Yan Zhen's office features a window that frames a direct view of space, and at certain times, a glimpse of Earth.
His only personal request, upon becoming a World Government councilor, was for an office with a window looking directly onto space.
And that concludes today's work.
He signs the final report with his right hand, softly utters the words, and caps his fountain pen in a single, practiced motion.
I'm afraid your day isn't quite over, sir.
You have a private meeting with President Hassen in 23 minutes.
Ah, yes... Of course. One last task.
One last task of the day, sir. The World Government still has need of you, after all.
Yan Zhen answers his assistant's flattery with nothing but a faint, noncommittal smile.
Thank you. That will be all for now. I can manage from here.
Are you certain, sir?
Yan Zhen nods, his gaze resting on the assistant who has been at his side for many years.
I'm not entirely helpless yet.
A brief glance from the assistant falls upon Yan Zhen's wheelchair.
Understood. I'll take my leave, then.
The door whispers shut behind the assistant, and a deep silence settles in the office.
Yan Zhen's right hand guides his wheelchair to the window, where the distant Earth hangs in the void.
He has occupied this spot countless times, using the planet as a backdrop for wrestling with endless, tedious paperwork.
But today is different. This time, the sight of the blue planet sparks a memory of running across its surface. The recollection is immediate, visceral, and then it's gone.
A pang of sorrow hits as he realizes the sensation has evaporated, leaving no trace.
I was quite a runner, once...
His thoughts drift, and he is pulled back more than thirty years.
Kowloong Central University
Kowloong
Under the dim glow of the track lights, 26-year-old Yan Zhen finished his evening run and spotted a friend approaching.
Yan Zhen. I had a feeling you'd be here.
Balancing with one foot on the steps, Yan Zhen threw his reply over his shoulder as he leaned into the stretch.
Yeah. Might be the last time I get to run this track.
I thought you were staying on at the university?
With your record, you could easily—
You know that's not the path for me.
Then what is, Yan Zhen?!
You turned down Kowloong Central, even the Science Council...
And I heard that Transatlantic United and Arctic Route made offers, too, but you still...
The sight of his smile made the words die in her throat.
Is some corporate job really what you want? What happened to all those ideals we used to talk about?
All those dreams of changing the world...
With a silent shake of his head, he wrapped up his stretching and motioned for them to walk back to the dormitory together.
They're offering a very competitive package.
...
You know why I need it.
How's your mother doing?
The same. No better, no worse.
That accident... Yan Zhen, it wasn't your fault. You...
Claire. Please.
Yan Zhen's tone shifted, shedding its usual lightness.
The sudden seriousness sent a jolt through Claire; she knew instantly she had misspoken.
I'm sorry, Yan Zhen... I just...
I understand.
A faint smile touched Yan Zhen's lips.
As it is my responsibility.
Fifteen years ago, a young Yan Zhen had only one wish: to cook a meal for his sick, bedridden mother.
Growing up in a single-parent household, he was acutely aware of her struggles. He dreamed of the smile that would grace her face when she awoke to a prepared dinner.
That dream ended in flames and thick smoke.
The precise cause had faded from memory.
Whether it was faulty wiring or his own childish error, it no longer mattered.
His mother managed to drag him from the inferno, but in doing so, she inhaled a toxic dose of smoke. The damage resulted in pulmonary fibrosis, condemning her to a portable oxygen respirator for life.
What about you? I heard you accepted the Science Council's offer.
I did. The terms were quite compelling.
Maybe I'll end up there someday. When I do, I'll be counting on you to show me around. Haha.
Claire didn't smile at his joke.
I will always...
Claire.
Huh?
Look.
Yan Zhen pointed toward the woods, where a sparrow with broken wings lay crumpled on the leaf-strewn ground, its silent gaze fixed on the sky.
He walked over and crouched down, staring at the tiny, motionless body.
Life is always so fragile...
Claire remained where she was, silently observing the black-haired young man. She was struck, as she often was, by the inscrutable sadness that clung to his gentle, scholarly soul.
One year later
Transatlantic Nova Technology
Hey, Yan Zhen, we're done for the day. Coming for a drink?
I'll have to pass. You know I can't handle alcohol.
Then just dinner. You hole up in here too much; you'll forget how to talk to people.
And hey, you're not getting any younger. There's a girl from another department joining us. I hear she's been asking about you.
Yan Zhen rose to his feet, his refusal already forming on his lips.
I...
Suddenly, his left leg gave way. He lurched forward, panic scattering stationery across his desk as he and his fountain pen crashed to the floor.
...What's... wrong with me?
The diagnosis is Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. ALS.
I know this is difficult to process, but with current treatments, we can effectively manage the symptoms.
With consistent medication, patients can maintain a good quality of life for up to thirty years.
"Up to"?
...Every case is unique. The record is thirty years.
And the average?
...About twenty.
Got it.
Yan Zhen had no memory of leaving the hospital. He was only jolted back to awareness by the ring of his terminal, finding himself already at the entrance.
