Chapter 300

Chapter 300

At that moment, a mathematician from Valeria raised his hand to ask: "What are the KPIs here? How many SCI papers need to be published annually? Patent conversion requirements?"

Carlos walked over carrying a latte: "Our only KPI is not letting ourselves get so idle we grow moldy."

Aiko pointed toward independent courtyards in the woods: "Two people per unit, with kitchens and ocean-view terraces."

Ben tapped the metal contact points on a bench armrest—a holographic screen displayed the campus network status: "4.7 milliseconds latency to Verriton Federal Institute of Technology database. You can hold meetings while sunbathing right here."

The geniuses fell completely silent, as if they'd stumbled into a utopia from technological mythology.

The first academic conference was held in a semi-open-air amphitheater, surrounded by bamboo groves, stone steps cushioned with soft pads, and a real sky overhead.

Oscar held his serious meeting agenda, facing geniuses who might lie down to rest at any moment, feeling utterly schizophrenic.

The finale: remarks from the honorary director.

Diana emerged from behind the bamboo grove in a white shirt and jeans, bare-faced like an auditing student.

The venue fell instantly silent—' Diana York,' that legend who never appeared.

"I'm not good at speeches. Ask questions directly."

The dreadlocked physicist stood to challenge: "Regarding the 'Hartman effect' in quantum tunneling—what are your views?"

Diana looked at the holographic bulletin board: "Give me access."

Her fingers wrote in the air—complex formulas, unfamiliar symbols, multidimensional structural diagrams flowing like a waterfall.

She provided an entirely new possibility for the puzzle from the perspective of information entropy transmission in imaginary time dimensions.

The entire process took barely five minutes.

The questioner was dumbstruck. All the scholars realized—this was an overwhelming mode of thinking they'd never encountered before.

"This is one approach, but not necessarily correct." She turned and disappeared into the bamboo grove.

Oscar sat dazed on the stone steps, feeling he'd just presided over a miracle manifestation.

Rupert called: "How's her condition?"

"She may have just casually solved a physics problem for the next century."

"Changed the coffee beans—collect feedback. The researcher in Lab A-3 complained that bird calls are too loud. Let him select a replacement from Athena's database himself."

Oscar had grown numb.

Diana was this utopia's only true deity, while he, an Ardenvale School of Business elite, had become the deity's steward.

Late at night, the penthouse suite atop the institute.

Diana stood before floor-to-ceiling windows, holographic projections displaying continuously changing gene sequences.

The project title was simply: 'Reverse Time.'

Downstairs in the central control room, Rupert gazed at screens.

What was displayed wasn't financial statements, but the entire institute's system data flows. A small window in the corner showed real-time vital signs from the 'Diana York' suite at minimal access level.

Heart rate 62, blood oxygen 99%.

Everything normal.

His gaze ultimately settled on that steadily undulating heartbeat curve.

As long as it kept beating, everything had meaning.

...

At Voyager Institute in autumn, the timing of every ginkgo tree turning yellow, the trajectory of every maple leaf falling, all had an optimal solution in Athena's environmental simulation system.

It was a tranquil afternoon, sunlight filtered into fine golden fragments, passing through gaps in ginkgo leaves to fall on the garden's swing set.

Diana curled up on the swing, a latest issue of 'Nature' spread across her lap.

She wasn't reading attentively, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing along the page edges.

Her gaze occasionally moved beyond the paper, looking into the distance.

Rupert sat in a wicker chair.

On the stone table before him sat a cup of clear tea and a tablet processing documents.

He wasn't wearing a suit, just comfortable casual clothes, his profile softened in the play of light and shadow.

Several strands of his hair, stirred by the wind, shone with clear silver-white in the sunlight.

Everything at the institute had fallen into proper rhythm.

Those eccentric individuals the world called 'geniuses' had found the most comfortable way to exist here.

