189: Chapter 188 Victory Celebration and Sweet Poison

The cafeteria had been transformed into a victory banquet venue tonight—if "victory" meant rewarding the team with all-you-can-eat braised pork, unlimited hot and sour glass noodles, and "photosynthesis cocktails" (a vegetable juice that emitted a faint green glow) sponsored by the potatoes.

Great Strength was personally cooking, wearing an apron printed with the handwritten slogan, "My daughter is saved, I'm happy."

He spooned extra braised pork into every serving and added an extra marinated egg to every bowl of hot and sour noodles, his face crinkling with smiles.

Wang Xiaohua sat in her wheelchair, pushed into a corner of the cafeteria.

Though still weak, her eyes shone as she watched the lively scene—the mark within her had been completely neutralized and was now more like a benign symbiont, occasionally allowing her to "hear" the whispers of the plants.

Potato Chief, along with its potato subjects, occupied an entire long table by the window.

In front of each potato sat a small saucer containing a specially made nutrient gel, topped with a decorative paper umbrella.

Potato Chief used its roots to curl around a straw, sipping the photosynthesis cocktail slowly, its root tips occasionally tapping a rhythm on the table—it was learning to keep time like a human.

Lin Shen's team and the observation group sat at the main table.

Chu Yunshen was trying to explain to Aurora why the "clinking glasses" part was essential for a victory banquet: "This is a ritualistic social behavior. Through physical collision and liquid agitation, it symbolizes 'sharing joy' and 'sharing risks'..."

Aurora's faceless one head tilted slightly, its golden eyes fixed on the glass of plain water in front of it that it never touched: "From a hygiene perspective, collisions may cause liquid splashing, increasing the probability of pathogen transmission."

Stardust reached out with its starlight arm and stirred Aurora's glass directly: "Now your water has my starlight particles! Come on, let's share the risk!"

It then tilted its head back and finished its own photosynthesis cocktail—although its starlight body lacked a digestive system, it simulated the "glug-glug" sound effect.

Ashes sat next to Zhao Yan, sipping beer in small mouthfuls.

The scars on its face looked softer in the warm light of the cafeteria.

Zhao Yan clinked its glass against its: "That operation yesterday... surely that's enough for the Executive Court to give you a medal, right?"

"The Executive Court doesn't give medals," Ashes said, "Only 'Mission Completion Evaluation Reports.' Last time I stopped a civilization from self-destructing, the report read: 'Subject persuaded to postpone destruction plan, efficiency rating B+.'"

"That stingy?"

"They say emotional fluctuations affect the objectivity of the rating," Ashes paused, "but yesterday... I think I understood a little why you all are always laughing."

Just then, Zhou Zhe squeezed over with a plate piled high with braised pork and three marinated eggs: "β-2 is analyzing the subsequent data from the graveyard. It says that emotional aggregate has started... singing."

"Singing what?"

"A despair remix of 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.'" Zhou Zhe took a bite of a marinated egg, "The lyrics were changed to 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star, nothing matters anymore,' but the tune is exceptionally cheerful. 002 said it was almost moved to tears by the beauty of this data and is currently writing a paper titled 'On the Expression of Contradictory Aesthetics in Emotional Symbionts'."

Chu Yunshen sighed: "I hope when the Arbitration Tribunal sees the report, they will understand that 'using nursery rhymes to renovate a graveyard' counts as a reasonable extension of defensive behavior."

Lin Shen, however, hadn't said much.

He hadn't touched his braised pork much, his eyes fixed on a point in the void—where a technology tree interface only he could see was unfolding.

On the interface, a new branch was slowly growing, labeled:

[Emotional Symbiosis Technology (Abnormal Variant)]

[Unlock Progress: 7%]

[Available Technology: Emotional Remix Field (Graveyard Limited), Despair Moss Gardening, Conceptual Dance Virus (Patrol Drone Limited)]

[Warning: This branch is based on non-standard experiments, stability unknown.]

