed to suck reality in.
“Damn, who can withstand this?” Lin En rushed to the terminal, tore off the lining of his white coat, pulled it into strips, and used vector manipulation to straighten the fibers one by one, arranging them into a circular buffer zone, covering the terminal screen.
As soon as the fiber web was formed, the data stream hit it.
“Zizi——”
Like red-hot iron dipped in cold water, the fibers began to glow and smoke, but they didn’t break. The data stream was stuck outside the network, colliding back and forth like a trapped wild dog.
“The buffer zone won’t last thirty seconds.” He stared at the countdown, sweat on his forehead. “We have to fold its structure in reverse and turn it into an infinite loop.”
He closed his eyes and recalled the sketch he had drawn of a steam-powered Klein bottle – in theory, the output port could be connected to the input port, allowing energy to circulate infinitely.
“Now, let’s try something more sinister.”
He called up the core data structure and found that the entire logical chain was a closed loop. The only flaw was nested in the seventh layer – there was a self-referential proposition there, which was the fuse of Gödel’s bomb.
“To solve this thing, you have to let it fight with itself.”
He bit his tongue, a rusty taste wafting through his mouth. The pain instantly cleared his mind. He channeled the pain’s neural signals into his computing circuits, forcing a surge in computing power.
“Initiate reverse folding protocol, target: seventh level self-ring.”
He used vector manipulation to “draw” a Möbius strip topology in the data stream, forcibly twisting the original bidirectional logic chain into a single-sided one.
“Now, tell me, is this true or false?”
The data flow suddenly stopped.
The self-referential proposition begins an infinite cycle: true → false → true → false → true…
The text on the screen began to shake, the vortex gradually shrank, and finally there was a “pop” sound, like a light bulb burning out, and all the screens were black for half a second.
Then, the wall of the control room automatically lit up, revealing a string of never-before-seen formulas, as if carved by an invisible hand.
Lin En gasped, opened his eyes and looked at the formula.
“This…this wasn’t written by me.”
He indeed did not move, but the derivation path of the formula was exactly the same as his idea of ​​cracking the core of the data, but it went a step further – it extended the topological structure of the Möbius strip to four dimensions, and even hinted at a kind of meta-logic that could bypass Gödel’s restrictions.
“Who’s writing papers in my handwriting?”
He reached out to touch the wall, and as soon as his fingertips touched the formula, the whole wall suddenly shook.
The formulas began to reorganize, and the letters and symbols were rearranged as if blown away by the wind.
After a few seconds, the new sentence takes shape:
“You cracked the trap, but the trap was the signpost.”
Lin En stared at the line of words, and before he could react, the data core in his tactical backpack suddenly became hot.
He unzipped it and found that the spiral patterns on the core surface were rotating in the opposite direction, and a small piece of paper slowly popped out from the center interface.
He pulled it out and took a look, his pupils shrinking.
There was a familiar sketch on the paper – the steam Klein bottle he had casually scribbled in the laboratory three days ago.
Below the sketch, there is an extra line of handwriting:
“Don’t use the instant noodle bucket next time. It’s too low.”
Lin En crumpled the note into a ball and was about to curse when the lights in the control room suddenly went out.
The moment the emergency light came on, the formula on the wall changed again.
The last line of words slowly emerged:
“I have accepted the theorem you wrote.”
Lin Shang stood there, still holding the piece of paper in his hand.
He suddenly laughed.
“Okay, Lao Ka, you set me up, and I’ll help you upgrade your system?”
He turned and walked to the terminal, opened the log, copied the new formula, created a new encrypted folder, and named it:
“Reverse Charge Agreement Draft 1”
He hit enter, took out a pen from his pocket, and wrote a line of small words on the edge of the terminal:
“Next time we meet, remember to bring your thesis defense fee.”
Just as he finished writing, the core in his tactical backpack suddenly vibrated.
As if in response.
Lin Shang threw his backpack over his shoulder and walked out.
As he passed a wall, he stopped and reached out to touch the formula.
A subtle electric current felt at my fingertips.
He didn’t look back, only left a sentence:
“I missed a step for you in this game.”
The last symbol on the wall quietly turned into a question mark.
Chapter 28: Energy Tide – Binary Resonance (Old Version)
Lin En had just left the control room. The data core in his backpack was still slightly warm, like a piece of freshly grilled teppanyaki. He didn’t turn around, nor did he look at the symbol on the wall that had transformed into a question mark. He simply swung his backpack in front of him, unzipped it, and took a peek—the note that had read “Don’t use the instant noodle bucket next time” was gone, not even a ash left.
“Okay, pretty good at recycling resources,” he muttered, turning his backpack upside down and shaking it. From the compartment fell a gold-stamped card with a line of small print on it: “Stellar-level training reservation has taken effect. Executor: Reina.”
Before he could curse, he was swept up into the sky by a heat wave.
It wasn’t a metaphor; I literally flew. It was as if a giant, red-hot hand had given me a sudden push from behind, and my white coat instantly bulged like a parachute. The next second, it automatically folded in under the intense heat, forming a vectorial heat-insulating film against my skin.
“Reina! Are you doing this again?!” he roared while rolling in the air.
A crisp laugh echoed overhead. “Xiao Linzi, stop dawdling! We agreed to test the energy coupling of binary star orbits today. If you keep hiding, I’ll stuff you into a solar flare and roast you like a skewer!”
Lin En looked up and saw Reina floating a thousand meters above the ground, her red hair rustling in the stellar winds. Behind her, a miniature star slowly rotated like a soft-boiled egg ready to explode. In her hand, she was holding a suitcase-sized device with a label that read “Supernova Simulator Home Edition.”
“What the hell is this thing for home use? The last time it was activated, it almost turned the lab into a meteorite belt!” Before Lin En finished speaking, Reina had already pressed the button.
Two streams of energy gushed out of the simulator, one gold, one blue, like two giant dragons strangling each other in mid-air. The gold was the pure stellar fusion flow of Lieyang Star, while the blue was the antimatter tide that Lin Entang had extracted from the microscopic black hole last time. The two should not coexist, but Reina had welded them together using a crooked Klein bottle structure.
“Look, how harmonious!” She waved her hand triumphantly. “I modified the topology circuit last night. I guarantee it won’t explode.”
Lin En stared at the twisting energy ring, his pupils instantly filled with a vector grid. He immediately saw the problem—that wasn’t a Klein bottle, but half a Möbius strip connected to a leaky transformer. The phase difference between the two energies was increasing at a rate of seven degrees per second. In another thirty seconds, it would collapse into a wrinkle in spacetime.
“This is not training, this is arranging my funeral!” As soon as he finished speaking, the air under his feet suddenly disappeared.
It wasn’t an illusion; it was truly gone. Gravity, air pressure, sound wave propagation… all were swallowed and spit out by the twisted topology. Lin En felt like he was stuffed into an inverted glass, the outside world distorted into circles of colorful ripples.
Reina wasn’t much better. The flame patterns on her star robe flickered. She grinned, “Oh, it seems there’s really a bug.”
“You’re ‘like’ a head!” Lin En ripped off his glasses and stuffed them into his pocket, his vector vision fully activated. The world exploded into countless colorful arrows before his eyes. Star streams were thick golden lines, antimatter tides were dark blue spirals, and that damned Klein bottle structure was like a knotted rubber band, tightly entangling all the energy.
“Last time I saved the day by folding a Möbius strip in reverse. This time you’re going to give me a full physical version?” He gritted his teeth. “Alright, if you’re going too far, I’ll go crazy with you.”
He spread his arms, and six golden vector wings slowly unfolded behind him, each corresponding to a basic force field direction. He adjusted his own vector frequency to synchronize with Reina’s, and actively crashed into the chaotic energy.
“Exiah form, activate!”
Two distinct energies converged within him, the violent fury of solar nuclear fusion and the chilling chill of antimatter tides racing through his veins. Lin En groaned, and the blood from his nose, barely escaping, was vaporized by the intense heat into a mist of iron ions, which he then arranged into a microscopic diversion array and injected back into his neural pathways.
“I’ve calculated this wave.” He wiped the blood from his nose and drew a Fibonacci spiral in the air with his fingertips.
Reina laughed out loud from the other side: “The last time you said that, you almost got sucked into a black hole as a snack.”
“That time it was an accident! This time it’s science!” Lin En pushed back, and all six wings unfolded simultaneously, reorganizing the chaotic tidal force into controllable thrust. He and Reina were like surfers treading on the edge of a huge wave, gliding along the ridge of the energy flow, and each turn accurately avoided the phase collapse point.
“Hey, have you tuned the frequency to 7.83?” Reina shouted.
“I’ve already adjusted it! Earth’s Schumann Resonance, do you think I’m a novice?” Lin En shouted back, “Add another 10% output, and I’m going to condense the Vector Rose!”
“Are you trying to do that again?” Reina rolled her eyes. “The last time I gave Qilin that flower, it even knocked the calibration device off her sniper target.”
“That’s art! Do you understand?”
He closed his eyes and channeled the pain signal into the vector model. The tingling in his nerves instantly increased his computing power. Using Reina’s stellar engine as a source, he reverse-extracted the energy vectors, entwining them layer by layer according to Fibonacci proportions. Golden arrows intertwined in the air to form a rotating rose, each petal a miniature Kepler orbit.
“Throw it away!”
With a push of his hands, the Vector Rose soared into the air, tracing a perfectly elliptical trajectory as it hurtled towards deep space. Monitoring station data showed that the flower’s flight path was within 0.003% of Kepler’s Third Law.
Reina whistled, “Okay, it didn’t go crooked this time.”
Lin Shang grinned and was about to say, “Newton can’t control me,” when suddenly his whole body froze.
The inverted ∞ tattoo on his chest was burning, and subtle star patterns appeared on his skin, faintly echoing the pattern on Reina’s star robe. The air between them was still resonating, the frequency steady at 7.83Hz, like a biological metronome that never shut down.
“Your tattoo…” Reina leaned closer, “Why is it the same as the aurora I saw on the Sun Star when I was a kid?”
Lin En didn’t respond. He quickly pulled up his tactical tablet and replayed the training data. On the screen, the two energy waveforms completely overlapped at their peaks, forming a stable binary resonance ring.
He quickly wrote down a line: “Binary Star Resonance = Life Vector Coupling Hypothesis, to be cross-validated with the Heart-Scorching Shield formula.”
Reina glanced at it and said, “Do you still remember that thing?”
“Of course,” Lin Shang closed the tablet, “I owe her three cups of dark cuisine, and I have to pay it back while I’m still alive.”
Reina laughed heartily and was about to speak when her expression suddenly changed: “Oh no, the energy tide receded a little too quickly.”
Lin En immediately looked up. He saw that the previously stable Klein bottle structure was shrinking, like a plastic bottle being squeezed by an invisible hand. The two energies began to flow in opposite directions, rushing towards them.
“Don’t panic,” Lin En quickly unfolded his vector wings, “I can still hold on—”
Before he could finish his words, a counter-force struck his chest. He stumbled back, his nose bleeding again. Data fragments began to appear at the edge of his vision. This time, it wasn’t an invasion, but a computing power overload.
“Hey, Xiao Linzi, are you okay?” Reina reached out to pull him.
Lin En waved his hand, bit his tongue, and forced himself to focus, channeling the last of his energy into the afterimage of the Vector Rose. The golden arrow exploded in a shower of light, briefly disrupting the energy’s return path.
“Okay… Of course…” He panted and wiped his face, “This wave… I think-“
Reina grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him back.
Lin Shang’s foot slipped and the moment he stepped on empty air, he saw that the place where he had just stood had been swallowed up by a twisted fold of space and time, and even the air was twisted into a knot.
He looked up and saw Reina pulling at his collar, her star robe fluttering and her eyes smiling.
“Next time before you calculate, tell me whether you can survive or not.”
Chapter 29: Wormhole Maze: Rose’s Gamble (Old Version)
Before Reina’s grip loosened, Lin En’s collar was still being pulled. As soon as his feet touched the solid ground, a red, hot wormhole exploded before his eyes.
He didn’t even have time to curse before he was sucked in.
“Du Qiangwei! Can you—” He couldn’t finish his words, his throat muffled by the distorted flow of time and space, as if he’d been shoved through a washing machine ten times. He forced his eyes open, his vector vision automatically expanding, but the golden afterimages of Reina’s training were still visible at the edge of his field of vision. His head was buzzing, his nose felt hot, and blood trickled down the corners of his mouth.
“You’re avoiding Reina’s training, and you dare to avoid me?” Du Qiangwei’s voice came from above, light and airy, yet with an irresistible force. “Does the bet still stand? If you get through the wormhole maze first, you win. I’ll wear a maid outfit and sweep the lab for three days.”
“Who asked you to sweep it!” Lin En gritted his teeth and wiped his face. “Did you use Carl’s tricks on this crappy maze again? Last time you carved the formula on the wall of the Demon Castle, and now you’re doing it again?”
“Oh, you found me.” She smiled like a cat that had stolen fish. “But it’s not my fault this time. It grew like this on its own.”
Lin En didn’t have time to retort. The wormhole’s inner walls were already shrinking. He forced himself to activate his vector vision, and the world instantly disintegrated into countless colorful lines—air flow vectors, spatial curvature, gravitational gradients, all a chaotic mess. But within this chaotic trajectory, he caught a series of unusual patterns.
These are not natural wrinkles, they are carved.
Spiral grooves were embedded in the wormhole’s inner wall, arranged with nanometer-level precision, and every corner met a certain mathematical beauty. His pupils shrank, and he quickly retrieved his memory bank for comparison—it was exactly the same as the death formula prefix left by Carl in Chapter 19, the Demon Castle.
?·Ψ=?.
“Damn it! This old bastard didn’t even let the wormhole go?” he cursed under his breath. “He’s using other people’s training grounds as math draft paper?”
Before he finished speaking, the wormhole trembled violently, its curvature increasing exponentially. Ordinary vector control was ineffective here; even the air was compressed into a point, and the flow of time became stratified. Lin En felt as if his ribs were being torn back and forth by an invisible saw, and every breath carried the smell of rust.
To make matters worse, there was a figure floating ahead.
Du Qiangwei.
She had her back to him, her tactical vest rising and falling slightly, but her body was completely still, as if frozen in a layer of time and space. The microscopic wormhole behind her had stopped spinning, and the same incisions as the inner wall appeared on its surface, seeping into her skin bit by bit.
“She’s been hit…” Lin En’s heart sank. “The formula resonated and locked her in.”
He pulled out his small notebook. His hands were shaking so much he could barely write, but he still managed to memorize the topological structure of the string of symbols: “Death formula chain, seven-order nesting, the end points to a singularity collapse… This thing is going to turn me into math soup.”
The pen tip paused, and he suddenly remembered something.
Chapter 25, “Iterative Template α” integrated during the genetic revolution.
That was not just a neural stabilizer, but a primitive mathematical structure he captured in the frequency of the void – a topological language that could reversely fold the paradox.
“Formula against formula… Fine, come on.” He bit his tongue, the pain instantly bringing him back to his senses. “You write your death equation, and I’ll copy my life template.”
He closed his eyes, using the inverted ∞ tattoo on his chest as the coordinate origin, and unfolded the iterative template α in reverse. In vector vision, his consciousness was like a needle, tracing back along the chain of formulas layer by layer. With each nested layer, he constructed a topological node of the Klein bottle at the origin.
“The first level is to dismantle the spatial gradient.”
“Second level, reverse the time vector.”
“The third layer…close it!”
With a final growl, the entire wormhole structure was reconstructed in his mind. The original one-way passage leading to the singularity was forcibly folded into a closed loop with no inside or outside—a Klein bottle configuration.
The space shook violently.
Du Qiangwei’s body began to fall, and Lin Entang, holding on to his last bit of computing power, unfolded six vector light wings behind him, channeling all the reverse gravitational tide generated by the explosion into the wing surfaces. The recoil pushed him forward like a stone shot from a slingshot.
“Almost there… just a little bit more…”
Just as he leaped out of the folded space, he caught a glimpse of the remaining formula inscriptions from the corner of his eye. He raised his hand and, with the last of his control, deflected the gravitational tide by five degrees.
No more, no less, exactly five degrees.
The shockwave sliced ​​through, precisely striking the logical breakpoint of the inscription. The death formula instantly fell into a self-destructive paradox, collapsing like a trap that had tripped itself.
The two men fell out of the void and hit the metal floor of the training ground.
Lin Shang lay on his back, his face covered in blood from his nose, his fingers twitching. He raised his hand, looked at the vector light traces left on his fingertips, and muttered, “This wave… I’ve calculated it.”
Du Qiangwei turned over, coughed twice on the ground, and glared at him: “Who do you think you are? You almost buried yourself in a grave.”
“But I won.” He grinned, revealing a mouthful of bloody teeth. “The bet is established. Maid outfit, three days, no shirking.”
“Who said you won?” She stood up, the cracks on her tactical vest gleaming faintly. The micro-wormhole began to spin again, but at a noticeably off-kilter frequency. “Did you forget the rules? Whoever stands up first wins.”
Lin Shang was stunned. Just as he was about to turn over, he found that his legs were weak and he didn’t even have the strength to sit up.
Du Qiangwei slowly got up and looked down at him, her red hair hanging down, covering half of her face.
“Besides,” she curled her lips into a smile, “have you ever wondered why Carl’s formula appeared in my wormhole?”
Lin En narrowed his eyes: “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is…” She reached out and lightly touched the inverted ∞ pattern on his chest with her fingertips. “I stole this thing from him in the first place.”
Lin En’s breathing stagnated.
She withdrew her hand, turned and walked towards the exit, her back straight, her voice as light as the wind: “Next time, don’t use other people’s loopholes as shortcuts, Xiao Linzi.”
Lin Cheng lay on the ground, staring at the vents on the ceiling.
The small notebook fell to the side. On the open page, a double helix pattern was scribbled, and underneath it were the words: “Lorentz attractor, nonlinear resonance, to be checked.”
He moved his fingers, trying to pick up the notebook, but only caught a wisp of cold air blowing from the vent.
Chapter 30: Vector Deflection: Shocking Angel (Old Version)
Lin Cheng lay on the metal floor, his fingers twitching, his nosebleed drying into a dark red streak on his cheek. The cold air from the overhead vents streamed down, numbing the back of his neck. He blinked, but a golden vector afterimage lingered at the edge of his vision, like a spot of light from a sunburn.
“Xiao Linzi, can you still move?” Cheng Yaowen squatted down, holding a silver-gray wristband in his hand. There were tiny black hole patterns on the surface that were slowly rotating.
Lin En didn’t answer, merely raising his right hand, his fingertips twitching slightly. Cheng Yaowen immediately understood and slipped the wrist guard over his wrist, locking it with a click. A faint suction came from within, as if an invisible hand were supporting his shaky computing power.
“This thing was taken out of the void engine you blew up last time. It can help you share some of the burden.” Cheng Yaowen patted his shoulder. “Don’t die in the ring. I don’t want to write your lab report for you.”
Lin En grinned, but he didn’t have the energy to laugh. However, he still took out the small notebook from his pocket, turned to a blank page, and wrote in trembling handwriting: “Lorentz attractor, nonlinear resonance, to be checked.” After writing, he closed the notebook, stuffed it into his arms, and slowly sat up by supporting himself on the ground.
The referees shook their heads from a distance, saying he should forfeit. His opponent was Sun Wukong, who had just blasted the simulated armor into fireworks with one punch. But Lin Entropy knew that if he withdrew now, all his previous data would be thrown away.
He stood up, and the wrist guard on his right arm vibrated slightly, as if reminding him: Don’t be stubborn, and don’t die.
In the center of the ring, Sun Wukong, carrying his golden cudgel, grinned, “You’re so small, you really want to fight?”
“Beat.” Lin Shang uttered a word, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper grinding iron.
A whistle blew, and Sun Wukong moved. His golden cudgel arced, compressing the air into a circular wave, and the ground exploded into spiderweb-like cracks. The audience exclaimed in surprise, expecting Lin En to be sent flying.
But he didn’t move.
The moment vector vision activated, the world transformed into countless colorful arrows. Airflow, gravity, the trajectory of muscle contraction, all were clearly marked. A golden grid flashed in his pupils. Although the flash was not stable, it was enough.
Over the past three years, he’d recorded the punches of 372 street fighters. Among them were fighting champions, supernatural thugs, and alien mercenaries, but none relied more on inertia than Sun Wukong. Each strike was propelled by the recoil of the previous one, with a fixed rhythm. The third strike always had a gravitational gap of 0.001 seconds—the moment he changed his pace.
Lin En was waiting for this moment.
The golden cudgel came crashing down, missing his head by just half a meter. He slightly spread the five fingers of his right hand, and with a thought, he applied precise vector control to the tip of the cudgel—deflecting it five degrees.
The tip of the stick brushed past his hair and slammed into the ground, creating a deep crater. But Lin Entang didn’t stop. His left hand simultaneously injected an anti-gravity vector into the bottom of Sun Wukong’s boots. The force was like a layer of skateboard oil on the soles of his shoes, instantly shifting his center of gravity.
“The law of conservation of momentum is very fair.” Lin En whispered.
Sun Wukong sensed something was amiss and tried to withdraw, but Lin En had already manipulated the residual vibrations of the microscopic black hole within his wristband, generating an oblique repulsive surface on the ground. The trajectory of the golden cudgel’s rebound superimposed on his unbalanced body, creating a momentum-added explosion.
“Fly for me.”
It was as if Sun Wukong was hit head-on by his own full-strength attack. He flew backwards and crashed into the artificial lake, with water splashing into the sky.
The whole audience was silent for two seconds, and then exploded.
“He dodged it?”
“It’s not hiding, it’s making the golden cudgel turn!”
“Bullshit, a metal rod can bend? Do you think it’s plasticine?”
Lin Shang stood there, his legs so weak he almost fell to his knees. He held onto his wrist guard, his breathing rapid, but he still pulled out his notebook again, bit his fingertip, and wrote on the paper: “5 degrees of deflection, error ±0.03.”
The handwriting is crooked, but the data is accurate.
He looked up and saw the water splashing from the lake creating spirals in the air. It wasn’t a random splash, but a golden ratio swirl, like the Fibonacci sequence. He knew it was his subconscious obsession with mathematical aesthetics, even his manipulation of it felt like a compulsion.
“This kid…” Zhao Xin glared in the audience, “He even calculated the splash?”
Ge Xiaolun held the popcorn bucket, looking horrified: “Did he mistake physics class for dance class?”
On the high-altitude viewing platform, Angel Yan was holding a coffee cup when her hand suddenly shook, spilling liquid onto her sleeve. She ignored it, her pupils suddenly contracting, nebula-like patterns swirling, and her Eye of Insight automatically activated.
The remaining vector trajectories on the battlefield were reconstructed in her vision – the original trajectory of the golden cudgel, the path after deflection, the distribution of the anti-gravity field, and the calculation model of momentum superposition, all of which were terrifyingly clear.
She stood up suddenly, dropping her coffee cup to the floor.
The Melo Celestial Database instantly issued a red alert, a voice piercing the clouds: “Rule-level vector interference detected—suspected rewriting of fundamental physical constants! Repeat, not energy amplification, not technical evasion, but active reconstruction of the vector trajectory!”
Yan stared at Lin Tang’s back. He was bending over to pick up a notebook, his movements slow and slow, as if he would fall at any moment. But just as his fingertips touched the page, a faint light flashed on the watch face—it was the topological pattern of the Klein bottle, which appeared briefly and then disappeared.
She suddenly remembered the draft paper she had secretly copied three days ago. On it was the formula he had scribbled. She had copied it more than a dozen times and even reconstructed his handwriting using dark data.
At this moment, the paper was hidden in her sleeve, and the corners were frayed.
“What on earth did you…see?” she whispered.
Lin Shang didn’t hear anything. He felt as if his head had been struck by a hammer, and his ears were ringing. But he stuffed the notebook back into his pocket and glanced up at the viewing platform.
The wind blew his white coat up, and the indicator light on his wristband flickered. He adjusted his glasses, but the lenses reflected the light, making it difficult to see his eyes clearly.
“This wave…” He took a breath, the corners of his mouth twitching, “I’ve calculated it.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the wristband suddenly sounded a short alarm. Lin En looked down and saw a line of words pop up on the screen: “Energy interface abnormality, unknown fluctuations detected.”
He frowned, but before he could react, the black hole pattern on the inside of the wristband suddenly accelerated its rotation and the surface temperature rose sharply.
Lin Cheng raised his hand and watched the faint light cast a distorted shadow on his skin.
Chapter 31: Holy Kesha: Judgment Comes (Old Version)
The wristband burned like it had just been pulled from a fire. The veins on the back of Lin Tang’s hand bulged, and his veins felt like they were filled with molten lava. He didn’t let go, but instead tightened his grip, digging his nails into his palm. The pain climbed up his nerves, clearing his mind for a moment.
This moment is enough.
He closed his eyes, forcing his vector vision to activate. The black hole patterns within the wristband spun uncontrollably, the energy surging like a wild horse. Lin En gritted his teeth, and with a single thought, he reversed the turbulent flow—not suppressing it, but directing it. He broke the energy into tiny vectors, guiding them along the veins of his arm, bit by bit, into the bloodstream. Every time he passed through a point, the muscles twitched, as if an electric current were drilling through the cracks in his bones.
“Hiss… It hurts so much.” He grinned, blood oozing from his nose again, but his eyes were frighteningly bright.
A golden light suddenly blazed overhead, as if someone had slashed the sky with a knife. The Angel Network’s signal pierced his brain, the information piercing his skull like a needle. An ordinary person would have gone mad, but Lin En smiled, tilting his head. “Just in time.”
He adjusted the frequency of the remaining energy in his wristband, actively resonating with the angel’s signal. He wasn’t pulled up, but rather he “walked” up along the beam of light, step by step.
During the process of being escorted, the Klein bottle pattern on the watch face flashed, twisted into the shape of half a musical note, and quickly disappeared.
Merlo Heaven, Sacred Hall.
Light particles hung in the air like countless tiny stars. A candle burned quietly, its trajectory a red arrow in Lin En’s eyes, marking its speed, direction, and heat convection vector. As he landed, his knees buckled, nearly collapsing. But he immediately used vector control to generate a counter-thrust force under his feet, forcing himself upright.
“Mortal, do you know that arbitrarily rewriting physical constants is tantamount to blaspheming the laws of the universe?” The flaming sword lay before him, the tip three inches from his throat. Angel Yan stood in the center of the light column, his silver armor gleaming coldly, his nebulous pupils fixed on him.
Lin Shang wiped the blood from his nose and took a breath. “I say… can you let me catch my breath before the trial? I just got out of a fight, and my heart is beating so fast I can’t even calculate my momentum.”
“Shut up.” Yan flicked his wrist and lowered the tip of his sword half an inch. “Answer me, what gives you the right to control the rules?”
Before he could finish his words, the sacred atomic force field crashed down. Lin En’s bones creaked, as if being compressed into a carbon brick. He didn’t resist, but closed his eyes and injected the last bit of energy from the wristband into his retina.
The vision exploded.
The trajectory of each photon was clearly visible, like countless golden threads weaving through the air. He opened his eyes and pointed at the candlestick in the center of the hall.
“Look at these fires.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he simultaneously manipulated the heat convection vectors of hundreds of flames, stretching, twisting, and reorganizing the flames. A few seconds later, a series of dynamic equations emerged in the air—the field equations of general relativity, composed of flaming vector arrows, slowly rotating.
“The essence of the universe is just a bunch of vectors calculating addition, subtraction, multiplication and division.” Lin En’s voice trembled, but his tone was relaxed. “I just… understood the problem.”
Yan’s pupils shrank. The equation was not only accurate, but also dynamically evolving, simulating the real-time changes in the gravitational field. Even stranger, the last symbol was a constant she had never seen before, as if she had added an extra stroke mid-writing due to hand shaking.
Just as she was about to speak, the dome above her head suddenly cracked.
Silver light poured down, and a figure slowly descended. Silver armor and a red cape, the air stagnated as their wings spread. Kaisha stood before the high throne, her gaze fixed on Lin En.
“You rewrote Sun Wukong’s momentum trajectory.” Her voice was low, but it made the light particles in the entire hall stop. “You interfered with the judgment logic of the Angel Database. Now, you are here again, writing equations with flames.”
Lin Shang adjusted his glasses, the lenses reflecting the light: “That’s my artistic creation, not an academic publication.”
Kesha didn’t smile. She raised her hand, her silver wings trembled, and she disappeared in an instant.
When he reappeared, the tip of the sword was against Lin Shang’s throat.
The speed was so fast that even vector vision could only capture an afterimage. Lin En’s control over his entire body seemed to be frozen, his muscles stiffened, and even his breath was caught in his chest. The sacred atom’s inherent rules suppressed it, as if the universe itself had ordered: “You are not allowed to move.”
But suddenly, a very thin golden line appeared in Lin Shang’s pupils.
He didn’t try to dodge, nor did he resist. Instead, he focused all his remaining computing power on the tip of the silver wing that was about to pierce his skin.
He “saw” it.
It is not a simple force, but a series of high-frequency vibrating vector waves, like a silent song.
“So… your move is called “Moonlight”? ” he murmured.
The next second, the idea burst out.
He deflected Silver Wing’s kinetic energy vector by 0.3 degrees—a tiny amount, but enough to allow the tip of the sword to grazed his Adam’s apple. At the same time, he forcibly rewrote the vibration frequency of that sacred energy into another waveform.
The first four notes of Beethoven’s “Fate.”
Boom boom boom——
It’s not a sound, it’s a vector.
The light particles in the air oscillated with the frequency, forming a suspended five-line staff, with golden notes dancing on the lines. The entire light field of the Merlo Heavenly Palace resonated with it, as if thousands of instruments were playing simultaneously.
Wherever Kesha’s silver wings passed, a string of light and shadows was left behind, like traces carved by music.
She stopped where she was and didn’t attack again.
Lin Shang knelt on one knee, a puff of black smoke erupting from his wristband, and fine cracks appeared on its surface. He panted like a fish thrown onto the shore, but the corners of his mouth curled up.
“This wave…” He coughed up blood foam, “I’ve calculated it.”
Kesha slowly put away her sword and turned to look in the direction of the Angel Council.
“His eyes see deeper than the Eye of Insight,” she said calmly. “He’s not breaking the rules; he’s redefining the algorithm.”
Someone shouted, “He’s just a mortal! How can he access divine knowledge?”
Keisha raised her hand and the parliament fell silent instantly.
She walked back to the throne and waved her hand. A streak of silver light flew from her fingertips, wrapping around Lin En’s wristband. The cracked lines began to heal, and the micro-spin of the black hole stabilized, merging with the sacred atom to form a strange totem—like a Klein bottle wrapped in wings, or an infinity symbol coated in light.
“From now on, your research will be incorporated into the core plan of Angel Civilization,” Kesha said. “You are not a threat, you are… the author of the new rules.”
Lin Shang looked up and wanted to say something, such as “Can you give me a glass of Red Bull first?”, but before he could finish his words, his wristband suddenly vibrated.
He looked down and saw a line of words pop up on the screen: “Unknown frequency resonance detected, source: Angel Network Deep Protocol.”
Then, the totem on the watch face became slightly hot, and the unknown constant that he had mistakenly inserted into the flame equation began to flicker on its own.
Like… responding to something.
Lin Shang narrowed his eyes and was about to speak when all the light particles above his head suddenly stopped.
A new signal came from the deepest part of the angel network.
It is neither guidance nor questioning.
It’s… the prelude to a song.
Chapter 32: Void Engine: Carl’s Ambition (Old Version)
The wristband was still burning. Lin En’s fingers rested on the screen, staring at the flickering string of unknown constants. The frequency of its pulses was off, like someone was banging on his head in Morse code. He was about to remove the wristband and immerse it in liquid nitrogen when the holographic screen suddenly lit up automatically, and a data packet silently loaded—in the shape of a rotating Klein bottle.
“Holy crap! Who sent me an instant noodle ad?” Lin En frowned and, with a flick of his finger, dragged the data packet into the parsing program. As soon as he clicked on it, the wristband jerked violently, the totem pattern turning red and purple, and a garbled vector afterimage instantly exploded before his eyes.
His head felt like it was being pulled by two opposing forces: on one side, the remnants of the Angel’s Sacred Atom’s suppression rules, and on the other, the high-frequency resonance of this new signal. He gritted his teeth, pressed the wristband against his temple, and injected a stream of anti-gravity vector force in the opposite direction, forcibly twisting the two energy streams into a spiral and directing it down his spine.
“Don’t make any noise, let me finish this problem.”
The Klein bottle on the screen began to decompose, its frequency spectrum peeling back layer by layer, eventually revealing the underlying harmonics. Lin En’s pupils shrank. “This tune… is it a variation of Carl’s death formula?”
He immediately pulled up the waveform of Ge Xiaolun’s genetic data from his last wormhole journey. Comparing the two, his breath hitched.
“Fuck, exactly the same.”
That frequency was the fundamental frequency of the vector resonance of the Galaxy Power gene chain. Carl wasn’t attacking, he was stealing data—remotely collecting the vector parameters within Ge Xiaolun’s body, as if he were assembling something.
“This old bastard, building a void engine?” Lin En sneered, “And he’s using my brother as a fuel rod?”
He grabbed the communicator and roared loudly: “Cheng Yaowen! Prepare the solar engine for docking! I’m going to blow up that Klein bottle in the sky!”
?
It’s a mess outside.
A gaping hole opened in the clouds above, its edges too smooth to be natural. It looked like a suspended Klein bottle, mouth downward, sucking in atmosphere. Radar showed the Earth’s crustal vector field ripped every thirteen seconds, like a heartbeat.
Cheng Yaowen rushed into the lab, holding two interface modules in his hands. “Connected! The solar engine output is stable, and the micro black hole is synchronized. We’re just waiting for your order!”
“No, it’s not an order.” Lin En took off his wristband and plugged it directly into the main console. “It’s fortune-telling.”
He closed his eyes, his vector vision fully activated. Instantly, the entire Earth’s gravitational field transformed into a dynamic grid in his mind. The sun’s energy flow was a thick golden line, the black hole’s accretion disk was a counter-rotating blue vortex, and the Klein bottle in the sky was a dark red vector ring that constantly folded in on itself.
“Come on, Xiao Hei, Brother Sun, don’t fight, just listen to my command.”
He slashed his hands through the air, breaking the solar engine’s energy flow into 3,600 microvectors. He then caused the microscopic black hole’s accretion disk to rotate 0.7 seconds earlier, creating a brief “energy sag.” Under his control, the two forces entwined like two snakes around a single branch.
“Five more degrees… Yes, now—”
A string of sparks exploded from the main console, and the anti-void vector cannon was fully charged.
“Wait!” Cheng Yaowen suddenly shouted, “The AI ​​system has been hacked! The firewall is collapsing!”
Lin En opened his eyes and saw that the main control screen was already filled with dynamic formulas – the proof process of Gödel’s incompleteness theorem was being automatically deduced. Every time a step was completed, the system would freeze a layer.
“High-dimensional mathematical paradox? Carl’s even working on a logic bomb?” Lin Entropy scoffed. “Do you understand? The firewall in our lab was trained using an instant noodle steam model.”
He grabbed the instant noodle bucket on the table and opened the lid. Steam rose up. He stared at the rising steam, his vector vision instantly capturing the movement of every water molecule.
“Look here, Lao Ka, what is non-closed-loop logic?”
He imported the steam vector model directly into the firewall’s core. The heat flow was chaotic, its trajectory erratic and completely inconsistent with any mathematical proof. The system alarm instantly jammed—the paradox program, attempting to use logic to analyze this chaos, crashed.
“You Voids have to eat too.” Lin En said as he forcibly accessed the Absolute Domain Algorithm left by Zhi Xin. “If you don’t eat, don’t even think about reasoning.”
The screen flashed, the firewall was restored, and the core coordinates of the void engine were reversely parsed.
The three-dimensional projection popped up, and Lin En almost laughed out loud.
“Isn’t this Ge Xiaolun’s DNA double helix? Even with vector markings?”
The entire engine core was a three-dimensional reconstruction of Ge Xiaolun’s genetic sequence, with each spiral segment labeled with torque, momentum, and energy flow. A line of small text on the screen read, coldly: “Parameter Collection Completion Rate: 97.3%.”
“I’m missing 2.7%, so I’ll give it to you, right?” Lin En narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll give you a graduation present first.”
Anti-Void Vector Cannon locked onto the target.
Lin En stood up, his six wings slowly unfolding behind him. Vector tides spread out, stabilizing the gravitational fault above the laboratory. He extended his full perception to the Earth’s gravitational field. The golden grid in his pupils frantically calculated, and his mind constantly corrected the intersection of the solar energy flow and the black hole’s accretion disk.
“Three, two, one… fire.”
What spewed out of the muzzle was not light or particles, but a distorted “mathematical shock wave” that passed through the atmosphere and accurately hit the center of the Klein bottle vortex.
Instantly, the void twisted and the energy field began to collapse. Lin En pressed down hard on the control console with both hands, reversing the Earth’s local gravity vector and forcibly creating a compressed potential energy well in the air.
“receive.”
The void vortex that spanned a hundred kilometers seemed to be grasped by an invisible giant hand, folding layer by layer, and finally compressed into a cube with a side length of thirty centimeters, quietly floating above the city.
Automatically take screenshots of holographic screens to zoom in on surface textures.
Lin Shang took a closer look and laughed.
“Isn’t this the math textbook cover I designed last month? The one with the QR code.”
Even more outrageous, a handwritten formula appeared on the cube’s surface, the last line scribbled out: “Heat water to 100°C, add the seasoning packet, and let it sit for three minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll be honest then.”
He raised his hand, and with a flick of his mind, he reprogrammed the cube’s vector structure. The material changed from void metal to cardboard, the edges refolded, the colors painted red and yellow, and printed with a cartoon demon’s head.
Three seconds later, a 32-centimeter-tall instant noodle box floated in the air. On the front, large characters read: “New flavor released! Void flavor, take one bite and you’ll travel through time!”
The background music started playing automatically. It was the mysterious ballad that came from the depths of the angel network, but this time it was arranged into electronic dance music with a rhythm as cheerful as a loudspeaker at a night market.
“You can’t stop the ultimate horror from coming…”
A semi-transparent projection of Carl suddenly appeared on the front of the instant noodle box. He was wearing his iconic robe and had an elegant smile on his face.
“The universe will eventually return to nothingness, and you have only delayed the inevitable end.”
Lin En put his hands in his pockets, looked up at the giant instant noodles advertisement in the sky, and sneered: “Old Ka, I’ve heard you say that too many times.”
He hooked his finger, pulling the projection into the box, turning it into part of the dynamic advertisement. Carl was still saying, “Fear is the ultimate truth,” when the next second he was switched to food blogger mode.
“Hello everyone, I’m Void Prophet Carl!” The projection suddenly changed its tone, its voice enthusiastic. “Today I recommend a new product to everyone – Void Flavored Instant Noodles! It uses a high-dimensional energy extraction process. One bite will make your soul leave your body! Order now and get a limited edition Death Formula seasoning pack!”
The background music suddenly changed, the drum beats exploded, and Carl’s image was forced to twist to the rhythm, just like the lead dancer of a square dance.
Cheng Yaowen stood at the door and dropped the coffee cup in his hand.
“Lin En… do you have any misunderstanding about ‘counterattack’?”
Lin En pushed up his glasses, the lenses reflecting the light: “There is no misunderstanding, only dimensionality reduction attack.”
He was about to speak when the instant noodle box suddenly vibrated.
The QR code on the bottom of the box flashes, automatically scans, and new information pops up.
A line of words slowly appeared: “Next time, I will use your genes as an engine.”
Lin Shang stared at the line of words and suddenly smiled.
He picked up a pen and wrote a reply in a flamboyant style on the side of the instant noodle box.
“Waiting for you, remember to bring money for instant noodles.”
Chapter 33: Space-Time Resonance: Rose’s Transformation (Old Version)
Lin Shang had just screwed the cap on his pen when the instant noodle box dangled in mid-air, the message “I’ll be waiting, remember to bring money” still lingering. He was about to laugh when his chest suddenly tightened, as if someone were scratching his ribs with a ruler. It didn’t hurt, but it was extremely uncomfortable.
He looked down at the wristband, and the Klein bottle pattern that had originally darkened suddenly jumped and emitted a purple light.
“Um?”
Before I could react, I heard a buzzing sound in my ears. The air in the laboratory seemed to be sucked out, twisting into a long, thin crack. Then, the crack snapped shut, as if it had been sewn shut from the other side.
He knew whose wormhole it was—Du Qiangwei’s.
But it was taken away too quickly. It was not like her usual style of lazily climbing in through the window. It was more like… someone pulled her away.
He rushed to the main console, his finger tracing a shadow across the screen. He pulled up Rose’s wormhole frequency monitoring chart, but the image froze, the signal completely cut off, leaving no trace.
“It’s not a combat state, it’s not active teleportation, and it’s not an energy overload…” He narrowed his eyes, “It’s being cut off.”
He suddenly looked up at the instant noodle box. Carl’s threat was still there, but he couldn’t afford to mock him now. The wormhole’s fluctuations from that moment on were mixed with a subtle mathematical echo—the familiar prelude to the death formula, but compressed to the point of being almost inaudible.
“Lao Ka, you want to touch her?” Lin En laughed coldly, “You can touch anyone, but don’t touch the frequent visitors to my dormitory building.”
He ripped off his wristband and plugged it into the main control port. Not to fire the cannon, this time to listen.
By disassembling the remaining Carl signal in the instant noodle box in reverse and peeling off the noise layer by layer like peeling an onion, we finally caught the hidden “mathematical fingerprint” – a high-frequency phase oscillation that is specifically used to interfere with the space-time anchor point.
“Alright, you mess things up with the formula, and I’ll use it to find someone.” He gritted his teeth, “Don’t you like logic? Then let’s see whose calculations are more wild.”
He closed his eyes, his vector vision fully activated. The world instantly transformed into a stream of flowing colored lines, air, light, and energy paths all transformed into readable vector arrows. He used Carl’s mathematical fingerprint as a filter, scanning it towards the point where the wormhole had disappeared.
Sure enough, the few remaining turbulent signals were mixed with space-time folds contaminated by formulas, as if someone had drawn a cross on the timeline with a compass.
“Found it.”
He opened his eyes, and six wings slowly unfolded behind him, not for flight, but to stabilize his own vector field. He tuned the frequency to the base frequency of the rose wormhole and began to actively resonate.
