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“It’s typical for pioneering work in a new field to have its flaws. If it were perfect, what would be left for scientists like us to do? But that’s hard for the general public to grasp… People prefer to hear about successes and idealize figures like Professor Xu Yun.”

Tang Xin tapped her temple. “You know, long-term hibernation, due to the lack of ongoing stimulation to the brain and nervous system, leads to decreased brain activity and varying levels of memory loss.”

“But it’s more severe than just memory loss. Hibernation isn’t like dreaming; it drastically reduces bodily functions in an unnatural way. If the brain and nervous system are unstimulated for too long, they will suffer irreversible damage and decay.”

“So… I’ll cut to the chase, Lin Xian. If someone hibernates for over ten years, they’ll face more than just memory loss. They could become… mentally impaired.”

Lin Xian’s eyes widened. “Mentally impaired?”

This was an outcome he hadn’t considered. Perhaps even Professor Xu Yun hadn’t foreseen such drastic side effects, possibly because he died too soon to explore further. He was right about one thing, though: without electrical stimulation, the brain’s nervous system could sustain irreversible harm.

Muscles might atrophy and then recover with rehabilitation, but nerve cells and brain cells… they don’t regenerate.

Once they die, they’re lost forever. You’re born with a certain number of brain cells, and once lost, they don’t regenerate.

It seems Tang Xin’s assertion about the most significant side effect of hibernation—irreversible damage to brain cells and neurons—might be accurate.

“But mental impairment isn’t the worst outcome,” Tang Xin continued, still smiling at Lin Xian. “If the hibernation extends to around 20 years, the individual will most likely become… a vegetable.”

…

A vegetable.

Those somber words jolted Lin Xian slightly. His thoughts turned to Xu Yi Yi.

Professor Xu Yun’s primary motivation for developing hibernation technology was to rescue his daughter, Xu Yi Yi, who was in a vegetative state. But now, ironically… Tang Xin’s research suggests prolonged hibernation could render individuals vegetative, with no hope of awakening.

This…

Lin Xian was speechless. Yet, Tang Xin’s casual demeanor suggested her research might have uncovered solutions to these issues.

“Becoming a vegetable… that’s quite troubling,” Lin Xian said with a soft chuckle. “Many use hibernation pods to leap forward decades or even centuries in hopes of curing diseases. Some are already vegetative. It’s like fate playing a cruel joke.”

“But… does your research actually solve these side effects?”

“It’s still theoretical,” Tang Xin chuckled. “But I’m optimistic. My work on Alzheimer’s drugs was nearly my academic downfall… My thesis was almost rejected.”

“But thanks to Professor Xu Yun’s trailblazing efforts, my seemingly irrelevant research gained attention. I’m truly grateful and hold great respect for him.”

“I understand,” Lin Xian nodded, gaining a better grasp of Tang Xin’s work. Life certainly has its unexpected twists.

“Good luck with your research.”

Lin Xian glanced at his watch. 00:53. Well past his usual anxious checkpoint at 00:42, his worries eased. He had been vigilant, watching for any odd vehicles. The taxi driver was still there, idle and scrolling through his phone.

Perhaps he was just overly cautious. As Tang Xin mentioned, scientists around the globe are now studying hibernation… they can’t possibly eliminate everyone, right?

Advancements are happening every day due to Xu Yun’s discovery. Tang Xin is just one among many researchers.

Lin Xian and Tang Xin walked to the taxi. He opened the door for her. She got in, rolled down the window, and waved goodbye.

“I’m off, Lin Xian. See you in Donghai.”

“See you in Donghai.”

The taxi fired up and rounded the corner, vanishing from sight.

“Ha-ha-ha!”

Gao Yang’s forced cough came from behind. Lin Xian turned to see Gao Yang sporting a mischievous grin.

“He-he-he, that went well, Lin Xian! You’ve got some charm! Tang Xin definitely has a thing for you!”

Lin Xian didn’t contest it. They were no longer teenagers. It would be silly to ignore the obvious. Tang Xin’s open enthusiasm was evident, and denying it would just be awkward.

“So, Lin Xian, what did you do to make such a memorable impression? Any ideas?”

Lin Xian looked at Gao Yang with a hint of annoyance. “If you hadn’t interrupted, Tang Xin might have elaborated when Zhou Duan Yun arrived… I’m as curious as you.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to get close in Donghai and ask her then!” Gao Yang, his face flushed, laughed and clapped Lin Xian on the back. “Let’s head home! The night was a success!”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

…

February 8, 2023.

Shanxi Province, Xi’an City, Beilin District, Friendship Road.

