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MidReal Story
Typhoon Eye
Scenario:【台风眼】
台风"朱雀"登陆前夕，上海天文台监测到蟹状星云异常伽马射线暴。左若童压力非常之大，他的研究已经做了十年了，他在这栋楼也住了这么多年，在明德苑顶层的私人天文台发现观测数据与三体数值模型出现0.7%偏差让他怎么计算都无法得出答案，他表面上波澜不惊实际上已经很崩溃了。对标做卫星发射的类似马斯克的X公司的科技公司"全性"雇佣黑帮走私量子计算芯片【神明灵】入境，用于破解竞争对手的加密系统。
【美团订单8231】
暴雨中，天性乐观豁达的黑帮老大冯曜伪装成外卖员配送特殊加密的外卖订单（实为走私芯片）。误接左若童首次使用的外卖单，靠精准计算泡面水量维系尊严，首次点外卖是为买胃药（订单备注："放门口第三块地砖下，温度高于26℃拒收"）因台风导致电梯停运，两人被困28层。冯曜注意到左若童手提箱中的观测数据，发现与自己在流浪时记录的星象异常吻合，他是一个天文学业余爱好者，贴吧的粉丝也不少，算是民科，还写过一些科普文章。
【引力透镜效应】
次周电梯检修日，两人因为一个电梯质检员的失误李慕玄（左若童大学的落榜的研究生，做理论和天体物理没有天赋，一气之下去学电器维修当工程师了）再次被困。冯曜指出左若童手稿中的计算误差，解释自己在流浪时曾用自制望远镜观测到类似现象。左若童发现这个外卖员竟懂广义相对论，等待维修的时候两人开始合作分析数据并且想办法合作逃生。
【中微子的谎言】
"全性"为干扰佘山天文台的监测获得自己让卫星上天的资格，指使黑帮破坏中微子探测器。冯曜利用自己在黑帮的关系获取情报，与左若童联手阻止破坏行动。李慕玄（黑帮小混混）因参与破坏行动被捕，在审讯中透露公司阴谋。
【银河铁道之夜】
台风过境夜，两人在天台用自制射电望远镜（冯曜用炒锅改造）观测。冯曜用走私的量子芯片【神明灵】进行实时数值模拟，证明左若童的"逆生三重"理论存在致命缺陷。左若童的白发在猎户座星云映照下泛起量子遂穿般的蓝光。左若童的十年心血付之一炬，这里可以用浪漫的手法体现他的悲伤和豁达。
【事件视界之外】
公司的阴谋落到现实中变成了好几个人冲上来物理抢夺【神明灵】或者破坏设备，这里可以思考一个好一点的方案。总之最终对峙中，"全性"派人抢夺数据。冯曜用黑帮关系设局，将公司高层一网打尽，冯曜成为了新的老大，他调整并且设置了更合理的计划，吸纳了李慕玄在公司里做事。
他们在暴雨洗过的星空下，两人相互分享用液氮冷却的啤酒，观测数据在晨光中化作泡影，他们浪漫的享受了当下，分享了对宇宙的感慨。还有他们的相遇
总之这个故事的主题是人类对宇宙星河的探索不断的失败又重建。冯曜也是日子过的一塌糊涂还要继续往下过，整体其实应该是一种豁达而幽默的生活剧的感觉，至于说黑帮在里面可以起到增添氛围感，但是争斗不应该是主线，而是暗线，主线是左若童不顾一切的疯狂的希望达成自己的目标，在过程中跟冯曜偶遇，被冯曜意外的证明他的研究是不可能的，在痛苦之后又重生的故事。
Create my version of this story
Zuo Ruotong
introverted, and determined. Zuo Ruotong has spent ten years researching and feels immense pressure due to a recent anomaly in his data. He lives in Mingde Garden, where he meets Feng Yao, a gangster. Their unexpected collaboration leads to a breakthrough in his research. Despite setbacks, he remains dedicated to his work and values the friendship formed with Feng Yao.
Feng Yao
humorous, and intelligent. Feng Yao disguises himself as a food delivery worker to evade detection while delivering the chips. He meets Zuo Ruotong during a typhoon and helps him with his research by pointing out errors in his calculations. Their collaboration leads to a breakthrough and an unexpected friendship that changes their lives.
Li Muxuan
ambitious, and opportunistic. Li Muxuan was once a student at Zuo Ruotong's university but failed to excel in theoretical astrophysics and celestial mechanics. His mistake traps Zuo Ruotong and Feng Yao in the elevator during repairs, leading to their collaboration.
On the night of the typhoon, the gamma-ray burst from the Crab Nebula came half an hour earlier than expected.
I stared at the sudden jump on the data curve and my heart jumped with it.
