“What’s wrong with you just now?” Song Qinglan asked.

“I don’t know.” Ji Yushi retracted his gaze, his heart pounding. He couldn’t understand why he subconsciously followed those people.

If it weren’t for being with Song Qinglan, he probably wouldn’t have gotten on this train.

The two sat down in their seats as the train moved forward, leaving the eerie scene at the station far behind.

Song Qinglan had rushed to buy the tickets, and only the regular carriage tickets were left, almost without any empty seats.

People were chatting, placing their luggage, seemingly unaware of the two young people who hadn’t yet calmed down. Occasionally, someone would glance their way, but it was only because of their striking appearance.

From the neighbor standing at Ji Yushi’s doorstep at dawn, to the appearance of Ji Minyue in the morning, to the human wall that had formed at the station just now, it seemed that some part of the world had been touched overnight, and it was likely the most crucial part.

Ji Yushi once again felt an uncomfortable gaze. He turned his head and saw that a man wearing glasses in the seat ahead was staring at him.

He made eye contact with the man for a few seconds, but the man showed no intention of looking away.

Amidst the noise, this made Ji Yushi’s already tense nerves feel even more on edge.

Even on the train.

He tried to recall where he had seen this man before, but he couldn’t remember. The man’s face was a blank in his memory.

Song Qinglan whispered, “Don’t worry about it. He’s probably looking at me.”

Ji Yushi turned back, his face showing some confusion, and it wasn’t hard to see a hint of panic in his eyes. Ever since they encountered Ji Minyue, Song Qinglan had noticed that Ji Yushi seemed a bit off, his mental state not quite right.

This abnormality wasn’t just felt by Ji Yushi; even someone as mentally strong as Song Qinglan began to doubt the reality they were in.

They had initially thought they had found key clues from Minister Wang, but now they were encountering these strange occurrences, clearly indicating that this wasn’t merely a parallel world or overlapping memories.

Ji Yushi’s fingers clutched the armrest tightly, his knuckles turning white. It was only when Song Qinglan spoke that he relaxed his grip. “Looking at you?”

Song Qinglan, sitting to Ji Yushi’s right, was too tall and an obvious target.

He adjusted his posture, lowering himself so the back of the chair in front blocked the man’s line of sight. Sure enough, the man immediately turned away and resumed his own activities as if nothing had happened.

“I’m thinking, these people looking at us must be related to us somehow. It’s either you or me, and since this is the city where you live, more people are likely focused on you,” Song Qinglan said. “Maybe I’ve seen this person somewhere, but I can’t remember.”

Song Qinglan seemed unaffected, speaking in the same tone as before.

When they were trapped by zombies in the Runjin Building or by the rift in the space capsule, Song Qinglan had been like this. It was as if he would never compromise in the face of adversity, nor would he waver in his determination to overcome it.

But in truth, Song Qinglan just didn’t want those around him to feel more lost.

He extended his arm. “Pinch me.”

Ji Yushi looked puzzled. “Why?”

Song Qinglan said, “Pinch me, and I’ll see if it hurts. If it does, we’re not dreaming.”

Ji Yushi informed him, “Captain Song, there’s really no scientific basis for this—”

Song Qinglan raised an eyebrow, pinched himself unceremoniously, and let out a muffled grunt. “Damn.”

Perhaps feeling it was childish, even he was speechless. He then said seriously, “It really hurts. Alright, whether there’s scientific evidence or not, just trust me that we’re not dreaming right now.”

The service robot passed by, pushing a cart.

Song Qinglan asked for a cup of warm water for each of them.

Drinking more hot water has its merits.

Ji Yushi felt much better, his intelligence returning. “Since we got back, this is the first time I’ve encountered something like this. How about you?”

Song Qinglan said, “It’s my first time too.”

Ji Yushi frowned, thinking for a moment. “You said the neighbor lady was standing at my door since dawn, but when we came back and saw her, she seemed perfectly normal. Also, my brother met with me yesterday and didn’t act strangely. Why—” He suddenly stopped, his clear eyes looking at Song Qinglan. “Captain Song, I think I know.”

