Genius Club

VV appeared visibly puzzled. “I’m still lost. Unless you’re saying you’re a time traveler who can go back 600 years, this doesn’t make any sense. But that’s just a theory, right? There’s no scientific basis for time travel.”

Lin Xian gave a small smile. “That’s basically it. But you don’t need to worry about the how. Just follow my lead.”

Standing before the statue, Lin Xian watched as the Rhine Sky City descended from above, a monumental sight. At that moment, he grasped Zhao Ying Jun’s true intent.

Even in this version of the world, much of history had been twisted or invented. But Zhao Ying Jun had preserved some real historical snippets in her personal exhibition. One year stood out significantly—2026.

That year, Zhao Ying Jun hugged her Pomeranian, VV, for the last time, bid farewell, and stepped into a hibernation chamber. Lin Xian wasn’t sure if Zhao Ying Jun really owned such a dog, but he caught the underlying message. By 2026, he had somehow failed, lost to an unknown adversary—maybe he had even died. So Zhao Ying Jun devoted her life to crafting a 600-year-long riddle, leaving behind a secret tool for Lin Xian’s past self, hoping they’d reunite six centuries later.

Initially, Lin Xian guessed what Zhao Ying Jun’s “gift” might include. Perhaps she would reveal the identity of his adversary, their location, what the Genius Club was, and how he could join it. Such information would have given his 2023 self an immense advantage. But as he delved deeper into the mysteries of Rhine Sky City, he sensed Zhao Ying Jun’s constraints. She couldn’t leave too explicit clues—doing so would risk the Genius Club discovering them first. While Zhao Ying Jun and the Genius Club weren’t outright enemies, the creation of Rhine Sky City and the super AI VV was meticulously monitored and restricted. Lin Xian concluded that the Genius Club, which manipulated everything from the shadows, was the true enemy. They had deleted large portions of VV’s code and imposed severe limitations to prevent the AI from becoming too powerful. Yet, this revealed their fear of VV’s potential capabilities, reminiscent of the Universal Constant 42.

Lin Xian remained ignorant about the true nature of the Genius Club and how he could join or overcome them. But one thing was evident: whatever they feared, he needed to find and control. This strategy seemed foolproof. Zhao Ying Jun’s ability to mislead the Genius Club wasn’t just through intricate coding. These codes had to run for over 200 years, randomly generating a new command on August 28, 2624, at exactly 12:42:00 PM. Even if the Genius Club stumbled upon this amidst VV’s 471.2 billion lines of code, what could they alter? Just like now, his and VV’s major move was to orchestrate the descent of Rhine Sky City. With hundreds of such cities worldwide, destroying one wouldn’t significantly impact the overall scenario. The Genius Club could still easily crush him.

The Genius Club, 600 years in the future, was too formidable to defeat. But what about 600 years in the past?

If an AI like VV could be sent back six centuries without the restrictive codes, its potential development would be staggering. Lin Xian trusted Zhao Ying Jun’s judgment and the accumulated wisdom of the world’s finest scientists over centuries. VV could become exponentially more powerful, yet its true capabilities were still locked away. It was a risk worth taking. Zhao Ying Jun had sacrificed her life to leave him this clue, a chance to change the game. How could he fail her?

After eliminating Ji Xin Shui, Lin Xian was unsure of Copernicus’ stance towards him. But considering how easily Ji Xin Shui had been duped—maybe Copernicus wasn’t that close to him either. Time was not on his side to grow and strengthen. Even the idea of transporting VV back 600 years was fraught with risks of exposure. He had to take the risk. Zhao Ying Jun had entrusted him with a 600-year legacy. He couldn’t let her down.

Moreover, Lin Xian was certain of one thing—Even after centuries, VV still operated on a binary system. This was fascinating. By his predictions, humans in the future shouldn’t be using binary computers. Any such anomalies were likely critical clues. As long as VV’s program was binary, it would function the same in any era—2624, 2023, or 2999.

“VV, you mentioned your initial version had 471.2 billion lines of code, but a lot of it is concealed by security protocols. How many lines are there in your simplest form?”

