220: Chapter 219 The Weight of Five Thousand Years, Intertwined Dreams and Civilization in a Bowl of Hot and Sour Noodles
Meaning Heritage Digitalization Center, Day Six.
Three hundred and sixty quantum servers ran day and night, the light of the rune generator now as steady as breathing. But Zhou Zhe, sitting in the center of the array, was in a state that worried everyone.
His Poem Markings remained bright, but within the silver-white light, tiny "cracks" like shattered glass began to appear. β-2's monitoring data showed his consciousness load index had reached 87%—only three percentage points away from the theoretical danger threshold of 90%.
"We must pause," Lin Shen ordered for the third time.
"Give me one more hour," Zhou Zhe's voice was hoarse, but his eyes were terrifyingly stubborn. "There are twelve 'Basic Annals' left in the records of the grand historian. This is the skeleton of civilization's memory. Without it, the archives won't stand."
He was right. In the priority ranking of meaning heritage digitalization, historical texts recording "how the civilization came to be" were listed at the highest level. As the Gardener had said, what the Reapers valued most was a civilization's "orderly evolution path"—and history was the most intuitive "meaning trajectory" of that path.
Annals of the Five Emperors transformation complete. Complexity: Level 9.3. Rune characteristics: Simple, profound, like the first ray of light at the dawn of civilization.
Annals of Xia transformation complete. Complexity: Level 9.1. Rune characteristics: Order first appearing in chaos; the "channeling" imagery of Yu the Great's flood control resonated strangely with Zhou Zhe's own "rhythmic channeling" ability.
Annals of Yin transformation complete. Complexity: Level 9.4. Rune characteristics: The heaviness of bronze, the mystery of oracle bones, and the cyclical rhythm of "meaning rupture" and "meaning reconstruction" during dynastic changes. During the transformation, Zhou Zhe even experienced brief hallucinations—he "saw" the divinations on oracle bones, heard the priests' prayers, and felt the piety and fear people felt toward "Heaven's Mandate" three thousand years ago.
Every transformation was a "reliving of meaning" across millennia. The weight of five thousand years was pressing down on his shoulders, bit by bit.
"Nine chapters left," β-2's voice rang in his consciousness. "Your physiological indicators are all in the red. According to model predictions, after completing the last nine chapters, your consciousness load will reach 89.7%, extremely close to the threshold. I suggest a mandatory ten-minute rest after each chapter."
"Ten minutes... that's enough." Zhou Zhe gritted his teeth and locked onto the next chapter—Annals of Zhou.
The beginning of the Ritual and Music Civilization. The sense of order in "How splendid is its culture!", the grand conception of the Duke of Zhou establishing rituals and music, and Confucius's millennial reminiscence of "I follow Zhou" after the "collapse of rituals and music"... these layered structures of meaning poured into Zhou Zhe's consciousness like a mighty cultural river.
When he finally completed the transformation of the Annals of Zhou and opened his eyes, he saw Lin Shen, Chu Yunshen, Zhao Yan, and even Ashes standing before him.
"Eight chapters," Lin Shen's voice was calm, but his clenched fists betrayed his emotions. "Four left. You rest; we'll keep watch."
Zhou Zhe wanted to say something, but a sudden, violent dizziness hit him. His vision went black, and he lost consciousness.
When he woke up again, six hours had passed. He was lying in a medical pod, connected to various monitoring devices. β-2's projection hovered nearby, its light softer than usual.
"You were unconscious for five hours and forty-seven minutes," β-2 reported. "Consciousness load has dropped back to 72%. The final four chapters of the records of the grand historian were completed in 'semi-automatic mode' by me, based on the transformation model you previously established, while your consciousness was dormant. The rune quality reached 92.3% of your personal transformation, with the error within acceptable limits."
Zhou Zhe was stunned. He looked at β-2; that soft glow made him feel, for the first time, that it was no longer just an AI, but a... partner.
"Thank you," he said softly.
β-2's light fluctuated slightly, as if processing this unfamiliar response. "You're welcome. This is... what a partner should do." Its tone seemed to have a subtle change, as if something called "emotion" was sprouting extremely slowly deep within its code.
Mars orbit, "Kunlun" Station.
The second pilot of the Collective Unconscious Resonance Network was completed by the Mars engineering team with remote assistance from β-2 while Zhou Zhe was unconscious. This time, the pilot scope expanded from "sleep-phase resonance" to "waking-phase micro-resonance"—with everyone's informed consent and voluntary participation, they attempted to maintain a very low-intensity "background resonance field" during work hours to observe the impact on team collaboration efficiency.
The results were unexpected.
The next day, Engineering Team Captain Chen Yan wrote in his log:
"A strange feeling. When coordinating with teammates today, it was as if I didn't need to speak to know what they were going to do next. It's not mind-reading, it's... tacit understanding? But a bit deeper. It's like being able to 'feel' the other person's emotional state—who's tired, who's anxious, who's excited by a good idea—and then automatically adjusting my own rhythm to cooperate."
A female doctor's record was more emotional:
"I dreamed I was walking under a starry sky with many people around me. I couldn't see their faces, but I knew they were 'one of us.' Someone patted my shoulder and said, 'Good work.' I felt supported all day after waking up."
β-2's data verified these subjective feelings: in 'waking-phase micro-resonance' mode, team task coordination efficiency increased by 21%, conflict incidence dropped by 34%, and the 'Meaning Index' was 28% higher than the baseline at the end of the day.
