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Lin Xian held the warm key that hung from his clothes and examined it carefully, twirling it between his fingers. When he first heard the address, it didn’t register immediately. However, after Angelica mentioned it, memories of reading about Einstein’s life came flooding back.

Einstein spent the last 20 years of his life in Princeton, making it his second home. He taught at Princeton University and passed away in the university hospital in 1955 at the age of 76.

The world knows the story of how the head of pathology at the time, fascinated by Einstein’s brain, secretly removed and preserved it in formaldehyde. To this day, Einstein’s brain remains at Princeton University Hospital, where numerous studies have been conducted, most of which yielded insignificant results.

One popular myth was that Einstein only used 10% of his brain, which was debunked by the studies. In reality, his brain was not much different from an average person’s, just slightly heavier, possibly due to his larger head.

Einstein’s final wishes were quite modest. He instructed his children not to hold any memorial services or commemorations. He wanted to be cremated, and his ashes scattered in a secret location to prevent it from becoming a pilgrimage site. This wish was honored by his children, who never revealed where his ashes were scattered.

His Princeton home was also treated with respect. Einstein had written to Princeton University, asking that his home not be turned into a museum or tourist attraction. Instead, it was sold and treated like any ordinary house, having seen many occupants over the decades.

Lin Xian was puzzled as to why Ji Lin bought this house. Compared to Ji Lin’s fortune worth billions, what was so special about this old house?

“Is this the only key?” Lin Xian asked Angelica, curiosity lacing his voice.

Angelica nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Ji Lin and I kept in touch regularly. We grew up in the same orphanage and were later taken in by the same guardian. I’m a few years older than him, and during his time at the orphanage, I was like an older sister, taking care of him.”

“After we were taken in, we went our separate ways. I was sent to Hollywood to start a career as a child star, while Ji Lin stayed with our guardian, cared for by his niece, who later became Xu Yun’s wife.”

“Ji Lin and I had a good relationship, but we didn’t see each other often, mostly just exchanged emails or chatted online. Recently, Ji Lin mentioned he had made his first real friend. I was surprised, given how introverted he was. He didn’t tell me much, just that having a friend felt good. I didn’t know what was happening in his life.”

Angelica paused, a hint of sadness crossing her face. Lin Xian looked at her, his expression softening. “Does their death sadden you?” he asked gently.

“A little,” Angelica admitted. “But I believe they were prepared for it. Growing up in a war-torn region, death was a constant. The day our guardian found me, I was surrounded by the charred bodies of my family. Death isn’t something I fear or seek revenge for.”

Lin Xian nodded, understanding her perspective. “So, Ji Lin was different. He was always searching for the person who killed his parents. He never suspected our guardian, who often played tricks on Ji Lin. If our guardian was the killer, Ji Lin would have found out.”

“I don’t know what they were up to, but from your reaction and Ji Lin’s letter, it seems connected to this Genius Club,” Angelica continued, her tone turning serious.

Lin Xian remained silent, feeling the key cool in his hand. “I don’t know,” he finally replied softly. He knew answering Angelica’s questions would be unwise and unsafe.

“If you were really Ji Lin’s friend, you should tell me,” Angelica pressed.

“If I were truly his friend, I wouldn’t tell you anything,” Lin Xian countered. “If he wanted you to know, you would already know. He had his reasons for keeping it from you.”

Angelica sighed, realizing she couldn’t get through to him. “If you ever find the Genius Club and the person who killed Ji Lin’s parents, will you help him get revenge?” she asked.

“Of course not,” Lin Xian laughed. “Maybe Ji Lin didn’t tell you everything he was doing or who he planned to kill. Why would I seek revenge for him? We just happened to have overlapping interests.”

“In that case, you should go to Princeton and see the house at 112 Marshall Street,” Angelica suggested. “Will you go?”

Lin Xian pocketed the now cool key. “I don’t think I will anytime soon. Traveling abroad is too risky for me right now. The safest place for me is in this country, while the U.S. is too risky.”

Angelica seemed to understand. “I figured you wouldn’t go, so I went for you.”

“Oh?” Lin Xian’s interest was piqued. “What did you find?”

“Not much,” Angelica admitted. “The house was empty, completely cleared out except for one thing: a painting hanging on the living room wall.”

“A painting?” Lin Xian repeated.

“Yes, an old oil painting titled ‘The Melancholy Einstein,’” Angelica said, watching Lin Xian’s reaction.

Lin Xian recalled a black and white painting he had seen with Chu An Qing at an exhibition in Donghai. The elderly man in the painting had a lifeless expression, his hair wild and eyes hollow, like a zombie. The painting was oppressively dark and monochromatic, unusual for an oil painting.

“That can’t be the original,” Lin Xian said, shaking his head. “I saw the original last year at an exhibition in Donghai. It was part of a global tour, from a famous museum.”

“That’s also an original,” Angelica replied calmly. “But the one Ji Lin had is also an original.”

“That’s ridiculous. There can’t be two ‘Mona Lisas,’” Lin Xian scoffed.

“Leonardo da Vinci didn’t paint two ‘Mona Lisas,’ but Henry Dawson painted several ‘Melancholy Einsteins,’” Angelica explained. “Ji Lin told me this because I helped him acquire one of the originals.”

“According to Ji Lin, there are hidden codes in the paintings. There are eight originals in total,” Angelica revealed.

Lin Xian fell into deep thought. Eight originals? He hadn’t considered this possibility. Unlike the Mona Lisa, which only had one version, ‘The Melancholy Einstein’ had eight originals, all possibly containing hidden codes. This was either at Einstein’s behest or the artist Henry Dawson’s doing.

Oil paintings are known for their three-dimensional texture. Perhaps the hidden codes were in the paint’s thickness and texture, something not easily detected in a traditional two-dimensional painting.

“Could this be Einstein’s way of leaving behind a secret?” Lin Xian wondered aloud. “What could these codes lead to?”

The Alphard van came to a stop, and the side door slid open. The driver turned to the back. “We’ve arrived at the Peninsula Hotel.”

Angelica handed Lin Xian a card with her number. “If you ever decide to visit Princeton, call me,” she said, stepping out of the van and into the breeze, her long hair flowing behind her.

She looked back and added with a smile, “Call me,” making a six gesture with her hand against her cheek.

Lin Xian watched her leave, pocketing the card. The mystery deepened, and he knew he had to be cautious. The Genius Club’s secrets were dangerous, and he needed to be prepared for whatever came next.