Take care of your health?

Could Song Qinglan have noticed that Ji Yushi wasn’t sleeping well at night? Or was it because Ji Yushi had shown too much vulnerability earlier, making Song Qinglan think he was truly weak?

As Ji Yushi pondered the meaning behind those words, Song Qinglan suddenly called him directly.

Ji Yushi answered, but for some reason, there was a moment of silence after the call connected.

Ji Yushi wasn’t sure what to say, while it seemed like Song Qinglan was waiting for something.

After confirming that it was quiet on Ji Yushi’s end, Song Qinglan spoke first, and his tone wasn’t very pleasant: “Consultant Ji, how’s your mission report coming along?”

Ji Yushi replied, “Mission report?”

Song Qinglan stiffly let out a grunt and asked bluntly, “Is now a convenient time to talk? There are some details about the Ouroboros mission I can’t quite remember, and I need to ask you.”

Ji Yushi, who was at home alone with his cat, didn’t have anything stopping him.

Song Qinglan’s tone didn’t sound like a request—it felt more like an order. It was as if, had Ji Yushi dared to refuse, Song Qinglan would have given him a lecture. He sounded more like a strict captain than ever.

Ji Yushi asked, “Right now?”

It was, after all, the middle of the night.

Song Qinglan said, “Yes, right now.”

Though Ji Yushi found it strange that Song Qinglan was rushing to write the report, he couldn’t sleep anyway, so he agreed. “Alright.”

Song Qinglan really did start asking questions.

Both of them found that writing this particular mission report was especially difficult. The concept of “Sky Vault in all eras” was already hard to explain, but fortunately, experts were already analyzing that. The appearance of zombies and energy sources was also outside their expertise and would be handled by professionals based on their reports.

The first major challenge they faced was describing the concept of the “time anchor” for the first time in a report.

As previously mentioned, the time anchor was a technology that had been banned right from its initial development. It involved setting a specific time coordinate as an anchor point and introducing a necessary condition, so that when that condition was triggered, time would return to the original anchor point. This created serious time paradoxes, such as allowing a person to live forever within a specific time period or ensuring that a historical event never happened. It generated a time bubble outside the normal timeline, affecting the natural flow of events.

How was this banned technology developed? How long had it existed? What kind of ripple effects could it cause?

These were all questions that needed to be reconstructed from Ji Yushi’s memory, and they had to write out every detail of the loop clearly.

That was only the first challenge. The second was the countless colonies in the parallel universes.

They knew very little about PU-31, and PU-18 was even more of a mystery, apart from their encounter with the bearded man. Understanding why Earth had been destroyed was a top priority for the authorities.

Compared to these challenges, the last issue—regarding the time rift—seemed much easier to tackle.

Everyone knew that the three-month vacation they had been granted, supposedly for adjusting to normal life, was actually time to finish writing this massive report.

Song Qinglan and Ji Yushi were struggling with it, so it was likely that the less academically inclined team members, like Li Chun, were having an even harder time. If they found out that the two “scholars” of the team were staying up late helping each other with the report, they’d probably start questioning their life choices.

As they spoke on the phone and made notes with holographic projections, Ji Yushi managed to organize quite a bit of information. Once they figured out how to start, completing the longest mission report in Sky Vault history didn’t seem so daunting.

Midway through, Song Qinglan paused and asked awkwardly, “We’ve been talking for so long—are we bothering anyone?”

Ji Yushi replied that it wasn’t an issue.

They spoke for several hours, and by the time their discussion was nearly over, the sky had already begun to lighten.

Outside, dawn was breaking.

As he watched the edges of the clouds turn gold, Ji Yushi finally felt a hint of drowsiness.

Little Orange had returned to the bed, pressing its soft paws into the sheets, creating shallow impressions, before flopping over and exposing its fluffy white belly for attention.

Listening to Song Qinglan talk, Ji Yushi absentmindedly reached out to scratch the cat’s belly. He found it strange that he remembered Little Orange liked it when he did that.

Perhaps fatigue and drowsiness made people more open to talking.

Ji Yushi suddenly said, “Captain Song, a lot of things around me have changed.”

Once he started, the rest came easily. He continued, “Do you think we’re still stuck inside the time anchor, that we never actually left that world? Or maybe… we’re in a new simulation, and we were never truly intercepted?”

After talking for so long, Song Qinglan’s voice had changed a bit, carrying a hint of early morning hoarseness.

He asked, “Why do you think that?”

But as soon as Ji Yushi heard the question, he regretted bringing it up.

They both knew that no matter how sentient Sky Vault became, it couldn’t create a world so flawless that no one could tell the difference. Ji Yushi couldn’t even prove that his so-called “original memories” were real. If they were, and he was the only one whose memory hadn’t been overwritten by the new timeline, wasn’t that its own kind of misfortune?

Ji Yushi changed the subject and asked, “Captain Song, have you ever heard of the ‘brain in a vat’ theory?”

Ji Yushi had learned too much and read too many books, so any question he asked could be on just about anything.

Song Qinglan couldn’t quite follow and didn’t know how to respond.

But it seemed Ji Yushi didn’t need an answer. He quickly ended the conversation: “I’m getting sleepy. Aren’t you tired? We’ve covered most of what we needed to discuss. If you have any more questions or ideas, feel free to call me anytime.”

Before Song Qinglan could reply, Ji Yushi said “Goodbye” and hung up.

Ji Yushi lay back down in his soft bed, staring up at the ceiling.

