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20240328

These eight digits formed a date: Chu An Qing’s 20th birthday, the same day she vanished into blue stardust.

Until today, Lin Xian hadn’t given much thought to what the password should be. He had considered using a random, complex password or keeping it simple, as safes were meant to deter honest people, not determined thieves. He reasoned that if his dreams were fake and the enemy had a setup to brute-force the password, they could crack it in 600 years, read the note inside, and copy it for him.

The password itself wasn’t important. What mattered was the note inside and the safe serving as a coordinate to ensure his future self, 600 years later, could find it.

As he was about to close the safe, thoughts of Chu An Qing flooded his mind. She was the girl who had jumped from a plane for him and disappeared into blue stardust. Her 20th birthday was also her death anniversary. He hadn’t even had the chance to wish her a happy birthday or give her a gift. She vanished before she could see the first light of her 20th year.

Through his recent investigation into the Millennium Stake, Lin Xian felt certain that Chu An Qing wasn’t dead. She had simply vanished, not died. In this magical world, many wondrous things and powers existed. If time and causality could be reversed, why couldn’t Chu An Qing return?

Lin Xian wasn’t one to give up easily. He was determined to find those who had planted the Millennium Stake and demand, “Give me Chu An Qing back!”

He wanted her back exactly as she was on March 28, 2024, the moment he grasped her hand in the sky, the moment he saw her serene smile after landing and removing her spacesuit. This impulsive decision felt natural as he set the eight dials to that date.

He had considered breaking the historical loop by setting a different password, but Brother Wang had told him the password couldn’t be changed once set. He wouldn’t waste the precious time-space particles and note Chu An Qing sacrificed everything to give him just to test a meaningless theory.

The historical loop didn’t matter to him. But at this moment, Lin Xian felt only this date as the password could honor Chu An Qing’s sacrifice and the tumultuous 600 years. No wonder his past self couldn’t guess the password, even knowing it was her birthday. It wasn’t her birth year or 18th year, but an ordinary 20th birthday. Who would value a 20th birthday so highly?

And yet, Lin Xian hadn’t known Chu An Qing before the MX celebration. He hadn’t paid much attention to this lively junior before.

“See you there,” he whispered, turning the eight dials to random positions one last time. Glancing at the safe filled with secrets and time, he vowed, “I will find you.”

Lin Xian turned and walked toward the alloy door.

Click.

Outside, Brother Wang opened the door for Lin Xian. “Wow, you’re quick! Most clients take ages to decide on a password. Since it can’t be changed, they want something meaningful for their time capsule.”

“Many even consider the possibility of future hibernation and the amnesia side effects. They want a password so important that even a memory-lost future self would recognize its significance.”

Brother Wang’s words echoed what Lin Xian had heard. Now that Xu Yi Yi had entered hibernation, and the first batch of volunteers were in as well, with promising results, it seemed the first generation of mass-produced hibernation pods would soon be released. The allure of hibernating and waking in the future was strong, but so were the concerns about memory loss and recovery.

Many naively thought, “Write a diary! Watch videos upon waking!” or “Hibernate in turns with a trusted person to share memories.”

But human memory was complex and emotional, not easily captured in a diary or video. Sociologists said the biggest challenge in memory recovery was trust. A blank slate would instinctively distrust everything, rejecting even their own diary as uninteresting, lacking connection. Videos would face similar rejection.

Lin Xian, familiar with these issues, knew trust was a significant barrier to memory recovery. Without trust, external memories couldn’t reintegrate into the brain. And deeper concerns like memory fraud and manipulation loomed, with scenarios of waking to false memories implanted by malicious actors.

As hibernation technology edged closer to reality, public apprehension grew. People feared losing their identities more than their wealth. The thought of waking to strangers presenting fake memories was terrifying, dampening the curiosity about hibernation.

To prepare for this new era, many sought ways to safeguard their true memories, using safes like Lin Xian’s. Brother Wang had explained that most clients bought safes in preparation for future hibernation, wanting to secure their genuine memories for their future selves.

“It’s a time of great change, Lin Xian,” Brother Wang said, patting his shoulder as they walked out of Time Bank.

“Do you think I should hibernate and see if Time Bank still recognizes me as its founder in a few centuries?” Brother Wang joked.

“If you’re serious, I’ll cover all the costs,” Lin Xian replied.

“Haha, just kidding!” Brother Wang waved it off. “I wouldn’t hibernate. I can’t leave my family and friends. This era is good enough. Who knows if the future will be better or worse? What if there’s a war?”

