Genius Club

This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation

Da Vinci’s eyes widened as she stared at the polite, gentlemanly old man before her.

The last time they had held a Genius Club meeting in person was back in 2004. Twenty years ago. That was also the last time she had seen Galileo.

Back then, Galileo had worn a mask that hid his features, but he hadn’t seemed this old.

What could Galileo have been doing in these past twenty years to age so much?

But then again, she had no right to talk.

In 1982, when they first met at the Genius Club, she had been a young twenty-eight-year-old.

By 2004, when they last saw each other, she was approaching fifty.

Now, in 2024, another twenty years later, she was well into her seventies—only a little younger than Galileo.

Slowly, Da Vinci’s widened eyes softened, and her racing heart calmed. The fate of a Genius Club member was always like this. Seeing Galileo again, she knew she had already seen the end of this story.

“How did you find me?” Da Vinci asked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I always thought I hid myself well. I never imagined where you might’ve found a crack in my disguise.”

She paused, her smile deepening.

“The world is so vast, with so many people. Unlike Elon Musk, I don’t make myself conspicuous… How did you find me so precisely amidst the crowd?”

Galileo put his black hat back on his head. He leaned on his cane, standing tall, and shook his head.

“You left no trace,” he said in the same calm voice he always had at the Genius Club. “You were right, Da Vinci. In this vast world, finding one person is almost impossible.”

“But…”

He looked up, his deep-set eyes, aged with the passing years, locking onto hers.

“But what if you persist for forty years?”

He spoke slowly, almost softly. “If you spend forty years searching for one person, then… it doesn’t seem so impossible anymore.”

“Besides, over these forty years, we’ve met nearly every month, talked each time, learned more about each other…”

Da Vinci chuckled and shook her head. “Should I call you stubborn, or just plain crazy?”

Galileo laughed heartily, raising his cane slightly and pointing at the small house surrounding the courtyard. “Maybe we can take our time discussing that. So… can I trouble you for a cup of tea?”

…

Inside the small house, Da Vinci placed a kettle on the stove, waiting quietly for the water to boil. She turned her head to look at Galileo, who sat across the table, waiting.

“It’s still about the question you asked at the last meeting,” Galileo said, removing his black hat and placing it on the table. He folded his hands together and looked at her.

“I’ve always wondered what your plans were for the future, how you intended to lead humanity—how you planned to use your influence.” He paused, his gaze intense. “I thought about education, about culture, even about propaganda… I even considered brainwashing.”

“But I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t think of someone who could remain an everlasting role model, who could lead people towards kindness without losing their own way.”

“Until last month, when you asked about energy, and Einstein blurted out that the micro nuclear battery had been invented. Only then did I understand.”

He looked at the kettle warming on the stove and continued.

“So that’s it. You intend to use robots…”

Galileo closed his eyes. “I never expected that such a warm plan would rely on something as cold as robots.”

“Once I had that thought, the investigation became simple. It didn’t take long to find the link to Boston Dynamics.”

…

There was a pause, a silence hanging in the room.

There was no need for Da Vinci to admit anything—Galileo’s presence here was proof enough.

“Boston Dynamics is famous in robotics,” Galileo spoke softly. “It’s a company full of dreams—or you could say it’s only about dreams. From a long time ago, they started researching humanoid robots.”

“From the early failures of their mechanical dogs to the later agile, intelligent bipedal robots… This company is a lot like Musk: they fail often, but they keep coming back.”

“The difficulties they’ve faced in the pursuit of robotics are unimaginable. Yet, they never gave up and eventually became the world’s leading robotics company, with top-notch technology.”

“That alone is impressive, but even more remarkable is that they didn’t pursue commercialization. Their research never focused on making money.”

“It’s astounding, really—the cost of studying robots, and yet a group of people doing it entirely for their dreams and passions. So… who is this kind-hearted investor supporting Boston Dynamics?”

Galileo opened his eyes. The stove’s flames danced, casting a soft glow over the stainless steel kettle.