“Qiangwei, if you heard this, don’t turn off the system. I’ll come pick you up from get off work.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he raised his hand and pushed, then rushed into the remaining crack.
The feeling of time travel is like being stuffed into an old-fashioned washing machine with the spin mode turned on.
Lin Entang experienced twelve time nodes in 0.3 seconds: the first was an ancient battlefield, where someone was holding up bronze counting sticks and chanting “three plus four”; the second was a medieval church with compasses and rulers painted on the wall; the third was a future city with calculus symbols floating in the air like billboards.
His memory began to become confused, and he almost thought that he was a math teacher in his previous life.
“No, if this goes on, I’ll have to recalculate whether instant noodles take three minutes or five minutes.” He bit the tip of his tongue and forcibly switched to vector visual mode – Lorenz attractor.
The world instantly stabilized.
Time no longer flowed linearly, but like a tangled ball of yarn, each node an attractor, a sense of order amidst chaos. He followed the wormhole signal from Qiangwei, crawling forward section by section.
But by the 87th node, the signal was completely blocked. A dark formula entangled the wormhole’s core like a vine wrapping around a flower bud.
Lin En tried to connect, but was violently bounced away.
“Reject external synchronization?” He frowned. “When did you become so wary of me?”
He suddenly remembered one late night when the laboratory lights were still on and he was lying on the table writing “The Optimal Solution for Heating Instant Noodles”. When he looked up, he found that the window was open and Du Qiangwei was squatting on the windowsill with half a bag of spicy strips in her hand.
“Why are you writing this?” she asked at the time.
“Study the ultimate proposition of human civilization.” He didn’t even raise his head.
She smiled, jumped in, and stuffed the spicy strips into his mouth: “If you can set the wormhole to automatic heating mode, I will treat you to a year’s worth of food.”
After that night, every time she came, she would bring a bag of spicy strips and put them on his keyboard.
Lin En closed his eyes and extracted that memory. It was not an image or a sound, but the “vector emotional wave” of that time – a method of manipulation he had never tried before.
He injected the wave into the resonance channel and pushed it gently.
“Hey, Qiangwei, I haven’t finished my spicy noodles yet, don’t try to deny it.”
The passage shook violently.
A crack appeared in the core of the blocked wormhole, and he took the opportunity to rush in.
Before him lay a boundless turbulence, time drifting about like shredded paper. In the center, Du Qiangwei hovered, eyes closed, the lines on her tactical vest being eroded bit by bit by the Death Formula.
Lin Shang rushed over and grabbed her hand.
“Wake up! If you don’t wake up, I’ll use spicy ink to write formulas from now on.”
Her eyelashes trembled, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Lin Entang looked up and found a node at the end of the turbulence, numbered 127. That was the exit, but the anchor point was extremely unstable and would collapse within three seconds.
He didn’t have time to think about it and shouted, “Newton can’t control me!”
He clasped his hands together, forcibly merging their vector fields. Instead of using a spherical or toroidal structure, he constructed a Klein bottle topology—no inside or outside, no beginning or end.
Instantly, the turbulence was sucked into this boundless structure, and the two of them crossed through it synchronously.
Back to reality, Lin Shang sat down on the ground, folded his six wings, and breathed rapidly.
Du Qiangwei lay beside him and slowly opened her eyes.
“What’s wrong with me?” She sat up, touched her tactical vest, and was suddenly stunned.
Lin En also saw it.
The original vector patterns disappeared, replaced by circles of spiral marks, which eventually converged into a complete Klein bottle pattern, as if it was carved by some high-dimensional power.
“You’ve awakened.” Lin En gasped. “Space-time vector resonance, understand? It means you can now sense the ‘force’ of time.”
Du Qiangwei looked down at the pattern, her fingers gently stroking it. “I…seem to have seen many things. In the future, you are standing in front of a giant rose…”
Lin En was startled: “Rose?”
“Yeah, it’s four-dimensional, and the petals are full of formulas.”
Lin En smiled and said, “That must be the advertisement I placed.”
He stood up, walked to the main console, and entered the data from the markings on his tactical vest into the system. The screen flickered, and a floating rose slowly emerged in the center.
It is not a three-dimensional model, but a true four-dimensional projection. Each layer of petals is rotating at a different speed, and countless tiny vector arrows are flowing on the surface, as if time itself is breathing.
Lin En stared at it and suddenly noticed a line of small words in the center, as if they had been casually carved:
“Time is not a line, it is a flower.”
Before he could take a closer look, the rose suddenly trembled slightly.
The petals slowly unfolded, and a vague human figure emerged from the deepest part.
With her back to him, she held a box of instant noodles in her hand.
The figure tilted his head slightly and said in a low voice:
“You’ve already started bending the rules.”
Chapter 34: Sun Crisis: Sun Annihilation (Old Version)
Lin En had just finished importing the data for Du Qiangwei’s tactical vest, and the instant noodle box was still floating in the air, steam rising crookedly. He was about to reach out and retrieve it when the main console suddenly beeped wildly and a red light filled the room.
“No way, I just saved someone and I have to work overtime again?” He rolled his eyes and pushed the instant noodle box to the corner with a vector to avoid burning the circuit board.
A real-time monitoring image of Lieyang popped up on the screen. The previously stable core of the star was now bubbling like overcooked porridge, its gravity vector a tangled mess. Reina’s signal frequency was intermittent, interspersed with a series of incomprehensible roars: “Xiao Linzi! My… engine is stuck! The sun is… going to die!”
Lin En narrowed his eyes, his pupils instantly switching to vector vision. The world instantly disintegrated into countless flowing, multicolored arrows—the sun’s nuclear fusion currents, gravitational tides, radiation pressure, magnetic field deflection, all rapidly calculating before his eyes. Yet, deep within the core, a pitch-black fissure slowly opened, like paper being scratched with a ruler.
“Void Rift?” His brows jumped. “Is Old Ka causing trouble again?”
Before he could even consider it, the alarm escalated, and the temperature monitoring data in Earth’s orbit jumped wildly. The sun’s energy output had skyrocketed three hundredfold in fifteen seconds. If this continued, even the iron on Earth would evaporate into gas.
“Alright, the sun can’t explode. If it does, I won’t even have hot water for instant noodles.” He grabbed the wristband and plugged it into the port. “Cheng Yaowen! Activate the micro black hole and take my orders!”
“Director Lin, is the black hole sucking or ejecting now?” Cheng Yaowen’s voice came out from the communicator, a little trembling.
“Inhale first, then I’ll transform it into an anti-gravity nozzle.” Lin En’s six wings spread out, the hem of his white coat stretched straight by the vector field. “Tell Reina to adjust the output frequency of the stellar engine to 7.8 Hz. I need to synchronize the two energy flows.”
“7.8? Isn’t that the frequency of my snoring?” Reina’s voice exploded in.
“You’re just a snoring star right now. Shut up and tune out.” Lin Entang said angrily, “If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll transform your sun into a rotating billboard.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for two seconds, then a muffled groan echoed: “It’s adjusted… but the core temperature is still rising!”
Lin En closed his eyes, his computing power fully activated. The gravitational field of the microscopic black hole and the radiation pressure of the sun collided like two ferocious beasts in his brain. If he wasn’t careful, he would be torn into quantum fragments.
He gritted his teeth, manipulating the vector field to create a repulsive barrier between the two, using himself as a “human buffer.” The six wings vibrated violently, and each feather made a tiny crackling sound, like a wire about to burn out.
“Hold steady… hold steady…” he muttered softly, “I’ve calculated this wave. Newton can’t control me, and even Einstein has to give way to me.”
Suddenly, a strange ripple appeared at the edge of the black hole’s event horizon, and a line of tiny vector text emerged: “This is not the end, it’s the entrance.”
Lin En’s eyelids twitched, but he didn’t have time to investigate. He pushed hard, folding the black hole’s gravitational vector in reverse and forcibly bending the event horizon into a trumpet-shaped shape.
“spray!”
In an instant, the energy overflowing from the sun was “sucked” by the black hole, and then ejected in the opposite direction from the modified nozzle, forming a ring-shaped energy flow, which circled around the earth’s orbit and firmly supported a temporary protective ring.
“The protective ring has been established and the surface temperature has dropped!” Cheng Yaowen shouted.
“Don’t be too happy too soon.” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose. “This is just delaying the explosion. The core of the sun is about to collapse into a singularity.”
He turned and rushed to the main console, and took out a crystal red crystal from the drawer – the stellar energy core that Reina left behind last time.
“Use your energy to build my bridge.” He put the crystal on the table and tore off a piece of instant noodles instructions and stuck it next to it.
“What are you doing? You want to eat before you die?” Cheng Yaowen was dumbfounded.
“The instant noodles manual contains the most perfect nonlinear heating model.” Lin En glared at him. “It’s the crystallization of human civilization’s wisdom. Do you understand?”
He closed his eyes and superimposed the vector trajectory of the instant noodle steam with the stellar energy flow, constructing a set of “nonlinear flow diversion formulas.” His computing power was running frantically, and a vein in his forehead was throbbing, but the corners of his mouth curled up.
“The sun is not a container, it is a topological structure.” He opened his eyes and swiped his fingertips in the air. A golden vector trajectory emerged, slowly spelling out a rewritten version of Einstein’s field equations.
“Gravity is not the curvature of spacetime,” he read as he wrote. “Energy is vector topology. Today, I’m going to give the sun a new home.”
The last symbol fell and he pushed hard.
The equation in the air instantly expanded, transforming into a four-dimensional hypercube, suspended above Earth’s orbit. As if drawn by an invisible hand, the energy streams from the sun’s eruption redirected and poured into the cube’s interior.
“Collect!” Lin Shang shouted.
The hypercube began to fold and rotate, eventually turning into an endless Klein bottle structure. The bottle is transparent and the energy inside circulates endlessly, like an eternally burning work of art.
In the Earth’s orbit, the once blazing and violent remains of the sun are now quietly suspended, sealed in that huge topological structure, emitting gentle light and heat.
“Is it done?” Cheng Yaowen’s voice trembled.
“It’s done.” Lin En breathed a sigh of relief, and slowly folded his six wings. He almost fell to his knees, but was supported by the vector field.
The main console screen suddenly flashed, and Reina’s image popped up. The background was the control room of the Fiery Sun Star. Her hair was messy, and her star robe was wrinkled as if she had just taken it out of the washing machine.
“Xiao Linzi!” she yelled, “What have you turned my sun into?!”
“A work of art.” Lin En wiped the blood from his nose and looked up at the Klein bottle floating on the track outside the window. “Look, how beautiful it is. It can also provide heat, so there’s no waste.”
“Beautiful? What does it say on it?!” Reina pointed at the bottle.
Lin Shang squinted his eyes and laughed.
A circle of holographic inscriptions appeared on the bottle, starting with “Instant noodles for three minutes, hot water at 100 degrees,” extending all the way to “E=mc²,” then to the rewritten equation he had just written. Finally, a small note added: “This product is proudly produced by the Entropy Energy Research Institute. It supports heating, lighting, and power generation, and is guaranteed for 10,000 years.”
“Advertising space for rent.” Lin En shrugged. “I’ll give you a share of the copyright fees later.”
Reina was silent for three seconds, then suddenly rushed out of the control room and the screen went black.
Lin En was just wondering when the communicator made a “beep” sound, followed by the roar of the engine. A burning red shadow streaked across the sky and headed straight for the Earth’s orbit.
“She’s not really going to hit me, is she?” Lin En muttered, subconsciously taking a half step back.
The next second, Reina descended from the sky and kicked open the door of the research institute. Her star robe fluttered and the miniature stars behind her crackled.
“Lin Entropy!” She pointed at the Klein bottle on the track. “You turned my sun into your instant noodle billboard, didn’t you?”
“It’s a work of scientific art.” Lin Shang adjusted his glasses. “And now it’s more stable, more energy-efficient, and can also be used as a night light.”
“Nightlight?” Reina sneered. “Did you know that last night I dreamed I was a convenience store salesperson, holding a sign saying ‘Today’s Special, Buy One Get One Free Solar Energy’?”
“That means you subconsciously approve of this business model.” Lin En said seriously.
Reina was so angry that smoke came out of her head. She raised her hand and threw a flare over.
Lin En was quick-witted and quick-handed. He activated the vector control and the ball of plasma turned a corner in the air and landed precisely in the instant noodle box in the corner, with hot steam rising.
“Instant noodles with solar energy, limited edition.” He pushed the box over. “Want to try it?”
Reina stared at the box of instant noodles, her eyes slowly changing from fury to speechless.
She reached out to take it, lowered her head to smell it, and suddenly sneered: “Next time… don’t turn my sun into your instant noodles advertisement.”
“No changes.” Lin En shook his head, “But it can be upgraded to a dynamic projection and add background music.”
“you–“
Just as Reina was about to lose her temper, the main console suddenly made a “ding” sound.
Lin En looked back and saw that inside the hypercube structure, the line of vector text “This is not the end, it is the entrance” was slowly rotating and gradually forming a new coordinate.
He narrowed his eyes and swiped his finger across the screen to bring up the analysis interface.
The coordinates pointed to somewhere in deep space, and the frequency characteristics were exactly the same as Reina’s stellar engine, but the energy spectrum carried a hint of familiar mathematical resonant – the same origin as Carl’s death formula.
Lin En didn’t say anything. He silently saved the coordinates into an encrypted folder and named it: “Lao Ka’s Express Delivery, Arrival Reminder.”
He turned around, took out another pack of instant noodles from the drawer, tore it open, and poured in hot water.
The rising heat made his glasses shine.
“Eat the noodles first,” he said. “After that, open the package.”
Chapter 35: Divine Gift: Wings of Science (Old Version)
Lin Shang finished his instant noodles, drinking every drop of soup. He scraped off the crystalline residue with the words “E=mc²” at the bottom of the bowl with his fingernail and stuffed it into his white coat pocket. He was just about to lie down on the sofa for a nap when the ceiling suddenly lit up.
Not a lamp.
The entire sky was ripped open, and silver light poured down, as if someone had used the universe as a canvas and painted a brush of metallic paint. Lin En narrowed his eyes, and his vector vision automatically activated. Countless golden grids instantly exploded in his pupils. That beam of light was not a stream of energy, but a pure writing of rules, and every ray of light carried the mathematical signature of angelic civilization.
“You’re here.” He yawned and used the vector to push the sofa cushions to his back to sit more comfortably. “You didn’t even tell me in advance. At least let me change my pants.”
The beam of light landed, condensing into a figure. With a trailing black dress and silver wings spread, Kesha stood in the center of the laboratory. Even the air was silent for three seconds.
“Lin En.” Her voice was low, but every word seemed to sink into the floor. “The whole universe knows that you transformed a star into an instant noodle advertisement.”
“That’s scientific communication.” Lin En pushed up his glasses. “I even marked the warranty period. How responsible.”
Kaisha didn’t respond, but simply raised her hand. A beam of silver light shot out from her fingertips, heading straight for Lin Tang’s chest. He didn’t dodge, and the light penetrated his skin, leaving no wound, but it did cause his six wings to tremble violently.
“This is the entrance test for the Wings of Science,” Kaisha said. “Only if you can catch Yan’s silver wing stab can you truly touch the rule layer.”
“Stab?” Lin En raised an eyebrow. “Last time she stabbed me with a sword, she almost twisted my genetic sequence into a dough.”
“Not this time.” Kesha said calmly, “She will control the strength.”
“Are you sure?” Lin En had just finished speaking when a sound of breaking air came from above his head.
The silver light descended again, this time more directly—Yan descended from the sky, with the flaming sword hidden behind his back, while his right hand condensed a short blade made purely of light, with vector patterns of the angel’s origin flowing on the blade.
“Don’t talk nonsense.” She landed and took a step in front of Lin Cheng. “Open the energy circuit.”
“Your tone sounds like you’re urging me to hand in my homework.” Lin En sighed, closed his eyes, and the genetic lock in his body slowly opened. His six wings trembled slightly, and the energy channel was exposed.
Yan’s attack was swift, the blade of light piercing his heart. The moment of contact, Lin En’s body stiffened, as if pierced by a high-voltage current—it wasn’t physical damage, but an information shock. The angel’s sacred atomic structure poured directly into his sensory system, every vector screaming, trying to overwhelm his calculations.
“Ugh…” He gritted his teeth, a vein bulging on his forehead. The blood from his nose was pushed back into his veins by the vector field as soon as it started. The pain was so intense that the normal calculations failed, but he didn’t shut down the system. Instead, he channeled the pain into the calculation module.
“Pain… is also a vector,” he growled. “Its direction is clear, its magnitude is measurable, and its acceleration is constant—calculate it for me!”
He reverse-analyzed the invading energy, using his remaining computing power to construct a model, forcibly breaking down the angel’s sacred structure into a set of dynamic equations. With a sharp stroke of his fingertips, a rose emerged from the void.
Not an ordinary flower.
There are twelve petals, each of which is composed of the physical laws of a different civilization: the first petal is the instant noodle heating model, the second petal is the four-dimensional hypercube folding formula, the third petal is the nonlinear output curve of the Reina stellar engine… The last petal says “F=ma”, but the directions of the arrows are all reversed.
“Newton can’t control me.” Lin Shang opened his eyes, bloodshot, “But I can treat him to tea.”
Roses blossomed, and for a moment, the cosmic background radiation distorted slightly. Satellites in Earth’s orbit collectively shuddered, navigation systems briefly reported an error, and even the probe on the far side of the moon automatically rebooted.
Kesha narrowed her eyes and her silver wings moved slightly.
“You changed the local physical constants,” she said, “even if it only lasted for 0.3 seconds.”
“I can hold it.” Lin En raised his hand, forcibly compressing the rose energy. It transformed into a spiral of light that climbed up his spine, ultimately imprinting itself on the base of his six wings. The light pattern swirled, forming a pair of translucent wings. They didn’t resemble the wings of an angel, but rather mathematical wings woven from countless formulas.
“Wings of Science,” Kesa whispered. “You are no longer a user of rules. You are… a definer.”
Lin En didn’t say anything. He quietly pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and quickly wrote a line: “Next, install an anti-gravity core in the apple.”
Keisha glanced at him and turned to leave.
“Wait.” Lin En called her, “Can I open that package now?”
“What delivery?”
“The coordinates that Old Ka left.” He pointed to the main console. “The one that says ‘This is not the end, it’s the entrance.'”
Kesha didn’t stop walking. “It’s not too late to open these wings when you can fly out of the atmosphere.”
As soon as the door closed, the laboratory became quiet again.
Lin En sat on the sofa, his six wings slowly folding, the shadow of the Wings of Science still spinning slowly behind him. He stared at the main console, the encrypted folder on the screen still flashing, as if urging him on.
He didn’t move.
Instead, he took out a new pack of instant noodles from the drawer, tore it open, and poured in hot water.
The steam rose, and he used vector control to twist the steam into a Fibonacci spiral, spinning it slowly. He learned this trick when the sun was about to explode last time, to calm his nerves.
“Wait until I’m worthy of these wings.” He said to the air, as if he was making a promise, or as if he was talking to himself.
Just as the instant noodles were ready, the console suddenly made a “ding” sound.
It’s not an alarm, it’s a data receiving prompt.
Lin Entang looked up and saw a new file package pop up in the corner of the screen. There was no sender, no protocol header, only a string of constantly rotating mathematical symbols. The frequency characteristics were exactly the same as the resonance section of Reina’s stellar engine, but there was a familiar mathematical reverberation hidden in the waveform – the same origin as Carl’s death formula.
He didn’t click it immediately.
Instead, he brought the instant noodles over, blew on them, and took a big sip.
“Eat the noodles first,” he said, “and then watch.”
He lowered his head to sip his noodles, the heat blurring his lenses. When he finished wiping them and looked up again, the string of symbols on the screen had already begun to decode itself, slowly spelling out a line of words:
“Have you calculated it?”
Lin Shang put down his fork, stared at the line of words, and suddenly smiled.
He picked up a pen and wrote in his little notebook: “I’ve calculated this wave too.”
Then he reached out and opened the file.
Chapter 36: Void Frequency·Data Resonance (Old Version)
As Lin En’s finger hit enter, the mathematical symbols on the screen suddenly exploded, and a series of dark purple ripples crawled along the optical fiber, spreading across the lab. His eyelids twitched, but he didn’t move. He simply turned the bowl of instant noodles he had just finished slurping upside down on the edge of the console, so that the crystal of “E=mc²” at the bottom of the bowl pressed against the main node of the data flow.
The headset automatically connected, high-frequency sound waves drilling straight into his brain. Without blinking, he moved his mind, and the air molecules in his ear instantly stopped, twisting the sound wave vector into a knot and snapping.
“Lao Ka, you didn’t even package this package?” he muttered, pushing his glasses up, fully activating his vector vision. The entire space was instantly covered in a dense web of golden arrows. Data streams darted between them like a school of mad fish, each one carrying a gravitational pull that twisted logic.
He stared at the instant noodle crystal. It glowed faintly, its frequency incredibly stable. Lin En raised his lips, set this frequency as a reference, and injected it back into his consciousness circuit. Instantly, the chaotic data streams seemed to be reined in and began to line up neatly.
“Low-dimensional anchoring, activate,” he whispered, his fingers tracing the air a few times, directing the most violent void frequencies towards the instant noodle bowl. The bowl shook, a wisp of hot steam rising from the edge, and it automatically twisted into a Fibonacci spiral.
The data flow begins to be reconstructed.
In the center of the screen, a cloud of purple mist slowly condensed, outlining a figure—a high-collared robe, his eyes hollow, a smile that said, “I understand, but you don’t.” It was Carl’s projection, but without substance, a shell made purely of data.
“Lin En.” The projection spoke, its voice as if coming from behind ten layers of filters. “You finally opened the door.”
Lin En didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and quickly wrote down: “Void frequency, main band 3.14159, harmonic nested Möbius structure, suspected recursive trap.”
The projection continued, “The way you analyze the sun proves that you have touched the edge of the rules. But do you know? All rules originate from an inconsistent starting point. For example—”
It raised its hand, and a string of formulas appeared in the air. It was a variation of “Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem”, with arrows nested layer by layer, making people more dizzy the more they looked at it.
Lin En smiled.
He closed the notebook, slapped the console, and activated the vector control. The formula was instantly pulled down, the arrows were bent, and the numbers jumped out one by one, reorganized.
“Braised beef noodles.” He read as he made changes. “The water temperature is 80 degrees Celsius, soak for three minutes, add half of the seasoning packet, wait 30 seconds, then add the other half, and finally sprinkle with chopped green onions.”
The data stream jerked violently, and the purple mist dispersed with a gust of water, as if it had been doused with boiling water. The projected face distorted for two seconds before transforming entirely into a giant image of an instant noodle package, even the nutritional information on the back clearly visible.
“Cooking guide loaded.” Lin En snapped his fingers, and a string of golden vectors jumped out of his fingertips, dancing like musical notes. “Old Ka, your trap can only scare high school students.”
He was just about to save this data when the console suddenly shook. The crystal at the bottom of the instant noodle bowl cracked, and purple light seeped out from the crack, drilling deeper along the data line.
Lin En narrowed his eyes and followed the light all the way down with his vector vision. He found that it was trying to bypass the firewall and go straight to the underlying protocol of the gene lock.
“Oh, a backdoor?” He sneered, immediately summoning the phantom of the Wings of Science. Six wings of light slowly unfolded behind him, each woven from a flowing formula. He injected the Angel Mathematical Signature into the vector flow, synchronizing it with his own DNA circuits, forcibly erecting a “rule-based firewall” within the data channel.
The purple light hit it, exploding into a cloud of stardust.
“You want to use my genes as a key?” Lin En whispered, “You have to ask my wings if they agree first.”
After the firewall stabilized, he didn’t stop, but instead traced the purple light back to its source. The data stream rolled back, passing through seven layers of encryption, and finally stopped at a minimalist sequence of symbols—like a signature, with a faint red, like blood, and like a sunset glow.
This frequency… is exactly the same as the fluctuation at the edge of the wormhole that night when Du Qiangwei climbed through his window.
“Morgana?” he murmured. “What are you getting into?”
Without further ado, he activated the Wings of Science, activated the Gene Lock Resonance, and pressed his palm against the console. The last layer of encryption shattered like glass.
The screen went black for a moment.
Then seven large characters slowly emerged:
A challenge to Lin En
There was no name in the signature, only a spiral red line that looked like a rose and a wormhole.
Lin En was just about to write down the vector features of the signature when the alarm above his head suddenly sounded.
Not from a laboratory.
It is an emergency notification automatically pushed in the public frequency band of the Earth orbit monitoring system.
He looked up, and a small screen on the side of the console popped up a real-time feed: Outer space, seven points lit up simultaneously, as if the membrane of the universe had been punctured with a pen tip. Each point expanded, forming a wormhole, and a strange structure emerged at the edge of the hole.
A core furnace like the Sun Star, with energy patterns familiar to Reina pulsing on its surface;
A silver-white body, engraved with the genetic code of angelic civilization;
Another one turned out to be a floating library, with shelves filled with glowing scrolls of formulas.
The wormhole stabilized.
No fleet came out, no attack signal, it just hung there quietly, like seven lighthouses, or seven gates.
Lin En stared at the screen, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. He pulled up the red pattern and compared it with the energy signatures of the seven wormholes.
The match is 92 percent.
“It’s not a threat,” he whispered. “It’s an invitation.”
He flipped open his notebook, turned to a blank page, and wrote: “Negative dimension = seasoning packet ratio.” He then drew a small arrow pointing to the line next to it: “Wormhole stability ∝ instant noodle soaking time.”
Just as I closed the notebook, the console shook again.
The instant noodle bowl cracked completely and the crystals shattered into powder, but the purple light did not go out. Instead, it climbed up to his fingertips along the crack.
Lin En didn’t get rid of it.
He let the light wrap around his fingers, slowly climbing upwards until it stopped at the inside of his wrist, where an old scar was slightly warm—left by the backlash of void energy the last time.
The purple light circled around the scar, then suddenly dispersed, transforming into a line of small characters that floated in the air:
Have you calculated it?
He raised his other hand and used vector manipulation to draw a line in the air in response:
I have also calculated this wave.
As soon as the words took shape, seven wormholes in outer space flashed at the same time.
Then, a metal plate slowly floated out from the wormhole on Lieyang Star. Carved onto its surface were a line of words, the characters crooked and distorted, as if they had been burned with a gun barrel:
Xiao Linzi, remember to add spicy flavor to your sun-grilled skewers.
Lin Cheng’s mouth twitched.
“Reina, can you please be serious?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the wormhole in the Angel Gene Bank began to move. A crystal plate flew out, and a series of formulas appeared on it, ending with a smiley face.
He recognized the handwriting.
It burns the heart.
Lin En rubbed his brows and was about to collect the data from the two boards when he suddenly discovered——
The seventh wormhole, the one that looks like a library, has a figure walking out of it.
No, not a human.
It was a projection, wearing a white coat, holding instant noodles in his hand, with his back to him, standing on the edge of the void.
That back figure… is exactly the same as his.
The projection slowly raised its hand, pointed to the depths of the wormhole, then pointed at him, and made a “call” gesture.
Just as Lin Shang was about to enlarge the image, the projection suddenly shattered.
The wormhole began to shrink.
The other six also reacted synchronously. The metal plates and crystal plates were still floating, but the hole had become smaller.
Lin En suddenly stood up, rushed to the main console, and tapped his fingers frantically on the keyboard, trying to lock the wormhole coordinates.
But the moment he pressed enter——
All wormholes close simultaneously.
The universe returned to peace.
Only one line of system prompts is left on the screen:
The signal source has disappeared, and the remaining frequency matches the resonance segment of the instant noodle steam.
Lin Shang stood there, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard.
He slowly turned his head and looked at the half-opened pack of instant noodles on the table.
The noodles lay dry and motionless.
He raised his hand and gently flicked the top one using vector control.
The noodles shook and slowly stood up like an antenna.
Chapter 37: Hypercube and Multidimensional Trap (Old Version)
Lin Shang’s fingers were still hovering above the keyboard. The instant noodles that were held upright by vector control shook twice and fell down with a bang.
He blinked, staring at the line on the screen that said “The residual frequency matches the resonance segment of instant noodle steam”, and suddenly reached out to pick up the package of braised beef noodles on the corner of the table and slammed it towards the main console.
“Okay, if you don’t tell me, I’ll try it myself.”
Before he finished speaking, he had already activated the four-dimensional hypercube’s defense matrix. Originally a handy artifact from the last solar crisis, he had forcibly transformed it into a shield capable of withstanding annihilation rays. As soon as the power was connected, a faint glow appeared simultaneously at the locations where the seven wormholes in outer space closed—not the appearance of physical entities, but rather the heating of space itself.
The first ray came silently.
It didn’t hit the cube, but went straight through it, like ink dripping into a glass, slowly spreading a line of formulas on the inner wall: Dimension One: Definition of spatial discontinuity.
Lin Shang’s eyelids twitched.
“This isn’t an attack, this is just copying homework?” he muttered, his vector vision instantly locking onto the text. A golden arrow immediately wrapped around it, attempting to decipher its energy flow. However, as soon as it touched the edge, the entire vector line was sucked in, twisting in the opposite direction into a Möbius strip. It snapped back and lashed into his consciousness, causing his brain to buzz.
“Oh, there’s a backlash?” He shook his head, pulled a piece of draft paper from the lab bench, and quickly wrote: “Soak for three minutes for maximum stability.” Then he stuffed the paper into the scanning port of the control panel.
The system beeped.
The hypercube’s resonant frequency automatically shifted to 3.14159 Hz, the exact frequency at which the instant noodle steam resonated. The entire structure shook slightly, like a hiccup.
The second ray shot in right after, and this time it engraved: Dimension Two: Time Nesting Paradox.
Lin Shang didn’t rush to stop him. Instead, he stared at the stroke order of the handwriting for two seconds and suddenly laughed out loud.
“Lao Ka, Lao Ka, your handwriting is exactly the same as the last time you sent me a math riddle.” He pushed up his glasses. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to recognize your data-smelling handwriting just because you changed your cover?”
With a flick of his finger, the Wings of Science activated. Six wings of light unfolded behind him, each one brimming with dynamic formulas. He injected an anti-gravity vector into the cubic lattice, and the entire structure instantly underwent a rainbow of colors. The third ray, upon entering, was broken into seven colors, scattering across the inner wall with a clatter that prevented even a complete word from being written.
“Low-dimensional anchoring successful.” He read, and casually taped the instant noodle wrapper to the side of the console. “Next, it’s time to read the questions.”
The fourth ray enters the body, engraved: Dimension Three: Observer Collapse Law.
The fifth path: Dimension Four: Logical Self-Referential Trap.
The Sixth Path: Dimension Five: Information conservation is violated.
The seventh ray is the slowest, as if waiting for the first six to finish layout, and finally it slowly floats in, engraving: Dimension seven: The end point of recursion is the starting point.
Seven lines of formulas formed a circle and began to spin slowly. Lin En stared at them and suddenly realized that the order of the formulas changed with each change of perspective. He moved half a step to the left, and the first line became the seventh; he looked up, and the third line jumped to the front; he closed his eyes and opened them again, and the entire set of formulas was running in reverse.
“Ha.” He laughed. “Are you working on a space jigsaw puzzle?”
He remembered the question “Have you calculated it?” from last time, and drew a Fibonacci spiral in the air with his backhand, using vector manipulation to fit all the seven-fold formulas into it.
“The soaking time of instant noodles equals the stability of the wormhole, right?” he muttered as he adjusted the parameters. “Three minutes is the sweet spot, two and a half minutes is critical, and four minutes is a lump—so now, you are a lump.”
As soon as the words fell, the center of the spiral suddenly shrank.
The sevenfold formula clicked, then began to reverse course. The first line, “Spatial Discontinuity,” suddenly collapsed, transforming into a string of garbled characters. One fragment flashed through the air, unexpectedly forming the pattern of inscriptions on Ge Xiaolun’s armor.
Lin En didn’t look at it any further and directly changed into the Angelic form. He retracted his six wings and turned himself into a vector data stream, whooshing into the interior of the hypercube.
There is neither space nor emptiness inside.
It was a collection of illusions that blurred the lines between inside and outside. He walked forward, but was actually going upward; he looked up at the sky, but the shadow of his head appeared beneath his feet; he tried to push a wall with vector control, but the force came through from behind, causing him to stagger.
“Klein bottle space?” He touched the old scar on the inside of his wrist, which was severely burned. “Okay, then use the side that hurts as the north.”
He established a personal frame of reference, using the pain as his starting point. His six wings unfolded into a vector computing cloud, each wing of light running a dimensional equation. Data streams raced through his body, his head buzzed, and blood oozed from the tip of his nose, but he didn’t even bother to wipe it.
“The first dimension is stability.”
“Second dimension, bypassing the paradox node.”
“Third dimension, skip the observation trap.”
“The fourth dimension, decompiles self-referential logic.”
“Fifth dimension, information is missing? Just fill it in.”
“The sixth dimension…wait, where does the sixth dimension come from?”
He stopped short.
The seven-fold trap only had seven formulas engraved on it, but the computing cloud showed that there was an eighth hidden dimension absorbing his computing power.
“It’s hidden quite deeply.” He sneered, adjusted the energy of the sixth light wing to the maximum, and tore open a gap.
Inside, a dot is quietly suspended.
Not a black hole, not a singularity, but the outline of an… apple.
The core is made up of vectors, the skin is made up of countless tiny formulas, and there is a line of small words hanging on the stem: the place where you take the first bite.
Lin En stared at it and suddenly remembered the day when he first awakened his ability. He was chewing an apple bought from a convenience store. Before he was hit by a truck, the last thing he thought in his mind was – “I wish this apple could resist gravity.”
“So you’re using this as the core of your trap?” He smiled. “That’s quite sentimental.”
He didn’t rush to open it. Instead, he took out a small notebook from his pocket, turned to a blank page, and wrote: “Newton’s apple, the speed of its landing is proportional to the density of knowledge.” After writing, he closed the notebook and threw it into the air.
The notebook turned into a data stream in mid-air, and he grabbed it in his hand, compressing it into a miniature vector model – a glowing apple, with the core filled with the cracked seven-fold formula.
“I’ve calculated this wave,” he said, stuffing the apple into the core of the trap.
No explosions, no bright lights.
The hypercube seemed to have been paused for a second.
Then, it began to collapse.
Layers of dimensions folded inward, formulas melted into bands of light, and the residual frequencies of the seven wormholes shuttled through the structure, eventually converging on the apple in the center.
The apple swayed slightly and fell to the ground.
Boom.
It didn’t break or disappear, but stood firmly on the edge of the console like a seed.
Lin Shang looked down and found a very thin dent on the floor. It was shaped upside down, like a bottle, but without a bottom.
Just as he was about to squat down to get a better look, the alarm above his head rang again.
He looked up, and a real-time picture popped up on the small screen on the side of the main console: In outer space, seven points lit up again. The wormhole had not yet opened, but the space had begun to heat up.
Lin En looked at the apple and then at the screen.
He reached out, tore open the instant noodle seasoning packet on the table, and poured the powder packet into the empty bowl.
“Now that I’m here,” he huffed, “I’ll make it twice as spicy this time.”
Chapter 38: Dark Matter Storm – Pan Zhen’s Bet (Old Version)
Lin Shang poured the seasoning packet into the bowl and tapped the rim with his finger. The powder rose into the air, as if blown away by an invisible wind. He didn’t look at the screen, only glanced at the orbital alarm out of the corner of his eye—the seven dots lit up again, hotter than before.
“Double spicy.” He muttered, turning the empty bowl upside down on the edge of the console. The residue automatically formed a spiral line, the end of which pointed directly to a distorted space outside the earth.
The next second, the silhouette of the Lieyang Star battleship sliced ​​through the atmosphere. It didn’t fire, didn’t broadcast, and instead churned the entirety of space into a vortex of dark matter. The center of the vortex was still far away, but Lin En could already feel the lines in his vector vision twitching—the once clear energy flows were like ink being splashed, becoming a chaotic mess.
“Pan Zhen, Pan Zhen,” he pushed up his glasses, “last time you stabbed me with a spear, this time you’re throwing a storm? Fine, I’ll take it.”
He retrieved the output parameters of the solar engine and pulled out a simulation model of a micro black hole from the database. As soon as the two sets of data were connected, a red warning popped up on the system: Dimensional instability, risk of engulfment.
“What are you afraid of?” He grinned. “It’s not the first time I’ve played with fire.”
Six wings unfolded, and patterns of light swirled behind them. It wasn’t the full form of the Wings of Science, but rather a series of shadowy circles entwined into a bottle. He channeled the solar engine’s star vector into it, and the bottle’s mouth immediately glowed with golden light, like a red-hot iron being dipped into cold water, making a sizzling sound.
“A Klein bottle, no distinction between inside and outside,” he muttered to himself as he adjusted the energy circulation path. “Put the black hole inside, the sun outside, and there’s an infinite loop in between—isn’t this the same as if the lid of instant noodles wasn’t closed tightly, letting the heat escape back and forth?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the first dark matter ray hit the wall of the bottle.
There was no explosion, no penetration. The dark energy seemed to have hit an invisible funnel, swirling and being sucked in. The bottle shook slightly, and a fine line appeared on its surface—the shape of an upside-down bottle, a twin of the dent in the floor in the previous chapter.
“Oh, you’ve recognized your relationship?” Lin Shang raised his eyebrows. “We seem to be destined to be together.”
Pan Zhen’s voice finally blasted out from the battleship’s radio: “Lin Entropy! Are you collecting garbage? Dark matter isn’t your kitchen leftovers!”
“What’s wrong with leftovers?” Lin Shang said without even looking up. “Leftovers can be fermented to make kimchi. I think your storm can be stir-fried into a dish.”
With a flick of his finger, the circulation within the bottle accelerated. The dark matter sucked in began to separate into layers, the heavier ones sinking to the bottom, the lighter ones floating upwards. A thin stream swirled in the middle, much like the way he stirred the instant noodles last night.
“Wait…” He suddenly stopped, “This frequency…”
He called up the instant noodle steam resonance segment from the previous chapter and compared it to the rhythm of the energy flow within the bottle. Three seconds later, he laughed out loud. “Ha! Your dark matter storm was programmed based on a three-minute soaking time? Old Pan, did you secretly watch me eat noodles?”
Pan Zhen didn’t reply, but the storm suddenly accelerated.
The vortex shifted direction three times, each time causing a flash of snowflakes to flash through Lin En’s vector vision. Seven thicker rays pierced from different dimensions, each carrying the chaotic vector of the primordial universe—no pattern, no starting point, existing purely for destruction.
“Pretending to be sophisticated?” Lin En flicked his wrist. “I hate this kind of mindless fighting the most.”
He folded his six wings together, and the energy container’s topology instantly restructured. The black hole singularity embedded itself in the non-directional surface at the bottom of the bottle, and the solar vector flowed in through the bottle’s opening, forming a closed, self-circulating loop. The entire structure began to hum, like an electric furnace at full power.
“Come on,” he whispered, “let me see if you’re a real storm or just a spray can of grandstanding.”
The first ray crashed in, and he used vector resonance to break it down into seven thin streams, all of which were inserted into a looping orbit. He simply reverse-compiled the second, converting the chaotic vector into a sine wave. He simply used the third as a metronome, rearranging it to the resonant frequency of instant noodle steam.
One after another, he disassembled, reassembled, and repackaged the seven attacks.
The bottle grew brighter and brighter, and finally, with a sudden tremor, a ball of golden light erupted from the top. That light condensed in the air into an apple, all golden. Twelve formulas shone within its core, each one pulsing like a living being.
“It’s done.” Lin En exclaimed, “It even comes with automatic packaging.”
Pan Zhen’s warship braked suddenly, and the vortex stopped. He obviously didn’t expect that his attack would be turned into fruit.
“Impossible!” he roared. “That’s dark matter! Not your noodle soup!”
“Who says we can’t?” Lin Shang raised his hand and pushed, and the golden apple slowly floated towards the battleship. “You use it as a weapon, I use it as food, isn’t it the same? The key is the heat.”
The apple collided with Pan Zhen’s armor, but it didn’t explode, nor did it penetrate. It just stuck to it, and the twelve formulas in the core lit up one by one, like a silent melody.
Then, the entire battlefield was filled with sounds.
It wasn’t an explosion, not an alarm, but a symphony of vector vibrations. The bass was the roar of the sun’s engine, the midrange was the gravitational ripples of a black hole, and the treble was the resonance of instant noodle steam—all arranged into a single melody by Lin Entang.
Pan Zhen’s armor began to glow, and the same Klein bottle pattern as an energy container emerged on its surface. His battleship’s engines automatically tuned to the beat, vibrating to the rhythm, and even the thruster nozzles began to open and close in a rhythmic pattern, as if beating a beat.
“You…are you rewriting the laws of physics?” Pan Zhen’s voice was a little shaky.
“It’s not that exaggerated.” Lin Shang shrugged. “I just think the fight is too monotonous. Wouldn’t it be more lively if we add some music?”
He paused, then added, “Besides, you’re betting on strength, I’m betting on rhythm. You throw the punches, I hit the timing. This isn’t a matter of whose arms are bigger.”
Pan Zhen was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly sneered: “Then tell me, what’s the name of this song?”
Lin En blinked.
“‘Double Spicy March,'” he said. “The first movement is called ‘Instant Noodles Never Sink.'”
Pan Zhen said nothing as the battleship slowly retreated. But he didn’t go far, instead stopping at a safe distance, the patterns on his armor still shimmering.
“Lin En.” He finally spoke, “Can you really control this thing?”
“Of course.” Lin Shang stretched out his hand and the golden apple flew back to his palm. “If you don’t believe me, play it again? I can even add a chorus for you.”
Pan Zhen stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly smiled: “Okay, I give up.”
He raised his hand and shut down all weapon systems, and the battleship’s dark matter generator was completely shut down.
“But,” he changed the subject, “can you eat this apple?”
Lin Shang looked down at the fruit in his hand. The formula in the core was still jumping, and the shape of the last note was very similar to the “hissing” waveform when he tore open the seasoning packet.
He smiled and tossed the apple into the air.
The apple didn’t fall.
It just hung in the air, swaying gently, like a seed waiting to take root.
Lin En moved his wrist, and the six wings folded together, and the shadow of the energy container slowly dissipated.
“Want to eat?” he said, “Let me learn how to make instant noodles first.”
