In a bustling modern metropolis, the streets were choked with crowds beneath a sky heavy with leaden clouds. Inside a towering skyscraper, the Maintenance Department on the 18th floor remained exceptionally still. Bathed in cold white fluorescent light, it stood in stark, sterile contrast to the gloom outside.
Wei Xichen leaned intensely over his workbench, eyes fixed on a black hairpin under the microscope. His fingertips delicately adjusted a set of ultra-fine wires. This seemingly ordinary hairpin was, in fact, a neuro-tech device known as the "Emotion Processor." It utilized micro-currents to stimulate the cerebral cortex, combined with hidden audio frequencies to precisely recalibrate the user's emotional state.
The device could induce calm during anxiety, spark vitality during exhaustion, or provide solace in times of grief. Due to its efficiency and non-invasive nature, it had become a ubiquitous tool in high-pressure workplaces and academic circles—the key for modern people to recalibrate their psychological states. In an era where efficiency was king, emotions were no longer a private human right; they were a resource to be quantified, corrected, and optimized.
But these theories only held true when the device functioned properly. The most horrific failure had occurred two days ago, at a wedding.
—
Inside the banquet hall, chandeliers swayed, casting a dazzling glow over rows of white roses and champagne towers. The young groom stood on stage in a perfectly tailored suit, his leather shoes polished to a mirror shine. The black hairpin behind his ear blinked with a faint blue light, and his smile was fixed like a locked screw—motionless.
"I... do," he rasped, his voice dry and low. Cold sweat trickled down from his hairline, and his hand twitched unconsciously behind his back. No one noticed that his gums were bleeding from the back—he was literally crushing his own molars.
The wedding MC clapped with a fawning grin, reciting hollow pleasantries: "Congratulations to the groom on winning such a beautiful bride!"
As the bride's bloated figure, draped in expensive lace, pressed against him, the hairpin behind the groom's ear suddenly flashed red. It was a mere flicker, a twitch-like spasm.
"Xiao Liu?" Her voice was greasy and piercing. Her thick, powdered triple-chin quivered as she leaned in, gold necklaces sinking into the folds of her neck. Due to her proximity, her diamond-encrusted false lashes nearly poked his eye. "Tell me you love me, now."
"I... love... love..."
The red light flashed again. This time, it wasn't a flicker; it was a frenzied strobe. The Emotion Processor's microcircuits had entered a state of "berserk" overload.
Countless swallowed humiliations, hatred for his greedy parents, and the suffocating boredom of being a trophy in a mansion exploded in less than a millisecond.
"LOVE YOU? GO TO HELL!"
The groom roared, lunging for a cake knife on the table and plunging it deep into the bride's fat-laden abdomen.
The guest tables fell into a deathly silence. Eyes widened, and then—
"MURDER!" the MC shrieked, igniting a wave of mass panic. Guests scrambled in all directions, knocking over ornate candelabras. Flames began to lick across velvet tablecloths. Three male guests nearby tried to tackle him, but they were swept aside by the groom's suddenly swelling right arm. They were hurled into a six-tier champagne tower.
As the crystal pillar collapsed, 720 hand-blown glasses shattered simultaneously. Splashing champagne and glass shards transformed into a lethal, shimmering rain. The eldest guest fell into the wreckage, his carotid artery sliced open; his blood sprayed into the champagne, forming a sickening pink foam.
"I never wanted to marry this fat pig! I am not your tool!" The groom's screams mixed with the rapid red pulsing of the processor. He stomped across the glass-strewn floor, leaving bloody footprints with every step.
When the police arrived and fired three shots, the bullets only caused him to stagger. Bleeding and roaring, he continued to brandish the crimson cake knife. It wasn't until the sixth bullet pierced his skull that the groom finally collapsed to his knees.
—
The black hairpin Wei Xichen was currently dismantling was the very one used by that groom.
Recovered by the police, this evidence should have been sealed in a forensic vault. However, through the "coordination" of several retired officials now working for the legal department of Yuan's Heavy Industries, it had been quietly delivered to his workbench.
As the head of the maintenance department, Wei Xichen was not only responsible for problems his subordinates couldn't solve but also for "sensitive" devices that weren't meant for public eyes. When a component involving criminal liability reached him, he had to act like a forensic pathologist performing an autopsy—finding the exact cause of failure in the shortest time. Was it intentional sabotage? A design flaw? Or user error?
As he calibrated the wires, he pondered something even more baffling.
Over the past three years, Yuan's Heavy Industries had gone mad, releasing fifteen unprecedented technological products in a row—many without even disclosing their basic theoretical foundations. For a company that was originally conservative, this explosion of innovation was bordering on the supernatural.
Wei Xichen wasn't one for conspiracy theories, but the pace was eerie. It was as if the R&D department had suddenly found a crashed alien saucer and started reverse-engineering it.
He knew exactly when the change began: three years ago, when a young girl named Yuan Liheng was "airdropped" into the R&D department. She was only eighteen then, still in university. No one knew how she was recruited, only that within six months, she had restructured the entire department into a small but formidable development team.