Song Qinglan might have guessed what he was going to say but didn’t interrupt him.

Somehow, he was a bit eager to see Ji Yushi in brainstorming mode, the calm and rational Ji Yushi who often pinpointed the crux of the problem with just a glance.

“It might be related to Minister Wang,” Ji Yushi said. “Originally, only I had memories of this matter, which wouldn’t have affected this reality. But you found her files, and then discovered memories of another reality.”

Song Qinglan listened quietly.

Ji Yushi continued, “Last night we planned to find Minister Wang because we had her specific location—if Minister Wang also has double memories, then as a shared variable between us, she would be proof that the two realities coexist. The closer we get to her, the closer we are to the most contradictory point between the two realities.”

Song Qinglan asked, “So from the moment we decided to find Minister Wang, it triggered these…reactions?”

Song Qinglan didn’t know how to describe these strange reactions, but Ji Yushi understood what he meant.

The cold air in the train made Ji Yushi feel a bit chilly. He held the cup in his hands, absorbing some warmth. “Yes.”

Song Qinglan frowned. “Why did these reactions occur?”

Ji Yushi said, “I don’t know yet, but I have a vague idea. Do you know about the double-slit experiment?”

Song Qinglan nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”

“In the double-slit experiment, when a single electron passes through a barrier with two slits, it creates multiple interference patterns on the screen, as if the electron passed through both slits simultaneously. Some believe this phenomenon proves the existence of multiple worlds. If an electron passes through the left slit in one world, and the right slit in another, these two worlds sense each other’s projection. The electron simultaneously passing through both slits creates self-interference, forming multiple interference patterns,” Ji Yushi explained. “This is one hypothesis about parallel worlds.”

Since time-travel technology had been mastered, the parallel world theory had been confirmed, so Ji Yushi only briefly mentioned it before moving on to the main point.

“What I want to say is that the most bizarre aspect of the double-slit experiment is this: when people use devices to observe the process of an electron passing through the slits, the multiple interference patterns on the screen disappear. After the electron passes through the two slits, only two parallel lines are left on the screen. Strangely, when the device is turned off, the original multiple interference patterns reappear, as if the electron had a mind of its own, knowing whether people were observing it. It can change its motion state based on whether it is being observed. In other words, human observation somehow affects the motion of the electron, altering the experimental results.”

This long theoretical explanation needed time to digest.

Song Qinglan thought for a while and said, “So, you’re suggesting that our current situation is related to whether we ‘observe’ this world?”

“I’m just making a preliminary guess,” Ji Yushi lowered his head to drink some water, his long eyelashes casting shadows. “Our action of looking for Minister Wang is a kind of ‘observation.’ Just like an electron being observed, this behavior affected the operation of this reality, causing it to self-interfere.”

“I think I kind of get it.” Song Qinglan didn’t dare say he fully understood. He could never grasp how much knowledge was stored in Ji Yushi’s mind. “People connected to us in this reality might also be affected by this interference. So, when they see us, discovering that we are ‘observing,’ they, under some influence, start to interfere with us.”

This might explain why they suddenly encountered these abnormal phenomena.

Now that they had just decided to find Minister Wang and already encountered such situations, it was only the beginning. If they continued, meeting Minister Wang and fully understanding the contradictory point in this world, what would happen?

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Even in this butterfly effect-induced parallel world, these people were still real humans, not mindless zombies without thought or soul. As they got closer to Minister Wang, these interferences would surely intensify. What should they do then?

Ji Yushi’s phone rang.

He glanced down and saw that the screen displayed the name: “Teacher.”

After Ji Minyue appeared that morning, he kept saying, “Old Ji wants you to go home.” What could this call mean?

Song Qinglan didn’t pry into others’ privacy, only asked, “Are you going to answer?”