“You’ve hidden your involvement well,” he said, smiling at Da Vinci. “You never directly invested in Boston Dynamics. Your methods are far more sophisticated than anyone imagined. Over the past ten years, this company has teetered on the brink of bankruptcy several times.”

“Yet each time, a major investor swooped in and saved them. In 2013, Google bought them; in 2017, SoftBank from Japan; and in 2020, Hyundai from South Korea.”

“It seemed like everyone loved this money-burning company. But was that really the case?”

“If you hadn’t asked that question at the last meeting, I might not have thought so deeply. But the area that most needs an energy solution, that most requires a micro nuclear battery, is robotics.”

“After that… I don’t think I need to explain further. Your way of playing the investment game is masterful, and you’ve hidden your identity well. Still, every action leaves a trace. After last month’s meeting, I found out who you really are.”

…

“I see.” Da Vinci kept her eyes on the kettle as steam began to rise from its spout. “So… at this month’s meeting, that’s why you said all those strange things to me.”

At the meeting two days ago, Galileo had said he had figured out her plans almost completely.

He’d said her plans were destined to fail.

And then he’d asked her the strangest question:

“If one day you learned who I really am, would you kill me?”

At the time, Da Vinci had found the question absurd.

But now…

It seemed Galileo had already anticipated today.

Just as humanity and instinct stood on opposing sides, Da Vinci sat by the stove, and Galileo sat at the table. Though they were in the same room, there was an uncrossable chasm between them.

“Why did you only come to me today?” Da Vinci asked. “If you knew who I was and where I was last month, why did you wait until today?”

“No…” Galileo shook his head. “I never intended to find you.”

“I wasn’t ready to meet you. To be honest, with my solitary nature, I’d much rather wear a mask and talk to you at the Genius Club, to have our monthly chats.”

“One meeting a month was enough for me. I investigated your identity because I was curious, but once I found out, I still had no intention of seeking you out.”

Da Vinci looked up. “Then why did you come?”

Galileo looked back, meeting her gaze. “Because of Rhine.”

He spoke seriously. “After the meeting, Rhine asked you to stay behind. I imagine… he told you something about me, didn’t he?”

Da Vinci didn’t respond, just blinked at him.

Galileo gave a soft laugh. “It seems I guessed right.”

“Rhine must have used my future plans as leverage to trade information with you.”

“Tell me, Miss Da Vinci, what did Rhine tell you?”

Da Vinci was silent for a moment. “What we talked about is between Rhine and me.”

Galileo pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “I can guess, anyway.”

“At this month’s meeting, you asked about the next global catastrophe, and Einstein refused to answer. Rhine knows the answer. He told you, didn’t he?”

Da Vinci smiled faintly. “How are you so sure Rhine knows?”

“I know.”

Galileo looked at the kettle on the stove, now steaming hot. “Rhine knows about spacetime particles—he likely even has one. If that’s true, he should understand my questions and plans.”

“Though he was the last to join the Genius Club, it’s clear he knows a lot about us. At the very least, his asking you to stay behind means he had something you were interested in.”

“So, naturally, the information he traded with you must have been related to the global catastrophe.”

Hearing this, Da Vinci looked down and chuckled softly.

[Wrong guess.]

Galileo had completely misjudged things.

He thought Rhine had used information about the “global catastrophe” as a trade for Turing’s question.

In reality, Rhine had said nothing.

Even when Da Vinci had directly asked if the catastrophe had anything to do with Galileo, Rhine had just smiled and said he didn’t know.

So, even though Galileo hadn’t been in a hurry to see her last month, despite knowing her identity and address, he had come rushing here now, right after the meeting—all because he thought his future plans had been exposed.

From Galileo’s perspective, it made sense.

After all, who could have guessed that the information Rhine used as leverage to trade with her was actually her own plans?

A complete twist of fate.

It was Galileo’s arrogance, his extremism, that led to this situation.

But now that Galileo had openly admitted everything, it meant…

He truly didn’t care anymore.

Not that he didn’t care if his plans were exposed.

But he was confident that his plans were now out of her reach.