Lin Xian stood at the entrance of Shanxi University, watching students return to classes after the Lantern Festival. He had waited until the holiday was over to travel to Shanxi.

Firstly, he had to manage several home matters. With some financial flexibility, even against his parents’ wishes, Lin Xian had improved their living conditions. Secondly, the only clue to the author of “Introduction to Universal Constants” was Liu Feng’s educational background. To track him down, Lin Xian needed to access Shanxi University’s library, which wouldn’t open until after the break.

During his spare moments, Lin Xian often scoured online for details about “Introduction to Universal Constants” and Liu Feng. He was diligent but uncovered nothing significant. He couldn’t grasp why some information seemed inconsistent.

If the book didn’t exist in 2023, how did it surface 600 years later?

It wasn’t plausible that it was published in 2024 and then immediately sealed in a coffin, right? Such a coincidence seemed far-fetched.

Moreover, if experts 600 years later still deemed the book inaccurate and trivial, it was likely dismissed similarly in 2023. What publisher would bother printing a book deemed worthless?

So, where did this book originate? Why was it buried in a coffin? And why, despite being considered insignificant, did Big Cat Face’s father find something substantial in it?

The answers probably lay with the author, Liu Feng.

Lin Xian held a small note with Liu Feng’s details: born in April 1996 in Shanxi, entered Shanxi University in 2014, and obtained a master’s degree in 2021. At 28 years old, Liu Feng was just four years Lin Xian’s senior.

Using a book from 600 years in the future to trace its author 600 years in the past was an intriguing prospect.

Merging with the flow of returning students, Lin Xian blended into the campus crowd, heading straight for the library. The library maintained annual “Graduation Yearbooks,” compiled by departments, containing student names, photos, and faculty details.

Due to their fewer numbers, the graduate student yearbooks had more comprehensive information. This was why Lin Xian targeted the library.

Quickly, he located the “2021 Graduate Yearbook of the School of Mathematics” and found Liu Feng’s name along with his advisor’s group photo.

The photo wasn’t crowded. Apart from the smiling advisor at the center, a few students in graduation gowns clustered around.

Lin Xian immediately recognized Liu Feng. Short, stern-faced, clutching his diploma, and standing on the periphery. His appearance matched the image from Lin Xian’s dream: bespectacled, sporting a simple haircut, embodying the typical top student but somewhat detached, fitting Lin Xian’s image of academic researchers.

Lin Xian snapped a photo of the page with his phone. He then noted the advisor’s name: Associate Dean of the School of Mathematics, Qi Yan.

“Hmm…”

Lin Xian pondered for a moment. Given that Qi Yan was still the associate dean in 2021, it was likely he hadn’t retired yet, since it was only 2023. Approaching him to learn more about Liu Feng seemed wise, and with some luck, he might even get Liu Feng’s address or contact details for a direct visit.

…

Upon reaching the School of Mathematics building, Lin Xian saw Qi Yan’s official photo on the first-floor bulletin board. He appeared relatively young, definitely under 60.

Following the leads, Lin Xian located Qi Yan’s office, where the associate dean was busy grading papers. Lin Xian introduced himself and his purpose…

Surprisingly, the associate dean warmly welcomed Lin Xian for a chat. Lin Xian had braced for a cold shoulder, but perhaps because he was a recent graduate, the older professor naturally felt a connection with students.

“Liu Feng was an exceptionally talented student. I taught him since his undergraduate days,” Qi Yan recounted, sipping his tea and sighing. “It’s a shame. I always told him that there wasn’t a promising future in pure math research, especially for someone from a modest background like his. He would have been better off focusing on applied math, settling down, and building a stable life.”

“But he was fixated on Universal Constants, determined to study them… Not even Einstein, who dismissed the existence of Universal Constants later in his life, could sway him. The academic world remains divided on whether Universal Constants even exist.”

“So you see, dedicating oneself to a concept whose existence is uncertain… What’s the point? If Liu Feng had made a breakthrough, it would be a different story, but after three years of indulging him in graduate school, he still came up empty.”

“Professor Qi, what exactly is a Universal Constant? Is it the same thing that Einstein rejected?” Lin Xian inquired, genuinely curious.

“Not at all,” Qi Yan shook his head, taking another sip of tea. “That’s what frustrates me the most. I have no idea what he was researching.”

“Not just me—Liu Feng himself didn’t fully understand what the Universal Constant was.”

“But that’s not the most significant issue,” Qi Yan turned to Lin Xian, his eyes reflecting a deep regret. “Liu Feng’s theory… is completely wrong.”