Genius Club

Chapter 517: Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

In front of a luxurious hotel in Brooklyn, Ji Xin Shui, a small figure standing on tiptoe, clung to the front desk with a worried expression as he looked at the receptionist.

“Excuse me, has Mr. Douglas still not returned since yesterday?”

The receptionist nodded solemnly. “We’re worried about Mr. Douglas too. We have no idea what might have happened to him. Since the day he took a cab and left, it has been half a month, and he hasn’t returned.”

Mr. Douglas had always been generous, prepaying for many days’ accommodation. Even though his advance payment expired long ago, we’ve kept his room for him, hoping he’d come back. We’re also troubled—should we report this to the authorities? But again, what if Mr. Douglas simply has urgent matters to attend to? Perhaps it’s best to leave things as they are and not add unnecessary complications for him.”

Ji Xin Shui sighed, hopped down from the bar, and walked out of the hotel lobby, heading back to the street.

Ever since that day when Mr. Douglas advised him to study hard and serve his country, Ji Xin Shui had prayed devoutly at the church every day, hoping for divine guidance.

Whether it was the grace of God or Mr. Douglas’ influence, the priest at the church, upon learning of Ji Xin Shui’s circumstances, offered to help. “We have many kind-hearted believers here willing to sponsor children who wish to study. A friend of mine in New Jersey is the principal of a charity school. If you’re willing, I can recommend you to that school.”

He added, “You won’t have to worry about tuition or living expenses. Many of the kind-hearted believers here would love to support a child like you. Additionally, the charity school offers part-time work opportunities for students—cleaning or helping in the cafeteria—enough for you to support yourself.”

The priest smiled warmly. “If you truly want to study and return to help develop your homeland, I strongly recommend this school.”

Ji Xin Shui, overwhelmed with gratitude, immediately agreed. A few days later, the priest returned with great news. “Everything is settled. I’ve arranged for you to travel to New Jersey by car this Thursday morning. A kind believer will drive you to the charity school. You can focus on your studies there.”

Ecstatic, Ji Xin Shui’s eyes sparkled brightly, as though he could already envision himself returning as an accomplished individual, serving his country, and seeing Mr. Douglas’ proud smile.

“Thank you, Father. Thank you so much!”

The priest raised his hand solemnly. “We should thank the merciful Lord.” Together, they turned toward the statue of Jesus on the church wall. The priest recited a prayer, and Ji Xin Shui followed, making the sign of the cross on his chest.

“Amen,” Ji Xin Shui murmured, his eyes tightly shut, deeply sincere in his gratitude. Yet, if he were honest, his heart held even more gratitude for Mr. Douglas. It was Mr. Douglas who had saved him, given him direction, and rekindled his hope for life.

“I must tell Mr. Douglas this good news!” Ji Xin Shui thought, his eyes snapping open. With that, he darted out of the church, heading for the hotel where he had waited so many days and nights for Mr. Douglas. He was eager to share the news with his benefactor.

However, after waiting by the hotel entrance for hours, Mr. Douglas never appeared.

“Maybe he’s busy,” Ji Xin Shui whispered, pulling his coat tighter against the cold wind. “I’ll wait a few more days. I still have time before Thursday.”

Each day, he waited with hopeful anticipation, but each day ended in disappointment. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Ji Xin Shui gathered his courage and asked the front desk, only to hear unsettling news.

“Mr. Douglas has been missing for half a month,” the receptionist explained. “Since he left in that taxi, we haven’t seen him again.”

Ji Xin Shui’s heart pounded as his face turned pale. “Could Mr. Douglas be in danger?”

Quickly shaking his head to dispel the ominous thought, he muttered to himself, “No, that can’t be. Mr. Douglas is such a kind man; nothing bad could happen to him.”

But Ji Xin Shui’s longing to share the good news with Mr. Douglas remained strong.

Stepping out of the hotel, he sighed heavily. Suddenly, a familiar face caught his attention—a bearded driver sitting in a parked taxi by the roadside. Ji Xin Shui immediately recognized him as the driver who had picked up Mr. Douglas that day.

Running over, he leaned against the window and asked eagerly, “Sir, do you remember picking up a tall, blue-eyed man wearing a black coat and hat about half a month ago? He looked like a mix of European and Asian descent.”