In that instant, Da Vinci understood everything.

Galileo hadn’t lied. He really had figured out her future plans, which made her reason for asking about the catastrophe obvious.

She had wanted to use the chaos to build the perfect role model: a robot that could change the course of civilization. But things hadn’t gone as she planned—not at all.

She never expected that her investigation would lead her to expose Galileo’s true motives.

Rhine had traded information with her, but Galileo had misunderstood everything. He got the details wrong, yet somehow, his conclusions were eerily accurate. Perhaps that’s why he had come looking for her.

It was all clear between them now.

Suddenly, a shrill whistle cut through the silence as the kettle boiled over. The piercing sound echoed in the room, breaking the tension. Da Vinci stood up, her calm face betraying nothing, as she took the kettle off the stove. The bright flames slowly dimmed, and the whistling gradually faded.

“What kind of tea would you like?” she asked, smiling as if she were greeting an old friend.

“Black tea, of course,” Galileo replied, his voice much softer now, as if the earlier tension had vanished. “I’ve told you before—back in 1982, in Brussels—that cup of black tea… I’ve never tasted another like it since.”

“Even Zhengshan Xiaozhong,” he continued, sighing, “I’ve tried it. I’ve tasted every black tea in the world—really, all of them. But none brought back the taste of that winter in Brussels.”

“Is that so?” Da Vinci chuckled as she walked to her tea cabinet, pulling out a small tin of tea leaves. “Then today is your lucky day.”

The old house may have been simple, but her tea-making skills were far from ordinary. Da Vinci carefully arranged her teaware: clean, white porcelain that glowed in the soft light. She moved with practiced grace, pouring the steaming water into the cup with slow, deliberate care.

As she brewed, her hand slipped under the counter, pinching a tiny amount of brown powder. Out of Galileo’s sight, she added it to the tea. She picked up a silver spoon and stirred gently, watching as the powder dissolved. Finally, she lifted the delicate saucer and carried the steaming cup over to the table, facing Galileo.

The rich aroma of Zhengshan Xiaozhong filled the small room, warming the space between them.

Da Vinci looked into Galileo’s eyes, her voice soft. “Do you believe in humanity?” she asked.

Galileo hesitated, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup.

“If I say no, do I still get to drink the tea?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Da Vinci smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course. This tea is for you. I hope it brings you back to 1982, to that first winter we met.”

She leaned forward, carefully setting the cup in front of him. Galileo’s trembling fingers closed around the saucer, pulling it closer. He turned it gently, breathing in the scent of the tea—the scent he’d been searching for all these years.

“It’s just like then,” he murmured, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, as if it made him young again.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the trembling reflection on the tea’s surface, remembering—

It was like he was back in that snowy winter of 1982, a young man, nervous and shy, accepting a cup of tea from a cheerful, lively woman with a voice full of laughter.

“You said… you wouldn’t kill me,” Galileo’s voice quivered, his eyes lifting to meet Da Vinci’s. There was a shine of tears there.

“Is this… humanity?”

Da Vinci was silent, the words hanging between them.

Suddenly—

Galileo’s right index finger hooked around the teacup’s handle, and he lifted it, both hands cradling the cup. He tilted his head back and drank.

“You…” Da Vinci’s eyes widened.

Galileo smiled, the heat scalding his mouth but satisfaction clear on his face. “I’ve been searching for this flavor my whole life… It’s exactly the same as it was.”

He extended the cup toward her.

“Would you make me another?”

“More?” Da Vinci’s voice caught, her gaze lingering on him.

“Yes. Just one more cup.”

Da Vinci looked down at the empty cup, her hands slowly taking it from his grasp, feeling the warmth still there.

“Galileo,” she said softly, her back turned as she faced the tea cabinet again.

“Hm?”

“Please… be kinder to the children.”

She took a step forward, reaching for the tin—

BANG!

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed in the room.

Da Vinci’s body jerked, then crumpled forward. The saucer and teacup fell from her hands, shattering as they hit the floor.