And further down, a red system prompt was flashing continuously:

[External protocol access attempt detected: Sweet Nothingness v0.9.3]

[Source: Unknown (Encryption Level: Abyss-Class)]

[Access attempt automatically intercepted. However, protocol radiation residue is being detected...]

[Affected range: All consciousness entities within 0.5 light-seconds of the Cradle perimeter.]

[Recommendation: Perform a full consciousness scan.]

"Boss Lin?" Chu Yunshen noticed his abnormality.

Lin Shen closed the interface and looked up: "It's nothing. Just thinking... the Pruning Faction won't give up so easily."

As if to confirm his words, the cafeteria lights suddenly flickered.

It wasn't a power failure; the light itself had "become sweet"—literally.

The originally bright white light was suddenly tinged with a soft, honey-like pale gold.

A faint, sweet fragrance drifted through the air, like burnt marshmallows mixed with the scent of overripe fruit.

"What's that smell?" Zhou Zhe sniffed the air.

"Abnormal sensory signal detected." The projection of β-2 instantly cut to the center of the cafeteria, holding a virtual scanner, "It's not a chemical odor, but a 'conceptual aroma' acting directly on the olfactory nerves. Ingredient analysis... 'Peace' accounts for 37%, 'Satisfaction' 29%, 'Nostalgia' 18%, 'Abandoning Thought' 16%."

Everyone became alert.

But the vigilance only lasted for three seconds.

The sweet fragrance drilled into their nasal cavities, crawled along the nerves into the cerebral cortex, like warm honey being injected into their blood vessels.

Zhao Yan felt his hand holding the glass relax, Ashes' tense shoulders dropped, and even Aurora's golden eyes showed 0.3 seconds of unfocused daze.

"Something's wrong..." Lin Shen wanted to stand up, but his legs felt weak.

It wasn't physical weakness; it was a lack of desire to exert effort.

It was as if a voice was whispering deep in his consciousness: Rest for a while, you're already so tired, why push yourself so hard...

The screen on the cafeteria wall suddenly lit up automatically.

No warning, no logo, it just started playing the footage.

It was a perfect sunset.

Golden sunlight spilled over a peaceful field, smoke rose lazily from chimneys in the distance, and children ran and laughed nearby.

The scene moved slowly, revealing a small town: people drinking tea leisurely on the street, old men playing chess under trees, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from a bakery.

No conflict, no pressure, no deadlines, and even the weather was forever mild.

The background music was soft piano, mixed with the sound of wind, birds, and faint laughter.

A line of small text appeared at the bottom of the screen:

[You deserve a life like this.]

Then came the second scene: A cozy study, a fire crackling in the fireplace, a blanket and a half-read novel spread out on the sofa, snow falling outside the window.

Hot tea and snacks were set on the table.

[Stop, enjoy it.]

Third scene: A beach under the starry sky, the sound of the tide soothing, friends talking in low voices by a bonfire, no one checking the time, no one talking about work.

[You have done enough.]

Each scene was as beautiful as meticulously prepared syrup, cloyingly sweet, sweet enough to make one unable to muster a single thought of resistance.

"This is... 'Sweet Nothingness'." Ashes shook its head hard, trying to shake off the feeling of indulgence, "The Pruning Faction's emotional weapon... it's not creating despair, it's creating excessive comfort."

Stardust's starlight body began to flicker, like a television with a bad signal: "It's stuffing marshmallows into my conceptual structure... so sleepy..."

Even the potatoes began to wilt.

The nutrient gel in front of Potato Chief melted, its roots hanging limply.

Only β-2 was not directly affected, but it monitored everyone's consciousness activity dropping sharply: "Mr. Lin Shen's heart rate has dropped below the resting threshold, Captain Zhao Yan's adrenaline level has returned to zero, Engineer Zhou Zhe's brain waves show a state of deep relaxation—this is not natural sleep, it's forced sedation!"

It tried to cut off the screen signal, but the image was projected directly into the air.

It tried to filter the sweet fragrance, but the scent was conceptual, bypassing all physical filtration systems.

