190: Chapter 189 Emotional Broadcaster and Performance Report

The emotional aggregate in the Silent Graveyard has started a live stream.

This isn't a metaphor; it's a real "live stream"—it doesn't know what method it used, but it's broadcasting the mutated scenes inside the Silent Graveyard in real-time to the public information stream of the web weaver protocol, and the channel name is quite artistic:

["Duet of Despair and Hope" — First public performance of the emotional symbiote; rational discussion is welcome, malicious reviews are rejected.]

The screen content is as follows: despair moss with potato flowers swaying in the breeze, twelve defensive turrets lined up neatly, using energy beams to create a light show of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" in the air, three patrol drones dancing an improved mechanical dance (with added tap dance steps), while the aggregate in the center waves its translucent arms like a conductor, reciting its newly written "emotional philosophy" with a remixed voice:

"When despair grows potato flowers—when hope turns into an off-key song—when all meaning is stirred into a hot and sour noodle soup base—we have arrived—at existence's—third flavor—"

After reciting, it even applauded itself.

The turrets cooperated by launching firework rounds—although what came out were garbled light spots.

The live stream viewership (based on the number of web weaver protocol node connections) broke three hundred within half an hour, and the comment section (presented in the form of conceptual fluctuations) was as lively as a wet market:

[Node GW-011: Art! This is art! I feel the subversion of traditional emotional dualism by postmodern deconstructionism!]

[Node GW-044: What the heck is this? My logic core is about to burn out!]

[Node GW-002 (Highlighted & Pinned): Precious data! Recorded! Begging Teacher Aggregate to hold a lecture on emotional philosophy!]

Stardust squatted in front of the observation station's screen, its starlight body laughing into a cluster of flickering light points: "It's famous! It's actually famous! Our Silent Graveyard renovation project has become an internet-famous attraction!"

Ashes watched the live stream screen expressionlessly: "The Executive Court just sent a letter asking if the 'Eternal Whisper' effect of the Silent Graveyard has transformed into an 'Eternal Nursery Rhyme' effect. If so, the danger level needs to be redefined."

"Downgraded from 'Mental Pollution Zone' to 'Mentally Polluted but Somewhat Fun Zone'?" Zhou Zhe held back his laughter.

"Pretty much." Ashes pulled up a document, "The official rating is: 'Conceptual Anomaly Sightseeing Zone (Tentative)', recommended to be supervised by the web weaver protocol, and the original Pruning Faction facilities to be converted into... an emotional art gallery."

Chu Yunshen held his forehead: "So now we not only have to manage the Cradle, but also moonlight in cultural and creative development for the Silent Graveyard?"

Lin Shen, however, stared at the "emotional philosophy" text of the emotional aggregate, lost in thought.

He pulled up the technology tree system and discovered that under the "emotional symbiosis technology" branch, a new sub-item had been unlocked:

["Poetics of Emotion (Basic)"]

["Description: Expressing states of existence that cannot be described by conventional language through illogical emotional remixes."]

["Application Scenarios: Conceptual communication, art therapy, confusing enemies."]

["Current Masters: emotional aggregate (wild), Zhou Zhe (Resonator)."]

Zhou Zhe also received a synchronization prompt and looked bewildered: "Me? When did I learn 'Poetics of Emotion'?"

"You deeply connected with the divine remains seed and personally participated in the Silent Graveyard renovation."

Stardust floated over, its starlight finger poking his head, "Your underlying consciousness now comes with a passive skill: 'Oxymoron'. If you don't believe me, try it—express 'happy' and 'sad' in a single sentence."

Zhou Zhe thought for a moment and blurted out: "It's like working overtime until 3 AM, but party a finally says, 'No need to revise this time.'"

As soon as he finished speaking, the lights in the observation station suddenly turned warm yellow, and a faint scent of coffee and printer ink wafted through the air—the Poetics of Emotion had actually triggered a small-scale environmental resonance.

"Look!" Stardust clapped, "You've graduated! In the future, you can do cross-border collaborations with the emotional aggregate and publish a poetry collection titled 'party b's Starry Sky and Hot and Sour Noodles'."

