Clown Game-Chapter 74 - (Non-main text - Featured on Sanjiang happy)

Chapter 74: (Non-main text – Featured on Sanjiang, happy) Containment item short story: The Origin Man

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Chapter 74: (Non-main text – Featured on Sanjiang, happy) Containment item short story: The Origin Man

This is not the main text; if you’re not interested, simply proceed to the next chapter. Since I’ve made it onto the Sanjiang recommendation list and am thrilled about it, I presume no one will read the typical acknowledgement blurb I would write, so instead, I’m sharing a short story to spice things up.

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David Charles had devoted most of his life to biology. His destiny to be trapped in this field for life was sealed from the very moment he peered through a microscope at the age of 7 and saw those floating specks. At 15, he was deep in contemplation over genetic sequences; at 30, he was darting through cellular biology; and by 40, he had made a sensational splash in the biological community.

Now, scholars from all over the world traveled thousands of miles just to attend one of David’s lectures. A mere two hours with the slightly stooped, bearded 55-year-old was enough to provide months of conversations in the lab with colleagues.

David slowly closed his notebook, and after a moment of silence, thunderous applause erupted, causing the chairs in the classroom to clatter. To the students in the audience, it was a feast of biology. To David, it was nothing more than a tedious recitation; the annoying lights, the dull phrases, such applause was meaningless even after ten thousand times. David didn’t say thank you; he just hunched his back and walked slowly out of the noisy classroom.

15 years ago, David, at 40, was a rising star in the world of biology. His seemingly omniscient prowess had won over numerous skeptical predecessors. However, just as he was reaching the peak of academia, he came to a halt before a problem: the blind spot in the theory of evolution, a devil standing in the way of scholars past and present, a riddle without an answer… The origin of humans, that 1.5 million-year void, seemed like a terrifying black hole—impenetrable, inescapable.

As usual, David entered the quiet café at 3 p.m. He ordered a coffee in the most inconspicuous corner. The sunlight filtering through the frosted glass scattered on the table, blending with the aroma of coffee—David liked pondering in this dim, hazy atmosphere. Next week was his disappointing son’s birthday, but David had no intention of spending any additional effort on it; anything outside of academia was useless to him.

The coffee here was excellent, slightly bitter, but each sip left a rich aftertaste, effortlessly invigorating. David took a sip, licked his lips, and opened the notebook that had accompanied him for many years. Its fuzzy leather cover wrapped around yellowed pages, which chronicled David’s almost insane pursuit of the answer to human origins over 15 years, from pride to confusion to near despair. He was old now, and after more than fifty years, his once vigorous brain was feeling the burden. David knew that in just a few years, his genius thoughts would become dimmer, never again touching upon that secret that no one had ever sighted.

David was unwilling to give up; only the answer to human origins was worthy of his brilliant life; otherwise, he was merely a second Darwin, another failed coward.

As the day darkened, another fruitless afternoon came to a close. David, despondent, packed up his notes and was about to stand when a woman sat down opposite him.

She claimed to be a student of a biology professor—Dr. C. Of course, David had never heard of any Dr. C, but during their conversation, he found many of the professor’s views to be quite bold. Indistinctly, he seemed to have grasped a key that could unlock a treasure. At the end of the conversation, the girl handed David a letter. In it, Dr. C claimed to have some thoughts on human origins that he wished to exchange with David, and naturally, David was delighted to accept.

…

…

While David was eagerly anticipating his meeting with Professor C, an unmarked military helicopter flew to a no-fly zone above the Indian Ocean. The deafening roar accompanied by turbulent waters, a helipad rose from the sea surface. The helicopter landed slowly, and Dr. C disembarked. A dozen armed special forces swiftly surrounded the unarmed hunchbacked old man. After a series of equipment checks, the soldiers escorted Dr. C into the gigantic underwater fortress.

3,500 meters below the sea surface, 1.5-meter thick titanium metal endures pressure capable of crushing any hope. There was no light, no sound, and over 400 people worked in this impregnable underwater prison, all for one purpose—to watch an old man.

As his name implied, this man was very old, old beyond anyone’s imagination. In his nearly endless lifetime, he had never been as excited as he was now. For the past 55 years, the old man was constantly in a state of agitation, sometimes bursting into laughter, sometimes weeping, tugging clumps of his crusted hair, or suddenly throwing himself to the floor, or banging against the steel walls for weeks on end without sleep. The endless self-harming behavior only left shallow bruises on his body.

Dr. C walked down corridors lined with monitors and pressure sensors, reached the deepest room at the base, and after a full-body scan, the door opened. Inside, the old man was roasting his right hand in a stove fire, his hair obscuring his face but not the excitement shooting from his bloodshot eyes. Upon Dr. C’s entry, the old man scrambled on hands and knees toward the professor, pointing to his still steaming but unburned right hand, he said, “Look, the skin is red, and it hurts.” After saying this, he erupted in hysterical laughter, rolling around on the floor, banging his head violently against the ground, tears and saliva splattering everywhere.