238: Chapter 237 The Final Homecoming, Unforgettable Echoes, and Old Zhang's Potato Feast

The fifteenth day in the fusion pod: The waiting of the pottery shards

The seventh path home belongs to the Pottery Shard civilization.

That cluster of light—they have no name, only that box of simple pottery shards—is the most special existence among all those returning home.

They have only existed for three thousand years, having just learned to use fire, just started looking up at the starry sky, and just created their first written character.

They have no epics, no philosophy, no complex art.

All they can leave behind are those pottery shards.

Now, they are going home.

Chen Mo stood in front of the light screen, watching the data of the Pottery Shard civilization, silent for a long time.

Unlike other civilizations, the home planet of the Pottery Shard civilization still exists.

That small, inconspicuous planet, dozens of light-years away, quietly orbits its star.

There are the caves they once lived in, the stone walls where they drew their first graffiti, and the hills where they stood when they first looked up at the starry sky.

Those pottery shards want to return there.

But the problem is, the Pottery Shard civilization's homecoming does not require space-time folding channels or complex navigation equations.

They only need a "sender"—someone willing to take those pottery shards and make the trip personally.

Because those pottery shards are too fragile.

The slightest disturbance from a space-time folding channel could shatter them.

"Do you need me to accompany you?" Chen Mo asked the cluster of light.

The light fluctuated slightly, conveying an image: a child holding an adult's hand, walking on the road home.

Chen Mo understood.

He turned around and found Lin Wan.

"I'll take the seventh path," he said.

Lin Wan looked at him, was silent for a moment, and then nodded: "Go ahead. I'll wait for you here."

Chen Mo smiled, took the pinch of soil from the Mars potato field—that small cloth bag—from where he kept it close to his body, and stuffed it into Lin Wan's hand.

"This time, you keep it for me."

Lin Wan took the cloth bag and gripped it tightly.

"I'll return it to you when you come back."

Launch Site: The Seventh Gate

Three days later, four o'clock in the morning.

Above the launch site, the seventh "Gate of Homecoming" was slowly opening.

This gate was smaller and dimmer than all the previous ones—because this time, the path was the nearest and most ordinary.

Chen Mo stood in the center of the launch site, holding a sealed box in his arms.

Inside the box were those thirty-three pottery shards—the entire testimony left behind by that civilization that had only existed for three thousand years.

Behind him stood Lin Wan, Su Kun, Zhou Zhe, and everyone who could make it.

No one spoke.

But everyone knew that this was Chen Mo's last time embarking on a homecoming path.

Of the thirty-three returnees, he had already sent away five.

Liuli, Star Remnant, Tree Ring, and two other civilizations whose names he had never mentioned.

Each time, he had walked on the edge of life and death.

Each time, he had returned.

But this time was different.

This time, he had to personally take those pottery shards and travel through dozens of light-years of ordinary space.

No space-time folding, no jumping, just a long, slow voyage.

Going there might take several months.

Returning might take several more months.

But those pottery shards could not wait.

Chen Mo turned to face everyone.

Lin Wan stepped forward and stuffed the small cloth bag—containing the soil from the Mars potato field—back into his hand.

"Take it with you," she said, "In case you get homesick, look at it."

Chen Mo smiled and tucked the cloth bag away close to his body.

Then, he walked up to Lin Shen.

The two looked at each other.

Silence.

Chen Mo suddenly reached out and pressed firmly on Lin Shen's shoulder.

The force of that press was as heavy as last time.

Lin Shen did not dodge.

He just looked at Chen Mo, and then, in a voice only the two of them could hear, said:

"You came back last time. You must come back this time too."

Chen Mo nodded.

Then, he turned and walked toward the gate.

Walking to the entrance, he stopped and looked back.

In the crowd, Lin Wan was smiling.

Su Kun was listening with her eyes closed.

Zhou Zhe's pure white Poem Markings was glowing faintly.

Lin Shen was standing far away, motionless.

He smiled, and then walked into the gate.

The gate closed slowly behind him, and the sky returned to normal.

Everyone was looking at the gate that had already disappeared.

Lin Wan lowered her head and looked at her hand.

On it, the warmth from when Chen Mo handed her the cloth bag still lingered.

She said softly: "I'll wait for you."