Chapter 39: Ripples of Spacetime – Yan’s Deal (Old Version)
Lin Shang had just withdrawn his fingers from the air, and the glittering golden apple still dangled in mid-air, as if waiting for someone to take a bite. He stretched his shoulders. The six-winged phantom had long since dissipated, but the lingering vector vibrations at his fingertips still pulsated gently, like the rhythm of hot steam hitting your hand when you lift the lid of instant noodles.
Just as the beat was about to begin, the space suddenly cracked.
It wasn’t an explosion, nor was it the distortion and stretching of a wormhole. Instead, it felt like someone had taken a blade and cut a slit through the fabric of reality. It was clean and crisp, with a hint of impatience. The silver-armored, red-caped woman stepped out of the crack. Her boots landed silently, but the thing in her hand—a thing that looked like a half-broken mirror—hummed and vibrated, disrupting the apple’s resonant frequencies.
“Lin En.” She spoke, her tone as familiar as if they had just met in the cafeteria. “Your apple is very beautiful. Can I return it?”
Lin Shang didn’t move, only glancing out of the corner of his eye at the broken mirror in her hand. The cracks were spiral, winding back towards the center, as if they were made from the same mold as the dent on the bottom of his bowl. He smiled. “Captain Yan came personally to return or exchange the goods? Pretty good service.”
“Don’t play dumb.” Yan handed the mirror forward, “Here, fix it, and I’ll give you a game to play.”
“Oh?” Lin Shang tilted his head. “If you lose the bet, you have to wear a maid outfit?”
“If you win the bet, I’ll tell you what Karl is feeding Ge Xiaolun’s genetic data to.”
Lin En’s smile faded for half a second before returning to normal. He reached out to take the mirror, and as his fingertips touched the surface, a string of garbled characters suddenly exploded in his vector vision—angelic energy and some kind of sticky void code were gnawing at each other like two groups of fighting ants.
“Has your mirror ever been in Carl’s laboratory?” he asked casually.
“Yeah.” Yan crossed his arms. “He was using it to monitor the Earth, and I stole it. By the way, it’s now connected to his main system. If I fix it, it’ll be like opening a backdoor for you.”
Lin Shang tutted, turned the mirror over, and held it up to the sunlight. The cracks glowed purple in the light, like the reflection of chili oil in instant noodle seasoning packets.
“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll report the Earth’s coordinates to Carl while I’m repairing it?” He laughed.
“Afraid.” Yan nodded, “That’s why I stand in front of you, ready to chop you down with my sword at any time.”
Lin En grinned: “It’s a pleasure to work with you.”
He didn’t waste any more words. He swiped his fingers across the mirror surface a few times, pressing Pan Zhen’s twelve-dimensional formula back into the edge of the frame, like soldering the circuit of a broken radio. As the formula was embedded, the mirror body trembled, and the turbulent flow of void code was immediately stuck in a loop, unable to move forward or backward.
“The stabilization frame is set up,” he muttered. “Next… tune the station.”
He pulled a half-opened pack of instant noodles from his pocket, tore a crack in it, and steam hissed out. He directed the steam to the edge of the mirror, using vector control to precisely control the frequency of each heat flow, and slowly poured it into the mirror.
“You are…” Yan frowned, “Are you cooking noodles?”
“Tuning.” Lin Shang said without looking up, “Your mirror is four-dimensional, and the time axis is crooked. I have to straighten it out using a rhythm that everyone understands – for example, three minutes of soaking time.”
The mirror surface began to glow, first gray, then blue, and finally suddenly clear, and the picture unfolded.
Not Earth, nor Angel Star Region.
It was a laboratory, its walls peeling, its floor covered in black slime, twitching and wriggling. On the central lab table lay a humanoid figure, bound by seven datalinks, tubes plugged into its head. Lin En’s pupils shrank—those features, that hairstyle—it was undoubtedly Ge Xiaolun.
The camera zoomed in, and the black fluid climbed up the data link and into Ge Xiaolun’s temple. In the corner of the screen, a countdown ticked: 72:00:00.
“He’s using Ge Xiaolun’s genes as a key to feed the dark matter.” Yan whispered, “Once completed, Carl will be able to open the underlying protocol of the seventh wormhole.”
Lin Shang didn’t say anything. He stared at the screen for three seconds, then suddenly reached out and drew the outline of a bowl of instant noodles on the mirror.
“What are you doing?”
“Advertising space for rent.”
He flicked his fingertips, and the scene in the mirror instantly changed. The laboratory was gone, replaced by a glittering golden instant noodle bucket. The background music played, still the chorus of the “Double Spicy March” he had composed in the previous chapter.
“Double spicy beef noodles! Limited time promotion! Buy one get one free! If you miss it today, you’ll have to wait another three years!” A mechanical female voice announced cheerfully.
Yan was stunned: “You… tampered with the real-time surveillance?”
“It’s been upgraded,” Lin En corrected. “Now what Carl sees is an instant noodle advertisement hanging in his lab. If he hadn’t decoded it, he wouldn’t have noticed the data stream had been switched.”
As he spoke, he extracted the vibration frequency of the advertising sound waves in reverse, compiled it into an anti-gravity vector program, and quietly inserted it into the energy circuit of the mirror.
“You’re wasting time.” Yan frowned, “The countdown is still going.”
“No waste.” Lin En smiled. “I’m playing chess. Don’t you want to play a game with me? Then play a big one.”
He suddenly raised his hand and pushed the mirror hard.
Not at the picture, but at Yan.
The anti-gravity vector exploded instantly, Yan’s feet were empty, and she was thrown out by an invisible force, mirror and body. She instinctively spread her wings to stabilize herself, but the force precisely blocked her wings at the moment of expansion, pushing along the silver wings’ vector trajectory, sending her directly into low-Earth orbit.
“Lin En!” Her voice came from high above, tinged with anger, “What are you doing?!”
“The game has begun.” Lin En raised his head and shouted, “First level, aerial relay. If you catch it, you win!”
Yan flipped over in the air, barely able to keep his balance. When he looked down, he found that the broken mirror was still in his hand, and… the picture was not interrupted.
The instant noodle advertisement was still playing, but the countdown in the corner had changed to: 71:59:58.
What’s even more bizarre is that there’s an extra line of small text at the bottom of the ad, which flashes by:
“The final right of interpretation of this promotion belongs to Lin En.”
She gritted her teeth and was about to tear open the space and return when she suddenly noticed that the spiral cracks on the edge of the mirror were slightly hot, as if activated by some energy. She looked down and saw that the path of her silver wings had left a golden afterimage outside the atmosphere. The shape of it was very much like an open bottle, mouth downwards, bottom up.
“You…” She narrowed her eyes, “Have you already figured it out?”
Lin Shang stood on the ground, clapped his hands, and stuffed the half-pack of instant noodles back into his pocket. The apple was still floating, motionless.
He looked up and shouted to the sky, “Captain Yan, come with a little more sincerity next time—for example, don’t use a broken mirror as a bargaining chip.”
He paused and raised the corner of his mouth.
“The real game is never about who strikes first.”
Chapter 40: Final Equation: The Gamble of Seven Civilizations (Old Version)
Lin En stood on the laboratory roof, the golden apple still hanging above his head, motionless, as if someone had pressed the pause button. He didn’t look at it. Instead, he fished out a half-flattened instant noodle bucket from his pocket, sat down on the ground, crossed his legs, and leaned his back against the ventilation duct with a muffled “clang” sound.
He yawned.
Three seconds later, the universe was quiet.
It wasn’t an illusion; it was truly quiet. All communication channels automatically muted, starship engines shut down, and even the wind in Earth’s atmosphere died for a moment. Then, seven wormholes opened simultaneously in different star regions, as if someone had stabbed seven holes in reality with a pair of scissors, all pointed at Earth.
A voice emanated from each hole, neither hurried nor slow, with a lecturing tone: “Lin Entropy, can you solve the final equation? If you can, you will determine the laws of physics. If you can’t, I will.”
Lin Shang blinked and threw the instant noodle bucket over his head.
The barrel automatically unfolded in mid-air, and coils of metal flakes flipped out like petals, transforming into a seven-pointed star projection, steadily catching the seven wormhole signals. A faint glow shimmered around the edges of the projection, and a closer look revealed that the light path spiraled, like a maze with no end in sight.
He grinned: “Your gambling game doesn’t even have an opening background music, and you dare to call it universe-level?”
As soon as he finished speaking, seven beams of light descended from the sky, completely enveloping him. The next second, he disappeared.
The first stop is the battlefield of Lieyang Star.
But the “fierce sun” before him wasn’t a star; it was a giant instant noodle pot, its bottom bubbling with red oil and steam rising into the sky. Carved into the rim were the words “Law of Conservation of Energy,” but the writing was melting, like wax melted by intense heat.
Lin Shang glanced down at the “ground” beneath his feet—actually, the pot lid, gently vibrating with the rhythm of the boiling water. He didn’t move, simply raising his hand and using vector control to pull down a wisp of steam, writing an “=” in the air. The steam immediately solidified, like a welded iron bar.
The red oil bubbles in the pot suddenly became smaller.
“Okay,” he nodded, “Physical logic can also be welded.”
He took a step forward, stepped on the second beam of light, and appeared in the Temple of Angels.
But the temple was gone, replaced by a vast measuring room. Scales lined the walls, and a hundred-meter-long vernier caliper hung from the ceiling, opening and closing with a clicking sound. A flaming sword sat on the central altar, its blade engraved not with runes but with “±0.01mm.”
Lin En pushed his glasses, and when the lens reflected a light, he immediately realized something was wrong – the vector directions of all the scale lines pointed to a point, and that point was not in space, but in the “measurement behavior” itself.
“Oh,” he laughed, “Are you afraid I’ll change my unit?”
He took off his glasses and used them as a prism, refracting the spectrum of the seven battlefields. The colorful spots of light gathered into a circle on the ground, shaped like an upside-down bottle with its mouth facing downwards and its bottom facing upwards.
“Klein bottle packaging?” He tilted his head. “Karl, are you afraid I’ll jump out of the system, or are you afraid I’ll change the label?”
He didn’t wait for an answer and stepped directly into the third battlefield.
In the Demon Castle, void rifts crisscrossed the halls, but what flowed through them wasn’t dark matter; it was ketchup. The sauce flowed through trenches in the ground into a giant mixing barrel labeled: “Void Energy, Rich Tomato Flavor, Non-GMO.”
Lin En squatted down, dipped his hand in the sauce, and drew a vector ring in the air with his fingertips. The flow of the sauce froze instantly, as if it had been paused.
“Condiment-level void?” He shook his head. “Your setting is not even as good as playing house in kindergarten.”
The fourth battlefield is the Galaxy Library, but the serious classics on the bookshelf have all turned into a collection of instruction manuals, such as “How to Make a Bowl of Noodles in Three Minutes”, “Microwave Heating Guide”, “Solar Flare Use Precautions”… each one is more outrageous than the other.
Lin Cheng casually pulled out a copy and flipped to the first page. It said, “This product is for use only under standard atmospheric pressure. Please add water as appropriate in plateau areas.”
He laughed out loud: “Are you really afraid that I will abuse it?”
He threw the book to the ground, and the pages flipped automatically. He used vector vision to capture the strokes of all the characters, connecting them into a closed loop. The lights throughout the library flickered, as if the system had restarted.
The fifth battlefield was the Void Observatory. The walls were covered with screens, all showing the same footage from the previous four battlefields. However, in the corner of each screen, there was a small line of text: “This scene is authorized for broadcast by Carl. Any reproduction is prohibited.”
Lin En stared at the screen for two seconds, then suddenly reached out and used vector manipulation to pull out the radical of the character “禁” from the line of small characters and moved it in front of the character “二”.
The screen went black instantly.
The sixth battlefield was the Super Seminary training ground, but all the targets on the shooting range were replaced with his photos, with a red cross drawn on each face and a message next to it: “Wrong example, please do not imitate.”
Lin En stood still and didn’t move.
He simply used vector control to lift his shadow off the ground and turned it so that it was facing the shooting range.
The next second, all the targets automatically turned over, and the back was written: “Correct operation, please follow this.”
The seventh battlefield is blank.
There was nothing, not even light.
But Lin En knew that this was the most dangerous thing – because everything could be defined here.
He stood in the void, took out the seasoning packet that he hadn’t finished in the previous chapter from his pocket, tore it open, and sprinkled the powder in front of him.
Under vector control, red chili powder, yellow turmeric, and white salt grains didn’t fall to the ground, but instead hovered in mid-air, each grain undergoing Brownian motion. He stared at these tiny trajectories, and with a gentle flick of his finger, he connected all the paths of motion into a line. He then modulated it with the frequency of the Seventh Battlefield’s technology, and finally wrote a line in the void:
Double Spicy Beef Noodles Instructions (Vector Version)
First row: water temperature ≥95℃, error ±0.5℃, heating time 180 seconds, vector direction vertically upward.
Second row: Let it stand for 30 seconds after opening the lid to avoid steam vector recoil causing the surface to become unstable.
Third row: The order of adding seasoning packets is: powder packet → sauce packet → vegetable packet. The angle of addition should be 45 degrees to the water surface to ensure even mixing.
Fourth row: Stir ≥7 times when eating, with a stirring radius ≥3cm, in a clockwise direction, and no meaningless shaking is allowed.
Line 5: The final right of interpretation of this product belongs to Lin Entropy.
The moment the last word was written, the seven wormholes vibrated simultaneously.
Not an explosion, not a collapse, but it was like someone pressed the “print” button.
Seven golden apples spewed out of the wormhole, and on the surface of each apple appeared faintly glowing words, exactly the same as the last line he wrote:
“The final right of interpretation of this product belongs to Lin Entropy.”
Apples are suspended throughout the universe, spinning quietly, as if waiting for something.
Lin En stood in the void and looked up.
He didn’t smile or move.
Just snapped his fingers lightly.
Seven apples cracked simultaneously, and seven frequencies emanated from them, identical to the vibrations he’d tuned with the instant noodle steam in the previous chapter. The frequencies intertwined in the air, automatically forming a melody that was the prelude to “Double Spicy March.”
The background sound of the universe has become an advertising song.
He lowered his head, looked at the empty seasoning packet in his hand, and threw it away.
The packaging bag drew an arc in the air and was about to fall to the ground when it was suddenly held up by an invisible force and stopped in mid-air.
The bag began to deform, with metal sheets tumbling out from all sides, unfolding in circles, forming the seven-pointed star projection again. However, this time, there was a line of small text in the center of the projection:
“Welcome to the Lin Entropy Universe Rules Editor. The trial period is unlimited. Renewal method: a bucket of instant noodles.”
He was about to speak when a slight sound suddenly came from above his head.
It was like someone had torn open a seasoning packet.
He looked up.
A piece of red chili powder was slowly falling from the void, like snow and rain.
Chapter 41: Scientific Arbitration and the Establishment of a New Order (Old Edition)
The red chili powder continued to drift down, like a rain that wouldn’t fall. Lin En stood still, not moving or speaking. He simply raised his hand and, with a light flick of his fingertips, twisted the falling trajectory of one of the chili powder grains.
It turned at a right angle and flew sideways, drawing a red line in the air.
Then, he used vector manipulation to string the second and third particles together into a closed loop, connected end to end, shaped like a knotted Möbius strip.
The universe trembled.
Seven golden apples were still floating in the distance, each gleaming faintly. Lin En blinked at them, and the next second, he vanished into thin air. When he reappeared, he was standing in the center of the meeting hall of the gods.
The floor was pure white, the ceiling was so high that the top was invisible, and the surroundings were filled with people – angels were covered in nebula-like veils of light, there were rings of stellar fire behind the Sun Star people, the demon representatives were covered in cloaks woven from dark matter, and even the elders of the Galactic Library, who usually did not show their faces, were here, with a circle of floating formulas on their heads.
No one spoke.
Because they are busy dealing with the data storm in front of them.
The angel’s eye of insight crackled and sparked, like an old TV with bad signal; the stellar engine of the Sun Star started automatically, illuminating the conference hall like daylight; a small void appeared under the demon’s seat, sucking the teacup on the table into it.
Lin En glanced around, sighed, and flicked the vector ring drawn with chili powder from his fingertips and threw it into the air.
The ring automatically unfolded and turned into an inverted bottle-shaped structure, with the bottle mouth facing downwards and the bottle bottom facing upwards. After rotating several times, it firmly covered the entire hall.
The frequencies of the seven apples synchronized instantly, and all the running data seemed to be paused and suddenly stopped.
“That’s enough,” Lin Shang clapped his hands, “Stop acting. Everyone knows you’re afraid people won’t understand.”
He walked to the front of the central stage, took out a golden apple from his pocket, and took a bite.
“If truth can only be read but not consumed, what’s the difference between that and an instruction manual posted on the wall?”
After saying this, he threw the apple core to the ground. Instead of falling to the ground, the core flew up and split into seven beams of light, shooting towards the seven representatives of the civilization.
Wherever a core lands, a totem automatically appears on the ground.
A fire ignited on the Sun Star, and the shape of the flame was a differential equation; a scale cloud condensed in the angel area, and the notes connected together formed Maxwell’s equations; a flower grew in the demon territory, its petals were topological structures, and its roots were chaotic functions.
Lin Shang chewed his apple and said vaguely, “I’ve already eaten it, so signing it isn’t too much, right?”
Kaisha stood up, her silver armor reflecting the light. “Yes. But all scientific research results must be reviewed by the Angel Civilization.”
As soon as the words fell, the representative of Lieyang Star stood up with a bang: “Why? Our star’s energy system has long been able to self-circulate!”
The demon sneered, “Audit? You’re trying to monopolize knowledge, right?”
Seeing that the meeting was about to collapse, Lin Shang suddenly took out a bucket of instant noodles from the pocket of his lab coat, poured all the remaining apple residue into it, unscrewed a bottle of water and poured it in, and then covered the lid.
He shook it gently twice and opened it.
There is no flour in the bucket, only a mass of rotating liquid. The seasoning powder forms a constantly calculating dynamic formula in the water. The red one is thermodynamics, the yellow one is electromagnetism, and the white one is quantum state.
He lifted the bucket and projected it into a holographic image, which hovered in the center of the hall.
“You’re arguing over ‘who defines truth,’ but truth is like instant noodles.” He shook the bucket. “Water is the law of nature, and seasoning is a contribution of civilization. If they’re not mixed, no one can enjoy it.”
He used vector manipulation to pull the liquid into a line, then into a net, and finally into a document with a golden title: “Convention for the Commons of Science.”
Each clause is composed of symbols from different civilizations – the notes of angels, the flame vectors of the Sun Star, the dark matter circuits of demons… calculating in real time the cosmic impact after signing.
The seven representatives stared at the symbols of their own civilization participating in the formula generation, their faces changing again and again.
Finally, Keisha was the first to reach out and sign her name in the signature column.
Next came the Sun Star, and then the Demon.
After the seven signatures were completed, the document automatically rolled up and turned into a beam of light that rushed into the sky and disappeared into the depths of the universe.
Lin Shang looked down at his cuffs. A golden thread had appeared there at some point, twisting into a miniature Klein bottle and disappearing in a flash.
He said nothing and turned and left.
Outside the conference room, his laboratory was still floating in Earth’s orbit. He flashed back to the door and was about to open it when he froze.
The doorway was cluttered with stuff.
A row of constant-temperature instant noodle pots, from Lieyang Star, with “Never Burnt Noodles” engraved on the lids; a music purifier, given by an angel, said to be able to cook noodles using sound waves; and a can of dark matter seasoning, with the label reading “Void Concentrate, Adjustable Spiciness”.
The most outrageous thing was a cake box with red letters on a black background, which read “Devil’s Cake – Limited Edition”.
Lin En raised his eyebrows, picked up the box, and gently swiped it with vector control. The cake was automatically cut into seven slices. Each slice was suspended in the air, and the surface reflected children from different civilizations eating instant noodles happily.
He stood at the door and distributed the first six slices to students passing by.
“Here, the benefits of scientific progress.”
He was about to hand over the last piece when he discovered a line of small words engraved on the bottom.
“Next time, I want to try the spiciness level ∞.”
He smiled, put the cake slice back into the box, turned around and pushed the door open to go into the house.
The laboratory was still the same, with formulas written all over the whiteboard, instant noodle buckets piled up in the corner, and a kettle modified from a solar engine on the table bubbling.
He walked to the main console and was about to sit down when he suddenly realized something was wrong.
Looking up, I saw that a hole had appeared on the ventilation duct at some point, and there were still faint wormhole fluctuations at the edge of the hole.
He narrowed his eyes, scanned with his vector vision, and immediately locked onto the trajectory.
“Climbing the window again?”
Before he could finish his words, the red-haired woman flipped in from the hole and landed lightly on the ground. A vector dagger was hanging on her tactical vest, and there was a new thing on her waist – a dark red spray can. The label was torn, but “∞ hot” could be seen written in the corner.
“I heard that your place has become a space technology center?” Du Qiangwei put the spray can on the table. “I brought some new stuff.”
Lin En took a glance and said, “Can this thing eject a black hole?”
“No,” she curled her lips, “It can spew out equations that you can’t write.”
He was about to speak when there was a knock on the door.
“Director Lin! Lieyang Star sent three more pots of instant noodles. Where should we put them?”
Then another voice said, “The Angel Purifier won’t charge. It says it needs to be connected to your lab’s vector interface!”
Then came Zhao Xin’s loud voice: “Brother Lin! I just used the acceleration ring you gave me to run around the Milky Way and broke the record! But I couldn’t stop the car—”
Before he could finish his words, a gust of wind blew open the laboratory door, and Zhao Xin was pressed against the wall, leaving a trail of afterimages behind him.
Lin En adjusted his glasses and looked at Du Qiangwei: “Look, if science can’t make the whole universe eat hot noodles, then what’s the point of it?”
She laughed out loud and was about to retort when Lin En suddenly raised his hand and used vector control to gently push the spray can on the table in front of her.
As the jar touched her fingertips, a small piece of wrapping paper on the bottom fell off quietly and floated to the ground.
Printed on the paper was a half-line of blurry handwriting: “Spiciness ∞ Test Version. For Lin Entropy Use Only.”
Lin Shang turned and walked towards the door, saying as he walked, “Next time, bring something sweet. I’m choking here.”
Du Qiangwei looked down at the piece of paper, twisted it lightly with her fingers, and the paper rolled into a small tube under the action of the vector and flew into her pocket.
Outside the door, Zhao Xin was still hanging on the wall, instant noodle pots were piled up like a tower, and the purifier was buzzing non-stop.
Lin En walked to the main console, picked up the empty instant noodle bucket, and threw it into the recycling bin.
The bucket was halfway in the air when it was suddenly grabbed by a force and stopped in the air.
He turned around.
The bottom of the barrel was facing outwards, facing him, and someone had written a line of small words on it in red ink:
“Spiciness level ∞, shipped.”
Chapter 42: Void Adaptability·Gene Lock Transition (Old Version)
The laboratory door had just closed and the afterimage of Zhao Xin sticking to the wall had not yet dissipated when Lin En pressed the isolation button.
The entire room instantly sank three meters underground. Radiation shields, quantum shields, and gravity anchoring arrays activated layer by layer, sucking even the instant noodle bucket into the corner storage slot. He took off his glasses and shook them. The wrapping paper Du Qiangwei had left was still wrapped around the temples. A layer of invisible ripples floated around the edge of the lacquered “∞”.
He stared at it for two seconds, raised his hand and flicked the paper into the sampling port of the transformation cabin.
“Okay, stop hiding.” He said to the air, “I know you’re still peeking.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the wormhole in the ventilation duct trembled violently, and was then forcibly compressed into a straight line by the vector field, nailed to the wall like a piece of wire.
Lin En ignored it and turned to walk into the cabin. The moment the door closed, he unscrewed the bottle of “Spiciness ∞ Test Version” spray in his pocket and poured it into the main reactor.
The moment the liquid flowed in, the vector vision of the entire laboratory changed.
The once clear lines of force, acceleration arrows, and electromagnetic currents were all covered in a layer of purple garbled code, as if someone had taken an overturned ink bottle and poured it onto the laws of physics. His genetic chain exploded in his vision, and the strands of DNA were forcibly disassembled, reassembled, and shattered by an unknown frequency. Each time it was like someone was sawing back and forth in his brain.
pain.
But it wasn’t just ordinary pain, it was a dislocated feeling where even the pain nerves were distorted by vectors—my head was clearly exploding, but I felt like my toes were bleeding.
He gritted his teeth and drew a string of formulas on the control panel with his fingers. These were not standard mathematical symbols, but were written using the typesetting logic of instant noodle instructions: water temperature 85℃±5, brewing time 3 minutes and 14 seconds, seasoning packet added in three times, with an interval of 0.618 seconds between each addition.
As soon as this “recipe” was entered, the purple garbled code suddenly got stuck.
It’s like a virus encountering antivirus software. Although it’s not dead, at least it knows who the host administrator is.
“Wow, you even have reverse compilation?” Lin En grinned, and blood from his nose flowed down the corners of his mouth and dripped onto the panel. Instead of falling to the ground, it was swept up by the void energy and drew a five-petal rose in the air.
He took a look and nodded: “It’s quite nice.”
Then he raised his hand and used vector control to flatten the blood rose, crumpled it into a ball, and stuffed it into the waste heat recovery port of the solar engine.
“Borrow a light.”
The engine hummed as if it was fed with hot oil, and suddenly spurted out a stream of stellar heat, rushing into the genetic modification program along the data line.
The defense mechanism that originally tried its best to repel void energy was instantly overwritten by the “combustion logic” – the star never cares whether the fuel is clean or not, it just burns.
Lin En took the opportunity to tear open the first genetic lock.
Like some seal being forcibly pried open, a muffled thud echoed from within his body, followed by a shriek from every cell in his body. His bones reorganized, his muscle fibers were reprogrammed, and even his pupils contracted and stretched, as if being kneaded by invisible hands.
The purple garbled code counterattacked frantically, trying to format his consciousness.
He closed his eyes, only one sentence remaining in his mind.
“I’ve calculated this wave.”
It’s not shouted out, it’s engraved in your heart.
Each word carried a vectorial weight, hammering into the depths of consciousness. Those tangled paradoxes, the infinitely recurring Riemann hypothesis, the Gödel chain, were all toppled by this sentence.
He didn’t stop and continued to smash it in.
“Newton can’t control me.”
“Einstein is not qualified to review manuscripts.”
“Your formulas are not even as good as the QR code on the lid of my instant noodles.”
Every sentence was an explosion of computing power, and each one cracked the genetic lock a little deeper.
It wasn’t until the third lock broke that he suddenly opened his eyes.
The pupils changed.
No longer a stark black and white, it was now embedded with two layers: the outer ring was the topological circuit of a Klein bottle, and the inner core was a rotating vector rose. The formulas in the air automatically rearranged themselves, transforming into text that he could understand but no one else could—like the laws of physics translated into a recipe.
“Add some spice to enhance the flavor.”
He said softly.
The next second, I felt a heat on my back.
The torn skin is not a wound, but the unfolding of some higher dimension.
A pair of wings slowly rise from the shoulder blades.
Not wings of light, not mechanical, but black wings woven from pure void vectors. Each barb was a line of force, each feather a carrier of unnamed physical parameters. With a slight twitch, the laboratory’s gravity field shifted fifteen degrees, and the pen holder on the desk levitated, the tip automatically pointing towards him, as if in salute.
“Stop it.” He raised his hand and pressed down, and all the pens fell back into the tube.
The black wings folded back, pressing against his back, but the energy continued to flow down his spine, injecting into the underground quantum energy storage array. The entire base’s power supply system was instantly fully charged, and even the kettle gurgled twice more.
He looked down at the console, where a bucket of instant noodles was floating.
Those that flew out during the chaos just now were now held up by the aftermath of the black wings and suspended in mid-air.
Lin Shang raised his hand and tapped lightly.
A low-frequency void vector shot out, and the barrel shook slightly. The originally red-painted “Spiciness ∞” words began to change color, from blood red to golden red, and finally fixed at an almost glowing red-gold color.
He stared at it for two seconds and suddenly laughed.
“Upgraded?”
Before he finished speaking, the skin on his back felt strange again.
Looking down, he saw a silver line emerging from the gap between the folded black wings. Upon closer inspection, it was a vector afterimage of two words: In the name of Yan.
He didn’t say anything, but just raised his hand and touched the pattern, hooked it with his fingertips, and reverse analyzed the frequency of the pattern.
It’s old data.
It was a record from a time long ago, when an energy flowed back, and the angel’s silver wings pierced his back. Unexpectedly, during genetic evolution, the system automatically recognized it as a “key bond backup” and engraved it into the new form.
“That’s quite thoughtful.”
He withdrew his hand and turned toward the hatch.
Just as he was about to open the door, he suddenly stopped.
Look down at your right hand.
At some point, a mark appeared on the palm of my hand. It was in the shape of an inverted Klein bottle, with the mouth facing downwards, and half a line of words floating inside:
“Spiciness level ∞, activated.”
He blinked and raised his hand to draw a line in the air.
A vector blade cut through, but the mark didn’t disappear, instead it lit up.
“Okay, then I’ll have to change the pot for instant noodles from now on.”
He pushed open the hatch, and the outside was still the same, the equipment was quiet, and the data was stable, as if the genetic leap just now was just a system update.
But he knew it was different.
He walked past the main console, picked up the red-gold instant noodle bucket, looked at it, and walked back to the storage box.
The barrel was halfway through its flight when it suddenly stopped.
It’s hanging.
Lin Shang didn’t stop and didn’t even look back.
“Want to keep it as a souvenir?”
The bucket didn’t move.
He smiled, raised his hand and hooked it, and the barrel automatically turned over with the bottom facing up.
Someone had written another line of small characters there, the ink still wet:
“Spiciness ∞, second generation, trial pack.”
Chapter 43: Supernova Calculation: Galaxy Funeral (Old Version)
The instant noodle bucket hung in mid-air, bottom up. The inscription “Spiciness Infinity, Second Generation, Trial Pack” hadn’t dried yet. Lin En raised his hand, a flick of the vector line, and the bucket flipped over, landing safely in the recycling bin. Without a second glance, he turned and headed for the control room. As soon as he touched the ground, the alarm blared.
It wasn’t a piercing “woo-woo-woo” sound, but a low-frequency vibration, like someone banging on a tin bucket at the edge of the universe. Thirty-seven galaxies simultaneously received the same data stream—a red giant star, sixty thousand light-years from Earth, its core collapse rate three hundred times faster than the model predicted, and a countdown to explosion: four hours and thirty-seven minutes.
“Again?” Lin Shang took off his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve. A layer of pale gold lines appeared on the lenses, as if someone had drawn a Möbius strip on the glass with a fluorescent pen. He put them on, and the world before him changed instantly.
The air was filled with arrows. Thick, thin, spiral, forked, densely packed, they surged from distant star regions like a swarm of mad ants moving toward Earth. That was the energy vector flow of a supernova. Even before the explosion, the light pressure and gravitational tides had already arrived.
The lab’s AI system, “Little Entropy,” even changed its voice: “Director Lin, the computing power is overloaded. The model has crashed seventeen times. If this continues, even the instant noodle heating program will freeze.”
“Let it collapse.” Lin En sat in the control chair and pressed his right hand against the console. The inverted Klein bottle mark on his palm lit up, like a plug being inserted into a socket.
“Spiciness Infinity Second Generation, activated.”
It wasn’t a sound, but a vibration of space itself. The two layers of structure within his pupils shifted. The outer Klein bottle circuit began to spin, and the inner vector rose slowly unfolded, each “petal” corresponding to a law of physics. Relativity, quantum fields, the second law of thermodynamics… all were disassembled into ingredients and thrown into an invisible pot.
He stopped counting.
He reads.
The dying star, its every pulsation, every neutrino eruption, every twist of its magnetic field, all become readable recipes. Water temperature not high enough? Add more heat. Pressure unstable? Adjust the valve. Core density exceeding the limit? Release the air.
“We need to control the heat of this pot,” he muttered, “or else the kitchen will explode.”
Xiao En suddenly screamed, “Director Lin! Five civilized galaxies have shut down their gravitational anchor points! They’re afraid of being affected, so they’ve all run away!”
“Run?” Lin En laughed coldly. “The gravitational net is broken, and the supernova will explode. They will be the first to be swallowed.”
He stood up suddenly, feeling a heat on his back.
Black wings spread out.
It didn’t rise slowly, but with a swish, like two sheets of night ripped apart, draped directly over my shoulders. Each barb was illuminated, not with light, but with formulas. Newton’s law of universal gravitation, Einstein’s field equations, Maxwell’s electromagnetic equations… Every law became a pattern on the barb. A slight shake altered the curvature of the surrounding space.
He raised his hand and swung the feather branch.
Five microscopic gravitational nodes flew out, precisely nailing themselves into five coordinate points in the cosmic void, patching up the broken galactic gravitational network. Like five screws screwed into a crumbling frame, the entire system’s stress was instantly stabilized.
“Xiao Entropy, break down the supernova explosion trajectory into twelve Fibonacci spirals, input them into the core, and prepare for compression.”
“But…how compressible can it be? According to current technology, the maximum it can be compressed into is the size of a planet, and that would require 30,000 antimatter bombs as fuses…”
“No need for bombs.” Lin En interrupted, “Use apples.”
He pulled a golden fruit from his pocket and took a bite. The flesh was as crisp as if it had just been picked from the tree. He chewed it twice, spat out the core, and threw it away.
The core flew into the void.
He moved his fingertips and vector control was activated – kinetic energy was reset to zero, mass was redefined, and spatial coordinates were locked.
The core stopped.
It wasn’t floating, it was completely still. All movement in the universe was relative, but at this moment, it became the absolute reference point.
Lin En whispered, “Take it as your heart and collect it.”
The black wings trembled, all feathers simultaneously pointing toward the core. As if being manipulated by an invisible hand, the Milky Way’s gravitational vectors shifted and collapsed inward. The impending supernova was abruptly “pinched” back 0.7 seconds before critical point.
The flames flowed back, the shock waves reflected back, and the wrinkles in space and time were smoothed out.
A transparent cube, thirty centimeters square, quietly floats in the orbit of the original star.
There’s still movement inside.
The turbulent energy surged like a stormy sea, madly crashing against the invisible wall. The small entropy alarm sounded again: “The seal is unstable! High-dimensional energy is oscillating. Traditional constraints can only hold for 72 hours! All civilizations request immediate destruction!”
“Destroy?” Lin En shook his head. “Such a good textbook, what a waste to blow it up.”
He walked back to the main console, opened the recycling bin, and retrieved the instant noodle bucket. The small print on the bottom was still there: “Spiciness ∞, Second Generation, Trial Pack.”
He scanned it with the scanning pen, and the data stream was directly imported into the system.
“Start unorthodox compilation mode.”
The system interface suddenly changed. It was no longer cold mathematical symbols, but became… the layout style of instant noodle instructions.
[Step 1: Activate the Fire Source – It is recommended to use the Star Core or the host’s anger value][Step 2: Injecting original energy – be careful not to burn your hands][Step 3: Add the knowledge seasoning packet – three times, each time with an interval of 0.618 seconds, for a better flavor]Xiao En was stunned: “Chief Lin, this… this is possible?”
“You don’t understand.” Lin En grinned. “Who would use a proper method to seal a supernova? It needs to be filled with some life.”
He walked to the window, looked at the suspended cube, and whispered, “Add some spicy flavor to enhance the flavor.”
As soon as the words were spoken, vector control started.
He swiped his finger and the surface of the cube lit up.
The first layer is a childhood graffiti – a crooked steam line with the words “Mom’s noodles are the most delicious” written on it.
The second layer is college notes – there is a bucket of instant noodles next to Maxwell’s equations, with the label “Must eat before the exam”.
The third layer is Angel Technology – Nebula-level energy circuit, which he connected into a string of barbecue skewers using vector lines.
The fourth level is the power of the scorching sun – the operating principle of the stellar furnace, which he changed into a “guide to adjusting the fire power of the instant noodle pot.”
The fifth layer is the void paradox – Carl’s favorite mathematical dead loop, which he crossed out and wrote “This road is blocked, it is recommended to add spicy food” next to it.
Layer upon layer of formulas were activated, and streams of knowledge gushed out, interweaving and swirling through space like a silent fireworks display. Each beam of light was a piece of lost technology, a forgotten memory of civilization.
Du Qiangwei’s wormhole suddenly appeared, cutting into the light stream from the side. She stood at the entrance, her red hair fluttering in the energy wind, and she was holding a half-eaten cake in her hand.
“Lin En!” she shouted, “Can this thing record?”
“Record whatever you want!” Lin Shang waved his hand, “Copy as many recipes as you want!”
She grinned, and the wormhole opened like a greedy mouth, swallowing the light stream. With each layer she passed through, a faint glowing pattern appeared on her tactical vest, as if she were wearing armor made of knowledge.
The fireworks rose higher and higher, spread wider and wider, and the entire Milky Way was lit up.
In the center, a line of golden characters slowly emerged:
“To all the thoughts that have burned—the galaxy is immortal.”
Lin Shang stood in front of the window, watching all this, and suddenly felt a little hungry.
He felt in his pocket and pulled out the last packet of instant noodles, the double spicy beef flavor. He shook it and found that a corner of the seasoning packet was missing.
“Who stole the food?” He frowned.
At this moment, from the deepest part of the cube, a stream of light, unprecedented in its depths, suddenly burst forth, piercing the depths of the universe. It wasn’t the technology of a known civilization, nor was it a symbol of the void or angels. Instead, it was a series of extremely primitive waveforms, like some kind of… greeting.
Lin En narrowed his eyes and analyzed it using the vector rose kernel.
The waveform is translated into text, there are only three words:
“Have you eaten yet?”
Chapter 44: Sacred Concerto: Ragnarok (Old Version)
Lin Cheng was staring at his package of double-spicy beef noodles. The missing corner of the seasoning packet was particularly glaring under the bright light. Before he could get angry, his fingertips suddenly felt numb—not static electricity, but a cosmic stream of data like a needle, piercing directly into his cerebral cortex.
“Have you eaten?” The greeting signal that had just been sent out was interrupted.
Instead, cold judgment statements flashed across his vision line by line: [You will be reset to zero] [The system is about to shut down] [All civilizations are entering the countdown].
The vector lines in the air changed color. The once vibrant energy trails instantly turned inky black, like a river doused in asphalt, surging towards the core databases of the seven civilizations. The Angel Nebula’s data tower began to spontaneously combust, the Sun’s stellar engines pumped in reverse, and the demonic wormhole opened its mouth, swallowing itself in.
Lin Shang put the instant noodles on the workbench and pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Okay, you won’t let me finish my meal.”
His palm felt warm, and the inverted Klein bottle symbol lit up, connecting directly to the Galactic Library’s master control protocol. The supernova, compressed into a transparent cube, was still floating, but the internal light flow had been reorganized, becoming the only uncontaminated anchor of knowledge.
“Science Wings, activate.”
As soon as the words fell, the black wings unfolded. They didn’t rise slowly, but with a swish, tearing through space. Dynamic formulas emerged from the twelve main feather branches—relativity, thermodynamics, quantum entanglement, all woven into a defensive code, pushing outward layer by layer.
The first line of defense is the instant noodle instructions.
He forcibly rewrote the underlying logic format of the “Galaxy Library” and inserted Carl’s death formula into the promotional template. In the cosmic data stream, countless self-destruct programs were running to the last second, and suddenly a new window popped up:
[Ultimate Horror Sale! Buy one, get one free, today only!][Surrender now and receive a limited edition Void commemorative coin][Warm reminder: Your life progress bar has been loaded 99%, it is stuck because the destiny server is busy]Those civilization systems that were originally trapped in a logical dead loop were stunned for a moment.
Then, it collapsed even more happily.
“That’s not right.” Lin Cheng frowned. “It’s too serious. No one will believe it.”
He grabbed a pen and wrote furiously on the main control screen:
[Shocking! A genius scientist actually sealed a supernova with a pack of instant noodles!][99% of people don’t know the universe survival skills: when encountering a void invasion, please add spicy first][Emergency Notice: The ‘Doomsday Package’ you ordered has been shipped, and the delivery person is Lin Entang himself]The data flow pauses.
Immediately afterwards, the Angel Database crashed 0.3 seconds slower.
“It works!” Lin En grinned. “Sure enough, absurdity is the ultimate antidote to logical weapons.”
He pulled up fragments of memories from every civilization in the Galactic Library—the flaming totems of the Sun Star, the musical codes of angels, the topological spells of demons—and dumped them all into a vector editor. Morgana’s void weapon was tearing reality apart, creating irreparable mathematical voids. Lin En simply reverse-woven these traces, transforming them into a Gothic relief structure and nailing it to the edge of the solar system.
From a distance, they look like a row of monuments to the fear of failure, with small words engraved on them: [There is no emptiness here, please do not disturb].
“It’s pretty nice.” He nodded. “Next time I can make a commemorative postcard.”
But at this moment, the vector line of the entire universe stopped.
It’s not static, it’s “deleted”.
Carl’s final move – Ultimate Fear Resonance, was activated.
All movement returned to zero, all energy froze, even time itself became stuck between frames. Lin En’s thoughts also began to solidify, like a CPU stuck in a freezer, unable to move.
He bit the tip of his tongue.
The moment the pain exploded, the void adaptability within the genetic lock was activated. It wasn’t a resistance, but a “negative entropy frequency”—creating the first vibration point in absolute stillness.
“This wave…” His throat tightened, “I’ve calculated it.”
The black wing trembled, and all twelve barbs bent simultaneously, like strings being plucked by an invisible hand. The laws of physics flowing through each barb began to oscillate rhythmically—the curvature of spacetime in relativity becoming the bass, quantum entanglement the high-pitched trill, the second law of thermodynamics the drumbeat.
He incorporated the final movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony into the laws of the universe.
When the first note sounded, a crack appeared in the frozen vector line.
With the second note, data hell begins to crumble.
On the third note, Carl’s death formula was torn into pieces like a cheap advertising page and turned into ashes.
Lin Tang stood in the center of the control room, his black wings spread out, like a human symphony orchestra. He played and shouted, “Come on! Sing together!”
There is no sound, but the whole universe is resonating.
【Joy, beautiful, shining spark of God! 】
The remaining data of the Angel Nebula automatically harmonized, the core of the Sun Star exploded with a series of rhythmic flames, and even the torn apart Demon Wormhole began to beat the rhythm.
Carl stood at the end of the void, watching his logical weapon being transformed into background music. The corners of his mouth twitched: “This is unscientific!”
Morgana’s wormhole flashed. She looked at the relief carvings of her own weapon and sneered, “What poor taste.”
