Countdown

The countdown had reached the final fifteen minutes. Jiang Fei crossed through the passage from the Prime World—she was still alive, her hair shorter, her eyes harder. Everyone was in position: Lin Shen and Jiang Fei from Line A were guarding the entrance to block Lu Yan, Su Wan from Line A was in the control room maintaining the energy, and Lin Shen stepped into the transmission pod. Outside, Lu Yan and his Correctors had already attacked the hydroelectric station's entrance.

The second time Lin Shen stepped into the transmission pod, the passage countdown read: 15:00.

It was different from the first time. The first time was at the Prime World's hydro station, with Jiang Fei holding off Lu Yan outside. When he was pushed into the pod, all he could think was "hurry up and open." This time he had fifteen minutes—enough time to review every decision he'd ever made.

The inside of the transmission pod was identical to the original. Cylindrical metal walls, a ring of cold-white lights overhead, a honeycomb-patterned anti-slip grate beneath his feet. The air carried a faint smell of ozone. When he pressed his hand against the wall, the metal was colder than he'd expected.

"Are you counting the grates?" Su Wan from Line A's voice came through the external intercom. "Calm down. Don't count. The more you count, the more nervous you'll get."

Lin Shen pulled his hand back from the grate. He had been counting. He'd already reached seventeen. Back at the Prime World hydro station, he'd counted in that pod too—Jiang Fei had been holding the line for him outside. He hadn't had time to finish. This time, fifteen minutes. Every second moved slower than he'd anticipated.

He looked down at his hands. There was a callus on his middle finger from years of gripping a pen. Tied around his left wrist was a faded red string—woven by his mother before she passed away. The other Lin Shen had one too. Two red strings, two worlds, one mother. He suddenly wondered—if their lives were two branches splitting from the same tree, when exactly had the distance between those two branches begun?

When his mother died? When Su Wan was projected? Or when he himself made the decision to push open the transmission pod's door?

"Passage calibration at ninety-three percent," Su Wan from Line A said, her voice carrying a low electrical hum. "Two more fine-tuning adjustments left."

Outside the transmission pod, inside the Line A World's hydro station control room, a silent race against time was unfolding.

Su Wan from Line A sat at the console, all ten fingers moving across the keyboard at nearly impossible speed. For every parameter change that flickered across the screen, she responded—adjusting higher, lowering, locking in, releasing. Beads of sweat seeped from her forehead and slid down her temple. She wiped them with her shoulder without stopping her hands.

"Your hands are shaking," Lin Shen from Line A said, standing beside her as he placed a glass of water within her reach. "Take a sip."

"I can't leave the console before the passage opens," she said, eyes fixed on the screen. "There's no time."

"Use a straw."

Su Wan from Line A froze for a moment, then the corner of her mouth curled slightly. She didn't grab a straw, but she moved the glass to where she could reach it.

Lin Shen from Line A turned to face the control room entrance. It was a heavy metal door. The last person to close it was Old Zheng—he had locked it from the outside. This time, they had to defend it themselves. No sound of Lu Yan from outside yet. But it would come any moment.

Just then, the side door at the back of the control room was suddenly pushed open.

Everyone turned.

A woman stood in the doorway. Her short hair was even shorter than the last time they'd met, its color faded to a pale gray—the original gray-blue had been washed nearly clean in two weeks of gunfire and smoke. One of the earrings on her cartilage was missing. Bandages were wrapped around her left forearm, with dark dried blood visible through the fabric. The left shoulder of her black jacket was torn, revealing the ballistic lining beneath.

Jiang Fei.

"You people," she leaned against the doorframe, her voice hoarse. "You ran too fast. Couldn't even catch up."

Lin Shen from Line A was the first to react: "You crossed over?"

"Lu Yan crossed first. I couldn't hold him back over there." Jiang Fei stepped inside, limping slightly—her left combat boot was heavily worn, the sole nearly split. "When he and his people forced a crack open up ahead, I followed behind. They didn't notice me—too busy chasing you."

"Your arm—"

"I got the old bullet out. Took another one—not from Lu Yan, but a fragment scratch crossing the crack." Jiang Fei walked over to the console and scanned the equipment. "Are you using standard mirror parameters for your energy output configuration? That's way too inefficient. Change the parameters. Jump the transmission energy from phase two directly to phase four—"

"That would burn out the transmission pod's stabilizer," Su Wan from Line A said. "You understand Quantum Transmission?"

"I'm a Crossover. I lived in it for three years. I had to understand it, whether I wanted to or not." Jiang Fei pulled a USB drive from her pocket and tossed it to Su Wan from Line A. "This is the original data I found in Old Zheng's lab. He used a slow-release frequency hop between phase two and phase four—won't burn the stabilizer, but it increases transmission efficiency by thirty percent."

Su Wan from Line A took the drive and plugged it in. Data flashed up—the most refined energy-decoit compensation algorithm she had ever seen.

