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Lin Xian capped his pen and twirled it between his fingers before beginning to speak. “Gao Yang, take a look at this. Here’s what I’ve summarized: the time of Zhang Yu Qian’s death, her birth date, age… and how they compare to Chu An Qing’s disappearance time, birth date, and age.”

In front of him, the white paper on the desk was filled with rows of densely written notes—data and deductions Lin Xian had meticulously recorded.

Earlier that morning, Lin Xian had called Liu An, the director of the National Security Agency. Liu An was always enthusiastic when receiving a call from Lin Xian. After all, in Liu An’s eyes, Lin Xian was a true hero. This young man had not only provided numerous vulnerabilities for the Great Wall of Cybersecurity of this country but also thwarted the world’s top hacker, Kevin Walker. Last year, at the World Hacker Championship, Lin Xian had brought glory to this country, defeating Kevin Walker and winning the championship trophy. Although the trophy itself wasn’t valuable, it was an unparalleled honor given the circumstances.

When Lin Xian returned to bid farewell, Liu An had wanted him to stay longer in the capital, to introduce him to some leaders and treat him well. But Lin Xian was in a hurry to get back to Donghai, especially because his girlfriend seemed to have sneaked out, making it unwise to stay long. Liu An didn’t insist, only telling Lin Xian to keep in touch and call him if he ever faced any trouble.

“Don’t worry, if I can’t solve it, I’ll get my friends to help.”

Back then, Liu An had patted his chest and promised with a smile: “Besides, if I can’t solve it, there’s still Professor Gao Yan! If you have any problems, feel free to ask. I’ve been his student and subordinate for years; there’s nothing I can’t say to him!”

Lin Xian had smiled and nodded, shaking Liu An’s hand goodbye. He could tell that Liu An was a straightforward and loyal person, just as Gao Yan had described.

After their farewell in the capital, they had little contact, only exchanging New Year’s greetings via text.

But now, without VV’s intelligence-gathering capabilities, Lin Xian had to turn to this important figure for help. Over the phone, he asked Liu An for two things.

First, he wanted Liu An to find the address of an elderly couple from Qufu, Shandong, now living in the capital, likely near Xidan—Zhang Shi and Yan Qin. When Lin Xian had met them at Xidan Shopping Mall, VV had instantly investigated and reported their details, including their names, age, education, and background. But Lin Xian couldn’t remember all the details, just their names.

With their names, especially both spouses’ names, it was easy to find them. Liu An readily agreed, saying it was a simple task.

The second request was more complex. Lin Xian asked Liu An to investigate a car accident in Qufu, Shandong, from January 2000. The victim was Zhang Yu Qian, born in 1980, the only daughter of Zhang Shi and Yan Qin. As the records weren’t digitized, and it was merely a traffic accident without any criminal element, finding detailed information would be challenging. Nevertheless, Liu An promised to take care of it.

Not long after, the location and address of Zhang Shi and Yan Qin’s community were sent to Lin Xian’s phone. By noon, a police officer from Qufu added Lin Xian on WeChat, sending over various yellowed, fragmented, and even mouse-chewed and water-damaged pages of records.

“Mr. Lin Xian, we’ve rummaged through the archives for a long time and found these relevant records from 2000. The car accident was straightforward, with no subsequent implications. The most we had was compensation to the landscaping department for a tree… The car was only insured for basic coverage. Afterward, we don’t know what happened to it.”

“In 2000, there were no ubiquitous cell phones or dash cams, and street surveillance was sparse. So, the accident details came from Yan Qin’s account, with no actual evidence or photos.”

“Also, it wasn’t a criminal case but a regular traffic incident reported much later because the family was grieving over their daughter’s death. It was only when the landscaping department demanded compensation that they reported it.”

Seeing these precious, hard-to-find records, Lin Xian thanked the officer profusely, expressing his gratitude and acknowledging their efforts. He realized that despite VV’s advanced intelligence, it had limitations in the human world where social connections mattered. VV could scan the internet instantly but couldn’t mobilize archive staff to search through old records.

In contrast, Liu An could make a call, and the entire Qufu archive would be mobilized. Within a few hours, they had retrieved all the old records from the early 2000s. The condition of these documents—weathered, mouse-chewed, and yellowed—showed how much effort the staff had put in. Lin Xian repeatedly thanked them, saying these were more than enough and sincerely appreciating their hard work.

After reading the reports, Lin Xian extracted the necessary information. The car accident that killed Zhang Yu Qian occurred around 1 AM on January 21, 2000, but the report was filed on February 7, a gap of over two weeks. The officer explained that in 2000, people weren’t as aware of legalities and reporting incidents. Since it was just a tree, they didn’t think to report it until the landscaping department demanded compensation.

From the fragmented records, Lin Xian gathered the key details, which were now written on the paper before him.

Gao Yang, brushing his teeth, walked over with his toothbrush still in his mouth.

“What’s written there? Let me see.”

Lin Xian pushed a chair towards him, then picked up his pen, pointing to the words on the paper: “Look, the police records show Zhang Yu Qian was born on January 21, 1980, and the car accident happened on January 21, 2000, early in the morning.”

“Whoa!” Gao Yang exclaimed, spitting out toothpaste foam. “Exactly 20 years old! And it happened on her birthday! That’s such a coincidence! And Chu An Qing is the same! Didn’t she disappear from the shuttle on her 20th birthday… at midnight?”

“Exactly.” Lin Xian moved the pen to the second line of text. “Chu An Qing was born on March 28, 2004, and she vanished, possibly due to quantum collapse, like blue star dust, on March 28, 2024, at 00:42.”

