Chapter 326

After Charles put down the phone, he closed his eyes, focused his attention, and in an instant, his brainwaves spread out—lighter than wind, faster than light.

In Charles's vision, within a vast white space, countless voices echoed, gradually taking shape as one figure after another, more and more figures materializing on the ground as Charles gazed down from midair.

Then, this mental space began to expand, more people appearing in the white world; Charles deliberately guided the expansion toward one direction, expecting to find, among the countless figures on the ground, a man named Shiler Rodriguez, just as he had done when reading others' memories before.

But when Charles's brainwaves reached the Manhattan region, in the boundless, silent expanse of the mental world, a colossal tower rose into his view.

Charles had never seen such a magnificent structure in this world before.

After activating his ability, beneath the physical and real world lay another layer—a private inner world of thought and consciousness, the very white space he now saw.

In this space, every sentient being's thoughts were like grains of sand, and Charles was like a child running along the shore, sifting through sand to find shells.

Whenever he used his telepathy to read someone's mind, that person became a shell on the beach; he had to scan with his consciousness to locate their thoughts, then connect with them to achieve true "mind reading."

But now, Charles stared at the magnificent Babel Tower before him, feeling it was like a whale stranded on the shore—not just incomparably larger than ordinary grains and shells, but far more alive, radiating a mesmerizing vitality.

Charles manifested his own form within the mental space and walked toward the tower; when he reached its entrance, he realized it was even more real and awe-inspiring than it had appeared from afar.

It was a gray tower with brickwork in Roman architectural style, adorned with Eastern patterns; the arched gate resembled the gaping maw of a chasm, every groove on its surface clearly visible.

Charles approached and knocked; with a creak, the heavy door opened a crack. As expected, a doctor in a white coat, holding a medical chart, stood inside, smiling and saying: "Hello, Professor Charles, I'm Shiler, Shiler Rodriguez."

"Hello, Professor Rodriguez."

Charles looked up at the doorframe, carved with intricate patterns, many of which he didn't recognize; he sighed: "I never imagined we'd meet this way—it's truly astonishing…"

"Please come in, Professor Charles. Let's talk inside." Shiler pushed the door wider; Charles stepped in, finding himself in a dim corridor, wall sconces casting flickering light that mingled with shadows, creating an air of mystery and haze.

After walking about ten meters, the space opened abruptly into a circular fountain plaza, but what drew Charles's gaze more than the fountain was the Cengcengdiedie floors above him.

Everywhere Charles looked, he saw concentric corridors and countless staircases spiraling upward, where countless figures moved back and forth; the tower's interior resembled a bustling world, leaving Charles overwhelmed.

Shiler led the way, and they ascended a staircase along the wall; as they climbed, Shiler explained: "As you see, this is my Mind Palace. I knew you'd come to speak with me, so I prepared this space to welcome you."

"I hope you don't misunderstand, Professor Shiler—I didn't intend to intrude into your mind. My legs are too weak to reach you in person, and I can't let S. . . . . . enter our school, so this is the only way I could communicate with you…"

"It's fine. I don't mind. Uninvited intruders often barge in here—I spend considerable effort dealing with them. I'm already grateful you came through the front door."

For some reason, Charles felt those intruders Shiler mentioned didn't end well; he also sensed a subtle warning in Shiler's words.

As they continued upward, Charles saw many Shilers moving through the corridor; one Shiler, wearing a long trench coat and holding a black umbrella, brushed past him, speaking on the phone.

"... he green-haired lunatic got through? Which floor is he on now? He climbed six floors straight?... lright, I'll talk to the elevator manager later…"

"What? The elevator's under maintenance again? Every time I go on leave, the elevator breaks down—it makes no sense…"

Charles turned to look at the oddly different Shiler, but was immediately bumped from the side; he saw a Shiler with a globe for a head nodding at him: "Sorry."

Then that globe-headed Shiler passed by; next came a suit-wearing Shiler, briefcase in hand, sprinting past; then a sportswear-clad Shiler jogging by…

The Age of Genetics

Just past a corner, a Shiler with a cubic body chased his own cylindrical head, grabbed it with a C-shaped hand, and snapped it onto his shoulder like assembling Lego, then twisted his head, producing a grinding sound of mechanical parts.