More suspiciously, every major technological breakthrough since then was either directly or indirectly linked to her. She was either designing new objects or serving as the lead reviewer for new instruments. Her appearance was like giving the company a pair of wings it had never seen before; the speed was terrifying.
Wei Xichen was a man of few words, but his intuition was razor-sharp. And his intuition told him that this girl—and the technology she brought—was anything but simple.
—
Wei Xichen looked back to his first conversation with Yuan Liheng, exactly one month ago.
That day, he was buried in his work on a "Quantum Slicer" in the maintenance room. The oddly shaped core component in his hand emitted a faint blue glow. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his entire world narrowed down to circuits and logical structures.
He didn't notice someone entering soundlessly... not until a light tap landed on his shoulder.
Wei Xichen jumped, nearly flinging his precision screwdriver across the room. He looked up sharply to find a beautiful, smiling face inches away from his own.
"Sorry, did I scare you?"
She laughed innocently, faint dimples appearing as she spoke in a brisk, lighthearted tone. "I'm Yuan Liheng from R&D. I was just passing by and saw the lights on. That 'Phase Linker' in your hand..." She pointed at the glowing device. "It looks like it's just about reached its end, doesn't it?"
Under the room's lighting, her short black hair was sleek and straight, every strand perfectly framing the contours of her face with a sharp, neat edge. This meticulous styling, paired with the precision tools peeking out of her lab coat pocket, radiated the undeniable aura of a "laboratory elite."
Wei Xichen hadn't fully recovered from the surprise; he simply blinked instinctively.
"You're the designer of this machine... Yuan Liheng?" His Adam's apple bobbed. "This design logic... it's too advanced. Honestly, it doesn't even feel like something possible with current technology."
"I feel the same way." Yuan Liheng tilted her head and smiled, skillfully side-stepping his suspicion. "You're the maintenance supervisor, Wei... Xichen, right? Legend says there isn't a machine you can't fix. What's wrong? Is the legend about to be debunked today?"
Wei Xichen gave a slightly awkward smile. "It's not that dramatic. But this component... it is indeed a bit of a headache. If you're willing to explain why the shape had to be designed so strangely, I'd be more than happy to listen."
The girl didn't answer; her smile only deepened.
That night, the two strangers talked for an unprecedented amount of time. The conversation jumped from phase linkers to anti-matter condensation, and eventually drifted into Wei Xichen's most private area of interest: the occult.
Yuan Liheng listened with genuine fascination. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she pulled a heavy book from her black satchel. The cover was emblazoned with golden script and a blurred circular totem.
"I have a feeling you'll like this," she said, her tone casual yet filled with a strange certainty. "As for what's inside... well, you'll know once you read it."
She didn't wait for his response, shoving the book directly into his arms.
Wei Xichen looked down. The cover felt weathered, as if it carried the weight of a century of hands passing over it. By the time he looked up to say something, Yuan Liheng was already walking toward the door.
She turned back and gave him a wave. "Goodnight, Xichen. Let's talk again soon."
Her voice lingered in the air, but the weight of that book felt like something beginning to quietly shift within Wei Xichen's heart.
—
Back in the present, Wei Xichen set down his precision tools and rubbed the corners of his eyes, which were clouded with a faint exhaustion.
"Yuan Liheng..." he murmured, his voice echoing clearly in the silent maintenance room. "Next time... I'll just say I bought too much coffee and bring her a cup."
His gaze swept across the desk, landing on the book lying to the side: "Manuscripts of Parallel Worlds: Strange Records of a Future Traveler."
It was the old book she had given him—an ancient volume that had clearly endured the years. The edges of the yellowed pages were slightly curled, and the leather cover was covered in a network of tiny cracks.
Wei Xichen picked up the book and flipped to the final pages. Faded ink strokes leapt into view—erratic yet vibrant handwriting that occasionally pierced through the paper in bursts of excitement, or trembled with exhaustion. Each page felt as though the protagonist had written it right there in front of him; the ink stains were even interspersed with pale yellow marks that looked like old coffee spills.
One couldn't help but imagine that traveler, in some other space-time, huddled under the light of a late-night lamp in a bizarre corner, hurriedly recording these strange visions.
Intriguingly, the book documented things that defied classification.
For instance, in one world, the legendary "Sword in the Stone" was a real artifact, its blade infused with the power to rewrite history. Or in another world where the Philadelphia Experiment had been completed, spatial portals weren't mere science fiction—they truly existed deep within underground military facilities, capable of teleporting living beings hundreds of kilometers in an instant.
These stories—be they prophecies or warnings—seemed to be waiting for someone to finally "understand" them. Wei Xichen closed the book and stared at it quietly for a moment.
"Still feels too fake..." he said, his voice tinged with regret, yet also a subconscious sense of anticipation. He had always been obsessed with such things—not to prove anything, but because they felt too much like the unspoken truths of this world.
He tidied his desk and carefully slipped the still-unrepaired black hairpin into the pocket of his long black overcoat.
The night was deep. As Wei Xichen stepped out of the corporate building, a fierce wind was blowing. Thick clouds pressed down from the horizon, accompanied by the faint, low rumble of thunder. He pulled his coat tight and walked toward the parking lot.
—