"He had it ready a long time ago," Jiang Fei said. "He knew someday someone would need this data. And that person might not be him."

Su Wan from Line A stared at the screen for three seconds. Then her fingers started moving again. The parameters began recalibrating according to the new algorithm. The curves on the screen softened.

"Passage calibration at ninety-six percent—" She tilted her head toward the intercom. "Lin Shen, can you still hear me?"

Inside the pod, Lin Shen leaned against the wall, staring at the light ring above. "I hear you."

"After calibration, the pod will run a self-check. The lights will go dark for three seconds—don't panic. It's not a malfunction."

"I'm not panicking."

"She says 'I'm not panicking' when she's nervous," Jiang Fei said from the side. "Just like your Su Wan."

Lin Shen didn't reply, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

Suddenly, a dull thud came from outside the control room. Then another. On the third hit, the metal door trembled.

"Here they come." Lin Shen from Line A walked to the door, pressed his ear against the metal, and listened for a few seconds. Then he drew a gun from his waist—the standard-issue model from the Line A World, slightly lighter than the Prime World version. Jiang Fei pulled a short dagger from her boot and wiped the blade against her pants.

"How many?" Jiang Fei asked.

"About twelve or thirteen. Lu Yan's at the back—I can hear his footsteps." Lin Shen from Line A closed his eyes and counted. "Not much heavy equipment. They're in a hurry. Didn't bring their full arsenal."

"Twelve." Jiang Fei spun the dagger once, blade facing out. "I'll take the front. You take the flank. No need to kill—just buy time. Once the transmission is done, they'll stop."

"You sure?"

"Not sure. But we fight first, figure it out later." Jiang Fei glanced at Su Wan from Line A. "How long for the transmission?"

"Five minutes. Plus the pod self-check—six minutes." Su Wan from Line A's voice was steady, but her hand trembled for a second over the keyboard.

"Six minutes." Jiang Fei turned to Lin Shen from Line A. "Can you hold for six minutes?"

"With you here, yes."

Jiang Fei raised an eyebrow. "Learned how to say the right thing? Not bad. Did you pick that up from that Lin Shen over there?"

"From you."

Jiang Fei froze. She opened her mouth to say something—probably "since when did you learn to be sarcastic"—but stopped halfway. She waved her hand. "We'll settle the six-minute tab later. First, hold this door."

She walked up beside Lin Shen from Line A, pressing her back against the wall on the opposite side of the door. Lin Shen knew this stance well—back at the Prime World hydro station, Jiang Fei had stood like this, then pushed him into the pod. She had said, "Don't end up like me—too afraid to even try."

"When you pushed him into the pod back then," Lin Shen from Line A asked, "did you know he'd end up here?"

"Yes. I calculated the passage coordinates."

"So what were you thinking when you pushed him?"

Jiang Fei was silent for about three seconds. Then she tapped the back of her dagger against the wall, three taps at a time—the exact same rhythm as Lin Shen.

"I was thinking," she said, "that someone should have given me a push back then. My mirror B—no one helped me. I held on alone for three years. So when it came to him, I figured—this dumbass wants to find her so badly, might as well give him a shove. Spare him the regret I still carry." She paused. "What about you? You're staying behind. Aren't you afraid of breaking Su Wan's heart here?"

Lin Shen from Line A looked at the crack in the door. Through the gap, he could barely make out the shifting beams of tactical flashlights outside.

"Yes. But she knows. She's a researcher too—she understands better than anyone that the passage needs both ends synchronized. If I'm not here on the A side to maintain the energy, the passage won't survive thirty minutes." He tightened his grip on the gun. "Besides. I'm the other Lin Shen. If I can't even hold a door for him—then what kind of 'other' am I?"

Another dull thud from outside. Heavier this time. The door's hinges screeched. Someone was using a crowbar—or explosives. The door shook even harder.

"Passage calibration—ninety-nine percent." Su Wan from Line A's voice squeezed through her teeth. "Hold on..."

From outside the control room, Lu Yan's voice rang out.

"Lin Shen," his voice came through the metal door, muffled but every word clear as an icicle. "I know you're in there. I know what you're about to do. Open the door. Let's talk."

No one answered.

"If you don't open, don't blame me for being rude. I've got twelve people. You've got three at most. Last time at Old Zheng's, you slipped away—won't happen again." A pause. "That friend of yours—Jiang Fei—she's in there too, isn't she? The crack she crossed through has already been sealed by my advance team. You have no way back."

Jiang Fei mouthed silently at the door: Bullshit.

Lin Shen from Line A walked to the door and spoke to the outside: "Lu Yan. Why are you so desperate to stop this?"