Ji Yushi hesitated, then set down his cup, answered the call, and brought the phone to his ear.

“Xiaoshi.”

The expected mechanical tone didn’t appear; Professor Ji’s voice was as gentle and kind as it had been during dinner last night.

Ji Yushi breathed a sigh of relief. “Teacher.”

Professor Ji didn’t mention anything about asking him to come home, nor did he bring up Ji Minyue. He just informed him, “The matter I talked to you about last night, the result is in. Your mission has been rated S-class.”

So soon?

Ji Yushi found it hard to believe.

They hadn’t even submitted their mission report yet, but the rating had already come through?

Song Qinglan noticed his held breath, silently asking what was going on with a look.

But Ji Yushi heard Professor Ji continue on the phone, “An S-class mission rating added on top, you don’t even need to gather those remaining points. This afternoon, they’ll conduct a physical fitness test. If you’ve recovered well from the aftereffects of the last mission, you can return to that day tomorrow.”

Ji Yushi: “This… afternoon?”

Professor Ji’s phone was taken by someone else, and a familiar, cheerful voice came through—Minister Lin from the Ningcheng branch.

“Xiao Ji, congratulations, congratulations,” Minister Lin said. “See, I was right to suggest you assist the Jiangcheng branch. You completed the point requirements and passed the psychological test. You’ve proven yourself with your strength. I submitted an application to the higher-ups, and they’ve already approved it. The day you’ve waited for over a decade has finally arrived! I’ll be waiting for you at the department this afternoon!”

Ji Yushi: “…”

After hanging up the phone, Ji Yushi was in a bit of a daze.

Song Qinglan asked, “What happened?”

Ji Yushi turned to look at him as if slowly coming back to his senses, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

Song Qinglan asked curiously, “Why did your teacher call you?”

Ji Yushi: “Just some coursework.”

Outside the maglev train, the sky was blue, and the scenery picturesque.

At a speed of over 500 kilometers per hour, the objects outside formed a blurred line that quickly receded.

The train window reflected the perfect contours of Ji Yushi’s face, his slender neck, and his beautiful, cool eyes.

He seemed to be looking outside, yet also not.

After a while, he turned back to the still-thinking Song Qinglan and said, “I want to go to the bathroom.”

The train had already announced once that it was about to arrive at a small station between Ningcheng and Jiangcheng. When the train stopped, many passengers would likely come and go, possibly more people related to them.

Song Qinglan thought the timing wasn’t ideal. “Now?”

Ji Yushi bit his lip and said, “Actually, I think the eggs from this morning might have been expired. I’m feeling a bit uncomfortable.”

Song Qinglan: “…”

Ji Yushi stood up and walked towards the bathroom. Before leaving, he added, “But they were delicious.”

Song Qinglan felt a bit disheartened; it was the first time he had cooked for someone other than family.

Expired eggs? How did he not notice?

But early in the morning, for some funny reason, he hadn’t had the nerve to knock on Ji Yushi’s door to ask which ingredients could be used and just went ahead and cooked.

Were they really tasty?

Song Qinglan looked out the window and found a smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

Silly.

He straightened his expression, his palms a bit warm.

A minute passed, and the train slowly came to a stop.

Ji Yushi hadn’t returned yet.

Passengers were coming and going. Song Qinglan checked the time. Three more minutes passed; it seemed Ji Yushi had been gone a bit too long.

It wasn’t until the departure announcement sounded that Song Qinglan suddenly realized—Ji Yushi’s expression when lying wasn’t new to him, so why had he fallen for it just now?

He stood up and quickly walked to the bathroom, only to find it empty!

The train doors were closing, and in a moment of desperation, Song Qinglan reached out to grab the glass, his hand getting caught painfully by the door. A piercing alarm instantly rang out in the carriage as the anti-pinch mechanism activated. Ignoring the alarm and the complaints of the passengers, Song Qinglan quickly exited the train and searched for Ji Yushi’s figure on the platform.

