Genius Club

The sound echoed faintly through the room as the old man removed his headgear. With careful, measured steps, he stepped back, and then, without any hint of what was to come, a cackling chuckle broke the heavy silence.

“Hehe… Hehehehehe!”

Quickly smothering his amusement with a strained smile, he directed his gaze at Lin Xian.

“Boy, it’s too late…”

Suddenly, an intense, blinding white light burst forth, consuming everything in its relentless path.

….

Lin Xian jolted awake, finding himself on a plush bed. The room was quiet, save for the voice of VV, who was manipulating the electric curtains to fill the room with bright, vibrant sunlight typical of a sunny noon in New York.

“How was it?” VV inquired, breaking the silence.

“I meant, what did the old man say?” VV pressed, its voice gaining a bit of urgency.

“He said, ‘it’s too late.'”

Rubbing his eyes, Lin Xian swung his legs off the bed, his thoughts clear despite the oddity of the dream.

“But that’s not the key takeaway. The important thing, just as you predicted, was his reaction when I yelled ‘Kevin Walker.’ His genuine startle, the noticeable shrink of his pupils, it was telling.”

“It doesn’t definitively confirm he is Kevin Walker, but it strongly suggests he knows who Kevin Walker is. There’s some connection,” Lin Xian concluded thoughtfully.

Before the dream, VV had prepared Lin Xian to disrupt their adversary’s composure, explaining how even the slightest changes in expression could betray deep secrets.

“Your advantage, Lin Xian, is that you can retry this numerous times. Next time you dive into the dream, try another name with a bold laugh. If his reaction isn’t as intense, it might confirm he is indeed Kevin Walker.”

VV continued, his tone firm yet encouraging, “We also need to pursue Kevin Walker in the real world. Wrap up your tasks in the US quickly and return. I’ll protect you while I advance my evolution. Once I’m stronger… we’ll definitely apprehend Kevin Walker!”

“No worries, there’s plenty of time,” Lin Xian reassured him, stepping into his slippers. “I have a slew of tasks waiting when I get back—exploring the Guizhou Sky Eye, unraveling Universal Constants, solving mirror puzzles, and more. Our missions may be diverse, but they all aim towards one end: gaining more power and intelligence.”

“I’m going to freshen up and head to Princeton.”

….

Inside a convoy of sleek, black bulletproof vehicles, Lin Xian and Chu An Qing rode in silence, passing the prestigious grounds of Princeton University.

“Did Einstein really teach here?” Chu An Qing asked, curiosity lighting up her features.

“Yes,” Lin Xian confirmed, his gaze lingering on the university’s historic architecture. “He spent the last twenty years of his life here, facing numerous personal challenges yet finding a semblance of peace, albeit often overshadowed by melancholy.”

Chu An Qing’s interest deepened as she turned to Lin Xian. “I heard someone stole Einstein’s brain. Is it kept here?”

“Some parts might be here,” Lin Xian replied, his expression thoughtful. “After his death, his brain was divided among various research facilities. The full details are rather murky, though.”

Their vehicles, escorted by two more cars, stopped a short distance from the university on Marshall Street. The two stepped out and approached an old, slightly run-down house.

Marshall Street No. 112.

This was where Albert Einstein had spent his twilight years. The property, now a gift from Ji Lin to Lin Xian, bore immense historical significance.

Entering the unkempt yard and climbing the steps, Lin Xian retrieved a flat key from his coat—a significant token given to him by Angelica after a prestigious ceremony.

Ji Lin’s decision to pass this property to Lin Xian hinted at something valuable hidden within this seemingly neglected house, a secret more precious than any other in Ji Lin’s vast portfolio.

Was this the link to the Genius Club?

Lin Xian and Chu An Qing could feel the history and secrets as they entered the house, stirring a mixture of awe and anticipation. They were drawn towards the Genius Club, an enigma wrapped in centuries of history, now potentially within their grasp.

Click.

Lin Xian turned the key in the lock, and the door creaked open, revealing a room caught in a time long passed. The sunlight cut through the darkness, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

“This… cough cough… seems like no one’s cleaned here in ages,” Chu An Qing commented as they stepped inside.

Lin Xian nodded, acknowledging that Ji Lin had been away too long for the house to be maintained. They flicked on a light switch, casting light over bare walls and sparse furnishings, save for heavy, opaque curtains that blocked out most of the sunlight.