"Because every time the passage opens, the membrane between the two worlds grows thinner. You don't understand physics, but you should understand one thing—a door that keeps getting kicked open will eventually collapse entirely." Lu Yan's voice paused. "Last time the passage opened, your Su Wan was projected across. Now you're about to open it again—have you thought about the consequences? When the crack expands, it's not just the two worlds that will collapse—both Lin Shens and both Su Wans from both worlds will annihilate simultaneously. What you call salvation will only make her die more completely."

The voice outside fell silent. Lu Yan seemed to be waiting for Lin Shen from Line A's response.

"Lu Yan," Lin Shen from Line A said, "do you think you and I are alike?"

The silence outside was more powerful than any reply.

"You're wrong," Lin Shen from Line A said. "What you're trying to stop is yourself. You're afraid of repeating the mistake you made all those years ago. But I'm not you—and the person beside me is not your wife. Su Wan chose to stay by that Lin Shen's side. She doesn't need to be saved. She needs to be brought back. And all I'm doing is opening a door. Not running an experiment."

A very faint breath came from outside—Lu Yan's breathing rhythm had faltered.

"If your wife could hear you saying these things from the crack—that the passage can't be opened, that you have to stop others from bringing back the people they love—what do you think she would feel?" Lin Shen from Line A's voice was calm, but every word hit the metal door like a nail. "She's been waiting for you to come for her. Ten years. And all the time you've had to wait for her, you've spent stopping others."

The silence outside stretched long. So long that everyone in the control room thought Lu Yan had left.

Then a thunderous bang hit the metal door—not a crowbar, but a fist. Lu Yan had punched the door.

"Open up." His voice, for the first time, was no longer calm—like a crack splitting open on a frozen lake. "Now."

Lin Shen from Line A didn't move. Neither did Jiang Fei.

"He's not just threatening," Su Wan from Line A said, her voice low enough that only those in the control room could hear. "What he said is true. Every passage opening permanently weakens the membrane's strength. That's why the Correction mechanism exists—not for punishment, but to stop the losses."

"Then his wife that time—" Lin Shen asked from inside the pod.

"The first experiment accident," Su Wan from Line A said, her fingers pausing over the final calibration parameter. "It was because he opened the passage. His wife was standing at the transmission target point—and the membrane shattered. The passage collapsed. She disappeared into the crack."

Silence filled the control room for one second.

So Lu Yan wasn't cold-blooded. He was too hot—so hot he'd burned himself to ash. His wife's death wasn't caused by someone else. It was his own experiment spiraling out of control. Ever since, he'd become a Corrector, pouring all his energy into stopping others from making the same mistake he did.But he forgot—Lin Shen was not him. Lin Shen hadn't asked Su Wan to stand at the target point. Su Wan had gone willingly.

"Calibration complete," A-Line Su Wan called out. "Channel opening countdown—3, 2, 1—"

Inside the transfer pod, Lin Shen felt a weightlessness. Not of the body—but of consciousness. It was as if someone had extracted a second of time from his mind and then forcefully stuffed it back. The light strips flickered on and off, just as A-Line Su Wan had said—off for three full seconds.

In the darkness, he remembered Su Wan's letter.

"I saw a person working overtime. He tapped the desk three times with a pencil. He didn't know a pair of eyes were watching him. I let go."

Three seconds later, the lights came back on.

"Transfer pod self-check passed," A-Line Su Wan's voice came through the intercom, her breathing a little rushed. "Lin Shen—the channel is open. You're standing at the entrance of the Gap."

Directly ahead of the transfer pod, an aperture appeared on the metal wall—about two meters in diameter, its edges emitting a faint blue light, the center pure white. The light did not come from the lamps—it was leaking in from another space. Nothing was visible inside the aperture, but Lin Shen could feel the airflow change direction—it was pulling inward.

"Remember, thirty minutes," A-Line Su Wan said. "Find her. Bring her back. Don't look back—no matter what sounds you hear."

Lin Shen released his hands from the walls of the transfer pod. Five sweaty fingerprints remained on the metal. He took a breath. One. Two. Three.

"Good luck," A-Line Su Wan said. "She's waiting for you at the coordinates."

"She's waiting for you at the coordinates." Jiang Fei spoke the same words into the intercom, but her voice was as hoarse as sandpaper grinding stone. "Don't hesitate like we did."

Lin Shen took a step forward. Then a second. The aperture drew closer, the light growing brighter.

"Lu Yan—" A-Line Lin Shen's voice came through the intercom. But the signal suddenly cut off, leaving only piercing static and the sound of a metal door being blasted open in the distance.

Lin Shen did not look back.

He walked into the light.

Inside the control room, Jiang Fei and A-Line Lin Shen both turned toward the door at the same time. A hole had been blown through the lower right corner of the metal door, and a hand was reaching in, fumbling for the lock.

"Get ready," Jiang Fei said.

"I'm ready," A-Line Lin Shen said.

The number on the countdown screen jumped—twenty-nine minutes remaining.