But she didn’t close the wormhole and looked at it for two more seconds.
Wherever the sound waves reached, the void’s pollution peeled away layer by layer. The memories of those swallowed civilizations resurfaced, condensing into golden apples that began to fall from the edge of the solar system like a silent rain.
In every apple, there is a redeemed truth engraved – some are the lost star forging techniques, some are the origin codes of angelic civilization, and one has the words: [Instant noodles with spicy strips, the most delicious food in the universe].
Outside the Earth’s atmosphere, apple rain drew golden trails. On the ground, Qilin, who had just returned from the training ground with a sniper rifle, looked up and was stunned.
“Lin En.” She pressed the communicator. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing much.” The voice on the other end of the communicator was a little breathless. “I just turned the apocalypse into a concert.”
“Then can you please take care of the sky? The clothes hanging on my balcony are all wet because of the apples.”
“Oh, I forgot to calculate this.” Lin Shang scratched his head, “How about I let Apple take a detour?”
“No need.” Qilin paused, “Keep it. You can eat it when it’s cooked.”
He looked down at the countertop. The package of double spicy beef noodles was still there. He opened it, poured in the missing seasoning packet, and suddenly realized—
The powder is golden in color.
He took a bite.
It’s not spicy, it’s sweet.
“……?”
He looked up, and in his field of vision, the last trace of void data was dissipating.
The swallowed “Have you eaten?” signal reappeared, but with an extra line of small text at the end:
[Recommend adding spiciness, order already placed, cash on delivery].
Lin Shang was about to curse when the black wings suddenly trembled.
At the end of a feather branch, a drop of blood dripped.
Chapter 45: Creation of Rules and Attention of the Universe (Old Version)
Lin En stared at the drop of blood hanging from the black wing feather. The blood bead was unusually round. It swayed in the weightless environment and then fell.
He stretched out two fingers and gently pinched them, using vector manipulation to pin the blood bead in mid-air. Then he snapped his fingers, and the blood bead stretched and deformed, finally becoming a floating “=0”, as if drawing a period on the universe’s ledger.
“It’s settled,” he said.
The instant noodle bucket was still on the table, a corner of the seasoning packet missing, the powder golden. He didn’t taste it again. Instead, he tossed the bucket into the air, pulled out his small notebook, and quickly wrote a line: “New First Law of the Universe: All laws of physics can be legitimately criticized.” He poked it with a vector pen, and the entire line flew out, sticking to the side of the instant noodle bucket, gleaming.
The Earth’s magnetic field began to tremble.
It wasn’t an earthquake; it was the rewriting of the vector lines in the Earth’s crust. The originally straight magnetic field lines were pulled apart like a ball of yarn, then rewoven into an infinite loop—outer circles connected to inner circles, North Pole to South Pole. The entire planet’s geomagnetic system became a giant Klein bottle floating in space.
Monitoring stations in various countries in satellite orbit all crashed.
“The Earth…twisted itself around?” An operator looked at the screen and rubbed his eyes. “It’s now a…doughnut?”
Not a donut, a lab.
Lin En leaped up, clutching the blackboard covered in formulas, and flew into the air. His white coat was held straight by the vector field, and the hem of his sweatpants was still dripping with water—he had indeed forgotten to calculate the apple rain on Qilin’s balcony last night.
He wasn’t flying fast, but every step he took was on the wrinkles of space. One step and he was already in the stratosphere; another and his feet were already sliding against the ionosphere.
“Make way, construction is underway.” He said to the air.
Kesha stood before a floating stone tablet, her divine wings spread, her silver armor gleaming. Two guardian angels were about to carve a word, but just as the chisels touched the stone, the inscription suddenly jumped and turned into a string of garbled characters.
“Error code 404: Law not defined.”
“Please install the basic physics package first.”
“It is recommended to restart the universe.”
Keisha frowned and turned to look at the person flying up with the blackboard in his arms.
Lin En landed unsteadily and nearly fell. He adjusted his glasses and said, “Ouch, the gravity isn’t adjusted properly yet.”
He placed the blackboard in front of the stone tablet and patted it: “Use this.”
Written on the blackboard were not achievements, epic poems, or profound formulas, but a line of scribbled words:
Double Spicy Beef Noodles – Dormitory Special
Chili powder: 1.5g (don’t cut corners)
MSG: 0.8g (will adding more kill you?)
Cosmic Entropy Reduction Catalyst: Trace (Laboratory B3 Cabinet, Second Floor, Don’t Mistakenly Use It as a Cleaner)
There was also a picture of a little man holding a fork underneath, with the words: “Lin Entropy Certified, Become a God in One Bite.”
Kaisha was silent for three seconds: “You take this as the first inscription in the universe?”
“What else?” Lin Shang spread his hands. “I’m not writing a resume. This is the only scientific research project I’ve persisted in for the past three years.”
She was about to say something else when the stone tablet moved on its own. The formula appeared on its surface, the handwriting gradually becoming more solemn, and finally gilded, as if stamped by the universe itself.
In the distance, several civilized warships that were watching fell silent.
In the observation room on Lieyang Star, Reina was munching on a roasted marshmallow when she glanced at the screen and choked: “Who wrote this? I’m applying to have this formula engraved into the core of the sun!”
At a military base on Earth, Cheng Yaowen was watching the real-time footage when the coffee cup in his hand shattered with a snap.
“Did he really carve the instant noodle recipe on the stele?” He turned to ask Qilin, “Did you know this?”
Qilin was standing on the balcony, a golden apple resting in a bowl of instant noodles. Small words appeared on the bottom of the bowl: “The clothes will dry, don’t worry.”
She said nothing, simply carried the bowl into the house and shook the wet clothes out the window. The clothes didn’t fall off, but were held up by an invisible force, slowly unfolding, and the water droplets, controlled by vectors, bounced back into the clouds one by one.
“That’s all he’s capable of,” she muttered. “He can change the universe on big matters, but I still have to clean up the small ones.”
Lin Shang didn’t know that his “aftermath” had become a hot topic on Earth.
He was busy debugging the Earth’s new form. While the Klein bottle structure was stable, it was spinning 0.3 seconds slower, throwing global clocks into disarray. Bank systems were alerted, AIs collectively declared reality “abnormal,” and one robot vacuum even began reciting “Introduction to the Theory of Relativity.”
“Don’t panic.” Lin En turned on the broadcast system. “We are now in the trial operation phase of the cosmic laboratory. The laws of elastic physics are online. The anti-gravity test area is located above the Pacific Ocean. From 2:00 to 6:00 a.m. every day, instant noodle steam can apply for a dimensional upgrade channel. Welcome to experience it.”
As soon as he finished speaking, every instant noodle bucket in the world rose simultaneously, neatly arranged in mid-air above kitchens, dormitories, and military barracks. Steam drifted upward, then suddenly turned and penetrated the ceiling, forming tiny channels of ascending dimensions, like a delivery to the universe.
Zhao Xin was munching on instant noodles at the training grounds when he looked up to see steam heading straight for Yinhe. He froze, “This… should they charge admission?”
Ge Xiaolun was woken up and drowsily opened the window: “Lin Entropy! Can you please take care of my microwave? It just wrote a quantum mechanics paper!”
“Let it write.” Lin En replied in the communication channel, “After it’s finished and submitted, the royalties will be yours.”
At this moment, the space distorted slightly.
Angel Yan walked out of the light gate, his red cloak fluttering, holding a black box in his hand.
“Morgana asked me to pass it on,” she said. “It’s called ‘Devil’s Cake’. Eating it will allow you to see the truth of the void.”
Lin En took the box and opened it. Inside was a pitch-black cake with patterns on the surface that looked like wormholes and was emitting cold steam.
“She’s quite good at making things happen.” He smiled, “But this thing isn’t suitable for eating.”
With a flick of his fingertips, vector manipulation seeped into the cake. The void energy, originally a chaotic paradoxical flow, was gently twisted, completely reversing its direction. He then tossed the cake skyward and snapped his fingers.
It’s not an explosion, it’s fireworks.
The black cake exploded outside the atmosphere, creating a streak of light that circled the Earth like a glowing belt. Within the streak, countless words flashed, all saying “thank you,” but in the languages ​​of various civilizations—Angelic, Solari, Demonic Runes, simplified human characters, and even Zhao Xin’s invented “Dexing slang.”
Reina jumped up on the Fiery Sun Star: “I saw it! I saw it! My words ‘Xiao Linzi, give me a shoulder rub’ are on it too!”
Qilin looked up, a strip of light passed across her balcony, and the words “The clothes will dry, don’t worry” flashed by. The corners of her mouth twitched, and she couldn’t help laughing.
Kesha looked at the circle of fireworks and finally sighed: “Are you running the universe like a circle of friends?”
“No.” Lin En shook his head. “I run my circle of friends like the universe.”
He raised his hand, and the black wings slowly unfolded. Across the twelve feathers, formulas continued to flow, but they were no longer defensive codes; they had become menus.
[Laboratory Mode: On]【Physical Laws: Editable】
【Visitor permissions: application in progress】
[Today’s Recommendation: Spicy Instant Noodles, Limited-Time Upgrade]He spoke to the void, as if speaking to everyone, or perhaps speaking to himself:
“From today on, Earth is no longer a home planet, but the universe’s first laboratory. You are welcome to cause trouble, but remember—”
“Read the instructions first.”
Before he finished speaking, a feather at the end of the right wing suddenly trembled slightly.
That drop of blood seeped out again.
As soon as the blood drop appeared, it was supported by vector control and slowly rose. Halfway up, it suddenly stopped.
Lin Shang didn’t move or speak.
The blood drop remained still in the air, as if paused.
Chapter 46: Klein Bottle Research Blueprint (Old Version)
The blood drop hung in the air, as if someone had pressed the pause button.
Lin En didn’t blink or raise his hand, only a series of rapidly rolling vector arrows flashed in the depths of his pupils. The molecular motion trajectory within the blood bead was instantly broken down into red and blue lines, circling around the center, like some kind of microcircuit undergoing self-inspection.
“It wasn’t leaking,” he whispered. “It was the connection that was loose.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he hooked his fingertips and gently twisted the blood bead with vector manipulation. It didn’t explode or disperse. Instead, it seemed as if an invisible hand had twisted it into a thin ring, with a knot at the end – a standard Klein ring structure, without beginning or end, forming a closed loop.
He raised his hand and gently pressed the blood ring into the base of the feather at the end of the right wing. There was a soft click, like a lock snapping into place. The entire feather suddenly lit up with pale golden lines, hummed twice, and then stabilized.
“Alright.” He flapped his wings. “Authorization passed.”
Just then, a crack appeared in the clouds.
It wasn’t a tear or an explosion, it just separated smoothly, as if someone had drawn a line with a ruler and then pushed the sky apart along the line.
He Xi emerged from the portal of light, clutching three shimmering silver crystals, arranged in a triangle and floating before her. She was dressed formally, her pauldrons shining, even her cape immaculately ironed. It was obvious she was there to negotiate a contract.
“Lin En.” She spoke quietly, but each word carried a certain weight of authority. “Kesha has instructed us to establish some rules regarding Earth, the ‘first laboratory in the universe.'”
Lin En put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. His sweatpants were still dripping with water, which dripped onto the edge of the ionosphere, creating circles of tiny ripples.
“Your appearance is more serious than a property management inspection of the water and electricity,” he said. “I understand the contract. It’s just renting a house—the landlord is here to collect the deposit?”
He Xi didn’t smile. With a flick of his finger, the three crystals began to spin, and dense angelic inscriptions appeared on their surfaces. The words weren’t carved; they were alive, crawling slowly like insects, each stroke carrying a faint spiritual wave.
The average person’s brain would freeze for three minutes after just one look at it.
Lin Shang didn’t even adjust his glasses, he just raised his right hand and drew an arc in the air.
“?×E=??B/?t.”
As the formula emerged, the air twisted. An electromagnetic vortex formed out of thin air, drawing the three crystals in and spinning them in mid-air. The movement of the inscription immediately slowed, like sand stuck in a well-oiled gear.
“The law of electromagnetic induction.” Lin En grinned. “You angels like to use mental binding protocols. So, I’ll use the physical field to create a shield for you. That wouldn’t be against the rules, right?”
He Xi raised her eyebrows: “You don’t take it with your hands, are you afraid of being branded as obedient?”
“How can I do that?” He waved his hand. “I’m just worried your handwriting is too colorful. I’ll need glasses after reading it.”
The crystal slowly tumbled within the vortex, and Lin En’s pupils began to flicker at a high frequency. His vector vision fully activated, the direction, depth, and residual energy of each inscription were broken down into basic vector flows, pouring into his brain like code.
Three seconds later, he snorted softly: “Wow, you hid it quite well.”
“Article 1. Laboratory Lease Agreement—Reasonable.”
“The second clause, the technical confidentiality clause, is also okay.”
“Article 3…co-construction clause?” He sneered. “Article 9 states, ‘70% of Earth’s scientific research profits go to the Melo Celestial Court.’ That’s not cooperation, it’s protection money.”
He Xi’s expression remained unchanged: “Kesha means that resources should be shared.”
“Sharing?” Lin En pointed at the instant noodle bucket still floating in the sky. “Then who gets the profit from my last time compressing supernovas into teaching materials? The Galaxy Library now receives 50,000 visitors from various civilizations every day. Do you collect admission?”
“That’s your personal ability.”
“So, did this laboratory I have appear out of thin air?” He flapped his wings. “This thing is burning with my blood, not your divine power.”
The two men faced each other, and the atmosphere was a little tense.
At that moment, a distant laser beam swept across the crystal’s surface, pinpointing the end of the ninth line. The beam came from somewhere in the stratosphere, reflecting at a tricky angle, but Lin En recognized it instantly—it was Qilin’s sniper scope.
“She’s paying close attention,” he muttered. “She even picks out the two decimal places.”
He Xi narrowed his eyes and said, “You Earthlings, none of you play by the rules.”
“We’re reasonable.” Lin Shang shrugged, “We don’t use tricks.”
He suddenly raised his hand, and with a sudden jolt of vector control, he propelled the crystal with the co-construction clauses written on it high into the air. Then, he put his fingers together like knives, slashing rapidly through the air.
A golden formula appeared out of thin air, its strokes strong and powerful, as if it had been etched with light:
[Amendment to Clause 3: Technology sharing is limited to defensive weapons.]When the wind blew, the words did not fade away, but became brighter.
He Xi’s pupils suddenly shrank.
She didn’t move, but Lin Cheng saw her left little finger twitch slightly – that was the only physical reaction that revealed her emotion.
“This…” She paused for half a second, “How do you know this is a test item?”
“Test items?” Lin En adjusted his glasses. “You guys hide hidden rules in the dark data. Do you think no one can see through them because of the high level of encryption? I even scanned the email you sent to Lieyang Star last week about ‘Energy subsidy application rejected.'”
“You hacked into the Angel Database?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I just figured it out. The terms you gave me are full of loopholes, and the logic is broken in seven places. I worked my way back and figured out your true bottom line—you’re not afraid of me doing scientific research, you’re afraid I’ll create something that can penetrate the void.”
He Xi was silent for two seconds, then suddenly smiled: “So you only want to change this one?”
“That’s enough,” Lin Shang said. “Defensive weapons are enough for you to hold off Carl, and enough for me to eat instant noodles alive. If you add more, it will be bad for everyone.”
She stared at him for five seconds, as if reassessing this lunatic in sweatpants.
“Lin En.” She finally spoke, “Do you know why Kesha asked me to talk instead of giving the order directly?”
“Because you’re also afraid of overturning the car?”
“Because you know that if this place explodes, the entire universe will be buried with it?”
“Or…” He paused, “You actually also hope that someone can change the rules to make them less decisive?”
He Xi didn’t answer. She simply raised her hand, took back the three crystals, and left a message before leaving:
“The revised terms will be officially included in the Universal Convention within three days. I hope you will remember what I said today.”
The light gate closed and the cloud gap closed, as if they had never been open.
Lin En stood still, his wings trembling slightly. The blood ring had completely merged into the feathers, and the twelve wing bars hummed and resonated, like some kind of warm-up before starting.
He looked down at his trouser legs which were still dripping with water and sighed.
“Next time I have to remember to calculate the time it takes to dry clothes.”
In the distance, Qilin put away her sniper scope and turned to walk away. As she passed the balcony, she pulled down the shirt that had just been hung out to dry.
The clothes did not fall off, but were held up by a force and slowly unfolded. The water droplets bounced back into the clouds one by one, as if someone had pressed the delete key.
She didn’t look back, just said: “The second-year syndrome has struck again.”
But she didn’t see a line of small words flashing behind Lin En’s glasses:
[Defensive weapon definition: Any technology that allows me to eat instant noodles alive.]Chapter 47: The Entropy Test for Angel Investors (Old Version)
Lin En stood at the edge of the ionosphere, his trouser legs still dripping, but the feather at the end of his right wing had ceased to ooze blood. The blood rings had completely merged, and the twelve wing bars hummed in sync, as if some invisible protocol had finally been activated. He didn’t move, but the entire surface of the Klein bottle suddenly lit up with a golden line, spreading along the geological fault line, and finally exploding with faint light at thirty key nodes.
That was the formula he had written in the air three seconds ago – [Amendment to Clause Three: Technology sharing is limited to defensive weapons] – which was now being automatically replicated, calculated, and embedded into the earth’s crust structure through vector resonance, forming a physical anchor point that could not be tampered with.
“Okay,” he said to himself, “this is a local law now.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a familiar sound of footsteps was heard in the stratosphere, followed by Ge Xiaolun’s face full of suspicion emerging from the clouds.
“Did you really change the Angel’s contract?” He jumped down the escalator, “You’re just talking?”
“Do I look like someone joking?” Lin Cheng raised his hand and pointed at the ground. The golden formula was circling the Earth for the third time. “Now even the earth’s crust is reciting its terms.”
Ge Xiaolun squinted his eyes for two seconds, then suddenly reached out to touch the edge of the formula. As his fingertips touched it, a weak electric current rushed up, frightening him so much that he suddenly retracted his hand.
“Ouch! And it has electric shock protection?”
“To prevent people like you from touching me.” Lin En pushed up his glasses. “The contract is in effect, but for the lab to operate, we need another thing.”
“Computing power.” Lin En waved his hand, and a three-dimensional projection instantly unfolded in the air. Thirty geological nodes connected into a network structure, each point flashing red light. “The Klein bottle is not a decoration. It needs to continuously calculate and maintain topological stability. Traditional energy sources can’t sustain it, and divine power binding can easily be reversed. I don’t want the entire Earth to be remotely shut down by the Mello Celestial Court because of a sneeze one day.”
Ge Xiaolun scratched his head: “So who are you going to find to be your human server?”
“Super soldiers.” Lin En pointed at the projection. “Each one is responsible for a node, using the bioelectric empathy system to connect to the matrix. It’s not about power, it’s about synchronizing thought frequencies, making the entire structure feel alive.”
“Wait a minute.” Ge Xiaolun glared. “You mean, we should just stand there and use our brains as CPUs for the Earth?”
“To be more precise, it’s the resonance between the synaptic firing frequency and the Klein bottle.” Lin En pushed up his glasses. “I’ve tested myself. After the blood ring fusion, the efficiency increased by 370 times. It can definitely handle the initial load.”
“Then isn’t it enough for you alone?”
“Theoretically, yes.” Lin En nodded. “But what if I get distracted by craving instant noodles in the middle of the night and the earth collapses? Who will be responsible?”
Ge Xiaolun opened his mouth but said nothing. He knew this man never did anything reliable, but every time he did something outrageous, he was just on the verge of success.
“You have nothing to lose anyway.” Lin En patted his shoulder, “Just stand there, and you can meditate and improve your cultivation. What a bargain.”
“But no one would volunteer for this job.” Ge Xiaolun shook his head. “Zhao Xin must have said he wanted to go shopping with his girlfriend. Cheng Yaowen is busy bringing breakfast to Qilin, and I… I have to go home and play games too.”
Just as Lin En was about to retort, a crack suddenly appeared in the space above his head.
It’s not a light gate or a wormhole, but more like someone poked a hole in reality with a pair of scissors, and the edges are slightly curled.
Then, a metal box was thrown out and hit the center of the projection, causing thirty nodes to flash simultaneously.
The box is completely black, with vector diversion patterns engraved on the surface. Lightning flashes inside, and you can faintly hear the sound of electric current bouncing on the metal inner wall.
Lin En took a look and laughed: “This shape, is it because your kitchen refrigerator exploded?”
Du Qiangwei jumped out of the crack without changing her tactical vest, her red hair blown all over the place by the ionized wind.
“Stop talking nonsense.” She kicked the box. “The thunderstorm energy compression chamber, I can sustain high-frequency output for seventy-two hours. Count mine in.”
Ge Xiaolun was dumbfounded: “Do you really want to be a human battery?”
“It’s called a strategic investment.” Du Qiangwei crossed her arms. “If Lin Entang succeeds in building the laboratory, he can adjust the time travel coordinates at will. Will I still need to climb through the window in the middle of the night?”
Lin En didn’t rush to respond. Instead, he raised his right hand and activated his vector vision. Instantly, the lightning current’s trajectory within the box was broken down into countless colorful arrows, with speed, direction, voltage peak, and energy decay curves all scrolling before his eyes.
He squinted his eyes for three seconds and nodded: “Okay, it works.”
With a flick of his finger, the vector control system penetrated the box, directing the internal energy flow to the three nodes in the projection. Instantly, the red light turned green, the matrix brightness increased by half, and the entire system hummed, as if finally catching its breath.
“The first access point is activated.” Lin En said.
Ge Xiaolun looked at the three lit dots and suddenly realized something: “Wait… are you trying to use the psychological tactic of ‘someone’s already signed up’ to force us to sign up as well?”
“Smart.” Lin En smiled. “Look, Du Qiangwei has invested real money—oh no, real thunder and lightning. If you don’t join, when the lab’s profits are divided, she’ll take 30%, and you’ll be left with nothing.”
“Who would believe that your shabby lab can make money!” Ge Xiaolun shouted.
“It’s not profitable.” Lin Shang spread his hands. “But I can change the rules. From now on, I will set the laws of physics on Earth. I can fly when I want, I can teleport when I want, instant noodles will cook in three seconds, and the cafeteria aunt’s hands won’t shake—do you want it?”
Ge Xiaolun was silent.
He really wanted it.
Especially the instant noodles that are cooked in three seconds.
Du Qiangwei sneered: “Stop pretending. You asked me last week if I could extend your WiFi signal to Mars.”
“That’s because I was disconnected while playing games on Mars!” Ge Xiaolun was furious.
Lin En ignored him and turned to look at Du Qiangwei: “Your energy tank can only last for 72 hours, but the node needs to be guarded for a long time. You can’t stay here forever.”
“I know.” Du Qiangwei shrugged. “That’s why I’m just a seed user. Once the first group of people start to attract more people, others will naturally follow.”
“That makes sense.” Lin En nodded. “Then I’ll post the announcement now – ‘Earth Lab’s first batch of computing nodes are recruiting. Voluntary registration. Generous compensation.'”
“What the hell is generous?” Ge Xiaolun rolled his eyes. “How do you pay salaries? Alien currency?”
“The reward mechanism has been set up.” Lin Entang pushed up his glasses. “Every time you connect to a node, the system automatically unlocks a local rule privilege. For example, anti-gravity authority, time slow flow field, vector acceleration belt – whoever connects will have priority use.”
“It sounds like a guaranteed card draw in a game.” Ge Xiaolun muttered.
“It’s more reliable than that.” Lin Shang smiled. “This is a contract written into the earth’s crust. You can’t deny it.”
Before he finished speaking, a laser swept across the surface of the energy box in the distance and stopped precisely at the seventh groove of the diversion pattern.
Lin Shang knew who it was without looking back.
“Qilin is here to watch too?” he asked.
“She just used a sniper scope to measure the stability of the energy box.” Ge Xiaolun glanced at the stratosphere, “Then she sent me a message asking me, ‘Will this crappy box explode?'”
“No.” Lin En didn’t even turn around. “I added five layers of vector voltage stabilization. Even if Du Qiangwei suddenly loses power, the energy will be released slowly and won’t explode.”
“Then you’d better pray that she doesn’t change her mind midway,” Ge Xiaolun said, “otherwise your lab will collapse on the first day.”
“She can’t.” Du Qiangwei sneered, “She even asked me last night if I could add a ‘predicted trajectory automatic correction’ function to her sniper scope.”
Lin En’s eyes lit up: “I can do this function.”
“Then you have to let her access the node first.” Du Qiangwei raised an eyebrow. “If she becomes a system user, she will naturally get some benefits.”
Lin En touched his chin. “That makes sense. How about I open a VIP channel for her? Priority access, and an extra month of anti-gravity use.”
“Don’t bother thinking about it.” Ge Xiaolun sneered, “If she knew you were using her bioelectricity as a server, she would definitely use Barrett to attack you.”
“Then don’t let her know.” Lin En pushed up his glasses. “The system automatically collects data. She just needs to stand there. She doesn’t even need to change her posture.”
“Insidious.” Ge Xiaolun gave a thumbs up.
“This is called an operational strategy.” Lin En smiled.
At this moment, the lightning inside the energy box suddenly jumped violently, and the diversion lines were bright white. Du Qiangwei’s face changed, and she raised her hand to press the box.
“The external gravitational field is fluctuating.” She frowned. “Someone is using a massive object at high altitude to apply pressure, trying to interfere with the energy output.”
Lin En raised his head, his pupils instantly switching to vector vision. Somewhere high in the sky, a mass of dark matter was slowly sinking. It wasn’t moving very fast, but the gravitational vector it carried was extremely distorted, like a black hole compressed to the size of a basketball.
He narrowed his eyes: “Who is so boring?”
“I don’t know.” Du Qiangwei gritted her teeth, “But this force… seems to be coming towards you.”
Lin En didn’t move, merely raising his right hand slightly. Using vector manipulation, he instantly locked onto the mass’s gravitational vector. Countless colorful arrows intertwined in his field of vision, their calculated paths rapidly scrolling.
Three seconds later, he chuckled: “Interesting.”
With a flick of his finger, the gravitational pull of the mass was twisted fifteen degrees. The next moment, as if kicked by an invisible foot, it plummeted into the atmosphere and disappeared into the depths of the sea of ​​clouds.
“Solved.” Lin En retracted his hand. “Next time, don’t use a black hole as a hidden weapon. That’s too uncreative.”
Ge Xiaolun was stunned: “You just… changed the orbit of the black hole?”
“It’s only off by fifteen degrees.” Lin Shang pushed up his glasses. “Newton should still be able to recognize it.”
“But who would throw a black hole into the earth?” Ge Xiaolun still didn’t believe it.
“I don’t know.” Lin Cheng looked into the distance, “But since someone has tried it, it means that this matter has attracted attention.”
“Pay attention?” Ge Xiaolun was stunned. “Are you saying that there are other people in the universe who are watching your laboratory?”
Lin En didn’t answer, but turned and walked to the energy box, stretched out his hand and drew a line on the surface of the box.
A golden formula emerged, echoing the terms in the earth’s crust:
The first batch of computing power node users will enjoy “rule exemptions”—they can temporarily suspend any physical law in a designated area.
After Ge Xiaolun finished reading, he was stunned: “How dare you write this?”
“I’ve already written it.” Lin En smiled. “The earth’s crust can be changed anyway, so what am I afraid of?”
He looked up at the reflection of the sniper scope in the stratosphere. His voice was not loud, but it came out clearly:
“Qilin, do you want anti-gravity authority?”
Chapter 48: The Black Box in the Genetic Lock (Old Version)
Lin En was still staring at the dark cube. His fingertips were only half an inch away from it when an invisible force pushed them back. He shook his numb fingers and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got quite a temper.”
“Didn’t you just say you could fix it?” Ge Xiaolun squatted beside him, still holding a piece of alien armor in his hand, chewing it while asking, “You asked me to dig this thing out of the wreckage of the Taotie transport ship, and now you say you can’t open it?”
“Who said it can’t be opened?” Lin En pushed his glasses. “I just said it doesn’t want to be opened casually.”
He took two steps back, raised his hand, and drew a line in the air. His vector vision instantly expanded, and the light throughout the laboratory seemed to be disassembled into countless colorful lines, and dense vector traces appeared in the air. The metal flowing within the wreckage was like miniature rivers, slowly flowing in his eyes, forming a closed spiral loop.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “This metal isn’t cast, it’s grown. Each link is reorganizing itself, and the frequency matches the bioelectric signals—this isn’t armor, it’s a lock.”
“Lock?” Ge Xiaolun looked up. “Lock what?”
“I don’t know.” Lin En stared at the spiral structure. “But anyone who can use living metal as a chain must be either a madman or a genius. Judging from the craftsmanship, it’s probably the latter.”
He closed his eyes for three seconds, then opened them again, a stream of data flashing through his pupils. His vector vision was fully activated, cutting directly into the nanometer scale. Within his field of vision, each link of the metal chain twisted and snapped at the tiniest amplitude, like the physical manifestation of some genetic code.
“No wonder the scan didn’t show it,” he muttered. “It’s not a circuit, it’s a genetic lock.”
“Huh?” Ge Xiaolun was confused. “Say it again? Can a lock be made of DNA?”
“It’s not DNA.” Lin Entang shook his head. “It’s something even more fundamental than DNA—an information template. This lock isn’t designed to protect against physical hacking, but cognitive intrusion. Anyone who doesn’t understand its structure will be reverse-formatted if they touch it.”
Ge Xiaolun’s scalp tingled when he heard this: “Then… you… can understand it?”
“I don’t understand.” Lin En grinned, “But I can calculate.”
He raised his hand and activated the aerial projection. He reverse-engineered the metal flow frequency he had just recorded, generating a set of electromagnetic pulse parameters within three seconds. A string of numbers popped up on the screen: 1.72 terahertz, pulse width 0.3 nanoseconds.
“To open it, we need energy on the order of a solar flare, and we need to precisely control the waveform.” He looked up at the wormhole interface on the top of the laboratory. “Reina, are you listening?”
As soon as he finished speaking, a red light appeared at the edge of the wormhole. Reina jumped out of it, holding a skewer of charred alien meat.
“Your parameters are trickier than the heat of a barbecue.” She stuffed the skewer into her mouth and said vaguely, “Okay, three seconds, no longer. Any longer and I’ll get exhausted.”
“Three seconds is enough.” Lin En turned and walked to the wreckage. He raised his right hand, and with a vector control, he instantly reversed the laboratory’s gravity field. The wreckage slowly rose and hovered in the center.
“Get ready,” he whispered.
Reina flung a flaming ball of light. It exploded in mid-air, instantly releasing a high-intensity electromagnetic pulse. The metal chains on the wreckage trembled violently, and then, link by link, began to disintegrate, like chains melted by the heat, automatically disintegrating into streams of liquid metal.
“Now!” Lin En shouted.
He grasped with his right hand, and vector control precisely locked onto the core of the wreckage. A dark cube broke out of its shell, its surface gleaming with a cold metallic luster, its edges engraved with fine lines.
“It’s out!” Ge Xiaolun came forward, “Is this the black box you mentioned?”
Lin En didn’t answer. He stared at the cube, and just as his finger was about to touch it, his brows suddenly furrowed.
A sharp, stabbing pain exploded from his temple, as if someone were stabbing him in the head with a needle. He stumbled a step, holding onto the operating table, blood trickling from his nose down the corner of his mouth.
“Damn.” He wiped his face, “Can this thing backfire?”
“Are you okay?” Ge Xiaolun hurried to help him.
“It’s okay.” Lin En took a breath. “It just has a defense mechanism inside. Scanning it directly will trigger a nerve shock. We have to try another method.”
He closed his eyes, adjusted his breathing, and switched to a low-frequency vector scan, gently probing the system like a fine needle. In his field of vision, the lines on the surface of the black box began to flow, gradually forming a series of golden symbols.
“This is…” He opened his eyes and lowered his voice, “The writing of Shenhe civilization? No, it’s much more complicated than that.”
He quickly pulled out his small notebook and wrote down the pattern of the symbols, his pen swishing across the paper.
“It’s not a language,” he murmured. “It’s a genetically encoded template. This black box is copying something, or…awakening.”
“Awaken what?” Ge Xiaolun asked nervously.
“I don’t know.” Lin En closed the notebook. “But anything that can use a gene lock as a seal is definitely not ordinary stuff. If this thing falls into Carl’s hands, he can use it to rewrite the biological laws of the entire universe.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Lock it up first.” Lin En raised his hand and used vector control to construct a five-layer force field barrier around the black box. “Wait until I figure out how to read it, then we can move.”
Just as he finished speaking, a slight sound came from the ventilation duct above his head.
The two looked up and saw Qilin jumping down from the exit, with a sniper rifle on her back and a detector in her hand.
“The electromagnetic readings in your lab just went off the charts.” She stared at Lin En. “What dangerous experiment are you conducting?”
“Normal scientific research.” Lin En wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, “and unlocked an alien black box.”
Qilin walked over and her eyes fell on the black box. She didn’t touch it, but just scanned it with the detector.
“The energy readings are anomalous, with regular pulses inside.” She frowned. “Where did you get this?”
“Ge Xiaolun dug it out from the remains of the Taotie.” Lin Cheng pointed to the side. “I thought it was a battle armor part, but it turned out to be a living sealed container.”
Qilin was silent for two seconds, then suddenly looked up: “You cracked it faster than instant noodles.”
Lin En was stunned: “Is there something wrong with this?”
“Yes.” She stared at him. “You spent three days last week cracking the Demon Engine. This thing is ten times more complex, and you did it in ten minutes. Have you seen anything like this before?”
Lin Cheng smiled and said, “I have a good understanding.”
“Comprehension?” Qilin sneered. “You almost failed the advanced quantum mechanics exam, and now you’ve suddenly become an expert at decoding the Shenhe civilization?”
Ge Xiaolun was sweating as he listened to this: “That’s… a bit harsh.”
Lin Shang was not angry. Instead, he adjusted his glasses, and the reflection from the lenses blocked his eyes.
“Do you know why instant noodles only take three minutes to cook?” he suddenly asked.
Qilin was stunned: “What?”
“Because water molecules resonate at a specific frequency, energy absorption efficiency is maximized.” Lin En pointed at the black box. “The metal flow frequency of this thing is exactly 0.7 Hz different from the vibration frequency of water molecules when instant noodles are heated. I understood it at a glance. It’s very familiar.”
Qilin narrowed her eyes: “You’re using the principle of instant noodles to explain alien technology?”
“Science is not divided into high and low.” Lin En said seriously, “Anything that can keep me full is hard-core technology.”
Ge Xiaolun couldn’t help but laugh out loud: “Your logic… is unbeatable.”
Qilin didn’t laugh. She stared at Lin Cheng and lowered her voice, “This thing is dangerous. Don’t touch it.”
“I know.” Lin En nodded. “That’s why I asked Reina to help and set up a five-layer force field.”
“It’s not just a force field issue.” Qilin retracted the detector. “You just had a nosebleed. This thing is countering you, which means it recognizes you.”
Lin Shang paused.
“What’s the meaning?”
“What it means,” Qilin stared at him, “is that this might not be the first time it’s seen you.”
The air suddenly became quiet.
Ge Xiaolun looked at Lin Shang, then at Qi Lin: “What are you guys…talking about?”
Lin En didn’t answer. He looked down at the black box, his fingers lightly tracing the lines on its surface. The golden symbols seemed to flicker slightly, as if responding to his touch.
“Impossible,” he whispered. “This is the first time I’ve seen this.”
“Really?” Qilin sneered. “Then why did you know right from the start that you had to use 1.72 terahertz pulses? Even Reina said those parameters were outrageous. You didn’t calculate them—you ‘remembered’ them.”
Lin Shang looked up and was about to speak.
Suddenly, the golden symbol on the surface of the black box suddenly lit up.
A low-frequency vibration came from inside, like some kind of signal trying to connect.
Lin En’s pupils shrank, and he immediately activated vector control, instantly increasing the pressure of the five-layer force field. However, the vibration did not stop, but instead climbed up his arm and rushed straight to his brain.
He groaned, his knees went weak, and he held on to the operating table with one hand to avoid falling down.
“Lin Shang!” Ge Xiaolun rushed over to help him.
Qilin immediately pulled out a tactical dagger and inserted it into the gap between the black box and the operating table, forcibly cutting off the contact surface.
The shaking stopped abruptly.
The black box returned to silence, and the golden symbol slowly dimmed.
Lin Shang panted and raised his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.
“It’s…looking for something,” he whispered. “Or…looking for someone.”
Qilin stared at him, her voice as cold as ice: “What are you hiding?”
Lin Shang didn’t answer. He stared at the black box, his fingers still trembling slightly.
At this moment, the last golden light flashed on the surface of the black box, and a line of tiny symbols emerged.
That is not Shenhe language.
Nor is it the language of any known civilization.
But Lin Cheng recognized him.
That was a string of formula numbers he had written on a piece of scratch paper in his dormitory on Earth three years ago.
Chapter 49: The Hanged Man’s Gift of Death (Old Version)
Lin Tang’s finger still hovered in mid-air. The formula number that had just flashed across the black box’s surface pierced his memory like a fine needle. He didn’t move. Blood from his nose slid down the corner of his mouth to his chin, dripping onto the edge of the lab table, creating a small, dark red splash.
At this moment, the ventilation duct above my head made a slight metallic deformation sound.
His eyelids twitched, and his vector vision instinctively activated, but his field of vision was full of afterimages – the vibration from the black box had not completely dissipated, and the neural signals were like tangled wires, and the dodge prediction was delayed by 0.3 seconds.
The shadow swooped down from above, its trajectory not a straight line but a predictable arc. Lin En pushed hard against the ground, using vector control to reverse gravity beneath his feet. He was flung two meters sideways as if launched. His nosebleed traced a parabola in the air.
“This wave… I missed 0.1 seconds.” His knees weakened when he landed, but he managed to hold on.
The shadow missed and landed where he had been standing, the metal plate beneath his feet instantly denting. The man didn’t pursue him, but instead took a half step back, as if observing something.
Lin Cheng took a breath, forcibly suppressing the stinging pain in his head. He used his remaining vector vision to scan the other party’s remaining trajectory. Several pale blue vector lines emerged in the air, forming a motion equation. He stared at one of the parameters, his brow furrowed.
“It’s not directed at me,” he whispered. “It’s testing me.”
That parameter had a correction factor built into it—the attack path was deflected 5 degrees in advance, just avoiding his usual evasive angle. This didn’t seem like a coincidence, more like… a rehearsal.
He was just about to retrieve the force field data from the black box to check when the metal edge of the vent above his head suddenly melted like wax, twisting into an irregular hole. The shadow flashed and was about to slip in.
“Want to run?” Lin En raised his hand and wanted to lock the opponent’s momentum, but his mental strength tightened, his temples hurt again, and the vector control was instantly disconnected.
The shadow disappeared at the entrance of the cave.
The laboratory was silent for a moment.
The next second, the roof exploded, a prefabricated panel split in two by some immense force. The angel Scorching Heart descended from the sky, holy sword in hand, its blade swirling in golden flames, its tip pointed toward the ground. As she landed, the tip of her sword touched the ground, and the remaining flames spread along the void left by the shadow, instantly leaving a charred trail.
“Karl’s Hanged Man unit.” She sheathed her sword and looked up at Lin En. “They specialize in killing ‘variables’.”
Lin Shang adjusted his glasses; his nose was still bleeding. Instead of wiping it, he used vector manipulation to suspend the few drops of blood, arranging them in the air like a string of small red beads.
“Variables?” he asked.
“It’s you.” Zhixin shook the dust off his sword, “someone who can rewrite the rules. They didn’t kill you, they came to test your reaction pattern.”
Lin En stared at the drops of blood, then suddenly raised his hand, spreading them evenly around the black box. The drops of blood trembled slightly, mimicking the low-frequency pulses released by the black box.
“They’re collecting data,” he said. “The black box is the bait, and I’m the guinea pig.”
Zhixin frowned: “You used your own blood as a signal generator?”
“It saves trouble.” Lin Shang grinned, “It’s already flowing out anyway, so why not use it?”
As he spoke, the air in the center of the lab suddenly twisted, and a wormhole appeared out of nowhere. The next second, a body clad entirely in black was flung out, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Du Qiangwei poked her head out from the edge of the wormhole, her red hair fluttering in the air current.
“I caught him alive,” she said. “You can dissect him.”
The wormhole closed, leaving the Hanged Man’s body lying in the center, motionless.
Lin En walked over, and his vector vision reactivated. This time, he lowered the scanning intensity to avoid triggering another neural backlash. In his field of vision, the body’s muscle fibers displayed a strange arrangement—each muscle bundle seemed to have been precisely calculated, its direction perfectly conforming to some kind of vector amplification model.
“This structure…” He squatted down, his finger hovering above the other person’s arm, “is over 87% consistent with the vector-amplified exoskeleton I designed earlier.”
“What do you mean?” Ge Xiaolun appeared out of nowhere and stood at the door chewing on an energy bar. “Did they copy your design?”
“More than that.” Lin En stood up, “They are copying me.”
He walked to the control console and called up the black box’s third-layer force field recording. The footage showed that 0.7 seconds before the attack, the force field had experienced a brief phase fluctuation—not a break, but a “circumvention.”
“They can sense the structure of the vector field,” he said, “and they know how to move through it.”
Zhixin walked over and lightly touched the Hanged Man’s chest with the tip of his sword: “This thing is a living bait. It might explode if you touch it.”
“I know.” Lin En pushed his glasses. “So I have to figure out what triggers the self-destruct program in its body.”
He turned around and took out a syringe from the cabinet. Inside was a light blue liquid – the stellar energy concentrate that Reina left behind last time.
“What are you going to do?” Ge Xiaolun took half a step back.
“Give it an injection,” Lin Cheng said, “let it think it succeeded.”
He used vector control to precisely angle the needle, avoiding all nerve nodes and injecting the liquid into the bioelectric node at the Hanged Man’s shoulder blade. As soon as the syringe was withdrawn, the body suddenly twitched, and low-frequency vibrations were transmitted through the body.
Lin En immediately stepped back and activated a five-layer force field to seal the corpse in the center.
The vibrations lasted for three seconds and then stopped.
“Didn’t it explode?” Ge Xiaolun poked his head out.
“Because it thought the mission was accomplished.” Lin En stared at the corpse in the force field. “The signal it received was ‘target area has been infiltrated’, so the self-destruct program didn’t activate.”
He called up the scanning data and found that the direction of energy flow in the Hanged Man’s body had changed – the originally closed void connection channel was now releasing weak signals outward.