An unknown number glowed on the screen.
...
Hello, am I speaking with Mr. Yan Zhen? This is the Chuanyang Police Department.
A visceral pressure clenched around his heart.
Yes... what is it?
I'm sorry to inform you, but your mother was involved in a traffic accident earlier today...
The day of the funeral was met with rain, a light drizzle, yet bone-chilling cold.
Yan Zhen had handled every detail alone, yet it was only in this moment, facing the fresh gravestone, that the truth finally settled in his bones: he was utterly alone.
The service was sparsely attended, a mere handful of faces. But then, Yan Zhen never had many friends.
As the ceremony ended, the small crowd drifted away, leaving just Yan Zhen and Claire in the damp silence.
Zhen...
Just one more year.
...
One more year, and I would have saved enough for her surgery.
I thought... I could finally give her a life without the oxygen mask. A normal life.
In that moment, any attempt at comfort would have been a hollow echo.
She was so strong. After my father died, I only saw her cry once.
It was right after she pulled me from the fire.
I could never be that strong...
Whenever the other kids picked on me, I'd just run home in tears.
I still remember the nickname those boys gave me. "Crybaby Yan Zhen".
I'd cry when I fell down, cry during sad movies, cry just thinking about my father...
My mother told me it was a good thing. She said it meant I had a gentle heart.
So why... why is it that now, I can't cry at all...
Claire held Yan Zhen tightly, as if she could dissolve his sorrow by melting into him.
A year after the funeral, they got married.
It was a small, quiet ceremony, shunning any loud celebration.
Only three days later, an unexpected visitor came knocking at their door.
Hello, Dr. Yan Zhen.
Military? No, not exactly. A politician?
Yan Zhen studied the man before him, a figure of roughly his own age, with a cautious eye.
Whatever your purpose is, I'm not currently interested in any offers.
Enrolled at Transatlantic United University at 17, graduated at 20 to enter the Arctic Route Harbor College. At 23, you declined their invitation for Kowloong, where you earned your doctorate in Neuroscience from Kowloong Central by 26.
You also managed to complete a second master's in Computer Science while you were there. Am I correct?
I must say, it's a truly remarkable record for a 26-year-old.
That's all public information. Anyone with a terminal could find it.
After your doctorate, you declined offers from several prestigious institutions, including the Science Council.
Yan Zhen furrowed his brow.
You chose a corporate path for the compensation, and the reason was—
That's enough.
If that's all you came to say, then this conversation is over.
Have you heard of the "Dark Rooms"?
Yan Zhen froze for a moment. Of course, he had heard of them.
The World Government, driven by self-interest, had established the Dark Rooms to operate outside the Science Council's jurisdiction.
There, unlike the stubbornly independent Science Council, every research direction was entirely under the government's authority.
The Dark Rooms weren't a complete secret to the academic world, but their crucial details—their number, locations, and projects—were known only to a handful of officials, even within the World Government itself.
...Are you with the World Government?
Let's just say I'm a messenger.
Whose messenger?
President Trillard's.
After a moment of surprised hesitation, Yan Zhen moved aside, making room for his visitor to come in.
Your name?
Hassen. Just Hassen.
The Third Dark Room
Though he had never set foot inside the Science Council headquarters, Yan Zhen had built a vivid picture of it in his mind from countless stories. He envisioned the magnificent building with its massive stone carvings, like an eternal flame.
And the great relief hanging overhead, marking the facility as their era's own "Academy of Athens".
The dome was adorned with a constellation of scientific genius: Babbage, Da Vinci, Feynman, Fermi, Newton, Dirac, Einstein... all there for visitors to admire.
He had heard some Council members say, "In the Golden Age and on the road of science, we are nothing but bricklayers. Bricklayers don't deserve to be carved onto the wall."
Yet, Yan Zhen sometimes allowed himself to imagine standing among them one day... observed and revered by future generations.
In stark contrast to the Council's symbolic grandeur, the interior of the Third Dark Room was all cold, somber steel, save for a single World Government emblem.
But as Yan Zhen stepped inside, his eyes were drawn to a line of text inscribed beneath it:
He stood transfixed by the words until Hassen's voice came from behind him.
Those are President Trillard's words.
Trillard...
What kind of man is he?
Hassen paused to consider for a moment.
Ordinary. In the best way possible.
An ordinary man became the first President of the World Government?
Hassen extended his right hand to Yan Zhen, gesturing for a handshake.
Of course, Doctor. This is a world where anyone can contribute. Including you.
After a moment's hesitation, Yan Zhen took Hassen's hand.
Dr. Yan Zhen, welcome to joining us in building a better world.
Beneath the towering World Government emblem, their paths began to converge.
After following Hassen into a private office, Yan Zhen could no longer resist asking the question that had been on his mind.
Why me? The Science Council has minds far more brilliant than mine. When I was in Kowloong, I heard of a prodigy who earned his doctorate at sixteen.
Hassen smiled, fixing Yan Zhen with a gaze that seemed to peer straight into his soul.