“I’m not sure if Zhang Yu Qian’s exact time of death is 00:42, as the police records only mentioned ‘around 1 AM,’ based on her mother Yan Qin’s account.”

Gao Yang spat out more toothpaste foam and rinsed his mouth.

“Then I think it’s definitely 00:42. If they look so alike, including the tear mole, and died on their 20th birthdays, why not assume Zhang Yu Qian’s death time is also 00:42? Even more boldly, what if their birth times were also 00:42?”

“That would make their lives exactly 20 years to the minute! Perfectly precise!”

Suddenly, Gao Yang’s face turned serious as he slapped his cheek.

“Pah! We shouldn’t use the word ‘death’ for Chu An Qing. She’s our friend. Let’s say she disappeared. I’m starting to think Chu An Qing might not be dead… but I don’t know what happened to her.”

“Pah! I said ‘death’ again. Bad luck. She disappeared, vanished! Zhang Yu Qian is probably really dead though… Whoa!!” Gao Yang’s eyes widened. “Lin Xian, are you planning to dig up Zhang Yu Qian’s grave in Qufu? I thought you meant we’d dig a memorial for Chu An Qing… but you want to exhume a grave?”

“That’s too much! Even as your buddy, I can’t condone this! Do you know what it means to disturb a grave in this country? That’s taboo! People shouldn’t… at least shouldn’t…”

“Enough,” Lin Xian interrupted. “I know it’s unethical. But as you said, Chu An Qing is our friend. Don’t we owe it to her to find out what happened?”

“There’s a strand of Chu An Qing’s hair in my suitcase. We just need to get some remains from Zhang Yu Qian’s grave, like bone or teeth, to do a DNA comparison. If the DNA doesn’t match, they’re just lookalikes. But they can’t be unrelated, right? I suspect they might be the same person.”

“I don’t know what will happen after the DNA test, but our only clue to Chu An Qing’s disappearance is Zhang Yu Qian. We can’t ignore it. We need to find the truth and give Chu Shan He an explanation.”

Gao Yang, looking pale and shaky, sat back down with a thud. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to compose himself.

“This is crazy,” he muttered. “And besides, wouldn’t Zhang Yu Qian have been cremated? High-temperature cremation destroys DNA. Digging up the grave might be pointless.”

Lin Xian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “We have to try,” he insisted. “Back in 2000, cremation wasn’t as widely accepted. Many people resisted it. My great-grandmother wasn’t cremated either. Most likely, Zhang Yu Qian wasn’t cremated. Even now, many people resist cremation. So, it’s likely her remains are intact.”

Gao Yang’s eyes widened in disbelief. “And you’ve been to space, you’ve raided hornet nests, and you’ve even jumped into sewage pits. Why are you afraid of digging up a grave? You’re a materialist warrior; believe in yourself.”

“No, no…” Gao Yang shook his head vehemently. “This is different. It’s not about superstition. Even materialists don’t disturb graves! If it was just ashes, I might dare… but you want to dig up bones! That’s insane! Gravedigger Lin Xian!”

“And what if I get possessed by something? Don’t laugh! Last night, I felt something pressing on me, like sleep paralysis. When I woke up, I saw you standing on the balcony like a ghost!”

“That scared me to death… Lin Xian, you’re obsessed!”

Lin Xian sighed and pointed west. “If you’re really scared, go pray at Shijingshan Temple, get a talisman to calm your nerves.”

“Buddha’s mercy isn’t enough?” Gao Yang pondered. “Any tougher deities?”

Lin Xian pointed southwest. “Go to Prince Gong’s Mansion. He worshipped a whole row of fierce gods. It’s close.”

“But they didn’t save him from execution!” Gao Yang exclaimed. “This superstition is unreliable.”

Gao Yang pulled out his phone and started searching for something. “Better rely on science. I’ll get some tools and equipment for the trip.”

“We can buy them in Qufu. How else will we get them on a plane or train?”

“Alright, I’ll find a store.”

After Gao Yang left to prepare, Lin Xian lowered his head, reviewing his notes. He realized talking to Gao Yang was like talking to a wall. He now understood why Coach Wei Cheng was so exasperated with Gao Yang. In the future, he’d just tell Gao Yang what to do without explaining.

Returning to his notes, Lin Xian focused on the similarities between Chu An Qing and Zhang Yu Qian. The coincidences were too numerous. Aside from their birthdates, eras, and death times, they were nearly identical. He recalled Yellow Finch’s mention of the “Millennium Stake” and “Locked History.”

Could these concepts be related to Chu An Qing?

Stakes were common in construction. Lin Xian looked out at a construction site where pile drivers hammered steel stakes into the ground.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The heavy steel hammer rose and fell, driving the stake piles deeper into the earth, securing the foundation, the structure, the entire project.

“Locked history…” Lin Xian murmured, recalling the first law of time-space told by Yellow Finch.

Who could lock history?

Watching the pile drivers, an idea struck him. What if the Millennium Stake was a metaphor for locking history? If Chu An Qing was a Millennium Stake, was Zhang Yu Qian one too? Was CC another Millennium Stake?

Were they like stakes driven into the timeline to lock history in place?

“If so, how do they lock history?” Lin Xian wondered. “Locking history… what does it mean? What happens when history is locked?”

He couldn’t fathom it, but if he continued down this line of thought, a chilling question arose, sending a shiver down his spine.

If the Millennium Stake’s purpose was to lock history, then who was driving these stakes into the timeline?

Looking up at the blazing sun, Lin Xian whispered:

“Who is locking the flow of history?”

“And who…”

“Is driving these Millennium Stakes into the river of time?”