“It’s transmitting data.” Lin En narrowed his eyes. “To whom?”
He quickly used vector manipulation to capture the signal and imported it into the decoding program. A string of encrypted information began to scroll on the screen.
Decoding progress: 10%…30%…60%…
Suddenly, a dark red flashed in the Hanged Man’s eyes.
Lin En immediately realized that something was wrong and raised his hand to cut off the signal transmission.
But it was too late.
The corpse suddenly opened its eyes, and a ball of black mist exploded from its chest, rushing straight towards Lin Shang’s face.
Zhixin reacted extremely quickly, sweeping the holy sword across, splitting the black mist in two by the flames. However, after the black mist landed, it reassembled like a living thing, quickly forming a line of twisted symbols in the air.
It’s not language, nor is it writing.
It’s a formula.
It was also another draft he wrote in the Earth dormitory three years ago – about the derivation of the resonant frequency of the vector field, which he later crossed out because he felt it was “untenable.”
The formula condensed from the black mist hovered in the air for two seconds, then exploded, turning into countless tiny particles that flew everywhere.
Lin Shang raised his hand and used vector control to intercept, but a few particles still touched his arm.
The moment the skin touched, a familiar tingling sensation shot up from the nerve endings.
“It recognizes me,” he whispered. “Not just my behavior…it even has my scraps.”
Ge Xiaolun’s scalp tingled when he heard this: “So Karl has been secretly reading what you wrote?”
“It’s not peeking.” Lin En shook his head. “It’s copying. The black box is the key, and the Hanged Man is the terminal. They are reconstructing my thought process.”
He stared at the black residue on his arm and suddenly smiled.
“Interesting. They thought I was cracking the black box.” He raised his hand and used vector control to gather the debris. “Actually… it was the black box that woke me up.”
Zhixin frowned: “What do you mean?”
“This isn’t alien technology.” Lin En sealed the residue into a test tube. “I made it.”
“What?” Ge Xiaolun almost bit the energy bar off.
“It’s not me now.” Lin En looked at the test tube, “It’s another me. Or… my future me.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the black residue in the test tube suddenly began to wriggle, sticking to the inner wall of the glass as if it had life, slowly forming the outline of an upside-down human figure.
Lin En didn’t move, but just raised his right hand and used vector control to draw a reverse force field in the air.
The human silhouette stopped in mid-air, motionless.
“You want to test the limits of my reaction?” he whispered. “Then I’ll give you a gift in return.”
With a flick of his finger, he flipped the test tube over, pouring the residue into a miniature energy furnace. The moment the furnace started, he used vector control to adjust the output frequency to 1.72 terahertz—the exact same pulse that Reina had released last time.
The energy furnace hummed, and the black human figure twisted in the high temperature, emitting silent vibrations.
Lin En stared into the furnace, his eyes obscured by the reflection from the lenses.
“This wave.” He whispered, “I’m worn out.”
Suddenly, the energy furnace’s alarm light came on.
The internal temperature exceeded the critical value, but the black figure did not disappear. Instead, it began to absorb energy in reverse, and tiny cracks appeared on the furnace wall.
Lin En frowned and immediately increased the vector suppression.
But at this moment, the right hand of the Hanged Man suddenly raised up, with five fingers spread out, and a projection of a miniature Klein ring appeared on the palm of his hand.
Lin En’s vector control instantly became chaotic.
He staggered back, his nose bleeding again.
Ge Xiaolun rushed over to help him, but he was pushed away.
“Don’t touch me!” Lin En growled, “It’s reversing its positioning!”
He forced himself to stabilize his mental strength and used the final vector control to seal the energy furnace and the corpse into the six-sided force field.
The moment the force field closed, the Klein Rings on the Hanged Man’s palm suddenly enlarged, projecting a very brief image—
An upside-down figure stood at the end of the void, with countless rotating formula chains behind him.
It raised its hand and pointed at the camera.
Lin En’s pupils suddenly contracted.
The image disappears.
The laboratory fell into silence.
Lin En stood there, still holding the empty test tube in his hand.
The points of contact of the black residue on his arm began to heat up, and extremely fine golden lines appeared under the skin, like a branded formula.
Chapter 50: Blood Formula and Dark Matter Equation (Old Version)
Lin Tang’s hand was still suspended in mid-air. The upside-down human figure on the test tube wall had just vanished when the golden lines beneath his skin seemed to come alive, crawling along his blood vessels toward his heart. He didn’t shake it off or wipe the blood from his nose. Instead, he formed the few drops of blood into small beads and rolled them back and forth on his fingertips.
“Alright,” he muttered, “since you guys want to play a data duel, let’s do something hardcore.”
He turned and walked to the dissection table. The Hanged Man’s body was still sealed in the force field. The black mist on his chest had long been burned away by the scorching heart, leaving only a layer of ash-like residue. Lin En raised his hand and activated his vector vision, but just halfway through, his head felt like it had been stabbed by an electric drill—his vision was filled with garbled vector afterimages, as if countless formulas were fighting in his mind.
“This crappy system hasn’t been upgraded yet?” He gritted his teeth, picked up a laser pen from the shelf next to him, smeared the blood from his nose on the lens, and then shone it at the light above his head.
Red light passed through the blood droplet, refracting a stray spot that struck the calibrator on the dissecting table. Lin En stared at the spot, fine-tuning the angle with vector control, moving the spot back and forth across the instrument’s scale. After a few seconds, the chaotic signals in his brain suddenly cleared.
“It works,” he grinned. “Using your own blood as a calibration prism, only I could come up with this.”
He retracted his gaze and reactivated his Vector Vision. This time his vision stabilized, and the Hanged Man’s internal structure emerged clearly—muscle fibers arranged like precision gears, each embedded with dark red veins that resembled blood vessels, yet were not.
“This thing… isn’t bleeding?” He moved closer and picked up a piece of subcutaneous tissue with tweezers. As soon as it was removed from the body, the edge of the tissue began to turn black, as if it was slowly evaporating.
“Separate body self-destruction?” Lin En narrowed his eyes. “That’s quite sophisticated.”
He immediately placed the tissue back into the force field and activated the stellar concentrate circulation system that Reina had left behind. The pale blue liquid flowed through the pipes to the bottom of the dissection table, where it heated up and formed an ionized airflow, gradually neutralizing the residual void waves on the surface of the upside-down body.
“High-temperature ionization, clear the field.” He muttered as he adjusted the parameters, “Once you’ve cleared it, we’ll dig up your insides.”
After a few minutes, the interference layer was finally removed. Lin En scanned again, and this time, he saw it clearly.
Flowing within those dark red veins was a translucent solution with a metallic sheen, resembling liquid mercury. However, its vector trajectory defied all known fluid laws. Even stranger, each drop of solution was autonomously splitting and recombining, as if performing some kind of calculation.
“This isn’t a transportation system… it’s a computing network?” Lin En’s pupils shrank. “Is its entire body a living computer?”
He immediately called up the recorder and projected the solution’s flow trajectory into the air. A series of vector equations were automatically generated, but after just the third row, the system sounded an alarm—the solution’s entropy was continuing to rise, and it was rising spontaneously.
“Reverse thermodynamics?” Lin En whispered. “Is it actively becoming chaotic?”
He stared at the string of data, suddenly thought of something, raised his hand and touched the still hot golden lines on his arm.
“This thing… recognizes me.”
Without hesitation, he used vector manipulation to simulate the frequency of the pattern, constructing a microscopic field in the air. Then, he used tweezers to grasp a drop of dark matter solution and slowly moved it into the field.
As soon as the solution touched the field, it suddenly stopped.
Immediately afterwards, it began to resonate, and fine golden lines appeared on its surface, almost exactly the same as those on Lin En’s arm.
“Fuck.” Lin En laughed, “Are you really on the same wavelength as me?”
He immediately recorded the resonant frequency and deduced the molecular structure of the solution. On the screen, a three-dimensional model gradually took shape—each molecule nested within a ring structure, like an infinitely repeating Möbius strip, or… a Klein bottle.
“Topological closure?” He slammed the table. “Is this thing looping and calculating entropy increase?”
The more he looked, the more alarmed he became. This structure could theoretically sustain internal computations indefinitely, requiring no external energy. As long as it continued to evolve toward chaos, it could continuously output data.
“No wonder Carl wants to use this thing to test me.” Lin En muttered, “It’s not a weapon, it’s a probe. It’s simulating my thought process and then reversely deducing my reaction boundaries.”
Just as he was thinking, the laboratory door was slammed open.
Ge Xiaolun rushed in, holding the Xiongxin core module in his hands, his face flushed with anxiety.
“Lin Entropy! This bastard is acting up again! He suddenly activated himself and stuffed a bunch of gibberish formulas into my head!”
Lin En raised his head and saw at a glance that the surface of the male core was flashing with a dark red light, as if it was in sync with the solution in the upside-down human body.
“Give it to me.” He held out his hand.
Ge Xiaolun handed it over, and as soon as it approached the dissection table, the male core suddenly buzzed and released a high-intensity electromagnetic pulse.
Lin En was quick-witted and swift-handed. He raised his hand and deflected a vector, directing the pulse toward the underground energy tank. Sparks flew, and a wisp of green smoke rose from the tank.
“Don’t panic.” Lin En pressed Ge Xiaolun’s shoulder. “This isn’t a malfunction. It’s a wake-up call.”
“What?” Ge Xiaolun was confused.
“Your Male Core has long been seeded with homologous data.” Lin En placed the Male Core on the scanning table and activated the dual-frequency resonance detection. “It uses the same algorithm as the Hanged Man.”
As he spoke, he imported the dark matter formula from the Hanged Man’s cells into the analysis system and then retrieved the raw data stream from the Xiongxin encryption zone. The two sets of information unfolded side by side in the air, comparing vector trajectories, topological structures, iterative paths… one by one.
Ge Xiaolun stared at the screen, feeling something was wrong. “Wait, how come the directions… are exactly the same?”
“It’s not just the direction.” Lin En pointed at the entropy change rate curve, “Even the calculation rhythm is the same. The only difference is the encoding method – one is a biological carrier, and the other is mechanical encryption.”
He paused, his voice lowering. “They’re two versions of the same thing.”
Ge Xiaolun was stunned: “You mean… Xiongxin and this thing are from the same origin?”
“More than that.” Lin En stared at the two sets of data, “They all come from me.”
Ge Xiaolun almost jumped up: “When did you build a dark matter biological computer for yourself?”
“I didn’t build it.” Lin Entang shook his head. “It was my future self, or another me. The black box is the key, the Hanged Man is the terminal, and the Xiong Xin is the backup… They are rebuilding my thinking model.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the Xiongxin suddenly activated itself, and a string of encrypted symbols appeared on its surface. Lin Entropy immediately used vector control to lock onto the signal stream and forcibly import it into the projection system.
The two sets of data began to merge.
The screen first flashed with countless garbled characters, then the formulas began to automatically arrange themselves, as if drawn by some invisible force. Lin Entang quickly called up the backup optical computer array to share the computing power, but his brain still ached violently, as if being stabbed by thousands of needles.
“Hold on.” He gritted his teeth and used vector control to delay the pain signal by 0.5 seconds. “Give me three more seconds.”
He slid his fingers quickly in the air and manually input a discarded resonance frequency – that was a draft he had written in his dormitory on Earth three years ago, about the derivation of the self-sustaining vector field. He later crossed it out, thinking it was “pure nonsense.”
As soon as the frequency was entered, the system suddenly became quiet.
Immediately afterwards, the chaotic flow of formulas in the air began to reorganize.
Lines intertwine, vectors align, topologies nest… eventually, all the formulas condense into a complete pattern.
A skeleton made of blood-colored lines quietly floats in the center of the laboratory.
It lacked facial features, but within its hollow eye sockets, streams of data seemed to swirl. Its skeleton was composed of countless differential equations, each bone slowly wriggling as if performing some calculation.
Ge Xiaolun’s scalp tingled: “What…what is this?”
Lin En didn’t say anything, staring at the skeleton.
He knew what it was.
This is his mental model.
It is the essence of his ability.
It is the original formula for vector manipulation.
But why is it a skeleton?
As he was thinking, the skeleton suddenly moved.
It raised its right hand and pointed at Lin En.
Lin En’s pupils shrank, and he instinctively raised his hand to activate the vector shield.
But the skeleton didn’t attack.
It just slowly turned in the air, and then, with its bloody finger bones, wrote a line of formula in the void.
Lin En recognized it at a glance—that was the conjecture about the coupling of dark matter and vector fields that he had jot down in his little notebook yesterday.
But he never made this formula public.
Never even finished it.
But now, it has been completed.
Moreover, in a way he had never expected.
Ge Xiaolun stuttered: “It…it’s teaching you?”
Lin En didn’t answer.
He stared at the line of formula and suddenly laughed.
“It’s not teaching,” he whispered. “It’s reminding.”
He raised his hand and used vector manipulation to write another set of parameters in the air, directly following that line of formula.
The skeleton paused for a second.
Then, it nodded.
Lin En took a deep breath, turned around, grabbed the notebook, and quickly wrote down a few lines of derivation.
“I see,” he murmured. “I’m not trying to decipher it… I’m part of it.”
As he finished writing, the skeleton suddenly raised its arms and spread them out to the sides.
The blood-colored lines exploded instantly, turning into countless formula fragments that flew everywhere.
Lin En immediately activated vector control and tried to intercept.
But one piece had already stuck to his forehead.
The moment the skin touched, a scorching electric current rushed into the brain.
He stumbled back, bumped into the dissecting table, and the notebook in his hand fell to the ground with a “bang”.
Chapter 51: Space-Time Protocol at the BBQ Stall (Old Version)
The moment Lin En’s head slammed against the dissecting table, the notebook in his hand fell to the ground, its pages scattering. One page fluttered to the feet of the hanged man. He didn’t pick it up. Instead, he pressed the small bead of blood from his nose against his temple, like he was screwing a heatsink in his head.
“Okay, teach me the formula, and I’ll treat you to barbecue.” He closed his eyes for three seconds. When he opened them again, his vector vision was filled with swishing afterimages, like the snow on an old TV with no signal. He raised his hand and grasped, forcing the garbled lines into alignment with his mind, forcing a twisted equation into shape.
“A wrinkle in spacetime… to put it bluntly, it’s just squeezing a hole in space,” he muttered. “But if the hole is too small, it’s useless. If it’s too big, it’ll burn out a star—who’s going to reimburse me for the electricity?”
He bent down to pick up the notebook, and took out an unused squid skewer from the paper bag of the barbecue stall next to him. He put it in his mouth, dipped the other end in some remaining cumin powder, and started to scratch it in the air.
“Suppose the jump coordinate is a noodle. I just need to use chopsticks to stir it five degrees before putting it into the pot…” He gestured and completed the formula, and the tip of the skewer drew an imperceptible arc in the void.
As the stick fell, there was a “click” sound in the air, as if a crack had appeared in the glass.
Reina was passing by while gnawing on a skewer of roasted chicken hearts when she suddenly slipped and the skewer in her hand flew half a meter away.
“Who made the ground tilted?” She looked up and found Lin Shang staring at the place three feet above her head and grinning foolishly.
“Don’t move.” Lin Shang raised his hand. “There’s a space-time wrinkle on your head. I just poked it with a skewer.”
“Huh?” Reina rolled her eyes. “It’s bad enough you’re using me as a power bank again, but now you’re even using my head as a lab bench?”
“This isn’t an experiment, it’s a verification.” Lin En walked over and grabbed her wrist. “Come on, let’s go to the grill and dig this hole bigger.”
“Wait, I haven’t finished eating the chicken heart yet-“
Before he could finish his words, he was dragged into the barbecue stall at the innermost part of the night market.
The stall owner, Lao Wang, was busy flipping the grilled skewers. He looked up and saw Lin Shang wearing a white coat and Reina wearing a star robe. One of them had a nosebleed and the other had oil on the corner of her mouth. They stood together like a duo who had escaped from a mental hospital.
“Two skewers of kidneys and a pitcher of beer.” Lin Cheng slammed the notebook on the table and flipped open a page covered in crooked geometric shapes. “Uncle Wang, can you lend me this grill?”
Lao Wang squinted at the picture and said, “Is this… how to arrange the skewers?”
“It’s a spacetime curvature distribution map.” Lin En picked up a handful of skewers and inserted them into the gaps in the grill. “See? These skewers are vector guides. With enough energy, they can twist the space in this area into a twist.”
Reina sat down and asked, “Are you really going to use a grill to stop the Taotie fleet?”
“It’s low-cost, highly efficient, and there’s no need to write a project application.” Lin En grinned. “Besides, if solar flares can be used to grill skewers, they can also be used as a source of gravity.”
Reina rolled her eyes, raised her hand and flicked it. A miniature star the size of a fist appeared in her palm and hung above the grill, grilling the skewers until they sizzled with oil.
“I’ll give you three minutes,” she said. “If you exceed that, I’ll put this star in your pocket.”
Lin En didn’t reply. Instead, he flicked his finger and used vector control to divert the star’s energy, channeling it along the skewers into the newly opened crack in the air. Instantly, the space above the grill began to distort, like steaming heat waves or rippling water.
“It’s done!” he said in a low voice. “The wrinkle depth meets the standard, and the curvature radius is stable. Uncle Wang, this furnace of yours will be nominated for a scientific and technological progress award someday.”
Lao Wang was so scared that he almost threw away the shovel, “Don’t make a black hole here!”
“Don’t worry, at most it’ll just suck the mahjong tables from the next door away.” Lin En raised his hand and fiercely thrust the grilled squid skewer into the node of the crack in the air. “Now, adjust the data flow and simulate the jump path.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a series of blurry lights and shadows emerged in the void – the jump coordinates of the Taotie vanguard fleet were being generated, and densely packed warship models poured out from the curvature channel.
“Here it comes.” Lin En’s eyes narrowed. “Reina, adjust the energy output angle to seven degrees to the left.”
“Do you think the stars are flashlights?” Reina frowned, but did as she was told.
The tiny star’s light swirled, and its energy beam pierced the center of the space-time wrinkle with pinpoint accuracy. Instantly, the fleet’s projection began to distort, as if being dragged off course by an invisible hand.
“Off! Off by five degrees!” Lin En stared at the data stream, nearly jumping up and down with excitement. “The jump coordinates are misplaced. They have to circle around the Earth’s outer ring one more time—enough for Zhao Xin to set up defenses!”
Reina whistled, “You’re pretty good at poking the universe with a skewer.”
“It’s not my spirit.” Lin En pulled out a skewer, the tip still glowing blue. “It’s the laws of physics that are easy to fool.”
He was about to call it a day when the air behind him suddenly trembled.
A red light tore through the night sky, and Du Qiangwei jumped out of the wormhole and kicked over the plastic stool at the barbecue stall.
“Stop roasting!” She threw out a data slate. “Sky Blade 7 just intercepted a signal—the Taotie Vanguard has entered synchronous orbit and will begin deploying the landing capsule in three minutes.”
Lin En took the data slate, glanced at it, and sneered.
“It seems the barbecue isn’t cooked yet, but the guests arrived first.”
He raised his hand and used vector control to suck the scattered notebook pages back into his arms, and casually tucked the grilled squid skewer into the cover of the notebook.
“Uncle Wang, I don’t want to eat kidney anymore.” He patted Lao Wang’s shoulder, “Next time I come, I’ll bring you some meteorite charcoal grilled ones.”
Lao Wang was confused. “You guys…are really not making a science fiction movie?”
Lin Shang didn’t answer and turned away.
Reina grabbed the miniature star and stuffed it into her pocket. The flame ran a few inches along her sleeve before it went out.
Du Qiangwei stood there, looking at Lin Tang’s back, and suddenly said, “The move you just made can stop the fleet, but it can’t stop Carl.”
“I know.” Lin Shang didn’t stop, “That’s why I didn’t plan to stop him.”
He raised his right hand, and a bloody formula appeared on his palm, as if it was coming out from under his skin.
“I want him to hit me on his own.”
The three of them walked quickly through the night market, the streetlights casting long shadows under their feet. Lin En was flipping through a notebook as he walked, when he suddenly stopped.
“Wait.” He looked up at the sky.
A silver streak of light was passing through the outer edge of the atmosphere, as if someone had cut a line on the sky with a knife.
“They changed their route.” Reina narrowed her eyes. “It’s not the original coordinates.”
“It’s not a change.” Lin En stared at the streak of light, countless vector lines appearing in his pupils. “Someone patched the jump path in advance – this trajectory is coming towards us.”
Du Qiangwei sneered, “Karl knows you are here.”
“No.” Lin Shang shook his head. “He knew I used a skewer.”
He slammed the notebook shut, turned around and ran towards the academy.
Reina and Du Qiangwei looked at each other and chased after him.
The night wind picked up the barbecue skewers on the ground, and one of them rolled into the mud, with the tip facing the sky, like a miniature tombstone.
Lin Shang was running in the front, and the skewer in his hand, which was tucked into the notebook, suddenly became hot.
He didn’t look down.
Chapter 52: Joint Provocation of the Academy’s Powerful Officials (Old Version)
When Lin Tang rushed through the gates of the Super Seminary training grounds, the grilled squid skewer in his hand was still burning. He didn’t let go, but instead tucked it into the cover of the notebook in his arms, like a dagger in a gun holster.
The blood on the tip of his nose had dried, but his head was still buzzing, as if he had just crawled out of a high-energy calculation. He glanced at the center of the training ground. Five people were already waiting there, standing in a semicircle, like a hunting formation they had rehearsed countless times.
“Lin Entang, I heard you used a skewer to change the Taotie fleet’s warp route?” The leading young man stepped forward, a smile on his face, but his tone was like a judgment. “We, a few new generation students, would like to ask you for some practical tactics.”
Lin En stopped, ten meters away. He didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his right hand and slowly adjusted his glasses. His eyes darkened behind the lenses, and vector vision instantly activated.
Five dark red energy waves were hidden at his waist, like miniature reactors embedded in his belt. He recognized them instantly—a dark energy amplifier, an illegally modified model that could triple the user’s explosive power, at the cost of damage to the kidneys, liver, and brain.
“Oh, can you tell me about tactics?” Lin Shang raised the corner of his mouth and tucked the notebook under his arm. “Okay, but I have to take the test first.”
“take an exam?”
“Right.” He took two steps forward, his hands shoved into the pockets of his white coat. “Let me ask you a basic question—what is conservation of momentum?”
The five people looked at each other, and someone sneered: “Do you think we are freshmen?”
“Not freshmen.” Lin En nodded. “But if you understood the law of conservation of momentum, you wouldn’t be pretending to be aliens in a place like this.”
As soon as the words fell, the leader’s eyes turned cold, and he suddenly raised his right hand. The amplifier on his waist lit up with a buzzing sound, and crimson energy instantly filled his arm. He punched out, and the air was torn apart with an explosion.
In his vector vision, the trajectory of the punch was like a flaming arrow, its speed, direction, and acceleration all clearly marked. He could even see the path of the reaction force generated by the opponent’s muscle fibers contracting.
“Just in time,” he whispered.
Just when the fist was half a meter away from his chest, Lin Shang slid his right foot forward, slightly tilted his body, and pulled his left hand out of his pocket. He did not block, but gave a light push – using vector control, he deviated the vector direction of the opponent’s fist force five degrees to the left.
The punch grazed the edge of Lin Tang’s shirt, but the force shifted in direction, losing its balance. The attacker’s forward momentum was too great, and he couldn’t stop. He fell forward, his knee slamming into the alloy floor of the training ground with a loud thud.
Lin Shang reached out and held his shoulders, like a teacher helping a student who failed the exam.
“Next time before you exert force, remember to calculate the reaction force.” He said in a relaxed tone, “Otherwise, you will easily fall to your knees.”
The remaining four people froze in place, the sneers on their faces turning into awkward freeze before they could even retract.
Lin Shang let go of his hand, took a step back, and patted the dust off the other person’s shoulder – of course, he used vector control to pat him from a distance, because he didn’t want to be affected by the other person’s bad luck.
“Conservation of momentum simply means if you punch me, I have to punch you back with half the force.” He looked around at the four of them. “But I’m not afraid of all five of you coming at me together. Newton’s laws don’t discriminate by number anyway.”
Someone gritted his teeth and reached for the start button of the amplifier at his waist.
Lin En saw it and immediately raised his hand, pointing his palm at the ground, and used vector control to instantly lock the energy flow of the device.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “If you start the second one now, I’ll let your amplifiers launch you off like penguins being knocked over by their own farts.”
The four of them froze.
No one dared to move.
At the edge of the training ground, several onlookers had already started taking out their recorders to secretly film the action. This scene was far more exciting than the actual combat class.
Lin Shang ignored them, turned around and walked to the bench at the side of the field, sat down, pulled out the grilled squid skewer from his notebook, and held it in his mouth like a baton.
“Come on, next one.” He looked up. “Who else wants to try? Remember, answer the questions first, then take action.”
At this moment, a window on a tall building outside the training ground reflected light slightly.
Qilin put away her sniper scope, and the mirror reflected the image of Lin Tang sitting on a bench, swinging his feet. She uploaded the video to the school’s intranet with a blank expression, adding a single note:
“Teaching video, recommended for new students – ‘On How to Use Conservation of Momentum to Slap Someone in the Face’.”
The video was forwarded 300 times within three seconds, and the comment section exploded.
“Is this really a physics class or a combat class?”
“I just checked, and the formula for conservation of momentum can indeed deduce countermeasures… but who would use it that way?”
“Did Lin En treat the battle as homework?”
“I suggest changing the name to ‘Lin Entropy’s Physics Saves the World’ series of open courses.”
Inside the training grounds, the five powerful students finally recovered. The young man in the lead climbed up from the ground, his face livid, and stared at Lin Shang: “You are humiliating us.”
“No.” Lin Shang shook his head. “I am teaching you.”
“We don’t need your teaching!”
“So what do you need?” Lin Shang tilted his head. “Do you need me to kneel down and listen to you say, ‘My dad is Minister X’? Or do you need me to applaud and say, ‘Wow, you’re awesome!'”
He stood up, the squid skewer still in his mouth, and spoke slurred but with full force: “You came to me not to learn tactics, but to establish your authority. Fine, I’ll take it. But now that your authority is established, it’s time for you to go back and write your self-criticisms.”
“Oh, right.” Lin Shang suddenly remembered something and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and saw that it was the “kidney IOU” written by Old Wang from the barbecue stall last night. He stuffed it into the man’s hand and said, “Please pass it to Uncle Wang for me. Tell him to pay him back two skewers and a beer next time you go.”
The man was stunned, holding the greasy paper in his hand as if he was holding some shameful evidence of a crime.
Lin Shang turned and left, the hem of his white coat swinging in the wind, and his sneakers made a light “tapping” sound on the floor.
When he reached the door, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the five people.
“By the way.” He raised his hand and used vector control to suck the grilled squid skewer out of his mouth. He spun it in mid-air and inserted it precisely back into the cover of the notebook. “There’s a bug in the energy circuit design of those amplifiers of yours. If you use them three more times, your kidneys will be ruined. I suggest throwing them away as soon as possible.”
After saying that, he pushed the door open and walked out.
Inside the training ground, five people stood there, like five electric poles struck by lightning.
One of them looked down at the amplifier on his waist and asked quietly, “Is what he said… true?”
On the other side of the building, Qilin had just put away her sniper scope when her phone vibrated. She looked down and saw a popular push notification on the intranet:
[Video goes viral] The video “How to Use the Law of Conservation of Momentum to Slap Someone in the Face” has been viewed over 100,000 times, and a special discussion on “Lin Entropy Physics Teaching” has been opened in the comment section.
The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, she turned off her phone, turned and left.
Outside the training ground, Lin Shang was walking in the corridor when his nose suddenly felt itchy.
He raised his hand and touched it, and saw a spot of bright red.
My nose is bleeding again.
He frowned and used vector manipulation to suspend the blood drop, forming it into a small ball that slowly rotated like an oscilloscope probe in a laboratory.
“I’ve used up a lot of mental energy,” he muttered to himself. “I need to go back and get some nutrients.”
Before he finished speaking, a loud shout was heard from a distance.
“Xiao Linzi!”
Lin Shang looked up and saw Reina walking towards him from the end of the corridor. She was wearing a star robe and holding a string of uneaten roasted chicken hearts in her hand.
“You’re bleeding from the nose again?” She approached and grabbed his wrist. “Come on, let’s go to my place. I just made a new recipe for nutritious soup.”
“I don’t–“
“Stop talking nonsense!” Reina dragged him away. “If you fall down under my nose, I won’t be responsible for collecting your body.”
Lin En was dragged away, and the grilled squid skewers in the notebook trembled slightly.
Just as they turned the corner of the corridor, the door to the training ground suddenly slammed shut.
Through the crack in the door, the greasy “kidney IOU” was blown up by the wind and rolled onto the wall.
An ant climbed up the corner of the paper and began to nibble at the last stroke of the word “beer”.
Chapter 53: Undercurrents at the Black Great Wall (Old Version)
By the time Lin Tang was dragged into Reina’s laboratory, which shone brightly like the sun’s surface, his nosebleed had subsided, but his head still felt heavy as if it were filled with ten pounds of iron sand. He shook his head, pulled out the grilled squid skewer from his notebook, twirled it twice between his fingers, and casually thrust it into the table—smack directly into an unopened empty bottle of nutrient solution.
“You’re acting cool even though your life is almost over.” Reina muttered as she took out a pot of black soup from the cupboard. It was steaming hot and smelled like burnt circuit boards mixed with star anise.
Lin Cheng glanced at it and said, “What’s this new formula? ‘Quantum Stabilizer Enhanced Edition’?”
“Shut up and drink.” Reina stuffed the bowl into his hands. “I added some stellar nuclear fusion residue to the base of the Heart-Scorching Tonic to nourish the brain.”
Lin Shang looked down and saw a few strands of golden light floating on the surface of the soup, like a moving formula. He sighed, tilted his head back and drank it. His throat felt hot, and a familiar string of vector parameters flashed before his eyes—the space-time wrinkle model he had deduced at the barbecue stall last night.
“Okay, it’s alive.” He wiped his mouth, turned around and walked towards his laboratory.
Reina shouted from behind, “Don’t stay up late! If you get a nosebleed again, I won’t save you a second time!”
“I know, sister!” Lin Shang waved his hand and turned into the corridor.
His lab was at the end of Area B7, and the access control panel had to be swiped three times before it was opened. Cheng Yaowen was sitting at the operating table, his fingers swiping rapidly across the screen, his brows knitted into the shape of the Chinese character “川”.
“You’re finally here.” He didn’t even look up. “Your set of space-time parameters has been tampered with.”
Lin Shang paused: “Where did you move?”
“The calibration function for the jump coordinates.” Cheng Yaowen called up the data stream. “Originally, it was the ‘third-order differential iteration method’ you wrote yourself, but it has now been replaced with ‘inverse topological mapping,’ and the modification time was 11:17 last night.”
Lin Shang narrowed his eyes and said, “I had just returned from the training ground at that time, and Reina was feeding me soup.”
“Yes, you were unconscious for seven minutes.” Cheng Yaowen looked up. “The system log shows that the modification command was issued through the ‘Rose Squad Backup Terminal.’ But that device was returned to the Equipment Department yesterday afternoon.”
Lin En said nothing. He walked to the console and donned the Neural Link Ring. Vector Vision activated, and the data stream transformed into countless colorful arrows, crisscrossing before his eyes. He traced back the chain of tampered parameters and quickly discovered an anomaly—the command wasn’t an external intrusion, but rather a direct write from within the internal permission layer, like a key gently twisting a lock.
“An insider.” He whispered, “And his authority is quite high.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the light above his head went out with a snap.
The entire lab was plunged into darkness, with only a few backup terminals still flashing faint blue lights. Lin En immediately unplugged the link ring and pried his ears open—there was a faint metallic friction sound in the ventilation duct, but it was heard from more than one source.
“The power outage isn’t a malfunction,” Cheng Yaowen said, lowering his voice. “It’s a physical disconnection. The main cable was cut on the third floor below ground.”
Lin En raised his hand, palm pointed at the ceiling. His vector vision fully activated, darkness no longer an obstacle, but a dynamic graph composed of countless moving vectors. Twenty dark figures slid down from the vents, their movements coordinated and landing silently. Each one held an electromagnetic pulse wand in hand and wore a signal shielding shield on their head.
“They’re not students.” Lin En laughed coldly. “This whole fight is about the data.”
He tapped his toes and instantly launched an anti-gravity jump, his body floating lightly against the wall, like a leaf clinging to the edge of a ventilation duct. The first wave of people landed and immediately spread out, fanning out to surround the main control console.
He was waiting for the second wave.
Sure enough, the three of them leaped from the vent on the other side and headed straight for the data core module. Lin En’s pupils shrank, and with a thought, he synchronized his bioelectric field with the vector amplifiers in the four corners of the laboratory, activating the preset protocol.
“Klein bottle shield, activate.”
Four pale blue beams rose from the ground and converged in mid-air, forming an inverted spherical force field that completely enveloped the main console and data cabin. The shadows were blocked out, and the electromagnetic rod struck the shield, causing only a ripple.
“Quick reaction.” Lin En slid along the ceiling, landed on the ground, and stood on the edge of the shield. “But you shouldn’t have chosen tonight.”
A shadowy figure suddenly raised its hand and fired a miniature flare at him. Lin En turned his head, his vector vision already locked onto the trajectory of the projectile. The flare made a detour five centimeters above his head and slammed into the shield, sending out a shower of sparks.
“Your equipment is still the same old stuff.” He pushed up his glasses. “Electromagnetic interference? I added a field deflection layer to the shield last month.”
The shadows didn’t respond, but instead retreated collectively, forming a circle and beginning to beat the ground rhythmically. Lin En’s brows jumped—they were using the vibration frequency to disrupt the shield’s resonance nodes.
“Cheng Yaowen!” he called, “Switch to manual calibration and adjust the frequency to 4.7 terahertz!”
“It’s already being adjusted!” Cheng Yaowen’s fingers flew, “But the backup power supply won’t last more than three minutes!”
Lin En gritted his teeth, his mental energy surging furiously. The shield was a Klein bottle structure he’d simulated using a vector field. Theoretically, there was no inside or outside, but maintaining it required continuous energy output. His nose felt hot, and blood began to seep again.
“Add a little more pressure.” He wiped the blood, condensing it into a small ball and floating it in his palm, “Use it as a coolant.”
Just then, a gunshot pierced the night sky.
It was not an explosion, nor a collision, but a crisp, precise judgment that seemed to come down from the sky.
The helmet of a black shadow who was hammering the ground exploded, and the communicator in his hand was pierced by a bullet, exposing the chip. A string of distorted symbols was engraved on the surface, like some kind of ancient text.
He had seen that symbol before—it had flashed by in the instant the bloody skull appeared.
Another shot, and the second black shadow’s communicator was knocked away. The chip flipped in the air, and the symbol was clearly visible.
Lin En raised his hand and used vector control to draw the two chips toward him, levitating them and spinning them. Before he could get a closer look, a third shot rang out, and the outer shell of the last communicator shattered, sending the chip falling to the ground and rolling to the edge of the shield.
“Save some bullets.” He muttered to the sky, “If you shoot again, there will be no more bullets.”
“How much data do you have?” A cold voice came from the communicator. “I can kill them one by one. I can fight until dawn.”
Lin En smiled: “Qilin, where are you standing?”
“Thirty meters above your head, in front of you on the left.” She paused. “By the way, your white coat is stained with soup.”
Lin Shang looked down and saw that there was indeed an oil stain on his chest, and it was still steaming.
“Reina’s ‘brain tonic soup’.” He shrugged. “Why don’t you come down and have a sip?”
“No thanks.” Qilin’s voice remained unchanged. “What should we do now?”
Lin En looked at the three chips on the ground, then raised his head and glanced at the shadows blocked by the shield. They didn’t attack again, but began to retreat instead, their movements still in unison, as if they had received new instructions.
“Let them go.” Lin En suddenly said.
“What?” Cheng Yaowen was stunned. “Just let it go like that?”
“Right.” Lin En put away his Vector Vision and rubbed his temple. “They came to get the data, but instead of getting it, they exposed their communication methods. They’re running away now, which means the people behind it are getting anxious.”
He bent down to pick up a chip, his fingertips lightly brushing over the string of symbols. They felt cold, like an inscription dug out of a grave.
“Someone is using my experiment to feed something that shouldn’t be awake,” he whispered.
Cheng Yaowen stared at him: “Do you recognize this symbol?”
Lin En didn’t answer. He stuffed the chip into his pocket, turned, and walked to the main console, calling up the city surveillance overview. The footage was normal: the streets were quiet, the streetlights bright.
But just in the edge area, in an inconspicuous corner, the surveillance screen suddenly flashed.
It’s not a signal interruption or equipment failure.
Instead, it was a faint arc of light that spread out like water waves, lasting less than half a second before disappearing.
Lin En zoomed in on the video and replayed it frame by frame. At the moment the arc of light appeared, the air seemed to distort, as if something had passed through reality.
“Wormhole.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unregistered, tiny, fleeting.”
Cheng Yaowen came over and asked, “Who did it?”
Lin En didn’t say anything. His finger slid across the screen, pulling up the lab’s energy log. A second before the power went out, the system had recorded an unusual energy fluctuation. The source was unknown, it lasted for 0.3 seconds, and the intensity was extremely low, like some kind of remote scan.
He suddenly remembered something, opened the drawer, and took out the grilled squid skewer. There was still a bit of burnt meat on the tip of the skewer. He looked at it in the light and scanned it again with his vector vision.
There is a very fine crack inside the skewer, as if it had been instantly burned by high temperature.
“It’s not a coincidence,” he whispered. “Before they came, they already knew I would use this stick as a guide for the experiment.”
Cheng Yaowen’s face changed: “Someone is watching your every step.”
Lin Shang inserted the signature back into the notebook, closed it, and dusted it off.
“Not every step.” He smiled. “Someone has been keeping an eye on me in my lab for a long time.”
He turned and walked towards the door, and just as his hand touched the door handle, he suddenly stopped.
The surveillance screen flashed again.
At the same location, the arc of light appeared again, clearer than last time and lasting longer.
Lin Shang stared at the screen, his fingers slowly tightening.
The emergency light in the corridor outside the door suddenly came on, making a slight buzzing sound.
He opened the door and took a step forward——
A red light slanted down from the sky, brushed past his shoulder, and pierced into the opposite wall, leaving a small hole from which blue smoke rose.
Chapter 54: Truncated Void Coordinates (Old Version)
The moment the red light pierced the wall, Lin En had already pulled the door in half an inch. Without looking back, he traced his finger along the edge of the doorframe, and thirty-seven micro-vector amplifiers activated simultaneously. The resonant pattern beneath the floor tiles lit up with a circle of pale blue ripples, spreading out like water from beneath his feet.
“Not Qilin,” he whispered. “Her gun won’t turn.”
The emergency light at the end of the corridor was still flashing, but that wasn’t a malfunction. Lin Entropy’s vector vision scanned the air, catching a glimpse of a residual particle trajectory—the red light had been corrected by an external force 0.1 seconds before impact, deflecting five degrees and precisely avoiding the blind spot of the access control sensor.
“The Hanged Man’s tactics.” He pushed up his glasses, leaving tiny cracks on the edges of the lenses. “Karl is testing my reaction speed.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he slapped the wall with his backhand, closing the magnetic locks on all the ventilation vents in the corridor. He also switched the access rights of the laboratory console to personal neural chain mode. If anyone attempted to access the system, he could track them back and release a jamming pulse within 0.3 seconds.
Cheng Yaowen squatted in the corner, picking up the three chips with pliers. “Are you sure this thing isn’t a bomb?”
“If it were a bomb, it would have exploded just now.” Lin En walked over, his palm suspended in the air, and slowly lifted the chips with vector control, arranging them into a triangular formation. “They wanted me to get the data, but Qilin interrupted them, and in their hasty retreat, they forgot to destroy the communication records.”
He closed his eyes, his brain reconnecting with the high-dimensional information flow. The moment the symbol emerged, his temple twitched violently, his nose felt hot, and the blood droplet that had just oozed out was captured by his vector field, suspended between his brows as a coolant.
“Shinhe Code… Third-order encryption protocol…” he muttered, “Wait, this isn’t a complete command, it’s a fragment of a star map.”
The cracks on the three chips automatically patched together before his eyes, the broken circuits reconnected, and a fragmented projection of a star field slowly rose. At the edge of the Milky Way, a pitch-black rift quietly opened, its coordinates showing only the first half, the second half seemingly cut off.
“Typical Karl’s bad taste.” Lin Shang opened his eyes, “I’ll give you half of the treasure map, and see who dares to pick it up.”
“Then why do you keep it?” Cheng Yaowen frowned.
“Because this isn’t navigation, it’s bait.” Lin En laughed coldly. “The real coordinates have long been written into my brain. That intracranial shock last night wasn’t an accident at all. Carl was inserting algorithms into my nerves.”
He had barely finished speaking when the overhead computer suddenly sounded an alarm. A beam of pure white light ripped through the ceiling, and the angel Zhixin fell from the beam. As her seven pairs of wings unfolded, the entire lab’s electronic equipment automatically rebooted.
“Lin En.” Her voice was calm, but the holy sword was already unsheathed, flames flowing on the blade. “The data in your hands must be destroyed.”
Lin En didn’t move: “You came quite quickly.”
“I’ll be monitoring your biowaves the entire time.” Zhixin took a step forward, pointing the tip of his sword at the suspended chip. “The void coordinates are a source of contamination. Once activated, they could cause cognitive collapse. Article 9 of the regulations prohibits the retention of any high-dimensional abnormal data.”
“Then destroy my brain too.” Lin En raised his hand, and a vector field expanded in front of him, blocking the heat radiation from the holy sword. “This thing has been running in my genes for a long time. You can burn the chip, but you can’t burn the string of numbers I dream about every night.”
Zhixin’s eyes narrowed: “What did you say?”
“I say—” Lin En called up the optical brainwave graph and pointed to the resonant peak of his own brainwaves. “The energy frequency of this star map resonates with my nerves. Carl isn’t leaving clues; he’s conducting a compatibility test. Whoever can read it without going crazy will be his chosen ‘vessel.'”
“Ridiculous!” The Zhixin Sword’s momentum tightened. “This is a sign that you are being eroded by the void!”
“Then tell me,” Lin Cheng stared at her. “If it was really contamination, why could Qilin’s bullet hit their communicator? Why did that symbol appear in my hallucination? Why now?”
