Chapter 45 - 19: The Elephant in the Room

Chapter 45: Chapter 19: The Elephant in the Room

How could it all be completed in just five short days after the resolution passed?

Unless... unless all this work had been finished long before the resolution passed—or even long, long before?

But that made even less sense.

The project had always been stuck due to budget issues and unclear scientific objectives. Even getting it greenlit was a challenge.

Who would spend so much manpower and resources to do survey work for a project that might never get off the ground?

Besides, five days wasn’t even enough time to get through the internal administrative approval process, was it?

The feeling was bizarre, like you had just placed an order for a product on a six-month presale.

And the next second, your doorbell rang, and the delivery person was already standing at your door.

That intense sense of dissonance... this "speed" reeked of an inexplicable rush.

Five days. Not even enough time to recover from a bad cold. And just like that, the largest scientific installation in human history had its coordinates pinned on a map?

"Maybe they’re rushing out some good news to offset the bad? Professor Gao just passed away, so maybe the higher-ups want to use this announcement to lift everyone’s spirits?" Shi Zuozhou guessed.

Yu Xian didn’t speak. He was also considering that possibility.

’Could this be related to Professor Gao’s suicide, his "no" vote, and his final words?’

Recalling the sentence on the blackboard, "I am guilty. I have failed all of humanity," Yu Xian still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Wait a minute.

"Old Shi."

Yu Xian’s voice was soft.

"Do you remember the official voting results from that day?"

"Yeah, I remember. 9-to-2. It passed by a wide margin."

He finally realized what it was—the extremely unusual part of this whole affair that had occurred to him that day on the balcony of the Second Main Building.

He had been stuck in a dead end, focusing on why Professor Gao killed himself, why he voted no, and why he left that note.

But in reality, there was an elephant in the room that he had overlooked—

The vote itself.

"Why could this project never get greenlit before? Because there was controversy in the scientific community, right?"

He looked at Shi Zuozhou, his speech unconsciously quickening.

"The ’idealists,’ led by Professor Gao, wanted to build it, believing it could push the boundaries of physics. The ’pragmatists,’ led by those other giants in the field, opposed it, thinking it was a bottomless pit that would waste public money and resources. The two sides were evenly matched, with the opposition possibly even being stronger, especially when you factored in public welfare and the economy."

"Yeah, everyone knows that," Shi Zuozhou said, confused.

"Then here’s the problem."

Yu Xian felt his heart rate accelerating as a tremendous sense of absurdity crawled up his spine.

"If Professor Gao, the project’s biggest proponent and staunchest supporter, voted against it..."

He paused, staring blankly at Shi Zuozhou.

"Then who cast the other nine ’yes’ votes?"

Shi Zuozhou froze mid-chew.

Yang Yiyi also put down her chopsticks.

The logic was simple, yet terrifying the more you thought about it.

The person who wanted to build it most had voted against it.

That meant the pragmatist committee members—the ones who had always opposed building it, who thought it was a waste of money, who believed the "feast was over"...

...had all switched sides and voted "yes" this time?

Why?

What could make these top scholars—the most rational, the most focused on cost-effectiveness, the ones who insisted on scientific justification—change their stance overnight?

What could make them go against academic views they had held for over a decade?

If they were the ones who pushed the vote through, then the site selection must have been their doing as well.

And what made them complete the site selection in five days, so eager to get this project into the approval process right away, immediately?

What made them choose to break ground in an unsuitable western region like Qinghai, regardless of cost or logic?

The heating in the cafeteria seemed to have failed. Yu Xian felt a chill spread through his body.

"Are you saying... those big shots were forced?" Shi Zuozhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

"I don’t know."

Yu Xian shook his head.

"I only know that whatever made Professor Gao write ’I have failed all of humanity’ before he died is most likely the same thing that made all the opponents turn into supporters."

The crowd around them was still noisy, chatting about their Singles’ Day deliveries and gossip from the class next door.

No one noticed the look of what could only be called terror in the eyes of the three people at the corner table.

...

The heating in the library was still cranked up, but during their afternoon study session, it was clear that none of the three were in the right state of mind.

In half an hour, Shi Zuozhou had barely turned two pages of the novel in his hands.

Yang Yiyi was staring at her computer screen, but her hands had hardly typed a few keystrokes.

Yu Xian stared at the notes in his notebook, his mind completely consumed by the official 9-to-2 vote result.

It was getting dark early outside. One of them—it’s unclear who—was the first to say, "Maybe we should call it a day."

With a tacit understanding, no one tried to persuade the others to stay. They quickly packed their things and parted ways at the library entrance.

Back at his cousin’s house, Yu Xian sat woodenly on the sofa, staring blankly out the window.

After an unknown amount of time, a sudden BUZZING vibration startled him.

On the screen was the familiar pixelated cat avatar. He glanced at the time: 8:20 p.m.

’Wen Xiao?’

’Why is she calling at this hour? Could it be...?’

He had just put the phone to his ear, before he could even speak, when Wen Xiao’s hushed voice came through the receiver.

The background was quiet; he could even hear her slightly ragged breathing.

"Yu Xian... are you free to talk right now?"

Wen Xiao’s voice carried a slight tremor.

"I am. I’m at home."

Yu Xian subconsciously sat up straight and lowered his voice as well.

"What’s wrong? Are you okay... Did you see something?"

The other end of the line went silent for a few seconds, with only a faint RUSTLING. He couldn’t tell where she was hiding.

"Yeah. My sister went out, so I secretly turned on her computer and finished reading the interview transcripts with the families of the suicide victims."

Yu Xian’s grip on his phone tightened slightly, and his heart couldn’t help but beat faster.

"What did you see? Did you find any commonalities in what the families said about them ’changing’?"

"Yes. But before that, Yu Xian, can you tell me what ’Smile’ is?"

Wen Xiao’s voice held a barely suppressed agitation.

"Why would my sister call these the ’Smile’ suicide cases? I read through all the interview transcripts, and I still don’t understand the meaning behind the name. According to the families’ descriptions, the victims hadn’t even smiled in the months before their deaths..."

The voice on the phone fell silent for two seconds.

"So... I don’t get it. Why are they called the ’Smile’ suicide cases?"

Yu Xian didn’t answer. Wen Xiao’s words cast an even more terrifying pall over the case.

Wen Xiao had never seen the photos. She didn’t know what those people looked like when they died.

But Yu Xian had. He recalled the black-and-white photos on his cousin’s desk, recalled the standard, symmetrical, yet lifeless smiles on the victims’ faces.

Likewise, Yu Xian hadn’t known what the victims were like before their deaths.

He had always assumed that kind of standard smile was something the suicide victims must have practiced for a long time to achieve.

Like the standard smile in the service industry, where even the number of teeth showing is standardized.

’But according to Wen Xiao, that smile wasn’t an expression they often made when they were alive?’

’On the contrary, it was something they had almost never done?’

"It’s probably... a codename. Don’t worry too much about it."

Yu Xian’s throat was dry. He didn’t want to tell Wen Xiao the truth; it would be too horrifying for her.

"Tell me!"

The voice from the receiver was sharp, as if she were nearing a breaking point.

Yu Xian switched the phone to his other hand. The sweat on his palm had made the phone case slick.

He looked at the empty living room and was silent for a long time.

"It’s because of... the way they looked when they died."

"What way?"

Wen Xiao seemed to have a sudden realization, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"Are you saying—"

"Yes. The smile was... the expression they left behind in their final moment."