Chapter 60: Ambers of the Long Night (16)
Yan Wuzhen and Seth couldn’t hold back their reactions when they saw Emmanuel’s expression — both looked utterly devastated. They’d prepared for every possible danger, but somehow this had slipped through.
Tang Mobai, still oblivious to the gravity of the situation, smiled faintly. The setting sun traced a golden line along the clean contours of his face, and the amber of his eyes softened with a trace of regret and melancholy, painting him in wistful tones.
“It’s a pity my learning progress still isn’t fast enough,” he murmured. “If only I could work a little harder, think a little faster…”
He finally had a world whose technology resembled that of Earth, and such a rare opportunity to meet the best scientists face-to-face — yet he was limited by only ten chat messages.
If he were more capable, with a proper scientific background, the discussion could’ve continued longer. The benefits to his world’s research would have been immense.
He didn’t know if he’d ever get a second chance. The thought alone made him ache with regret.
Emmanuel took an involuntary step back, pressing a hand to his chest.
To love someone is to feel that you’re never good enough.
He’d once read that line in a fairy tale as a child. But after growing up, after witnessing countless relationships, he’d never again felt that spark of truth — until now. And to his disbelief, he was seeing it reflected in a demon from Lost Paradise.
Tang Mobai sighed softly. “I—”
“Alright, enough, stop talking,” Yan Wuzhen quickly covered his mouth. “Don’t make this any more complicated.”
Tang Mobai blinked in confusion. He’d only wanted to ask when they were having dinner — after a whole day of acting, he was starving.
Just then, hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway. Tang Mobai immediately lay back down, while Yan Wuzhen, Seth, and Emmanuel stepped outside — only to run straight into a man rushing toward them.
He looked to be in his thirties or forties, hair cropped short, clothes wrinkled from a long day’s work, clutching a thick stack of papers under one arm. When he spotted Seth, his eyes lit up.
“Excuse me, are you the one who corrected the notes on the whiteboard?”
“It wasn’t me — it was the person inside,” Yan Wuzhen replied simply. “But he’s not feeling well and has already gone to bed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
The man froze for a moment — clearly surprised that the genius he’d been chasing down had such poor health.
His name was Dodge, and he had spent hours cross-checking witness accounts, comparing schedules, and begging staff for help before finally tracking them down to this hotel.
He had even seen Professors Fletcher and Zhen Ding leaving earlier, but unlike them, his research field ranked too low to get him access or assistance. He had no powerful Ments, no influence — only determination.
Dodge had built everything he had step by step, driven by his obsession with truth. And for that truth, he would pay any price.
Refusing to leave, he stood stubbornly at the doorway and called out loudly, “I know you’re inside. My name is Dodge. I don’t know you — you don’t know me — but your theory is vital to my research. Please, can I see you? Just once?”
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “I said, come back tom—”
“My field is aerospace engineering!” Dodge interrupted, his voice full of fervor. “I believe aerospace is the key to saving humanity! Our world may already be facing an unprecedented crisis — and someone like you must understand what I mean.”
“The stars are humanity’s salvation. I’m asking you to join me in research. Together, we can find the true way to save this world!”
Yan Wuzhen’s expression didn’t change, but he quietly exchanged a look with Emmanuel — both saw the same shock mirrored in each other’s eyes.
“You said crisis?” Emmanuel asked, feigning confusion. “Our world is in danger?”
“What crisis? Don’t listen to him,” Yan Wuzhen sneered. “Every niche field says the same thing — ‘our discipline is the key to humanity’s survival,’ and all that nonsense.”
But Dodge ignored their good-cop-bad-cop routine. He said nothing more, only continued to speak through the door.
Finally, the door creaked open a crack. Tang Mobai stood there, pale and unsteady.
“Come in,” he said quietly.