She lay sprawled across the broken porcelain, her blood pooling among the shards.

Across the table, Galileo stood, his gun still smoking, his expression cold, detached. He let out a long sigh, holstered his weapon, and picked up his black hat from the table, pressing it firmly onto his head as he walked out.

Outside, a large ambulance drove swiftly up the muddy road—no siren, no flashing lights. It was his own private vehicle, with his own people: guards, doctors, his team.

The ambulance had been waiting at the base of the mountain for some time, ready.

Behind the driver’s seat, the emergency room was equipped with the most advanced stomach-pumping and cleansing tools.

SCREECH!

The ambulance braked hard, and the doors flew open. Two doctors rushed out, supporting Galileo between them.

“Quickly! Hurry, sir!”

“The equipment is ready—we can start immediately!”

Galileo let them move him like a puppet, his mind blank as he was strapped to a gurney, tubes forced into his mouth and stomach, his body lying still while the doctors moved in a blur around him.

The doctors worked frantically, stomach and intestinal flushes done in tandem, trying to purge anything undigested from his system.

One doctor noticed Galileo’s tears sliding down his lined face, glistening in the cold light.

No… that couldn’t be right.

The pain—was it from the tubes? Or something else?

“Sir,” the doctor asked, his voice gentle, “does it hurt?”

“It hurts,” Galileo whispered.

“We’ll adjust, sir. Please bear with us.”

They worked in silence, their careful adjustments doing little to ease the old man’s tears.

“Does it still hurt?”

Galileo nodded.

“It hurts.”

…

When it was all over, Galileo stood on the grass, leaning heavily on his cane, his black hat low on his forehead, staring at the Wuyi Mountains far off in the distance.

He was waiting—waiting for the lab results. He had to know.

What kind of poison had Da Vinci used? Would she have gone easy on him? Maybe it was only enough to knock him out—to let her escape?

He had seen her slip something into the tea, of course. He didn’t even need to see it—he had expected it.

That’s why he had made sure the ambulance was there, stomach pump ready—he always prepared for the worst.

“You said you wouldn’t kill me,” he whispered again, the words lost in the mountain breeze.

If she hadn’t… maybe he would have softened too. Maybe he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.

Steps approached, and a technician stood behind him, bowing his head.

“Tell me,” Galileo rasped, “what poison did she use?”

The technician hesitated. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Galileo gave a weak smile. “Just say it. What was it? Cyanide? Arsenic? Something worse? Did she really mean to kill me?”

The technician took a deep breath. “It was… sugar.”

Galileo blinked, his smile freezing.

“No,” he whispered, his cane shaking in his hand. “That’s impossible. It wasn’t sugar. I tasted it—it

“It was bamboo sugar, sir. A traditional craft from the southern regions of X Country. It’s not like cane or beet sugar—it’s rare now, without much sweetness or commercial use. But it has a fragrance… a fragrance that’s hard to forget.”

“The taste you’ve been searching for—all these years—wasn’t in the tea leaves. It was the bamboo sugar. That’s what made that tea special back in 1982.”

Galileo’s cane slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.

He didn’t hear the rest of what the technician said. Slowly, he turned, walking toward the Wuyi Mountains, one step at a time.

Finally, he understood why Da Vinci had wanted him to see her add something to the tea. She had wanted him to notice—to think it was poison.

Thud.

Galileo fell to his knees, his hands digging into the earth. Among the weeds, he saw a few wild Zhengshan Xiaozhong tea plants growing, untended.

Sorrow overwhelmed him. He saw it all: the footprints in the snow, the streets of Brussels, the laughter of a young woman in winter…

“Do you… believe in humanity?” her voice echoed in his mind.

Galileo grabbed a handful of wild tea leaves, shoving them into his mouth. He chewed, and it was bitterness beyond bitter—so much so that tears began to flow freely down his cheeks.

He knelt there, on the soft earth, the mountain winds brushing against his face, as the ghost of a bright voice seemed to call out once more.

“Mr. Galileo,” she said. “Do you… believe in humanity?”