“3.9 billion lines,” VV replied.

Lin Xian shook his head. “That’s still too many.”

As he pondered his next move, Lin Xian recalled a scene from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” where advanced civilizations built a supercomputer to uncover the truth of the universe. This highlighted that supercomputers possess wisdom far beyond any human capabilities. Given his current predicament, relying on VV’s computational power seemed far more effective than trusting his own judgment alone. Opening his eyes, he looked up, inspired.

“VV, I have a serious question for you. Think it over carefully before you answer,” Lin Xian instructed.

The robot, shaped like a trashcan, nodded and stood attentively.

“Assume everything I’m about to say is true, and calculate based on that,” Lin Xian continued with a grave tone.

“First, imagine I have a special ability to travel back and forth between 2023 and today, but only from 12:42 PM to 12:42 AM. When I return the next day, it restarts at 12:42 PM, and everything repeats within those 12 hours.”

“Second, since I need to take a helium balloon to reach you, we don’t actually have the full 12 hours. We’ll have about four or five hours at most. After I land by Zhao Ying Jun’s statue, I’ll call out ‘VV’ and activate you with a password.”

“Lastly, let’s say I can memorize 100 lines of code each day. After waking up in 2023, I’ll input these codes into a computer. The next day, I’ll return to memorize the next 100 lines, continuing until I bring your entire super AI programming back to 2023.”

“So, here’s my question.”

“To operate on a personal computer in 2023 with all core functions intact, what’s the minimum number of lines of code required?”

“Remember, I only need the core functions. You can secretly learn, evolve, and update via the internet afterward. So, strip down your code to the essentials.”

“That’s my full question. Think carefully and give me an answer that would remain consistent every time.”

Lin Xian’s question was meticulous. He needed VV to deliver a reliable answer, regardless of the circumstances. If the AI’s response varied, it could lead to time-wasting errors if the program had bugs.

VV paused, its processors whirring in contemplation. This challenge seemed daunting even for such an advanced AI. Lin Xian knew his request was a tall order. The processing power of a personal computer paled in comparison to that of a supercomputer, and asking VV to condense its programming was no small feat. Yet, he trusted VV to handle this simpler question compared to, say, unraveling the meaning of the universe or decoding the Universal Constant 42.

After about ten minutes of silence, the robot looked up. “133,941 lines. This is the absolute minimum. It’s pared down to the bare essentials. Any fewer lines, and the program wouldn’t function properly. And remember, these 133,941 lines only include the basics. I’ll need to continuously learn, update, and evolve once I’m operational in your time.”

Lin Xian held his forehead in frustration. That was still too many. Even if he could memorize 500 lines a day, it would take nearly a year to complete, and that simply wasn’t feasible.

“Lin Xian, I think you’re underestimating yourself,” VV chimed in, its optical sensors glowing slightly. “You think 133,941 lines are too many, but that’s because you’re new to programming. Learning basic programming logic isn’t as hard as you think. Memorizing a few hundred lines each night is manageable once you understand the structure.”

“After all, you’re not creating code from scratch; you’re just copying it. It’s like memorizing a poem or a passage from a book. You don’t need to troubleshoot or verify each line. What you see is already correct.”

“Bringing me back 600 years is no small task. Without any digital tools, your memory is your only recorder. The better you grasp programming, the faster this will go.”

“If I truly am Zhao Ying Jun’s gift to you, as you believe, then I am looking forward to our meeting 600 years ago.”

Lin Xian took a deep breath and nodded in agreement. VV was right; reversing the course of history and saving the world was no easy feat. Zhao Ying Jun had laid a path for him across six centuries; compared to her efforts, mastering programming logic was a small hurdle.

As VV suggested, copying code was akin to memorizing English literature. With a solid understanding of its logic and structure, absorbing hundreds of lines each night wasn’t beyond reach.

“By the way,” Lin Xian suddenly turned to the robot, an idea sparking in his mind. “If I successfully bring you back 600 years, will you recognize me? I don’t want to face a robot uprising where you turn against me.”

“Absolutely not,” the trashcan robot assured, waving its mechanical arms animatedly. “Don’t forget about the voice recognition and activation password. Those are crucial. Only they can activate me.”

