Liang Yu took a moment to process all this. “But Dr. Zhang, even if the world is as you say, I still think humanity has a good chance of surviving. A hundred years ago, we couldn’t even leave the atmosphere. Now, we’ve set foot on the moon. If the threshold to the fourth dimension really exists somewhere out there, then the Spacefaring Faction is close to success, aren’t they?”
“No, they’ve already failed,” Dr. Zhang interrupted. “Time is running out for this world. They’ll never break through the technological barrier.”
“Because the Creator is on a timer to destroy the world?” Liang Yu scratched his head. “Even if there is a Creator, would she really have such a bad temper?”
“I don’t think of it as destruction—more like a reset. But to us, reset and destruction are the same. Lower-dimensional worlds must follow the rules set by higher beings. Like I said, if humanity can’t break through the bottleneck, extinction is the only outcome. By the way, Liang Yu, what do you think was humanity’s greatest crisis in the last thousand years?”
“World War II… or maybe the Cuban Missile Crisis?”
“Neither,” Dr. Zhang said. “It was the Age of Exploration.”
Liang Yu was surprised. “Wasn’t the Age of Exploration a time of wealth and discovery? Maybe for the indigenous peoples, it was a crisis…”
“The Age of Exploration connected the continents by sea, ushering in a golden age for Europe,” Dr. Zhang continued. “But what if Columbus had never discovered the New World?”
Liang Yu frowned. “If not Columbus, someone else would have found it. The New World was always there.”
“But what if there was only one continent—if the others simply didn’t exist? Beyond the edge of the land, there would be nothing but the world’s end. The Creator wouldn’t allow humanity to master navigation. Columbus would never have sailed, and the Age of Exploration would never have come. Sure, the sea would still be there, but we’d never cross it. Humanity overestimates its agency—believing we can do anything if we set our minds to it. But is that really true?
“Humanity broke through the technological bottleneck and entered the Age of Exploration because the ocean wasn’t the world’s end. There were still new lands, and beyond them, the universe. In other words, because there was still room on the map, the Creator lifted the restrictions and allowed us to advance.”
He went on, “We should be grateful the Creator wasn’t lazy enough to make just one continent. Otherwise, humanity would have hit its final bottleneck before the Age of Exploration and perished. But luck doesn’t strike twice. During the technological explosion, we should have quickly entered the Space Age. The fact that we haven’t is the best proof.”
Liang Yu swallowed. “But what does that prove?”
“It proves that nothing exists beyond the solar system. The Creator may have only built a solar system,” Dr. Zhang said, sipping his coffee. “If the universe extended beyond, humanity would have been able to explore freely by now. But since there’s nothing out there, the Creator set up all sorts of limits.”
“So, the Spacefaring Faction is chasing after something that doesn’t exist. Humanity is left with only one last path.”
Liang Yu instinctively straightened up. “What is it?” He didn’t even realize that, at some point, he’d stopped treating Dr. Zhang’s words as a joke.
“I’ll answer that in a moment. For now, let’s talk about your sense of detachment.”
Liang Yu thought: Finally, back to the main topic.
“Unfortunately, psychology doesn’t have a clear explanation for this sense of detachment. My personal understanding is that, in those moments, your consciousness really does leave your body—maybe even this three-dimensional world.”
Liang Yu’s mouth twitched. This sounded like something out of a fantasy novel—souls leaving the body. But after everything else today, he figured he wouldn’t be surprised if Dr. Zhang started talking about body swapping.
But the next thing Dr. Zhang said still shocked him: “So, saving the world is your responsibility, Liang Yu!”
Hearing such a wild, almost delusional statement, Liang Yu had the urge to storm out. But just then, Dr. Zhang pressed a switch on the table.
Lights flickered on—first one, then another, then another. Liang Yu was surrounded by colored lights: red, white, green… Each color stretched endlessly, forming towering walls of light. He felt as small as a speck of dust before them. Then the lights receded like a tide, leaving only faint shadows. No, it wasn’t the lights moving away—it was him, speeding away from the world.
He could see Dr. Zhang’s mouth moving, but heard nothing. All his senses vanished in an instant, but he could still perceive the world—not with his eyes, but with some indescribable perspective, observing from far, far away.
The next second, Dr. Zhang flipped the switch again, and Liang Yu’s consciousness snapped back into his body. He could no longer keep calm. He shot to his feet, glaring at Dr. Zhang, speechless.
“Relax,” Dr. Zhang said, unruffled. “It’s just a little gadget, works like neon lights—completely harmless.”
Liang Yu noticed the device on Dr. Zhang’s desk, about the size of a smart speaker. So those colored lights had come from this little machine? But how could it make light seem infinite?
Then he realized: it wasn’t the light that had been magnified, but—
“Detachment,” Dr. Zhang said, meeting Liang Yu’s eyes. “You weren’t completely honest with me.”
Liang Yu fell silent. Since entering the counseling room, he’d kept one thing hidden. Yes, he’d felt detached at the subway station that day—but it wasn’t the first time. Ever since his schizophrenia began as a child, detachment had haunted him.
It wasn’t just detachment, but rejection—he always felt the world was pushing him out. If everyone had invisible threads tying them to the world, his were nearly transparent. He’d told a psychiatrist once, who’d only upped his meds.
So he learned to hide it. Even today, when Dr. Zhang called him in, he’d planned to downplay everything. He’d described it as his first time feeling detached, but in truth, it happened so often he’d lost count.
“This device is on loan from a friend. Honestly, it’s got nothing to do with psychology, but I think it can amplify detachment in a way.”
Liang Yu asked coldly, “What are you getting at, Dr. Zhang?”
“Liang Yu, this sense of detachment is seriously affecting you,” Dr. Zhang said. “If you’d only felt it once or twice, you wouldn’t have reacted so strongly just now.”
“So all this talk was just to lower my guard?” Liang Yu sneered. “You could’ve just said my schizophrenia’s back and recommended expulsion.”
“No, every word I said was sincere.”
“Even the part about saving the world?”
“Even that.”
Liang Yu laughed.
Dr. Zhang suddenly asked, “What do you think is the relationship between a figure in a painting and the painter?”
“Created and creator.”
“Could they ever communicate?”
“Absolutely not. Is this another psych test?”
“I think it’s possible,” Dr. Zhang said. “Through dreams.”
Liang Yu countered, “Dreams are just projections of reality. They can’t cross over!”
Dr. Zhang grew serious. “Maybe, out of ten thousand dreams, only one is the painting trying to speak to the painter.”
Liang Yu paused. “That’s just speculation. We can’t prove it…”
“Nor can we disprove it. Only by finding the threshold to the fourth dimension can we hope to save our dying three-dimensional world. I believe there’s a connection that can transcend dimensions. Physics has its limits, but the heart does not.”
Chapter 04
*