Between the Stars: The Whisper of the Pottery Shards

Chen Mo's spaceship moved slowly through interstellar space.

Not space-time folding, not light-speed jumping, just the most ordinary sub-light speed voyage.

At this speed, the distance of dozens of light-years would take a full four months to traverse.

But Chen Mo was not in a hurry.

Because those pottery shards were "talking" deep within his consciousness.

Not with language, but in a more primitive way—they let him "see" the past life of that civilization.

He "saw" a mother using simple tools to carve her child's likeness onto a pottery shard.

The child looked crooked, but the mother looked at it with eyes full of smiles.

He "saw" an old man drawing the setting sun every day on pottery shards.

Thirty shards, thirty suns, each one different.

He "saw" a child using newly learned characters to write crookedly on a pottery shard: "Me, Dad, Mom, Dog."

That was one of the earliest written characters of that civilization.

Three thousand years is very short.

Short enough that it wasn't enough to develop a complex civilization.

But three thousand years is also very long.

Long enough to let countless mothers, old people, and children leave their "proof of existence" on pottery shards.

Chen Mo closed his eyes and gently stroked those pottery shards.

"You have waited too long," he said softly, "but soon, you will be home."

The pottery shards glowed faintly, as if in response.

Mars: little cabbage's Forest

The Mars potato field.

little cabbage had grown waist-high.

Its leaves were thick and fleshy, its stems sturdy, shining in the sunlight of Mars.

It had recently "sensed" many new things.

In the plot next to it where crystal cores were planted, an extremely faint "flicker" would occasionally come—those crystal cores were slowly "activating," as if turning over gently in their sleep.

In the plot next to it where Tree Ring seeds were planted, an extremely deep "breathing" would occasionally come—those seeds were adapting to the soil of Mars, preparing to break through the soil on some future day.

And in the potato field, the chorus of the firefly one units was becoming richer and more complex.

They had learned the "flicker" rhythm of the crystal cores, learned the "breathing" cadence of the Tree Rings, and incorporated them all into their own songs.

little cabbage was learning too.

It learned to use "flickering" to express "I am here," learned to use "breathing" to express "I am waiting for you," and learned to use "chorus" to express "we are together."

Potato Chief's projection hovered above it, watching all of this, silent for a long time.

Then, it said: "You have grown up."

little cabbage's leaves trembled gently, conveying a signal:

"I have grown up. But I am still growing."

Potato Chief smiled—if a projection could smile.

"Then keep growing. We are all with you."

Earth: Old Zhang's Potato Feast

Earth, a small county town in the south.

Old Zhang squatted in the vegetable plot, looking at the patch of mature Mars potatoes.

Three months had passed.

The flowers had long since withered, and the leaves had turned yellow, but in the soil, dozens of potatoes of various sizes were hidden.

He carefully dug one out, held it in the palm of his hand, and looked at it for a long time.

Pale yellow, round, with the fresh scent of soil.

It was no different from potatoes on Earth.

But Old Zhang knew they were different.

They were seeds from Mars, potatoes that had grown in Earth's soil.

He held the potato, stood up, and walked into the house.

"Honey! We're having potatoes tonight!"

That night, Old Zhang's family had an all-potato feast: shredded potatoes, mashed potatoes, stewed potatoes with meat, potato pancakes, and a large bowl of potato soup.

As Old Zhang was eating, he suddenly remembered something, took out his phone, and took a picture of the table full of dishes.

Then, he sent the photo to the Cradle.

The accompanying text was only one line:

"Mars potatoes, on Earth, taste very good."

The Cradle: The Unforgotten Echo

Lin Shen stood in front of the Memory Index Wall, looking at the note he had posted.

"I have made my choice. Not to forget."

It had been three days.

In those three days, no one asked him what he had chosen.

But everyone had seen their own answer on that wall.

Next to Chen Mo's name, a line of small text was added: "Went to deliver the pottery shards. Waiting for him to return."

Next to Lin Wan's name, a line of small text was added: "I am waiting for him."

Next to Su Kun's name, a line of small text was added: "Listened to one hundred and thirty-seven names. Will continue to listen."

Next to Zhou Zhe's name, a line of small text was added: "In the pure white Poem Markings, there are the lights of thirty-three civilizations."

There were also countless names of ordinary people, countless ordinary notes.