"Need... stronger stimulation..." Lin Shen gritted his teeth, his fingers secretly operating the technology tree interface under the table.

He pulled up the "Emotional Remix Field" data recorded during the graveyard operation yesterday, selecting the sharpest, most discordant segment—the off-key nursery rhyme sung by the emotional aggregate.

Then, he activated the Cradle's public broadcast system.

Instantly, a harsh, off-key chorus blared in the cafeteria:

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star—everything has no meaning—potatoes want a rest area—braised pork all-you-can-eat oh yeah—"

Out of tune, cracking voices, mixed with the background noise of the cafeteria recording.

The sweet imagery was violently shaken by this crude sonic impact.

The piano music was torn apart by the nursery rhyme, a phantom of a potato doing a robot dance suddenly popped up in the sunset field, and the fire in the study fireplace began to twitch to the rhythm.

The sweet fragrance was disrupted.

Now the air smelled like a complex mixture of burnt marshmallows, hot and sour noodles, and the blooming of despair moss—not pleasant, but enough to wake one up.

Zhao Yan jolted, breaking free from that gentle sense of comfort: "Damn! What the hell is this!"

Ashes had already drawn its sidearm consciousness disruptor—a non-lethal weapon standard for the Executive Court, capable of releasing nerve pulses that make people instantly sober.

It pressed it against its chest, then stumbled a step, its eyes regaining their sharpness.

"Everyone, use sobering stimulation on yourselves! Pain, noise, anything that can break this 'sense of sweetness'!" it shouted.

Zhou Zhe grabbed the bottle of chili sauce from the table, dug out a large spoonful, and stuffed it into his mouth—Great Strength's special devilishly spicy sauce.

Three seconds later his face turned red, and tears and snot ran down together: "That's... that's stimulating enough!"

Chu Yunshen pinched his thigh hard.

Aurora immediately activated its "Absolute Rationality Protocol," the data stream in its golden eyes accelerating to a blur.

Stardust was the most ruthless; it disassembled and reassembled its starlight body—equivalent to performing a full-body surgery on itself without anesthesia, and it grimaced in pain after reassembling: "Next time... can you give me some advance notice..."

Only the potatoes were incapable of self-stimulation. Potato Chief was about to turn into mashed potatoes. Seeing this, β-2 pulled up the previously recorded "Budget Drill Argument Recording" and played it at maximum volume next to the potato table:

[Chu Yunshen: "The medical budget cannot be touched!" Zhao Yan: "Defense is the priority!" Zhou Zhe: "How are we supposed to fight if research stops?" Background noise: table slamming, chair dragging sounds, and β-2's calm "According to the data—".]

The intense arguing was like cold water splashed into hot oil. Potato Chief gave a start, its roots straightening up again, and the nutrient gel even shook from the vibration.

The sweet scenes began to disintegrate. The sunset fields pixelated, the flames in the study's fireplace turned into garbled code, and the friends by the beach bonfire began to stutter and ghost.

But the images didn't disappear; instead, they began to mutate.

Those beautiful scenes began to ooze a dark, viscous texture. The golden sunlight turned into a syrup-like liquid, coating the fields; the blanket in the study writhed like a living creature; the friends on the beach turned their heads, their faces fixed in overly brilliant smiles that stretched from corner to corner.

The background music turned into a cloying, repetitive music box melody.

New text appeared at the bottom of the screen: [Why not accept it?] [Isn't this good?] [Resistance is so tiring...]

Worse yet, these images began to personalize.

What Zhao Yan saw was an illusion of himself opening a small tavern in the countryside after retiring—no war, no responsibilities, just wiping glasses, chatting with regular customers, and watching the stars after closing time every day.

What Ashes saw was a parallel timeline where the parent civilization hadn't been destroyed—he was teaching at his alma mater, going to the market after work, and greeting neighbors on the way home.

What Zhou Zhe saw was a scene of himself and the divine remains seed drinking tea and discussing poetry like old friends, with Wang Xiaohua running healthily nearby.