Zhixin said nothing. Her sword was still burning, but the flames were turbulent.
“You don’t have to believe me.” Lin Entang retracted the vector field, and the chip slowly fell back onto the table. “But you can’t make choices for me. I won’t use these coordinates, but I won’t destroy them either. They’re the connection between Carl and me, and if they’re broken, they can’t be reconnected.”
“You’re taking too much of a risk.” Zhi Xin finally put away his sword. “Do you know who was the last person to come into contact with the Void Coordinates?”
“I know.” Lin Shang nodded, “You are my sister.”
Before he finished speaking, the air in the center of the laboratory twisted, and a red-haired figure jumped out from the edge of the wormhole. Du Qiangwei stepped on the operating table with one foot, holding a half-broken energy conduit in her hand.
“Stop arguing!” she gasped. “There’s no time—the Taotie Vanguard has broken through the ionosphere and is changing course to reenter the atmosphere!”
Lin Cheng raised his eyebrows: “How long?”
“Eighteen minutes!” Du Qiangwei slammed the tube onto the table. “Just as I was about to transmit the complete battle report, their main gun blasted through my wormhole exit. Now the entire jump channel is disrupted.”
Cheng Yaowen immediately called up the orbital surveillance system. As soon as the footage cut to near-Earth space, the alarm went off. A dark red warship was swooping down from above the clouds, its bow main guns already 67% charged.
“The city shield isn’t operational,” Cheng Yaowen said in a tense voice. “The exoskeleton troops are still being debugged, and Zhao Xin’s commandos just boarded the plane.”
“Then don’t wait.” Lin En turned and walked towards the main console, his fingers moving quickly on the light screen. “Zhi Xin, help me seal this star map for storage.”
“Do you still want to keep it?” Zhi Xin frowned.
“I’m not keeping it, I’m locking it.” Lin En activated the Klein bottle core. “I stuffed it into a space without an inside or outside. No one can take it away, and I can’t touch it. After this battle is over, I’ll decide whether to open it or not.”
Zhi Xin stared at him for two seconds before finally nodding. She raised her hand, unfurling her right wing. The feathers of light transformed into a data stream, injected into the system, interweaving with Lin Entropy’s vector field to form a double encryption lock.
“Sealing is complete.” She retracted her wings. “But remember, if you try to force a read, I will sense it immediately.”
“Okay, got it, Mom.” Lin Entang generated a QR code for the encryption key, stuffed it into an old-fashioned USB drive, and inserted it into the bottom layer of the drawer. “Hide it here, no one can find it.”
Cheng Yaowen rolled his eyes: “The last time you said ‘absolutely safe’, the USB drive was plugged into the microwave.”
“Didn’t Reina use that to roast marshmallows?” Lin Cheng shrugged. “I’ll remember this time. Stay away from the kitchen.”
Du Qiangwei has already opened a new wormhole: “Do you want to leave? There’s a fight going on outside!”
Lin Shang grabbed his white coat and threw it over himself. He took the grilled squid skewer out of the notebook and stuffed it into his breast pocket. “Let’s go. I haven’t had dinner yet.”
The three rushed towards the wormhole, with Zhixin jumping in last. The moment she disappeared, the lab’s optical computer suddenly rebooted on its own. The sealed log showed a 0.3-second fluctuation in the encryption core, with no record of the source of the operation.
Lin Cheng stopped at the other end of the wormhole. He looked back into the void and whispered, “Someone’s watching.”
Du Qiangwei walked forward carrying the vector rifle: “What should we do now?”
“Save people first.” Lin Shang pushed his glasses, and the cracks on the lenses became more obvious. “Then-“
Before he could finish his words, there was a loud bang in the distance, and the main gun of the Taotie battleship was fired. The red beam of light tore through the night sky and headed straight for the center of the city.
Lin En raised his hand, his vector vision fully activated. The entire battlefield transformed into countless flowing arrows in his vision. He raised the corner of his mouth and said, “Then let Carl see the ultimate application of the law of conservation of momentum.”
He took a step forward, his sneaker breaking a tile.
Chapter 55: Genetic Lock for Iterative Evolution (Old Version)
The remnants of the broken tile were still stuck in the sole of Lin En’s shoe. As he stepped into the lab, his heel crunched the powder, sending it sliding along the vector field into the energy tank of the incubator. He didn’t take off his white coat, nor did he pay attention to the grilled squid skewer in his breast pocket—it was now his only good luck charm. After all, when he used it to pry open the black box last time, Reina was still shouting, “Is this considered cultural relic destruction?”
“Has the data been exported?” Du Qiangwei half-peeked out of the wormhole, Vector Rifle slung over her shoulder, her other hand twisting the broken energy conduit connector. “That Taotie ship out there retreated after it exploded. Zhao Xin chased it all the way to the stratosphere but couldn’t catch up.”
“I’ve derived it.” Lin En was already squatting on the ground, his fingers sliding across the broken tiles. His vector vision extracted the remaining artillery fire traces one by one, like peeling a burnt wire. “It’s not a pure energy bombardment. The artillery stream is mixed with bioelectric signals. The frequency matches the underlying code of the black box.”
He glanced up at the main control screen. The black box’s nanochain structure was automatically reorganizing, each broken link corresponding to a fragment of the void coordinates. The two data streams collided in the center of the screen, and a red warning popped up: [High-dimensional information conflict, fusion failed].
“Failure is failure.” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his sleeve. His nose felt hot and blood started flowing again. This time he didn’t stop it, letting the blood drip onto his fingertips. Then he used the vector field to hold it up and drew a closed loop in the air.
“Klein bottle topology?” Du Qiangwei raised an eyebrow. “You’re using your own blood as a conductive gel?”
“It saves trouble.” Lin En pressed the blood-drawn ring onto the main console, and the bioelectric signal directly overwrote the system alarm. “My DNA has already been compiled by Carl, so more blood or less blood won’t make much difference.”
The warning on the screen vanished instantly, and the two streams of data began to slowly entwine, like two fighting snakes. Lin En stared, a string of formulas flashing in his pupils, and he muttered, “Topological isomorphism holds… Energy fluctuation matching 87.3%… Okay, it works.”
“What are you going to do?” Du Qiangwei leaned the rifle against the ground and crossed her arms. “Don’t tell me you really plan to use this thing to modify your genes.”
“It’s not a change.” Lin En stood up and patted his pants. “It’s an evolution. The iterative kind.”
He turned and walked towards the incubator. The chamber was still empty, a layer of transparent gel floating inside. It was the biological matrix that Reina had tempered yesterday using solar flares. Lin Cheng reached out and knocked on the glass. “This thing has to be alive. You have to learn on your own. You have to upgrade to the next version after each battle. You can’t be like some people who, after three years of training, can only shout ‘charge.'”
“Who are you talking about?” Du Qiangwei was about to glare when the vent above her head suddenly vibrated with a “buzzing” sound.
They both looked up at the same time. Lin En didn’t move, but his vector vision swept the air, catching a faint electrical fluctuation—someone was remotely spying on the data stream.
“You again?” He sneered, swiping his finger across the console, and then reverse-injecting a piece of garbled code. “Last time you snooped through my sealed coordinates, and now you want to steal the genetic template? Fine, I’ll show you enough.”
He retrieved all the black box data, deliberately amplifying the frequency of the encrypted section, and then used a vector field to simulate the illusion of “writing into the incubator.” On the surveillance footage, the unregistered wormhole signal flickered violently before disappearing.
“Let’s go.” Lin Shang withdrew his hand. “Thieves are most afraid of false information.”
Du Qiangwei tutted her words: “You call this a sting operation?”
“This is called anti-fraud in scientific research.” He pushed up his glasses, and the cracks on the lenses deepened. “Next, we’ll connect to energy.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the door to the laboratory swung open. Reina walked in on high heels, her wavy red hair still steaming, and the miniature stars floating behind her flickered.
“What are you waiting for me for?” She plopped down on the operating table and casually threw her star robe over the back of the chair. “Are you asking me to be a power bank again?”
“This time it’s precision frequency tuning.” Lin En called up the optical brain interface, “Adjust the frequency of your solar flare to 137.036 Hz to resonate with the Shenhe text.”
“Huh?” Reina glared. “Isn’t that the fine structure constant? You want me to use a star as a radio?”
“Almost.” Lin En nodded. “You just need to adjust the energy output to that frequency, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Reina rolled her eyes, but her hand was already on it. Her palm felt warm, and a stream of pure light flowed through the tube into the incubator. The gel began to glow slightly, like ignited alcohol.
Lin En immediately activated his vector vision, staring at every inch of the energy flow. Suddenly, his pupils shrank—
“wrong!”
He grabbed Reina’s wrist and said, “Lower the frequency by another 0.002 Hz! Quick!”
Reina was stunned for a moment, but she didn’t waste any time and adjusted immediately. At the moment the frequency aligned, the gel in the incubator trembled violently and began to rotate in the opposite direction.
Not clockwise, not counterclockwise.
It goes against the laws of physics.
Lin En stared at the liquid, but the corners of his mouth slowly rose: “Alright… the negative entropy vortex is done.”
“This thing isn’t supposed to spin like this.” Reina frowned. “Have you ever been taught about fluid mechanics?”
“I’ve taught you that.” Lin En had already taken off his watch and was using the strap to hold his glasses tight. “But I’m revising the textbook now.”
He took a deep breath and quickly moved his fingers through the air. Seven sets of vector components emerged one by one. Each set corresponded to a dimension of motion in the vortex. He had to manually correct it, otherwise the entire system would collapse within three seconds.
“I’ve calculated this wave!” he shouted, and with a thought, the vector field was injected into the core of the vortex.
Instantly, the gel stopped its chaotic spinning and began to fold in an orderly fashion. A golden spiral slowly rose from the center, resembling DNA, or perhaps a code for life that had never existed before.
“The gene chain autonomously reorganizes…” Lin En stared at it, his voice tense, “First generation template – ‘Entropy Amplification’, activated.”
Before he could finish his words, the lab’s instruments collectively screamed. Voltages soared, currents surged, and the console screen exploded with a burst of sparks. Glassware shattered one after another, fragments swirling in arcs of electricity.
Du Qiangwei reacted the fastest, and the wormhole instantly opened, enveloping the three of them in a force field. Reina instinctively held her head in her hands, but Lin En stood still, his eyes fixed on the incubator.
Amidst the flash of the explosion, the golden spiral slowly rose, hovering in the center of the gel. It didn’t remain still, but instead continuously fine-tuned its structure, as if absorbing the previous battle data and automatically optimizing the next version.
Lin Shang looked at it and suddenly laughed.
“Newton can’t control me, but evolution… I have to write the code myself.”
As he finished speaking, the glass of the incubator cracked with a crack. The golden spiral trembled slightly, and a faint wave of light swept across the entire laboratory.
The hem of Lin Shang’s white coat suddenly moved without wind, and the grilled squid skewer in his chest pocket broke into two pieces with a “snap”.
Du Qiangwei narrowed her eyes and asked, “Is that broken stick in your pocket broken again?”
“It’s not broken.” Lin Cheng took out the half-broken stick and looked at it. “It just…broke by itself.”
Reina came over: “What do you mean?”
Lin En didn’t answer. His vector vision was still active, and he could clearly see the molecular structure of the truncated signature being reorganized—the carbon chain arrangement was exactly the same as the genetic template in the incubator.
“It’s evolving,” he whispered.
Du Qiangwei looked up suddenly: “Are you saying… this thing has started replicating?”
Lin En placed the broken skewer in his palm and gently lifted it with the vector field. The skewer trembled slightly, as if it had a heartbeat.
“It’s more than just replication.” He looked up at the incubator, “It’s iteration.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the backup terminal in the corner of the lab suddenly turned on automatically. On the screen, a piece of unsent code was automatically generated, and the last line read:
[Gene Lock v1.0 – Iterative evolution protocol, has been written into the carrier. ]Chapter 56: Death Formula and Counterattack Moment (Old Version)
Lin En flipped the broken skewer over in his palm and waved it against the test field’s lights. Fine golden veins flickered within the carbonized wood grain, like a heartbeat. He grinned and inserted the skewer into the bio-port on the console. With a click, it felt like the world had been activated.
“Alright, I’ll be the USB drive myself. Do you recognize it, system?”
The main control screen shook three times, and a string of red words popped up: [Unknown living signal received, determined to be a high-risk biological contamination source, isolation protocol activated].
Lin En rolled his eyes: “I’m not a virus, I’m your father.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the defensive muzzles on the ceiling all pointed at him, the blue light gathering at the front of the barrels growing brighter and brighter. He didn’t move, simply scanning the area with his vector vision, instantly locking onto seven energy concentration points. With a flick of his finger and a thought, seven opposing electromagnetic vectors were precisely injected, and the blue light from the muzzles instantly went out, like a lightbulb being strangled.
“Unlock ‘Entropy Fighting Mode.'” He said as he pulled the other broken piece from his pocket, placed the two halves together in his palm, and rubbed them together gently. Carbon dust fell, but the golden light continued to crawl along his skin and up his arm, like a living thing.
He raised his hand and waved it at the surveillance camera: “See? This isn’t called intrusion, this is called going home.”
The gate to the testing ground slowly opened, revealing a deserted interior save for a standard dummy standing in the center. Its body was gray and white, with energy conduits embedded in its joints. Lin En walked in, casually removing his white lab coat and hanging it over the railing. In his sweatpants pocket was a half-finished bag of spicy noodles.
“Come on, let me see how far you can evolve.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the dummy’s eyes suddenly lit up. It wasn’t just a normal red light, but a bottomless black that seemed to be able to suck people in. Then, it raised its hand and pulled out a short blade from its back. The blade twisted, and circles of constantly rotating runes emerged.
Lin En narrowed his eyes: “Oh, Karl has also learned how to turn on the computer remotely?”
The dummy didn’t waste any time, charging forward with a single swift step, the blade heading straight for his throat. Lin En stood still, waiting until the tip of the knife was half a centimeter from his neck before lazily raising his right hand and gripping the blade between two fingers.
“I’ve seen this move of yours three times in the last month.” He said with a smile, “It’s the same old routine, 0.3 seconds of prediction, calculating my dodge route in advance. What a pity—”
He flicked his finger, and the vector field instantly acted on the blade, deflecting it five degrees, the force unchanged, but the direction shifted. The dummy, unable to control the force, fell forward, its knees slamming hard on the tile with a dull thud.
Lin En bent down and patted its shoulder: “I’ve calculated this wave.”
The dummy remained silent, but black fluid began to ooze from the wound, flowing back into the body through the catheter. Lin En stared at the black fluid. Under his vector vision, each drop carried a faint reverse energy field, as if actively repairing the tissue.
“It can heal itself?” He whistled. “Quite capable.”
Before he finished speaking, the dummy suddenly raised its head, and its entire right arm exploded with a crack, revealing a mechanical skeleton wrapped in runes. It punched Lin Cheng’s chest with such speed that it left an afterimage.
Lin En jumped back, his toes touching the ground. With a push from the anti-gravity vector, he spun half a circle in the air, landing behind the dummy. He reached out and pressed the back of the mannequin’s neck. The vector sense followed the point of contact and penetrated, instantly scanning the entire energy circulation path.
“Sure enough, the void energy is embedded in the bioelectric signals, relying on a predictive algorithm to maintain the rhythm of the attack.” He muttered to himself, “But you forgot—I now have my own iteration system.”
He closed his eyes, his mind quickly recalling the folding logic of the negative entropy vortex in the incubator. Three seconds later, he opened his eyes and began to chant, “Klein bottle topology, infinite loop, no beginning and no end, closed and self-consistent… Here, I’ll give you a free upgrade.”
He raised his hand, a faint glow gathering at his fingertips. It was the bioelectricity he’d drawn from his own blood using a vector field, mixed with the signal from the genetic template. He pressed it into the damaged area at the back of the dummy’s neck, and the light streamed through the wound, like a golden snake slithering through a blood vessel.
The dummy twitched violently, its muscles contracting irregularly. Lin En stepped back two steps, raised his hands, and deployed his vector field, locking onto every energy node in the dummy’s body.
“Start folding,” he whispered.
The next second, the mannequin’s skin began to wrinkle, not in the way it would if it were aging, but rather as if it were being squeezed from all sides by invisible hands. Its arms, legs, and torso, layer by layer, shrunk inward, bones crackling as muscle tissue tightened like a compressed spring.
Lin En stared at it, still muttering, “First layer folded, second layer activated, third layer… OK, we’re in.”
The mannequin’s head had shrunk into its chest, and the entire person had turned into a shrinking sphere. Complex mathematical patterns appeared on the surface, as if some high-dimensional formula was materializing.
“Don’t you want to calculate me to death?” Lin En asked with a smile, “Then I will write you an infinite loop and let you calculate forever.”
After the last “click”, the sphere suddenly stopped, and then exploded with a “bang” into a data stream, like a formatted hard drive. The light spots scattered, floated in the air for a few seconds, and completely disappeared.
Lin Shang stood there, gasping for breath, his nose dripping blood onto the tip of his shoe. He raised his hand to wipe it away, and the blood covered half his face, with a few drops also staining his glasses.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Here we go again.”
He used a vector field to lift up the blood from his nose and drew a complex function graph in the air. The X-axis was marked “attack frequency”, the Y-axis was “gene chain mutation rate”, there was an upward curve in the middle, and at the end it was written “v1.0 counter-kill success rate: 98.7%.”
“Saved.” He snapped his fingers, and the map was automatically transferred to the main console.
Then he adjusted his glasses, walked to the surveillance camera, and grinned: “Basic operations, Newton can’t control me.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the lights in the test field suddenly went out, leaving only the main control screen still lit, with a new message popping up on it: [Unknown signal feedback detected, source: unregistered wormhole coordinates].
Lin Cheng frowned and was about to adjust the record when he suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck. He turned around abruptly, his vector vision fully activated, but saw nothing.
But just as he turned around, he caught a glimpse of the reflection of the main control screen out of the corner of his eye—behind him stood another “Lin En”.
The same white T-shirt, the same sweatpants, even the smile on the corner of the mouth is exactly the same.
But in that “he”‘s hand, he was holding a whole grilled squid skewer, and the tip of the skewer was shining with golden light.
Chapter 57: The Sacrifice Plan of the Madman in Scientific Research (Old Version)
The training cabin’s glass reflected two faces, identical, even the curled corners of their mouths were perfectly aligned. Lin En stared at the gleaming golden squid skewer. With a flick of his finger, the vector field erupted, and the entire display screen, along with the alloy support behind it, exploded into dust. Before the debris could even hit the ground, he used the reverse momentum to ricochet it back into the corner, where it formed a small pile.
“Copy me?” He wiped the blood from his face. The blood from his nose had already solidified into a thin dark red line, flowing down through his fingers. “Then you have to pay more.”
He turned and walked away, his boots clicking on the broken glass, as if he were keeping time for his own countdown. He rushed to the training cabin, swiped his fingerprint, and the door swung open, a blue light illuminating. He lifted his leg and slid inside, pulling the spicy snack wrapper from his sweatpants pocket and stuffing it into the recycling bin at the door.
“System, lock Lin En as the only experimental subject, authority level SSS, close all external intervention interfaces.” He said as he attached electrodes to his body, his movements as smooth as assembling instant noodle seasoning packets.
A warning popped up on the main console: [High-risk residual consciousness signals detected, it is recommended to terminate the experiment].
“The suggestion is invalid.” He sneered, “I’m not doing an experiment right now, I’m writing a will – whoever dares to turn off the power will be the murderer.”
The hatch closed, the seal tightening with a humming sound. Lin En leaned against the inner wall, took a deep breath, and called up the data stream for Gene Template v1.0. On the screen, the golden spiral slowly rotated, with a line of small text next to it: “Entropy Critical Point: 97.3%.”
“Not even a little longer.” He gritted his teeth, “Then burn it again.”
He closed his eyes, activated his vector vision, and immediately saw the bioelectricity flowing through his neural network like a stream. He reached out and grasped, fine-tuning his mind, drawing a golden-blue arc directly from his veins. It condensed into a ring-like structure above his chest. The ring spun faster and faster, gradually taking on a twisted topological shape—like a knotted circle, connected end to end, with no beginning and no end.
“Klein bottle, activate.” He took a breath. “I’m going to quit being a human today. I’ll be a formula.”
The energy ring suddenly contracted, piercing his chest and moving down his spine, like a bucket of liquid nitrogen being poured into his body. Lin En shuddered, his muscles twitching uncontrollably, and his teeth clenched.
In the monitoring room, Reina slapped the console. “He’s draining his own electricity! He’s crazy! Cut off the power!”
She reached out to press the emergency stop button, but was blocked by a wormhole that suddenly opened. Du Qiangwei half-leaned out, holding a vector rifle in her hand, the muzzle pointed at the button.
“Don’t move,” she said. “He left a message: Whoever turns off their phone will be buried with them.”
“You call that talking?” Reina glared. “That’s called suicide!”
“He’s not joking.” Du Qiangwei squinted at the screen, “Look at his brain waves.”
The surveillance footage cut to Lin En’s neural map. The originally chaotic fluctuations were being replaced by a regular mathematical sequence, as if someone had redrawn it with a ruler.
“He’s using formulas to replace his consciousness,” Du Qiangwei whispered. “This isn’t a breakdown… it’s an upgrade.”
Inside the training cabin, Lin Cheng had already fallen to his knees, his hands propped up on the ground, his knuckles white. His skin began to take on a translucent sheen, and his blood vessels were clearly visible beneath the skin, like copper wires on a circuit board. Even more bizarre, the direction of those blood vessels was gradually forming a complex geometric pattern, spreading outward in circles.
“Cut off the pain…” He gritted his teeth and ordered.
The vector field immediately acted on the spinal nerves, and five seconds later, his expression suddenly calmed down, as if he had become a different person.
“Momentum is conserved, energy is conserved, but entropy is not.” He slowly stood up, his voice too steady to be human. “I am negative entropy.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the air in the training cabin began to distort. It wasn’t the swaying sensation of a heat wave, but rather a twisting motion, as if by an invisible hand. The light became curved. Lin En raised his hand, palm upward, and a ball of golden light emerged. The light gathered more and more, finally converging into a miniature vortex, spinning against the grain of common physics.
“Gene chain recombination, start.” He said softly.
In the monitoring room, Qilin remained silent. She stood in a corner, sniper rifle cradled in her arms, her eyes fixed on the screen. Suddenly, she raised her hand to access the weapon system and slowly aimed the barrel of the gun at the power port of the training cabin.
“Qilin!” Reina screamed, “What are you doing?”
“Remove the power supply,” she said coldly, “He’s almost dead.”
“Have you forgotten what you just said?” Du Qiangwei dodged and stood in front of her. “He said that anyone who tries to stop him will be considered a traitor.”
“Then I’ll be a traitor.” Qilin’s finger was on the trigger. “I don’t care about the will. I won’t let him die.”
The wormhole opened again, and this time Du Qiangwei jumped in, grabbing Qilin’s gun barrel. The two of them tangled in front of the control console. Reina was so anxious that she was about to rush over to help when she heard the system alarm go off.
[Warning: Subject’s vital signs are rapidly declining. Heartbeat: 21. Respiration: 0.3. Brainwaves: Approaching zero.]On the screen, Lin En’s body had become nearly transparent, his muscle tissue gradually erased as if by an eraser, revealing the golden light patterns flowing within. Those light patterns formed countless formulas, constantly folding and nesting themselves, and finally converging into a main artery in the center of his spine.
“No…” Reina’s voice trembled, “He can’t hold on any longer.”
At this moment, Lin En suddenly raised his head.
His eyes opened.
The pupils were no longer black, but a slowly rotating three-dimensional structure—like a constantly turning Möbius strip, or some topological figure that could not be understood in three dimensions. Every time the figure rotated, the air around it vibrated, as if resonating with some invisible universe.
“Detected…” he began, his voice hoarse but clear, “Gene chain recombination…successful.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the entire training cabin vibrated with a humming sound, and all the instruments flashed red light simultaneously. Lin Cheng’s body fell backwards, landing heavily on the bottom of the cabin. His limbs twitched, and he became motionless.
The monitoring room fell silent instantly.
Reina’s grip softened, and she nearly dropped the laptop. Du Qiangwei let go of Qilin, her face pale. Qilin’s gun barrel dropped, her knuckles still trembling.
“Dead?” Reina murmured.
“No.” Du Qiangwei stared at the screen. “Look at his pupils.”
The Klein bottle-like structure was still spinning, and it was getting faster and faster. Suddenly, Lin Cheng’s fingers moved, then his wrists, and then he slowly raised his upper body and leaned against the bulkhead, breathing heavily.
“This wave…” He grinned, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, “I was a bit ruthless in my calculations.”
He wiped his face with his hand, and blood smeared on his white T-shirt, like a crooked integral sign. He looked down and suddenly laughed out loud: “Interesting, now I look at myself, like a string of code.”
He extended his hand, and the projection system on the top of the training cabin automatically activated, revealing a full-body scan of him. Bones, muscles, organs—all composed of fluid mathematical formulas, each tissue calculating its own status in real time.
“Newton can’t control me?” He shook his head. “Now even I can’t control myself.”
In the monitoring room, Reina sat down: “This guy… really turned himself into a cheat.”
Qilin finally put down the gun and asked in a low voice: “Is he still alive?”
“Alive.” Du Qiangwei looked at the screen with a complicated expression, “But he’s no longer the same Lin En.”
Inside the training cabin, Lin Shang lowered his head to study his palm. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and the light patterns beneath his skin instantly reorganized, forming a miniature vector acceleration ring. He tried pushing forward, and his entire body “whooshed” against the cabin ceiling, then “snapped” and bounced back, making the cabin buzz.
“Ouch!” He touched the back of his head, “I forgot to adjust the cushioning factor.”
He grinned, turned to look at the surveillance camera, raised his hand and made an “OK” gesture.
The next second, his pupils suddenly contracted violently, and the Klein bottle structure suddenly stopped and then began to rotate in the opposite direction. His expression froze instantly, as if he had seen something he shouldn’t have.
“Wait…” he muttered, “There’s something else in my head…”
His fingers moved unconsciously in the air, as if writing a formula. A golden light spilled from his fingertips, carving a line of incomprehensible symbols on the bulkhead.
The symbol flashed three times and suddenly moved on its own, as if alive, crawling along the cabin towards the main control system.
Lin En’s eyes widened, and he suddenly raised his hand, fully opening the vector field and locking onto the light.
Chapter 58: Red Alert and the Angel’s Gift (Old Version)
The metal lining of the training cabin was still vibrating and humming. Lin Shang’s fingers gripped the edge of the vector field tightly, and the golden light that escaped from his fingertips was torn into pieces, crackling and exploding like a burnt circuit board. He took a breath, raised his hand, and slapped the emergency communication panel. The main screen popped up with a three-dimensional map of Tianhe City’s power grid, and a dense network of wires instantly filled his field of vision.
“Alright, alright, stop it.” He stared at his still twitching fingertips. “If anyone moves again, I’ll program you into the substation dispatcher and calculate your electricity bill every day.”
He closed his eyes, his vector vision fully activated. The flow of electricity throughout the city transformed into flowing arrows in his mind. High-voltage lines were thick red vectors, residential areas were thin blue lines, and substations were like glowing nodes, automatically calculating load balance. He twitched his lips. “Isn’t this clearer than my own neural circuits?”
Just as he was thinking about it, the glass wall of the laboratory exploded with a “bang”, and an elliptical wormhole appeared out of thin air. Du Qiangwei half of her body stuck in, holding a tactical tablet that was still flashing red light in her hand.
“Hey, what are you daydreaming about?” She kicked aside the broken glass. “The Taotie main fleet has entered the wormhole and will reach low-Earth orbit in three minutes. Are you planning on waiting for them to show you the welcome fireworks?”
Lin En didn’t even turn his head: “Let them go, I’m in need of test data.”
“Did your brain just get rewired with formulas?” Du Qiangwei jumped in and threw the tablet in front of him. “The coordinate signal has been interfered with, leaving only a vague trajectory. They could have broken in from any angle.”
Lin En glanced at the data and suddenly laughed: “No need to find out where they came from.”
He raised his hand, and vector control instantly enveloped the entire city’s power supply system. On the surface of Tianhe City, all high-voltage cables suddenly lifted off the ground, as if combed by an invisible hand, and arranged vertically into a neat array. Streetlights, transformer boxes, and underground cable manhole covers trembled, and the metal structures automatically adjusted their angles, forming a three-dimensional energy network covering the entire city.
“These wires are actually fractal antennas,” he said as he adjusted the parameters. “It’s just that no one has dared to use an entire city as a pulse cannon before.”
Du Qiangwei stared at the cables dangling outside the window, her lips twitching. “Are you trying to generate electricity, or are you trying to shut down all the WiFi in the city?”
“Kill them all.” Lin En pressed the confirmation button. “If anyone’s router flashes red later, remember to send me a banner.”
As he finished speaking, the air above him hummed and twisted, and a golden beam of light descended from the sky, crashing into the center of the laboratory. The beam dissipated, revealing the angel Zhixin standing there, his seven pairs of wings slightly folded. In his hand, he clutched a translucent hexagonal crystal, its surface intricately engraved with angelic inscriptions.
“Yan asked me to bring it to you.” She stuffed the crystal into Lin Shang’s hand. “She said you wouldn’t last more than ten minutes, so you shouldn’t try to be brave.”
Lin En weighed the crystal and sneered, “When did she start calculating my death? Last month, she lost three bottles of energy drinks to me in a bet over the stellar fusion formula.”
“This time it’s different.” Zhi Xin stared into his eyes. “The structure in your pupil is rotating in the opposite direction. It’s 70% similar to the topological pattern of void energy.”
Lin Cheng was stunned and raised his hand to touch the frame of his glasses. “Really? I just feel like I can see things more clearly now. I can even calculate the force distribution on the clothespins used by the lady downstairs to hang clothes.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Zhixin reached out and tapped his forehead. “Insert the crystal into the core node of the power grid, otherwise your shield won’t be able to withstand the main ship’s salvo.”
Lin En shrugged and turned to the main console. He pressed the crystal into the central slot. In his vector vision, the originally chaotic blue energy flow was instantly reinforced by golden lines, like countless patches on a torn net. The city shield model unfolded in the air, a faint golden light emanating from its edges.
“Three seconds.” He narrowed his eyes and estimated, “If I can withstand a salvo from the main ship’s main guns within three seconds, I’ll have enough time to do something big.”
“What about three seconds later?” Du Qiangwei leaned against the wall, tapping the wormhole generator with her fingers.
“Three seconds later?” Lin En grinned. “Of course I’m running away. Do you think I’m here to get killed?”
Zhixin frowned: “You don’t intend to resist at all.”
“What are we going to fight against?” Lin En called up the fleet’s predicted trajectory. “I want them to fire their artillery—and once they’ve used up all their energy, I’ll use the city’s power grid to reverse charge it, storing the energy from their artillery fire and sending it back as an electricity invoice.”
Du Qiangwei burst out laughing: “You call this defense? You call this scam.”
“Even scams like smuggling require technical skills,” Lin En said as he adjusted the vector deflection angle. “What I do is called ‘momentum conservation scams,’ and it’s legal and compliant, and I won’t cheat anyone.”
Zhi Xin stared at his operating interface and suddenly said, “Your brainwave frequency has changed again.”
Lin Shang paused: “Huh?”
“It was stable at 42.3 Hz just now, but now it’s jumped to 57.1, approaching the resonance threshold of the genetic template.” She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is that thing inside you… moving again?”
Lin En was silent for two seconds, then raised his hand to touch his temple. In his vector vision, he could see that something was amiss with his own neural waves. The once orderly golden pulse stream was now beginning to develop tiny reverse vortices at the edges, as if something had quietly nibbled at it.
“It’s okay.” He shook his head. “Maybe I ate too much instant noodles last night, and my stomach is protesting.”
“Lin En.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Zhixin lowered his voice. “The last time you said that, you ended up turning yourself into a humanoid formula.”
Du Qiangwei also came over and stared into his eyes: “If you cause any problems again, I will stuff you into a wormhole and throw you into outer space to prevent you from causing harm to the Earth’s power grid.”
Lin Shang sighed, took off his glasses and wiped them: “Alright, alright, I admit it – that formula just now was not written by me.”
“Who wrote it?”
“I don’t know.” He put his glasses back on. “But it knows me, and… seems quite familiar with me.”
The lab fell into a brief silence. Outside, the suspended cables continued to tremble slightly, and the golden light of the city’s shield flickered.
“So you’ve been hacked by the code you wrote?” Du Qiangwei sneered. “Does this count as a work-related injury?”
“It’s just an occupational hazard at best.” Lin Entropy called up the genetic template data stream. “I’ll isolate it in a low-priority process and clean it up after this battle.”
“Wait until the fight is over?” Zhi Xin frowned, “It’s affecting you now!”
“Influence is influence.” Lin En raised his hand, and the vector field lifted the three pens and spun them in the air. “But I can still control them—look, one, two, three, perfect synchronization.”
The tip of the pen suddenly stopped, and one of them turned sharply, with the tip pointing directly at his eyebrows.
Lin En’s eyes turned cold, and the vector field was instantly pressurized, and the pen exploded into sawdust.
“Small problem.” He clapped his hands. “Maybe the system cache is not cleared.”
Du Qiangwei rolled her eyes. “If you keep being stubborn, I’ll program you into the wormhole navigation program next time and make you take the black hole route.”
Zhi Xin said nothing. He lifted his hand and removed a small piece of golden scale from the edge of his light wing, then pressed it into the auxiliary interface on the main console. Instantly, the golden pattern on the shield model became more stable, and Lin En’s brainwave frequency also slowly dropped.
“This is……?”
“A temporary anchor,” she said. “It’ll help you stay conscious and keep that thing from getting any further.”
Lin Shang glanced at her, said nothing, and just nodded slightly.
The alarm suddenly rang out, and the main screen showed that the Taotie fleet had broken through the wormhole boundary. The three main ships were approaching the atmosphere in a triangular formation, and their guns began to charge.
“Here it comes.” Lin En took a deep breath and quickly operated the control panel with his hands. “Everyone, find a shelter and hide—I’m going to give Tianhe City a full-body electrotherapy.”
Du Qiangwei turned around and opened the wormhole: “I’m going to find Qilin. If she knew you were using the city’s power grid as a weapon, she would definitely blow you off with a sniper rifle.”
“Tell her it’s my treat.” Lin Shang didn’t even look up. “I’ll reimburse the electricity bill later.”
Zhixin didn’t move, standing behind him, with his light wings slightly spread out, like a barrier.
“What are you doing?” Lin En asked.
“Escort,” she said. “If you start writing formulas that no one can understand again, I can knock you out in time.”
“That’s thoughtful.” Lin Shang laughed. “Can you bring a pillow next time? I’m a little sleepy right now.”
Before he could finish his words, the city’s power grid suddenly activated at full power, and all the suspended cables simultaneously lit up with a dazzling blue light. The entire Tianhe City seemed to have been activated. The ground rippled faintly, and the air trembled slightly due to the distortion of the high-energy field.
On the main screen, the Taotie fleet’s artillery trajectory has locked onto the city center.
Lin En raised his hands, vector manipulation covering every cable, every substation, every inch of the power grid. His pupils began to rotate in the opposite direction again, and the Klein bottle structure slowly rotated, with an eerie golden-black halo around the edges.
He whispered, “Come on, let me see if your cannon can beat the rules set by old Newton.”
Zhixin’s hand pressed on his shoulder, and the golden pattern of light scales spread along the interface, trying to suppress the abnormal fluctuation.
Lin Cheng’s fingers suddenly twitched, and his fingertips unconsciously drew an arc on the surface of the console.
The arc automatically glowed and slowly twisted into a symbol that no one could understand.
The symbol flashed and slid towards the main control chip.
Chapter 59: Folded Military Exercises (Old Version)
Just as the light pattern on the console stabilized, Lin En’s finger had already touched the surface of the main control chip. The luminous symbol that had slipped in was still drilling deeper, like a stowaway loach, causing the vector flow of the entire shield system to tremble slightly.
“Stop it, now’s not the time for a love letter,” he muttered. His vector vision activated, and countless intersecting colored lines exploded before his eyes—power grid energy flow, spatial curvature, atmospheric ion density, all broken down into controllable parameters in his mind. With a thought, the light scale left by Zhixin instantly activated, and golden patterns spread along the interface, forcibly pulling the symbol out from the core area.
“Got it.” He pinched his fingertips, and the vector field precisely locked onto the end of the symbol, like grasping a slippery fish. “Trying to tamper with my shield algorithm? You haven’t even aligned the coordinate system.”
With a twist of his hand, the symbol twisted and exploded on the spot, turning into a string of meaningless data sparks.
The system delay was lifted, and the city’s shields were resynchronized. Lin Entang immediately called up the simulated trajectory of the antimatter bomb and prepared to launch the first round of defense tests.
“Let’s start.” He pressed the confirm button.
Above Tianhe City, a virtual projection instantly unfolded – three red dots swooped down from low-Earth orbit, dragging long energy trails. They were exactly the antimatter warhead simulations commonly used by the Taotie fleet.
The shield was activated, and the energy of the power grid gathered into a spherical force field. A Klein bottle-shaped topological structure emerged on the surface, ready to fold the incoming artillery fire into an infinite vector closed loop.
But just as the first bomb was about to hit the shield, the edge of the force field suddenly shook.
Lin Shang’s eyebrows jumped: “Something is wrong.”
The vector playback was immediately called up, and he saw the problem at a glance – the bomb trajectory was off by 0.3 degrees. The attack path that was supposed to be perfectly folded was now heading straight for the power substation in the city center.
“No compensation for the Coriolis force?” He slapped his forehead. “The Earth is still spinning. I forgot to add the rotation correction term.”
Before he could finish his words, the second bomb was approaching the atmosphere.
He raised his hand and drew a line in the air, and a formula appeared out of thin air: “Add a minus sign, multiply the rotational speed by the sine of the latitude, and then apply a rotational coordinate transformation – there you have it.”
With a push of his hand, the formula was directly embedded into the shield core.
The next second, the second bomb hit the shield and was instantly drawn into the nested vector circulations, as if it was stuffed into a maze that it could never get out of. It was eventually compressed into a bright spot and silently annihilated with a “pop”.
“It’s done.” Lin Shang grinned. “Newton can’t control me, but he has to respect his apprentice.”
With the third missile still on the way, he casually pulled up the 3D model of the city, ready to record the data. But as soon as he clicked on the stress distribution map, the alarm went off.
“Lin En!” Cheng Yaowen’s voice popped up from the communicator, “There’s a problem on the surface over there!”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s cracked! The kind with a circle in the middle!”
Lin En switched to the satellite view, and his pupils shrank – a circular crack suddenly appeared on the ground in the center of Tianhe City, its shape resembling the projection of a Klein bottle. The buildings on the edge were slightly distorted, as if someone had rubbed a corner of it with an eraser.
“Oh no.” He touched his chin. “It’s folded too far.”
He immediately started a vector vision scan and found that the shield curvature overflowed, causing the local space tensor to be unbalanced, and a micro-topological defect was forcibly “pressed” into the earth’s crust.
“If this continues, the citizens will think the city government is building a subway tunnel.” He muttered, and quickly called up the buffer layer protocol, superimposing a layer of reverse stress field on the outside of the shield, like adding a hoop to a bloated balloon.
After a few seconds, the cracks slowly closed and the twisted building returned to its original position.
“Done.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Next time, add the constraint of ‘don’t deform the Earth.'”
“You call this a military exercise?” Cheng Yaowen sneered on the other end of the line. “Are you performing a city facelift, or a skull reshaping?”
“Next time I’ll give you a symmetrical face,” Lin Shang retorted. “Do you want me to remove your eye bags as well?”
“Go away.” Cheng Yaowen hung up the phone.
Lin Shang was about to turn off the surveillance when his eye suddenly twitched.
On the energy spectrum graph, a weak pulse flashed by. The frequency was extremely low, but the waveform structure… looked a little familiar.
He immediately intercepted the signal and used vector manipulation to break down the frequency bands, peeling away the noise layer by layer. Three seconds later, his pupils narrowed slightly—the pulse contained an encrypted sequence, its symbol structure nearly identical to the one he had traced with his fingertips last night.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “I didn’t write it, but it knows me.”
He quickly blocked the data stream, marked it as a high-risk observation signal, and activated the “false signal bait” program, sending a meaningless vector noise in the opposite direction of the pulse source. The frequency jumped randomly, as if a fool was sending a random telegram.
“Let me show you some fun first.” He sneered.
Just as I closed the bait interface, the wormhole in the laboratory exploded again.
Du Qiangwei came in with a tactical tablet in hand, her brow furrowed so tightly that it could kill a mosquito: “The energy fluctuation you just released has been locked by the void coordinates.”
“I know.” Lin En didn’t even look up. “I’ve already fed some junk data back.”
“Rubbish?” Du Qiangwei threw the tablet in front of him. “Carl’s observation network has been activated. Three seconds ago, there was a signal jump in the direction of Fraser.”
Lin En glanced at the data and nodded: “He saw it.”
“Why don’t you shut down the system?”
“Who’s going to show it to him if we turn it off?” He laughed. “If we turn it off now, it’s like telling him we’re scared. If we keep it on now, all he sees is fake news—I just sent him a vector code of ‘Earthlings playing mahjong every day.’ If he actually tries to decode it, it’ll take him until next year.”
Du Qiangwei stared at him: “Aren’t you afraid that he will follow the signal and come here?”
“Touch?” Lin En raised his hand and summoned the shield energy flow. “If he really dares to project a physical object, I’ll put him in a Klein bottle and let him walk around. Let him experience what it means to ‘turn left when you go out, or turn left when you go out.'”
Du Qiangwei was silent for two seconds, then suddenly asked, “When you repaired the shield just now, did you use the Heart-Scorching Light Scale Anchor?”
“right.”
“How long can the things she left behind last?”
Lin En touched the interface on the console: “Let’s see the ‘shelf life’ she gave it. Anyway, it can still be used now.”
“What if it breaks?”
“Then find another anchor point.” He shrugged. “At worst, I can write the seasoning packet from my instant noodles into the defense protocol. It’s also a sacrifice for science.”
Du Qiangwei rolled her eyes: “Are you really not afraid of death?”
“I’m afraid.” He pushed up his glasses. “But I’m more afraid of making a mistake in the calculation. Death isn’t scary, but humiliation is.”
Du Qiangwei was about to retort when the alarm sounded again.
“Ready for the third round of simulated attack.” The system prompt sounded, “Antimatter bombs x5, trajectory locked.”