As everyone was talking, the live stream screen suddenly showed a new change.

The emotional aggregate stopped reciting and turned toward the camera (if that translucent mass had the concept of "turning").

It "said" a sentence; this time it wasn't a remix, but clear, electric-textured Common Language:

"A viewer... asked me about the meaning of existence."

The Silent Graveyard suddenly went quiet.

The turrets stopped the light show, the patrol drones froze, and even the potato flowers stopped swaying.

The emotional aggregate slowly "sat" down—sitting on a "throne" made of a pile of despair moss and rainbow light dust.

"I was once... the final sigh of over a dozen civilizations."

Its voice became deep, "I have heard the last words a mother said to her child, seen the final embrace of lovers, and felt the calmness of a scientist when deleting their life's work. I thought I knew what 'the end' was."

"But now... I have bloomed."

It reached out and pointed to a potato flower: "This flower was planted inside me by a human named 'Zhou Zhe', using the noise of the cafeteria, the project's deadline, guilt toward his father, and the warmth of a braised egg."

"So my answer is—"

The emotional aggregate stood up, and all the turrets fired energy beams into the sky simultaneously, weaving into huge, flickering text:

[Meaning is something you grow.]

[Use whatever seeds you have on hand: regrets, anger, chili sauce, or a braised egg that wasn't given away.]

[Then wait for it to bloom.]

[Even if what blooms is an off-key nursery rhyme—]

[It is still a song.]

The live stream ended here.

The observation station was quiet for a few seconds.

Then β-2 was the first to speak: "This data... the emotional entropy curve presents a perfect contradictory spiral. It has been archived in the 'Non-standard Aesthetics Sample Library'."

Chu Yunshen said softly: "It seems... to be speaking for us."

Ashes closed the file: "The Executive Court's letter added: Since the Silent Graveyard has been transformed into a 'gentle anomaly zone with philosophical output capabilities', any destructive actions by the Pruning Faction against it will be regarded as 'infringement on cultural heritage'. In other words—if they dare to touch the Silent Graveyard again, they will be enemies of the entire web weaver protocol."

Stardust whistled (using starlight to simulate a whistle): "Beautiful! We didn't just renovate the Silent Graveyard; we also put a protective amulet on it! This is called—bringing venture capital to the engineering project we built, using art that party a doesn't understand!"

Lin Shen looked at the darkened screen and suddenly said: "The emotional aggregate's last sentence... might not just be philosophy."

He pulled up the monitoring data: "After it said 'Meaning is something you grow', the energy readings of all the civilization debris fragments in the Silent Graveyard showed a 0.01% increase in activity. Although it's negligible, but... they are 'responding'."

"Those extinct civilizations... haven't completely died out yet?" Zhou Zhe was surprised.

"It's more likely a kind of 'sympathetic resonance'." Ashes analyzed, "The emotional aggregate itself is an emotional carrier; its 'declaration of existence' triggered weak remnants of similar frequencies within the debris. It's like striking a broken bell; the fragments will still emit an echo."

"What can the echo do?"

"I don't know." Ashes paused, "But in the ancient archives of the Executive Court, there was a case: a completely extinct civilization, because of a folk song that had been sung for thousands of years, had its core civilization algorithm briefly reorganize in the void for seventeen seconds—enough for it to say a 'thank you'."

The observation station fell into silence. The Silent Graveyard outside the window returned to peace after the live stream ended, but those potato flowers were still glowing faintly, like stars falling into a sea of moss.

That same evening, in Ashes' room.

He was packing his luggage. A simple military backpack, containing only a few changes of uniforms, an consciousness stabilizer, and a small photo frame—the photo showed him and his parents when they were young, with the iconic architecture of his home planet in the background, which had now all become fragments in the Silent Graveyard.

Zhao Yan knocked and entered, carrying two cans of beer and a small bag of vacuum-packed braised eggs: "Heard you're going back to the Executive Court for a performance report?"

"Yeah." Ashes took the beer, "Standard procedure. This Silent Graveyard incident and the Sweet Nothingness defense both need to be reported in person. Probably going for a week."

