A closed loop of the spacetime butterfly effect.
Impossible to predict, yet every link was interlocked.
In fact, to be precise, Chi Xiaoguo was not the only one whose life trajectory had changed.
On this brand-new world line, Jiang Ran, Qin Feng, and Cheng Mengxue had not come to study at Donghai University.
Therefore…
A total of three people would have their fates changed by the spacetime butterfly effect, “replacing” the three of them and being admitted to Donghai University.
How wondrous.
Jiang Ran sighed inwardly.
The tornado of the butterfly effect would change many things, but history patched and mended itself; no position would be left vacant.
“I was just guessing blindly. Pure coincidence.”
Jiang Ran looked at Chi Xiaoguo and gave a light chuckle.
“I have a friend who also really wanted to get into Donghai University’s Academy of Fine Arts, and she applied for the same major as you.”
“But clearly… you pushed her out. You were the lucky one admitted at the very end.”
Chi Xiaoguo scratched her head in embarrassment.
“Aiya, then I’m really sorry. Th-then is she doing all right now? Did she get admitted by her second choice in the end?”
“She’s doing fine.”
Jiang Ran brushed it off casually.
“Everyone has their own fate.”
…
After that, Yan Rui took them to the club management department to complete the procedures.
Everything went smoothly.
The club’s lease on life was renewed, the handover of the presidency was completed, and Chi Xiaoguo, as the new president, took on the heavy responsibility of the Film Club.
“This way, I can leave the school with no worries.”
Triggering the same plot dialogue once again, Yan Rui was like an NPC, repeating to Jiang Ran the words he had said on the original world line:
“I’ll leave the Film Club’s future to you!”
“Of course, if you run into any problems later, contact me anytime. I’ll definitely do everything I can to help.”
Jiang Ran waved, seeing Yan Rui off together with Chi Xiaoguo, watching his back leave this cramped activity room for the last time.
“Next, it’s up to us.”
He lowered his head and looked at Chi Xiaoguo.
“Let’s go. We’ll write the application and the guarantee letter, and get the confiscated positron cannon back.”
After that came another round of running back and forth.
But for Jiang Ran, he was already familiar with the route and simply followed the steps one by one.
Chi Xiaoguo was completely like a bewildered little spinning top, following tightly behind Jiang Ran. Wherever Jiang Ran went, she went; when he told her to sign, she signed; when he told her to swear an oath, she swore it.
Finally…
All the procedures were completed. Only the last step remained.
Holding the pickup application form, Jiang Ran led Chi Xiaoguo toward the school warehouse.
With this stamped application form, they could retrieve the positron cannon from the warehouse.
Excellent.
At long last, everything had gone smoothly.
Although there would still be a lot of work to do after retrieving the positron cannon, as long as they obtained it, that meant the plan to “save Cheng Mengxue” was at least ninety percent complete.
“Senior!”
Chi Xiaoguo hurried after him.
“You’re walking too fast!”
One of Jiang Ran’s steps was worth two of hers; her short little legs really could not quite keep up.
“Sorry.”
Jiang Ran had been preoccupied with his thoughts just now and had overlooked that, so he quickly slowed down.
Even though he had explained several times that he was not her senior and was in the same year as Chi Xiaoguo, she seemed to like addressing him that way.
He was too lazy to fuss over it, so he could only let it be.
“Senior.”
Chi Xiaoguo walked closer.
“I can tell you must really like film photography. What camera do you usually use?”
That question stumped Jiang Ran.
He had never used a film camera even once, and had never even touched a roll of film.
“Why do you say that?” Jiang Ran asked in return.
“Because you must love film photography very much. That’s why you care so much about whether the Film Club lives or dies, and why you’ve been busy running around for it.”
Chi Xiaoguo’s eyes were full of anticipation.
“You’re not a student of Donghai University, yet you’ve done so much for the Film Club. The only possible reason is the purest kind of passion.”