Lin Shang sat up straight: “Come on, let them see what ‘folding porcelain’ means.”
He raised his hands, vectoring the power grid across the entire city. The shield deployed again, and the Klein bottle structure slowly rotated, a faint golden halo emanating from its edges.
Five red dots swooped down from the sky at an extremely fast speed.
The first one hit the shield and was instantly folded into a point of light.
The second and third ones were annihilated one after another.
The fourth coin’s trajectory was slightly off, but Lin En moved his fingers slightly, and with a light push of the vector field, he forcibly bent it back to the folded path.
As the fifth missile entered the atmosphere, it suddenly accelerated and its trajectory began to shake irregularly.
Lin En’s eyes narrowed: “No, this is not an analog signal.”
He immediately called up the real radar data – no target.
“It’s data plane interference,” he whispered. “Someone’s tampering with the simulation parameters.”
Du Qiangwei immediately switched to the firewall interface: “The system has been implanted with a remote control protocol, and the source… has been blocked.”
“No need to check.” Lin En laughed coldly, “It’s that ‘I wrote it but it wasn’t written by me’ thing that’s doing it.”
With a flick of his mind, the vector field sliced ​​directly into the underlying data, like a scalpel precisely peeling away the interference code. But as soon as he cut off one section, another was instantly revived from the backup area.
“You’re quite tenacious.” He narrowed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll add an ‘indestructible loop’ for you.”
He drew a formula in the air and injected it directly into the system’s core. The interference code was instantly dragged into an infinite recursion, spinning in place, unable to move.
“Fifth, keep going.” He recalibrated the shield.
The bomb hit the force field and folded successfully.
“Test completed,” the system prompts. “Defense success rate: 98.7%. Residual spatial distortion: 0.3%. System stability: Good.”
Lin Shang breathed a sigh of relief and was about to take off his glasses to wipe them when his fingertips suddenly felt numb.
He lowered his head and found that another arc was slowly emerging on the surface of the console, automatically glowing and twisting into that familiar symbol.
“Again?” He sneered and raised his hand, pressing down the vector field, ready to clear it again.
But this time, the symbol didn’t explode.
It rested steadily on the table, trembling slightly, as if waiting for a response.
Lin Shang’s hand stopped in mid-air.
Du Qiangwei stared at the symbol and lowered her voice: “What is it doing?”
Lin En didn’t say anything.
He stared at the light and suddenly discovered that the direction of rotation of the symbol was completely opposite to the Klein bottle structure in his pupil.
Chapter 60: Evolvable Super Genes (Old Version)
Lin En’s finger paused in mid-air, the vector field pressing down on the glowing symbol, but it didn’t crush it outright like last time. This time, it didn’t explode, nor did it disperse. It simply glowed steadily, its rotation direction being the exact opposite of the Klein bottle structure in his pupils, like two twisting strands of dough.
“It’s not a virus, nor is it interference.” He muttered, turning his fingertips and wrapping it with a counter-rotating micromagnetic field. “Are you… responding to me?”
The symbol vibrated slightly, its frequency suddenly resonating with the antique black box in the corner of the lab. Lin En raised an eyebrow, walked over, dragged the black box out, and connected it to the reader. In the data stream that popped up on the screen, a waveform that perfectly matched the symbol’s structure was striking.
“Good boy, you’re bringing your relatives along?” he said as he imported the symbolic data into the gene template file from Chapter 55. As soon as it was inserted, the previously static helical chain model suddenly moved, as if electrified, folding and reorganizing itself at an ever-increasing speed, eventually forming a dynamic closed loop that seemed to come alive.
“Not bad, you’re pretty good at self-upgrading.” Lin En pushed his glasses. “It seems I wasn’t invaded last night, but… fed?”
He immediately retrieved the backup log from the training cabin and compared it with the data from the self-transformation in Chapter 57. He discovered that at the moment his consciousness was about to collapse, a similar reverse rotational fluctuation had occurred in the recombination path of the gene chain—exactly the same rhythm as the current symbol.
“So you came at that time?” He laughed. “I thought I was too aggressive and burned myself.”
As he was speaking, the communication panel lit up and Cheng Yaowen’s face popped up: “Director Lin, the top management’s emergency meeting will start in ten minutes. Du Qiangwei said that if you don’t come, she will drag you through the wormhole.”
“Got it.” Lin Entang turned off the screen and packed up the latest evolutionary data of the genetic template. “It’s just right, time to open everyone’s eyes.”
In the conference room, representatives from the United Earth Command sat in a circle. He Xi also stood next to the projection area, his silver armor gleaming with a cold light. When Lin En entered, he was holding a USB flash drive that looked exactly like the ones you’d see for ten bucks at the supermarket.
“Is this what you call a major breakthrough?” someone frowned.
“Yes.” Lin Entang inserted the USB drive into the main console. “Don’t underestimate its cheapness. It contains the instruction manual that will allow you to evolve from a ‘carbon-based worker’ to an ‘energy-based free man’.”
The projection unfolded, and the three-dimensional model of the genetic template slowly rotated. Lin Entropy pointed to the core position: “This is what I discovered last night. It turns out that this thing is not dead code, it can evolve. As long as it receives an external signal of a specific frequency, it will automatically reorganize, increasing efficiency by 37% and doubling its anti-interference ability.”
“Where is the signal coming from?” He Xi asked in a low voice, but the whole room fell silent.
“It’s still uncertain at the moment,” Lin En spoke frankly. “But what’s certain is that it’s not the technology of the Shenhe civilization, nor is it the conventional coding from the void. It’s more like… a feedback mechanism. I move, and it responds, but in the opposite direction.”
“Reverse coupling?” He Xi narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of parasitic logic?”
“If it were truly parasitic, I would have been transformed into a square-dancing robot by now.” Lin Entang shrugged. “I did a test. This signal only activates the evolution module and doesn’t write any control instructions. It doesn’t command me, it just… pushes me.”
As he spoke, he called up the black box’s resonance data and played it side by side with the gene template’s response curve. The two waveforms meshed perfectly, like gears clenching together.
“Look, every time a signal appears, the gene chain briefly rotates in reverse, then completes a transitional fold. What does this mean? It means it’s not attacking the system; it’s helping it upgrade.”
The conference room was silent.
He Xi stared at the data for a full minute, then suddenly asked, “How do you plan to verify it?”
“Simple.” Lin En opened the simulation interface of the incubator. “Take a portion of real void energy and inject it into the sample to see if it can adapt and optimize its structure autonomously. If successful, it means this template has the potential to become an ‘evolvable super gene.'”
“What if we fail?”
“That means there’s something wrong with the instant noodles I ate last night. I’ll go back and recalculate.”
No one laughed. But the process had begun.
Inside the incubator, a small amount of void energy brought back from Fraser was slowly injected into the genetic sample. Everyone stared at the screen, breathing softly.
At first there was no movement.
Three seconds later, the gene chain suddenly began to rotate in the opposite direction, faster and faster, and the structure folded layer by layer, finally forming a topological network that was three times more complex than the first-generation template.
“It’s done.” Lin En grinned, “Not only can this thing withstand void pollution, it can also be eaten as a tonic.”
The conference room exploded.
Some people shouted, “This must be blocked immediately,” some shouted, “It must be put into mass production immediately,” and some directly asked, “Who can be the first batch of transformations?”
Lin Shang was about to speak when Reina kicked open the door of the conference room. Her red hair was draped over her shoulders, her star robe was not even properly put on, and she was holding a half-empty can of Coke in her hand.
“Stop arguing.” She put the Coke on the table. “I’ll do it.”
Everyone was stunned.
“Are you sure?” Lin En frowned. “This is no joke. Last time, I almost tore myself apart into Lego.”
“If you can do it, why can’t I?” Reina threw her coat away, revealing the tight protective suit underneath. “Besides, if you ruin me, I can just burn myself to ashes with a solar flare to save myself from taking up space in the cemetery.”
Lin Shang opened his mouth but no words came out.
Reina had already walked to the incubator, opened the door, and lay down inside. She also stuffed the Coke into Lin Shang’s hand and said, “Please keep an eye on me. If I turn into a luminous jellyfish, remember to take a picture of me and post it on WeChat Moments.”
The hatch closed and the procedure started.
Lin En stood in front of the console, his finger paused on the start button for a few seconds, and finally pressed it.
The culture medium was injected, and the gene template began to be released. Everyone stared at the vital signs screen with bated breath.
Ten seconds later, abnormal fluctuations appeared on the monitoring chart – the gene chain began to rotate in the opposite direction.
Exactly the same symbol as the one on the console last night.
Lin En’s pupils shrank slightly, and he immediately switched to vector vision. On a microscopic level, he saw the genetic helix folding in the opposite direction at high speed. With each rotation, the structure became more stable, and the energy absorption efficiency increased dramatically.
“She’s adapting…” he whispered, “and faster than the specimen.”
He Xi stood aside and suddenly said, “This evolutionary pattern violates all known laws of genetic engineering. It’s not linear enhancement, it’s… a leaping mutation.”
“Yes.” Lin En stared at the screen. “It’s like you wrote a basic program, and it learned to write new code on its own.”
“This isn’t transformation anymore.” He Xi lowered her voice a bit, “This is creation.”
Inside the cabin, Reina’s body glowed slightly, with faint golden lines appearing beneath her skin, as if light were flowing through her veins. Her breathing was steady, and there was even a smile on her lips.
Lin Entang watched the data stream scrolling rapidly, and suddenly remembered something. He called up the original frequency of the symbol from last night and quietly superimposed it into the gene activation sequence.
Instantly, the evolution speed increased by 42%.
“Sure enough…” He smiled, “You’re not here to cause trouble, you’re here to be a coach.”
Reina suddenly opened her eyes in the cabin and blinked her right eye at him through the glass.
The next second, her voice came through the communicator: “Xiao Linzi, this feels… like taking a hot spring bath. It’s just a little itchy, like there are little ants tap dancing in the cracks between your bones.”
Just as Lin En was about to reply, a message suddenly popped up on the monitoring screen:
[Gene chain segment 37 completes its first autonomous mutation, new structure named: Entropy Alpha]This structure does not exist in the previous template at all.
It was Reina’s body, changing the code by itself.
“Newton couldn’t control me,” he murmured, “but now, even I can’t control myself.”
He Xi walked up to him and lowered her voice: “How many people do you plan to let undergo this transformation?”
“No rush.” ​​Lin En stared at the evolving gene chain on the screen. “We need to first figure out who sent this ‘coach’. And—”
He paused, looking at the golden light flowing beneath Reina’s skin, “What does it want us to become.”
Reina suddenly raised her hand and drew a smiley face on the cabin glass.
The next second, a faint light flashed in her pupils, and the direction of rotation was exactly the same as Lin En’s.
Chapter 61: Taotie Vanguard’s Raid (Old Version)
Before the smiling face that Reina drew on the glass faded, Lin En’s pupils were already fixed on the red dot that flashed by in the upper right corner of the monitoring screen.
That was not a false alarm from the system, but an emergency mark from the Tianren No. 7 orbital radar, with coordinates pointing directly to 300 kilometers above Tianhe City.
“Didn’t you say there are still three minutes left?” He grabbed the black-framed glasses next to the console. As soon as he put on the lenses, his vector vision exploded – the flow rate of air molecules in the entire sky suddenly changed, and the curvature of space folded in reverse, as if someone used the universe as plasticine and forcibly twisted a hole in it.
The wormhole opened.
It wasn’t a natural opening, nor a conventional transition, but rather a forced “reverse topological tearing” by some high-dimensional algorithm. Lin Entang recognized it immediately; it was identical to the reverse rotation of the gene chain in Reina’s body last night, but in the opposite direction and with even greater force, like a test question aimed at him.
“Come on, and attack me?” He swiped his finger across the control panel, and a vector model of the city’s power grid popped up instantly. “Do you think I’m the cafeteria lady who can shake my hands?”
Before he finished speaking, three black warships slid out from the edge of the wormhole, their hulls covered in jagged lines, like metal skeletons corroded by acid. Just as Lin En was about to retrieve the identification code, his vector vision suddenly caught sight of something unusual—those lines weren’t decorative at all.
It is a symbol.
The Shenhe symbol, which had the exact same resonance frequency as the black box, was slowly rotating counterclockwise, as if mocking his discovery last night.
“Good boy, you’re still bringing homework?” He sneered, and with a push of his finger, the city’s power supply system activated. Cables levitated vertically, electromagnetic fields interwoven into a web, and the prototype of a shield outlined a Klein bottle in the air.
The first orbital bombardment hit the shield, and the energy flow was instantly folded into a ring, dissipating into a circle of blue light.
“I held on.” He had just breathed a sigh of relief when the edge of the shield suddenly shook.
In vector vision, the symbolic frequency of the warship’s hull countered the “entropy vortex alpha” model of the shield’s core, one positive and one negative, like two generators connected in reverse. The shield began to partially lose stability, and the current flowed wildly.
“I understand. You are here to dismantle my circuit.” Lin En gritted his teeth and used his mind to forcibly calibrate the shield frequency in reverse, changing the forward rotation to the reverse rotation, thus neutralizing the repulsion effect.
The shield holds steady.
But at this moment, there was a loud explosion on the communication channel.
“Lin En! My wormhole coordinates have been tampered with!”
It’s Du Qiangwei.
Lin Cheng turned his head and looked up into the sky. He saw a purple wormhole twisting, its edges caving inward as if pinched by invisible hands. Du Qiangwei was stuck at the exit, half of her body already squeezed out, the remaining half still being squeezed by space.
“Who did this?” he roared.
“I don’t know! The algorithm has embedded a fake gravity well, and I can’t get out!”
Lin En narrowed his eyes, his vector vision instantly switching to a higher-dimensional mode. He saw that the wormhole’s topology had been crammed with a stream of false data, like pouring cement into a gear, instantly locking the stability point.
But the problem is – if he tears the wormhole directly, the spatial structure of the entire city will collapse.
“We need to find an anchor point…” A thought flashed through his mind, and he remembered the reverse rotation frequency when Reina evolved.
“Since you guys used reverse topology to tear the hole, I’ll use reverse rotation to screw it back.”
He closed his eyes, fitted Reina’s genetic reverse rotation model into the wormhole distortion equation, and deduced the only stable exit within three seconds.
The next second, he tapped the ground with his toes, launching an anti-gravity leap. He seemed to be hauled skyward by an invisible thread. A Klein bottle trajectory was traced through the air, and with a flick of his arm, the vector field forcibly carved a path of escape through the collapsing space.
“Du Qiangwei! Jump!”
She didn’t hesitate and jumped.
Lin En stretched out his hand and just as his fingertips touched her wrist, the entire space shook violently—the wormhole completely collapsed, and the shock wave exploded.
He immediately reset the momentum of both of them to zero, then applied a rotational torque in the opposite direction, using himself as the axis, and threw Du Qiangwei into a safe zone.
But the shock wave is still spreading.
Lin Shang glanced and found that the second wave of railgun fire had locked onto the center of the city and would land within three seconds.
“The shield won’t deploy in time… we need to move.”
He gritted his teeth and pressed hard into the air with both hands, pushing the vector sum of the city’s power grid to its limit and forcibly deflecting the city’s gravity field by 180 degrees.
The ground began to spin.
Buildings, streets, streetlights—everything seemed to be lifted up and turned over by a giant invisible hand. Citizens felt a lightness beneath their feet, and the next second, they saw the sky become “ground,” and the original ground was pressing down on their heads.
“Urban Dance” starts.
The shells missed and hit the spinning afterimage of the city, creating a sea of ​​fire.
The real Tianhe City was hanging in the air with its head tilted, like a globe that had been bent crooked by an elementary school student.
“Huh…” Lin En landed on one knee, blood trickling down his nose from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve calculated this wave, but my brain wasn’t good enough.”
Du Qiangwei lay on the ground, her tactical vest smoking and her hair a mess. “You…you turned the city around?”
“What else?” He wiped the blood from his nose. “Wait until they hit the core area before crying?”
She was about to speak when her eyes suddenly widened: “Behind you!”
Lin En instinctively turned sideways, and a dark red energy beam flew past his shoulder, vaporizing half of the building behind him.
Looking up, I saw that the three Taotie warships had approached low altitude at some point. Their main guns were recharging and the symbols on the muzzles were spinning faster.
“Come again?” Lin En sneered and raised his hand to push the vector field again.
But at this moment, his pupils shrank.
A metal plate slowly descended from the bottom of the battleship, engraved with a completely new set of symbols. It wasn’t Shenhe script, nor was it Void Code, but rather a formula he had never seen before, yet inexplicably familiar.
The first term of that formula was exactly the same as the genetic correction term he had written on the console last night.
“This is impossible…” he muttered, “I didn’t even save the file, who copied my homework?”
Du Qiangwei got up, panting: “Do you recognize this thing?”
“More than just knowing.” He stared at the formula, his fingers trembling slightly. “This is a rough draft I wrote on the spur of the moment. I didn’t even change the name. How did they get it?”
Before she could finish her words, the battleship suddenly emitted a low-frequency vibration, and the symbols began to rotate synchronously, with a frequency completely opposite to the “entropy vortex α” in Reina’s body.
Lin En felt as if a reverse-running engine was stuffed into his brain, and his temples were throbbing.
“They’re using my model… to reverse engineer my abilities.” He gritted his teeth. “This isn’t a raid, it’s a test.”
Du Qiangwei was stunned: “What test?”
“Testing to see if I can crack their algorithm.” He wiped his face and stared up at the battleship. “What’s worse is that they already know what I’ve discovered.”
The communicator suddenly rang, and Cheng Yaowen’s voice was tinged with noise: “Director Lin! The satellite has captured a second wave of wormholes, ten times larger than the previous one!”
“Is it never going to end?” Du Qiangwei cursed.
Lin En didn’t say anything. He drew a counter-rotating trajectory in the air with his finger and muttered to himself, “Since you want to see how I solve the problem…”
He looked up sharply, his vector vision fully open.
“Then I’ll write the answer in the sky.”
He pushed with both hands, and the city shield unfolded again, but this time it was no longer a Klein bottle, but a huge vector formula that hung in the air, shining brightly like a billboard.
That was the genetic correction item he had written down last night.
“Come on,” he grinned, blood dripping from his nose onto his white coat, “let’s see who copies who.”
The battleship’s gun barrel paused slightly.
Chapter 62: The Void Energy Pool’s Rampage (Old Version)
Lin Tang’s right hand was still stuck in mid-air, the aftershocks of the city’s gravity lingering in his palm. He had just straightened Tianheshi’s crooked neck when blood from his nose began to flow down his chin, dripping onto his white coat like a drop of red ink.
His left hand instinctively pinched his brow, his brain buzzing like three centrifuges running simultaneously. He didn’t have time to wipe the blood. With a flick of his finger, he severed all the shield’s power lines, then turned and threw the computing power to the ground.
“Don’t act crazy at this time…”
Before he could finish his words, the lab floor shook violently, the alarms barely blaring as it exploded. The ceiling lighting module crackled and exploded with sparks, and a low-pitched humming sound came from underground, like a giant beast thrashing about in the earth.
Vector Vision automatically activated, and Lin En immediately spotted the familiar purple glow beneath the ground—the Void Energy Pool had lost control. Stabilizing rings on the pool’s walls exploded one after another, and energy streams, like a wild horse, rushed along the cables toward the main control system.
“No way! We just defeated the foreign enemies, and you’re plotting a coup from within?” He gritted his teeth, his left hand slamming on the control panel, forcibly transferring the remaining dispatching authority of the city’s power grid to the underground stability protocol. His right leg gave way, and his knee slammed to the ground, a dull thud.
He took a breath, staring at the data stream in his vector vision. The problem lay at the bottom of the pool—the fragment removed from the black box was resonating with the void coordinates, the frequency increasing, forming a self-excited loop.
“It’s you again, Old Six…” He cursed under his breath, drawing a reverse capacitance pattern in the air with his finger. “The mines planted in Chapter 47 should explode now.”
His muscles tensed as he activated the remote activation command for the “bioelectric node.” The thirty unfortunate individuals he’d dragged along for data measurement had become life-saving buffer capacitors. The current was instantly diverted, and the rising energy curve suddenly shifted, temporarily suppressing it.
But before he could breathe a sigh of relief, the air above his head suddenly twisted.
A holographic projection slowly emerged, showing a man in a retro robe standing with his hands behind his back, his eyes as calm as if he was giving a math class.
“Lin En, your entropy reduction reaction has been locked.”
Lin Shang’s eyelids jumped. “Karl? You turned on the projector pretty quickly. Isn’t the WiFi signal lagging?”
Carl ignored the teasing and said in a low voice, “Every time you call upon your power, you are injecting order into the void. And order is the nourishment we need most.”
Lin Shang sneered: “So you stole my draft just to use it as a power bank?”
“No.” Carl raised his hand, his fingertips running across a formula. “We are replicating your evolutionary path. Every correction term you write is a key to a higher dimension.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Lin En’s vision blurred, and the vector lines in his field of vision began to shift. The once clear formulas seemed to have been soaked in water, constantly distorting and rearranging. He immediately realized that this was cognitive interference, the other party was directly attacking his calculation model.
“Glasses are useless.” He ripped off the frame, and a crack ran from left to right through the lens. “Anyway, I can still count with my eyes closed.”
He closed his eyes, and vector control shifted to “blind calculation” mode. Muscle memory automatically simulated the flow of electromagnetic fields, and neural circuits reconstructed the energy trajectory. There was no light, no color, only pure force and direction deduced in his mind.
“The center of the pool… the source of the signal is in the center of the pool.” He opened his eyes, his pupils locked on the center of the energy pool.
He needed to sever the connection now, but the normal blocking procedures would be overwhelmed. He had to buy time.
With a flick of his finger, he retrieved the remaining data from Du Qiangwei’s previous wormhole. That girl always loves opening random channels; at least she’d leave something behind. He plugged the spacetime wrinkle parameters into the delay algorithm, forcing out a 0.3-second window.
“That’s enough.” He grabbed the access lever next to the console and rushed to the energy pool.
Just as I ran to the edge of the pool, there was a loud noise behind me.
Ge Xiaolun broke through the protective door and rushed in, the Xiongxin module flashing red light on his chest.
“Lin En! I’ll cut off the signal!”
“Are you blind?” Lin En turned around and roared, “This is not a USB drive!”
But before he could finish his words, Ge Xiaolun had already smashed the Xiongxin into the connection at the edge of the pool.
The next second, purple light exploded.
The surface of the energy pool was like boiling asphalt, and a purple vortex suddenly surged up, swallowing Ge Xiaolun directly. The light of the male core turned from red to an eerie purple-black, and began to extract the data stream in reverse.
Lin En’s pupils shrank – that was not an ordinary backflow, but a sign that the neural connection was being assimilated by the void.
“You’re a fucking pro at saving the day, always picking the worst possible time!” He tossed the access rod aside and rushed into the energy storm.
He grabbed Ge Xiaolun’s wrist with his left hand and activated vector control instantly. He forced all energy flow in the opponent’s body to zero, clearing all momentum and even reducing his heartbeat to the lowest level.
But the purple light continued to spread, crawling along the male core towards his arm.
“Okay, you want to suck it, right?” Lin En gritted his teeth, and suddenly extended his right hand. The formula of the Klein bottle structure took shape in his palm. “Then I’ll give you an infinitely recycling trash can.”
He used himself as a conductor, channeling the raging energy underground. The bioelectric node network instantly activated, and thirty distributed drainage channels opened simultaneously. The energy rushed into the underground pipe network like a flood, being broken down layer by layer.
The purple light on Ge Xiaolun’s body faded away little by little, and the male core returned to red light, but was still trembling slightly.
Lin Shang knelt on one knee, his hands supporting the ground. Blood from his nose dripped onto the floor, mixing with the blood from the previous drop. He gasped and looked up at the bottom of the pool.
After the purple light faded, a line of inscriptions appeared on the stone slab at the bottom of the pool – Shenhe characters.
“Your entropy reduction is the nourishment of the void.”
He stared at the line of words for five seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud.
“Hey guys, I evolve once and you guys get a buffet?”
Footsteps were heard from the corridor, and Du Qiangwei rushed in, her tactical vest still smoking.
“Lin En! How are you——”
“Don’t let Reina near the lab.” He interrupted her, his voice hoarse like sandpaper grinding iron.
Du Qiangwei was stunned: “Why?”
“My ability.” He slowly stood up and wiped the blood from his face. “It’s being used in the opposite way.”
With that, he turned and walked to the main console, rapidly typing a series of commands on the panel. The laboratory’s alloy door began to close, and all external data interfaces automatically fused.
Du Qiangwei rushed forward: “What are you doing?”
“Self-locking.” He didn’t even turn around. “Next thing, there can’t be any external ports.”
“Are you crazy? Locking yourself in?”
“I’m not crazy.” He stared at the last countdown on the screen. “I just need to figure out, when I evolve next time, will I be getting stronger, or will I be buffing my enemies?”
Du Qiangwei reached out to pull him: “You can’t–“
Lin En dodged sideways and pressed the final confirmation button.
With a “ding” sound, all the lights went out, and only the underground energy pool was still emitting a faint purple light.
Du Qiangwei stood outside the door and saw through the observation window that he took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeves, and then put them back on slowly.
Then he raised his hand and drew a new formula in the air with his fingertips.
The moment the formula was formed, the fragments at the bottom of the pool suddenly vibrated slightly.
Lin En grinned, as if he was laughing.
His fingers moved again, and the formula began to reorganize.
Chapter 63: Rewritten Klein Formula (Old Version)
Lin En’s fingers were still suspended in mid-air. The fragment of the formula burned like a piece of red-hot iron, numbing his fingertips. But he didn’t retract it. Instead, he thrust it forward, pressing the entire formula hard into the cracks of the underground energy pool.
The entire lab shook violently, not with an explosion or a collapse, but with something far stranger awakening. The electrical grid beneath the floor seemed to come alive, and purple energy climbed up along the cables, over the control consoles, across the ceiling, and finally erupted from the vents, shooting straight into the sky.
He blinked, and a field of red and blue interlaced lines exploded in his vector vision – the city’s power supply system was being reversed, every wire became an energy conduit, and every building became an energy storage station.
“Good fellow, I brought you down here to keep you quiet, not to integrate the urban and rural power grids.”
Just as he finished speaking, a low rumble echoed from outside the window. Lin Cheng turned his head and saw that the office buildings in Tianhe City were floating up one after another, as if being lifted off the ground by invisible hands by the neck, hanging crookedly in the air, like a row of building blocks messed up by a naughty child.
“This is truly a city matrix now.” He scratched his head, “and it’s a floating version.”
But he didn’t panic. Instead, he grinned.
Because he saw something that others could not see – in the vector vision, every floating building was strung together by invisible lines of force, and the direction of those lines of force was exactly the same as the Klein bottle formula he had just drawn.
“So it’s not a shield…” He slammed the table, “It’s a space-folding fuse!”
One moment he was worried about the backlash of the void energy, the next he was delighted. Carl was right, his abilities were indeed being exploited. But the question was – who said that being exploited couldn’t be used as a wrench?
“You want to use me as a power bank? Sure.” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his sleeve. “But my power bank charges with reverse current.”
He put his glasses back on, his pupils constricted, and vector control fully engaged. Thirty bioelectric nodes instantly connected, the neural synchronization rate of thirty super soldiers was stretched to the limit, and computing power rushed into his brain like a flood.
“Come on, let’s have a big one.”
With a sweep of his hands, he disassembled the closed Klein bottle structure and then reassembled it. The two-dimensional surface was stretched into three dimensions, and the closed topology became a recursive fold, like folding a piece of paper repeatedly in half until an infinite path was formed.
“This used to be a bullet stopper,” he muttered to himself as he deduced. “Now it’s a pinball machine.”
The moment the formula took shape, the suspended buildings paused, then began to slowly rotate. Not randomly, but in a precise rhythm, nesting inside each other like gears meshing, forming a massive Möbius strip.
Lin En stood in the center of the laboratory, looked up at the folded city outside the window, and smiled like a middle school student who had just finished a prank.
“Newton can’t control me, and neither can you, Carl.”
He raised his hand and clenched it, and the city matrix closed instantly.
In the distance, three Taotie vanguard warships were plunging into the atmosphere at high speed. Their hulls were engraved with the same Shenhe symbol as the black box, and their rotational direction was completely opposite to Lin En’s formula. But the moment they entered the suspension zone, the curvature of space suddenly twisted. As if they had crashed into a maze with no exit, the warships began to bounce repeatedly across an infinitely curved surface.
The first ship’s hull was torn apart by its own kinetic energy; the second ship’s engine exploded due to overload; the third ship was simply stuck in the folded space, stuck between two buildings, like a trapped cockroach.
Lin En looked at the three rapidly extinguished energy signals in the data stream and nodded with satisfaction: “I’ve calculated this wave, and the error is no more than 0.3 degrees.”
But at this moment, the air above his head trembled, and Carl’s holographic projection appeared again, still with the expression of teaching mathematics.
“Lin En, you are just using my energy to create dreams.” He said calmly, “Order will eventually return to the void. Your resistance is only a delay.”
Lin En glanced at him and smiled: “You taught me about entropy increase, but I chose to write about entropy decrease.”
With a flick of his finger, he changed the core formula from “energy conservation” to “vector recursion.” The city structure began to iterate, each round of folding generating new paths, new force fields, and new collision possibilities.
“You said I was a power bank?” he said as he adjusted the parameters, “but you forgot—my power bank has its own inverter.”
Carl’s projection began to distort, like an old TV with a bad signal.
“You can’t… rewrite the topology of space…”
“I can’t change the laws of the universe.” Lin En raised his hand and pointed, “But I can change your application scenarios.”
Before he could finish his words, the last battleship completely disintegrated in the infinite folding, turning into data dust. Carl’s projection was swept away by the vector storm. In the last frame, his lips moved, as if he wanted to say something.
Lin Shang didn’t hear clearly and didn’t care.
He turned and walked to the console, calling up Reina’s stellar energy frequency curve. Purple void remnants and golden solar flares collided on the screen, their frequencies misaligned, and they couldn’t merge at all.
“Almost…” He frowned, “How close?”
Suddenly, a picture popped up in his mind – a barbecue stall, cumin seeds jumping around in the high temperature, and the Brownian motion trajectory of oil droplets as they exploded.
“That’s right!” He slapped his thigh, “Particle disturbance!”
He immediately remotely accessed the city broadcast system and pressed the full-band broadcast button.
“Attention all residents! An emergency scientific experiment is now underway,” he said rapidly. “Please immediately activate the kitchen exhaust fan at full power for three minutes. This isn’t a drill; this is a plan to generate an aurora.”
Five minutes later, countless tiny smoke particles rose above the entire city, suspended in the atmosphere like an invisible filter.
Lin Entropy called out the frequency calibration model, using the particle disturbance as a natural modulation array to correct the phase difference of the energy wave bit by bit.
“Come on, Reina, it’s your turn.”
Thousands of miles away, Reina was lying on the observation platform of the Fiery Sun Star, eating an apple. When she heard the command in the communicator, she threw away the apple core and turned over and sat up.
“Xiao Linzi, what are you up to?”
“aurora.”
“That’s it?”
“Global.”
Reina smiled, stood up, and raised her hands. A cluster of miniature stars formed in her palms. She pushed gently, and a stream of energy poured out like the Milky Way, heading straight for Earth.
The moment the solar flare made contact with the city’s shield, the particle array began to resonate, its frequency perfectly aligned. A stream of light spread through the folded space, spreading from Tianhe City across the country before bursting through the atmosphere, staining half the night sky red.
The auroras cascaded across the globe.
Lin Shang stood in front of the window, looking at the brilliant sea of ​​light, and couldn’t help humming a song.
“Equipping the city with science, the first step is complete.”
He was feeling proud when he suddenly noticed something unusual on the edge of the shield – the vector direction of a certain force line was off by 0.1 degrees, as if it had been gently pushed by something.
He narrowed his eyes and called up the local data stream.
There was no attack signal, no energy fluctuation, only an extremely weak feedback loop, like… some kind of response.
“Interesting.” He said softly, “Do you want to try it?”
He raised his hand and drew the formula in the air again.
But this time, he didn’t finish the painting.
Because just as the last stroke was about to close, the formula suddenly moved on its own – the end curled up slightly, as if it was taken over by another invisible hand and continued to be written.
His formula was continued by someone else.
Chapter 64: Angel Yan’s Silver Brand (Old Version)
Lin Tang’s hand was still suspended in mid-air, his fingertips an inch from the remnant of the self-continuing formula. He didn’t move, even his breathing was extremely low, as if he was afraid of disturbing any who might be watching.
In the vector vision, the Klein bottle recursive structure that originally belonged to him actually had a small spiral convergence at the end – as if someone had used a pen to casually add a period on his homework book and also gave it a “good” grade.
“The wave frequency encoded by the photon…” He narrowed his eyes. “This is too clean a move to be something a madman like Carl could pull off.”
With a flick of his finger, he split the continuation into a data stream and threw it into his memory bank, automatically comparing it. A few seconds later, without even a beep, he knew the answer.
“Angel inscription?”
He grinned, but didn’t laugh. Instead, he spread his palms into the air and reversely deduced a pseudo-formula with a logical dead loop – the kind with a self-destructive trap, specially designed to cure all kinds of screen-voyeurism.
“Now that you’re here, don’t just look, let’s calculate this.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the aurora above his head suddenly stopped.
It wasn’t extinguished, nor was it distorted. Instead, it was as if something had gently flicked it, and the entire light curtain shifted neatly half a degree to the right, as if the universe itself had yawned.
Immediately afterwards, silver light fell from the sky.
It wasn’t an explosion, nor a shockwave. Instead, it was like someone measuring the distance with a ruler, precisely creating a gap three meters in front of Lin En. A slit of light opened, and a figure stepped out, his cape cascading like a molten galaxy.
Lin Shang didn’t retreat, but took a half step forward, his glasses reflecting the light: “Did you write that just now?”
The visitor stopped, her silver armor reflecting the aurora, and a nebula slowly swirled in her pupils. She took in the suspended city, the folded space, the still-smoking remains of the Taotie, and finally her gaze fell on Lin Cheng’s face.
“Your vector topology has touched the red line of Shenhe civilization.” She said calmly, as if reading an experimental report.
“Red line?” Lin Shang shrugged. “I even run red lights all the time, so why would I be afraid of red lines?”
She didn’t respond, but simply raised her hand, and a drop of golden liquid condensed from her fingertips. It hovered in the air, slowly spinning, and finally transformed into a rune, shaped like a paper crane folded seven times.
“Sign it,” she said, “Kesha allows you to access the angel gene pool and complete your ability carrier.”
Lin En stared at the blood contract, but didn’t reach out. Instead, he smiled and said, “So you angels are doing charity now? Giving away gene gift packages?”
“This is recognition.” Her tone remained unchanged. “Your potential has surpassed the three major god-making projects.”
“Oh, then should I be moved to tears?” Lin En stretched out his hand, but not to take the contract. Instead, he used vector control to freeze the rune in mid-air, and then gently pinched it to break it into countless light spots, like breaking up Lego.
“You haven’t returned the things you took.”
Her eyebrows moved slightly: “What?”
“I lost a recipe for the 42nd barbecue experiment.” Lin Cheng pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “‘Devil’s Cake’, the high-temperature carbonization stabilizer ratio, you took it away.”
She didn’t deny it.
Lin En slammed the paper to the ground. “Trade is fine. If you help me optimize my gene chain, I’ll give you the formula—but only to those who are of equal value, not to those who give alms.”
The air was silent for two seconds.
Then, she suddenly smiled.
It wasn’t a sneer or a mockery, but a genuine laugh, as if he had seen something unexpected yet reasonable.
“Kesha said you were arrogant, but I thought it was an exaggeration.” She put away the blood contract and flicked her fingertips. The drop of golden blood did not disappear, but flew towards Lin Shang’s chest.
He didn’t hide.
The moment the golden blood touched her body, silver light surged. A shadow unfolded from behind her—her wings, not solid, but composed of countless flowing formulas, blazing like a mathematical storm.
The shadow gently imprinted on Lin Shang’s heart.
There was no pain or heat, only a slight resonance, as if a dormant code in the body had finally been activated.
“This isn’t a contract,” she said. “It’s a certification. ‘In the Name of Hiko,’ the Seal of the Arbitrator.”
Lin Shang looked down at his chest, where a dynamic symbol appeared – not words, nor patterns, but a series of constantly calculating vector formulas, flickering slightly with his heartbeat.
“Arbitration?” He touched the mark. “Sounds like a temporary job.”
“You’re the first person to ask the angels to change the rules.” She turned, her silver wings folded. “Don’t expect to be able to negotiate every time from now on.”
“That depends on whether you bring cake next time.” He smiled.
She didn’t look back and her figure began to fade.
“By the way,” Lin Shang suddenly called her, “will something be missing from my drawer in three days?”
She paused: “Qiangwei’s hands are itching lately.”
A flash of silver light, and the person was gone.
Lin En stood there, still clutching the “Devil’s Cake” recipe in his hand. He looked down at the brand on his chest, then up at the still slowly spinning city matrix.
“So now I’m… a temporary worker certified by an angel?”
He was muttering when the formula in his chest suddenly jumped, as if in response.
Then, his ears itched, and the communication channel automatically connected. It was Du Qiangwei’s voice, with a hint of a smile: “Hello, I just passed by your laboratory downstairs and saw a beautiful woman in silver armor descending from the sky. Is she your new cleaning lady?”
“Shut up.” Lin Shang stuffed the formula back into his pocket. “Don’t even think about climbing through my window tonight.”
“Oh?” She smiled even more clearly, “Then guess where I am now?”
Lin En was stunned and looked up suddenly.
By the window of his dormitory, a hand was resting on the window frame, and the knuckles tapped lightly twice.
He sighed and raised his hand to close the window.
But the moment his fingers touched the glass, the brand on his chest suddenly felt hot.
Not a burning sensation, but a kind of… early warning.
He paused, and the vector vision was instantly activated.
The force lines, air currents, and electromagnetic fields of the entire building emerged clearly. And in his dormitory, the air flow path showed an extremely subtle anomaly—the vector direction in a certain area had been artificially deflected by 0.07 degrees, as if someone had gently stirred the air with an invisible hand.
Not Du Qiangwei.
Her wormholes always had faint folds of space-time remaining, but this one didn’t.
This is cleaner, more precise, like… angelic control.
Lin Cheng narrowed his eyes and whispered to himself, “So, you sent an observer?”
Instead of closing the window, he opened it and stuck his head out.
The night wind blew, and there was no one downstairs.
He was about to look away when he suddenly noticed something on the windowsill—
A piece of cake.
The black surface was shiny and slightly burnt at the edges. There was a line of small words written in butter on it:
“Trial version. I’ll make it more spicy next time.”
Lin En stared at the line of words for a long time without moving.
Then he reached out, took the cake into the house and put it on the table.
He opened the notebook, turned to the latest page, and wrote:
“On April 7, the first contact with the Angelic Civilization was confirmed.
The opponent has high-precision vector micro-manipulation capabilities, which can achieve seamless space intervention.
Item carried: Suspected ‘Devil’s Cake’ prototype, 82% carbonation, unknown spiciness.
Conclusion: The transaction was established, but the other party engaged in subsequent monitoring activities.
Note: The snack cabinet must be locked from now on.”
After finishing writing, he closed the notebook and pushed up his glasses.
Just as he was about to stand up, the brand on his chest felt hot again.
He looked down and saw that the dynamic formula was slowly changing –
What was originally a recursive folding model has now evolved into a countdown.
The number starts at 72:00:00 and decreases by one second.
Lin En stared at the countdown and frowned: “72 hours? Waiting for what?”
He was just about to call up the data stream analysis when he suddenly heard a “ding” sound coming from the kitchen.
The microwave has arrived.
He walked over and opened it, and inside was the instant noodles he had put in ten minutes ago.
The noodles were still there and the soup wasn’t spilled, but the chili oil in the condiment packet was gone.
Only a small piece of paper remained, pressed under the fork.
He took it out and saw that it said:
“The spiciness test is complete.
Feedback: Needs to be tripled.
——Yan”
Chapter 65: Vector Amplified Exoskeleton in Action (Old Version)
Lin Cheng stared at the microwaved instant noodles, half of the chili oil missing. He pulled his fork out expressionlessly and drew a circle in the air. His vector vision instantly expanded, deconstructing the heat flow and grease particle trajectory in the air into a dense array of multicolored arrows. He squinted and glanced, his mouth twitching.
“Three times? Haha, I want to see if you really know how to cook spicy food, or if you can only write notes.”
He no longer bothered about the cake with “Trial Version” written on it. He turned around and walked towards the laboratory. The hem of his white coat swayed slightly with his steps – of course, this was the smoothness he maintained using vector control. After all, a sloppy image would affect his scientific research temperament.
Inside the lab’s core module, Reina slowly opened her eyes from the culture medium. Pale golden liquid trickled down her hair, and newly formed gene chains shimmered in spirals beneath her skin, like flowing Klein bottle equations. She wiped her face with her hand, and her first words were, “Xiao Linzi, the air conditioning is too low! I’m almost frozen into a popsicle.”
“Your internal temperature can melt through steel, yet you’re still afraid of the cold?” Lin Cheng pushed up his glasses, his fingers already tapping out a series of commands on the console. “Don’t move! The exoskeleton needs to be connected. If one nerve is connected incorrectly, you might be yelling at the wall in the next second.”
“Then don’t connect my brain. I don’t want to automatically launch a solar flare every time I sneeze in the future.”
Lin En ignored her complaints, his gaze fixed on the data port at the end of her spine. He raised his hand, the “Yi Yan’s Name” brand on his chest warming slightly as he unleashed a series of vector micromanipulation commands in sync with his thoughts. The neural synchronization rate, which had been delayed by 0.3 seconds, instantly returned to zero.
“Calibration complete,” he whispered. “Now, try to stand up.”
Reina supported herself against the wall and rose to her feet, the metal floor beneath her feet trembling slightly. A silver and black exoskeleton automatically conformed to her body, its joints etched with fine, formulaic patterns that flickered with her breathing.
“How do you feel?” Lin En asked.
“It feels like wearing a pair of new shoes that are too tight for my feet.” She twisted her shoulders, “But… I can almost hear it talking to me again.”
“That’s the gene chain and the mechanical core resonating.” Lin En called up the data panel, his eyes lighting up. “The entropy energy transmission efficiency is 98.7%, and the momentum feedback delay is less than 0.01 seconds—even more stable than I expected.”
