Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted only on bcatranslation

“What?”

Lin Xian and Gao Yang stood there, stunned by the strange scene before them. They had expected nothing more than a simple experiment to record a dream. But the words that had been spoken…

White light, explosion, mushroom cloud, newspaper, 1952, burning… Einstein? The first few made some sense—sounded like a proper nightmare, sure—but what was up with Einstein?

“What exactly did Zhang Yu Qian dream about?” Gao Yang wondered aloud, taking a deep breath, ready to keep talking. But Lin Xian raised his hand to stop him.

“Hold on,” Lin Xian said. “Let’s finish watching the recording first.”

The screen showed footage recorded more than twenty years ago. Zhang Yu Qian’s friend stared at her, confused, as Zhang Yu Qian continued to mumble in her sleep.

After those strange words, Zhang Yu Qian let out a few soft hums and rubbed her eyes as she sat up. She glared at her friend, annoyed.

“Why did you hit me so hard? My forehead is killing me!” she grumbled, yawning sleepily. “Did you get it all recorded?”

“Yes, it’s all recorded,” her friend replied. “But… you were just talking to me a second ago, and now you don’t remember?”

Zhang Yu Qian shook her head. “I remember being woken up and saying a few things to you, but what I said, and the dream itself? I can’t remember a single thing.”

“That’s incredible!” her friend exclaimed. “I mean, I’ve heard of people forgetting their dreams after waking up, but I’ve never seen anyone forget so quickly and completely. You really don’t remember anything about that nightmare?”

“Why would I lie?” Zhang Yu Qian huffed, sitting up in bed. “I told you before I fell asleep. When I suddenly wake up, I can remember the dream for a second or two, but as soon as I blink or look away, it’s gone.”

“If I wake up naturally, half-asleep, I can’t even tell if I’ve dreamed at all. Most of the time, I can’t tell if I’ve dreamed unless I’m jolted awake, like just now.”

“Even though I forget the dream itself, the fear and anxiety it causes stick around, so I know it was a nightmare.” Zhang Yu Qian stretched and climbed out of bed. “Come on, let’s go to the living room. There’s a VCR there. I’m dying to see what I dreamed about!”

“Uh…” Her friend looked awkward. “I think you might have dreamed about World War II.”

“Huh?” Zhang Yu Qian looked incredulous. “Why would I dream about that? I don’t even care about history! Ugh, why is the camera still running? We’re wasting tape. Turn it off.”

With that, the screen went black.

After that, there was nothing. The tape clicked as it wound to the other side, and the footage came to an end.

“This…” Gao Yang scratched his head, frowning. “What in the world was Zhang Yu Qian dreaming about? None of it made any sense. But I guess it’s a dream, so a bit of random chaos is fine. Still, what do those words mean?”

“Explosion, mushroom cloud… Was she dreaming of an atomic bomb? And then there’s burning, white light… I suppose that could also be linked to an atomic explosion. But what about 1952? Isn’t that wrong?”

“The two atomic bombs were dropped in 1945, right? The U.S. dropped them on Japan, and Japan surrendered. So why 1952? Maybe Zhang Yu Qian just got the year wrong. Probably failed history class,” Gao Yang suggested.

Lin Xian leaned back on the couch, thinking.

“1952 and atomic bombs… Wait, I remember now. The first hydrogen bomb was detonated in 1952.”

“It wasn’t used in war, though. It was a test, but it was still a major milestone in human history. Though, I’m not too sure about the details. Let me check.”

Lin Xian grabbed his phone and began searching. Soon enough, he found the answer.

“On November 1, 1952, the U.S. conducted the first hydrogen bomb test in the Pacific. The bomb was called ‘Mike,’ and its explosive power was over ten megatons, more than five hundred times that of the Hiroshima bomb.”

“The reason it was so powerful is because the hydrogen bomb’s mechanism is different from an atomic bomb. It uses the energy from nuclear fission to trigger fusion in lighter elements like deuterium and tritium, releasing an enormous amount of energy.”

Gao Yang leaned in, reading the screen. “Wow, so there really was a hydrogen bomb explosion in 1952. Do hydrogen bombs create mushroom clouds too?”

“Yes,” Lin Xian nodded. “The type of bomb doesn’t matter. As long as the explosion is big enough, it’ll create a mushroom cloud.”

“Then there’s the answer!” Gao Yang spread his hands and flopped back on the couch, looking relaxed. “Zhang Yu Qian’s friend was right. She probably watched some World War II movies and read about hydrogen bombs, and that’s why she had this nightmare.”

