The iron gate of the abandoned factory closed heavily behind Qiyue, its echo lingering for a long time inside the empty workshop. The last trace of twilight streamed through the shattered windows, casting mottled light and shadow across the ground. The air was permeated with the smell of corroded metal and machine oil, mixed with the scent of some indescribable chemical reagent.
The communicator emitted a faint blue light, displaying a simplified map sent by Su Muqing. The entrance to the safe house was located on the third underground level, accessible via the freight elevator in the center of the factory.
Qiyue’s footsteps sounded exceptionally loud in the silence. Every few steps, he had to stop to fight off a wave of dizziness—the aftereffects of the neurotoxin had not yet completely faded, and the headache caused by his precognitive ability continued to worsen.
The freight elevator was hidden behind large machinery. The control panel was covered in dust, but the keypad area showed signs of recent use. Qiyue entered the password—NT Technology’s stock increase of 37.5% plus his initially foreseen drop of 12.3%, rounded to the nearest whole number: 50.
The elevator emitted a harsh metallic screech and slowly descended. As the depth increased, the temperature dropped noticeably, and Qiyue’s breath condensed into white mist in the air. When the elevator stopped, a thick metal door appeared before him, equipped with a retinal scanner.
Qiyue hesitated for a second before leaning his eyes against it. A green light flashed, and a synthetic female voice came from inside: "Identity confirmed, A-17 receptor, welcome back."
Receptor A-17? Back? Qiyue’s heart raced. The original host had been here before, and most likely on a regular basis.
Behind the door was a space of about fifty square meters, resembling a laboratory more than a safe house. On the left was a simple living area, and on the right was a workbench covered in instruments. The wall directly facing the door was covered with photos and notes, connected intricately by red threads, looking very much like a clue wall in a cop movie.
Qiyue approached the wall and was shocked to find that the person in the central photo was none other than himself—or rather, the original host, Qiyue. In the photo, the original host was wearing a white lab coat, standing in some laboratory with a solemn expression. Surrounding the photo were various brain scans and data analysis charts, with "Consciousness Fusion Progress Report" written in black marker at the very top.
"What on earth is this place..." Qiyue muttered to himself, his fingers involuntarily touching a brain scan. The scan had seven differently colored markers, labeled "Main Consciousness" and six numerical codes.
On the workbench lay a leather-bound notebook with the gold-embossed words "Experimental Log-A17" on the cover. Qiyue opened the first page, dated three and a half years ago:
"First day undergoing the consciousness fusion experiment. The goal of the Beacon Project is to create a 'perfect business leader' by fusing the traits of different versions of 'me' from parallel worlds. Theoretically, I can inherit the strengths of each version: decisiveness, creativity, precognitive ability... Injected with the first catalyst today, no obvious side effects."
Qiyue’s hands began to shake. He quickly flipped through the subsequent entries; the log detailed the entire process of the original host participating in the experiment. As the experiment deepened, the original host began to describe bizarre dreams—in them, he possessed different lives, some as a financial tycoon, some as a scientist, and others as a professional criminal.
Flipping to the middle section, one entry caught his attention:
"After the 43rd experiment, I started seeing fragments of memories that don't belong to me. The scariest part is that sometimes I suddenly master skills I’ve never learned, such as fluent Russian and complex options trading strategies. Dr. Su says this is anticipated 'ability spillover,' but I worry the price is losing my 'self.' Today, while talking to my reflection in the mirror, my expression was completely unfamiliar for ten seconds..."
Dr. Su? Qiyue remembered Su Muqing mentioning that her mother used to be a researcher for the Beacon Project. Could the original host and her mother have been colleagues?
Continuing to flip forward, the tone of the log gradually became anxious and chaotic:
"They didn't tell me the truth. This isn't a simple trait fusion, but a complete consciousness superposition! Every experiment allows the partial personality of another 'me' to invade. I slept 8 hours last night, but surveillance shows I got up at 3 a.m. and wrote three pages of Russian poetry in a completely different handwriting. This isn't what I wanted..."
The last journal entry was dated the day before the car accident, the handwriting so scrawled it was nearly illegible:
"Discovered the truth behind the project. The Beacon isn't meant to create a perfect leader, but to manufacture a controllable 'Prophet' weapon. Dr. Su tried to warn her superiors and was found 'suicided' in the lab this morning. I know I'm next. Backed up all data to the safe house. If anyone reads this, whoever you are—run! Don't let them catch you!"
The journal slipped from his hands. Qiyue staggered backward, bumping into the workbench. Test tubes and beakers collided, producing a crisp sound that was exceptionally grating in the enclosed space.
So his crossing was not an accident, but the continuation of some experiment? Those precognitive abilities were actually memory fragments of "Qiyues" from other parallel worlds? The thought churned his stomach, and a wave of acid rushed up his throat.