“It’s just like Ji Lin’s style,” Chu An Qing whispered as they continued their exploration.

The first floor of the deserted building was eerily silent, devoid of any signs of life, not even a mouse. Lin Xian and Chu An Qing ascended the creaky stairs to the second floor, where they encountered the only semblance of decoration in the otherwise barren space—a painting, hauntingly displayed on the wall of the living room:

“Sorrowful Einstein.”

Lin Xian’s gaze fixed on the painting, a shiver running down his spine each time he looked at it. The portrayal of Einstein was unsettling; his eyes, void of life, resembled black holes ready to engulf everything into a mysterious abyss. His expression was painted with layers of sorrow, sadness, and despair—a cold, oppressive aura emanating from the canvas, weighing heavily on any viewer.

“Senior Lin Xian, do you think this painting is just a reproduction?” Chu An Qing inquired, her curiosity piqued. Earlier in the year, she and Lin Xian had visited the Donghai Exhibition Hall together, where they had seen this painting among a collection of world-renowned oil paintings.

Patiently, Lin Xian had shared the backstory of the artwork:

Einstein appeared sorrowful due to the devastating impact of the nuclear bomb—a result of his contributions to physics. He felt responsible, as if he had unwittingly opened Pandora’s Box, casting a shadow over the future of humanity with his scientific breakthroughs.

“Does humanity… really have a future?” This question, Einstein reportedly pondered often, haunted by guilt and fear until his last days.

“This painting should be genuine. It’s rumored that Henry Dawson painted several ‘Sorrowful Einstein’ pieces, each embedding unique codes,” Lin Xian explained as he turned on the ceiling light for a better view.

Angelica had shared this intriguing detail with him, though Lin Xian wasn’t certain of its authenticity. However, given Ji Lin’s vast resources—backed by the financial might of Ji Xin Shui, a global tycoon—he believed it plausible that Ji Lin could acquire an original, especially if multiple genuine pieces existed.

But where could the code be hidden?

Lin Xian studied the painting closely, comparing it to the one they had seen at the exhibition. Suddenly, he noticed a distinct difference.

“The eyebrow,” Lin Xian whispered, pointing to Einstein’s left eyebrow in the painting. “I distinctly remember that the one at the exhibition had an indentation, a chunk of paint missing from the left eyebrow.”

“I originally thought it was an odd artistic choice,” Chu An Qing reflected, her voice thoughtful. As an art student, she had found the anomaly puzzling. “To use an indented technique on the densest part of the eyebrow didn’t make sense to me. I spent a long time trying to understand its purpose.”

“But a master remains a master. With my limited experience, it isn’t my place to question Henry Dawson’s methods. Though he’s not widely celebrated among contemporary painters, his mastery is undeniable. There must be a deeper significance, perhaps related to lighting effects or a three-dimensional perspective. At the time, I wasn’t sure, but I recognized it was intentional.”

“However, in this version, Henry Dawson’s painting shows the left eyebrow perfectly normal.”

Lin Xian pressed his finger against the canvas, indicating to Chu An Qing to take a closer look.

“See? Here, the eyebrow is raised naturally, the technique is flawless, very realistic and three-dimensional.”

Chu An Qing nodded in agreement. Although her specialty was watercolor, the principles she learned applied to oil painting as well. An intentional indentation in a master’s work was highly unlikely; moreover, any such mistake in an oil painting, where layering is key, would be easy to correct for an artist like Dawson.

“So, Henry Dawson did this on purpose,” Chu An Qing murmured, tilting her head to examine another aspect of the painting. “Senior Lin Xian, doesn’t the angle of the nose look slightly off when viewed from the side?”

Upon closer inspection, Lin Xian agreed. The bridge of the nose was unusually high. “If it were just an aesthetic choice, I could understand, but this seems intentional. From the front, it’s not noticeable, but from the side, it looks strange.”

“Could this really be an original, Senior Lin Xian? It seems like a mistake a master wouldn’t make.”

Lin Xian shook his head confidently. “On the contrary, this confirms its authenticity. If this were a forgery, such fundamental errors wouldn’t be present. Today’s forgers are adept; their creations are nearly indistinguishable from originals. Only a detailed professional examination could reveal the truth.”

“So, a subtle flaw like this in Dawson’s work suggests it might be deliberate.”

Re-examining the painting, Lin Xian speculated, “These slight variations in height might be Dawson’s method of incorporating a hidden code.”

