226: Chapter 225 Testimony of the Last Seven Days, Desperate Translation, and Little Cabbage's Morning

Day 14: The Language of Trees

The 22nd chamber was a testimony of a plant civilization.

Zhou Zhe initially thought it was similar to the Tranquil Garden—serene, harmonious, and slow. But when he truly immersed himself in it, he realized it was completely different.

The intelligent life of this planet was a forest itself. Every tree was an independent consciousness, connected through a root network into a massive "forest consciousness." Their "sense of time" was completely different from humans—a year for humans was just one season for them; a century for humans was just a slightly longer conversation.

Their "history" was recorded in their tree rings. Each ring was a collective memory—which year had good weather, which year suffered a great fire, which year new tree species drifted in from afar. Their "poetry" was the rustling sound when the wind passed through the branches and leaves; their "philosophy" was the nutrients and information passed when the root systems intertwined.

Their way of existence reminded Zhou Zhe of the "chorus" of the potato fields. But potatoes were tiny, hurried, and full of life's anxieties; whereas they were grand, slow, and murmuring with the longevity of the stars.

Then, the Reapers came.

For this civilization whose essence was "slowness," the "concept erasure" of the Reapers was an incomprehensible violence. They had no time to fear, no time to grieve, and not even time to understand what was happening. Just in the final moment, the entire forest made a decision simultaneously—to compress the memories in every tree ring into a seed and entrust it to the Hive.

Those countless seeds floated quietly before Zhou Zhe, each hiding a hundred years of a forest.

The seed in the deepest part came from the forest's "childhood." Zhou Zhe immersed himself in it and "felt" the shudder when the first tree broke through the soil—that was the most primordial "joy of existence" belonging to life itself.

"I am here. I have broken through the soil. I am in the light."

When Zhou Zhe exited the chamber, a faint, tree-shadow-like texture was added to his pure white Poem Markings.

"They said," he murmured, "existence is breaking through the soil. No matter how slow, no matter how long, as long as one breaks through the soil, one exists."

Day 16: The Elegy of the Stars

The 25th chamber was a civilization that coexisted with stars.

They were born in the strong radiation field of a neutron star, using magnetic field fluctuations as language and gravitational ripples as art. Their "individuals" were magnetic storms lasting thousands of years; their "society" was a symphony of countless magnetic storms on a galactic scale.

The way they "saw" the universe was something humans could never imagine. They could "feel" the birth and death of every star, "hear" the gravitational screams when a black hole devoured matter, and "perceive" the slow and grand rhythm of a galaxy rotating.

Their "history" was the evolutionary history of stars; their "philosophy" was a meditation on "gravity and resistance"; their "love" was the gentle intertwining of two magnetic storms.

Then, the neutron star grew old and began to cool. The magnetic field weakened, and the storms subsided. Their civilization slowly withered with the aging of its mother star.

There were no Reapers. No external enemies. Just the laws of nature.

In the final millennium, they used the remaining magnetic energy to weave an "Elegy of the Stars"—that was not a sad farewell, but a thank you to the universe. Thank you for letting it exist, thank you for letting it see, thank you for letting it love.

The last note of the elegy could be barely translated into human language as:

"Light will fade, stars will cool, but we once shone."

Zhou Zhe stood silently before that elegy for a long time.

He remembered the sacrificed "firefly one" in the Mars potato fields, whose final signal was "persist." It turned out that no matter which corner of the universe, no matter how different the form, those obsessions about "having shone" were common.

Day 18: A Child's Doodle

The 28th chamber was the smallest civilization Zhou Zhe encountered on his "journey of testimony."

It was a civilization that had only existed for three thousand years, having just learned to use fire, just started to look up at the starry sky, and just created its first writing. They had no epics, no philosophy, no complex art. All they could entrust were a box of crude pottery shards.

On each shard, simple patterns were drawn—the sun, the moon, a mother, a child, little people holding hands. On the most complete one was a child's doodle: crooked lines representing Dad, Mom, oneself, and a four-legged animal (probably a dog). Next to it was a line of the first writing, written with symbols they had just invented:

"We are a family."

This civilization, before the Reapers arrived, didn't even have time to be afraid. They just looked blankly at the strange light in the sky, and then, along with their sun, moon, mother, child, and puppy, were all "proven to have never existed."

But the Hive kept this box of pottery shards.

Zhou Zhe looked at those doodles and suddenly burst into tears.

He thought of the notes from ordinary people on the wall of the canteen. He thought of Old Zhang writing "The land is still there." He thought of that child writing "I ate an ice cream today." It turned out that no matter how grand a civilization is, what remains in the end might be just such simple things—a family, a meal, a smiling afternoon.

