YING ZHENG'S NUCLEAR BOMB
Part Three
Slater nodded. "My current position gives me regular access to the Qin palace. I've crossed paths with Ying Zheng many times—I've already mapped out his facial model. In a little while, I can complete the mask."
I was staggered by the sheer audacity of their plan. They were a pack of lunatics! Dodge said smoothly, "Quinn, now that you know our plan, you have two choices before you. One: join us and fight alongside us. Two: go out there and inform on us—you might even earn rank and riches. The choice is yours. I won't force you."
Won't force me? Easy to say. If I picked option two, they'd kill me in a heartbeat.
These Revival Alliance fanatics were crazy enough to never let a nobody like me jeopardize an operation years in the making. Then a thought struck me: "I should point out—this ribbon-cutting ceremony you mentioned is more than two thousand years away..."
"Two thousand and sixteen years, to be precise," one of the scientists chimed in.
"Right. What I mean is, have you seen the artifacts that get dug up from ancient tombs? The Mawangdui Han tomb, for instance—everything's corroded beyond recognition, whether iron or fabric. How do you ensure a nuclear bomb stays intact for over two thousand years?"
"In a vacuum environment, it's entirely feasible," the scientist replied with breezy confidence. "The technology is straightforward."
"Fine," I pressed on. "Even if it stays intact for two millennia, how do you guarantee it detonates at precisely the right moment during the ribbon-cutting?"
"We'll install an atomic clock inside the bomb—a timing mechanism accurate to within one second of error per twenty million years. Precise detonation is the least of our problems. Furthermore—" The scientist continued, "I know what else you're wondering, so I'll address it. This nuclear bomb will be buried one hundred meters beneath Qin Shi Huang's mausoleum, with an isolation layer above it. Neither thermal scanning nor metal detection will be able to find it. When the atomic clock reaches zero on the day of the ceremony, the bomb will detonate..."
"Ten kilotons yield!" another scientist added. They seemed rather reserved normally, but when discussing their specialty, they lit up with animated enthusiasm. "Blast radius of twenty-eight hundred meters, shockwave radius of seven thousand meters, radiation radius of thirteen thousand meters. In other words, once the bomb goes off, everything within thirty kilometers will be annihilated!"
So this was the Genesis Project in full—a "giant assassination" on a two-thousand-year delay.
The most magnificent, the most breathtaking assassination plot in the history of humankind. For reasons I couldn't entirely articulate, it resonated deep within me, like waves crashing against my very core.
I had no love for those conglomerates. They had stripped me of my most basic right to exist, forced me to spend my life savings to come to an era not my own. Under their oppression, countless people like me lived like dogs, scraping by with barely a shred of human dignity. If this nuclear bomb could end all that, then I was willing to be a pioneer.
"But..." I hesitated. "I'm not like you. I don't have any specialized technical knowledge. I'm just a spare part..."
"Don't say that, Quinn!" Dodge clapped my shoulder. "Even a pair of underwear, even a roll of toilet paper has its use!"
Dodge certainly knew how to make a fellow feel valued. I gritted my teeth. "All right. I'm in."
Dodge gripped my hand firmly. "The Revival Alliance welcomes you. From this moment forward, we are comrades."
5
Something about Slater struck me as off.
I couldn't say exactly what—it was just a strange, instinctive feeling.
After we finished discussing the next steps, Slater had to leave. He needed to return to the palace and report in; being away too long would arouse suspicion.
Dodge, famished, asked if he'd brought any food. Slater rummaged around his garments and produced a few wowo flatbreads.
"Not this stuff again!" Dodge cursed. "It seems we're stuck with wowo for life. Coarse and awful!"
"They're not so bad," Slater said with a grin. "I've been eating them all along. You get used to it."
As he said this, he seemed to realize something was amiss. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, but the change was fleeting, and he moved to take his leave. A jolt of intuition shot through me, and I called out, "Hey, Slater."
"What?" He turned back.
"How many colors does a traffic light have?"
"Huh?" He looked at me strangely. The others were puzzled as well. Dodge asked, "Quinn, what are you getting at?"
"Never mind that. Just answer the question," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Slater.
"Traffic lights..." Slater smiled easily. "Naturally, red and green."
At this answer, everyone's face went pale!
I pressed on: "What is Schrödinger's cat used for?"
"A cat... cats are naturally used for catching mice."
Everyone knows Schrödinger's cat is a thought experiment describing quantum superposition. I asked: "Why did Jay Chou become famous for his singing?"
"Because... he sings well, of course!"
He became famous not because he sang well, but because you couldn't understand a word he was saying. I continued: "In the culture of the second dimension, what's the line after 'Startled upright in my sickbed on the verge of death'?"
"Of course it's 'Cold winds blow rain through the chilly window.'" He answered with absolute certainty.
"Wrong! It's 'I feel so super cute'!"
These four questions spanned daily life, science, entertainment, and culture—and every single one of his answers was wrong! Seeing the shocked expressions around him, the fake Slater realized the game was up. He bolted. Dodge exploded into motion, pinning him to the ground like a leopard taking down prey.
"You're not Slater!" Dodge gripped his throat. "Who the hell are you?"
He indeed was not Slater. Dodge peeled a layer of facial prosthetic right off his face. Beneath it was the unmistakable visage of a man of Qin.
"Where's Slater? Where is he?" Dodge snatched up a bronze dagger from the ground and pressed it against the impostor's chest, his voice cracking with emotion. "Did you kill him?"
The terrified man blurted out, "No, no, I didn't kill him... Slater... Slater is the King of Qin right now..."
Clang—the dagger slipped from Dodge's fingers and hit the ground.
It seemed the Revival Alliance had gravely underestimated Comrade Han Dashun's initiative. Within his second year in Qin, he had assassinated Ying Zheng and seized the throne himself. Then he'd spent four years carefully training a loyal proxy, instructing him to impersonate Slater and wait for this very day.
This double had spent four years not only mimicking Slater's every word and gesture but also learning Mandarin and absorbing knowledge of the future—so thoroughly that he could pass for the real thing. Had I not resorted to unorthodox lateral thinking, we might never have unmasked him.
"Dodge, I—I'm just a puppet, please spare me..." He was begging now that his cover was blown.
"You want to live?" Dodge glared at him menacingly.
"Yes, yes—"
"If you want to live, then do one thing for us. Otherwise, you die right here."
"What—what is it?"
"Take us into the palace. To find Slater!"