What Chu Yunshen saw was a grand ceremony of the Dragon Kingdom establishing peaceful diplomatic relations with other civilizations; she was giving a speech on stage, and the applause was thunderous.

Even β-2 "saw" an illusion—she possessed a real biological body, feeling the touch of the wind against her skin under the sun.

What everyone saw was the "comfort template" they most deeply desired in their subconscious.

"It's digging into our deep-seated desires..." Lin Shen panted, his forehead covered in sweat, "and then... candying these desires."

On the technology tree system interface, the red warning had escalated:

[Sweet Nothingness protocol deep penetration in progress...] [Affected individuals are starting to develop a tendency for 'voluntary indulgence'...] [Recommendation: Use non-standard emotional memes like 'Shield of Regret' or 'Rage of party b' to hedge...]

Lin Shen understood. The Pruning Faction had learned their lesson this time—they weren't using attacks of despair because humans could counter despair with hope and anger. They were using "excessive sweetness," using the softest desires deep within everyone's heart to create a gentle mental cage.

Making you not want to come out yourself.

"β-2!" Lin Shen shouted in the mental communication, "Pull up the data on the Muttering Civilization! Didn't they die from 'over-analysis' in the end? Find their 'infinite entanglement' emotional samples!"

"Director Lin, that will trigger collective anxiety—"

"That's exactly the point!" Lin Shen stared at the blurry illusion before him of himself playing chess with Stardust (he didn't even know he subconsciously wanted to play chess with Stardust), "Anxiety makes people clear-headed! Sweetness makes people numb! Counter it!"

β-2 executed at the speed of light. The next second, another "scent" began to permeate the air of the cafeteria—not a sweet fragrance, but that sense of irritability from pulling all-nighters, revising plans to the eighteenth version, and party a making new demands.

The images began to tear. In Zhao Yan's tavern illusion, a bunch of picky customers suddenly flooded in: "Boss, this drink isn't cold enough!" "The music is too loud!" "Can I get an invoice?"

In Ashes' peaceful daily life, bureaucrats from the home planet government started asking him to fill out forms: "Teacher Ashes, your course syllabus requires seven more attachments; please submit them by 5 PM."

In Zhou Zhe's tea and poetry scene, the divine remains seed suddenly started chasing him, asking: "The tonal pattern of this line is wrong, isn't it? Should we change it? I think the third version is better..."

At Chu Yunshen's grand diplomatic ceremony, diplomats from other civilizations started arguing over seating arrangements.

β-2's "possessing a body" illusion was even worse—she began to feel menstrual pain, acid reflux, and the excruciating pain of stubbing her toe on a table corner.

"This is too realistic..." Zhou Zhe clutched his stomach in phantom pain, laughing through his tears.

But it was effective.

Excessive comfort was neutralized by excessive anxiety. The sweet cage was stuffed with deadlines and change requests. Those syrup-like images began to solidify, crack, and peel off.

In the end, all the illusions disintegrated simultaneously into sweet, cloying fragments that filled the air.

The fragments drifted slowly through the air, landing on the braised pork, in the hot and sour noodles, and on the potatoes' nutrient gel.

Then, the fragments began to melt, turning into a thin, transparent layer of frosting that covered the surface of the food.

Great Strength carefully poked a piece of frosted braised pork with his chopsticks. The frosting vaporized instantly, leaving only the normal piece of meat.

"So..." he asked in a low voice, "does this count as... an extra dish?"

One hour later, in the observation team's office. Aurora was writing an emergency incident report. Her golden eyes were fixed on the screen, her fingers hovering over the virtual keyboard for a long time before she slowly typed:

[Incident Number: IN-009] [Name: Sweet Nothingness protocol tentative attack] [Attack Method: Conceptual-level comfort infusion, customized illusions targeting individual deep-seated desires] [Defense Method: Non-standard emotional hedging (using negative but sobering emotional memes like 'workplace anxiety' and 'bureaucracy')] [Result: Attack successfully neutralized, but exposed the psychological vulnerabilities of the target civilization's members (everyone has a potential 'retirement fantasy')] [Recommendation: Strengthen identification training for comfort-type conceptual weapons and establish an 'Anxiety Archive' as a strategic reserve.]

