The sound of fate's gears meshing is always hidden in the ticking of a clock on a rainy Berlin night.
Lin Mo stands at the end of an inheritance, holding a rusted pocket watch. The 1.5 billion yuan is nothing but bait painted in his mother's blue-black ink.
When an embryo in a Munich laboratory awakens at midnight and the star chart beneath Nymphenburg Palace begins to spin backward,
he finally learns that the true inheritance is a sin embedded in his genetic code.
A chess player in a camel coat lays out a deadly game in a cafe.
A Polish old woman's apple pie conceals lead dust from a Nazi treasure vault, while the sketchbook of Emma, an art student, bleeds with the bloodstained memories of a clone.
Every raindrop reenacts the escape of 1945, and the chain of the pocket watch is tightening not only around his neck, but around the throat of civilization itself.
The lullaby his mother hummed before she died suddenly acquires bloodstained lyrics.
The numbers dancing across financial reports will eventually tear open the Third Reich's final shroud.
When seven memory coordinates form the Big Dipper in Berlin's night sky,
Lin Mo finally sees the truth on the back of the watch face: he is both the heir and Specimen No. 37 on the laboratory table.
