It started when a bloody rain was about to fall.

Then Lin Ye sat back down in front of the computer and opened several news websites and financial information terminals.

If my memory serves me right—

At 3 PM today, a subtle news alert will pop up:

[International mining giant BHP Group announced the discovery of a super-large rare earth vein in the Gulf of Guinea, Africa. Preliminary exploration data shows that the reserves may exceed 50% of the total known global reserves!]

Within two hours of the news release, rare earth-related stocks and futures prices will surge.

However, at 5 PM, another breaking news item will urgently clarify:

[BIT's exploration vessel was attacked by pirates, resulting in the loss of all raw data. The so-called "super-large mineral vein" was merely a misjudgment caused by instrument malfunction and data processing errors.]

Prices subsequently plummeted back to their original levels.

These two hours are a window of opportunity to test your memory and give it a try.

I glanced at the time in the bottom right corner of the computer screen:

9:47 AM.

There are still more than five hours left.

Lin Ye logged into a futures trading simulation platform and invested all of his 327.5 yuan in virtual funds into long positions in rare earth-related futures contracts, adjusting the leverage to the platform's maximum allowed value—50 times.

If memory serves me right, these contract prices would rise by about 15% between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m., and then fall back to their original levels between 5 p.m. and 5:30 p.m.

With 50x leverage and a 15% increase, the theoretical return is 750%.

Of course, this is just a demo disk.

But it is enough to verify whether the timing and scope of the memory are accurate—if even this is wrong, then Lin Ye's entire memory of the pre-apocalyptic world will need to be re-examined.

"Consider it a warm-up before the real battle."

After speaking, Lin Ye stared intently at the market data flashing on the screen, his eyes as focused as a hawk's.

He exuded a cold and calm aura.

His aura was so powerful and oppressive that it felt as if all the air in the room had been sucked away by his presence.

Time passed as we waited, and the sunlight outside the window continued to move.

The light spots crawled from the floor to the wall, and the temperature slowly rose.

The humming of the distant streets continued to drift in, the last languid breath of civilized society.

Meanwhile, in the cloud-based conference room of the Ye Group, more than 100 kilometers away from Lin Ye's rented apartment, Ye Qingrou had just finished the morning board meeting.

She got up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

The pearl-white suit skirt shimmered softly in the sunlight. Outside the window, the city, like molten gold, stretched out beneath her feet, like her innate territory—her kingdom, her domain, the place she was born to rule.

But in her mind, that broken yet handsome face was like an invisible thorn, deeply embedded in the depths of her consciousness.

Why now?

Why him?

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of the megacity of Beijing—

Lin Ye sat in front of his computer in the rented room, waiting for 3 p.m. to arrive.

Waiting for the memory to be verified.

Waiting to use 327.5 yuan to pry open the first cornerstone of destiny.

Six months.

One hundred and eighty days.

The countdown has begun.

Two worldlines that should never intersect are brought together by the rebirth of a mysterious fragment, by an impending rain of blood, and by the hatred and obsessions buried deep within the folds of time—

It is slowly approaching in a way that no one could have predicted.

Like two giant ships sailing in a thick fog, their bows were already aligned with each other.

But deep within the fog, undercurrents begin to stir...

---

Meanwhile, more than a thousand kilometers away from Beijing, there is another megacity – Dongcheng.

More than a hundred kilometers away in the suburbs of Dongcheng, there is a mountain called Mount Tai, which is majestic and verdant, shrouded in clouds and mist, exuding a sense of mystery.

It was 2:35 p.m., and the wind was pouring down from the top of Mount Tai.

That was no ordinary mountain breeze. It was the ancient breath that had witnessed the changing seasons for millions of years—

It has witnessed the imperial procession of emperors performing the Fengshan ceremony, heard the poems of scholars and poets, touched the foreheads of countless pilgrims, and blown away the sighs of countless departed souls.