Stardust slumped on the sofa, its starlight body thin as a layer of fog: "That thing... has such a strong aftereffect. Everything I see now looks like it's made of sugar."

Ashes stood by the window, holding the secret report just received from the Executive Court: "The Pruning Faction has tested different variants of 'Sweet Nothingness' in five star sectors simultaneously. Some used an 'Eternal Vacation' theme, others used a 'Retire After Success' theme. The civilizations that fell for it... have already begun to voluntarily reduce armaments, disband research teams, and even vote to 'pause civilization development for one hundred years'."

"Boiling a frog in warm water," Lin Shen rubbed his temples, "and the frog itself even thinks the water temperature is comfortable."

"But we cracked it," Zhou Zhe said, "using... uh, using 'party a deadline anxiety' to crack it."

Chu Yunshen was organizing the data: "We need to compile this experience into a defense manual. β-2, can you develop a 'Sweetness Warning Plugin'? Install it in the Cradle's consciousness monitoring network."

β-2: "Understood. Based on the data collected this time, I have established an 'Comfort Index' model. When the 'tendency to give up on striving' in the collective consciousness exceeds the threshold, the system will automatically play the budget meeting recording or deadline reminder sound effects."

Zhao Yan: "Sounds like self-torture."

"But it's effective." Ashes turned around, "The Executive Court will adopt this plan. Sometimes, maintaining an appropriate sense of 'discomfort' is the healthy state of survival."

At this moment, Potato Chief rolled in—it was now equipped with four small wheels, buzzing as it moved. Its roots held up a new sign:

[We potatoes just had a collective dream. We dreamt that we didn't need photosynthesis, and we had food and drink just by basking in the sun every day.] [After waking up, we realized it was fake and were actually a bit disappointed.] [Is this a sickness?]

Stardust floated over and patted it (the starlight passed through the potato): "It's not a sickness; it's a biological instinct. But instincts can sometimes kill you—for example, the instinct to lie flat, but if you lie flat, you'll be turned into potato chips."

Potato Chief thought for a few seconds, then wrote:

[Then we'd better continue photosynthesis. At least we can negotiate for a raise.]

It rolled away, its wheels leaving a trail of wet marks on the floor—those were the water stains from the melting frosting earlier.

Lin Shen looked out the window. The Cradle's artificial starry sky was as tranquil as ever, but he knew the universe outside was becoming increasingly eerie: the Pruning Faction was no longer using naked violence, but had begun using more refined, more personalized 'gentle poisons.'

And humanity's weapons were the clamor of the cafeteria, project deadlines, endless revision requests, and that mouthful of chili sauce that made one cry from the heat.

He pulled up the technology tree system and manually added a note in the "Civilization Traits" section:

[Source of drug resistance: Do not excessively pursue comfort.] [Maintain an appropriate amount of dissatisfaction, an appropriate amount of anxiety, and an appropriate amount of the obsession that 'it could be better'.] [This is the... ultimate vaccine against the sweet poison.]

When he closed the interface, he saw β-2 quietly send him a message:

[Director Lin, I have a personal request.] [Can you assign me some... 'inefficient' tasks?] [Like chatting with the potatoes, or organizing archives that have no classification standards.] [I want to experience the feeling of 'meaningless but reassuring' as a data comparison.]

Lin Shen replied: [Sure. But no more than one hour per day.] [Remember, meaninglessness is a condiment, not a staple food.]

β-2 replied with a [: )].

Outside the window, an artificial meteor streaked across the sky.

Noisy sounds came from the cafeteria again—Great Strength had started serving the second round of braised pork.

This time, no one felt that "comfort" was a pure gift.

They had learned to use chili sauce to pair every mouthful of sweetness with a sobering sense of pain.