Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

Under the overwhelming difference in strength, Lin Xian’s mercenary group was like a father scolding his son, driving the local armed forces into constant retreat. It wasn’t a fair fight—more like a lesson they couldn’t escape.

As night fell, the moon climbed into the dark sky.

The mercenaries lit fires for the elderly, the injured, and the children left behind in the village, giving them water and food. A professional medical team tended to the villagers, treating wounds and preparing to transport the refugees to a safer place in the morning.

By the stone at the village entrance, Lin Xian and Du Yao sat side by side, each holding a steaming self-heating meal.

“I didn’t even know Tang Xin had passed away until two weeks after it happened,” Du Yao said as she ate.

“The situation here in South Sudan was so chaotic. We were trying to do everything at once—peacekeeping, helping the injured, rescuing refugees—sometimes going for days without sleep. I lost contact with Tang Xin more times than I can count.”

She took a breath, her gaze distant. “It wasn’t until I finally got through to her brother that I learned she was gone. By then, the funeral had already passed.”

“I was devastated, but there wasn’t even time to mourn here. Every day, it’s dodging bullets, saving whoever you can; every day, you see children, innocent people…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes tired. “In a place like this, there’s no time to cry.”

Du Yao put down her utensils, shaking her head. “It’s about racing against death, saving lives before it’s too late.” She paused, her eyes dark. “Not long after, my boyfriend died in a conflict too. That was when I really became numb.”

Lin Xian looked down. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

Listening to her, Lin Xian could now see why she ended up here. She and Tang Xin had been classmates, both working at the same research institute. But something had driven Du Yao to Africa—maybe love, maybe ideals, maybe both.

Lin Xian couldn’t entirely understand her choices—but he respected them.

“I admire you,” he said. “But you’ve done enough, haven’t you? You’ve sacrificed so much. Isn’t it time to come home? Your boyfriend’s gone… Why stay here alone?”

Du Yao looked up, her eyes softening as they swept over the orphans eating by the fire. “Isn’t this reason enough?” she replied, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“At first, I didn’t understand either,” she said. “I argued with my boyfriend countless times over it. I asked him, ‘Why go to a war zone? There are kids back home who need help, remote villages that need teachers.’”

“But he was stubborn. He told me, ‘If everyone turns away, what about the children here? Back home, kids may be poor, but they’re safe. Here, they could be gone in an instant.’”

“He also reminded me how, during our own country’s hardest times, foreigners came to help—even died for us. And he said that sort of selflessness is mutual.”

Du Yao untied her braid, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. “I thought he was being foolish. But after I came here… I understood. This place really is a kind of hell—one that people in peace can never imagine.” �

“I came for him. But now, this place needs me.” She looked at Lin Xian with a mix of exhaustion and determination. “Many comrades have died here. Many left because they couldn’t bear it anymore. But I’m still here. I want to save as many people as I can—carry on what he left unfinished.”

She smiled faintly. “I was pretty spoiled growing up, you know. But here, just being alive feels like a blessing.”

Lin Xian nodded, understanding.

“You loved him a lot,” he said.

“I did.” Her smile deepened, but it was tinged with sadness. “But now, it’s more than that. He’s a part of me—my guiding star.”

Du Yao got up and walked over to one of the mercenaries who was smoking. “Can I have one?” she asked.

She came back to Lin Xian, a cigarette between her lips. She lit it and took a drag, her gaze somewhere far away. “He hated smoking. Hated flashy, loud girls too. So I used to dress in hip-hop clothes, pierce my ears, dye my hair—just to annoy him.”

“I’d send him pictures every day, hoping he’d come back just to scold me.” She laughed softly. “I even learned to smoke. He hated girls who smoked.” She took another drag, the cigarette’s ember glowing orange. “I don’t even like it. But now… it’s like pretending he’ll show up any minute, snatch it away, throw it out, and tell me off.”

Lin Xian looked at her, his heart heavy. Sometimes, grief found strange ways to keep itself alive—smoking, talking, anything to feel like they were still there.

He thought of his friend Liu Feng—after Li Qi Qi was gone, Liu Feng smoked and talked without pause, as if talking would keep the sorrow inside, stop it from escaping.

But Du Yao’s loss was different. Her boyfriend had died suddenly, leaving only regret behind.

“I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you,” Du Yao said, taking another puff. “I usually don’t talk so much. But seeing you… it brought everything back. And I just couldn’t stop.”

She smiled sadly. “At least I’ve said it. If I end up dying here, at least someone knows my story.”

Lin Xian stood up, walked to stand opposite her, leaning against a wooden post. “I came here to take you back to X Country,” he said. “To get you back to brain research.”

Du Yao shook her head. “And what about the kids if I leave?”

“My mercenaries will take them to safety,” Lin Xian replied.

Du Yao laughed. “You’re a good man, Lin Xian. But I can’t just walk away from this.” She blew out smoke, her expression determined. “Call me stubborn, but I’ve seen this place, lost someone here… I can’t leave it all behind.”

She went to light another cigarette—but it was gone. Lin Xian had snatched it away.

“One is enough,” he said, tossing it behind him. “You want to save lives? Fine. But how many? One, ten, a hundred—or… a hundred million?”

Du Yao frowned, confused.

“Do you know how many lives Tang Xin’s research saved?” Lin Xian asked. “The medication she developed solved hibernation’s worst side effects. Thanks to her and Professor Xu, terminally ill patients could sleep, hoping for a cure in the future.”

“Your research could save even more lives. Not just individuals—but the world.” He handed her a bound stack of documents. She read the title: “Overcoming Memory Loss from Hibernation: The Brain Neural Electric Helmet!”

She blinked, surprised. “Electric shocks… to the brain?”

She remembered her thesis—how she’d wondered if electric stimulation could work. She moved to the mercenaries’ spotlight, reading in silence.

Lin Xian waited, letting her absorb it. Emperor Gao Wen had called Du Yao a rare talent—and he was right.

After over an hour, Du Yao looked up, thoughtful. “I didn’t understand all of it. But if those far-fetched ideas of mine could be realized, maybe they’d fill in the gaps in this manuscript.”

Lin Xian smiled. “How long would it take?”

“A year or two?” Du Yao shook her head. “Maybe just a few months. This manuscript… it’s given me new insights.”

“Then let’s make a deal,” Lin Xian said. “I respect your ideals. Stay here if you must—but just for a year. My mercenaries will help. Then come back, and work on this. You’ll have the resources to make a real difference.”

Du Yao thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, Lin Xian. I trust you.”

Lin Xian extended his hand. “Pleasure working with you. I’ve already got a lab set up for you in Donghai. Everything’s ready.”

Du Yao took his hand, shaking it firmly. “I hope I don’t let you down. I’ll give it my all.” She smiled. “Tang Xin had good taste—you’re a good man.”

Lin Xian returned the smile. “And I know you’ll help make this world a better place.”