Day 20: The Last Testimony

The 33rd chamber was also the last one.

Zhou Zhe thought he would see the greatest, most magnificent civilization. But when he entered, he found that this was a chamber... that left nothing behind.

It was empty. Only a cluster of extremely faint, almost imperceptible light halos floated quietly in the center of the chamber.

He approached doubtfully, and the light halo fluctuated slightly, conveying a minimalist image:

"We... left nothing behind. Epics, poetry, art, philosophy... at the final moment, we suddenly understood that none of that was important. We only wanted to leave... one sentence."

The light halo slowly unfolded, revealing those words—encoded with the most basic mathematical language and physical constants, which any civilization could easily decipher:

"We existed. We loved. We left. Thank you."

Zhou Zhe stood before those words for a very long time.

Then, he bowed deeply.

Cradle: The "Translation" of the Inheritors

Within twenty days, the Inheritors group expanded from 47 to 203 people.

They no longer just "received" testimonies, but began to "translate"—converting the "meanings" from different civilizations and different forms into languages, images, sounds, and even scents that humans could understand.

A young programmer was in charge of the "Language of Light" translation group. He found that the "grammar" of those spectral epics had a subtle similarity to a certain ancient programming language. He began to try to reproduce those light fluctuations with code, allowing more people to "see."

A female doctor was in charge of the "Deep Sea Poetry" translation group. She found that the rhythms of those jellyfish civilizations had an astonishing resonance with the mother's heartbeat that human infants hear in the womb. She began to try to reproduce those deep-sea lights with rhythm, creating a "womb lullaby" to help premature infants stabilize their emotions.

The girl who wrote "The land is still there" was in charge of the "Child's Doodle" translation group. Looking at the photos of those pottery shards, she suddenly had an idea—to let the children "translate." She organized a group of five or six-year-old children and let them draw their own understanding of "a family" based on those doodles.

As a result, what the children drew was surprisingly similar to what that child drew three thousand years ago—the sun, the moon, Dad and Mom, themselves, and pets.

"It turns out that no matter how many years, no matter how far away, 'home' in the eyes of children is the same," she said softly.

β-2 recorded all this and wrote in the log:

"The Inheritors group has completed the leap from 'perception' to 'translation.' They have transformed those ancient testimonies into 'meaning carriers' that contemporary humans can understand. This is not only the continuation of civilization, but also 'empathy' between civilizations. On a cosmic scale, this might be the first time."

Canteen: Systematization of the Testimony Menu

Great Strength had barely closed his eyes for these twenty days.

With the help of β-2, he transformed the testimonies of twenty-one civilizations into tasteable flavors. In the canteen, there was a new menu wall, densely written with:

"Language of Light" energy bar (Energy civilization, pure and sweet)

"Deep Sea Lullaby" jelly (Ocean civilization, gentle and savory)

"Crystal Silence" hard candy (Crystal civilization, clear and cold-sweet)

"Forest Ring" mille-feuille (Plant civilization, layered woody fragrance)

"Star Elegy" bubble drink (Neutron star civilization, explosive on the palate, long aftertaste)

"Child's Doodle" colored candies (Pottery civilization, colorful, each one tastes different)

"Last Testimony" clear spring water (The civilization that left nothing behind, pure, tasteless, but makes people inexplicably want to cry after drinking)

Next to each dish was a note with the "last sentence" of that civilization.

At the entrance of the canteen, there was always a long queue. Some came to eat "light," some came to drink "sea," some came to taste "stars." More people came to drink that bowl of "Last Testimony" clear spring water—drink it, be silent, and then leave silently.

β-2 noticed that everyone who drank the clear spring water would have improved work efficiency and gentler interpersonal relationships in the following days. It was as if that sentence "We existed, we loved, we left, thank you" was quietly fermenting inside them, turning into something softer and tougher.

Great Strength looked at all this, scratched his head, and muttered: "I'm just cooking, how did I end up enlightening people..."

But his work never stopped.

Earth: The Morning of little cabbage

On the morning of the 21st day, in a small county town in the south of Earth.

Old Zhang squatted in the vegetable plot, looking at the patch of green little cabbage. The seeds planted twenty-one days ago could now be eaten.

He carefully pulled a few, shook off the soil on the roots, and weighed them in his hands. Tender, juicy, with the morning dew, smelling of a clear, sweet, raw scent—that was the smell of "being alive."

His wife shouted in the kitchen: "Are they pulled? We're having little cabbage dumplings for lunch!"

"Coming, coming!" Old Zhang held the little cabbages and walked towards the house. Halfway there, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the vegetable plot.

The sun was just right, shining on the chives, green onions, and spinach that were still growing. Every leaf was shining, and every vegetable was living hard, quietly, and as a matter of course.