The bearded driver nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I remember! That gentleman was incredibly generous—he tipped me $100! I couldn’t believe my luck. Why do you think I’ve been waiting near this hotel every day since? I’m hoping to meet him again or someone else like him. Anyone staying here must be wealthy.”

Encouraged, Ji Xin Shui saw a glimmer of hope. Since the driver remembered the day so clearly, he might hold the key to finding Mr. Douglas. Without hesitation, he explained his purpose to the driver…

Ji Xin Shui had two reasons for finding Mr. Douglas: to thank him and to ensure his safety. Hearing Ji Xin Shui’s earnest concerns, the bearded driver grew equally worried for the generous man. “I remember where I dropped him off,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “It was a farm in the western outskirts of Brooklyn, an isolated place. Just follow the road out of town, and you’ll see it. It’s far, but there are no other buildings nearby—you won’t miss it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ji Xin Shui bowed politely. Tightening his shoelaces, he began running west. Though he had over $1,000 in cash, a gift from Mr. Douglas, he couldn’t bring himself to spend a single cent of it frivolously. It had to be used for something meaningful.

So, he ran. The farm was indeed far, and by the time he reached it in the dead of night, he was gasping for breath, his throat burning. Yet he didn’t stop to rest. His eyes searched the farm eagerly, and there he saw it: a figure dressed in a black coat and hat, sunglasses perched on his face, sitting by the fence under the moonlight.

“Mr. Douglas!” Ji Xin Shui called out joyfully. Relief surged through him like a wave as he rushed forward. But when he got closer, he realized the figure wasn’t Mr. Douglas. Instead, it was an elderly man with white hair peeking out from beneath the brim of the hat.

He squinted, studying the man’s face beneath the sunglasses. His heart skipped a beat. “Einstein?” he murmured. “Are you… the Einstein? The famous scientist from TV and newspapers?”

Ji Xin Shui froze, struggling to understand. “Why are you wearing Mr. Douglas’s clothes?”

Einstein turned slowly, his gaze meeting the boy’s through his dark glasses. “You know Douglas?” he asked, intrigued. His mind raced. Through his newfound ability to see the spacetime threads of future events, Einstein had scoured possibilities but found no connection between this child and Douglas after November 5th. That meant their interactions belonged to a past Einstein couldn’t observe.

Curious about Douglas, Einstein pressed further. “Tell me, child, what’s your story with him?”

Ji Xin Shui hesitated but sensed the sincerity in Einstein’s tone. Letting his guard down, he recounted everything. “It was a cold night when Mr. Douglas saved me. He urged me to study hard and bring what I learn back to my homeland to help develop it.”

Einstein listened silently, nodding occasionally. “I see,” he murmured. “The homeland… Douglas called it that. Though biologically he was mixed-race, it’s clear his heart belonged to his homeland. He must have loved it deeply.”

Seeing Einstein’s somber expression, Ji Xin Shui’s heart began to race. A sense of foreboding crept in. “Mr. Einstein,” he stammered, “can you tell me where Mr. Douglas is now?”

Einstein lowered his head, his voice heavy with sadness. “He’s gone. He left this world.”

The words hit Ji Xin Shui like a thunderclap. He staggered back, collapsing onto the ground. “Gone? You mean he… he’s dead?” Tears welled up in his eyes. His voice quivered. “Does that mean I’ll never see him again?”

Einstein didn’t answer, merely nodding in solemn confirmation. Ji Xin Shui buried his face in his hands, struggling to accept the devastating truth.

Suddenly, he stood and ran from the farm, his legs trembling but his spirit refusing to falter. As he sprinted, he screamed Douglas’s name into the night. “Half a month ago, you were fine! How could this happen?” His voice cracked with grief. Whether it was a sudden illness or something worse, he didn’t want to know. This loss was too heavy to bear, second only to losing his parents.

Douglas had been his savior, his mentor, the one who had reignited hope in his shattered life. “I haven’t even made you proud yet,” he whispered through gritted teeth, tears streaming down his face. Exhausted, he stumbled upon a small grove. The quiet, scenic spot seemed a fitting place for his next action.

Kneeling down, he used a tree branch to dig a hole in the earth. From his pocket, he took out the stack of $100 bills—every dollar Douglas had given him. He hadn’t spent a single cent, saving it all for something worthwhile. Now, he buried the money in the ground, packing the soil tightly over it. “This will be your grave,” he said quietly, his voice trembling.