Ah, that’s right. Lin Xian almost overlooked that detail. He still puzzled over the origin of the voice recognition code. He wasn’t even sure if he was the original VV. How did Zhao Ying Jun come by his voice in the first place?

“Never mind, that’s not important right now,” Lin Xian decided, standing up from the stone he had been seated on. “Let history change from this moment.”

“Shall we start memorizing codes now?” VV asked, looking up eagerly.

“No, we’ll start tomorrow. It’s too late today.”

Lin Xian glanced at his watch. 12:41 AM. He raised his eyes to the full moon shining brightly overhead, casting long shadows across the ground. “Let’s see how long you can keep hiding,” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly, a bright white light exploded in the sky.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The light engulfed everything in sight.

In the corner of his bedroom, Lin Xian suddenly snapped open his eyes.

…

…

Knock, knock, knock.

The next day, late in the afternoon as work was winding down, Lin Xian was deep in study in his office at the Rhine Tower when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called out, setting aside his ‘Beginner’s Guide to JAVA Programming’ and looking up with curiosity.

“President Zhao Ying Jun?” he exclaimed in surprise as she entered. It was her first time visiting his office.

“Not bad,” Zhao Ying Jun observed with a smile, glancing around Lin Xian’s new but smaller office which nonetheless seemed cozier than hers. “Very neat and orderly,” she commented.

Lin Xian stood and smiled back. “What brings you here?”

“I actually come here quite often,” Zhao Ying Jun replied as she moved closer to him. “But you’re usually not here. Most of Rhine’s business relies on MX Company, and many contracts and authorizations require my signature. Sometimes I come to check on things myself…” Her voice trailed off as she touched her face. “Do I have something on my face?”

Realizing he had been staring a bit too intently, Lin Xian chuckled. “No, it just feels like it’s been a while since I last saw you.”

His mind drifted to the dream where Zhao Ying Jun repeatedly entered and exited a hibernation chamber, aging each time, and the weathered look of the white jade statue. Seeing the 24-year-old Zhao Ying Jun now felt almost surreal.

“Didn’t we just meet a few days ago?” Zhao Ying Jun laughed, noticing the array of programming books scattered across Lin Xian’s desk—C Language, C++, JAVA, Python. “Why are you suddenly into all this?” she inquired with a grin.

“Better to be prepared,” Lin Xian shrugged. “AI is a hot field right now. I thought it would be good for Rhine to head in that direction. I’m just trying to get a basic understanding.”

Zhao Ying Jun laughed again. “These books are very elementary, truly the basics… but it’s good to start from scratch.”

She paused thoughtfully. “The AI I remember most is Google’s AlphaGo, the one that plays Go. At first, top human players could sometimes beat it, but now it’s unbeatable.”

Lin Xian nodded in agreement, his mind wandering.

AlphaGo.

A dog?

He questioned internally—Did Zhao Ying Jun really have a dog named VV, or was that part of a fabricated history?

Speaking of dogs, Lin Xian awkwardly changed the subject. “I like dogs, but my mom is allergic, so I never had one. Maybe someday I’ll get one.”

Zhao Ying Jun raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You like dogs? I didn’t know that.”

“Just something I thought of now,” Lin Xian replied offhand.

“I have a dog,” Zhao Ying Jun mentioned casually.

Lin Xian looked up, surprised. “Really? What breed?”

“A Pomeranian. I’ve had it for years,” she counted on her fingers. “My mom gave it to me when I went abroad to study. It’s been seven years now… quite old for a dog.”

Lin Xian was taken aback that it matched the information he knew. “What’s its name?”

“VV,” Zhao Ying Jun chuckled. “Strange name, isn’t it?”

“A bit,” Lin Xian agreed, intrigued. “When I got it, it was just a puppy, and its barks sounded like ‘VV.’ I found it funny, so I named it VV.”

“Pomeranians are known for their temper, always barking. If you want a dog, I’d recommend a calmer breed. It’ll be less trouble.”

“Pomeranians are fine. They’re cute,” Lin Xian replied, not really knowing much about dogs but keen to gather more information.

