Chapter 179: The Shuang Baotai' Golden Light

Zhao Jianguo jerked his head back; the twins in the room lay quietly on the kang. In the instant his gaze fell, the inner sides of the two children's wrists suddenly lit up. The light was golden, not blinding, but like flames seeping up from under the skin, creeping bit by bit up their arms.

He rushed into the room; as his foot stepped over the threshold, a force pushed against him, like hitting an invisible wall. He lost his balance, stepped back half a step, and braced his hand on the doorframe to avoid falling.

The room temperature hadn't changed, but the air had become thick. He felt resistance when breathing, like walking underwater. The twins were still on the bed, but their bodies slowly rose, hovering half a chi above the kang, lying flat, eyes closed, smiles on their faces.

The system terminal pressed against his chest grew hot again. The screen automatically popped up a line: "Detected a second-generation transmigrator."

Then another line appeared: "Energy level exceeds the current civilization's carrying capacity."

The third line followed immediately: "Recommend immediately cutting the connection."

Zhao Jianguo didn't move. He knew that fiddling around now could cause trouble. He stared at the two children, his throat dry, unable to speak. They were his sons, raised from infancy; they could roll over, call dad, snatch biscuits—just like ordinary kids. But now, what was happening to them was anything but ordinary.

The golden light grew stronger, bathing the whole room as if it were daytime. The window paper turned translucent, and the shadows in the courtyard outside became clearly visible. Dong Xu stood in the courtyard, holding a detector, looking up at the house; his face was tinged yellow by the gold light.

Zhao Jianguo glanced out the window, waved at Dong Xu to signal him not to approach, then softly called: "Xiao Yu, Xiao Fan."

As his words fell, the light in the room flickered once, as if responding. The twins' faces twitched slightly, the corners of their mouths turning up a bit. Their floating bodies also swayed gently, as if lying in an invisible cradle.

He felt relieved inside. As long as there was a response, it wasn't completely out of control.

He quickly pulled up the system interface, swiped his fingers in the air, and found the "Civilization Inheritance Degree" field. The numbers were climbing—0.1%, 0.2%, 0.3%, rising every second. Normally this value increased extremely slowly, accumulating bit by bit through lecturing, fixing appliances, teaching literacy; it had never risen this fast.

Now it was soaring rapidly and steadily.

He understood. This wasn't destruction; it was supplementation. Whatever was on the twins was feeding energy into the whole system, also bearing the consumption from the time freeze.

He retreated to the window, squatting with his back against the wall. The golden light spilled outward; he used his body to block part of it, fearing that shining it on outsiders might cause an accident. While shielding, he kept softly calling the children's names, one after another, without pause.

"Xiao Yu, can you hear me? Dad is here."

"Xiao Fan, don't be afraid; we're at home."

With each sentence, the golden light softened a bit. The previously scattered rays began to converge toward the center, finally forming an oval sheath that enveloped the twins like an eggshell. Dust from the ceiling was sucked in a little; upon touching the light, it turned to gray smoke and vanished.

In the courtyard, Dong Xu stepped back slowly while holding the detector. He dared not get too close, but the instrument's data kept him from leaving. The needle had swung to the maximum and was still trembling. The screen rolled through incomprehensible symbols, finally settling on a word: **Synchronous Resonance**.

He looked up at Zhao Jianguo, opened his mouth to ask something, but his voice caught in his throat. Suddenly he smelled a faint odor, barely perceptible in the air—iron rust mixed with machine oil, plus a hint like the acidic smell from an old battery leak.

He knew that smell.

The metal sheet his father had left behind, always locked in the laboratory drawer, gave off the same smell whenever opened. He had once taken it to the factory for testing; they said its composition couldn't be identified, unlike modern alloys.

And now, that smell was drifting out of the room, its source the light on the twins' wrists.

He lowered his gaze to the detector, then lifted his eyes to the window. Zhao Jianguo's back was turned to him, his silhouette illuminated by the golden light, like a cutout.

Inside, Zhao Jianguo felt that time was almost up. The system had just flashed a countdown: 3……2……

The final second didn't finish displaying, but he knew it was coming.

He reached out and gently lifted the twins down. The moment they touched the ground, their bodies sank, as if regaining weight. The golden light didn't vanish instantly; it receded beneath the skin, leaving only a faint glowing band around each wrist, like two golden bracelets.

He had just put the children back on the kang when outside came a "pap" sound—a raindrop hitting the ground.

The wind picked up, rattling the window paper. Water pooled in the courtyard corner splashed, and a sparrow flew off the eaves. Time had resumed.

Voices came from the hutong entrance. The men handing out flyers resumed their motions, lifting their hands and continuing to scatter the sheets. But at the instant a flyer touched the ground, every old man who had received one froze, eyes glazed; after a few seconds they all shook their heads, crumpled the papers, and tossed them into the roadside ditch.

No one remembered what was written on them.

Zhao Jianguo stood in the doorway, watching this scene. He knew it wasn't forgetfulness; it was erasure. At the moment time restarted, the golden light swept across the area, wiping clean the information implanted by the virus carriers.

He exhaled in relief, turned back to the bedside. The twins were now sound asleep, breathing evenly, their complexions flushed. He reached out and felt their foreheads; the temperature was normal.

At that moment, Dong Xu rushed in, still clutching the detector. He panted heavily, shouting as he entered: "Did you smell it?"

Zhao Jianguo frowned: "Smell what?"

"That smell!" Dong Xu's voice tightened. "Iron plus machine oil, with a hint of acid. Exactly like my father's metal sheet! Not similar—identical!"

Zhao Jianguo startled. He hadn't smelled it, but he trusted Dong Xu. This man was especially sensitive to odors; as a child he could gauge the stove's fire by sniffing the coal burner.

He lowered his gaze to the twins' wrists. The golden light had mostly faded, leaving only a vague trace. But as he stared, that trace flickered faintly.

Dong Xu saw it too. He crouched, bringing the detector near the child's wrist. The waveform on the screen jumped sharply, then quickly settled. The instrument emitted a short "beep," as if recognizing something.

"It recognized it," Dong Xu whispered. "This thing… knows them."

Zhao Jianguo said nothing. He pulled the blanket up to cover the twins' shoulders, then stood and walked to the doorway.

Rain still fell in the courtyard, the ground covered with small puddles. He stood under the eaves, gazing down the distant hutong. The men in suits had vanished; the flyers had soaked through and stuck to the mud.

Everything appeared to have returned to normal.

But he knew it wasn't the same. The light in that stillness wasn't accidental. The twins weren't ordinary children; their origins might be deeper than he imagined.

He touched the system terminal on his chest; it was still warm. No new prompts popped up, no warnings. It felt as if nothing had just happened.

But Dong Xu remained crouched at the bedside, detector raised, eyes locked on the line that had just appeared on the screen:

"Signal source matched successfully. Serial: JW-07. Affiliation: unknown."

Zhao Jianguo turned around, about to speak, when Dong Xu suddenly lifted his head, voice low: "Could it be that they… were arranged all along?"