They chatted as they left the bank. Brother Wang returned to his work, while Lin Xian sighed, getting into his Alpha business car. After running around since returning to Donghai, he’d accomplished much, but now it was time to tackle the most challenging task.

As the car door closed, Lin Xian instructed the driver, “To the Chu Shan He estate. Drive slowly.”

An hour later, the car arrived at the estate. Lin Xian stepped out, approaching the front door. His hand hovered over the doorbell multiple times before he finally pressed it.

Ding dong—

The sound felt like a knife to his heart. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Su Xiu Ying, her eyes red and swollen with fresh tear streaks.

“Auntie Xiu Ying,” Lin Xian said softly, seeing they were already aware of Chu An Qing’s fate. How they knew wasn’t important. Su Xiu Ying’s puffy eyes showed she had been crying for a long time. Lin Xian’s guilt intensified as he clenched his hands.

“I’m sorry, Auntie.”

Su Xiu Ying wiped her eyes and pointed to the living room. “Shan He is waiting for you… he knew you would come.”

Lin Xian nodded and entered. He had prepared himself to face Chu Shan He, ready to answer any question honestly. He had lost Chu An Qing and had to take responsibility.

The sound of his footsteps echoed as he walked into the living room. The burly man on the sofa stood up, looking slimmer and less imposing than before. His once robust figure now seemed frail.

Chu Shan He turned slowly, his eyes deeply furrowed as they met Lin Xian’s.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chu,” Lin Xian said, bowing his head in remorse. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect An Qing.”

Chu Shan He stood still, about five meters away. He took a deep breath before speaking, “Lin Xian, I don’t blame you.”

Lin Xian clenched his teeth, feeling a sharp pain in his heart. Chu Shan He’s words were the hardest to bear. He would have preferred a beating or harsh words over this painful acceptance.

“The day after An Qing’s incident, a woman named Yellow Finch came with the leaders of the National Space Agency,” Chu Shan He began, his voice hoarse. “She brought the leaders to add credibility to her words. She took me to a private room and told me what happened to An Qing, and how you jumped from the plane to save her.”

“She spoke of many things I didn’t understand, but I knew the outcome… my daughter vanished. Despite you catching her hand in the air and landing together, she disappeared, leaving nothing behind.”

“I asked many questions, but she had few answers. I was furious, but I had allowed An Qing to join this mission, knowing the risks. She did something extraordinary.”

“But Lin Xian, how can any father endure this? In my anger, I pressed Yellow Finch, and she said you were investigating this. She assured me you would find out what happened and come to me with answers.”

Chu Shan He’s voice was light, unlike the strong, confident man Lin Xian knew. It lacked the vigor and strength he was used to. After a pause, Chu Shan He continued.

“So, I didn’t contact you. Many times, I wanted to call, but I held back.”

“Lin Xian, I trusted you with my daughter, meaning I believed in you. I’ve always admired you, treated you like my own. So, I knew you would come and find the answers.”

Lin Xian raised his head, meeting Chu Shan He’s gaze.

“Lin Xian…” Chu Shan He went on, “When you jumped from the plane, you fulfilled your promise to me. You don’t need to feel guilty. You can face me with a clear conscience.”

“I’ve seen many things in my years in business, and I know the world has inexplicable phenomena. I’m more accepting of these things than your Auntie Xiu Ying.”

“I believe every word you say and see you as a responsible man. So, Lin Xian, I have just one question.”

Chu Shan He looked directly into Lin Xian’s eyes, his gaze piercing.

“Is my daughter dead or alive?”

Lin Xian’s eyes were steadfast as he answered, “She’s alive.”

“Then where is she?” Chu Shan He demanded.

Lin Xian stepped forward, standing before the grieving, strong father.

“Mr. Chu, I don’t know where An Qing is now.”

“But I promise you with my life, with everything I have.”

He placed his hand over his heart, looking up at Chu Shan He.

“No matter where she is, no matter who she is now, whether at the ends of the earth, across the river of time, even if I have to search every corner of space and time—”

Lin Xian’s determination blazed in his eyes.

“I will find Chu An Qing and bring her back to you!”

Chu Shan He stood rigid, fists clenched, then took a step forward. He placed a large hand heavily on Lin Xian’s shoulder.

“A man must keep his word and see it through.”

He locked eyes with Lin Xian.

“I’ll be waiting… for you to bring my daughter back!”