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“I don’t want to be an astronaut anymore,” Gao Yang said, slumping in his first-class seat with a sour expression. He glanced at Lin Xian. “When I was in elementary school, our teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Without hesitation, I stood up and said I wanted to be an astronaut. But after flying back and forth these past few days, taking airplanes and shuttles, I feel so sick of it. I miss the ground more than anyone right now. I never want to go to space again.”

Lin Xian chuckled, reminiscing about their first day of elementary school. “Back then, 40% of the boys in our class wanted to be astronauts. It was right after our country’s manned space mission succeeded. What boy didn’t want to become an astronaut?”

“Kids didn’t know much about the world back then. We didn’t realize how many different careers and lifestyles existed. In our eyes, apart from teachers and police officers, the coolest jobs were astronauts and scientists. Our world was as big as our imagination.”

“I remember you said you wanted to be a scientist, right?” Gao Yang asked, looking at Lin Xian.

“I don’t want to be one anymore,” Lin Xian replied, closing his eyes. He was still fiddling with the combination lock on the diary in his hand. “When I realized I wasn’t smart enough to be a scientist, I gave up. Instead, I got into parkour, drawing, and prepared to take the arts track in the college entrance exams.”

“Don’t give up on your dreams too early,” Gao Yang said, patting his chest. “Look at me. I wanted to be an astronaut, and my dream came true. Life is unpredictable. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll become a scientist after all.”

“I wish I had the brains for it,” Lin Xian said, turning to look out the window. Becoming a scientist isn’t something you can just decide to do, he thought. If he could become one, he would dive into researching the Universal Constant 42, which seemed to be at the center of all the mysteries around him.

The constant hum of Gao Yang’s snoring filled the half-enclosed cabin. Gao Yang had a superpower: he could fall asleep instantly if he didn’t get an immediate response. It was enviable.

Lin Xian continued to manipulate the combination lock in his hand, the repetitive click of the lock breaking the silence. He had been doing this since they left the hotel in the morning: half-lying down, holding the spine of the diary with his left hand, and fiddling with the lock with his right hand.

Click, click.

The combination on the lock was now 6432…6431…6430… He estimated he could try about 3000 combinations by the time they landed in the capital.

….

Soon, the flight attendant brought their first-class meals. Gao Yang raised three fingers. “Three portions, please.”

“Certainly, sir,” the flight attendant replied with a polite and enthusiastic smile, bringing additional main courses and fruit for Gao Yang.

“Money makes life so much better, Lin Xian,” Gao Yang said once the flight attendant left. “When we used to fly economy, the food wasn’t this good. Asking for a second portion was always met with reluctance. But here? You can have as much as you want, and they serve you with a smile.”

“Ten cents worth of goods for a dime,” Lin Xian said calmly. “It’s all about equivalent exchange.”

….

After the plane landed, a hotel car picked them up. They dropped their luggage in their room and immediately set off again, heading back to the Xirui Community in the capital’s Third Ring Road.

They passed by the central square quietly, as if by mutual agreement. Sure enough, the kind old lady was still there, peeling pomegranates, her fingers moving slowly and carefully.

“She really loves her daughter,” Gao Yang whispered. “I talked with her for a long time that day, and she never offered me a single pomegranate seed. It’s not that I wanted to eat her pomegranates. It’s just that Shandong people are usually very hospitable. But she didn’t offer me any because, in her eyes, these were for her daughter Zhang Yu Qian.”

“If both these girls are millennium stakes, and if these stakes are artificially created…” Gao Yang paused. “Who could be so heartless as to use someone’s daughter as a stake? After raising them for twenty years, they vanish without a trace. How can their parents survive that?”

“Yes, it’s intolerable,” Lin Xian agreed, for once sharing Gao Yang’s sentiment. “But we can’t jump to conclusions. We still don’t fully understand what a millennium stake is.”

“Yellow Finch explained that she coined the term millennium stake herself, to make sure we wouldn’t understand it and disrupt the elasticity of time-space. The original term must be more accurate and straightforward.”

“So, while it sounds like a tool or something bad, we can’t judge yet. But I hope it’s as you said—that the stakes are artificial. If that’s the case, we might be able to reverse it and bring them back to life.”

Gao Yang’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What kind of logic is that? Why would you hope for that?”

“Because if it’s man-made, we can stop it or even reverse it. If someone can make the stakes disappear, they can probably bring them back to human form. If we can find that person, we might be able to save Chu An Qing. But if the stakes aren’t man-made, and some other power is behind it, then we’re in real trouble.”

As they spoke, they arrived at building 22. They pressed the elevator button and reached the familiar floor, knocking on the familiar door.

….

