235: Chapter 234 The Crystal Core Buried in the Ground, The Memorial Hall of the Forgotten and Old Zhang's Potatoes

Day 7 in the Fusion Chamber: The Crystal's Request

The Crystal Civilization's road home was ranked third.

Chen Mo stared at the data on the light screen, his brows furrowed.

Unlike other civilizations, the "homecoming" of the Crystal Civilization wasn't simply "going back"—their galaxy still existed, but their home planet, the planet that had once nurtured countless crystals, had long since cooled and hardened over the long ages, turning into a dead, silent rock.

What could they do if they went back?

That mass of light from the Crystal Civilization—they called themselves "Prisms"—flickered slightly in the fusion chamber, as if sensing Chen Mo's question.

Then, it transmitted an image:

"We need to 'plant' ourselves back."

Chen Mo was stunned. Plant themselves back?

The Prism continued to explain: The Crystal Civilization's way of survival was completely different from humans.

They were not "born" and then "lived," but "grew" and then "crystallized."

Every generation of crystals grew slowly in the rock strata of the home planet.

When a crystal "matured," it would detach from the rock strata and become an independent individual.

And the "crystal core" it left behind after detaching would continue to grow, nurturing the next generation.

Their civilization was composed of countless such "crystal cores."

Now, they wanted to go back, not to "live," but to "become" a part of the home planet.

They wanted to implant their final "crystal cores" deep into the rock strata of the home planet, letting them continue to grow there—not as individuals, but as the "memory crystals" of the planet itself.

Eons later, if new life was born, they would accidentally discover these crystal cores in the rock strata and read from them: Here, a civilization once existed.

"So you need..." Chen Mo's voice trembled slightly, "you need us to send your crystal cores to Mars?"

Not the home planet. Mars.

Because the Crystal Civilization's home planet was too far away, and their crystal cores could not maintain their vitality during the long journey home.

They needed a "transit station"—a planet close enough to the Solar System, with sufficiently stable geological conditions, and the potential to nurture life in the future.

Mars was the only choice.

The Potato Chief's projection hovered to the side, listening silently to all this.

Then, it spoke: "Mars is willing to accept."

Chen Mo turned to look at it.

The Potato Chief's projection glowed slightly:

"That little cabbage has already established an 'existential connection' between Earth and Mars. Mars is no longer just a dead planet; it is becoming a 'home.' If the Crystal Civilization's crystal cores can grow here, Mars's future will have more 'memories.' This is a good thing for Mars, for humans, and for those crystal cores."

The Prism's light fluctuated slightly, as if expressing gratitude.

Chen Mo took a deep breath and transmitted this request to the Command Center.

Mars: Crystal Cores Planted

Three days later, beside the Mars potato field, there was an extra, special "planting area."

It wasn't for planting potatoes, it wasn't for planting little cabbage, but for "planting crystal cores."

Thirty-three thumb-sized crystals, shimmering with a pale blue light, were carefully placed in specially made culture dishes.

Each crystal core was proof that a Crystal Civilization had once existed—they condensed the memories, wisdom, and emotions of countless generations of crystals.

Su Kun crouched in front of the culture dishes, closed her eyes, and gently "listened" to the voices of those crystal cores.

She "heard" countless faint "heartbeats"—that was the slow circulation of countless crystal memories within the crystal cores.

They weren't as powerful as human heartbeats, but a more delicate, more constant rhythm, like water droplets deep in the rock strata, dripping day after day for eons.

"They say," Su Kun opened her eyes, "thank you."

The Potato Chief's projection hovered to the side, silent for a moment, and then, using the rhythm of the potatoes, it "said" a sentence to those crystal cores:

"Welcome to Mars. From now on, we are neighbors."

The crystal cores flickered slightly, as if responding.

Then, the culture dishes were slowly placed into the pre-dug pits and covered with Martian soil.

In that soil, "Stardust" elements and a special growth substrate were mixed in, which could help the crystal cores slowly "activate" in the Martian environment.

When the last shovel of soil fell, everyone was silent.

No one knew how long it would take for these crystal cores to "grow"—perhaps a hundred years, perhaps ten thousand years.

But no one doubted that they would grow.

Because Mars was willing to accept them.

Humans were willing to remember them.

They themselves were willing to wait.

Cradle: The Memorial Hall of the Forgotten

The "names" that Lin Wan brought back needed to be settled.

Not simply recorded in archives, but in a way that allowed more people to "perceive" them.

To let those forgotten civilizations truly "come alive" in the human world—even if only for a moment.

Su Kun proposed an idea: establish a "Memorial Hall of the Forgotten."

Not a physical building, but an "consciousness space" jointly maintained by "Listeners."

There, every remembered name would turn into a beam of light, a melody, a piece of color, allowing those who entered to "feel" the proof that they had once existed.

Lin Shen listened to her plan and was silent for a long time.

Then, he said: "Whatever resources you need, just request them."

Su Kun looked at him and suddenly asked: "Do you want to go inside and see?"

Lin Shen did not speak.

After his emotional detachment, he rarely entered any place that required "feeling."