Next, he found two sturdy sticks and tied them together to form a cross, planting it firmly in the mound of dirt. Stepping back, he knelt and bowed deeply. “I won’t disappoint you,” he vowed. “I’ll follow your teachings, study hard, and return to my homeland to make it better.” He kowtowed several times before standing, staring at the simple cross that stood against the night sky.

“Mr. Douglas, I’m leaving for the charity school in New Jersey this Thursday. It’ll be the start of my academic journey. But no matter how busy I get, I’ll come back every winter to Brooklyn to visit you and clean your grave.”

In the distance, at the broken-down farm, Einstein finally rose from his chair after sitting motionless for days. Despite not eating, drinking, or sleeping, he felt neither hunger nor fatigue. He had proven through his spacetime visions that he now possessed not only the ability to peer into the future but also immortality. It was as if time had frozen for him at a particular moment.

“Am I alive or dead?” he wondered. But the answer didn’t seem to matter anymore.

After listening to Ji Xin Shui recount the story of Mr. Douglas, Einstein found his mood much improved. It seemed Douglas harbored hope and confidence in humanity’s future. After all, someone who believed in the promise of human civilization and the power of individual effort would say such encouraging words to a child.

“This shows that Douglas believed humanity has a future,” Einstein thought. “He likely saw the potential for people to shape their destiny. Perhaps, in his way, Douglas was working to save the world and its future. If that’s the case, I can’t stop now.”

He resolved to act. “First, I must find a way to prevent the human catastrophe of 1991,” Einstein muttered as he walked into the farm’s barn. Inside, he stepped into a crude elevator and pressed the button to descend. “No matter what challenges the future holds, humanity must first survive 1991. Only then can history continue.”

As the elevator creaked and descended, Einstein spoke to himself. “But saving humanity’s future is too monumental for one person alone. My strength alone is insufficient. I need others—individuals like Douglas, like me—people with vision, drive, and a sense of mission.”

His sharp gaze hardened with determination. “To protect and safeguard humanity’s future, we must gather more geniuses.”

Arriving at the brightly lit underground shelter, Einstein picked up a telephone and dialed a number. When the line connected, he spoke, “Dawson? It’s me.”

“Einstein!” a jovial voice exclaimed on the other end. “What a surprise! Have you finally agreed to let me paint your portrait?”

“I have,” Einstein replied, his tone measured. “But I have a few additional requests.”

“God almighty!” Dawson laughed heartily. “At last, my friend, you’ve come to your senses! What are these conditions?”

Einstein interrupted him, revealing the plan he had just formed. “I need eight identical portraits, each painted with oils. Hidden within the layers of each painting, you’ll embed different codes, puzzles, and riddles.”

Dawson erupted into outrage. “Einstein, you’ve crossed the line! Even if you are Einstein, your demands are absurd! My paintings are works of art, not your laboratory scribbles! Why should I hide mathematical puzzles in my art? You know that’s my least favorite subject. I refuse—absolutely refuse!”

“Very well,” Einstein said calmly, ready to end the call. “Perhaps I’ll find another painter in America—”

“Wait! Wait!” Dawson blurted, panicking. Such an opportunity to make history couldn’t be given to someone else. “Alright, alright! We can negotiate. Where are you now?”

“At a farm in Brooklyn,” Einstein replied.

“Fine. Stay put,” Dawson said hurriedly. “I’ll grab my tools and head over before you change your mind.”

After hanging up, Einstein sat at a desk in the shelter, his mind now occupied with the logistics of forming a new organization. Details such as its charter, membership criteria, meeting times, and locations could be worked out later. The first step, however, was non-negotiable: the organization needed a name and a recognizable emblem.

Einstein’s thoughts drifted back to Douglas. He recalled the man’s final moments vividly—his hand raised high, pointing straight toward the sky. The silhouette of that gesture against the full moon had etched itself deeply into Einstein’s memory. It struck him as a powerful symbol, one laden with meaning. “Perhaps,” Einstein mused, “this was the signal Douglas left me.”

Nodding to himself, Einstein picked up a pencil and began sketching. First, he drew a circular ring. Inside the ring, he added an extended right hand, its index finger pointing upwards. He frowned slightly, feeling the design was too plain, lacking the weight he envisioned. Then, an idea struck him.

He took his pencil and swiftly inscribed two words within the ring: Genius Club.