Chapter 14: Imitation
Jiang Yang didn’t know what he had interpreted from this data, nor did he care.
At this moment, Jiang Yang didn’t pay attention to Professor Lu Zhaoming, nor did he memorize the specific content of this information. He simply followed the guidance of different colors, treating the information on the screen at this moment as a “painting” and engraving it in his mind.
He looked for five seconds, then closed his eyes to deepen his memory.
After silently counting to five, he opened his eyes again, compared the image in his mind with the image on the screen, corrected the parts he had remembered wrong, then closed his eyes again, repeating this process.
The pain on his body became increasingly intense.
Under normal circumstances, he should have lost all rationality long ago. But at this moment, he still maintained that bystander posture, completely unaffected.
He didn’t know how much longer he could live; he only knew that as long as he was still alive, he had to repeat the previous actions of opening and closing his eyes.
He had to remember all this information completely, firmly remember it.
Moments later, like a computer being cut off from power, Jiang Yang’s consciousness suddenly vanished without warning.
The next moment, Jiang Yang abruptly sat up from the bed.
Huff, huff…
He was panting heavily and uncontrollably, with large amounts of cold sweat instantly surging out on his body, and he began to tremble slightly.
The previous memory was still clearly engraved in his mind.
A chaotic base, Sun Changhe silently waiting for death to arrive, Professor Lu Zhaoming who until his death was still repeating “How could this be,” Gu Changshan who until death didn’t cry out in pain or tremble once, Zhou Yu collapsed on the ground unable to control her crying, and all those staff…
At this moment, that feeling of being like a bystander had disappeared, and Jiang Yang’s consciousness had fully returned to his body.
Without time to feel the shock and heaviness in his heart, Jiang Yang quickly got up, rushed to the computer desk, grabbed paper and pen, and began to sketch quickly.
He still maintained the focus of his spirit, controlling himself not to think at all about the specific content of that abnormal chart, simply imitating it like a painting.
This took Jiang Yang five minutes.
After completing the imitation, Jiang Yang still didn’t have time to look closely at what he had drawn, but quickly wrote down that password.
After that, the contact information.
After completing the memorization and writing of the first two, Jiang Yang’s spirit finally relaxed a bit.
“The contact information is actually the base’s wifi password? It seems Sun Changhe and the others had made arrangements long ago, implanting the contact information into my mind in advance.”
Before, he had been puzzled why whenever he had a moment to relax and wanted to connect to the network to play a game for a while, the base’s network always had problems and needed to reconnect.
And every reconnection required entering the password once.
Asking others for the password every time was too troublesome, so Jiang Yang had unconsciously memorized this string of numbers.
“151…”
After recording these three key pieces of information, Jiang Yang instantly leaned back on the chair, gasping for breath heavily as if he had just completed a ten-thousand-meter long run.
After a moment of panting, he subconsciously looked at what he had written.
He saw a series of numbers and symbols, as well as some curves like statistical charts. But after looking carefully for a long time, he couldn’t interpret any information from them at all.
He couldn’t understand it.
The scene of the apocalypse arriving involuntarily surfaced in his mind.
At that time, it was this chart that made Professor Lu Zhaoming repeat “How could this be” until his death, always in shock and bewilderment.
Being appointed as the head of the Doomsday Plan Scientific Verification Team, Lu Zhaoming’s excellence was beyond doubt. And something that could shock even him—what exactly did this data mean?
“It seems only after contacting the nation will I know the true meaning of this data.”
He picked up his mobile phone and checked; the time was August 9, 2036, 7:20 a.m.
He dialed that string of numbers, and after a moment of waiting, a steady and calm voice came: “This is Sun Changhe.”
The image of Sun Changhe’s thin, half-bald figure instantly surfaced in his mind.
He didn’t ask about Jiang Yang’s purpose, just quietly waited.
“The apocalypse will arrive in ten days. My password is: At the eastern foothills of the sand sea, beneath the suspended tower, the collapse of Mount Buzhou.”
No speaking voice came from the receiver, but Jiang Yang clearly sensed that upon hearing this password, Sun Changhe’s breathing instantly became heavy.
After quietly waiting for more than ten seconds, Sun Changhe’s voice finally came: “Please wait a moment; someone will come to pick you up within an hour.”
“Okay.”
After hanging up the telephone, Jiang Yang let out a soft breath.
Wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, Jiang Yang went to the window, pulled open the curtains, and saw the morning street.
Blue sky and white clouds, tall buildings, heavy traffic, pedestrians hurrying, a scene of bustling activity.
“To make someone like Gu Changshan say ‘it’s chaotic,’ I wonder what our world will be like when the apocalypse is about to arrive.
But in this life, I no longer need to rely on prophecy to attract the nation’s attention.”
He quickly washed up in the bathroom, then Jiang Yang turned and left the apartment.
After the nation’s people arrive, he probably won’t have any free time. This hour might be the last bit of free time he has in this life.
“Better grab something to eat; can’t start working on an empty stomach.”
Muttering to himself, Jiang Yang went straight to a breakfast shop at the entrance of the residential community that he didn’t frequent.
This breakfast shop was known for its taste and cleanliness, but because it was a bit far, Jiang Yang rarely came before.
After ordering food, Jiang Yang ate slowly while watching the crowds and traffic outside the window.
At this moment, Jiang Yang suddenly saw a familiar figure.
It was a young woman with messy hair, huge dark circles under her glasses that couldn’t be hidden, a faintly oily sheen on her face, wearing loose sportswear.
She walked into the breakfast shop while on the telephone and sat at the table to Jiang Yang’s left.
“Yes, yes, yes, Teacher, I understand. I finished organizing the data last night; at the latest, I can complete it this afternoon. Yes, I understand.”
After hanging up the telephone, she let out a big unladylike yawn and fiddled with her mobile phone to order food.
Hmm?
Zhou Yu?
Why was she here?
Jiang Yang observed her impassively, watching her pick up a small steamed bun and swallow it whole in one bite, chewing forcefully as if it had wronged her.
The image of Zhou Yu from the previous life—youthful, vibrant, refined, and sexy in front of him—involuntarily surfaced in his mind, and Jiang Yang couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Is this the real you?”
Retracting his gaze, he focused on eating a few bites of breakfast, when outside the breakfast shop came the piercing sound of a siren and what seemed to be the roar of a helicopter.
