230: Chapter 229 Thirty-Three Names, The Equation of Homecoming and the Light of Breaking Ground

Day One of the Fusion Pods

Thirty-three Fusion Pods were lined up in a row, like thirty-three cocoons waiting to gestate life.

Inside each pod lay an Inheritor. Their eyes were closed, and they were connected by countless hair-thin photosensitive cables to the thirty-three clusters of Testimony Light within the Hive core—no, they should be called "returnees" now—establishing a subtle conscious link.

Zhou Zhe, enveloped in pure white Poem Markingss, walked past each pod. He could "sense" the fusion progress between each "Bearer-Returnee" pair—some were smooth, with light and consciousness slowly intertwining; some were difficult, the Returnee's memories like sharp crystal thorns causing the Bearer's brainwaves to fluctuate violently; others were at a stalemate, as if two unfamiliar lives were tentatively approaching each other.

In Pod No. 3 lay the young programmer. Fusing with him was the Energy Civilization—that ancient existence composed of pure light that had once woven the "Spectral Epic."

The programmer's brainwaves showed an unprecedented state of activity. Beta-2's monitoring indicated he was "learning" a "grammar of light" completely different from human programming languages—expressing logic not through code, but through frequency, wavelength, and interference fringes. His fingers twitched slightly unconsciously, as if he were using his imagination to write an executable program composed of photons.

"He is 'seeing' light," Zhou Zhe said softly. "Not light in the physical sense, but 'how light thinks'."

In Pod No. 7 was the female doctor. Fusing with her was the ocean civilization—those existences like elegant jellyfish whose language was a rhythm woven from light and water currents.

Tears slid from the corners of the female doctor's eyes, but her lips wore a smile. She was "dreaming" of a warm deep sea, where countless luminous lives swam around her, their tentacles gently brushing her skin, transmitting eons of accumulated wisdom about "healing" and "companionship."

In Pod No. 12 was the girl who wrote "The land is still here." Fusing with her was the civilization that chose to stay behind—that halo consisting of only a single sentence.

Her state was the quietest. No violent brainwave fluctuations, no tears, no smiles. She just lay there quietly, as if listening to a very, very distant voice whispering something in her ear.

Beta-2 asked Zhou Zhe: "Is everything... normal on her end?"

Zhou Zhe was silent for a moment, then nodded: "That civilization has nothing. Only one sentence. What it needs her to do isn't 'learning,' but 'remembering.' Remember that sentence, and then, when the time comes, say it."

"Which sentence?"

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

The Homecoming Equation

In the command center, countless complex equations scrolled across the light screen in front of Chu Yunshen.

The thirty-three returnees provided preliminary data for thirty-three "Homecoming Paths"—they remembered the locations of their star systems, where their civilization's "home" was. But the problem was that those star systems were, at the closest, dozens of light-years away, and at the farthest, spanned hundreds of light-years.

The Hive could provide "gravitational slingshots" and "spacetime folding channels," but the prerequisite was accurately calculating the gravitational field distribution, dark matter density, and spacetime curvature changes along each path. Even a slight deviation could cause the returnees to be lost forever in some unknown dimensional fold.

"This is a super-complex version of a 'thirty-three-body problem,'" Chu Yunshen rubbed his temples. "And every path interferes with the others. Opening one Returnee's folding channel might warp the spacetime structure of other paths. We need a 'Hyper-dimensional Navigation Equation' that can solve thirty-three paths simultaneously."

"Can anyone solve it?" Lin Shen's voice came from behind.

Chu Yunshen turned back and saw Lin Shen's eyes, still sharp but lacking a certain warmth, causing his heart to tremble slightly.

"Theoretically, there is a solution," he said. "But the required computation is too vast. Even with Beta-2's full computing power, it would take... three years."

"We don't have three years," Lin Shen said. "The Reapers are waiting at the doorstep. The returnees need to depart as soon as possible. Any other way?"

Chu Yunshen hesitated, then pulled up a file: "This is a preliminary analysis of the 'grammar of light' provided by the Energy Civilization—the one the programmer is fusing with. They have a thinking mode based on 'photon parallel computing.' Theoretically, if the programmer can fully master this grammar and connect his consciousness with Beta-2, he could create a 'light-electric hybrid computing network,' shortening the calculation time to... three months."

"Three months is still too long."

"There is another way," Chu Yunshen's voice lowered further. "The 'lattice storage' technology provided by the Crystal Civilization can 'write' navigation data into special crystal structures. Then, at the moment the spacetime folding channel opens, the returnees can 'carry' the crystals and perform real-time path corrections during the voyage. This way, we can pre-calculate a 'main path' and let them adjust the rest themselves."

"The cost?"

"The crystals are one-time use. If a Returnee encounters an uncorrectable deviation during the voyage, they will... be lost. There would be no way to retrieve them."

Lin Shen was silent for three seconds.

Then he said: "Tell every Returnee and let them choose for themselves. Those willing to take the risk will use crystal navigation. Those who aren't will wait for our 'light-electric network' to finish its calculations."

Chu Yunshen was stunned.

He had thought Lin Shen would say "everyone must use the crystals, depart as soon as possible." But Lin Shen's choice was "let them choose for themselves."

What happened in those three seconds of silence?

He didn't know. But he suddenly felt that the "emotionally detached" Lin Shen might not have lost all his warmth.

The First Breath-Holding on Mars

In the Martian potato fields, there had been no "chorus" for seventy-two consecutive hours.

It wasn't that they weren't singing, but that they were "listening."

Listening for what? Listening to see if there was any movement from that small little cabbage seed that had been planted twelve days ago.