He suddenly remembered the first time he went to the Cradle thirty years ago, standing at the porthole of the shuttle, watching Earth get smaller and smaller, turning into a small blue dot. At that time, he asked himself: "Will I ever come back?"

Now he was back. Not only was he back, but he had also grown a vegetable plot.

"It's worth it," he said softly, turning and walking into the house.

At noon, the little cabbage dumplings were served. Old Zhang took a bite, and the fresh, sweet juice exploded in his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed slowly.

"So delicious," he said.

His wife gave him a look: "You grew it yourself, of course it's delicious."

Old Zhang didn't speak, just took another bite. He knew that in this taste, there were seeds, soil, sunlight, water, and twenty-one days of waiting. And there was that young man thirty years ago who stood at the porthole, not knowing if he could ever come back.

He took out his mobile phone and sent a message to the Cradle:

"little cabbage is ready to eat. It tastes great. Send some seeds next time, can they be grown on Mars? — Zhang Yougen."

Hive: The 13th Day of the Countdown

Zhou Zhe exited the last chamber, and his consciousness slowly returned.

Thirty-three chambers, thirty-three civilizations, thirty-three extinctions, thirty-three entrustments. He had "seen" them all. He had "heard" them all. He had "felt" them all.

The "eye" of the Hive fluctuated slightly, conveying an image:

"You are the first person to 'see' all the testimonies." In the image, there was a trace of fatigue that transcended time, and a trace of imperceptible relief, "Now, you know."

Zhou Zhe nodded. His Poem Markings was all white, but it was no longer the pure "oneness" as before; instead, countless faint, flowing light and shadows were faintly visible in the white—those were the imprints of thirty-three civilizations, flowing slowly in the depths of his consciousness.

"I know," he said, "I know how great a civilization can be, and how small it can be. I know how deep fear can be, and how shallow hope can be. I know that what is left in the end might just be a 'thank you'."

He paused and looked at the empty chambers deep in the Hive—those testimonies had been "received" by him and had become a part of him.

"But I also know one thing."

"What?"

"We are not yet at the time where we need to entrust our testimony." Zhou Zhe's pure white Poem Markings glowed slightly, "Our potato fields are still singing. Our Inheritors are translating your testimonies. Our chef is building monuments for you with taste. One of our retired maintenance workers has grown little cabbage on Earth and is asking if he can send seeds to Mars."

He took a deep breath and then said the words that had been swirling in his heart for twenty-one days:

"So, we choose the third path. Not entrusting, and not passing by luck. But letting the Reapers 'see'—see us, see you, see all the civilizations that have ever existed, telling them in thirty-three ways: existence itself is meaning."

The Hive was silent.

A long silence.

Then, the huge Hive, composed of countless testimonies, began to glow slightly. It was not the red light of warning, not the cold white light, but a warm "resonance light" emitted by the testimonies of countless civilizations, like the morning light.

"Then," the image from the Hive came, with a trace of "expectation" that transcended time, as if it had been waiting for countless eons, "Let us, together, 'let them see'."

Night: The Re-convergence of Three Clues

Late at night, Cradle Node.

Lin Shen stood in front of the big screen in the command center, watching the constantly jumping numbers: Hive "activation" countdown, 13 days left.

But his gaze was not on that number.

He was looking at three messages that arrived at the same time:

First, Zhou Zhe's message: "I've finished watching. Thirty-three civilizations. I've chosen. The third path."

Second, the Inheritors' message: "The first batch of 'testimony translations' has been organized and is available for the entire civilization to share. P.S.: The 'a family' drawn by the children is exactly the same as the one drawn by that child three thousand years ago."

Third, Great Strength's message: "The testimony menu has been systematized and is served daily. P.S.: Today, 1372 servings of 'Last Testimony' clear spring water were sold, 1372 people were silent after drinking."

There was also a fourth message, just popped up from Earth.

Old Zhang's photo. In the photo was a plate of steaming little cabbage dumplings. Attached was a line of text:

"little cabbage is ready to eat. It tastes great. Send some seeds next time, can they be grown on Mars? — Zhang Yougen."

Lin Shen looked at this photo, looked at that line of text, and suddenly laughed.

He turned to look out the window, deep in the starry sky, the Hive was emitting a warm, morning-light-like glow.

Further away, the Reapers were still on their way.

But at this moment, he knew that no matter what happened in 13 days, no matter what the Reapers "saw," one thing was certain—thirty-three civilizations, through a chef's taste, a group of Inheritors' translation, and a retired maintenance worker's little cabbage, were being "remembered."

And remembering, in itself, is the most powerful weapon against "concept erasure."