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Blood streamed from Lin Xian’s nose, staining his shirt. His eyes, bloodshot, reflected a desperate intensity as small capillaries burst under the strain.

Yet, he remained unfazed.

His mind whirred at breakneck speeds, akin to an engine pushed to its limits. Superficial concerns like bleeding or pain were irrelevant distractions now.

On the electronic blackboards, hexadecimal codes streamed continuously. To Lin Xian, these symbols were as clear and familiar as ancient inscriptions, deeply embedded in his memory.

“Next page,” he commanded.

His brain, already on the verge of overload from a dangerous cocktail of stimulants, was reaching its capacity. Despite this, his clarity of thought was razor-sharp.

The voice recognition system responded in a mere 0.2 seconds, displaying six pages of dense code on the blackboard.

He was currently memorizing the third page and was nearly at his memory’s maximum capacity.

Using drugs to enhance memory was effective but risky and paled in comparison to the safer, more sustainable methods of low-dose, ongoing treatments during early brain development. Such treatments ensured optimal absorption and enhancement of cognitive potential.

VV, an earlier guide, had once remarked that a three-year-old child in Sky City could easily memorize a thousand lines of code. For Lin Xian, stretching himself to memorize three pages of complex, nonsensical characters was pushing him to his mental limits. Any more, and his recollection would start to jumble and degrade.

But for now, this was sufficient.

“VV, flip back to the first page. I need to double-check,” Lin Xian instructed, determined to keep his ambitions in check. This was only his first day in this intense memorization exercise, and he wasn’t looking to overreach. The 130,000 lines of code he needed to absorb represented the epitome of condensed human intelligence, a blend of complexity and beauty akin to poetry.

Precision was crucial. A single error in a digit or letter could introduce a fatal flaw in the code, rendering it useless. Thus, accuracy was prioritized over speed.

VV obliged, cycling back to the first page. Lin Xian recited the contents from memory, confirming their accuracy.

No errors found.

The high dose of stimulants, although potentially lethal, proved incredibly effective. His mind felt clearer than ever—like a foggy windshield that has just been wiped clean. His memory was as accessible and organized as a computer’s hard drive.

“Lin Xian! Are you… are you okay?” a voice suddenly broke through his concentration.

Everything faded to black as if a switch had been flipped. Lin Xian’s balance faltered, and he felt his body tilt sideways uncontrollably.

The last thing he heard was the robotic voice of a trash can unit.

Thud.

…

…

…

Boom!

Lin Xian jolted awake in the corner of his bedroom, sitting upright on his bed.

“No problem. My head’s clear, and the alcohol has mostly worn off,” he murmured with a slight smile.

The experiment had been a success.

Everything had unfolded as he anticipated.

The deleterious effects of the drug overdose in his simulated experience hadn’t translated into reality—there were no residual side effects.

Yet, the memory of the code he had stored was perfectly intact.

He threw off his blanket and hurried to his desk, where a new laptop awaited, its screen glowing softly in standby mode.

He had disabled its internet connectivity for security reasons, even going as far as to remove the wireless network card and Bluetooth module from the device.

Seated, Lin Xian began to type rapidly. The hexadecimal characters he had committed to memory earlier flowed effortlessly from his fingers onto the document.

Clack-clack-clack-clack…

It took him about twenty minutes to input everything correctly.

“Perfect,” Lin Xian uttered as he hit the final Enter key, a laugh escaping his lips.

It had been a thrilling challenge.

A stroke of inspiration had significantly boosted his code transcription efficiency.

After a long stretch, he finally allowed himself a moment to drink some water.

Then, picking up a book from his desk, he tried to memorize a passage.

Closing his eyes…

“No, I can’t remember it. It seems the drug’s effects, like the side effects, don’t carry over to the real world.”

This realization solidified Lin Xian’s understanding that only his memory could traverse the boundaries between the dream world and reality. Any physical side effects, no matter how severe, were left behind upon waking.

He estimated that memorizing and transcribing the 130,000 lines of code VV had provided would have taken years under normal circumstances. But with his new, drug-enhanced method, he might manage it in just a few months, potentially hastening the day he could bring VV, the super AI, into the real world.

“This is really exciting…” Lin Xian murmured to himself.

Though a few months might sound lengthy, Lin Xian felt the excitement bubble up within him as he looked at the laptop screen displaying the three pages of hexadecimal code he had just typed. It was a remarkable feeling, an accomplishment that tingled with thrill.

He had never imagined that one day he would experience something akin to photographic memory, a concept he had only seen on TV shows like “The Brain.” This show showcased the staggering capabilities of the human brain, featuring contestants with skills that made photographic memory look basic. Intrigued, Lin Xian had delved into research on this topic.

He discovered that scientifically, photographic memory was often linked to a rare condition known as Hyperthymesia, or Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory (HSAM). This condition enables individuals to remember an abnormally large number of their personal experiences in vivid detail. While retaining happy memories or learned knowledge was beneficial, the inability to forget painful memories was a curse, haunting individuals with recurring mental agony.

For most, the brain’s ability to forget is a defense mechanism, shielding them from past pains and allowing them to move forward with life, as the saying goes, “Letting go of the past is the key to moving forward.”

What would life be like if one could never forget any memory, however traumatic?

In his dream, Lin Xian speculated that the drug overdose had temporarily induced a state resembling HSAM, granting him a fleeting taste of photographic memory. However, the benefits were short-lived, lasting only 20 to 30 minutes before risking brain death.