Potato Chief's projection hovered over the field, motionless. Beside it, a group of "firefly one" leaves were all turned toward that patch of land, as if paying collective respects.

Beta-2's remote monitoring showed that the life signals beneath the soil were undergoing subtle changes. The seed's embryo was slowly breaking through the seed coat, rooting downward and reaching upward with its first true leaf.

It was about to sprout.

Potato Chief's projection trembled slightly. Using a rhythm only the potatoes could understand, it whispered:

"Are you ready? It's coming out."

All "firefly one" emitted an extremely soft, breath-like "harmony" simultaneously. It wasn't singing, but "welcoming."

Then, at the moment the sunlight was strongest, an extremely tiny, tender green sprout tip broke through the Martian soil and appeared on that crimson wasteland.

For the first time, green from Earth grew on Mars.

Potato Chief was silent for a very long time. Then, it spoke, using human language, toward the direction of the Cradle:

"It's alive."

In the command center, Chu Yunshen, who was calculating the navigation equations, suddenly stopped his work and looked toward Mars. He didn't know why he stopped, only feeling that something important was happening.

In the cafeteria, Great Strength, who was making noodles, suddenly froze and then smiled for no apparent reason. He didn't know why he was smiling, only feeling a warmth in his heart.

On Earth, in a small southern county town, Old Zhang, who was sunbathing in the yard, suddenly sneezed. He rubbed his nose, looked at the patch of land where the Martian potatoes were planted, and muttered, "What's wrong? Is something good happening over there?"

At the doorstep of the Solar System, that "light" that had remained still fluctuated slightly. It was as if it, too, had sensed something.

And Zhou Zhe, standing before the window of the Fusion Pods, saw the thirty-three types of light shadows within the pure white Poem Markingss brighten slightly. He whispered:

"Welcome to this world."

Old Zhang's Potatoes

Earth, a small southern county town.

Old Zhang had been squatting in front of the patch of land where the Martian potatoes were planted for half an hour.

His wife shouted from the house: "Time to eat!"

"In a bit," he replied without looking back.

It wasn't that he didn't want to eat, but he always felt that something in that soil was "calling" to him.

He didn't know why he felt this way. Having farmed his whole life, he'd never experienced it. But since burying those Martian potato tubers, he always felt that every morning and evening, the ground would transmit an extremely faint vibration, like a "heartbeat."

"Could it be psychological?" he muttered, reaching out to touch the soil.

The soil was cool and damp, with that unique fresh smell of having just been watered. But at the moment he touched it, he swore he felt it—not a physical sensation, but a deeper, unspeakable "resonance"—something in the soil was slowly, painfully, and diligently trying to "live."

He withdrew his hand, looked at the patch of land, and suddenly smiled.

"Alright, grow slowly. I'll wait."

He stood up, patted the dirt off his hands, and turned back to the house to eat.

The Reapers' First Word

At the doorstep of the Solar System.

That "light" that had been silent suddenly fluctuated, emitting an extremely weak signal toward the Cradle that was almost impossible for any instrument to detect.

The signal wasn't sent via electromagnetic waves or gravitational waves, but through a more fundamental, primitive "existential resonance"—only those consciousnesses that had once fused with the Hive could "sense" it.

Zhou Zhe captured this signal within the pure white Poem Markingss.

There was only one word:

"afterward."

He was stunned.

The "afterward" the Reapers spoke of wasn't "the future" or "the next step," but a noun. An existence. Something they used to refer to "themselves"?

He tried to follow up, but the signal had already vanished. The "light" returned to silence, as if everything just now had been an illusion.

But he knew it wasn't an illusion.

Because, deep within the Hive, that halo that chose to stay behind also fluctuated slightly. It "heard" it. It "understood."

Zhou Zhe's consciousness reached into the halo and whispered: "Do you know what 'afterward' is?"

The halo was silent for a long time, then transmitted an extremely vague, almost indecipherable image:

"afterward... is... what we once... wanted to become... but... failed..."

Failed?

Zhou Zhe's heart tightened. He suddenly realized that the "Reapers" humanity faced might be far more complex than they imagined. They weren't simple "order extremists" or indifferent "civilization judges." They might have once been some "afterward," some existence that "tried to become something but failed."

And now, they were watching humanity, waiting for humanity to become what they had failed to become.

Night: Thirty-Three Names

Late night, Cradle.

Zhou Zhe sat in the corridor outside the Fusion Pods, clutching a piece of paper. On the paper were thirty-three names—the names of the thirty-three Bearer.

The young programmer was named Chen Mo.

The female doctor was named Lin Wan.

The girl who wrote "The land is still here" was named Su Kun.

And many more people he knew or didn't know.

Behind each name was a Returnee's code name: Light Civilization, Deep Sea Civilization, Crystal Civilization, Forest Civilization, Star Civilization, Pottery Civilization... and the civilization that had only one sentence, code-named "Thank You."

Tomorrow, or the day after, or a little later, the moment the navigation equation was solved, these people would take these returnees and embark on thirty-three different Homecoming Paths.

Some would return. Some might stay on the road forever.

But he knew they would go. Because those returnees had waited for far, far too long.

He looked out the window. Deep in the starry sky, the Hive's resonance light was still warm. At the doorstep of the Solar System, the Reapers' light remained silent.

And on Mars, the little cabbage that had just broken through the soil was using its delicate leaves to welcome the first rays of morning light on Mars.

He whispered:

"Thirty-three names. Thirty-three paths. Thirty-three civilizations, going home."

The pure white Poem Markingss glowed slightly.

"And we will remember every single one."