On the other end, Song Qinglan listened to the dial tone and rubbed his temples. He had no right to interfere in Ji Yushi’s personal life, and apart from work, there wasn’t much else to talk about. Yet, even though the conversation had been about work, this was the first time he had ever stayed on the phone until dawn.

Song Qinglan tapped his virtual keyboard and searched “brain in a vat” on the holographic browser.

It was a thought experiment proposed by the philosopher Hilary Putnam.

The theory posits that if a person’s brain were removed and placed in a vat of life-sustaining fluids, external individuals could manipulate the brain via computers, feeding it sensory input, memories, and even arbitrary data to make it believe it was still living its life. The brain would have no way of knowing that it wasn’t experiencing reality but a constructed illusion.

How can one distinguish between living in the real world and being trapped in a simulated fantasy?

The idea was similar to the ancient Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou’s “butterfly dream,” and at its core, it questioned whether or not we truly exist.

Song Qinglan lit a cigarette, took a few deep drags, then extinguished the butt.

He almost dialed Ji Yushi’s number again.

But he couldn’t.

With red-rimmed eyes from staying up all night, Song Qinglan went downstairs, where his father was already having morning tea. His father asked, “Where are you headed?”

Song Qinglan walked quickly. “I’ve been gone for a month and haven’t visited my grandfather yet.”

His father asked, “You’re going to Ning City?”

“Yes.”

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Song Qinglan strode across the lawn in just a few long steps, heading to the garage to drive off.

Ji Yushi slept until the afternoon, then drove his black SUV to the Ji family home for dinner.

The familiar villa drew closer, with hyacinths and wisteria blooming in the garden, just as they had in his memory. A hand-carved rabbit stood on the porch—a crude childhood project of his. Inside, decorative paper cutouts still adorned the glass windows, the work of Aunt Su from the last Lunar New Year, when they had hung them together on New Year’s Day.

Inside, everything was as it had always been.

Aunt Su came out wearing an apron, clearly cooking a special meal for his return.

As soon as she saw him, she fussed over him with concern. “How did you really lose weight, my dear? Were they not feeding you in Jiangcheng?”

The familiar warmth made Ji Yushi’s heart soften. “Aunt Su.”

They hugged, and Aunt Su patted his back. “Your father’s upstairs. He’s putting on airs after not seeing you for a month. Go on and soothe him.”

Professor Ji was indeed waiting in his study. When Ji Yushi arrived, his father didn’t launch into a long speech, as Aunt Su and Ji Minyue had predicted. Instead, just like always, he closed the holographic projection in front of him, adjusted his reading glasses, and asked the first question, “I heard from Minister Lin that you went into shock upon your return?”

The two of them often kept things from the family, and only they knew the real risks.

But this time, even

 Professor Ji couldn’t have imagined just how dangerous it had been for Ji Yushi.

Of course, Ji Yushi wouldn’t tell him.

“It wasn’t that serious,” Ji Yushi said calmly. “The mission was just intense, and my body couldn’t adjust. The whole team had similar reactions.”

“I’ve heard as much.” Professor Ji nodded. He didn’t ask about the mission itself, only added, “The higher-ups will keep their promise. The score for this mission will be added to your total… I’ve heard they might even reevaluate the mission. It could end up ranked higher than an A-level.”

Ji Yushi knew what his teacher meant.

He already had 89 B-level missions, and with the planned A-level mission, he would have reached 99 points, just one step away from his goal. But if this A-level mission were to be re-evaluated, the score would far exceed his target, meaning his long-sought achievement would be within reach.

Professor Ji said, “Once you return and settle your unfinished business, you can leave Sky Vault.”

Ji Yushi remained silent.

“Teacher.” After a while, Ji Yushi asked seriously, “What would happen if someone, in the future, accidentally changed history and then returned to the present?”

Professor Ji was puzzled. “Without traveling to the past, how could someone in the future change history?”

But it had happened.

“For example, people starting from different time periods get trapped at the same point in time, and unintentionally, they influence each other’s timelines, resulting in accidentally changing history in the future world. Then they return to the present,” Ji Yushi said. “I know this isn’t logical, but let’s assume it’s true—if it really happens, what would the outcome be?”

“That’s too contradictory,” Professor Ji thought for a while, then removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “‘History,’ once altered, would mean there’s no longer a ‘present’ as we understand it, and certainly no ‘future.’ If such a scenario were to hold, the only possible outcome would be the creation of a parallel world, triggered by a butterfly effect. Otherwise, it would be logically inconsistent.”

The study fell silent.

Professor Ji said, “Ji Yushi, don’t alter history, don’t dwell on the present, and don’t become obsessed with the future. These three rules of Sky Vault were written by your father, and no one knows their meaning better than you. I hope you can resolve your inner conflict soon and not become a prisoner of time.”

After dinner, as Ji Yushi left the family home, he received a message from Song Qinglan.

Captain Song: [I found some information on “Wang Xiaoqian.”]

Ji Yushi’s eyelashes fluttered in surprise, and he immediately called Song Qinglan. “Captain Song? What information did you find?”

Has Minister Wang not disappeared? That would be great.

Song Qinglan replied, “The information is incomplete, so I can’t be sure if she’s the Minister Wang you mentioned. But while going through the data, I also noticed something that seems off from what you said.”

Song Qinglan had noticed something too?

Ji Yushi gripped his phone tightly. “Can I take a look at it?”

Song Qinglan asked for Ji Yushi’s home address.

Without thinking, Ji Yushi gave it, then realized something odd. “Captain Song, why are you asking?”

Song Qinglan seemed to chuckle. “I’m on my way to Ning City.”