Chapter 51: Qin Yu’s Former Home

Chapter 51: Qin Yu’s Former Home

Common Era 192.

Twenty more years had passed since the death of Professor Qin Yu, the greatest Life Science scholar of the past two centuries.

Those who were already old had by now followed Professor Qin Yu’s footsteps and departed this world.

Professor Qin Yu’s influence on the world and his name had certainly not vanished.

But, like those of every great era before, they had become part of history in this generation’s understanding.

In the capital of the Huaxia Nation,

records showed a young man raised entirely in the Social Upbringing Bureau.

That year, he applied to officially change his own name to Qin Yu.

When the clerk reviewing the application asked for his reason,

the young man offered a perfectly sound response—he had deeply admired Professor Qin Yu since childhood.

…

Throughout this existence, Qin Yu had crafted an exceptionally solid identity.

He hadn’t invented a false identity and snuck it into the records.

Anyone investigating his origins would find a complete twenty-year life history.

Born at the Social Upbringing Bureau, he spent his childhood and youth there, studying alongside other ‘peers’.

He possessed full social connections. People who had known him at every stage could confirm that Qin Yu, this person, really existed.

It wasn’t just an empty file.

How was this possible?

It was actually simple—Qin Yu had indeed lived through it all again, genuinely experiencing life from age one to twenty, starting from scratch within the Social Upbringing Bureau.

His Disguise ability let him ‘age’. Naturally, it could also make him ‘young’ again.

It was a tedious approach, yet simultaneously the most foolproof method.

…

Emerging from the Civil Affairs office after reclaiming his name,

Qin Yu lifted his face to the blue sky and exhaled a long breath.

For the first time in a while, he felt wonderfully free, like a bird soaring under the vast heavens.

The first time he’d felt this was when Absolute Immortality had become his third granted wish.

Though the core essence of his Absolute Immortality never changed,

his surroundings sometimes caused brief disorientation.

When everyone had perceived him as old,

and now, when everyone saw him as young,

his Absolute Immortality spared him from sinking into negativity because of the former state.

Yet, the feelings brought by those two different environments felt distinctly different.

Now, Qin Yu genuinely felt as if he’d regained youth.

This moment could likely mark the true beginning for him, for this fresh lifetime.

And what would he do with this life?

Clearly, the previous two decades had given him an answer.

…

During the first twenty years of this current existence,

Qin Yu hadn’t used his gifts or his Super Brain to create a sensational super-genius.

Instead, he had passed the time quite ordinarily—within the walls of the Social Upbringing Bureau and the classrooms.

To the vast majority of people who crossed his path in these twenty years, Qin Yu seemed completely unremarkable.

The reason was simple:

This life — or rather, the coming decades — wasn’t intended to be as “attention-grabbing” as his previous identity had been.

Moreover, this time, under this identity, he probably wouldn’t fully live out another hundred-plus years.

A genius biologist couldn’t just vanish abruptly;

after changing identities, would he wait until seeming ‘old’ to vanish again?

For Qin Yu, in this lifetime, he anticipated accomplishing what he intended and then changing identities immediately afterwards.

So what did he intend to do this time?

Simply… travel and see.

While assuming the genius biologist identity,

though he could phase via Intangibility to visit various places, the speed limits meant he hadn’t seen much of the world.

Now, shed of that mantle and its constraints, he wanted to just… look around.

Before he further reshaped Human Civilization to match his vision,

he should at least see what this world, this entire Human Civilization, originally was.

He’d long wanted Human Civilization itself to endure longer alongside his endless life within Absolute Immortality.

Therefore, he felt he should also understand more specifically, comprehensively, and truly what this civilization, destined to accompany him—or what he wanted to persist—fundamentally was.

Or, viewed more pessimistically,

if Human Civilization were to perish, if Earth were destroyed in the future,

throughout the immense solitude ahead, his memories of the former civilization and world would contain richer imagery.

He’d have more substance to fuel his sorrow when the tears fell.

Driven by these thoughts,

Qin Yu—age twenty in this lifetime,

ninety in accumulated years—embarked on his journey.