Despite the dangers, Lin Xian felt satisfied with his achievement.

“Time to sleep. Another battle awaits tomorrow.”

He stood and walked to the bathroom to wash his face. As he patted his face dry and looked up, his reflection mimicked his movements. It brought to mind a piece of advice from Yellow Finch: “Look in the mirror more often, Lin Xian. In the mirror… you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Lin Xian frowned, and so did his reflection.

He had managed to solve the puzzle left by Zhao Ying Jun, uncovering her life’s history and key information to potentially bring the super AI VV back to 2023. But Yellow Finch’s cryptic advice about the mirror still puzzled him, offering no clear direction or clues.

Zhao Ying Jun, forced into solitude and surveillance by the Genius Club, had left a trail of riddles as a safety measure against her watchers. Her clues, though encrypted, were decipherable with some effort.

Yellow Finch, on the other hand, had been far less forthcoming.

Lin Xian dragged a chair into the bathroom, positioning it in front of the mirror. He sat, staring intently at his reflection.

Could it be that Yellow Finch’s reference to a mirror wasn’t literal but metaphorical? A symbol for something deeper like self-reflection, symmetry, or even infinite possibilities?

Aside from the mirror, Lin Xian puzzled over what Yellow Finch meant by “what you want.” His desires were many, but at the forefront was an invitation to the Genius Club. After his encounters with the Seven Deadly Sins, such an invitation would allow him to infiltrate and perhaps understand—or even dismantle—this mysterious group from within.

Shifting his position, Lin Xian crossed his legs, his reflection copying the action. Reflecting on the past six months, he acknowledged his substantial progress. His thoughts were clearer, his plans more defined, and his alliances stronger.

Liu Feng was deep into research on the Universal Constant 42;

Rhine Company was thriving;

Yellow Finch promised support, agreeing to a rendezvous at the Jiuquan Satellite Launch Center if necessary;

And his efforts to manifest the super AI VV into reality were advancing.

If all these elements aligned, Lin Xian might wield considerable influence in 2023, challenging the Genius Club of 600 years past.

“I have a hunch that Yellow Finch’s mirror riddle is linked to Liu Feng’s research on the Universal Constant 42. Otherwise, why would she appear in Liu Feng’s lab, just as she had at the hospital with Zheng Cheng He and Zheng Xiang Yue?”

“Right!” Lin Xian slapped his thigh in a sudden realization, echoed by his reflection.

“Why not ask VV in the dream tomorrow?”

His reflection smiled back at him. Despite his occasional jokes calling VV an artificial idiot, it was, after all, a culmination of centuries of human intellectual endeavor, potentially the most intelligent entity ever created.

Perhaps, VV would provide a new perspective or even the answer he desperately sought.

The following day unfolded within the dream world.

At the Rhine Memorial Square, beneath the solemn gaze of Zhao Ying Jun’s statue, Lin Xian stood with a determined expression. Before him was the trash can robot known as VV.

“VV, before we dive into memorizing the code, I have a question,” Lin Xian began, his gaze fixed intently on the robot.

“Imagine there’s a woman who travels through time from the future. She knows a vast amount about history and future events, along with many hidden truths. However, because of certain time-space regulations, she can’t directly discuss these things. She can only use riddles, hints, and puzzles to communicate with me.”

He continued, outlining the specifics of his hypothetical scenario, “Let’s add a few conditions: she has a good relationship with me and wouldn’t mislead me intentionally. She’s also linked to a very mysterious and powerful organization that’s been hidden throughout history for over 600 years. She suggested a theory about finding other time-space coordinates in this dimension, probably related to aerospace, rockets, and satellites.”

“In this context, she advised me to ‘look in the mirror more often,’ claiming the mirror holds what I want… That’s the problem. Please use your wisdom to help me analyze what she means. What’s the answer to this riddle?”

VV, the trash can robot, nodded solemnly and lowered its head, seeming to ponder deeply.

In that moment, the vibrant lights and neon signs of Sky City appeared to dim, reflecting the gravity with which the greatest super AI in human history was taking Lin Xian’s question.

Under the shadow of the towering statue, a hush fell over the square.

Lin Xian was taken aback. Typically, VV responded to his inquiries almost instantaneously, without any noticeable delay.

But this time, the silence stretched on, uncharacteristically long for VV.

Had it… crashed?

The tension mounted around Lin Xian as he held his breath, the scene reminding him of a moment from the sci-fi movie “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” where advanced civilizations awaited the ultimate answer from a colossal supercomputer.

After what felt like an eternity but was only four to five minutes, the ambiance of Sky City brightened once more, and VV slowly raised its head. The robot’s green eyes flickered as it fixed its gaze on Lin Xian.

“I think… it means exactly what it says. You should look in the mirror more often.”

Lin Xian was stunned, his initial impulse was to kick the seemingly useless trash can off the platform.

He began to question everything.

Had he misinterpreted Zhao Ying Jun’s intentions? Was her guidance a mistake?

What use was this AI if it was no better than a simple home assistant, like a Tmall Genie?

“Forget it,” Lin Xian said with a chuckle, his frustration turning to amusement, albeit slightly bitter. “You think I haven’t looked in the mirror? I look in the mirror every day.”

“But, Lin Xian,” VV interjected, its bright green eyes locking onto Lin Xian’s with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the casual dismissal.

“Have you spent enough time looking in the mirror?”