“Thank you so much, Senior Jiang Ran. If you hadn’t guided me and led me through everything, I never would have been able to complete all these procedures.”
“You’re definitely more suited to be the president of the Film Club than I am. That’s what I think in my heart, too… I hope you can come here often in the future. I’ll follow your instructions!”
…
Chi Xiaoguo’s sweet, cutesy voice chattered on and on, yet it actually put one in a rather good mood.
“What about you?”
Jiang Ran smiled faintly.
“Why do you like such an antique? To you, does a film camera have some special charm?”
“Of course it does!”
When talking about something she liked, Chi Xiaoguo half-ran, half-hopped in front of Jiang Ran, clasped her hands behind her back, and walked backward.
“Film cameras and digital cameras are completely different. To put it plainly, digital cameras use a photosensitive component to analyze pixel colors, then convert them into data and store them.”
“In my view, that kind of color simulation is entirely fake. It isn’t the true color of the thing itself… Even if a digital camera’s pixel count is higher and its colors are more accurate, it’s still the same.”
“【What’s real is real, and what’s fake is fake.】”
“But film cameras are different. The instant the shutter opens, real light shines onto the photosensitive film, and the color developer on the film also presents the truest image in that very instant.”
“That kind of reality doesn’t contain the slightest falsehood. This is the greatest difference between the imaging principles of film cameras and digital cameras. At the same time, it’s also what I think is the most romantic part of film photography—”
She lifted her head, looked at the radiant sky, narrowed her eyes, and giggled.
“【What a film camera records is the truest history of this world.】”
“Every ray of light, every grain of color, even every speck of noise… all of it is the world’s most original appearance at the instant the shutter is pressed.”
…
Following Chi Xiaoguo’s gaze, Jiang Ran also raised his head.
The sunlight was just right, illuminating all things.
Against the backdrop of the azure sky, an airplane in the distance left behind a trail of vapor that cut across the white clouds. A brown bird leapt up from the treetop, stirring tender green shoots into swaying, and drawing a rainbow across the hazy tips of the leaves.
Yes.
All of this was the world’s truest color.
Jiang Ran also had some understanding of the basic principles behind digital cameras and film cameras.
At present, the color depth of digital cameras was generally 8-bit or 12-bit, while high-end products could reach 14-bit.
But this also meant that the number of colors a digital camera could present was limited, and it could not fully display all the colors the human eye could see.
Film cameras were different.
They had no photosensitive components or electronic structures. They relied directly on the shutter to capture the truest light of nature, and the silver halides on the film absorbed light at the molecular scale, presenting the corresponding colors.
So, Chi Xiaoguo was right.
In a certain sense, the colors film could record were infinite, and the most real.
It was rather magical.
Originally, Jiang Ran had not thought there was anything especially remarkable about this.
But after Chi Xiaoguo put it that way, it really did feel somewhat romantic.
This was probably… the art of language.
“We’re at the warehouse.”
Jiang Ran handed the pickup form to Chi Xiaoguo.
“You’re the president. You go negotiate with the warehouse manager.”
After verifying the procedures,
the manager led them to the school warehouse and used a key to open the storeroom door.
Huff.
A damp smell rushed toward them, filled with the odor of age, as though speaking of history’s weight.
Following the manager’s steps, Jiang Ran once again arrived before the familiar shelf.
The positron cannon.
That square, magical machine with a cylindrical barrel at the front, resembling an enlarged old-fashioned camera… lay there quietly.
Jiang Ran’s heartbeat quickened as he recalled the scene of the original trio carrying it away.
“Finally, I found you.”
Only…
“Huh?”
He blinked and realized something was wrong.
He hurried over, wiped away the dust with his palm, and stared at the outer casing of the positron cannon.
“Why is there a dent!”
He stroked the obvious smashed-in depression on top of the positron cannon with heartache, then turned back to look at the manager.
“What happened here?”