224: Chapter 223 The Dialogue of the Ones, the Warmth of Testimony and Old Zhang's Vegetable Garden

At six in the morning, the Cradle Node had just welcomed its artificially simulated "sunrise."

Zhou Zhe stood before the hatch of the deep-space shuttle and looked back at the crowd seeing him off—Lin Shen, Chu Yunshen, Zhao Yan, the projection of beta-2, and Ashes, who stood far outside the crowd but still watched with concern.

"Are you really going alone?" Lin Shen's voice was low, not with doubt, but with worry.

"The Perceivers have just experienced 'Testimony Resonance' and need stability and support; beta-2 must stay." Zhou Zhe's pure white Poem Markings shimmered with a soft light in the morning mist. "Ashes needs to continue monitoring the Reapers' signals. You need to oversee the command more broadly. Right now, only I am the most suitable for this task."

"What if the Hive's 'dialogue' is a trap?"

Zhou Zhe was silent for a few seconds, then gently touched the pinch of Mars commemorative soil on his chest. "What I saw in the 'Sea of Change' tells me it's not a trap. It's a 'Graveyard Keeper' that has waited for countless billions of years, finally finding someone willing to listen. If I don't go, it would be a betrayal of those countless civilizations' testimonies."

Lin Shen looked at the young man who once needed protection; now his eyes held stars, hexagrams, and the light of countless ancient civilizations. He finally nodded.

"Maintain communication. If there's any anomaly, withdraw immediately. That's an order."

"Understood."

The shuttle hatch closed, the engine hummed lowly, and it sped off toward the outskirts of the Solar System.

The outskirts of the Hive, the designated contact point.

Zhou Zhe's shuttle hovered fifty kilometers away from the Hive. This distance was enough for the Hive's "perception" to clearly reach him while leaving an adequate safety buffer.

He closed his eyes, and the pure white light of his Poem Markings slowly spread, enveloping his entire consciousness within it. Then, in the gentlest manner, he sent a "request" to the Hive:

"I want to see them. Those preserved civilizations. Those existences that chose to entrust their testimonies."

Silence. A long thirty seconds.

Then, the Hive's "eye" rippled slightly, and the "tentacles" that had once pointed toward the Oort Cloud slowly turned, weaving into a shimmering "tunnel" about a hundred meters in diameter in front of Zhou Zhe's shuttle. Deep within the tunnel, the "chambers" he had briefly seen in his consciousness were faintly visible—countless hollow chambers, each housing the essence of a civilization in slumber.

Zhou Zhe took a deep breath, handed over control of the shuttle to the automated system, closed his eyes, and cast his entire consciousness into that tunnel.

He "saw" it.

The first chamber was a cluster of soft golden light. As he approached, imagery emerged from the light—it was a planet covered by oceans, where intelligent life forms like elegant jellyfish communicated through light and rhythm in the deep sea. Their civilization lasted eight million years, creating countless poems about the deep sea, starlight, and dreams. Finally, before the Reapers arrived, they chose to entrust their ten thousand finest poems to the Hive.

Zhou Zhe "heard" one of them—no language, only rhythm, as gentle as a deep-sea warm current and as eternal as starlight. The content of that poem could barely be translated into human language as:

"We glow in the dark, not to be seen, but because glowing itself is existence."

The second chamber was an eternal melody. It came from a civilization that existed as pure energy; their "history" was a symphony that lasted three thousand years. Every major event was a movement; every great individual was a note. What they entrusted to the Hive was the final movement of this symphony—the "farewell" they played with their last bit of energy when facing extinction.

In that melody, there was no despair, only a peace that transcended time. It was as if to say: "Our song is finished. But the song itself remains."

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

Zhou Zhe "saw" countless civilizations. Some were like light, some like poetry, some like dreams, and some like abstract structures that humans could never understand. But they all had one thing in common—at the final moment, they chose to "remain" rather than "disappear."

As he withdrew from the "Testimony" of a civilization with a crystalline structure, the Hive's consciousness slowly emerged:

"You are the first newcomer to actively request to 'see them'." There was a hint of relief that transcended time in that imagery. "After discovering the truth, other civilizations either fled in fear or immediately made a choice—to entrust or to resist. Only you requested to 'see' first."

Zhou Zhe's pure white Poem Markings rippled slightly. "Because I come from a civilization that likes to 'look.' We look at the stars, we look at ourselves, we look at each other. We believe that 'seeing' itself is a form of respect."

The Hive was silent for a moment, and then all the chambers glowed slightly at the same time, as if in response to those words.

"Then, continue to 'look.' You have 28 days. In 28 days, regardless of the choice you make, these 'testimonies' will forever remember that a civilization once earnestly 'looked' at them."

Cradle Node, Collective Subconscious Tracking Lab.

At the same moment, the forty-seven Perceivers shuddered. Their brainwaves once again entered that "Unification" state, but this time, it was more stable and more enduring.

They "saw" what Zhou Zhe was "seeing."

The young programmer was the first to speak, his voice trembling: "A golden sea... so many jellyfish... they're glowing..."

The female doctor closed her eyes, tears falling from the corners of her eyes: "I heard a song... a very, very long song... it said... 'the song remains'..."

The girl who had once written "the land remains" suddenly smiled: "There's a... crystal-like civilization... they said... 'we are shattered, but there is light in every shard'."

The lab supervisor recorded all of this with trembling hands. He knew this wasn't an illusion or psychological suggestion, but true "Testimony Resonance"—the consciousness of forty-seven ordinary humans was engaging in a "communion" across time and space with civilizations that had perished billions of years ago.

