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It was unsettling yet strangely assertive.

“This must be their emblem,” Lin Xian mused, clutching the wax seal tightly. Since receiving the invitation, this was his first tangible encounter with anything from the Genius Club, marking his closest brush yet with the secretive organization.

What could this symbol represent?

Mimicking the emblem, Lin Xian extended his right hand, palm facing him, and pointed his index finger skyward. It felt like a professor stressing a critical point, yet it carried an undeniable command, as if it could order the world to kneel.

He slipped the seal into his jacket pocket. Keeping the seal at the office wasn’t safe; it was better hidden at home. A troubling thought then struck him:

“If the wax seal is separated from the invitation, it means… Zhao Ying Jun has already opened and read it.”

Lin Xian gazed out at the sprawling city skyline, deep in thought. “Zhao Ying Jun had seen the invitation… Was she indifferent? Curious? Or possibly… has she already agreed to join the Genius Club?”

A shiver ran down his spine. If Big Cat Face’s information was accurate, the Genius Club was undeniably sinister. What could possibly motivate Zhao Ying Jun to join such a group? What were her intentions and plans?

The room seemed to grow colder. Yet, Lin Xian reminded himself not to dwell on these suspicions just yet. His views of the Genius Club were solely based on Big Cat Face’s claims. Given Big Cat Face’s shady background, taking his word as the absolute truth wasn’t wise.

“I should verify the credibility of the dream first.”

The dream’s nature was still unclear, as were Big Cat Face’s statements. It was too early for conclusions; he needed to proceed cautiously.

“Right now, the priority is to aid Professor Xu Yun in his research and alter the future!”

Lin Xian leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen, plotting his next moves. From his thoughts from the previous night, the objective was clear: to discover information on hibernation technology in the dream and relay it to Xu Yun.

He reasoned that although the dream’s scientific level mirrored that of 2022, it was set 600 years ahead. Surely, there must be some advancements in hibernation, even if complete hibernation pods were yet to be developed. There could be progress in theoretical understanding, components, or initial technologies.

Although not a scientist himself, Lin Xian believed that finding relevant literature could inspire Professor Xu Yun. Such insights could lead to groundbreaking advancements in hibernation technology, sparking global interest.

“If all goes well, this will also confirm the dream’s reality and possibly trigger a time-space butterfly effect.”

Lin Xian continued to ponder…

“If I successfully alter the future, what kind of time-space changes would that butterfly effect create?”

“Firstly, Xu Yun’s personal history would change.”

He would emerge as a pioneer in hibernation research, a figure as significant as Prometheus bringing the gift of immortality. Such a groundbreaking scientist would certainly be documented in future history texts. If successful, Lin Xian might soon find Xu Yun mentioned in the history books 600 years later.

“Secondly, the dream world itself would transform.”

The stagnant scientific development in the dream was a puzzle for Lin Xian. Yet, if he could initiate hibernation technology 600 years early, it would unleash a profound time-space butterfly effect, reshaping the technological landscape of the future world.

While he couldn’t predict the exact evolution of future technology, one thing was certain—it wouldn’t remain in its current stunted state.

If these “time-space changes” unfolded as anticipated, it would validate his theory: his dream was indeed a genuine glimpse into the future.

Lin Xian continued spinning his pen, contemplating:

“Finding literature on ‘hibernation technology’ shouldn’t be difficult. If such data exists in the dream world, it’s likely housed in the library.”

Libraries, being non-profit entities, often held rare, specialized books, serving as reservoirs of knowledge. Lin Xian was familiar with the library’s location in the dream world; he had passed the imposing, round, twin-towered structure many times, a quiet landmark in the dream city.

The library closed early, around five or six in the evening. Nighttime research wasn’t an option; he had to visit during daylight hours.

“It looks like I’ll need to dream during the day.”

Lin Xian recalled the earliest time he could enter the dream world from his youth—12:42 PM.

Before this, no matter how early he went to sleep, he wouldn’t dream at all, enjoying only deep, dreamless slumber. But at 12:42 PM, he’d immediately be transported to the dream world, standing in a familiar square.

12:42 PM to 12:42 AM.

These 12 hours were the only time Lin Xian could spend in the dream world each day. Outside this window, he couldn’t dream.

After delegating some tasks at his team’s office, Lin Xian took a leave of absence and headed home. He grabbed a quick lunch along the way.

Once home, he quickly freshened up and lay down for a nap. Glancing at the clock, it read 1:20 PM.

“The library in the dream probably closes around five or six. If I sleep now, I have about four hours there, which is plenty.”

He drew the curtains, darkening the room. Lin Xian nestled into the blanket, closed his eyes, and whispered:

“Sleep, and let’s get started!”