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Liu Feng had hired a funeral service company to handle the burial. Using modern equipment, they dug the pit, transported, and buried the coffin efficiently. In this fast-paced, industrial world, even the solemnity of death had become transient, like dust in the wind.

After the funeral company left, Liu Feng and Lin Xian stood by the grave with shovels nearby for later use.

“This is the spot Qi Qi chose last year,” Liu Feng said, his eyes red and swollen from crying. Li Qi Qi had been his only family. Somehow, the human mind finds a way to shield itself, allowing for a strange calm in the midst of overwhelming grief. Liu Feng’s voice was steady, emotionless, as if he was either instructing Lin Xian or just talking to himself.

“In our country, it’s traditional to return to one’s roots after death. But Qi Qi, who grew up in an orphanage, had no roots. My family has an ancestral grave, but since Qi Qi and I weren’t married, she couldn’t be buried there.”

“Qi Qi had been weak since she was a child. No one wanted to adopt a sick child, so she stayed at the orphanage until she went to university. She never really had a place she could call home,” Liu Feng explained.

“I thought you two were married,” Lin Xian quietly said from behind.

Liu Feng shook his head. “I proposed several times, and we almost got married after graduation. But once Qi Qi was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, she turned down every proposal.”

“She knew her time was limited and didn’t want to be a burden,” Lin Xian suggested, stepping closer to look at Li Qi Qi’s serene expression in the coffin.

“That’s exactly what she said,” Liu Feng admitted, looking down, his messy hair hiding his eyes. “But I always hoped she’d have a real home. Now, even in death, she has nowhere to belong.”

“Qi Qi was afraid of cremation. She wanted a quiet burial here, without any ceremony, and hoped I would visit when I could. She picked this spot after the doctor told her she didn’t have much time left,” Liu Feng’s voice broke.

Lin Xian listened quietly, allowing Liu Feng to express his grief. He knew that grief could make people either withdraw or talk nonstop, as Liu Feng was doing now.

“My condolences,” Lin Xian offered, placing a hand on Liu Feng’s shoulder. “You must live well, carrying Qi Qi’s regrets and hopes. That’s why I came here today.”

Liu Feng seemed so distraught, one might worry he’d follow Qi Qi to the grave. But he had to keep going. Lin Xian had spent 30 million yuan on a meteor shower to show Liu Feng how deeply Qi Qi had loved him, hoping it would inspire him to continue living. He hadn’t expected Qi Qi to pass away so suddenly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything rash,” Liu Feng assured him, looking up. “I have to live well, for Qi Qi’s sake.”

Then, Liu Feng pulled a book from his bag and handed it to Lin Xian. The title, “Introduction to the Universal Constant” by Liu Feng, surprised Lin Xian. The cover was elegantly designed.

“Wasn’t this book unpublished?”

“Qi Qi had it specially made. It’s not officially published, just a personal project, like printing a photo album. This is the only copy,” Liu Feng explained.

Lin Xian held the book, feeling its emotional weight. He opened it and saw Liu Feng’s author introduction, which he remembered from his dreams.

He turned to the last page, where a small, white card with delicate, slightly smeared handwriting rested—likely blurred by tears. Lin Xian knew it was Qi Qi’s final message to Liu Feng, one he had seen 600 years in the future. Originally, the card expressed regret over missing the meteor shower, but that message should have changed now that Qi Qi had witnessed it.

With Liu Feng’s nod, Lin Xian read the card. The writing was tender and shaky. At that moment, the past and present seemed to merge, showcasing the enduring power of love across centuries:

“Dear Feng Feng,

Hee hee, I’m so happy! I got to see such a beautiful meteor shower. I know it’s fake, but it feels more real than anything else to me. Feng Feng, I’m sorry I can’t stay with you, but I eagerly await the day when the Universal Constant is globally recognized. It will happen. Thank you to the one who arranged this meteor shower. Follow him, Feng Feng. Perhaps he’s your star, meant to guide you to brighter skies. I’ll be watching over you from above. Our distance is not so far anymore.