Because he knew that he might not be able to feel anything.

That gap of "should be able to feel but cannot" was more painful than anything else.

But he still nodded.

The Memorial Hall of the Forgotten: The First Beam of Light

Three days later, the first "exhibition area" of the Memorial Hall was built.

It was a small room with tiny points of light covering the walls, each point of light representing a remembered name.

In the center of the room was a specially made "Listening Seat."

Those who sat on it could close their eyes and, using the method Su Kun taught, "feel" the moments that had once existed behind those names.

Lin Shen walked in and sat down on the Listening Seat.

He closed his eyes.

At first, there was nothing. Only silence.

But gradually, he began to "see" some things—

A mother holding her child, humming a lullaby in the ruins.

The melody was light and soft, as if afraid of waking something up.

An old man standing at the highest point of the city, watching the last glimmer of sunset.

The color of the sunset was deep red, like congealed blood.

A couple embracing tightly, saying "I love you" to each other before disappearing into the light.

The temperature of those words, across countless eons, was still scalding.

Countless moments, countless emotions, countless proofs of "having existed," surged like a tide.

Lin Shen's eye sockets turned slightly red.

Not crying. Just... something in his chest moved slightly.

That was the thing he thought had already been detached.

He opened his eyes and was silent for a long time.

Then, he stood up and walked out of the room.

At the door, Su Kun was waiting for him.

"Did you feel it?" she asked.

Lin Shen did not answer.

He just reached out and gently pressed on Su Kun's shoulder.

Then, he turned and left.

The touch was very light. So light that it could barely be felt.

But Su Kun knew that it was all he could give.

Earth: Old Zhang's Potato Sprouted

Earth, a small town in the south.

Old Zhang squatted in the vegetable patch, having squatted there for an entire morning.

It wasn't because he had nothing to do, but because that patch of land where the Mars potatoes were planted had suddenly sprouted a little green this morning.

A very small bit, so small it was almost invisible.

But Old Zhang saw it.

It was a sprout.

A tender green potato sprout that had just broken through the soil, from Mars.

Old Zhang stared at it, staring for a long time.

Then, he reached out and, with extreme caution, gently touched that tender leaf.

The leaf trembled, like a child afraid of being tickled.

Old Zhang laughed. He laughed until his eyes turned red.

He stood up, ran into the house, pulled his wife out, pointed at the sprout, and said: "Look! It's alive! It's alive!"

His wife took a look and curled her lips: "Isn't it just a sprout? Making such a fuss."

Old Zhang ignored her and squatted back down, continuing to watch the sprout.

As he watched, he suddenly remembered something, ran into the house, took out that flute, and played a tune softly towards the sprout.

It was still that old, corny folk song.

The melody was long, with a hint of faint sadness, and also a hint of warm expectation.

The sprout trembled slightly in the flute music.

As if breathing along with the rhythm.

Solar System Entrance: The Fourth Signal

That light that had always been silent trembled for the fourth time at the moment the crystal cores were planted.

This time, the tremor lasted for a full five seconds.

Then, it sent the fourth signal in the direction of the Cradle.

"Remember."

Zhou Zhe captured this signal in the all-white Poem Markings.

"See," "Wait," "See," "Remember."

Four words, four stages.

See them send the first civilization home.

Wait for them to make their choices.

See them cross the void to remember the forgotten.

Remember them building a memorial hall for those names.

The Reapers had always been "seeing."

Always been "waiting."

Always been "remembering."

They were recording every choice humans made.

Every moment.

Every proof of existence.

Then, at some point, they would make their own judgment.

Zhou Zhe looked at that silent light and asked softly:

"How long have you been remembering?"

No one answered.

But he knew the answer must be: A long time. A long time. A long time.

Long enough for countless civilizations to rise and fall.

Long enough for countless "afters" to become new Reapers.

Long enough for countless "thank yous" to dissipate into the depths of time.

And now, they were "remembering" humans.

Night: Three People, Three Places

Late at night.

On Mars, the little cabbage swayed gently under the starry sky.

It had grown to the size of a palm, its leaves thick and tender green.

It occasionally "heard" the flute music coming from Earth and knew it was Old Zhang playing.

It also "sensed" that in the plot of land next to it, those crystal cores were slowly "breathing."

It was not alone.

On Earth, Old Zhang squatted in the vegetable patch, looking at the potato sprout that had just emerged.

The sprout was already a little higher than it had been in the morning.

He reached out and gently touched the soil; the soil was warm, carrying that reassuring feeling of "being alive."

He was not alone.

In the Cradle, Lin Shen stood in front of the window, looking at that silent light deep in the starry sky.

His chest, that place that had already been "emotionally detached," had moved slightly this afternoon in the Memorial Hall of the Forgotten.

He didn't know what that meant.

But he knew that that movement was real.

He was not alone.

In the distance, the lights of the canteen were still on.

Great Strength was preparing breakfast for tomorrow.

On that wall, there were a few more new slips of paper.

Each one was a proof that an ordinary person had "existed."

Tomorrow, the fourth road home would begin.