“But why was Einstein in it?” Lin Xian asked. “Sure, the mass-energy equivalence formula was Einstein’s work, but the hydrogen bomb project was led by Edward Teller. If Zhang Yu Qian really dreamed of the 1952 test, she should have dreamed of Edward Teller, not Einstein.”

Gao Yang scoffed dismissively. “Come on, bro! It’s a dream! Why are you trying to make sense of it? You think Zhang Yu Qian’s going to write a research paper in her sleep? Dreams are chaotic by nature, no need to be so serious about it.”

“It’s just a nightmare, nothing more. After this little episode, Zhang Yu Qian and her friend probably didn’t give it a second thought. We checked her things thoroughly. Besides this tape, there were no other recordings, so it seems she only tried this once and then lost interest.”

“There was also that diary. It didn’t mention anything about the nightmare, which means she was satisfied with this one attempt and didn’t look into it any further.”

“A nightmare’s just a nightmare. What does it matter what it’s about? And didn’t you hear what Zhang Yu Qian said? If she wakes up normally, she can’t remember her dreams at all. If you ask me what I dreamed about last night, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Unless it’s an incredibly vivid dream, most dreams are forgotten within minutes of waking up. I don’t see anything strange about Zhang Yu Qian.”

Lin Xian listened quietly to Gao Yang’s shallow analysis. It was clear that Gao Yang didn’t know everything, which was why he didn’t think much of Zhang Yu Qian’s nightmare.

But Lin Xian knew better.

No matter how he looked at it, this dream was anything but ordinary.

It wasn’t just Zhang Yu Qian having these nightmares—Chu An Qing had them too. And both of them forgot their dreams just seconds after waking up.

Such a coincidence couldn’t possibly be just a coincidence. It was enough to make him wonder—

Did every member of the ‘Millennium Stakes’ have similar nightmares?

“CC…” Lin Xian murmured softly.

Now that Chu An Qing was gone, Lin Xian couldn’t find her to confirm anything about the nightmares.

But luckily, CC was still around, meeting with him every night. If CC was also having nightmares, it could be another clue about the characteristics of the Millennium Stake—maybe one of its features! Lin Xian’s curiosity grew. He wondered if CC had the same nightmares and if they were the same as Chu An Qing’s. Or perhaps similar to the ones Zhang Yu Qian had?

Besides that, there was another unusual thing—something that had been bothering him for a while. Two key phrases kept popping up whenever anything related to the Genius Club came up: “1952” and “Einstein.”

The mysterious president of the Genius Club wore an Einstein mask; the way to get the official invitation involved finding and deciphering clues in the painting “Sorrowful Einstein.” That painting was created in Brooklyn, New York, back in 1952. The reason Einstein appeared sad in the painting was because he feared for humanity’s future, worrying that superweapons like the atomic bomb and hydrogen bomb would mean there’d be no future for mankind. And the Genius Club’s core mission? To create a better future for humanity.

Suddenly, something clicked. It was like a flash of realization for Lin Xian, as if Zhang Yu Qian’s nightmare had linked it all together, completing an important loop.

“No… It can’t be,” Lin Xian muttered, taking a deep breath. His mind was spinning with a wild, impossible idea that actually made everything make sense.

He jumped up from the sofa, looking around the mess that was his living room. “Where’s a pen? Paper?”

“Who even keeps that kind of stuff at home?” Gao Yang replied, picking his nose. “It’s late anyway, and we haven’t hung out in ages. Let’s grab some late-night barbecue, have a couple of drinks. Zhao Ying Jun’s pregnant, so you’re off the hook for baby prep—just drink and chat with me for a bit.”

“We’ll talk about drinking later,” Lin Xian dismissed, his mind now caught in a brainstorm that he couldn’t shake.

He headed to his study, switched on the light, and remembered seeing a few pens somewhere in the room. Sure enough, he found one quickly. He tore some pages out of an old notebook, sat at the desk, and started outlining his thoughts.

“Hey! Are we going for barbecue or not?” Gao Yang shouted from the living room. “How long will you take?”

“Half an hour,” Lin Xian answered absentmindedly.

“Alright, I’ll go shower and change. Then we’ll go eat.” Gao Yang figured that was a yes, so he jumped up from the sofa and headed for the bathroom.

Suddenly, the room grew quiet. Lin Xian rubbed his temples, a cold shiver running down his spine. What if… What if it was all like he was starting to think?