…

Qin Yu’s first destination after leaving the Huaxia capital was rather unusual.

He returned to Lingchuan City.

A century ago, as the provincial capital of Qinzhou Province, Lingchuan’s city zone had shown signs of rapid expansion.

By now, its urban sprawl had grown by more than double its size a hundred years prior.

Streets and alleys once on the outskirts now sat closer to the city center.

Numerous old buildings had been demolished, replaced by shopping malls, pedestrian streets, and modern residential complexes.

Yet, an exception remained.

Within this transformed landscape, one three-story private house stood untouched, meticulously maintained by the authorities in its original state.

Even the small alleyway it occupied preserved its old-time style; nearby houses had long been purchased by the city.

Visually, it stood frozen in time—an echo of a decades-old, quiet neighborhood tucked in Lingchuan’s former suburbs.

Even at this moment, which wasn’t any holiday, the alley remained bustling with people.

It was all because of two plaques hanging beside the door of an ordinary house.

“Former Residence of Qin Yu.”

“Qin Yu Memorial.”

This was the old house Qin Yu’s parents had left for him.

Since joining Research Institute 011, Qin Yu had rarely stayed here.

Now,

after booking a visit in advance and passing through the turnstile at the alley entrance, Qin Yu stepped back into his old home.

Truth be told, the authorities had maintained it fairly well.

Most things remained untouched, exactly where they’d always been.

The only issue was how packed it felt.

It wasn’t a villa but just a small family home squeezed into a narrow alley.

With so many visitors inside now, it seemed naturally cramped.

Qin Yu paid little mind to this,

though it felt a little uncanny to him.

Even on a weekday, many visitors were students on school trips.

A volunteer guide stood near the entrance to “Qin Yu’s Former Residence & Memorial,” explaining to the group.

“…And this was Professor Qin Yu’s bedroom. It’s said he studied daily right at this very desk since childhood…”

The visitors listened attentively.

Though everyone knows most celebrity house tours sound the same,

this truly was where Professor Qin Yu lived—most still felt deep respect for him.

Remaining quiet and emotionally calm, Qin Yu drifted with the group like a transient guest, wandering through rooms filled with his own past.

He arrived last at the rooftop terrace.

“Rumor says Professor Qin Yu often reflected here,” the guide shared. “Long before his formal studies at Lingchuan University, right on this spot, he pondered those life sciences questions…”

Well, the volunteer got that part right.

Young Qin Yu really used to lounge on the deckchair under open skies.

That same deckchair still remained, though cordoned off behind protective railings.

“Teacher, I’ll definitely surpass Professor Qin Yu someday!”

Perhaps tired of hearing endless praise for this professor, one small boy declared his dream out loud.

Hearing this, others nearby chuckled kindly.

The boy’s teacher patted his head warmly.

“Go for it.”

Qin Yu grinned and gave the boy’s shoulder an encouraging pat.

Being the sole supporter of his bold claim, the boy beamed at Qin Yu.

He tried to say something more, but Qin Yu had already turned to leave.

Qin Yu had only come to see,

never intending to linger.

Visiting his own memorial… now that was a uniquely strange sensation.

…

After departing ‘Qin Yu’s Former Residence,’ Qin Yu arrived again near Lingchuan University.

Still, he didn’t enter its gates.

All these years, Lingchuan University had ranked among China’s elite institutions.

Sharply elevated by Qin Yu’s fame and influence, it reached unprecedented heights.

But Qin Yu held few university memories, and returning now, so much later, felt unnecessary.

He detoured,

to the spot where the barbecue place once stood.

Sadly,

that store Qin Yu had visited just a few times was gone now.

Perhaps, as the last owner told Qin Yu’s final visit,

he’d closed shop upon retirement.

Now, this street behind Lingchuan had completely transformed since Qin Yu’s previous coming.

Where ribs once grilled, a noodle shop steamed instead.

Qin Yu walked inside anyway and ordered a bowl.

So, how was it?

Not bad, really.

Though the past sinks inevitably into history’s current,

he could still build fresh recollections right here.

For an Absolute Immortal, adaptability meant everything—welcoming novelty without clinging.

