What a splendid civilization it was! They once enslaved humanity, building magnificent cities. Records tell us that the King of Bronze and Fire resided in the northern ice fields, where he forged a towering bronze palace, along with the famous Sky-piercing Copper Pillar where the Black Emperor nailed the White Emperor. The immense pillar was inscribed with the long war history of the Black Emperor. He also ordered the construction of a divine path spanning the ocean, which, according to calculations, was 400 meters wide—larger than any modern highway. But with the death of the Black Emperor, these great relics vanished, much like Atlantis, which sank into the ocean overnight.
A massive oak conference table stood amidst towering bookshelves, surrounded by elderly faces. Most of these faces had never been seen at Cassell College; they were deathly pale, like they had just been dug out of ancient tombs. Each wore an old-fashioned black tailcoat, with an ancient silver ring on the pinky finger of their left hand.
The young professors could only stand, attending the meeting from the sidelines, as over a hundred people filled the first-floor space of the principal’s office. The room was an indoor courtyard, open to the roof, where sunlight poured through the skylight, illuminating the face of Principal Anjou, who sat at the end of the table.
The so-called “young professors” included people like Guderian. He was squeezed into a corner, visibly excited, clutching his bare pinky. Every “young professor” coveted that ancient silver ring, the mark of a “tenured professor” at Cassell College. Achieving the rank of tenured professor usually required over half a century of teaching at the college. If these elderly scientists were normal humans… they would have succumbed to dementia by now.
“My God! That’s Doug Jones! A milestone figure in nuclear physics! Without him, the United States wouldn’t have made the atomic bomb! The whole world thinks he’s already dead!” Guderian’s voice trembled. “And Jean Grouss! He’s the one who led the United States to beat the Soviet Union to the moon! He even rejected the Nobel Prize! Americans believe he converted to Lamaism and went into seclusion in Tibet thirty years ago!”
“Ah, ah, ah! That’s Blair Bitner, ‘Solomon of Mathematics’! A man like Einstein in the field of mathematics!” Guderian nudged Manstein with his elbow.
“Stop fangirling like that! I can practically see pink hearts in your eyes!” Manstein scolded in a low voice.
“How are you not excited? We’re attending a meeting with historical giants of modern science… when they should have been mere tombstones by now… If the fact that they’re still alive was leaked to the media, every master in every field today would rush here to meet the teachers of their teachers’ teachers…” Guderian was eager. “I hope I get a chance to get their autographs after the meeting.”
“Wouldn’t a group photo be even better?”
“You’re absolutely right, my friend! Could you take a picture for me? Do you think putting my arm around their shoulders for the photo would be too presumptuous?” Guderian punched his palm.
“Getting a keepsake photo with a bunch of madmen? What’s the point?” Manstein said coldly.
“Madmen?” Guderian was taken aback.
Manstein sighed softly. “These so-called landmark figures in the history of science are sacrifices humanity made to the monster that is science. Look at them—skin pale and withered, but their eyes burn as brightly as torches. Some of them haven’t left their labs in half a century, spending every second on research, hoping to get just a bit closer to the realm of truth before they die. Their bodies continually decline, but their brains are as developed as ever. In fact, they probably wouldn’t mind their limbs withering away as long as they could keep thinking, because there’s nothing else in their lives that has meaning. They are fanatical worshippers of science, a group of madmen given the title of genius. Could you live a life like theirs?”
“I don’t think I could…” Guderian scratched his head.
Manstein nodded, appreciating that his friend still had some sanity left.
“I could never compare to them,” Guderian said shyly, like a girl meeting her idol for the first time. “I only hope to serve those who chase after truth—maybe even just pour tea for them…”
Manstein covered his face, not knowing how to describe the helplessness he felt.
“Quiet,” Anjou said softly.
The two wisely shut up. In fact, since stepping into the meeting, only they had been whispering. The other “young professors” all wore mournful expressions, as if they were at a funeral, while the “tenured professors,” who occasionally left their academic sanctuaries, had expressionless faces… as if they were already dead.
“Everyone’s here. Let’s begin. Blair, my old friend, I haven’t seen you in half a century. I’m glad to see you alive.” Anjou glanced at the “Solomon of Mathematics.” “And to all my other old friends, our esteemed department heads, I’m happy to be face to face with you. But I’m also sorry to have interrupted your research. There are urgent reasons for this meeting, as you have read in the report that was sent to you.”
Those with a seat at the table were all department heads at Cassell College. To most students, they knew they belonged to a particular department but had no idea that there were “department heads.”
“From a physics standpoint, humanity is currently incapable of this,” said Doug Jones, head of the physics department, in a low voice. He was hunched over, his aging spine almost forming a circle. He spoke while coughing, as if he might suffocate if he couldn’t catch his breath.
He operated the touchscreen on the table, and two black-and-white photos were projected in midair. They showed the ruins of the South Train Station and the wreckage of the Midgard Serpent roller coaster. Twisted aluminum beams and steel tracks were contorted into an eerie, almost serpentine beauty, like snakes whose flesh had been peeled away.
“Both structures collapsed due to internal stress, a kind of ‘ghostly’ stress that, once unleashed, easily destroyed metal structures that could withstand a magnitude nine earthquake,” Doug Jones shook his head. “If humans knew how to induce this stress, we could poke a finger at the Hoover Dam and bring it down.”
“‘Ghostly’ stress?” The young professors exchanged glances. Although these words came from an expert at the pinnacle of academia, they sounded utterly unbelievable.
“We reviewed the design blueprints of the Midgard Serpent. It’s one of only three Class-A roller coasters in the world. Since such a high-difficulty roller coaster had never been designed before, to ensure safety, parts that should have been one inch of steel were made five inches thick. Even if an F-22 fighter jet flew straight into it, it wouldn’t necessarily collapse,” said Jean Gross, head of precision mechanics. “But it was destroyed by stress. The silent stress was more powerful than the kinetic energy of a supersonic F-22, so we call it ‘ghostly stress.’”