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“This safe is constructed from solid steel. Ordinary tools or crowbars won’t do the trick, and even explosives can’t breach it. Only an oxy-acetylene torch, with its intense high-temperature flame, can cut through it. It’s a last-resort solution.”

Lin Xian’s interest was clearly aroused. “What kind of torch did you mention again?”

“An oxy-acetylene torch. It uses high-pressure acetylene gas to produce a flame that can reach up to 3000 degrees Celsius, capable of melting and cutting through steel. It’s a common tool in industrial applications.”

After the explanation, the technicians handed Lin Xian a form to sign, left a manual and a contact number, and then departed.

“Oxy-acetylene torch…” Lin Xian muttered to himself.

The dream safe, with his name inscribed on it, was rusty and peeling, clearly made of steel. A flame that reached 3000 degrees would render it as fragile as tofu.

Lin Xian had hoped to enter his dream soon and use the torch to cut open the safe, but his plans were thwarted by an unexpected rush of work. He found himself swamped, often working late into the night, leaving no chance for dreaming. Days passed without a single dream.

It wasn’t just him feeling the strain. The entire company was under pressure, with everyone pulling all-nighters. Even Zhao Ying Jun, usually so impeccable, now sported faint dark circles under her eyes.

One afternoon, just as Lin Xian completed a task, his phone rang. He was surprised to see the caller ID. “Professor Xu Yun?”

It had been several days since their last conversation. Could there be new developments?

Lin Xian answered the call eagerly. “Professor Xu Yun?”

“Lin Xian! Do you have time right now?” Professor Xu Yun’s voice was brimming with excitement. “I need you to witness a historic moment!”

A historic moment? Had Professor Xu Yun finally perfected the fluid for the hibernation pod?

Glancing at the clock—it was almost 2 PM—Lin Xian wasn’t particularly interested in scientific milestones, but he didn’t want to dampen Xu Yun’s enthusiasm. “Of course, Professor Xu. I’ll head over to Donghai University immediately.”

After delegating his remaining tasks to his team, Lin Xian caught a cab to the university.

Upon his arrival at Professor Xu Yun’s laboratory, Xu Yun eagerly ushered him towards a sealed pod. “Look at this. This white mouse has been in deep sleep at -60 degrees Celsius for over 40 hours.”

“For the entire duration, it has remained in a state of deep sleep. Though it appears lifeless, it hasn’t needed to eat or excrete, and its vital signs are stable!”

Lin Xian leaned in closer to the pod, which was ice-cold and emitted a chilly mist. Inside, submerged in a light blue liquid, was a curled-up white mouse, outfitted with monitoring electrodes and tubes.

The mouse looked utterly still, almost like it was dead. However, Lin Xian noticed slight movements in its abdomen—a sign it was alive.

Professor Xu Yun pointed to the monitoring screen, explaining the readings. “Normally, a mouse’s heart beats between 500-700 times per minute, and it breathes about 150 times per minute. Their rapid metabolism contributes to their short lifespans, typically just three to four years.”

“But now, look at these figures,” Professor Xu Yun continued, indicating the screen:

“Heart rate: 21 beats per minute”

“Breathing rate: 7 breaths per minute”

“See? Both its heart rate and breathing have slowed down by a factor of thirty! Its metabolic rate has decreased similarly. In this low-temperature pod, the mouse’s aging process is effectively slowed by the same factor.”

Lin Xian nodded, understanding the concept. In sci-fi films, characters enter hibernation pods, sleep for centuries, and emerge unchanged. However, real scientific progress is incremental.

Professor Xu Yun’s invention, though primitive, was a significant breakthrough—it could reduce metabolic activity by thirty times. If this proved stable, external time would pass thirty years while the mouse aged just one year, effectively allowing it to ‘travel’ to the future.

Yet, the real challenges in hibernation technology were not just about inducing freezing but also about ensuring successful thawing and reawakening.

“The true test isn’t just freezing, it’s about the revival process,” Professor Xu Yun elaborated. “Now, you’ll witness a genuine historic moment. We’re about to revive this mouse that has been in hibernation for 40 hours at -60 degrees Celsius.”

Lin Xian watched intently as Professor Xu Yun carefully adjusted the controls, gradually warming the pod. After about half an hour, the temperature inside the pod reached ten degrees Celsius. The mouse began to move, clawing at the walls of the pod in a frenzy.

“Don’t worry,” reassured Xu Yun. “The liquid’s high oxygen solubility supports normal breathing, even when inhaled, though it feels quite uncomfortable. It’s designed to ensure the animal can breathe without suffocating, though I haven’t tested this personally.”

Then, Xu Yun drained the pod and gently removed the mouse, detaching all the electrodes.

Now free, the mouse shook off the remaining liquid and energetically darted around the lab.

“Amazing,” Lin Xian exclaimed, astonished. “It’s hard to believe it was in a near-death state for 40 hours at -60 degrees.”

The marvels of science were evident. A human would not survive such conditions, yet here was this lively mouse, bounding about.

Xu Yun smiled, a mix of relief and triumph on his face. “There are many hurdles yet to overcome, but the successful hibernation and revival of this mouse validate the effectiveness of the pod and the fluid. The theoretical foundation is solid.”

Seeing Xu Yun’s joy, Lin Xian was moved, knowing this could bring hope for his comatose daughter. Curiously, he asked, “Professor Xu, how long do you think it will take to develop a fully operational hibernation pod?”

Xu Yun pondered the question thoughtfully. “Difficult to estimate. Perhaps decades, maybe less. But today, we’ve taken an essential first step.”