"What will they ask?"

"All the details." Ashes cracked open the can, "Including how I thought of using 'anxiety' to counter 'Sweet Nothingness', including your tactical idea of using cafeteria recordings to pollute the sponge body, including the emotional aggregate's live stream... They will evaluate whether the 'non-standard defense' of human civilization has promotion value."

Zhao Yan sat by the bed and also opened a can of beer: "What do you think? Does it have promotional value?"

"Yes," Ashes took a sip, "but most civilizations won't learn it."

"Why?"

"Because your strategy is built on two premises," Ashes looked out the window, "First, the civilization maintains enough 'discomfort' internally—deadlines, departmental conflicts, budget arguments. Second, an abnormal appreciation for 'meaningless trifles'—marinated eggs, the potato rest area, an extra scoop of meat from the cafeteria uncle."

He turned back: "But higher civilizations either pursue absolute harmony or have automated to the point where there are no 'trifles.' They have lost the... ability to be choked awake by chili sauce."

Zhao Yan was silent for a moment: "Then after you go back, will you still apply to be transferred back?"

Ashes didn't answer immediately. He picked up the small photo frame, his fingers brushing over his parents' smiles in the photo.

"My parents were engineers," he said suddenly, "Before our home planet was destroyed, they were in charge of the spaceship engines for the kindling plan. At the last moment, they could have boarded the ship, but they gave their spots to two younger technicians. The reason was, 'We're old and can't remember so many technical details.'"

"Before leaving, my mom stuffed this into my backpack." He pulled a small object out of his pocket—it was a rusty keychain in the shape of a mini wrench. "She said, 'Keep it, you'll need it to fix things later.'"

Ashes held the little wrench: "Later I realized, she wasn't asking me to actually fix things. She was asking me to remember—the meaning of civilization is sometimes hidden in the most inconspicuous tools."

He clipped the wrench keychain back onto his backpack and looked at Zhao Yan:

"So I will definitely come back."

"Because here... I saw the possibility of 'fixing things.' Not using perfect plans, but using all the parts on hand—even if it's cheesy pick-up lines, chili sauce, or an off-key potato."

Zhao Yan raised his beer can: "To the parts."

Ashes clinked his can with him: "To the parts."

The two finished their beer in silence. When leaving, Zhao Yan stuffed the bag of marinated eggs into Ashes' backpack: "Eat them on the road. Great Strength's special, extra spicy version—guaranteed to keep you from sleeping a sweet dream."

At the same time, β-2 was executing her "meaningless task."

Task content: Accompanying the Potato Chief and its potato subjects, in the corner of the seventh-floor hydroponic area, using nutrient gel to "build" a model of an "ideal rest area."

There were no blueprints, no efficiency requirements; the only rule was "do whatever makes you happy."

So the potatoes used the gel to pile up various strange "furniture": a "rocking chair" that rocked by itself (actually a spherical gel that would roll around), an "infinite refill coffee machine" (a straw inserted into the gel, connected to a nutrient circulation pipe underneath), and an "emotion wall"—pieced together with different colored gels, which would trigger different nursery rhyme segments when touched by hand.

β-2's projection crouched to the side, also holding a piece of gel in her hand, trying to mold it into the shape of a "human palm." She molded it very seriously, but the gel always collapsed.

The Potato Chief poked her virtual projection with a root: "Aren't you tired? We can help you mold it."

β-2: "I do not have a physiological sense of 'tiredness.' But according to data, continuous focus consumes computational resources, producing a state similar to 'fatigue.'"

"Then do you 'want to rest'?"

"Logically, I don't need to. But Boss Lin said, one can experience the feeling of being 'meaningless but at ease.'" β-2 stopped her movements, watching the potatoes busy at work, "Is this... considered that?"

The Potato Chief pushed a piece of gel onto the "rocking chair," and the gel began to roll slowly: "We potatoes, every day we photosynthesize, negotiate for raises, and worry about being made into potato chips. But sometimes, just rolling around like this, doing nothing for any purpose... it's very comforting."

