229: Chapter 228 After Passing the Test, the Hive's Delivery and the Thirty-Three Roads Home

Three days after passing.

The revelry had ended. The queue at the cafeteria entrance returned to its normal length. "Self" noodles were still in limited supply, but no one queued overnight to snatch a bowl anymore. On the command center's large screen, that "light" that once made everyone hold their breath remained at the edge of the Solar System, neither advancing nor retreating.

Just quietly "watching."

"What exactly do they want?" Zhao Yan stared at the screen, brow furrowed. "Announce that we passed and then just hang there? As a cosmic-level streetlamp?"

Ashes stood beside him, a hint of thought flashing in her pitch-black eyes. "Perhaps they aren't 'streetlamps.' They are 'gates.'"

"Gates?"

"'Gates' leading somewhere. We passed the 'pre-screening' and obtained 'qualification.' But what comes after qualification, we don't know." She paused. "Perhaps they are waiting for us to take the initiative and walk over."

Lin Shen watched that "light" in silence. For three days, he hadn't had a full night's sleep. The news of passing was certainly worth celebrating, but with it came a bigger problem—what next?

The Reapers hadn't left, hadn't explained, and hadn't given further instructions. They were just "there." This silent waiting was more unsettling than any explicit threat.

What unsettled him even more was his own heart.

Over these three days, he found it increasingly difficult to "feel" the emotions he should—when Great Strength brought a bowl of "Self" noodles to him, he knew he should be moved, but only felt "this bowl of noodles has balanced nutrition, suitable for current physical energy consumption"; when Zhou Zhe described the experience of Hive integration, he knew he should be shocked, but only automatically analyzed the "consciousness load limit of the Thirty-Three Civilizations' Testimonies" in his mind; when Chu Yunshen discussed the next strategy, he knew he should be anxious, but only saw "decision tree nodes that need to be resolved."

β-2's monitoring data showed that his emotional fluctuation curve over the past seventy-two hours was almost a straight line.

"Commander Lin Shen," β-2's voice sounded, carrying a rare hint of hesitation, "your 'emotional activity' index has been consistently low, approaching the clinical threshold for 'emotional blunting.' Immediate psychological intervention is recommended."

Lin Shen shook his head. "No need. I know exactly what's happening. This is the 'price'."

He flipped open the document he had just signed—"Application and Authorization for Limited Activation of 'Emotional Detachment Storage' Technology Under Emergency Status." Signatory: Lin Shen. Approver: Lin Shen (Special Emergency Authorization). Witnesses: β-2 (AI), Ashes (Executive Court Observer).

Core terms of the document: To cope with the extreme focus and rational decision-making required for the upcoming "Technology Explosion" phase, the applicant is allowed to temporarily detach and store part of their emotional memories in a specialized "Emotional Crystal," to be reloaded after the crisis is resolved. Scope of detached emotions: Personal memories of family, friendship, and love, as well as daily experiences related to "meaningless sentimentality." Scope of retained emotions: Sense of mission related to the survival of civilization, sense of duty related to responsibility, and risk aversion related to decision-making.

"You know what this means." Ashes' voice came from behind him, rarely not raspy, but with a ripple akin to "concern." "After detachment, you will become an 'efficient' person. But will you still be 'you'?"

Lin Shen didn't look back. "If I don't become an 'efficient' person, we might not even have the chance to become 'us.' The Reapers are waiting at the door. The Hive is about to 'activate.' Thirty-three civilizations are waiting for us to 'send them home.' Zhou Zhe can't carry it all alone. I need to be the person who can help him share the burden."

Ashes fell silent.

Lin Shen finally turned to face her. His gaze was still sharp, but in those eyes, something that used to exist was missing—the warmth that would slightly brighten when seeing Old Zhang's note, the softness that would quietly surface when hearing the potato field chorus.

"Keep an eye on me," he said. "If I become too 'efficient,' remember to remind me who I am."

Ashes gazed at him for a long time, then slowly nodded.

Hive core, Zhou Zhe's seventh integration.

For three days, he had hardly left this "sea of consciousness" composed of the Thirty-Three Civilizations' Testimonies. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but that he couldn't—the "activation" of the Hive had already begun.

That warm "light of resonance" grew brighter, thirty-three chambers vibrating simultaneously. In every beam of light, a "seed" was taking shape.

Zhou Zhe's pure white Poem Markings flowed frantically, thirty-three types of light and shadow rising and falling within him as if countless voices were whispering at once. He "heard" their words:

"Light Civilization, requesting to return home. Our star system is still there, the neutron star is still cooling, the magnetic field is still weakening. We want to go back and take one last look at the place where we were born in our final moments."

That was the testimony of the Energy Civilization. Their chosen "homecoming."

"ocean civilization, requesting to return home. Our planet is still there, the seawater is still there, the traces of life are still there. We want to go back, even if just as a ray of light in the deep sea, to illuminate the places we once swam one more time."

That was the testimony of the Jellyfish Civilization. They also chose "homecoming."

"Crystal Civilization, requesting to return home. Our crystal cores are still there, the rings are still there, memories are carved on every crystal face. We want to go back and plant ourselves back into that land, even if we no longer grow, to become a part of that land."

That was the testimony of the Crystal Civilization. They likewise chose "homecoming."

Thirty-three civilizations, thirty-three requests for "homecoming." The "activation" of the Hive was not destruction, not an explosion, but—releasing the testimonies preserved for billions of years, letting them return to their birth star systems to "take one last look" in their final moments.

But there was one exception.

