Zeng Dajiang ran off.
The Doctor did not have me stop him, saying he should be allowed to calm down properly.
He had completely worked himself into a dead end. Even if he calmed down, he would still believe he was right.
He was dead set on killing me. He believed I was the one who had stirred up the coming bloodshed, and that he had to get rid of me while things were only beginning to show signs of it.
But he had not considered that the Experimenters had been observing us all along. The paths of our lives—or rather, our fates—had never escaped their design.
And, of course, their corrections.
Some mistakes could be corrected completely. Such corrections merely took some effort, and they would leave ordinary people with impressions that could not be erased. But even if ordinary people retained their true memories, it was useless, because the world that followed would be utterly different from their memories and understanding.
Some people called this principle the Mandela Effect.
But to me, the so-called Mandela Effect was simply humanity believing that its memories had become distorted because they had been altered.
Such alterations could not overwrite everyone's memories, though, so there would always be people who remembered things that had once happened. But those people were utterly insignificant. Even if they spoke the truth, it would be useless. Their voices carried no weight, and no one would believe them.
"He'll still send people to kill my Big Brother!" Jiang Xiaohui said.
The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Then go kill him. Go ahead and try. If you kill him, will your Big Brother still exist? If your Big Brother is gone, will you still exist?" He then looked at Ying Gou. "And you. You would certainly return to how