Before he could finish his words, the alarm sounded.
“Electromagnetic disturbance in the outer blocks, three high-energy signals are approaching!” As soon as the system voice fell, the lights on the entire street flickered, as if the direction of the current was forcibly distorted by something.
Lin En’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve arrived just in time. The actual combat test will be brought forward.”
Reina grinned and flexed her wrist. “You said this thing could let me blow up a battleship with one punch?”
“I said ‘theoretically’.” Lin En quickly entered a preset formula on the tablet. “Now, I’ll give you the ‘practical version’.”
Three Taotie warriors burst out from the corner, their anti-vector jammers humming in their chests, attempting to suppress the exoskeleton’s energy field. The leader, grinning, raised his vibrating axe. “Earthlings, your technological toys are useless today!”
Without waiting for Lin En’s order, Reina suddenly stepped on the ground with her right foot.
The gravity vector of the entire street shifted 45 degrees in an instant, and the asphalt road surface seemed to be lifted up by an invisible giant hand. The three Taotie warriors slipped, lost their balance, and fell to the ground like drunken puppets.
“Gravity control module, activated.” She said lightly, and brushed back her loose red hair.
Lin En saw the data stream jumping wildly in the background and couldn’t help laughing: “Are you using them as bowling balls?”
“Bowling balls aren’t that noisy.” Reina took a step forward, and a vector jump brought her close to the enemy in an instant. She clenched her right fist, and the formula ring on the shoulder of the exoskeleton spun at high speed, compressing the air to form a golden shockwave.
“Momentum Conservation Cannon, send you to the sky.”
A punch blasted out, a wave of energy exploded, and the formula pattern left a long streak of light in the wind. Without even a chance to scream, the three Taotie warriors were blown away, smashing through an entire wall before exploding into fireballs in mid-air.
Lin En watched the surveillance footage and silently wrote a line in his notebook: “Preliminary combat test, a 45-degree gravity deflection can cause the enemy to completely lose balance, and the momentum amplification multiplier is 1.3 times the estimated value. Reina’s combat intuition… is a bit outrageous.”
He had just finished writing when the system alarm suddenly sounded again: “Warning! The exoskeleton core has detected residual code and is attempting to reversely invade the main control system!”
“Huh?” Reina looked down at her still-glowing gloves. “They can still blame me even if they’re dead?”
“It’s not them.” Lin En’s eyes turned cold. “It’s the self-destruct program in the jammer that left a backdoor.”
He immediately activated the “Vector Clear Flow” protocol. With a single thought, all energy flows within the exoskeleton were forcibly isolated. The codes that attempted to penetrate were like mosquitoes hitting glass, completely blocked from the core.
“Cleared?” Reina asked.
“It’s cleared.” Lin En stared at the data stream. “But it’s quite interesting. This code structure… is quite different from that madman Carl’s style. It’s wilder and rougher, like it was written by a street hacker.”
“So he’s a second-rate programmer for Taotie?” Reina shrugged. “No wonder he can only do small things.”
Lin En didn’t respond. Instead, he imported all the combat data into the analysis model and marked several key parameters: “Gravity disturbance threshold, momentum transfer efficiency, neural response delay… Hmm, I’ll have to add an ‘auto-dodge’ module next time. You almost hit the telephone pole when you dodged just now.”
“That’s a tactical detour!”
“You call that a detour? You were staggered by the wind from your own fist.”
Reina rolled her eyes and was about to retort when a flash of red light appeared at the joints of her exoskeleton.
“Again?” She frowned.
Lin Entropy immediately retrieved the underlying code and discovered a hidden instruction slowly being reorganized. “It’s not an invasion, it’s an adaptive learning program… They’re recording your combat patterns.”
“So you want to copy me?” Reina sneered, “Let them copy me until they go bankrupt.”
“I can’t copy it.” Lin En swiped his finger and directly reverse-parsed the code. “I added a trap. The next time they call this data, the system will automatically play “The Most Dazzling National Style.”
“Can you still do this?”
“Basic qualities of a scientific researcher.” He closed his tablet and looked at her, the Klein aura still lingering on her. “But… that punch you just threw, wasn’t it according to the preset formula?”
Reina was stunned for a moment, then laughed: “Didn’t you say ‘I’ve calculated this wave’? I won’t do it according to your calculations.”
Lin Cheng pushed up his glasses, the lenses reflecting the light: “Okay, then how do you want to fight next time?”
“I want to try to punch the sun out.”
“That’s a supernova explosion, not the sun.”
“Something like that.”
Lin Shang was about to reply to her when the mark on his chest suddenly felt hot.
He looked down and saw that the dynamic formula was changing – it was originally a countdown, but now a new line of data popped up:
[High-precision vector manipulation traces detected, not angels, not demons, not known civilizations.]His eyes narrowed.
“What’s wrong?” Reina noticed that his expression was wrong.
“Someone is watching.” Lin Cheng whispered, “And… their method is even cleaner than Yan’s.”
Reina looked around. The streets were empty, with only wisps of smoke rising.
“Where?”
Lin En didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his hand and lightly tapped the air with his fingertips. His vector vision was fully open, and every air current and electromagnetic wave in the air was broken down into colorful lines. He slowly scanned the air and suddenly caught an extremely subtle vector deviation in mid-air.
An invisible observation point is fine-tuning the air flow in the surrounding environment with an accuracy of 0.003 degrees, as if testing some kind of invisibility field.
“Found it.” He squinted his eyes. “It’s not a physical object, it’s a remote projection.”
“Can you call back?”
“Yes.” Lin Shang raised his lips, “But I have to calculate first whether calling back will explode our router.”
He was about to take action when the exoskeleton system suddenly sounded a prompt.
“Unknown signal detected, source: inside the laboratory.”
Lin En turned around abruptly and looked at the console.
On the screen, a piece of code is being automatically generated at an extremely fast speed and with a precise structure, as if some high-dimensional language is being automatically translated.
At the end of that line of code, it says:
“The spiciness has been turned up to nine times. Next time, don’t microwave instant noodles—that’s too low.”
Chapter 66: The Hanged Man’s Death Duet (Old Version)
Lin En stared at the provocative message on the screen and tapped his fingers twice on the edge of the console. He didn’t move or speak, but the value of the vector detector in the corner of the laboratory suddenly jumped.
“Nine times spicy?” He muttered again, his mouth curled up, “Alright, then I’ll give you a ten times reverse jet.”
With a flick of his finger, the entire exoskeleton’s energy circuitry instantly reorganized. He short-circuited the buffer module, originally intended to stabilize the output. The momentum feedback path bypassed the main control chip, taking a reverse vector loop that even he needed two seconds to decipher. This wasn’t a standard operation; it was a trap set specifically for hackers.
“You want to read my data?” Lin En laughed softly. “Then don’t blame me for burning your gateway.”
He activated the preset protocol, and the fake combat parameters began to slowly upload. The curves on the screen rose and fell perfectly, as if the system was debugging a new module. Meanwhile, the real data had already been quietly exported through the brand on his chest, traveling along the underground fiber optic cable directly to the core computer room.
Three seconds later, the air shook slightly.
Lin En’s eyes narrowed—that 0.003-degree vector deviation had occurred again, and this time it wasn’t a fine-tuning; it was a delayed feedback loop in the entire energy flow as it read the false data. He had been waiting for this moment.
“I got it.”
He clasped his hands together, his mind driving the vector field to fold in reverse, squeezing the feedback signal like a towel. At the edge of the high-altitude ionosphere, a nearly invisible silhouette suddenly flashed, lasting less than a tenth of a second before violently distorting.
“Pure vector imaging… no wormholes, no energy leakage, the technique is cleaner than a rose.” Lin En pushed up his glasses, “But you forget, when you look at the human system, the system is also looking at you.”
He pulled up the tracking log and sneered, “The Hanged Man? Numbers 07 and 13? Did Karl send you to steal technology, or to deliver food?”
As soon as he finished speaking, the lights in the entire building suddenly dimmed for a moment.
Lin En immediately retreated half a step, grasping the air with his right hand, his vector vision fully open. Colorful lines instantly filled his field of vision, the electromagnetic waves, gravity gradients, and heat flow directions in the air all being deconstructed into dynamic arrows. He glanced at the ceiling, then down at the seams of the floor beneath his feet.
“One above, one below,” he muttered. “The electromagnetic barrier is closing in. Trying to lock me in?”
He deliberately slowed his breathing and deactivated some of his sensory modules, causing the system to display a red light indicating a slight overload. The joints of his exoskeleton also simulated unstable energy fluctuations.
“Come on, let me see how you close the net.”
Two shadowy figures appeared almost simultaneously. The Hanged Man above tumbled out of the ventilation duct, the electromagnetic generator humming in his hand. The figure below broke through the floor tiles, stepped onto the metal plate and leaped up, arms extended to form a circular force field. Their movements were precisely synchronized, and in the blink of an eye, the electromagnetic barrier closed around Lin En, trapping him in the center.
“System overload, vector control failed.” The man above announced coldly.
Lin Cheng stood there and raised his glasses: “I’ve been waiting for you to enter the cage for a long time.”
He suddenly opened his arms, and the brand on his chest erupted with a blinding silver light. The Klein bottle shield instantly unfolded, but in a strange form—not a closed surface, but a completely inverted internal structure, the formula running in reverse, forming a region of reverse entropy increase.
“What?!” The pupils of the hanged man below shrank.
The next second, the shield collapsed.
There was no explosion, no shockwave, only the rapid contraction of space, as if being sucked through the eye of a needle. The two Hanged Men froze, their bodies suspended in mid-air, their expressions frozen. They tried to struggle, but found that all their energy output was being devoured by the singularity, forcibly freezing even the tiny vectors of muscle contraction.
“This…is impossible…” The man above moved his lips slightly, and his voice was stuck in his throat.
Lin En stood at the edge of the singularity, watching the two being slowly sucked in. He said in a relaxed tone, “Hasn’t your teacher Karl taught you this? The shield can not only protect, but also act as a black hole.”
He was about to withdraw his hand when he noticed something unusual—one of the devoured Hanged Men had scratched a tiny crack with its finger at the last moment. It wasn’t a physical wound, but a wrinkle in space itself, like a piece of paper torn in half.
“Oh?” Lin Shang raised his eyebrows. “You want a surprise before you die?”
The rift opened and black mist poured out.
A swarm of twisted creatures crawled out from within, their bodies translucent, their edges flickering constantly, as if they could vanish and reform at any moment. They had no fixed form, and their movements followed no natural order; each step seemed to skip over intermediate steps.
Lin En narrowed his eyes and saw that the movement paths of these guys in the vector vision were all broken points, momentum was not conserved, acceleration was passive, and they relied purely on devouring the surrounding vector chaos to maintain their existence.
“Void fetal membrane experiment subject?” He had just muttered when a sound of breaking air came from above his head.
Zhixin descended from the sky, his holy sword igniting with golden flames. The moment he landed, a circular shield was drawn. “Be careful! They thrive on chaos. Don’t let the vector field get out of control!”
“Don’t worry.” Lin En took off his glasses, tossed them casually, and used vector control to make them stop steadily on the experimental table. “I like order the most.”
He spread his arms, a swirling image of a Klein bottle forming in his pupils. Vector information about the entire space poured into his mind like a waterfall, the movement trajectory, energy flow, and spatial location of each void creature being broken down into colorful arrows.
“You like chaos?” He chuckled. “Then I’ll give you a fireworks show.”
With a single thought, the first creature’s momentum vector was precisely reversed. It collided with the second, their combined velocities. Having calculated the angle in advance, the rebound coincided with the third. The three creatures tangled together, their momentum canceling out, annihilating them instantly.
As the fourth one lunged, he flipped its gravity vector 180 degrees, sending it crashing headfirst into the ceiling. When the fifth one tried to circle behind him, he simply modified the air resistance coefficient, making it unable to move, as if it were stuck in glue.
As soon as the sixth one opened its mouth, Lin En split the turbulent energy field within it into three strands, directing them in different directions. At the moment of the implosion, he wove the remaining energy into a golden formula chain and flung it into the air.
The formula chain exploded, releasing layers of geometric light patterns like festive fireworks. The remaining void creatures were swept by this wave of ordered energy, freezing in place before disintegrating one by one.
“Vector fireworks, first shot.” Lin Entang flexed his wrist. “The brightness is okay, but it’s a bit computationally demanding.”
Zhi Xin looked at the dissipating points of light in the sky and couldn’t help but say, “This isn’t a battle, it’s a physics class performance.”
“Of course.” Lin Shang put his glasses back on. “I listen to Newton as background music.”
He was about to call it a day when his chest suddenly felt hot. The brand burned again, but this time it wasn’t a warning, but rather an encrypted signal. He checked it out and saw an abnormality report from the city’s surveillance system: **A micro-wormhole was detected briefly opening at the edge of the ionosphere, accompanied by high-energy residue.**
“Hmm?” Lin Shang frowned. “Is there still one fish that slipped through the net?”
Zhixin walked over and tapped the ground with the tip of his sword. “Those two hanged men just now, their movements were so precise, as if they had been rehearsed countless times.”
“Carl-level algorithm.” Lin En nodded. “They automatically correct their trajectory 0.2 seconds before attacking to avoid my regular deflection. This isn’t something they’ve trained on, it’s something they’ve calculated.”
“So… they’re just bait?”
Lin Cheng stared at the crack in the sky that hadn’t yet completely closed, and suddenly smiled: “It’s not bait, it’s the first movement of a duet.”
He raised his hand, and a tiny vector vortex condensed at his fingertips. “Then I’ll listen carefully to how you plan to conclude the second movement.”
Zhi Xin looked at the formula flashing in his eyes and couldn’t help but remind him: “Don’t play too hard. Last time you created a singularity, you almost sucked the laboratory into the four-dimensional space.”
“That was an accident.” Lin Shang waved his hand, “I’ve calculated this time.”
Before he finished speaking, a low-frequency vibration suddenly echoed from deep within the rift. Space seemed to be crumpled by invisible hands, and a dark mark, deeper than before, slowly opened.
Lin Shang raised the corner of his mouth and suddenly clasped his hands together.
“Come on, let me see how much more junk Carl can hide.”
The brand on his chest suddenly lit up, and his vector vision expanded to its limit. The electromagnetic field, gravity gradient, and particle flow above the entire city were all included in the computing network.
“This time, I’m not only going to catch you, but I’m also going to figure out your family tree.”
Chapter 67: Reverse Engineering by a Mad Scientist (Old Version)
Lin En’s finger still hovered in the air, the tiny vector vortex at his fingertips dissipating, but the data stream on the laboratory’s main control screen continued to scroll frantically. He didn’t look at the screen, but instead stared at the small patch of black mist on the floor that hadn’t completely evaporated. It wasn’t carbonized material, but the “tooth mark” left by a bite in space.
“The direction is wrong.” he said suddenly.
Zhixin was sheathing his sword when he heard this and pointed the tip of his sword back to the ground: “What’s wrong?”
“Energy flow.” Lin En squatted down, pulled a pen-shaped scanner from his pocket, and gently scanned the area. A series of distorted vector graphics immediately popped up on the screen, red and blue arrows colliding with each other, like two streams of water rushing in opposite directions in the same pipe. “Their momentum is forward, but the electromagnetic field is backward. This isn’t out of control, it’s intentional.”
Zhixin came over to take a look, his brows furrowed into the shape of a “川” character: “So… they walk by reversing?”
“Almost.” Lin En grinned, clipped the scanner to his ear, turned and rushed to the whiteboard. “We always thought they were messing around, but in fact, they live according to a different set of physical laws. If Newton saw this, he would break the tombstone on the spot.”
He grabbed a marker and quickly drew a set of reverse arrows, wrote a series of correction terms next to them, circled the core variables, and wrote the title: **Reverse Maxwell-Lin Entropy Correction Equation (Draft 1.0)**.
“Simply put, they survive on ‘anti-physics.'” He tapped the whiteboard. “So let’s build an ‘anti-anti-physics’ cage.”
Zhixin looked at the formula and blinked: “Are you going to scold them to death with mathematics?”
“It’s even more ruthless than that.” Lin En pushed up his glasses. “I want their momentum to be tripped up by my own electromagnetic field.”
He immediately pulled up the mainframe database and pulled out every single Void creature’s movement trajectory captured during the battle, breaking it down frame by frame. Colorful vector lines spread across the air like a spiderweb woven by a madman. He read and took notes, his small notebook densely packed with annotations: “Frame 7, a sudden change in spin angular momentum, but magnetic field reversal occurs 0.03 seconds early—predictive countercurrent.” “Frame 13, uneven mass distribution, but constant acceleration—ignoring inertia.”
“Interesting.” He became more and more excited as he read, his pen almost scratching the paper. “It’s not that there are no rules, it’s that the rules are reversed.”
As I was writing, there was a click at the door.
Qilin walked in carrying a sniper rifle, her ponytail swung, and her eyes swept over the formulas on the wall and the black spots on the ground: “Did the lab blow up again?”
“It didn’t explode.” Lin En didn’t even look up. “I just tore up the laws of physics and rewrote them.”
“Oh.” Qilin put the gun on the table. “So why did you call me here? To defuse the bomb?”
“No,” Lin Shang finally raised his head, his eyes frighteningly bright, “I told you to come and shoot.”
Qilin narrowed her eyes: “Who are you hitting?”
“Air.” He walked over and lightly traced his finger across the barrel. His vector vision instantly penetrated the metal and revealed the molecular arrangement of the dark matter coating inside the bullet. “Does your bullet contain ‘Dark Film No. 3’?”
“Specially supplied by the military.” Qilin crossed her arms. “You don’t want to use it for a chemical experiment, do you?”
“It’s more exciting than that.” Lin Shang picked up the gun, removed the magazine, took out a bullet and placed it on his palm. “I want to let it fly halfway and dismantle itself into a math problem.”
Qilin sneered: “You stayed up late again last night, didn’t you?”
“Very clear-headed.” Lin Shang put the bullet back into the chamber and turned on the safety. “Listen carefully—I want you to shoot at the target from 300 meters away, but don’t let it hit you. I want it to explode in the air and then… become a three-dimensional formula.”
Qilin stared at him for three seconds, then suddenly turned and left.
“Hey?” Lin Shang was anxious. “Where are you going?”
“Change guns.” She didn’t even turn around. “If this one misses, you’ll have to pay for it.”
Ten minutes later, at the shooting range.
The wind was light, and the bull’s eye was clearly visible three hundred meters away. Qilin lay down, took aim, and breathed steadily.
Lin En stood five meters behind her, his glasses reflecting the light, his hands slightly raised, his vector vision fully open.
“Get ready—” Qilin whispered.
“Wait.” Lin En suddenly said, “Don’t shoot yet.”
Qilin slowly released the trigger and turned back: “What happened?”
“I need to do some math first.” Lin En closed his eyes, a preview model of the bullet’s flight path emerging in his mind. Air resistance, gravity offset, spin magnetic field, dark matter response coefficient… all the parameters were rapidly calculated, finally locking in a critical point – **287 meters, magnetic field reversal, momentum split**.
“Alright.” He opened his eyes. “Fight.”
Qilin stopped talking nonsense and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The bullet broke through the air, spinning at high speed, drawing a silver line.
Lin Tang’s eyes suddenly focused, and with a thought, he used vector control to precisely cut into the bullet’s spin magnetic field. At the moment the bullet flew to the 287th meter—
Buzz!
The entire bullet trembled violently, its internal magnetic field forcibly reversed, and the dark matter coating instantly lost its stability. The projectile disintegrated in mid-air, shattering into millions of nanoscale fragments that scatter in all directions.
But it didn’t land.
Lin En clasped his hands together, and the vector field instantly wove into a web, locking the momentum, direction, and acceleration of all the fragments. His fingers moved slightly, as if playing an invisible piano, and the fragments began to rearrange.
One horizontal line, one vertical line, one hook, and one fold.
In three-dimensional space, a complete Laplace equation slowly took shape, suspended in mid-air, composed of countless tiny light particles, like a glowing mathematical sculpture.
Qilin slowly raised her head, and the scene in the sniper scope almost made her let go.
“He… really turned the bullet into a differential equation?”
Zhixin stood at the edge of the shooting range, looking up at the suspended formula, muttering quietly, “This isn’t science anymore, this is spellcasting.”
Lin En didn’t care whether they were shocked or not. He rushed to the main console and called up the city power grid interface.
“Come, answer the phone.”
He imported the data stream structured by the formula into the power grid system and activated the low-frequency oscillation module. Current slowly flowed into the formula framework at a frequency of 0.5Hz, and the entire equation began to vibrate slightly, like a guitar string being stirred by the wind.
“Mathematical resonance, start.” He pressed the confirm button.
The formula suddenly lit up, and golden light patterns spread from the edge, forming an invisible force field.
Lin En immediately retrieved the void debris sample and used vector manipulation to push it into the center of the formula.
At first, the black fog was still swirling, trying to break free.
But as the vibration frequency of the formula gradually synchronized with the fluctuations of void energy, a change occurred –
The momentum of the black mist began to be “absorbed” by the formula, with each fluctuation, the solution of the equation forced it back to zero. After the third oscillation, the entire ball of energy came to a complete standstill, as if nailed to the air.
Immediately afterwards, golden lines emerged in the air, spreading along the formula structure, and finally interweaving into a three-dimensional cage, completely sealing the remaining void energy.
“It’s done.” Lin En slammed his fist on the table. “In the name of science, you are forbidden to exist.”
Zhixin took a few steps closer and reached out to touch the golden light, but was slightly bounced away.
“This force field… isn’t an energy shield,” she exclaimed in surprise. “It’s the rules themselves.”
“Yes.” Lin En smiled like a child who had just stolen candy. “I’ve put a ‘physics patch’ on this space. Here, their reverse laws are invalid, and they must follow my equations.”
Qilin finally stood up from her position, patted her combat uniform, walked up to him, stared at the sealed black mist for two seconds, and suddenly said, “Are you going to use this thing to blow up Carl?”
“No.” Lin En shook his head. “I’m going to use it to blow up his worldview.”
As he was speaking, the wormhole generator in the corner of the laboratory suddenly hummed softly.
A red-haired figure half-poked out from the dim light. Du Qiangwei supported the edge of the wormhole with one hand, staring straight at the golden formula in the air.
“You… used mathematics to seal the void?” Her voice trembled a little.
“More than that.” Lin Shang raised his chin proudly, “We proved that what they fear is not power, but order.”
Du Qiangwei was silent for two seconds, then suddenly laughed: “Lin En, you are really a lunatic.”
“Thank you.” He said seriously, “I’ve always been proud of being a scientific lunatic.”
She shook her head and was about to speak when there was a sudden fluctuation at the edge of the wormhole.
Lin En immediately became alert and scanned with his vector vision – he found that there was a 0.001 second deficit in the energy flow inside the wormhole, as if someone was secretly spying on him from the other end.
“Is someone peeking?” Zhi Xin also noticed it.
“It’s not a peek.” Lin En narrowed his eyes. “It’s a test signal.”
With a flick of his finger, he immediately deployed a layer of vector fog at the wormhole’s exit, interfering with external detection. Simultaneously, he retrieved the mainframe log and discovered that the 0.001-second discrepancy corresponded to an abnormal frequency band in the city’s ionosphere.
“The frequency… seems familiar.” He quickly searched the database and his pupils shrank after comparing.
“It’s the same algorithm as the two hanged men used earlier.”
Zhixin gripped the holy sword tightly: “Karl is here again?”
“No.” Lin En laughed coldly, “This time it’s even more annoying—he’s starting to use mathematics to reverse-trace my experiment.”
He turned and rushed to the main console, his fingers tapping rapidly. “We need to speed up. Since they were able to follow the signal, it means my formula has been targeted.”
“So what are you going to do?” Qilin asked.
“What should we do?” Lin En stopped and looked back at her, his eyes sparkling. “Of course—make the experiment bigger.”
He opened a new interface, called up the overall map of the city’s underground power grid, and began to mark key nodes.
“The 300-meter formula can seal a wreck.” He said as he operated, “What about 3 kilometers? What about 30,000 meters?”
“Are you crazy?” Du Qiangwei’s eyes widened. “You want to draw an equation over the entire city?”
“Not only that.” Lin Shang raised his lips, “I want to turn the entire earth into a multiple-choice question—”
“A: Obey the laws of physics. B: Be cleared by my formula.”
Zhixin held his forehead with his hand: “Are you going to use the planet as a blackboard?”
“The blackboard is too small.” Lin En pushed up his glasses. “I plan to use the atmosphere as a projection screen.”
Qilin looked at his frantic back and suddenly asked, “Do you need a sniper?”
Lin Shang turned around and laughed, “Of course. You are responsible for firing the final shot at the end of the formula—for the whole world to see.”
Qilin nodded and picked up the gun: “Okay. But you pay for the bullets this time.”
“No problem.” Lin En turned back to the screen, drew an arc on the map with his finger, and began to calculate the coordinates of the anchor point of the first formula.
The mainframe notification sounded: “Coordinates locked. Estimated time for city-wide deployment is 47 minutes.”
He took a deep breath and pressed the start button.
At this moment, the brand on his chest suddenly felt slightly hot.
It is neither a warning nor a signal.
But a kind of… resonance.
It was as if there was another formula, in a distant place, quietly echoing the one he wrote.
Chapter 68: Power Change at the Black Wall (Old Version)
Lin Cheng’s hand was still suspended in mid-air, his fingertips still tingling with the slight numbness from manipulating the vector. The data stream on the console screen finally stopped, but he didn’t glance at it. Instead, he stared down at his chest—the mark with “Yi Yan’s Name” was still burning. It wasn’t a warning, nor was it pain. It felt like someone was gently tapping three Morse code taps inside him.
He blinked and suddenly smiled: “You two, even the secret code matches?”
Zhixin was standing nearby, his holy sword already stored in its optical computer form. He was stunned for a moment when he heard this: “Who and who?”
“A madman who uses formulas as guns, and a woman who uses guns as solutions to formulas.” Lin En said as he pulled up the residual oscillation waveform of the city power grid. He drew a few lines in the air with his fingers, folding the energy frequency of the suspended equation in reverse. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that there’s something mixed in with this resonance that shouldn’t be there.”
Zhixin leaned over to take a look, his brows slowly furrowing. “This frequency band… looks like an angel’s communication pattern.”
“Yes, but it’s not an ordinary one.” Lin Enlarged the waveform details and pulled out a spiral code. “This is a private channel, with an encryption level of T7 or above, usually only used for high-level visits. The problem is—” He paused and clicked on another set of data. “It appeared in the energy flow during the Taotie main ship’s raid, and it was embedded in the demonic energy wave, like a sandwich.”
Zhixin’s pupils shrank. “You mean, someone is commanding the demons to fight while sending signals through the angel channel?”
“More than that.” Lin En sneered, “It’s the same signal source that activated the energy characteristics of both sides at the same time. In other words, the punch that hit us may have the fingerprints of an angel on it.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the conference room alarm sounded. The holographic projection automatically switched, with Dukao’s face appearing in the center, against the red glow of the Black Wall Operations Room.
“Emergency meeting, to be held in thirty minutes.” His voice was emotionless. “All core members present. Topic: The Taotie and Demon Legion raid.”
Lin En turned off the projection and turned away.
“Aren’t you going to prepare anything?” Zhixin shouted from behind.
“I’m ready,” he said without turning around. “All I need is a meeting room that’s willing to listen to the truth.”
Thirty minutes later, at the underground command center of the Black Great Wall.
The circular conference table was packed with people. Dukao sat in the middle, Lianfeng flanked him, and several military representatives wore serious expressions. Lin En was the last to enter, clutching a modified laptop, followed by Cheng Yaowen.
“You’re late,” Dukao said.
“I’m waiting for the data to finish running.” Lin En put the laptop on the table. “By the way, let me confirm one thing – are we holding a military meeting or a public relations conference now?”
He didn’t care, simply activating the device. A two-color vector spectrum instantly projected into the air: red represented the demonic energy flow, blue the angelic communication band. The two lines should have been completely separate, but at a certain point, the blue signal suddenly cut into the red main vein, persisting for a full seventeen seconds.
“This is the energy record from three days ago at the edge of the Sky Domain.” Lin En pointed to the intersection. “Look carefully—in those seventeen seconds, Yan’s silver-winged energy signature appeared on the outskirts of Morgana’s territory. And she wasn’t just passing by, she was hovering. She didn’t start a fight, nor did she retreat. She just hung there, as if waiting for someone to connect with her.”
Lian Feng immediately frowned: “This level of contact is confidential diplomatic information. You have no right to discuss it publicly.”
“I wasn’t planning on discussing diplomacy.” Lin En swiped his finger, and the graph switched to another set of data. “Let’s look at it from another angle—how was the wormhole in Qiangwei penetrated? The official explanation is that it was a long-range artillery attack by Taotie, but I’ve checked the energy fragments from that day and found that the wave pattern at the source of the attack is completely wrong.”
He zoomed in on a section of the waveform and circled several unusual peaks. “Did you see that? This attack first simulated the frequency of angelic energy, then detonated the void guidance wave. Simply put, it was an assassination disguised as an angel. The real Taotie fleet was still gathering three hundred light-years away at that time.”
The conference room suddenly became quiet.
Cheng Yaowen stood up suddenly. “So that wasn’t a demonic raid at all. Someone deliberately made us think it was done by demons?”
“Clever.” Lin En nodded. “And this move kills three birds with one stone—it weakens the power of Rose, intensifies the conflict between Earth and the demons, and incidentally tests whether we will blindly take sides. Don’t you think this is like an experiment?”
Dukao was silent for a few seconds: “What evidence do you have?”
“Evidence?” Lin Entang laughed, bypassing the permission system and forcibly injecting the data stream into the main brain. “I don’t need evidence, I have the video.”
The holographic image suddenly unfolded, and the three-party energy entanglement model slowly rotated: the demon attack, the angel dark pattern, and the void guidance wave. The three forces precisely intersected at a certain node, forming a nearly perfect closed loop.
“This isn’t a war.” Lin En’s voice turned cold. “This is a test. Someone is watching. When the Earth is struck, do we rush forward to seek revenge, or do we first ask ourselves: who threw this punch?”
Lian Feng’s expression changed: “Are you questioning the decision of the top management?”
“I’m not questioning you.” Lin Shang stared at Dukao. “I’m reminding you. You’re busy distinguishing between friend and foe, but the enemy has long since learned to disguise themselves. That wave of signals just now wasn’t just attacking Qiangwei; it was also testing whether our intelligence system could see through the disguise. And now—” He pointed at Cheng Yaowen, “Just when he was about to report his discovery, the communication was blocked.”
Cheng Yaowen was stunned: “How do you know?”
“Because the tactical terminal in your pocket just flashed red three times, and the frequency is consistent with the interception signal of the main brain firewall.” Lin En pushed his glasses. “Interesting, isn’t it? We are still discussing external enemies, but the internal network has been tampered with.”
Dukao finally stood up: “What do you want to say?”
“I want to say…” Lin En walked to the center of the model and pointed at the chaotic area, “The real battlefield is not in space, but here. Someone is playing a game of chess, and we almost became chess pieces. Now the question is.” He looked directly into the other person’s eyes, “Do you want to continue to be a chess player, or continue to be used as a chessboard?”
Lin En stopped talking and just stood there quietly, watching the entangled vector model slowly rotate.
Until Cheng Yaowen suddenly whispered, “I just received an encrypted message from Qiangwei herself. She said… the attack trajectory she saw that day turned a corner and accurately avoided the residential area.”
Lin Cheng raised his eyebrows: “Oh?”
“She said that demons don’t care about such things.”
“so what?”
“So that shot wasn’t intended to kill anyone at all,” Cheng Yaowen said in a low voice. “It was intended to create panic and force us to send troops.”
Lin Cheng smiled, a little coldly: “It seems that the exam is not over yet, it’s just a different question type.”
He turned and walked towards the exit, and the holographic image disappeared instantly as his optical brain retracted.
“Wait.” Dukao stopped him, “What are you going to do?”
Lin En stopped and didn’t look back.
“What to do?” he whispered. “Of course—blow up the exam room.”
He opened the door, letting in half the light from the corridor.
Cheng Yaowen quickly followed and lowered his voice: “Do you really have a backup plan?”
“Of course.” Lin En pulled out a chip from his pocket, engraved with fine formula patterns. “I modified the underlying protocol of the city’s power grid last night. If anyone dares to use the angel frequency to disguise an attack again, the system will automatically track them back and send their signal back the same way.”
“Fight back? Fight where?”
Lin Cheng blinked. “What do you think? I can’t expect it to hit me on the head.”
The two walked out of the conference room and the door behind them slowly closed.
Inside the command center, Dukao stood there, staring at the empty projection area for a long moment. Then, he whispered to Lianfeng, “Notify all defense lines to enter level two alert. Also—” He paused, “Check to see if anyone has accessed the communication records of the angels and demons recently.”
Lianfeng nodded and was about to operate the terminal when the screen suddenly flashed.
An anonymous data packet popped up automatically with a title of just two words: **Be careful**.
She clicked on it and found an encrypted log. The source was unknown, but the timestamp showed that it was sent thirty minutes ago, the moment Lin En entered the meeting room.
The log content only has one line of text:
“When the chess pieces start thinking, it’s time to change players on the board.”
Chapter 69: Space-Time Paradox on the Grill (Old Version)
Cheng Yaowen stuffed the tactical terminal back into his pocket. The metal shell still retained the warmth from the intercepted signal. He glanced up at Lin Shang’s back. His white coat fluttered in the night breeze like an unruly flag.
“Are you really going to find a barbecue stall to do this?”
Without turning back, Lin En lightly curled his finger in the air, a faint vector trace tracing across his fingertip, as if adjusting some invisible parameter. “First, the lab has surveillance. Second, the command center is monitoring. Third—” He finally stopped, turned around, and pushed up his glasses. “Have you ever seen a villain squatting at a barbecue stall to crack a cosmic conspiracy?”
Cheng Yaowen opened his mouth but no words came out.
“Besides,” Lin Cheng grinned, “I’m hungry.”
The night market in Tianhe’s old town had just begun to emerge, the aroma of fireworks mixed with the scent of cumin wafting into the air. They turned into a narrow alley, and at the end stood a barbecue stall whose sign hadn’t changed in twenty years. The tin shed was tilted, as if it had been kicked. The owner was wiping the grill with oil paper, not even looking up. “Two of you, order first, then reserve a seat.”
Lin Shang took out a yellowed napkin, spread it on the greasy table, and took out a half-opened bag of cumin powder from his pocket.
“Boss, give me ten skewers of chicken wings first, and don’t sprinkle any toppings.”
The boss looked up and asked, “So you also brought cumin?”
“Unexpectedly.” Lin Cheng shook the bag, and fine powder fell out, leaving a spiral mark on the napkin. “This is the Lorentz curve.”
Cheng Yaowen stared at the pile of powder, his brows furrowed into the shape of a “川” character. “You’re using condiments to draw a chaos model?”
“What? Afraid it’s inaccurate?” Lin En took off his glasses, and countless colorful arrows and flow trajectories instantly appeared in his pupils. “I reconstruct the phase space through the combined effects of heat flow, gravity, and dust diffusion. It’s more natural than a laboratory particle collider.”
He tapped his finger lightly, and a grain of cumin powder suddenly hovered in the air, then slowly rotated, causing the surrounding powder to form a micro vortex.
“See? This is the initial state of the space-time fold.” He looked up, “Reina, we can begin.”
The night sky above suddenly lit up without warning.
It wasn’t lightning, nor was it neon, but rather the entire sky, as if someone had peeled back a corner, revealing a slowly rotating miniature star behind it. A fireball hovered fifty meters in the air, and the heat wave weighed down the plastic bags on the roadside, causing them to crawl to the ground.
Reina took a step out of the void, her long wavy red hair rustling in the air, sparks swirling behind her. “Are you using eating as an excuse to cause trouble again?”
“This isn’t a meal.” Lin En slammed the skewers onto the table. “This is a tactical deduction.”
“Oh?” Reina tilted her head. “Then tell me, how do we make Morgana’s cannon explode on its own?”
“Simple.” Lin En pointed to the stars in the sky. “You simulate her energy beam, and I’ll use the Lorentz attractor to create a local distortion of spacetime curvature. When her attack passes through this point—” His fingertips passed over the center of the spiral drawn by the cumin powder. “The phase will advance by 0.3 seconds, the energy will flow back, and it will self-destruct.”
Reina laughed. “Do you think she’s an old-fashioned microwave? It explodes when it touches metal?”
“No.” Lin En’s eyes lit up. “She is a high-power laser, and I am the reflector that is tilted five degrees.”
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly activated his vector vision, and the entire alley was instantly deconstructed in his eyes – the heat flow was an orange arrow, the wind direction was a blue thread, and even the stellar radiation behind Reina was disassembled into a dense vector grid.
Reina raised her hand, and the star suddenly compressed, shooting out a beam of blazing white light, pointing directly at the center of the alley.
Lin En attacked at the same time.
He grabbed a handful of cumin powder and scattered it toward the beam. The powder instantly ionized in the intense heat, but instead of dispersing, he used vector manipulation to forcibly arrange it into a three-dimensional spiral structure, precisely locating it in the path of the beam.
Light and powder collide.
Instantly, the air twisted, as if an invisible hand were kneading space. After the beam entered the spiral region, its trajectory began to deviate, its frequency oscillating slightly.
“Now!” Lin En grabbed a skewer, aimed it at the most severely twisted node, and stabbed it hard.
The stick didn’t hit the beam of light, but it seemed to have pierced the surface of an invisible sphere.
Light bulbs all over the street exploded simultaneously.
The beam of light suddenly collapsed inward three meters away from the barbecue stall, compressed into a fireball the size of a fist, and then exploded with a loud bang. The heat wave blew the boss’s parasol into the sky.
“Holy crap!” the boss jumped up. “You call this deduction? You’re just blowing the shit out of the street!”
Lin Cheng withdrew his hand. The tip of the skewer was slightly red, but not broken.
“Success.” He grinned. “The phase shift is 0.31 seconds, which is within an acceptable range.”
Cheng Yaowen was still rubbing his eyes: “When you just stabbed… you hit the air?”
“It’s the singularity of spacetime curvature that’s being inserted.” Lin En thrust the stick into the table. “It’s just that this singularity is being propped up by the cumin powder, heat flux, and stellar radiation.”
Reina landed on the ground and kicked the overturned chair: “So you plan to use the barbecue stall as a formation in your next attack?”
“No.” Lin En shook his head. “Use the city’s power grid. As long as we create the same curvature distortion at the key nodes, we can detonate any attack disguised as angel energy prematurely.”
He turned to the boss and pointed at the still smoking grill: “How many degrees can this grill withstand?”
The boss rolled his eyes and said, “It’s stainless steel. Two thousand degrees is the limit. Any higher and it will melt.”
Lin En smiled, took out the chip engraved with the formula from his pocket, and gently pressed it on the grill bracket.
“Try.”
Reina understood and flicked her fingertips, and a star particle fell on the surface of the bracket.
The metal instantly glowed red, but it didn’t melt. Instead, it absorbed the heat bit by bit like a sponge. Faint vector patterns even appeared on its surface, as if some force had recoded its structure.
“Interesting,” Lin En said softly, “It absorbs energy while maintaining structural stability—low-dimensional material, high-dimensional support.”
Cheng Yaowen swallowed his saliva and said, “You don’t really want to use the barbecue grill as a shield node, do you?”
“Why not?” Lin Shang picked up a bunch of uncooked chicken wings and stuck them on the red skewer. “It’s cheap, durable, and I can eat at the same time.”
Reina watched him put the chicken wings on the grill, the flames licking the skewers, the fat dripping and instantly vaporizing on the high-temperature rack.
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy.” Lin Shang flipped the chicken wings. “I just blew up the exam room and opened a night snack stall.”
He picked up another stick and drew an arc in the air. “Next time they use the angel frequency to launch a sneak attack, I will turn the entire city’s power grid, streetlights, and manhole covers into this stick.”
Cheng Yaowen suddenly asked, “What if they don’t use energy beams anymore? And use physical warships for brute force instead?”
Lin En stopped.
He stared at the grill, then suddenly grabbed a handful of skewers and tossed them into the air.
Vector control starts instantly.
Each stick was motionless in the air, arranged into a complex three-dimensional grid that just covered the space above the alley.
“That’s even easier,” he said. “I won’t wait for them to come rushing in.”
He snapped his fingers.
A holographic projection appeared out of thin air, and a demonic battleship slowly rotated, approaching the Earth’s defense line along a preset trajectory.
Lin En moved his finger, and the vector vision locked onto the core of the battleship.
“I’ll let their warships crash into it and wait for it to explode.”
He grabbed the longest skewer, aimed it at the curvature node in the projection, and stabbed it down suddenly.
The moment the tip of the stick touched the light and shadow, the battleship model exploded from the inside, and data fragments flew everywhere.
“Implosion.” Lin En released his grip, and the stick fell back onto the table. “I didn’t blow it up. It was its own momentum that was reflected back in the distorted space.”
Reina whistled, “This isn’t physics anymore, it’s a curse.”
“No.” Lin Shang picked up the roasted chicken wing and took a bite. “This is causal maintenance.”
The boss finally couldn’t help but ask: “Are you guys… coming here for barbecue?”
Lin Shang handed over a hundred-dollar bill: “Of course. Ten skewers of chicken wings, and two bottles of ice beer.”
“Whose responsibility was that explosion just now?”
“Count it as my research funding.” Lin Entang blinked. “Just write ‘High-Dimensional Thermodynamics Experiment Consumables’ on the invoice.”
Cheng Yaowen held his forehead and said, “Don’t use public funds to reimburse barbecues in the future.”
“How can this be public funds?” Lin En said confidently, “This is necessary expenditure for tactical verification. Think about it, which war didn’t start with a meal?”
Reina suddenly pointed to the sky.
The miniature star was slowly shrinking, but before it disappeared, the last beam of light landed precisely in the center of the grill.
The metal bracket made a slight sound, and fine golden lines appeared on its surface, as if it had been redefined by some rules.
Lin Shang reached out and touched it. The bracket was still hot, but no longer scalding.
“It’s done,” he whispered. “It’s more than just a grill now.”
Cheng Yaowen asked: “Then what is it?”
Lin Shang picked up the last stick and lightly drew it in the air.
A faint vector light trace lingered for half a second and then disappeared.
“It’s the first one,” he said.
The boss looked at the broken rack he had used for twenty years and muttered, “So…does this stall have to be renamed ‘Spacetime BBQ’?”