He picked up his pen and started jotting down a timeline. Some parts were real historical facts, others were his own speculations.

First, the actual history:

In 1905, Einstein published the theory of special relativity and the famous equation E = mc², laying the foundation for the discovery and use of atomic energy.

In 1939, Einstein wrote a letter to U.S. President Roosevelt, suggesting the possibility of building an atomic bomb. He warned that Germany might be developing one and that this could pose a great threat to the world. He urged America to start working on it immediately.

By 1941, the United States launched the top-secret “Manhattan Project” to build the atomic bomb. The President gave the project “special priority above all else.”

In 1945, the atomic bomb was successfully developed and dropped twice on Japan, leveling cities and causing countless casualties. Shortly after, World War II officially ended. From that point on, Einstein was deeply troubled by the devastating weapons he’d helped bring into existence. He regretted the E = mc² equation, feeling it had opened a Pandora’s box, giving humanity the power to destroy itself.

In 1952, the first hydrogen bomb was created, far more powerful than the atomic bomb. The atomic bomb “Little Boy,” with a yield of just 20 kilotons, had wiped out an entire city. How much destruction could a 10-megaton hydrogen bomb bring if it were used in war? Realizing the Pandora’s box could never be closed, Einstein grew even more despondent.

In the same year, 1952, a realist painter named Henry Dawson painted an oil portrait of Einstein called “Sorrowful Einstein” in Brooklyn, New York. In the painting, Einstein asked a desperate question: “Does humanity have a future?”

In 1955, Einstein passed away in Princeton, USA, his death marked by despair and regret. His brain was taken by a doctor and preserved in formaldehyde for research. His body was cremated, and his ashes scattered in a place known only to a few.

All of this was historically recorded, but then Lin Xian’s speculation began:

At some point after 1952, someone decided to create the Genius Club to forge a better future for humanity. This founder had some unique ability to see the future—and what he saw worried him. He was as pessimistic as Einstein about humanity’s fate… maybe even more so.

While Einstein had feared that humans armed with superweapons might destroy themselves, he never knew for sure. But the Genius Club’s founder had actually seen that the future was indeed bleak, that humanity really had no future.

Yet he didn’t give up. He gathered the world’s brightest minds, hoping to change humanity’s destiny and offer a brighter future. He seemed to admire Einstein—maybe even felt a kind of kinship with him—so he hid the invitation clues within “Sorrowful Einstein,” and commissioned Henry Dawson to create seven more originals, placing eight Genius Club invitations in secret locations around the world.

Time went by.

Copernicus, Newton, Galileo—one genius after another cracked the Einstein code, found the invitation, and joined the Genius Club.

To keep their identities secret, each member wore a mask representing a famous scientist, artist, or mathematician and used it as their code name. And the Genius Club’s founder, its president, wore a mask depicting none other than the sorrowful, late Albert Einstein.

By now, it seemed that Einstein’s life and the history of the Genius Club were pretty well sorted out. It even appeared that the real Einstein and the club’s president had no connection beyond the mask—perhaps they’d never even met or weren’t from the same time.

But… was that really the case?

Behind every mask worn by a member of the Genius Club was a real person.

Like Kevin Walker behind the Turing mask, or Elon Musk behind the Tesla mask, or Lin Xian behind the Rhine Cat mask. And then there was the dying old man behind the Copernicus mask.

So who was the man behind the Einstein mask?

That was the absurd, chilling, and almost impossible idea that had crossed Lin Xian’s mind—the very idea that somehow made the most sense.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes scanning the scrawled notes on the paper before him.

“Could it be,” he whispered, “that the president of the Genius Club, the old man behind the Einstein mask, is actually Einstein himself?”

This novel is translated and hosted only on bcatranslation

The idea was ridiculous.

Everyone knew Einstein had died in 1955. There was no funeral, no memorial, no grave—and no one knew where his ashes had been scattered. But his brain had been stolen by a doctor, preserved in slices, and studied in labs and universities around the world, still floating in formaldehyde.

Einstein should be dead, no doubt about it. He couldn’t possibly still be alive. Unless…

Suddenly, Lin Xian remembered something he’d once said to deceive Ji Xin Shui:

“The dead don’t draw attention. They leave no trace in this world. That way, you can hide in history, quietly pulling the strings of the future, shaping humanity’s destiny.”

Could it be…

Had Einstein faked his death? Had he staged the most elaborate ruse in history—a true deception of the world?

A shiver ran down Lin Xian’s spine at the thought.

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

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