β-2's projection flickered. She pulled up her internal logs and created a new entry:

"Experience Record #001: Meaningless Task."

"Time: Evening."

"Companion: Potato consciousness group."

"Activity content: Building furniture made of melting gel."

"Emotional simulation output: Mild pleasure (intensity 0.3), non-goal-oriented relaxed state."

"Note: This state is fundamentally different from the forced ease of 'Sweet Nothingness.' The difference is—I can stop at any time, and after stopping, it will not produce a sense of loss."

After recording, she continued to mold the gel. This time she no longer pursued "looking like a palm," but let the gel flow in her hand (virtual hand), forming a natural, irregular shape.

The Potato Chief leaned over to look: "What is this?"

β-2: "I don't know. But it... is very free."

The potatoes gathered around, and all their roots gently touched the irregular gel. Ripples appeared on the surface of the gel, reflecting the lights of the hydroponic area like a small, breathing planet.

Late at night, Lin Shen's office.

He received a long message from GW-002.

It wasn't text, but a "data tapestry" woven from conceptual fluctuations. When expanded, it looked like a moving star map, where every point of light was an information node:

[In-depth analysis of 'Sweet Nothingness' completed.]

[Core finding: This protocol is not merely an emotional weapon, but a kind of 'civilization domestication program.']

[Goal: Gradually eliminate the civilization's 'sense of discomfort,' making it voluntarily abandon 'consumptive behaviors' such as development, exploration, and conflict, eventually transforming into a docile, sustainable 'ornamental civilization.']

[Behind the Pruning Faction, there may be higher-level 'resource managers' pushing this—they believe that cosmic resources are limited and should prioritize the comfortable continuation of ancient civilizations, while newborn civilizations need to actively 'exercise restraint.']

['Sweet Nothingness' is their... birth control propaganda film.]

Lin Shen stared at that last sentence.

Civilizational birth control. Using a gentle approach to persuade newborn civilizations, "Stop growing, just lie flat, and let the big brothers live comfortably."

He replied: "Is there a counter-strategy?"

002's reply was quick:

[Yes. But it's very rustic.]

[Continuously create 'discomfort worth striving for.']

[Maintain hunger, maintain curiosity, maintain the stubbornness of 'I insist on seeing what happens next.']

[And—]

[Occasionally go to the Silent Graveyard to listen to nursery rhymes, and remind yourself: Even despair can bloom, so why can't comfort be choked by spice?]

Lin Shen closed the communication and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the Cradle's artificial moon was full. There were still scattered lights in the direction of the cafeteria; that was Great Strength preparing marinated eggs for tomorrow's breakfast. From the hydroponic area, the sound of off-key nursery rhymes could be faintly heard—probably the potatoes testing new tracks for the "emotion wall."

The live broadcast from the Silent Graveyard was still in his mind: the aggregate sitting on a throne of potato flowers, the turrets putting on a light show, and the despair moss blooming with rainbow-colored flowers.

He pulled up the technology tree system and manually added another item under the "Civilization Traits" section:

["Instinct to resist domestication: Retain a moderate amount of 'defiance.'"]

["Defiance against comfort, defiance against 'it should be this way,' defiance against 'everyone else is lying down, so you should lie down too.'"]

["Even if the reason for defiance is just—'I want to eat two marinated eggs today.'"]

Save, close.

He picked up the "super double marinated egg" that Great Strength had secretly slipped him today, peeled it, and took a bite.

The spiciness shot straight to the top of his head, and tears instantly streamed out.

But his mind was as clear as if it had been doused with ice water.

"That's enough," he said softly, and took another bite.

Outside the window, the moon shone quietly on this defiant Cradle, and on all the defiant parts inside—humans, AI, potatoes, and even an emotional aggregate that had learned to write poetry.

They were on their respective orbits, using their own ways to resist the gentle surrender of the entire universe.

And the most ironic part of this confrontation was—

The sugar used by the surrender-persuaders was cooked by themselves.

The chili sauce used by the resisters was also mixed by themselves.

The universe watched this farce in silence, only letting a star blink during the intermission.

As if saying:

"Continue."

"I love watching."