Some chased the Muse through the night in laboratories, while others spent entire afternoons studying the veins of a single fallen leaf.

Oscar had sent a report days ago, titled 'Phased Summary on Enhancing Campus Resident Well-being'.

The content was absurd—from introducing Highland cattle to improve lawn visual ecology, to laying a single moisture-proof stone path to a seaside concert hall for a classical music-obsessed mathematician.

Behind each proposal followed a string of budget figures that would give the CFO a heart attack.

Rupert's approval was simply: Approved.

At this moment, an encrypted communication request popped up on his tablet—Oscar.

"Mr. Russell, there's a problem!" Oscar's voice carried a sobbing quality, as if the sky were falling.

Rupert's gaze didn't leave Diana, only responding flatly: "Speak."

"Professor Klein in A-9, that neuroscience Nobel frontrunner, he... he smashed the laboratory's temperature-controlled jellyfish tank!"

"Reason."

"He said," Oscar's voice sounded nearly suffocated, "he said the jellyfish swimming frequency is 1.2Hz, exactly matching a neuron firing frequency from his dream last night. He believes the universe is transmitting some kind of oracle to him, and because he failed to comprehend it, he's furious!"

Rupert fell silent for two seconds.

"And then?"

"Then he's locked himself in his room, demanding we find him within twenty-four hours a jellyfish that doesn't swim at 1.2Hz but has exactly the same bioluminescent color as before, or he'll abandon the project that could revolutionize how humans process memory!"

On the other end, Oscar was practically roaring: "Mr. Russell! Where am I supposed to find such a jellyfish? Even Athena's database doesn't have it! This isn't scientific!"

Rupert's gaze fell on Diana.

She turned a page in her magazine, sunlight casting faint shadows from her slender lashes.

"Then make it scientific." He said calmly into the communicator. "Contact bioengineering. Have them modify a jellyfish's genes. How long?"

Deathly silence from Oscar's end. After a long while, a mosquito-like voice emerged: "Theoretically, three days."

"Give him one day."

Rupert closed the communication, switched the tablet to silent, and casually set it aside.

As if the problem just now was merely an after-dinner game.

He returned his gaze to Diana.

She'd set down the magazine, tilting her head back to look at the interlaced ginkgo branches overhead, lost in thought about something.

She rarely had such empty moments.

That sharpness and aloofness that once flickered across her had been quietly smoothed away by these days of unending peace.

He had built this island for her, this sanctuary.

He used unlimited investment to satisfy the geniuses' absurd demands, all to create an external environment where she could feel 'comfortable.'

A world absolutely quiet, undisturbed, where she could do as she pleased.

The setting sun began to sink, and the horizon where the sea met the sky was painted in vast swathes of golden red and rich purple.

The evening glow's afterlight gently enveloped the entire garden.

Diana closed the book on her lap.

Almost simultaneously, Rupert set aside everything in his hands.

He stood, crossed the lawn tinted warm colors, and walked toward her.

The fallen leaves beneath his feet made soft, crushing sounds—the only sound in this silence.

He didn't stop before her, but naturally sat down on the swing beside hers.

The swing swayed lightly from his weight.

Neither spoke.

Diana's gaze withdrew from the distant sea, settling on the frost-colored strands at his temples.

That patch of silver-white, reflected in the evening glow, seemed less glaring now.

Rupert sensed her gaze and turned his head.

Their eyes met—the depth in his and the clarity in hers both melting into this gentle twilight.

He smiled, fine lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.

She curved her lips too, an extremely shallow arc.

He reached out, grasped the swing's iron chain, and set it swaying slowly, rhythmically.

Once, then again.

She looked at Rupert beside her. He had traded his time for her peace.

Then, she would use the world's most cutting-edge technology to reverse every minute, every second he'd spent for her.

This was her new transaction with time.

Their side-by-side silhouettes stretched long in the twilight. The story of their future was quietly turning to a new page in this wordless understanding.

The End