This 0.7% deviation from the predicted value was enough to destroy all existing theoretical frameworks in astrophysics.
But what does it mean?
I have been researching for ten years, and I have lived in this building for exactly ten years, at number 28 on Mingde Garden, which belongs to the Shanghai Astronomical Observatory.
Above my head is an independent observatory that I built myself; above that is a giant dish antenna belonging to the National Astronomical Observatories.
The data on the screen in front of me is from there.
But no matter how hard I try to attribute this anomaly to some unexpected astrophysical phenomenon, I realize that something is wrong with this data - not an anomaly, but an error.
Something somewhere went wrong and gave me a fake result.
The problem is, I can’t figure out what went wrong - or more precisely, what caused this error.
Calculations are correct, data transmission is correct... everything is correct, but the result just doesn’t make sense.
I stared at the data curve until the characters blurred and my brain emptied completely.
I grabbed my toolbox and rushed to the stairwell.
The sound of my footsteps echoed in the empty corridor.
The elevator was down due to the approaching typhoon, and I had to climb the maintenance stairs.
I passed floor 29, then floor 30; my legs burned as if they were on fire.
The wind howled louder with each step, and rain pattered against the windows like a thousand hammers.
I stopped at floor 31 to catch my breath.
The cold concrete wall pressed against my back, and I felt a little cooler.
I pushed open the observatory door, and the dome’s silhouette stood out against the dark stormy sky.
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the sophisticated array of instruments inside the observatory.
In that moment of clarity, I realized the error wasn't in the data, but in the assumptions we had always trusted.
I set up my equipment with trembling hands.
The printouts of the data were scattered all over the floor of the observatory in a circular pattern.
When arranged chronologically, the gamma-ray readings formed an unmistakable pattern - something I had missed on the computer screen.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the time stamps.
Each anomaly occurred precisely 23.7 minutes apart.
I grabbed my phone to take a picture of this, but dropped it, scattering papers everywhere.
As I gathered them, I noticed something else - a handwritten note from months ago, recording similar deviations during routine maintenance.
The implications hit me like a physical blow.
Hunched over the control panel, I adjusted the gamma-ray detector's sensitivity levels while monitoring the digital readout.
The observatory's backup generator hummed steadily in the background as I bypassed the automated calibration sequence, manually fine-tuning each parameter.
Twenty minutes until the next predicted anomaly.
I checked the timestamp on the old maintenance note again, confirming the pattern.
The storm raged on outside, rain pelting against the dome with a deafening roar.
My hands shook slightly as I connected my laptop directly to the detector's data feed, setting up a custom recording protocol.
The observatory's warning system beeped - fifteen minutes remaining.
I gripped the edge of the control panel, my eyes glued to the scrolling numbers on the laptop screen.
The detector's cooling fans labored against the humid air, their whine blending with the storm's cacophony.
Ten minutes left.
I typed commands with a steady hand, increasing the sampling frequency to capture every detail of the anomaly.
Through the observatory's reinforced windows, lightning illuminated sheets of rain that cascaded like liquid silver down the dome's slope.
The backup generator coughed, and for a moment, the lights flickered ominously.
I checked all connections, securing cables with fingers that trembled despite my resolve.
Five minutes now.
The storm intensified, its fury howling through every gap in the dome's seal.
"Do you really think it's safe to be here during this storm?" a voice crackled through the intercom, startling me.
I recognized the voice immediately—it was Dr. Larkin, my mentor and the only other person who knew about the anomalies.
"We don't have a choice, Dr. Larkin; if this pattern holds, it could redefine our understanding of gamma-ray bursts," I replied, urgency lacing my words.
"We've got a team on their way to secure the dome," Dr. Larkin said, her voice muffled by the intercom.
"Stay safe until they arrive."
I nodded, though I knew she couldn't see me.
The storm raged on, and I focused on my task, the importance of these readings eclipsing any personal danger.
The backup generator's hum faltered once more, and my heart skipped a beat.
The detector's power input displayed a concerning fluctuation—215V, then 208V, dipping precariously to 198V.
Not even close to the precise 220V required for accurate measurements.
I pulled out spare power cables from my toolbox and rewired the detector to draw directly from the backup battery system.
According to the old maintenance manual, the battery should provide a stable 220V for at least four hours.
Through the observatory windows, I spotted movement below—the maintenance crew was securing loose items around the base of the dome in the pouring rain.
In three minutes, the next anomaly would hit, requiring an exact 220V supply.
My hands moved quickly, stripping wires and tightening connections as I monitored the voltage readout.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Dr. Larkin's voice came through again, tinged with doubt.
"It has to," I replied, my voice steady despite the chaos around me.
"If we miss this window, we may never get another chance," I added, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me.
