However, this grand path is being paved painfully slowly, each step a struggle.
"Still not working?" Adam stared at the scraps in the lab, his face completely devoid of emotion. He spoke softly to the research leader, who was drenched in cold sweat: "I was hoping you'd surprise me, at least a little."
"Sir, I'm really at my wit's end. Even if you killed me right now, I couldn't do anything more. For this project, as long as we have one stable, surviving match, we can study that case and eventually develop a Superhuman Serum suitable for all humans." The research leader shouted his grievances: "But getting even one match is a matter of luck—we need to run more experiments!"
"I don't need the serum to work for all humans. I just need it to work for me." Adam shot him a glance. "Will that speed things up? If there's still no good news, I'm afraid I'll have to say sorry."
"Uh... It could, but... that's not very realistic, sir." The research leader explained anxiously, "To develop a serum tailored for you personally, we'd need to experiment on people with genetic traits similar to yours—the closer, the better, and the more, the better. But..."
The research leader didn't finish, but everyone else already got the message—if you want speed, bring your immediate family as test subjects. And not just a few; you need a lot, a whole lot, as many as possible.
Is that something you can even say out loud?
But Adam understood, and then said something that made the research leader's eyelids twitch.
"No problem." Adam's face remained emotionless, like he was wearing a mask of indifference. "You'll have more than enough material. And when that time comes, I expect you to do your job perfectly, no shortcuts."
More than enough? How much is that? Even if the man in front of him brought every relative he had, it'd be a drop in the bucket for these experiments.
Could it be that he wants...
The research leader shuddered all over, lowering his head in terror: "Rest assured, sir, rest assured..."
Adam's ruthlessness was beyond imagination, and it had completely intimidated the research leader.
Waving the research leader away, Adam quietly asked his trusted aide, "Still haven't found her?"
The aide was sweating buckets too: "It's my fault!"
"It's not your fault. If she really wants to disappear, she's hard to find." Adam gently touched his chest. "Those losers are just barely useful. In the end, only she can do it. Try everything—find her."
"Boss," Parker, as the closest aide, spoke a bit more casually, "You have hyperspace powers too now. Can't you find her?"
"My powers still aren't as strong as hers. She still outranks me. But I'm not out of options." Adam narrowed his eyes, cold light flashing in them. "I just need time—a little more time..."
Susan Soo's departure left Adam Zade completely unchecked, and he started openly running a reign of terror. From September to December 1987, those few months became the most terrifying period in Tiberius Laboratory's memory.
During this time, Adam Zade dove as deep into hyperspace as possible. The search for Susan Soo never stopped, but it never succeeded either.
So where exactly is Susan Soo?
She's wandering the world.
After leaving Tiberius Laboratory, Susan Soo suddenly felt lost. Thinking back, ever since she regained her memories, she'd always been with Adam Zade. Wherever he went, she followed. Her world was confined to his side; she'd never traveled for herself, never for fun, never by her own will.
But right now, with the whole wide world before her—where should she go?
Should she go to the lunar surface and keep observing the universe?
Sure, that project was tempting, but... No, I don't want it. I won't give up everything for science. I don't want to be a soulless research machine.
I want to do what I truly want to do.
Ask yourself—what do I really want?
"I want..." The impulse came straight from her soul, and suddenly, a thought popped into Susan Soo's mind. It flashed by, but was so clear, so strong, it took over everything: "I want to go home."
I want to go home.
I want to know who I really am.
I want to see that hatchet that sometimes flashes through my mind.
I want to see the mountain village that shows up in my dreams, sometimes clear, sometimes hazy.
I think, before "Sophia," I must've had another name.
I want, I want... I want to figure out who's calling me from the other side of my memories.
Sometimes, I feel a warm power rising from deep inside. It's not from me, but it keeps filling the emptiness in my heart. I know that boldness, that fire, must come from someone I'm deeply connected to.
My family.
Back then, Adam Zade tried to help me find my family, but it led nowhere. Now, I'm going to search for them myself!
I know I can find them. Guided by that mysterious sense, I know I'll find them!
Alright, it's settled—I'm going to find my family!
The world is vast, the crowd endless—finding someone with so few clues is like searching for a needle in a haystack. Yet, driven by sheer stubbornness and the power welling up inside her, Susan Soo pressed on with her quest to find her family.
She refused to rely on the Zade family's resources, didn't even use the Beacon of the Unknown, and instead started searching on her own, bit by bit. Even for her, it was a massive undertaking. Day after day, time slipped by—two months passed in a flash.
November 1987. Jiping City People's Hospital, Obstetrics Department. Susan Morrow was hard at work.
"Mother in shock and coma, newborn asphyxiated, no heartbeat." Back then, Susan Morrow was still very young, but she already showed the calm command of a seasoned leader: "You save the mother, I'll save the baby!"
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Born three months early, with congenital disease, the newborn was as fragile as a porcelain doll—one wrong move and he'd break. Susan Morrow quickly cleared the baby's mouth and nose, then carefully and decisively performed chest compressions and artificial respiration.
"Call pediatrics, now!" The head nurse kept the younger nurses running in circles, then anxiously looked at Susan Morrow. One minute, two minutes—time ticked away, sweat beading on Susan's forehead. In this kind of rescue, too strong is bad, too weak is worse. The longer it went on, the paler she got.
But she never let up.
When Yang Qi was little, Susan Morrow often told him: The hospital is where life and death are most clearly shown. Medical staff stand right on the line between the two, defending the last frontier of life. Sometimes, if you loosen your grip, a life slips away. But if you hold on tighter, maybe you can snatch it back from the jaws of death.
This kind of pressure is enormous—and never-ending. You can always push harder, hold tighter. The more responsible the doctor, the closer to the edge they push themselves. But doctors are still human, and if you stay at the edge too long, you can't take it.
Some people get numb, indifferent, give up. But not Susan Morrow. She's different. The more pain she sees, the more strength she finds. The more she faces death, the more she cherishes life.
Especially in obstetrics.
A newborn is a tiny spark—a world of hope waiting for him. How could you let it go out here?
No grand speeches, no hot-blooded heroics—Susan Morrow's sweat dripped down, silently and stubbornly holding tight to that tiny flame of life. And just as she gave it her all, a figure slipped into the delivery room from the cracks of space and saw everything.
"Her..." Watching Susan Morrow's all-out effort, Susan Soo was stunned. Then, all at once, she reached out her hand toward the newborn slipping closer to death.
From a higher dimension, the 'witch' stretched out her finger, gently tapping the deepest spark of life.
Thump, thump-thump—light, quick, weak but fierce—the newborn's heart finally started beating. The baby woke from the coma and let out his first, loud cry.
"Waaah—! Waaah—! Waaah—!"
"Whew..." Susan Morrow straightened up, wiped sweat from her forehead, and smiled with relief.