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In a fleeting moment, her left eye flickered, and within her pupil, a small point of light could be seen, swirling and moving—that was the consciousness particle. Aiwen’s awareness perceived the world projected from her eye. Sensations passed from her skin to her neurons, then through the spinal ganglia cells into the spinal cord’s white matter, traveling upward along the spinal thalamic tract, reaching the ventral posterolateral nucleus of the thalamus, which projected these feelings to the brain. Neurotransmitters then transmitted them to the consciousness particle, allowing it to experience what she felt.

For instance, the touch of sunlight, the coolness of water flowing, the scent of flowers drifting to the tip of her nose, the gentle breeze gliding past her hair and ears—all so vividly real. Aiwen felt as if she were there herself. In the real world, only a few months had passed, yet in the world of Duxiang, time was indeterminate; it could be days or hours, depending on Aiwen’s own subjective perception. She lived in a special world, traversing Xian Xiaoya’s vision and mind, and the two communicated constantly, fostering a deep familiarity and tacit understanding.

In just a few months, Xian Xiaoya worked diligently to resume her long-abandoned university studies. She refused to give up on herself, determined to reinvest in learning. Though she worked tirelessly in the restaurant, she never forgot her promise to herself: to improve her abilities, she had to keep learning. She re-enrolled in adult university, choosing a specialized field that would equip her with practical skills—the accounting major she had once abandoned. Perhaps due to her exhaustive efforts, during that half-year of study, she experienced episodes akin to consciousness replacement, where her heart rate abruptly stopped; fortunately, timely intervention saved her. To be cautious, Aiwen found authoritative experts online regarding the condition, gathered extensive information, and coached Xiaoya on how to manage her heart health. Often, it was emotional or lifestyle issues that had the greatest impact, and through sustained healthy habits, Xiaoya maintained good routines. Since then, the symptoms never returned. She realized how precious health was—for only with good health could she create a better future.

Unknowingly, three years passed, and Xian Xiaoya progressed from ordinary vocational studies to a bachelor’s degree. With experience comes skill; her company accounting work grew more adept. With expertise, she no longer worried about livelihood; more companies needed reports and accounting, and business poured in. In her spare time, she continued to pursue interests—physics, an initial grasp of quantum mechanics, questions about the structure of matter, research into human consciousness, and the latest technologies like brain-computer interfaces and artificial intelligence. All these left a deep impression during her encounters with Aiwen over the past three years. She wanted to understand each one. The world was wondrous, filled with endless things to learn. Since meeting Aiwen, she cherished life all the more. She felt she should pursue the unknown and novel. There was so much—far too much!

At that moment, she was reading a popular science book about space and time—the concept people often call “spacetime.” Aiwen had said spacetime could be folded; her Duxiang world was not a real world, but it too could be folded. According to Aiwen, three years ago, Holun vanished outside the laboratory, ending the consciousness replacement experiment. Xiaoya had heard from Aiwen that she had infiltrated the SNS Experimental Center’s surveillance system recordings and discovered Holun had disappeared into thin air. The scene was incredible—a fleeting fissure appeared, minuscule as a silver thread, almost invisible to the naked eye. Aiwen believed this mysterious slit was not something of the present, but perhaps—from the future.

2035.10.25

“Welcome to the new SNS Experimental Center.”

Holun slowly opened his eyes, and his vision revealed a pure, spotless—sealed room?

“Doctor, you should notice that here you have better and more advanced experimental equipment; you will no longer be restricted, and can fully exercise your talents.” The voice came from a surround sound system, echoing all around. Holun could not see who spoke, only hear them.

“What is this place? What does the new SNS Experimental Center mean?” Holun pressed for answers, but received none.

After receiving a mysterious phone call, he thought he would meet the caller near the garden behind the laboratory, since the caller claimed he could solve the dilemma of his father refusing to fund the experiment. With mixed doubts, Holun hurried out, but was suddenly engulfed by a blinding light and sucked into a slit, as if his whole body had become a twisting strand, then was swept into the fissure. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in this strange place—

Before him was a closed, bright, pure white room, empty save for many virtual devices. A simple touch activated them, and as he operated the devices, the space evolved, revealing more complex and advanced equipment. Holun had never seen such mysterious—high technology? Some instruments appeared somewhat familiar, reminiscent of those he had used, but all activated devices were richer than he could imagine, their designs minimalist but infinitely intricate, highly intelligent, more precise and user-friendly than any Holun had encountered.

Suddenly, a cluster of particle-shaped masses appeared, swirling and writhing, as if to transform or deduce different forms. They combined and dispersed, forming various characters and symbols. The final text was one Holun could read: “Welcome to today, fifteen years in the future.”

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2037.4.11. Inside a café, afternoon

A middle-aged woman with shoulder-length hair walked slowly into the café, scanning the room as though searching for someone awaiting her. After looking around, she spotted a young woman by the floor-to-ceiling window. This woman was more striking than she had imagined, for she was of mixed descent, and even from afar, she stood out from those around her.

The middle-aged woman approached, smiling and saying, “Sorry to keep you waiting. Are you Lawrence?”

“Yes. Hello, Miss Xian Xiaoya. Please, have a seat!” The woman called Lawrence smiled in reply.

Over the years, Xian Xiaoya had changed with time, experiencing some hardships. Her face bore slight signs of age, but her bearing had only become more refined. She was now one of the top three chief senior accountants at an internationally renowned accounting firm. Yet, her greatest secret was unknown to anyone. Seventeen years later, a stranger suddenly contacted her—this was Lawrence. The reason for their meeting was simple: Lawrence mentioned a name—Aiwen. In the end, Xiaoya couldn’t resist and arranged to meet at this café.

When they looked into each other’s eyes, everything was clear.

Xian Xiaoya’s left pupil shimmered briefly.

“It seems Aiwen is here as well,” Lawrence smiled softly again.

Xian Xiaoya was startled, then noticed a fleeting flash in Lawrence’s right pupil—the same spinning light.

“Is that—a consciousness particle?”

“Indeed. In fact, today—we are meeting as four.”

“Who else?”

“Your friend and mine.” Lawrence gazed steadily at her.

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“This... is unbelievable...” Xian Xiaoya’s consciousness instantly connected to Aiwen at the other end.

In the Duxiang world, she immediately saw Lawrence herself.

“We are honored to meet you both.” Lawrence extended her hand, lightly clasping Xian Xiaoya’s. The two exchanged a knowing look, and the two inside their eyes also communicated silently, everyone breaking into smiles—

2037.4.16. A university classroom, morning

At a public lecture in a university, every seat was filled. Among them was a young woman wearing a Scottish plaid shirt and blue jeans, her hair naturally wavy, falling just below her shoulders, dressed like any student there. She took notes incessantly, but her notebook showed she was not recording the lecture.

She was drawing a pattern, gradually sketching it out. A lifelike image emerged: two hands clasped tightly over a scepter’s handle.

This was the logo once displayed on the computer system at the SNS Center—a pair of hands holding a scepter; it was the emblem of the “Scepter Company.” When the young woman finished, she looked up, her gaze settling on her own face—a youthful, mixed-heritage visage. Then her vision shifted to her right eye, entering her pupil.

Within the pupil, a scene appeared: a vast factory filled with strange machines. The perspective hovered high above, sweeping across every process, finally settling on a tightly closed mechanical door bearing the “Scepter Company” logo.

Suddenly, the image vanished—

The end

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