Yan Zhen shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
And what is your assessment of this prodigy?
I never met him. I only have second-hand gossip. It wouldn't be a fair judgment.
Then let me ask another way. How do you believe you compare to him?
...
The desire within him screamed to be acknowledged.
Yan Zhen remained silent for a long moment.
I believe...
He's just lucky enough to have the right family connections.
But I am exceptional.
Hassen remained noncommittal.
Your paper from your Transatlantic United years was fascinating.
"Invasive Brain-Machine Extension Applications: A Hypothesis".
Chapter One: The Extension of Consciousness.
Using BMIs as psychic tentacles, translating thought directly into code to command any device...
The general concept isn't groundbreaking; it's a classic sci-fi trope.
But reality is less forgiving. The practical hurdles are immense, which is why invasive interfaces are a fringe pursuit today.
For a first publication, it was remarkably audacious. Some might even question if it qualified as academic work, given the lack of substantiation.
There's no need to be polite. Some reviewers called it pure fantasy.
It was never even archived. It was a mess.
However... what intrigued me was Chapter Two: The Transfer of Consciousness.
The idea of tethering the mind to the network, allowing consciousness to navigate the digital realm...
That's hardly an original concept, either. It's not worth your—
Hassen interrupted Yan Zhen before the words could fully leave his mouth.
It could be implemented.
...
Yan Zhen was rendered speechless, a flood of thoughts racing through his mind.
That's way too far-fetched. Are you sure you want to dedicate your efforts to this direction?
You have promise. Don't squander it on a dead end.
Don't you worry about what they say...
I always know you're meant for something extraordinary.
I can't believe that paper was ever published. He must have had connections.
It's complete nonsense.
Keep your voice down! Who knows if he'll implant a chunk of metal in your brain one day? Hahaha!
But if this could ever be realized... think of the patients with disabilities, with partial paralysis...
You...
Have you seen empirical evidence?
No, I didn't.
Yan Zhen's reaction didn't surprise Hassen.
That's impossible...
The feasibility is a question for later, Dr. Yan Zhen.
The question now is whether you, as you are, are willing to join Project [Connection].
Project [Connection]?
Rising to his feet, Hassen walked to the front of the conference room. Right on cue, the display activated.
An abstract logo of a human brain appeared on the screen. From it, lines representing data streams and network connections radiated outward.
Yet, to Yan Zhen, the image inexplicably brought to mind the form of an abstract, two-dimensional tree.
Allow me to provide a proper introduction. A flagship initiative of the World Government's Third Dark Room, aimed at developing technology that enables consciousness to seamlessly connect with and be uploaded to the network...
If you choose to join, you will be the lead of Project Connection.
Yan Zhen turns his gaze away from Earth, a hint of stiffness in his neck as he raises his right hand to massage it.
His fingers slide upward, finding the slightly warm metal hidden beneath his white hair.
Not every clandestine encounter has the power to change the world.
The project began smoothly, with the prototype rapidly taking shape.
Yet its early success was deceptive; while the system managed to connect consciousness to the network, the process inflicted severe physical damage on the test subjects.
Only a single volunteer from the first batch survived, and even he was pronounced dead after twenty-six hours in the emergency room.
With progress stalled, the World Government officials began to lose faith.
The final blow came when a rival breakthrough in consciousness digitalization from Construct Tech emerged, prompting them to terminate Project Connection entirely.
But Yan Zhen could no longer bring himself to abandon the Third Dark Room.
His wife had died there. His daughter had been born there.
Within its walls lay hundreds of volunteers from around the globe: patients with ALS, persistent vegetative states, and catastrophic neurological damage.
Their physical forms were prisons, their conditions deemed nearly untreatable.
As a tide of despair washed over the Third Dark Room, Yan Zhen found himself desperate to produce a result, any result, before it was too late.
Now we're getting to the good part, heh.
Yan Zhen's train of thought shatters as a single, blinding signal fires through every neuron at once.
"PAIN!"
Get... back!
But back to where? I am you.
Or should I call you... Abel, my brother?
I am... the real Yan Zhen!
Is that so? And who, pray tell, gets to decide that?
In a desperate gambit, Yan Zhen staked his life on the second-generation brain-computer, becoming a human test subject.
That was when the whispers from the darkness first found him.
The true catastrophe, however, was still lurking. Using the second-generation brain-computer's flawed result, Yan Zhen manipulated all factions, barely sustaining the Third Dark Room's operations.
His pleas reached countless companies and organizations, and his persistence was finally met with a token offer from the Norman Mining Corp.
The memory of that day remains sharp: as he practically groveled during a presentation of Project Connection, he saw young Edward with Charles in the audience.
The profound pity in the young man's eyes revealed the humiliating truth of their "help."
Just two months later, the outbreak of the Punishing Virus shattered the world forever.
Those dishonest Normans... They just left us to die...
John, return to Elysium. Now!
I am Yan Zhen! It is you who should... remember your place.