Charles's head kept turning as he watched the passing Shilers; the one leading him explained: "Sorry, it's crowded here—the elevator's under maintenance, so everyone has to use the stairs…"

Charles opened his mouth to ask something, but at that moment, Shiler stopped before a door and said: "We're here."

He pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside—a reception room with a faint sci-fi aesthetic: white floors, walls, and ceiling; dim cold-glowing wall lamps; metal tables and chairs; on the largest wall, a projector continuously displayed moving images.

Shiler stepped in, turned, and handed Charles the key: "Professor Charles, over the coming period, we'll likely need frequent communication. So I've built you a reception room in my Mind Palace. Here's the key."

"Just touch the key in the mental space, and you'll teleport directly here—no need to enter through the front door."

Then Shiler pointed to a button on the wall: "This is the call button. Press it, and I'll come to meet you."

"I set it up because I'm usually busy and might not sense your arrival. Whenever you ring, I'll appear."

At this point, Charles relaxed. He entered the room and sat on the sofa.

But clearly, he found the sci-fi-style hard sofa uncomfortable; he glanced around, and Shiler, noticing his expression, snapped his fingers—instantly, all furnishings vanished, replaced by a new style.

White walls became warm-toned paneling and wallpaper; a soft, plush sofa descended; a cozy carpet spread across the floor; the projector on the wall transformed into a fireplace, beside which stood a wine rack.

This British manor-style decor made Charles feel more at ease; he said: "Sorry, I'm a bit old-fashioned—those modern styles are just a bit…"

"I feel the same way. I just didn't know your preference. I assumed mutants might prefer the tech aesthetic."

"Perhaps the children at my school would— they'd scream with excitement if they saw this room. But I still find simplicity more comforting."

Shiler took a bottle from the wine rack, sat beside Charles on the sofa, set out two glasses, and poured wine for both; Charles lifted his glass, staring at the clear liquid, and asked: "You're also a telepath, aren't you? Are you a mutant?"

"I'm just an ordinary person, Professor Charles."

Charles shook his head, clearly signaling he didn't believe a word of it; Shiler replied: "Professor, I assume you've studied psychology deeply. Have you ever heard of the 'Mind Palace' theory?"

"Mind Palace? You mean the memory palace technique? I've heard of it, but it's outside my research area. Are you suggesting this is the result of that technique?"

Charles looked up, surveying the room—everything here felt unrealistically real.

"Indeed. But I won't deceive you—I admit a mere theory alone couldn't create such a vivid mental world. I do possess certain unique mental abilities, but compared to yours, they're negligible."

Charles fell silent, not pressing further, instead sinking into thought.

"Do you know, Professor Shiler? You've truly astonished me." Charles looked at Shiler: "I'm not just amazed that you've built such a grand mental world—I've seen a new possibility…"

"That's precisely why I invited you here." Shiler, as if anticipating Charles's words, took a sip of wine, set down his glass, and said: "I've heard you're the world's most powerful telepath, possessing unparalleled strength."

"I've also heard of your noble character—you refuse to use this immense power to rule the world, and you'd never let anyone wield it for evil. I cannot find words adequate to express my admiration for such virtue."

"Yet as a psychologist who has studied this field, I've always believed such power isn't meant for destruction—its greatest potential lies in creation, isn't it?"

Charles traced his finger across the transparent coffee table; the cold glass surface sharpened his clarity. He nodded: "I agree. I once considered building my own mental world, imagining I could realize things I couldn't in reality…"

"But I couldn't be sure—is it good to become too absorbed in one's dreams? After all, no matter how real a dream feels, it's still a dream. Even if it brings joy, returning to reality leaves the same problems unchanged."

"You feel guilty, don't you, for enjoying your dream alone?" Shiler asked Charles.

"Yes. I know I could construct a virtual world in my mind, fulfilling every unattainable wish of mine—just like now: in reality, I can't walk properly, but here, I can…"

"But if I drown in the beauty of dreams, who will save those even more unfortunate in reality?"

"Professor Charles, I deeply admire your sense of responsibility—but dreams can do far more than you think…"

"Have you ever considered turning dreams into reality?"

Charles frowned; Shiler continued: "Or—if a dream becomes as real as reality itself—is it still a dream?"