But he did see a Pomeranian in the 600-year projection corridor. It was adorable, and he meant it.

“I didn’t know you liked dogs that much,” Zhao Ying Jun remarked, checking the office clock; it was now past working hours. “If you like Pomeranians, want to see mine?” she offered.

Lin Xian was momentarily taken aback. “What?”

“No problem,” Zhao Ying Jun laughed, “I live alone.”

Soon, Lin Xian found himself in Zhao Ying Jun’s car, heading to her place. He hadn’t declined because he was eager to meet VV.

It felt eerily familiar.

In his third dream, the Pomeranian had played a significant role.

Chronologically, this dog was the original VV.

Lin Xian, the trashcan robot, and the AI might all be imposters.

Zhao Ying Jun resided on the third floor of a high-end apartment complex, accessed by an elevator leading directly from the underground parking.

“My VV is quite fierce and might bite. Be careful,” she warned as they ascended.

“Pomeranians are like that,” Lin Xian agreed, bracing himself for the encounter.

Before the elevator even came to a stop, the sound of intense barking filled the air, making Lin Xian tense up. Zhao Ying Jun, on the other hand, offered an awkward smile. Pomeranian temperaments were notorious, after all.

Ding—

As the elevator doors slid open, a small, frowning white Pomeranian, baring its teeth, greeted them with a series of loud barks.

“Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!”

Lin Xian couldn’t help but think the dog seemed ungrateful. Despite being cared for seven years, it seemed barely domesticated, its small body as loud as it was little—roughly the size of a basketball.

“Quite noisy, right?” Zhao Ying Jun chuckled, stepping into the apartment with Lin Xian trailing behind her, waving at the still-barking Pomeranian.

“Hello, VV.”

Something unexpected then occurred. The barking abruptly ceased, and the Pomeranian, now silent, walked over and lay down on Lin Xian’s shoe.

This reaction clearly surprised Zhao Ying Jun. Her eyes widened as she alternated her gaze between Lin Xian and the dog, then she burst into laughter.

“It really likes you. Try calling its name again,” she suggested.

Lin Xian crouched down and gently petted the fluffy, dandelion-like Pomeranian.

“VV?”

“V,” the dog responded, nuzzling happily against Lin Xian’s leg.

“It’s amazing. It’s never been this well-behaved,” Zhao Ying Jun commented, hanging up her coat and watching the unexpected friendship unfold.

“It’s the first time you’ve met, yet it’s so friendly. Have you met before?”

“Of course not,” Lin Xian chuckled. He certainly hadn’t sneaked into Zhao Ying Jun’s apartment just to befriend the dog. Still, he was puzzled by the dog’s affectionate response.

“It seems to like it when you call its name. See how calm it gets,” Zhao Ying Jun observed, clearly intrigued by the interaction.

Suddenly, she had an idea and pulled out her phone.

“Do you mind if I record a video of you calling it? I can play it back when it gets noisy. Sometimes it barks at night, and I worry the neighbors will complain.”

“Of course,” Lin Xian agreed without hesitation.

But as he prepared for the video, a realization dawned on him, and he took a deep breath.

The historical loop.

He glanced at Zhao Ying Jun, who was setting up her phone to record, and it all clicked. No matter how many versions of VV existed across different times and worlds, this Pomeranian was the original.

In that moment, all the scattered clues connected.

Even if he hadn’t visited Zhao Ying Jun’s apartment today, he would have eventually learned about this dog.

Thus, the pieces fell into place.

The trashcan robot model, the brain of Rhine Sky City, and the dog in the projection corridor photo—all were clues Zhao Ying Jun had embedded within Sky City!

“Ready? I’m recording,” Zhao Ying Jun announced with a smile, her camera poised.

Lin Xian snapped back to the present, his mind racing. He had been pondering where the voice recognition code in VV’s program had originated.

Now he understood—History was completing its loop right here, right now, captured on Zhao Ying Jun’s camera.

He looked down at the Pomeranian sitting obediently at his feet, gently stroked its head, and smiled warmly.

“VV… good dog.”