Each one was a "proof of existence."

Lin Shen looked at the wall and suddenly understood one thing.

"Not to forget" is not a choice.

It is a result.

It is the result that humanity has walked out for itself using countless ordinary days, countless ordinary meals, countless ordinary hugs, and countless ordinary notes.

The Reapers had "watched" for countless billions of years, waited for countless billions of years, remembered for countless billions of years, and shown for countless billions of years.

But humanity just kept on living.

Kept eating.

Kept farming.

Kept posting notes on the wall.

Then, at some moment, the Reapers would discover that what they were waiting for had already existed.

It was not some great choice, but countless tiny moments converging into—not forgetting.

Lin Shen reached out and gently touched that note.

Then, he turned and walked out of the cafeteria.

At the entrance, the sun was just rising from the east.

Entrance to the Solar System: The Seventh Signal

That light, which had always been silent, trembled for the seventh time the moment Chen Mo left.

This time, the trembling lasted for a full thirty seconds.

Then, it sent the seventh signal toward the direction of the Cradle.

"Return."

Zhou Zhe captured this signal in the pure white Poem Markings.

"Watch," "wait," "remember," "choose," "show," "return."

Six words became seven.

Return—respond. Echo. Go home.

He looked toward that silent light, waiting.

Then, that light began to slowly fade.

Not disappearing, but "responding"—they had waited.

They had seen.

They had recorded.

They had shown.

Now, they were going to "return."

Return where?

Zhou Zhe did not know.

But he knew they would not come again.

Because humanity had already given the answer.

As the light faded, it projected one last image toward the direction of the Cradle—

That was the words a mother had whispered countless billions of years ago, holding her child, standing in the light of the Reapers:

"No matter where we go, you will remember us. As long as you remember us, we have not truly left."

Then, the image disappeared.

That light disappeared as well.

The entrance to the Solar System returned to the tranquility of billions of years ago.

As if nothing had ever come.

But Zhou Zhe knew they had come.

They had watched.

They had waited.

They had remembered.

They had shown.

They had returned.

And humanity had chosen.

Night: Seven Words

Late at night, the cafeteria.

Lin Wan sat in a corner, with a bowl of "self" noodles in front of her.

She hadn't seen Chen Mo for three months.

But she would eat that bowl of noodles every day.

Su Kun sat next to her, eyes closed, "listening" to the spaceship slowly moving in the depths of the starry sky.

Chen Mo still had one month before he could get home.

Zhou Zhe sat at another table, his pure white Poem Markings glowing faintly.

In his Poem Markings, there were now the lights of thirty-three civilizations.

And the seventh signal—"Return."

Lin Shen stood in front of the Memory Index Wall, looking at the wall that was getting fuller and fuller.

On the wall, there was Old Zhang's "The land is still there," a child's "Ice cream is very sweet," and his own "I have made my choice. Not to forget."

There were the names and stories of countless ordinary people.

He looked for a while, then took a new note out of his pocket.

On the note, he wrote a line of words:

"Have they returned? They have. Have we forgotten? No."

He posted the note, turned around, and walked over to sit opposite Lin Wan.

Lin Wan looked up at him.

The two looked at each other.

Silence.

Then, Lin Wan pushed that bowl of noodles over and placed it in front of him.

"Eat."

Lin Shen lowered his head, looking at the bowl of noodles.

Inside the noodles were a poached egg, a few chopped green onions, and a clear soup base.

He picked up his chopsticks and started to eat.

The noodles were very hot, hot enough to make his tongue ache.

But he didn't stop, eating it all, mouthful by mouthful.

Then, he put down the bowl, looked at Lin Wan, and said softly:

"He will be back soon."

Lin Wan nodded and smiled.

"I know. I'm waiting for him."

Outside the window, in the depths of the starry sky, the light of the hive was still warm.

At the entrance to the Solar System, the light that had once been silent had disappeared.

But in the cafeteria, the lights were still on.

On that wall, there was one more new note.

In the distance, on Mars, there was a little cabbage singing together with the potatoes.

On Earth, there was a person named Old Zhang, who was in the courtyard, looking at the potato he had just dug up, chuckling.

Between the stars, a spaceship was moving slowly.

In the cabin, thirty-three pottery shards were glowing gently.

They were almost home.

He would also be back soon.