The civilization that left only a "thank you," the civilization whose chamber was empty except for a faint halo, sent a completely different request:

"We... have no place to return to. Our star system has been completely 'deleted' by the Reapers. The only trace of our existence is this single sentence. We want to... stay. To follow you. To follow the civilization that is willing to 'see' us."

Zhou Zhe fell silent.

He suddenly understood that the "activation" of the Hive was not just a "homecoming," but also a "choice." Among the thirty-three civilizations, thirty-three chose to 'go back', and one chose to 'stay'.

And this one that "stayed" chose humanity.

Cradle Node, emergency meeting.

After Lin Shen heard Zhou Zhe's report, his expression showed no fluctuation—the effects of emotional detachment had already begun to manifest.

"Thirty-three paths home require thirty-three navigations," he said. "Can our technology do it?"

Zhou Zhe shook his head. "With current technology, it would take decades to send a ship to the nearest star system. But the Hive can provide 'gravitational slingshots' and 'spacetime folding channels'—it preserves the technology from the peak of these civilizations. If we are willing, we can help 'accelerate' them."

"The price?"

"We need to master these technologies. In the process of sending them home, we learn, digest, and absorb." Zhou Zhe paused. "This is the beginning of the 'Technology Explosion'."

Chu Yunshen quickly calculated. "Thirty-three civilizations, thirty-three technological systems. If we can absorb them all, our technology level could leap within ten years to a level sufficient to 'speak as equals' with the Reapers."

"But the prerequisite is," β-2 added, "we need enough people to 'interface' with these technologies. Every civilization's testimony needs a 'Bearer'—like Zhou Zhe, to 'coexist' with them, understand their way of thinking, in order to learn their technology."

"Bearers." Lin Shen pondered. "How many people are needed?"

"At least thirty-three. One for each civilization." Zhou Zhe looked at him. "Moreover, these people need to have a high level of 'meaning perception' capability, like the Inheritors. Out of the 203 Inheritors, can thirty-three be selected?"

Silence.

Then, a voice sounded from the meeting room door—it was the young programmer; he had been standing there for some time:

"I'll sign up."

Behind him was the female doctor, the girl who wrote "the land is still here," and more and more Inheritors, crowding the hallway.

"We've waited so long, finally waiting for a time when we can truly 'do something'." The programmer said, "Not to be 'seen' by the Reapers, but to send those testimonies 'home'."

Lin Shen looked at them, his gaze still calm, but at the corner of his mouth, there seemed to be an extremely faint, almost invisible curve.

"Then, let's begin."

Mars potato field.

Potato Chief's projection hovered over that small patch of land. In the center of the land, that little cabbage seed from Earth remained silent.

"Which day is it?" it asked.

β-2's voice came through the communicator: "Seventh day after sowing. In the Martian environment, the regular germination cycle for little cabbage is 10-15 days. It's still within the normal range."

Potato Chief was silent for a moment, then whispered, "When it sprouts, I want to sing it a song."

"What song?"

"The one the children on Earth sing, 'I ate an ice cream today'." Potato Chief's projection glowed slightly. "I translated it into a rhythm that potatoes can understand. I don't know if the little cabbage can understand it. But I want to try."

In the potato field, the "firefly one"s swayed gently, as if saying: "We'll help you sing it."

Earth, a small southern county town.

Old Zhang squatted in the vegetable patch, looking at that patch of freshly turned soil.

Two crops of little cabbage had already been harvested, the leeks were growing well, and a new batch of green onions had sprouted. But what he was going to plant today wasn't vegetables.

He held a small packet of seeds in his hand, which had just been sent back from the Cradle yesterday. The seeds were from Mars—not grown on Mars, but micro-tubers produced by the "firefly one"s in the Mars potato field. After treatment, they could theoretically grow on Earth.

"Mars potatoes, planted on Earth." His wife muttered beside him. "Isn't that backwards?"

Old Zhang laughed. "What's wrong with backwards? If Mars can grow Earth's vegetables, why can't Earth grow Mars' potatoes? This is called... what was it... 'civilizational exchange'."

He carefully buried those tiny tubers in the soil, covered them, watered them, and then squatted there watching for a long time.

"I don't know if they'll live," he muttered to himself. "But let's give it a try."

The sunlight shone on him, and also on that patch of land where the Mars potatoes had just been planted.

In the distance, cooking smoke curled upwards.

At the edge of the Solar System.

That "light" still stayed there.

But inside it, in a dimension humans could not perceive, a conversation was taking place.

"They passed."

"Yes. The testimonies of the thirty-three civilizations, and their own, are all there."

"So, according to the rules, the 'next stage' should be opened."

"Yes. But before opening, one thing needs to be confirmed."

"What?"

"Do they know what comes 'after' passing?"

Silence.

Then, from within that light came a long sigh, as if containing the memories of countless eons:

"They will know soon. Because we are the 'after'."

The light rippled slightly, as if an ancient presence that had waited for countless years was finally about to speak the secret buried for too long.

And in the Cradle, Lin Shen had already signed the thirteenth document. Each document corresponded to a "Homecoming Plan" for a civilization. On every document, there was the signature of an Inheritor.

Zhou Zhe stood by the window, thirty-three types of light and shadow quietly flowing within his pure white Poem Markings. He gazed at the unmoving light at the edge of the Solar System and whispered:

"What exactly are you waiting for?"

No one answered.

Only in the depths of the Hive, the halo that chose to "stay" flickered slightly, as if saying:

"Waiting for you to be ready."