—Forever loving you, Qi Qi”

Lin Xian carefully placed the card back inside the book. He had once doubted the notion of this book being a testament to a love that would span 600 years, but now, he fully understood its significance.

After handing the one-of-a-kind book back to Liu Feng, who gently set it beside Qi Qi in the coffin, Lin Xian asked, “Aren’t you keeping it as a keepsake?”

Liu Feng shook his head resolutely. “It belongs with Qi Qi.”

With a decisive thud, the lid of the coffin was closed. Liu Feng began to shovel dirt back onto the coffin lid, symbolically marking the divide between life and death. This action also seemed to close a historical loop. The very presence of this unique book would later help Lin Xian make sense of its origins 600 years in the future. Archaeologists would eventually uncover Qi Qi’s burial site, preserving both the coffin and the book inside. Although filled with inaccuracies, the book would eventually be discarded, falling into the hands of Big Cat Face’s father, which led to the pivotal calculation of the Universal Constant—42.

As they filled the grave, Lin Xian felt the profound impact of this moment on history. Within a few days, and after a heavy rain, there would be no trace of the burial site left.

In the quiet that followed, Liu Feng wept, confronting the reality of Qi Qi’s permanent absence.

Lighting a cigarette, Liu Feng inhaled deeply, watching the smoke fade into the air. “Want one?” he offered to Lin Xian.

“No, you go ahead,” Lin Xian declined, settling next to Liu Feng on a nearby rock, both watching the sunset paint the sky with fiery hues.

“Thanks for being here today,” Liu Feng said, his eyes not leaving the sunset. “I haven’t smoked in a while. It tastes as bitter as I remember.”

“It gets easier,” Lin Xian smiled lightly. “Some people I know treat smoking like it’s nothing.”

Liu Feng chuckled and after a few more puffs, stamped out the cigarette. “You’re really here for the Universal Constant, aren’t you?” he inquired.

“Yes,” Lin Xian confirmed.

“Why is it so important? Can you explain it to me?” Liu Feng asked, the fading light illuminating his face.

“Everyone, from teachers to Einstein, has deemed it incorrect. I’ve run countless tests myself—all inconsistent, all failures. It seems like a scholarly mistake, yet you’re so invested in it. Why?” Liu Feng pressed.

Lin Xian looked towards the horizon where the sun was nearly set and said, “Like you mentioned, I don’t fully grasp the math or the Universal Constant itself. Academically, once something is disproved, it’s usually accepted as wrong. However, I believe not everything in the universe operates on absolutes. Some phenomena, even after failing thousands, millions, or billions of times, might only need to succeed once to be considered valid.”

“Like what?” Liu Feng questioned.

“Many things,” Lin Xian replied, listing on his fingers. “The origin of life on Earth, the formation of the first amino acid—all these were the result of endless reactions over billions of years, successful just once, yet they sparked life. Even if it was a chemical anomaly, it still led to life.”

“Right and wrong are relative,” Lin Xian continued. “In any case, life emerged on Earth, both miraculously and incidentally. It just needed to happen once.”

“It only needs one instance,” Lin Xian added, his expression earnest as he faced Liu Feng. “I believe the Universal Constant is similar. Even if everyone says it’s incorrect, even if it remains so for decades, centuries, or fundamentally so, it doesn’t matter. It just needs to be right at a crucial moment.”

Liu Feng looked at Lin Xian, perhaps swayed by his unconventional reasoning, or maybe just puzzled. “If the Universal Constant is right just once, what’s the use?”

“That’s hard to pinpoint,” Lin Xian mused, reflecting on the beginnings of life, the survival of species post-extinction events, the evolution of early hominids, the rise of technology, and a future 600 years away when a white light reshapes the world.

“Perhaps your Universal Constant needs to be accurate just once—to save the world,” Lin Xian murmured, closing his eyes as he spoke.