Chapter 161: Spacetime Coordinates' 1978 Warning

Zhao Jianguo just took a step, and the sign‑in card in his trouser pocket suddenly became scorching. Instinctively he pulled his hand back, and the moment his fingertip touched that plastic sheet, it felt like a shock, his entire arm went numb for half a second.

He stopped, without looking back.

The tofu cart at the alley mouth had already gone far, its hawking voice fading in the wind. No one behind chased after him—Sha Zhuzi's vigor was probably off to Go Home to report the good news to his family.

But this heat felt off.

He pulled the card out and saw its surface glistening with an oily sheen, as if water droplets were swimming inside. Before he could examine it closely, his chest suddenly sank, as if someone had jammed an ice‑cold iron block into his heart, sliding down his vessels.

The scenery before his eyes began to tremble.

It wasn't a sway, it was a misalignment. Tree shadows, wall plaster, electric poles—all tilted a inch, then snapped back. He braced against the brick wall by the road, his knees went weak, and his whole body slipped straight down.

When he opened his eyes again, a hall.

It wasn't a Siheyuan, nor an exam hall, but a huge room he had never seen. The ceiling was so high the lights were invisible, and below a black‑pressed crowd sat, some in blue, some in gray, and a few in white shirts with ties, standing out sharply in the throng.

A person stood on the stage.

Zhao Jianguo recognized him at a glance—it was himself. A bit older, hair meticulously combed, holding a microphone, speaking something. But his voice was muffled, the words indistinct, only a buzzing echo looping in his mind.

He tried to step forward, but his feet felt nailed to the ground. Something blocked his sight, as if behind frosted glass. He reached out, his fingertips met nothing.

At that moment, someone in the audience lifted their head.

Xu Da Mao.

His suit was crisp, a small silver badge pinned to his cuff bearing "Hu Ji 07". A smirk curled his mouth, eyes fixed on the "Zhao Jianguo" on stage, his expression not listening but seemingly awaiting a signal.

Zhao Jianguo felt a tightening in his chest.

Before he could react, a line of small text floated at the edge of his vision:

**Spacetime Virus Initial Node: 1978·Spring**

The writing flashed and vanished.

Immediately after, his occiput felt struck by a hammer, darkness flooded his eyes, and his body slammed back into reality.

He fell onto a stone stool in his own courtyard, his back soaked, cold wind pressing his clothes to his skin, trembling from the chill. His hand still shook, clutching the sign‑in card, its edges leaving indentations.

This wasn't a proactive system prompt.

Nor a sign‑in reward.

That feeling just now was like… being forced into a scene by something, without even a chance to refuse.

He quickly opened the system interface, scrolling the log. The latest entry popped up:

【Passive reception of high‑dimensional residual image info | Source Coordinates: 1978-04-12 10:23 North Latitude 31.23° East Longitude 121.47° | Overlap with Chen Jianguo's disappearance point 98.6%】

Zhao Jianguo stared at the string of numbers for three seconds, then sprang to his feet.

Spring 1978, Shanghai. Xu Da Mao, in a suit, sat in the audience—this was no coincidence. That man was not the later slacker Xu Da Mao; he was the one who had long been riding the windward edge, ready to take off, and was linked to his future self.

He was thinking, when his chest jolted again.

It wasn't an illusion this time, but a prompt tone.

【Jia Dongxu received a national patent for the "College Entrance Exam Ruler", triggering a tech contribution chain reaction, reward granted: "Spacetime Stabilizer Component" x1】

A beam of light shot out from the system, landing in his palm. It was a metal piece about the size of a fingernail, silver‑gray, its edge rimmed with a spiral pattern, a small hole in the center, as if it could be fitted into something.

Zhao Jianguo pinched it, and before he could study it, the system flashed again:

【Detected component activation | Bound scene: Steel Rolling Factory workshop | User: Jia Dongxu】

His mind went 'boom'.

Jia Dongxu has recently been tinkering with an automatic drawing device, claiming it could scale the calibration principle of the college‑entrance‑exam ruler onto teaching equipment. He must be testing it in the factory right now.