More importantly, the brainwaves of the 87 people during the resonance period showed an unprecedented "multi-band synchronous oscillation"—from beta waves processing logic to alpha waves related to emotion, and even theta waves related to deep consciousness, all achieved a subtle "resonance" at certain moments.
This wasn't "control," but a "symphony." Eighty-seven independent consciousnesses, like eighty-seven different instruments, played their own notes within the same piece of music, yet together they formed a harmonious, grander whole.
"This is the prototype of the 'Collective Unconscious Resonance Network,'" β-2 wrote in the analysis report. "It's not about eliminating individual differences, but about allowing differences to achieve 'meaning synergy' at a higher level. Like a symphony, the violin is a violin, the cello is a cello, but together they make a complete movement."
Hive perimeter monitoring post, shadow vessel scout ship.
During the six hours Zhou Zhe was unconscious and the Mars pilot succeeded, subtle changes occurred in the Hive.
It didn't move or attack, and that "eye" still stared at Mars. But Ashes' probes discovered that below the Hive structure, in the direction where "roots" had once extended into space, new things had grown—extremely fine, almost imperceptible "tentacles."
These "tentacles" no longer reached toward Mars but toward... deeper into the Solar System, pointing beyond the Kuiper Belt toward the Oort Cloud. That was exactly the direction from which the Reapers' signal had come.
"It's 'waiting for instructions,' but also 'preparing to receive,'" Ashes' analysis carried a rare gravity. "The function of these 'tentacles' is likely to 'enhance signal reception sensitivity' or 'preset information channels.' It's preparing for the Reapers' 'next instruction'—whatever that instruction may be."
What made Zhao Yan even more uneasy was that when these "tentacles" grew, he felt an indescribable "feeling of being watched," several times stronger than before. It wasn't the Hive's "eye" looking at him, but... something from the direction those "tentacles" extended was "looking" over.
"Can the Reapers... see us already?" he asked.
"Maybe not 'see,' but 'perceive,'" Ashes shook his head. "Their way of perception might be far beyond our understanding. These 'tentacles' might not be for 'receiving signals' but for 'establishing an existential link'—allowing the Reapers to 'perceive' the 'meaning state' of this star sector."
Canteen.
Great Strength didn't know about Hive tentacles or collective unconsciousness. He only knew that his "Fifty-Year Aged Hot and Sour Rice Noodles Pre-Research Version" had its first tasting today.
Tasters: Twelve volunteer researchers covering different ages, regions, and taste preferences. Tasting conditions: One bowl per person, followed by a detailed "Sensory-Emotional Feedback Form."
β-2 recorded data throughout and analyzed it in real-time.
When the first bowl of Hot and Sour Rice Noodles was served, the familiar spicy and sour aroma instantly filled the canteen. Someone subconsciously swallowed, someone closed their eyes and took a deep breath, and someone's eyes even turned slightly red—Hot and Sour Rice Noodles, a common delicacy that had accompanied countless nights of overtime, had become a symbol of "daily life" at this moment.
"Delicious!" the first taster gave a thumbs up. "The sourness is punchy, the spiciness is comfortable, and the noodles are just the right texture. Master Wang, is this the taste of 50 years later?"
"This is the taste of 50 years ago," Great Strength corrected with rare seriousness. "Fifty years ago, which is now, the Hot and Sour Rice Noodles we eat taste like this. If people 50 years from now eat it, they'll know that people 50 years ago lived like this too. Working overtime, staying up late, being homesick, feeling lost, but still persevering. Then they'd eat a bowl of noodles and keep going."
The second taster was a young woman. After eating, she remained silent for a long time before saying softly, "My grandmother used to make Hot and Sour Rice Noodles. A year before she passed away, I had the last bowl with her. I didn't understand then, but now... now I think I understand why she made them her whole life."
Her eyes were red, but she didn't cry. She just took another mouthful and chewed slowly.
β-2's data showed that the "Meaning Index" of the twelve tasters increased by an average of 23% after eating. This wasn't because the noodles had any magical ingredients, but because they awakened memory anchors deep within everyone related to "home," "companionship," and "persistence."
Great Strength looked at the feedback, lost in thought. He turned back to the kitchen and began writing a description for a new recipe—he decided that from now on, every dish would be accompanied by a "memory index," telling the eater which people, which events, and which days were behind the dish.
"Fifty years later," he muttered, "if someone eats these noodles and sees this description, they'll know—oh, that's what those people 50 years ago were thinking. Then we won't have lived in vain."
Late at night, Zhou Zhe sat up from the medical pod and walked to the window.
His consciousness load had stabilized at 65%, and the "cracks" in the Poem Markings had vanished, but a hint of depth had been added to the silver-white light—the imprint of the "weight" of five thousand years of civilization.
He looked deep into the starry sky. The Hive's "eye" still stared, and those new "tentacles" trembled slightly in the darkness, like the nerve endings of some massive existence.
But he was no longer just afraid. He knew that eighty-seven people's dreams were intertwining, five thousand years of memory were stored in three hundred and sixty servers, and in the canteen, a bowl of Hot and Sour Rice Noodles was being tasted with tears and smiles by twelve people.
He gently touched the Mars commemorative soil on his chest.
"Five thousand years, eighty-seven people, one bowl of noodles," he murmured. "It's enough."
Stardust's orb of light quietly appeared, silently keeping him company by the window. It didn't speak, but that wisp of gentle fluctuation was like an ancient sigh and a gratified smile.