Next time he returned? Who knew. Maybe noodles, maybe this whole street vanishes beneath changing tides.

Yet even that… became just another texture in existence’s fabric.

As long as Human Civilization endured, new social bonds would root themselves always.

Pushing his empty bowl aside,

Qin Yu departed again.

…

Year 193.

Mount Everest.

Summit of the world.

An expedition team, fully equipped, guided by locals,

pushed past their final base camp, embarking on their ultimate ascent.

Countless mountaineers dreamed of conquering this colossal peak,

yet dangerous altitudes and brutal weather shattered many, their frozen bodies forever bound to slopes as grim trail markers.

Even now, with technology outpacing eras long dead, scaling Everest proved far easier than centuries before,

but the task stayed daunting. Heavy risk weighed every oxygen-thin breath. Especially this final push.

After enduring the preceding torturous days’ slow climb,

The members of this climbing team had their bodies, willpower, and strength all deeply worn down. They felt as if their souls were drifting away from their bodies.

If not for the fact that reaching the summit was just one final step away—tipped by their burning desire to conquer it and the sunk costs of days past—they might truly have found themselves unable to move forward at all.

Finally, just as every person in the team felt their willpower blurring, bodies only held up by sheer instinct,

they made it to the summit.

Panting heavily, lungs tearing with pain, legs and feet utterly numb, commands from their brains reaching their limbs as if fighting through thick fog,

they wanted to collapse right into the snow. Only by leaning against each other did they barely remain standing.

However, the instant they realized they had summited the world’s highest peak,

even as their bodies screamed in agony, a powerful tingling sensation surged from the soles of their feet to the crowns of their heads.

An intense, solid sense of achievement filled each of them.

This pure, exhilarating feeling was exactly what they had sought.

But as they gathered their wits, they noticed their local guide seemed rooted in shock.

Following the guide’s gaze, they saw someone already atop Mount Everest.

This person wasn’t standing, but sat cross-legged on the snow at the peak, back turned to them, seemingly gazing out at the vast panorama below.

He showed almost no reaction to their arrival.

Single person?

“Hey, man, did you come up from the other route? Where’s your team?”

Solo climbing Mount Everest was far riskier; generally, people tackled the summit in groups.

A younger member of this climbing team couldn’t help asking aloud.

Several climbers shifted, instinctively taking a couple of steps closer toward the figure seated on the peak.

But immediately after, their local guide threw out an arm, blocking their path—a clear warning.

They glanced at their guide, then back at the figure about a dozen meters away. The newcomers to Everest seemed to grasp something then, and did not move closer.

This person sitting calmly on Mount Everest’s summit… his behavior wasn’t right.

Normally, those who reached the top didn’t linger; they descended quickly—conditions up here were brutal, after all.

How long had this person already been sitting here? More importantly—did he need help?

Above a certain elevation on Mount Everest, it was understood that approaching climbers weren’t obligated to attempt rescues.

In the team’s already fragile, summit-exhausted state, burdening themselves with someone needing rescue could very well force the entire group to call it quits—permanently.

Going near him now might drag them into a heavy moral dilemma.

Besides,

their noisy arrival hadn’t drawn any reaction from him. He was close enough; he must have heard.

He might not even be alive anymore. Or if unconscious, there was truly nothing they could do.

Better to just… stay away.

The climbers remained still for a silent moment where they stood, then turned to perform post-summit tasks.

However, subtly, their attention kept drifting toward the lone figure.

If there had been any sign of distress… maybe one of them would have rushed to help.

But they finished their tasks and prepared to descend.

The seated man still didn’t turn around.

And so the climbing team left the peak.

…

Qin Yu felt little reaction to the climbing team’s arrival behind him.

He truly didn’t care what those climbers thought.

Reaching out a hand, he felt the biting, razor-sharp wind whipping across Mount Everest’s summit.

He planned to spend the night here—to witness the star-studded sky above Everest and the vast sea of snow and clouds swirling below.

Truth be told, Mount Everest’s summit offered an exceptional view of the stars,

utterly untroubled by clouds or city lights.