Dodge’s eyes lit up. He slipped past Yan Wuzhen and the others, afraid Tang Mobai might change his mind. “I wanted to ask about the unfinished part of your—”
“Cough— cough cough cough!” Tang Mobai cut him off, his voice hoarse. “You said there’s a crisis. What did you mean? If you’re just talking nonsense, then please — don’t come again.”
Dodge hesitated for a few seconds, his expression torn. But his hunger for completion outweighed his caution.
“You must’ve noticed,” he said slowly, “that our society’s technological tree is completely distorted. That’s because of the Super-Intelligent Brain’s regulation — most of the nation’s talent is funneled into high-weight fields like bionics, biology, AI, and electronics…”
“But for a civilization, that’s an abnormal trajectory. Disciplines should intersect — one-dimensional growth will always hit a ceiling. And yet, even after ten years of this, our society is still progressing smoothly.”
“Haven’t you ever wondered why? Why do underfunded disciplines still produce cutting-edge breakthroughs? Why do so-called ‘priority fields’ yield so little real impact — yet the Super-Intelligence keeps rewarding them? Why…”
“…has humanity never once felt the desire to look up at the stars?”
Tang Mobai was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Help me finish my research!” Dodge’s eyes blazed as he opened his thesis. “Almost every aerospace project so far has failed. We can’t break through the sky above us. I want to know what lies beyond! I’ve designed a hypersonic craft — it’s ready, except for one final technical barrier.”
“So the part you didn’t finish—”
“Cough— cough cough cough cough!” Tang Mobai’s body convulsed with coughing. Seth immediately rushed to support him and firmly ushered Dodge out.
But Dodge froze in the doorway, unwilling to leave. From inside, a weak voice called:
“Tomorrow. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“You heard him,” Yan Wuzhen said flatly. “Come early.”
But Dodge didn’t budge. Instead, he sat cross-legged right outside the room. “It’s fine. I’ll wait. I’ll stay here overnight.”
Yan Wuzhen’s eye twitched. “At least… get a room?”
“I tried. They’re all full.” Dodge waved dismissively, already opening his papers. “Don’t mind me. I can sleep anywhere — even on the street.”
Emmanuel sighed. “You should really go back to your hotel. We’ll call you tomorrow.”
But Dodge didn’t even look up — whether he hadn’t heard or was too absorbed in his notes was unclear.
Yan Wuzhen frowned, signaling for Seth to throw him out, but Emmanuel stopped him. Gripping Yan Wuzhen’s arm, he shook his head and led him to a quieter corner.
“What are you thinking?” Yan Wuzhen asked, arms crossed.
Emmanuel gave a wry smile. “Don’t show hostility yet. He might have stumbled onto something real — but he’s not telling us everything. Still… I’ve never once questioned it before.”
“Questioned what?”
“That if the Super-Intelligent Brain is flawed, why have humans never once tried to leave this planet?”
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “You mean — it’s controlling your thoughts?”
“It’s possible.” Emmanuel hesitated. “Or it was — but maybe it no longer can.”
Yan Wuzhen’s gaze darkened. “Go on.”
“In your world,” Emmanuel said, “the poor work tirelessly because they must — they’d starve otherwise. But the rich, they grow idle. It’s human nature.”
He paused. “Yet here, no one’s idle. Everyone strives — rich or poor. You could say it’s social pressure, but…” He exhaled slowly. “I’ve never seen a single beggar on the street.”
“To you, it’s normal,” Yan Wuzhen said quietly. “But to an outsider, this world feels… wrong.”
Emmanuel pressed a trembling hand to his forehead, cold sweat beading down his back. “But if that’s true, Dodge shouldn’t have been able to say those things. Even thinking it should’ve triggered the Brain’s correction protocols — rewiring our memories.”
He swallowed hard.
“Unless…”
“…the Super-Intelligent Brain is constrained by certain conditions — or worse — it no longer has the power to monitor everyone.”
Inside the hotel room, Tang Mobai stared at the glowing progress bar — the world’s collapse rate had quietly jumped to 65%.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