There was a small safe underneath the workbench. Qiyue entered the password mentioned in the journal, "LIGHTHOUSE," and the safe door swung open in response. Inside were a USB drive and three small vials marked with numbers, filled with liquids of different colors: blue, red, and yellow.
Once inserted into the computer, the USB drive automatically played a video. On screen, the original host Qiyue sat pale-faced in the safe house, the background being the exact location where Qiyue now stood.
"If you're seeing this video, it means the experiment has spiraled out of control." The original host in the video spoke in a hoarse voice, "I tried to interrupt the consciousness fusion, but parts of the 'me's from six parallel worlds have already permanently settled in my brain. Worse, the military faction of the Beacon Project discovered our research..."
The video suddenly shook, and the original host looked toward the door in terror: "They found this place! Listen, whoever you are right now, the three vials of serum are the key: blue stabilizes consciousness, red enhances abilities, and yellow... yellow is the last resort. It will reset all fusion processes, but the price may be complete personality dissolution."
Banging sounds came from outside the door. The original host in the video hurriedly turned off the camera, the final frame freezing on his despairing gaze.
Qiyue sat dazed in the chair, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He had originally thought he was an ordinary programmer who had accidentally transmigrated, but now it seemed his soul might have been carefully selected and implanted into this specially modified body. Those precognitive abilities, those unfamiliar memories, and even his sudden grasp of financial knowledge—none of it was accidental.
Even more terrifying, if the original host's journal was true, his current personality might already be a mixture of fragments from multiple "Qiyues." Who on earth was he? A transmigrator? A continuation of the original host? Or an entirely new fusion?
In the small mirror of the restroom, Qiyue saw his haggard face. He leaned closer to the mirror, carefully observing his eyes—was someone else's soul hidden in there? When he stared long enough, a spine-chilling phenomenon occurred: the reflection in the mirror suddenly blinked, while Qiyue was certain he hadn't moved.
"You finally figured it out." The "him" in the mirror curved his lips into an unfamiliar smile, "We've been waiting for you to realize the truth."
Qiyue jerked backward, knocking over the chair. The mirror returned to normal, but those words seemed to still linger in the air. His headache reached an unprecedented intensity, and he collapsed to his knees as a series of disjointed images flashed before his eyes:
A man in a military uniform saying, "Project A-17 is transitioning to the weaponization phase";
Su Muqing's mother lying in a pool of blood, tightly clutching a blue vial;
Zheng Mingyuan signing documents in some basement, titled "Anomaly Clearance Protocol";
Finally, himself—or rather, seven different versions of "Qiyue"—imprisoned in transparent incubation pods...
After these images faded, Qiyue found himself curled up on the floor, his whole body drenched in cold sweat. The communicator suddenly vibrated, interrupting his panic. It was an encrypted message sent by Su Muqing:
"Clearance team deployed, equipped with ability jammers. Evacuate within 15 minutes, new coordinates uploaded."
Clearance team? Ability jammers? Qiyue forced himself to his feet, quickly gathering the journal, the USB drive, and the three vials of serum. Just as he was about to leave, a thought suddenly flashed: if his precognitive abilities were actually the memories of other "Qiyues," perhaps he could actively "access" these memories?
Concentrating, Qiyue tried to ask a question in his mind: What is the clearance team?
The headache struck again, but this time he gritted his teeth and endured. Moments later, the information surfaced in his mind as if it had always been there: the clearance team was a special operations unit of the Beacon Project, dedicated to dealing with out-of-control anomalies. The electromagnetic jammers they carried could temporarily paralyze precognitive abilities, preventing targets from foreseeing danger.
This memory didn't feel like his own; it felt more like... the professional knowledge of the original host.
The sound of metal clashing came from upstairs; someone had entered the factory. Qiyue quickly turned off the lights and watched through the safe house's surveillance screen as six fully armed figures dispersed to search. They wore black tactical gear with miniature cameras on their helmets, and their weapons looked like modified submachine guns with some kind of launching device mounted under the barrels—electromagnetic jammers?
The team leader pressed his earpiece: "Thermal source indicates third underground level, A-17 confirmed present. Execute standard clearance protocol."
Qiyue’s heart pounded like a drum. Standard clearance protocol—according to the memory he had just acquired, this meant using jammers to disable the target's abilities, then injecting neurotoxin, and finally bringing them back to the lab or destroying the evidence on-site.
The safe house had an emergency exit, but it required circling the entire underground area to reach it. Qiyue scanned the room quickly, his gaze landing on the red vial. The original host said it "enhanced abilities," and now might be the time to use it.
He hesitated for only a second. He opened the red vial and drank it down in one gulp. The serum tasted like a mixture of metal and mint, sliding down his throat and immediately producing a burning sensation, after which the heat spread throughout his entire body.