At this moment, carrying the fragments of time accumulated on the cliff carvings of Jade Emperor Peak, it swept over every ridge of the Eighteen Bends stone steps, rounded by rain and the footprints of pilgrims, and finally plunged into the dark green ocean woven from pine needles covering the mountains and fields.

The sound of the pine trees surged.

Layer upon layer, pushing towards the sky, but the moment it touches the canvas of the geological exploration camp, it turns into a low sob—a long sigh from the depths of the heart of an ancient mountain soul turning over in its afternoon slumber.

That sigh contained memories of the vicissitudes of life, the desolation of time's passage, and a faint bewilderment towards the busy, ant-like group at the foot of the mountain.

At this moment, the roar of the drilling rigs at the Taishan Geological Exploration Camp had just stopped.

The metallic roar that had lasted for six hours came to an abrupt end, and the sudden silence created a kind of oppressive presence on the eardrums—

It was as if someone had suddenly taken away the sound of the world, leaving only a vacuum-like, unsettling emptiness.

The rock powder suspended in the air has not yet completely settled.

Billions of micro-dust particles, mechanically detached from the Earth Mother's skeleton, slowly rotated in the afternoon light slanting into the tent, condensing into a faint golden vortex.

The dust vortex resembled a miniature galaxy, slowly rotating within the pillar of light, with each speck of dust a star within it.

The air was dry and slightly pungent—it was the sigh of a soul that had been imprisoned deep within the granite for hundreds of millions of years, finally gaining a brief moment of freedom.

That sigh contained ancient memories, dormant dreams, and a hidden discontent that had been forcibly awakened.

Outside the camp, the dampness rising from the primeval forest, carrying the sweet, pungent smell of moss and humus, was trying to permeate every inch of the fabric.

Two distinct breaths—one from the depths of the earth, the other from the surface—confront and merge inside and outside the canvas, ultimately blending into the most secret breathing deep within the lungs of Mount Tai.

The camp was nestled on the mountainside of the giant.

Those dark green canvas tents, neatly stacked core boxes, and instruments gleaming with a cold metallic light are nothing more than a patch of moss clinging to this massive body—temporary yet stubborn, a patch of moss attempting to interpret the rock's memory in a human way.

Shi Linglong was squatting in a tent right in the center of this light and shadow, beside the rock core, examining the rock core sample with blood-like veins on its cross-section.

Beneath her rolled-up sleeves, her wrist unexpectedly drew the attention of everyone in the tent.

Everyone held their breath, their gazes drawn as if by a magnet. Some people stared with their mouths agape, while others dropped their rock core boxes without realizing it. Even their breathing became cautious, as if the slightest exertion would shatter this otherworldly scene before them.

The air solidified into amber, sealing away the astonishment and fascination of that moment.

Simply because it wasn't ordinary skin.

Rather, it is the core of calcite crystals formed over tens of thousands of years deep within the earth—the ultimate form that emerges after being washed away by high pressure and time.

As sunlight slanted through the gaps in the tent fabric, the subtle, jade-like sheen flowed between the protruding curve of the wrist bone and the soft valley of the skin.

That was the color of the purest mineral veins in the Kunlun Mountains shimmering under the moonlight, sculpted by millions of years of crustal movement and water erosion.

The pale blue veins lay hidden beneath, like a faint, elusive life force quietly moving beneath a frozen riverbed.

Beneath their cold exterior lies a surging, inexhaustible flame of life—a flame that is not intense, yet enduring; not ostentatious, yet profound.

However, when she was bathed in the halo of afternoon sunlight filtering through the tent windows and curtains—

That wrist movement was merely the prologue, the first syllable of the entire epic.

Shi Linglong's face is a stroke of genius that the Creator made by chance when he was exhausted after creating all things.

But because of this, it surpasses all deliberate attempts at perfection.

It is an existence that cannot be reproduced by any art form.

It was as if the essence of heaven and earth had finally found the only vessel, into which all the spirits of mountains and rivers were poured.