As someone who had traveled back in time multiple times to complete missions, Ji Yushi could easily minimize his presence if he wanted to, even without disguising himself by simulating someone else’s appearance.

But Song Qinglan spotted that slender back immediately.

—Ji Yushi was striding through the crowd, heading toward the exit.

“Excuse me!”

“Excuse me. Thank you!”

Song Qinglan quickened his pace to catch up.

In the crowd, a few people stopped expressionlessly, watching Song Qinglan.

Meanwhile, Ji Yushi moved effortlessly as if he knew his actions were unimpeded, with no one hindering him.

When they entered the hall, Ji Yushi’s figure hesitated slightly. He knew Song Qinglan had followed him, but he didn’t look back.

Ji Yushi continued walking without stopping, even taking the time to casually toss an empty water bottle on the ground as he passed an empty seat.

Song Qinglan’s expression turned icy as he used his height and long strides to push through the crowd, getting closer to Ji Yushi.

Suddenly, chaos erupted in front of Song Qinglan.

Someone had stepped on the empty water bottle Ji Yushi had thrown, falling to the ground, and in turn, bumping into a hurried traveler dragging a suitcase. The suitcase, which had wheels, rolled away upon impact, hitting a cleaning robot that tripped a janitor.

It was as if Ji Yushi had eyes on the back of his head. His exceptional memory and precise calculation of the environment had thrown everything into disorder, causing chaos in an instant.

He walked quickly, but as he reached a corner, he was suddenly pinned against the wall.

The position was almost identical to the one in the bookstore before, even the angle at which his hands were restrained was nearly the same.

Large hands clamped down on his wrists, pulling them behind his back. To the onlookers, it looked as if a criminal was being apprehended.

“Consultant Ji,” Song Qinglan’s voice was almost a growl as he asked harshly, “What are you doing?”

Ji Yushi, unperturbed, calmly said, “Let go of me first; my hand hurts.”

Song Qinglan: “…”

Damn it.

Can’t he use a different trick?

Song Qinglan’s hand was the one that hurt—it was bruised and swollen from being caught by the train door. But right now, he didn’t care; he just wanted to know why Ji Yushi was doing this.

Song Qinglan didn’t fully release him as Ji Yushi wanted, but he did loosen his grip slightly, propping his hand against the wall to prevent Ji Yushi from escaping. “Can you explain what’s going on? Did you suddenly remember something you couldn’t say but had to do, or have you come up with a different idea?”

Despite his anger, Song Qinglan still didn’t doubt Ji Yushi.

This was a rare form of trust.

Ji Yushi turned around.

Song Qinglan’s dark eyes fixed on his face, and his heart skipped a beat.

Ji Yushi’s expression was one Song Qinglan had never seen before.

He didn’t joke about Song Qinglan “walling” him, nor did he answer Song Qinglan’s question. Instead, he asked, “Captain Song, do you think it matters which reality we’re in?”

They had just been searching for clues together, discussing the incomprehensible double-slit experiment—how had he suddenly given up?

Song Qinglan didn’t understand, but his instincts told him it had something to do with the phone call Ji Yushi had received. “Of course it matters!”

Ji Yushi raised his eyes to meet Song Qinglan’s gaze. “If you can get everything you want in this reality, why bother going to another one?”

The two were standing very close, close enough for Song Qinglan to see the color of Ji Yushi’s pupils.

Ji Yushi coldly and calmly looked at him and said, “Since there is only one ‘me’ in any reality, it doesn’t matter who ‘I’ really am.”

For a moment, Song Qinglan almost felt that what he said made sense.

But he quickly snapped out of it, refusing to follow Ji Yushi’s line of thinking. “That’s a serious case of idealism. Which reality we’re in is very important to us. It’s not just about how we think. In our original reality, there are many people who care about us and love us. Losing us would only make them sad. We have to return to the world that truly belongs to us because that’s where our real lives are.”

Ji Yushi said, “I don’t have such a reality.”