The world suddenly became extraordinarily clear. Qiyue could hear the breathing of the clearance team members upstairs, smell the brand of gun oil they used, and even "feel" their positional distribution. More incredibly, when he concentrated, translucent blue lines appeared before his eyes—those were the movement trajectories of the clearance team for the next 30 seconds!
The serum had not only enhanced his precognitive ability, but also made it controllable. Qiyue saw the optimal evacuation route: turn right now, pass through the storage room, and turn left at the third ventilation duct...
Following this "foreseen path," Qiyue moved without a sound. The storage room was piled with old equipment, but under his enhanced abilities, he felt as though he had long been familiar with every corner of this place. The screws on the third ventilation duct were already loose, and after pushing it open, a narrow maintenance tunnel lay ahead.
The end of the tunnel led to the underground parking garage. Just as Qiyue crawled out of the vent, he heard a shout from behind: "Target spotted! Activate jammer!"
A harsh buzzing sound washed over him, and Qiyue instantly felt his abilities vanish like an appliance unplugged from the outlet. The world returned to "normal," and that transcendent perception vanished completely. He stumbled forward, his speed hindered by the cast on his left leg.
"Stop! Or we'll open fire!"
Qiyue didn't stop. At the end of the parking garage was a motorcycle with the key stuck right in the ignition—this was too coincidental, almost as if someone had arranged it on purpose.
The effective range of the jammer was about fifty meters. Qiyue sprinted with all his might, straddling the motorcycle the moment before he could be caught. The engine roared, and he twisted the throttle hard, the motorcycle shooting forward like an arrow released from a bow. A few muffled gunshots came from behind, bullets striking the concrete floor and kicking up sparks.
The moment the motorcycle surged out of the parking garage, the jammer's effect dissipated. His abilities returned like a rising tide, even stronger than before. A dozen possible driving routes flashed before Qiyue's eyes, the outcome of each clearly visible. He chose the small path leading to the abandoned dock—the clearance team had set no ambush there.
The night was deep, and the salty sea breeze whipped against his face. Qiyue parked the motorcycle beside an abandoned warehouse, and the communicator indicated the new coordinates were nearby. The moment he dismounted, he heard the sound of a bullet being chambered behind him.
"Don't move." It was Su Muqing's voice, but ten times colder and harder than usual. "Turn around slowly, and let me see your eyes."
Qiyue slowly turned around. Su Muqing held a handgun, her gaze filled with a vigilance unlike that of an ordinary person. She carefully scrutinized Qiyue's eyes, as if searching for something.
"You took the red serum?" She finally lowered her gun. "Your pupil dilation exceeds normal limits by 30%."
"How do you know—"
"Because this is a formula developed by my mother." Su Muqing motioned for him to follow. "It briefly enhances abilities, but it accelerates consciousness fusion. How many memories have you seen?"
"Enough." Qiyue kept pace with her. "I know the original host participated in the Beacon Project, I know they tried to fuse the consciousness of multiple 'Qiyues,' and I know your mother... was murdered."
Su Muqing's footsteps paused for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered. "More than that. My mother discovered that consciousness fusion ultimately leads to personality dissolution, just like..." She pushed open the small door of the warehouse, "just like her."
The interior of the warehouse had been partially converted into a temporary laboratory. Lying on a central hospital bed was an emaciated middle-aged woman, connected to various monitoring devices. Qiyue recognized her as Dr. Su—Su Muqing's mother, whom he had seen in his visions.
"She... is still alive?" Qiyue asked in shock.
"Her body is alive." Su Muqing's voice carried a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. "Her consciousness has dissolved into seven fragments, and she only has a few minutes of lucidity each day." She turned to Qiyue. "That is the ultimate end of abusing abilities."
Qiyue thought of that unfamiliar version of himself in the mirror, and a sharp pain twisted in his stomach. Was he heading toward the same fate?
"Why help me?" he asked for the fourth time.
This time, Su Muqing did not dodge the question: "Because my mother believed that only a complete 'Qiyue' could destroy the Beacon Project. The seven versions of you from different worlds each have their own strengths, and once fused, they will be a 'Prophet' that they cannot control." She paused. "And... I owe the original host a life. The day of the car accident, it was he who warned me in advance to stay away from the lab."
The sound of an engine suddenly echoed from outside the warehouse. Su Muqing quickly turned off the lights and pulled a syringe from a drawer: "The clearance team has found us. This is the blue serum; it can stabilize your mental state, but it will temporarily suppress your abilities. Which do you choose? Fight or retreat?"
Qiyue looked at Dr. Su on the hospital bed, then recalled the warning in the journal. If he took the blue serum, he might miss the chance to fight back; but if he continued to use his abilities, he would accelerate his descent toward personality dissolution.
The sound of the engine grew closer. At this critical juncture, Qiyue made his choice...