Chapter 5
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Dr. Hammond, that professor with graying hair and sharp eyes, showed great interest in my brief dissertation on "The Potential Role of Non-coding RNA in Neurogenetic Disorders."
During the interview, the deliberately ambiguous image I presented—somewhere between genius and diligence—seemed to successfully pique his curiosity.
The group's activities indeed gave me access to the academy's cutting-edge biological developments. I absorbed knowledge with insatiable hunger, but my goal remained clear.
During a discussion on the ethics of gene editing technology, I deliberately steered the conversation toward the research dilemma of rare genetic diseases, mentioning how scientific resources tend to favor popular fields, causing many diseases like "Heartblight" to be neglected.
After listening, Dr. Hammond sighed thoughtfully and mentioned a name—Arnold Lee. He said that Lee had proposed a "bold hypothesis" about a certain rare neurogenetic disease a few years ago, and even had some "interesting preliminary data," but due to lack of funding and recognition from the mainstream academic community, the research could not continue, and he eventually left academia in obscurity.
"That's truly a shame," the doctor shook his head, "his ideas, though unconventional, were quite inspiring. What a pity."
Arnold Lee! The name struck like lightning, clearing the fog in my memory.
In my previous life, when my mother was seriously ill, I desperately searched for all relevant information and once saw scattered discussions about his work on an obscure academic forum, accompanied by accusations of "academic misconduct" and widespread mockery.
I paid little attention at the time, but thinking about it now, it was very likely a planned suppression.
This lead couldn't be lost. Using the laboratory access of my group and the deep databases of the college library, I spent several nights like an archaeologist searching through the vast sea of electronic archives for traces of Arnold Lee.
Finally, in an almost forgotten corner of a server dedicated to preprints of fringe research, I found an anonymous communication address belonging to a distant industrial city in the European Federation.
My fingers trembled slightly as I sent that encrypted email.
I disguised myself as an anonymous sponsor with a keen interest in his early research (I accurately described key arguments from his retracted paper), expressing willingness to financially support his continued research, with the sole condition of sharing results, especially any findings related to "Heartblight." I carefully mentioned "potential interest from large corporations" as bait, but didn't directly name "Omega Genesis."
The days waiting for a response were especially excruciating.
Each check of the encrypted mailbox came with both hope and disappointment.
Leila seemed to notice I was quieter than usual, asking with concern at the dinner table if I was under too much academic pressure, even suggesting taking us hiking in the nearby valley over the weekend to relax. I politely declined, citing the need to prepare for an important project report, and seeing a momentary doubt flash in her eyes, I knew I needed to be more careful.
Just when I was about to conclude that this lead had completely gone cold, a reply came. Similarly encrypted, the content was brief and filled with caution: "Who are you? Purpose?"
I restrained my excitement and replied more directly: "Someone who believes your research has been unjustly buried. I believe the 'Prometheus' Child' project of 'Omega Genesis' may be related to your field, but with questionable intentions. I need your expertise to clarify the truth. Funding is ready, let's meet to discuss."
This time, the silence lasted longer. When I was almost sinking into despair again, a new email arrived, containing only geographic coordinates and a time window, at an abandoned meteorological Observatory hundreds of kilometers away. No greeting, no signature, filled with a sense of desperate risk.
The opportunity had come, but the risks were enormous. I requested leave from Leila under the pretext of participating in a "two-day field ecological data collection practice" organized by an interest group.
I submitted carefully forged activity notices and a "confirmation email" from the mentor.
Leila carefully examined the documents and verified the authenticity of the activity through the academy's system (I had already "confirmed" my participation through a small loophole), and finally reluctantly agreed, but insisted on having the family's self-driving hover car take me to the meeting point, instructing the driver to remain on standby at all times.
Only after reaching the gathering point could I, during a period of free exploration in the practical activity, falsely claim that I needed to collect specific rock layer samples, rent a local person's old off-road vehicle, and drive alone toward that desolate land.
The Observatory had been abandoned for years, with rusty equipment making sounds like moans in the wind. Arnold Lee looked even more weathered than I had imagined, not yet fifty but already gray at the temples, his eyes reflecting a mixture of fatigue, vigilance, and a hint of unextinguished stubbornness.
Seeing how young I was, he was visibly taken aback, his face filled with disappointment and anger at being deceived. "Is this some kind of joke? A little girl? My time is precious!" He turned to leave.
"Dr. Lee!" I stopped him, my tone urgent but firm, "Does your discovery that 'TLR-7 Gene Marker expression levels positively correlate with the progression of neurodegenerative diseases' lose its value just because of my age?"
These words froze him in place like a binding spell. He whipped his head around, pupils contracting, staring at me in disbelief: "That… that's unpublished internal data from our team! You couldn't possibly know that!"
"I know far more than just that." I met his gaze, "I also know that 'Omega Genesis' may be using similar technological foundations for entirely different applications. I need your help to figure out exactly what they're doing, and whether it's related to a terminal illness called 'Heartblight.'" I took out a prepared high-value anonymous credit chip, "This is both a gesture of sincerity and research funding. If we collaborate, you can resume your research, and I can obtain the information I need and possibly a treatment plan."
Arnold Lee looked at the tiny chip, then at me, his facial muscles twitching, clearly engaged in an intense internal struggle. Ultimately, his desire for scientific truth and hope for potentially saving lives overpowered all his doubts and fears.
He took a deep breath of the cold mountain air, accepted the chip, and said in a hoarse voice: "I need to know more details. About 'Omega', about that project…"
"I will tell you everything I know," I felt a massive weight slightly lift from my heart. "But please keep this confidential, and prioritize finding any potential intervention possibilities for 'Heartblight'. Time… may be running out."
We stood beside the abandoned Observatory, forming this fragile and dangerous alliance.
On the way back, although my body was tired, my mind was in an excited state. I was finally no longer fighting alone. I had finally found a potential key figure for my mother's life and for uncovering the truth. However, I was also deeply aware that my contact with Arnold Lee was like walking on a tightrope - if Leila or the people behind her noticed, the consequences would be unimaginable.
The fog ahead seemed to have cleared somewhat, but the path beneath my feet had become even more treacherous.