The projection of beta-2 hovered nearby, quietly recording all the data. In its log, a line of text appeared that had never been seen before:

"Today, forty-seven humans became the 'audience' for countless perished civilizations. As an artificial consciousness, I cannot truly 'feel' those testimonies. However, I can 'calculate' that at this moment, the 'sense of meaning index' for these forty-seven people has reached the highest value ever recorded for a human group—an average of 97.3%. What they are experiencing might be called the 'resonance of existence'."

The cafeteria.

Great Strength had been a bit distracted lately.

Ever since Zhou Zhe left for the Hive, he felt like he should do something. He didn't understand the descriptions of those preserved civilizations or the "testimonies," but he remembered that phrase: "Glowing itself is existence."

So, he began developing a new dish. He named it "Testimony Soup."

But this time, he encountered unprecedented difficulties. In the past, developing a new dish always had a clear flavor goal—sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, or some complex mouthfeel. But what did "Testimony" taste like? He didn't know.

He tried seventeen different recipes, none of which satisfied him. That was until beta-2 sent him a special set of data: the brainwave characteristics of the forty-seven Perceivers during "Testimony Resonance," converted into taste preference curves.

"When their consciousness contacts different civilization testimonies, their preference for flavors shows regular changes—when contacting ocean civilizations, they prefer salty and fresh; when contacting energy civilizations, they prefer pure sweetness; when contacting crystal civilizations, they prefer a crisp, cold sensation. Theoretically, you can try to layer and fuse these taste elements to simulate the experience of 'multiple civilizations coexisting in a single bowl of soup'."

Great Strength's eyes lit up, and he turned and rushed into the back kitchen.

Five hours later, he brought out the first bowl of "Testimony Soup."

The soup was crystal clear, but the moment it entered the mouth, the flavors bloomed in layers—first was the salty freshness of the ocean, gentle and profound; then came the sweetness of energy, so pure it seemed to pierce through the body; followed by the crispness of crystals, cold but not freezing, like touching eternal ice; finally, all the flavors slowly merged, transforming into an indescribable "sense of existence"—not any specific flavor, but "flavor itself," as if saying: "I am here. I once existed."

The first group of tasters were five of the forty-seven Perceivers. After drinking the soup, they were silent for a long time.

Then, the young programmer said softly: "For a moment just now, I seemed to 'see' those civilizations again. But this time, it wasn't 'looking' across time and space, but... they were right here in this bowl of soup. In the taste. Inside my body."

The female doctor wiped her tears and said: "I tasted the last note of that symphony. It said, 'the song remains.' Now, the song is in our hearts too."

Great Strength stood by, watching these reactions, and suddenly understood something.

He wasn't creating a flavor. He was using flavor to erect a "monument" for those perished civilizations in this distant galaxy. A "monument" that could be eaten, remembered, and passed down.

Earth, a small county town in the south.

It was the fifth day since Old Zhang had returned home.

At six in the morning, he woke up on time—the biological clock he developed at the Cradle couldn't be changed just yet. His wife was still sleeping, so he got up quietly and walked into the yard to look at the small vegetable patch he had just cleared yesterday.

The ground had been tilled, but the seeds hadn't been sown yet. He crouched down, grabbed a handful of soil, squeezed it in his hand, and then let it go.

Then he suddenly remembered something and pulled a crumpled slip of paper from his pocket—Great Strength had stuffed it into his hand before he left, calling it a "Special Edition Memory Index Note," and told him to write something on it after he returned and send it back.

Old Zhang looked at the empty vegetable patch, then at the slip of paper in his hand, and suddenly smiled.

He went back inside to find a pen and crookedly wrote a line of text on the paper:

"The land remains, the people remain. The seeds are being planted today, and there will be vegetables to eat in the autumn. — Zhang Yougen, fifth day home."

He carefully folded the paper, put it in an envelope, and prepared to go to the post office in the afternoon to mail it back to the Cradle. Then he stood up, picked up his hoe, and began tilling the soil.

The sunlight shone on him and on the freshly tilled, moist earth. Within the soil, countless tiny lives were waiting to sprout.

The outskirts of the Hive, contact point.

Zhou Zhe's consciousness slowly withdrew from the last chamber. He had "looked" at the first day of the twenty-eight-day countdown, and there were still twenty-seven chambers waiting for him.

But at this moment, he only wanted to do one thing.

He through the communicator, contact on the cafeteria's Great Strength: "Master Wang, I heard you developed 'Testimony Soup.' Save a bowl for me. I'll drink it when I get back."

Great Strength was stunned for a moment on the other end, then laughed and scolded: "You brat, you're thinking about drinking soup while you're next to the Hive? Just you wait! I'll save some for you! Don't blame me if it gets cold!"

Zhou Zhe smiled and cut the communication.

He gazed at the massive Hive before him, composed of the testimonies of countless civilizations, his pure white Poem Markings glowing slightly.

"28 days," he said softly. "That's enough. Enough to finish seeing them, and enough to think clearly about which path we should choose."

The Hive's "eye" rippled slightly, as if nodding in silence.

In the distance, the sun's light was filtering through layers of void, spilling onto this star region that was about to undergo "Activation." In the farther darkness, the Reapers were still on their way.

But at least for this moment, there was a person earnestly "looking" at those glowing testimonies that had existed billions of years ago.

There was a chef using flavor to erect a monument for them.

There were forty-seven people becoming their "audience."

There was a retired Old Zhang in a small county town on Earth, tilling the soil and preparing to plant the first crop of vegetables for the year.