He bolted, his shoe soles slapping the ground with a crack.

The workshop door stood open, a fan whirring, a rush of engine oil scent hitting his nose. Jia Dongxu was squatting beside a machine, turning a screw, his face drenched in sweat, but his eyes shone brightly.

The drawing device was nearly complete; its base had a groove that matched the dimensions of the system‑provided component perfectly. Jia Dongxu was about to insert the piece, his hand almost finished the motion.

"Don't install!" Zhao Jianguo burst in, shouting.

Jia Dongxu jumped, his hand trembling, the screwdriver nearly stabbing into a gear gap. He looked up, bewildered: "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"First take that thing out." Zhao Jianguo panted, took a few strides forward, and pressed his hand onto the machine's base.

"Are you crazy?" Jia Dongxu stood, shielding the instrument, "This is half a month of my hard work! The national patent's been approved, and today's the final test; why are you stopping me?"

"That component can't be used." Zhao Jianguo stared at the silver piece, "It isn't an ordinary part; it's a 'Spacetime Stabilizer' module from the system. If you embed it now, you'll open a fissure in the whole apparatus."

Jia Dongxu froze: "Fissure? What fissure? This thing isn't a bomb."

Zhao Jianguo said nothing, pulled out the component, brushed his finger across its surface, activating the built‑in interface.

A projection appeared.

It wasn't text nor image, but a countdown:

**Explosion in 30 seconds**

Below was another line of small text:

【Non‑physical detonation | Spacetime disturbance causing energy collapse | Recommended to cut power immediately and dismantle core connection】

The workshop fell silent for a few seconds.

The fan kept whirring, making the blueprints rustle.

Jia Dongxu stared at the line, his voice dropping: "What you said… is true?"

"I don't have time to joke with you." Zhao Jianguo reached to dismantle the base, "I just saw the future. 1978, Xu Da Mao sat in the audience, in a suit, badge on, waiting for a moment. What we're doing now may be the starting point of that moment."

Jia Dongxu didn't move, nor block him.

Zhao Jianguo twisted the last securing screw with force, just as he was about to pull the component out, a burst of red light surged.

The countdown began ticking:

**25…24…23…**

The component grew scorching in his palm, heating up, as if about to ignite.

"Why can't this thing come apart?" Zhao Jianguo gritted his teeth, his nails almost digging into the metal.

"Wait!" Jia Dongxu lunged over, "Don't pull it out forcefully! It's a rotary‑latch type; you have to turn it counter‑clockwise three turns to unlock! I added an anti‑mistake trigger mechanism when I designed it!"

Zhao Jianguo immediately reversed direction, turning while counting.

One turn— the red light dimmed a bit.

Two turns— the countdown froze at **17**.

Three turns completed, a faint click sounded.

Projection disappeared.

The component reverted to its original shape, lying quietly in his palm.

The two collapsed onto the floor, backs against the workbench, their chests rising and falling together.

After a while, Jia Dongxu finally spoke, "So… what you just saw wasn't an illusion?"

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head, looking at the silver piece, shaking his head gently, "No. It's a warning. Someone wants to use our invention to tear a hole in time."

Jia Dongxu was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled, "Do you still remember when we were kids? You were drawing circuit diagrams in the Courtyard, and I told you you were just dreaming about useless things. Now, you're drawing time, and I'm building a machine that can blast through it."

Zhao Jianguo twitched the corner of his mouth, "Then you should make fewer of them in the future."

Before his words finished, the component suddenly flashed red again.

It's not a Projection.

It's a vibration.

Zhao Jianguo lifted his hand, noticing a thread of ultra‑fine light leaking from the tiny hole, like a spider silk, drifting toward the corner of the workshop.

There stood an old radio.

The light thread wound around the antenna, looping gently.

The radio popped, turning on by itself.

Electrical static lasted two seconds, then a male voice transmitted, its tone flat as if not human:

"Coordinates have been marked. Reverse input, preparing to activate."