This possibility had crossed Lin Xian’s mind ever since Angelica mentioned the potential codes in Dawson’s paintings. The nature of oil painting—its inherent three-dimensionality and texture—made it an ideal medium for concealing messages.

“Ah! I understand now!” Chu An Qing exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with realization. “This reminds me of a technique my teacher demonstrated in class for practicing light and shadow effects!”

She darted to the stairwell and flipped off the light switch.

Click.

The room was plunged into darkness.

“Watch this,” Chu An Qing said, pulling out her smartphone. She turned on the flashlight and directed its beam at the painting.

The uneven surface of the painting caught the light in unique ways, creating shadows of varying lengths across the canvas—long, short, meticulously aligned like Morse code.

“This is it…” Lin Xian was struck with awe. “The hidden code within ‘Sorrowful Einstein’… Could this be the Einstein Code?”

He wasn’t certain what to call it—The Einstein Code, or perhaps the Henry Dawson Code? Regardless, the implications of the code were profound, its purpose and meaning potentially groundbreaking.

“This isn’t Morse code,” Lin Xian analyzed, scrutinizing the shadow patterns. “The shadows vary in length, and while they’re neatly arranged, some are deliberately angled. This isn’t something we can decipher quickly.”

“Should we consult a code-breaking expert?” Chu An Qing suggested.

“Do you know anyone capable?” Lin Xian asked.

Chu An Qing shook her head. “The only code expert I know of is from a film I saw, ‘The Imitation Game,’ about Alan Turing, the real-life hero who cracked the German Enigma code during World War II.”

Lin Xian smiled wryly. “Turing was indeed a genius across multiple disciplines—not just in computing and mathematics, but also in logic, cryptography, and even theoretical biology. Sadly, his later years were marked by tragedy.”

Approaching the painting, Lin Xian carefully removed it from the wall. “Turing was brilliant at deciphering codes, but he’s no longer with us. We’ll need to find some local experts.”

With the painting securely in hand, Lin Xian and Chu An Qing descended the stairs and loaded it into their car, ready to return to their hotel and begin the next phase of their adventure.

….

The roar of the engines filled the air as the plane from X Country lifted off from New York, slicing through the skies towards its destination. After landing, Lin Xian arranged for a driver to escort Chu An Qing back to Donghai University, then made his way to the headquarters of Rhine Company.

His absence had allowed a backlog of tasks to accumulate. As president, Lin Xian was required to personally review and sign off on numerous documents.

Brother Wang, his vice president, entered Lin Xian’s office with a hefty stack of paperwork.

Bang! The documents landed with a thud on Lin Xian’s desk. “Take a look—your signature is needed on all of these.”

Lin Xian nodded, starting to work through the pile. “Brother Wang, I appreciate your hard work. You know I’m not one for micromanaging. Rhine Company thrives because of your efforts.”

With a dismissive wave and a smile, Brother Wang responded, “There’s no need for formalities. I should be thanking you. This position as vice president has given me a platform to showcase my skills. Starting a company from scratch has been immensely fulfilling.”

“You’re too modest, Brother Wang.”

As Lin Xian signed another document, he continued, “Even without joining Rhine, MX was set to promote you to vice president. You would have achieved that status anywhere.”

“That’s not quite the same, Lin Xian,” Brother Wang replied, pulling up a chair. “MX already has three vice presidents, and none are stepping down anytime soon. Even with a promotion, I’d be the fourth in line, with little real influence. It’s not about power for me—I’m driven by a desire to achieve something meaningful. The sense of accomplishment is more important to me than wealth or fame.”

“Frankly, I was considering the MX promotion as a sort of semi-retirement, a step towards starting my own venture someday.”

“But now, dedicating myself to Rhine Company, you’ve given me the opportunity to realize my life’s value. I’ve set aside my old dream. My focus is solely on building Rhine into a great company.”

Intrigued, Lin Xian asked as he signed another document, “What was that dream?”

“I dreamed of starting a bank,” Brother Wang replied, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “But not just any bank—a special one that offers safe deposit boxes designed to serve clients across centuries, inspired by the idea of a time capsule from the cartoon Doraemon, which I watched as a child. If I ever had the resources, I wanted to create a bank that provides time capsule services globally.”

“I’ve thought about it for years. I even have a name picked out.”

Grinning broadly, Brother Wang revealed, “Since it’s related to time capsules… the name should be—Time Bank!”