After half a minute, the door opened, revealing Zhang Shi, Zhang Yu Qian’s father. His hair was graying, and he looked wary.

“Young men, if you keep bothering us, I will call the police. I don’t know what your intentions are, but I don’t want to talk about my daughter anymore.”

“Uncle Zhang,” Lin Xian stepped forward, looking him in the eye. “You lied about the car accident in 2000, on Zhang Yu Qian’s 20th birthday. You hid a lot.”

“Zhang Yu Qian didn’t die in that accident. She wasn’t cremated or buried. She vanished into thin air, right before your eyes, turning into fine blue dust, like crystal powder.”

“You!” Zhang Shi’s face contorted with anger. “Nonsense! Get out now!”

He tried to slam the door, but Lin Xian quickly grabbed the lock, holding the door open.

“Uncle Zhang, we’re not here to cause trouble. We need your help, and we want to help you,” Lin Xian said, struggling to keep the door open.

“Let go!” Zhang Shi shouted, trying to pull the door shut.

“Do you remember the girl at the Xidan Shopping Center, who Aunt Yanqin mistook for your daughter?” Lin Xian asked.

“Let go, or I’ll call the police!” Zhang Shi yelled.

“She also turned into blue dust and vanished at 00:42 on her 20th birthday,” Lin Xian said quietly.

Zhang Shi froze, his hands falling away from the door. The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. He looked at Lin Xian, his eyes wide with shock.

“That… that girl, your companion… she disappeared too?” Zhang Shi stammered.

Lin Xian nodded. “She turned into blue dust, like drifting sand, and vanished. The time was exactly 00:42.”

Zhang Shi’s face went pale, and he seemed to age several years in an instant.

“Uncle Zhang, can we come in and talk?” Lin Xian asked gently. “We can tell you what happened to that girl, and maybe you can tell us the truth about Zhang Yu Qian’s accident.”

“Come in,” Zhang Shi said softly, stepping aside to let them in.

….

Inside, two cups of hot tea sat on the coffee table, the steam rising and the tea leaves floating up and down before settling at the bottom.

“Twenty-four years ago, on January 21, 2000…” Zhang Shi began, struggling to find the words. “It was my daughter’s birthday. Although she was born at midnight, we planned to celebrate during the day. We booked the best hotel, ordered the biggest cake, and invited many friends and classmates.”

“My daughter loved lively celebrations, and we always had grand parties for her birthdays. The day before, on January 20, we went back to our hometown for a reunion with old friends. We chatted late into the night and drank a lot. On our way back to the city, it was almost midnight.”

“I was drunk and sitting in the back seat, while my wife was driving, and Qian Qian was in the front passenger seat. She didn’t have a driver’s license yet, being only a sophomore in college.”

“We were laughing and talking about the birthday plans, driving slowly since there were few cars on the road. Everything was fine until suddenly, without warning, my daughter’s voice stopped. Then my wife screamed, shouting Qian Qian’s name, and the car swerved off the road.”

“When I opened my eyes, I saw… I saw…” Zhang Shi choked up, tears welling in his eyes. “My daughter turned transparent, like shattered glass, and then she turned into fine blue sand, disappearing into the air.”

“The car crashed into a tree. The shock sobered me up. I checked on my wife, who was terrified, unable to control herself. When I looked at the clock on the dashboard, it was exactly as you said, 00:42.”

Zhang Shi paused, his face a mask of grief. “I got out of the car and searched for Qian Qian, but she was gone. The seat was still warm, indicating she had just been there. But she vanished, turned into blue dust, disappearing without a trace.”

“Over the years, I wondered if she might still be alive, just in a place we don’t understand. But my wife’s mental state deteriorated. I had to stabilize her, so I packed up all of Qian Qian’s things, put them in a coffin, and pretended she was buried.”

“I told everyone it was a car accident. Back then, paperwork was easier to handle. It was all for my wife. She’s my only remaining family. I had to protect her.”

Zhang Shi poured more tea for Lin Xian and Gao Yang. “That’s the truth. I’m telling you this because your companion experienced the same thing. I hope you can find your friend. But please, don’t come here again. We’ve finally found some peace.”

“Uncle Zhang, we understand,” Lin Xian said, standing up. “Just one more question. Did you see a small blue orb, about the size of an apple, glowing and flickering, like a ball of electricity, that night?”

Zhang Shi thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, we didn’t see anything like that. If there had been such a thing, we would have noticed and talked about it.”

“Thank you, Uncle Zhang,” Lin Xian said, nodding. “We won’t bother you again.”

As they left, Lin Xian felt a mix of relief and determination. They had more pieces of the puzzle, but the mystery was far from solved.