240: Chapter 239 One Hundred Days Later, the Wish for Seeds and the Ripples of Time

Early Morning: The Sun of the Hundredth Day

On the morning of the hundredth day, the sun rose as usual.

Lin Shen stood by the window, gazing in the direction of the sun. The light that had once made the entire Cradle hold its breath had been gone for a hundred days. The entrance to the Solar System was empty, as if nothing had ever happened.

But everyone knew it had happened.

Those seven signals—"Look," "Wait," "Remember," "Choose," "Show," "Return"—were still etched in everyone's memory. Those one hundred and thirty-seven remembered names were still glowing softly in the Memorial Hall of the Forgotten. Of those thirty-three returnees, twenty-three had already been sent off, with ten still waiting.

Lin Shen looked down at his own hands.

A hundred days ago, these hands had posted a note on the Memory Index Wall: "I have chosen. Not to forget."

A hundred days later, that note was still on the wall, joined by hundreds of new ones. Each one was proof of an ordinary person's "existence."

In his chest, the place once hollowed out by "Emotional Stripping" was no longer so empty. It hadn't returned to its original state, but... something was slowly growing back. Like the little cabbage on Mars, or the potatoes in Old Zhang's field, bit by bit, imperceptibly.

Ashes walked up beside him at some point, her dark eyes looking toward the sun, and she said softly:

"What are you thinking about?"

Lin Shen was silent for a moment, then said, "Thinking about where they are now."

"Who?"

"The Reapers."

Ashes didn't answer. Because she didn't know either.

But she knew one thing: the Reapers were gone, but the universe remained. Countless civilizations were still rising and falling. Countless "afters" were still becoming new Reapers. Countless "thank yous" were still dissipating.

And humanity was only just beginning.

Launch Site: The Twenty-Third Batch

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

This was the twenty-third gate of the hundredth day. It was sending off the twenty-third Homegoer—a civilization from a gas giant whose way of existence was storms and lightning.

The Bearer was a young girl named Fullness, the quietest of the second batch of Inheritors. She stood in the center of the launch site, beside a churning mass of light that looked like a living storm.

That mass of light trembled slightly, not from fear, but from excitement—it had waited for countless billions of years and could finally go home.

Fullness turned to face the crowd seeing her off.

Lin Wan stood at the very front, with Chen Mo beside her. Su Kun was "listening" with her eyes closed, and Zhou Zhe's pure white Poem Markings glowed faintly.

Lin Shen stood at the back of the crowd, watching her from a distance.

Fullness suddenly smiled, like a little girl.

"I'm leaving," she said. "I'll bring back some local specialties for you."

Someone in the crowd laughed. As they laughed, their eyes turned red.

She stepped into the gate, the light of the storm following behind her.

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

Lin Wan looked down at her hand. The warmth from shaking hands with Fullness still lingered.

"It's the hundredth day," she said softly. "Nine more to go."

Chen Mo took her hand and said nothing.

Mars: The Wish to Set Seed

The Martian potato field.

little cabbage's flower had been blooming for a hundred days.

During those hundred days, that silver-glowing flower had stayed open, never withering. The petals were still so bright, the stamens still so golden, and the scent still so sweet.

Potato Chief's projection hovered above it, coming to see it every day.

On the morning of the hundredth day, little cabbage suddenly "said" something:

"I want to set seed."

Potato Chief was stunned.

Setting seed? For a little cabbage to set seed after flowering was perfectly normal on Earth. But on Mars, no one knew what would happen. Could those seeds sprout in Martian soil? Could they grow into new little cabbages? Would those new little cabbages still "talk"?

Potato Chief told all these doubts to little cabbage.

little cabbage was silent for a long time.

Then, it sent a signal:

"I don't know. But I want to try. What if it works?"

Potato Chief went silent.

Then, it smiled—if a projection could laugh.

"Then let's try," it said. "We'll all be here with you."

little cabbage's flower swayed gently, as if smiling.

Nearby, the "flickering" frequency of the Crystal Cores seemed to quicken slightly. The "breathing" rhythm of the Annual Ring Seeds seemed to deepen a bit.

They were all waiting. Waiting for little cabbage to set seed. Waiting for those seeds to sprout. Waiting for more "talking vegetables" to appear on Mars.

Earth: The Third Crop

Earth, a small southern county town.

Old Zhang squatted in the vegetable patch, looking at the patch of Martian potatoes currently in bloom.

The third crop. The first was harvested, eaten, and seeds were saved. The second was harvested, eaten, and seeds were saved again. Now the third crop was blooming, purple flowers swaying gently in the sunlight.

His wife was nearby picking over vegetables, not looking up. "How long do you plan on planting these?"

Old Zhang chuckled. "Until I can't plant them anymore."

"What happens when you can't?"

Old Zhang thought for a moment and said, "Then I'll let our grandson keep planting them."

His wife paused and looked up at him.

Old Zhang didn't look at her, just continued watching the flowers, saying softly:

"These potatoes came from Mars. They can live on Earth, they can bloom, they can bear fruit, and they can be passed down generation after generation. We have to let them be passed down. Just in case one day the people on Mars want to eat them, we can still send some back."

His wife was silent for a while, then lowered her head and continued picking over the vegetables.

But there was a nearly invisible smile at the corner of her mouth.

Old Zhang took out his flute and played a tune for the flowers.

It was that same old folk song. The melody was long, carrying a faint sadness and a warm expectation.

The flowers swayed gently in the sound of the flute.

As if breathing along with the rhythm.

Cradle: Ripples of Time

Zhou Zhe sat alone by the window of the green soil experimental zone, his pure white Poem Markings glowing faintly.

A hundred days. Of the thirty-three returnees, twenty-three had been sent off. Ten were still waiting. Everything was going according to plan, everything was peaceful.

But Zhou Zhe always felt something was not quite right.

It wasn't danger or a threat, just a very slight, almost imperceptible "sense of strangeness." Like a discordant note in a familiar tune. Like a fold invisible to the naked eye on a clean sheet of white paper.

He told beta-2 about this feeling.

beta-2 was silent for a long time—longer than it usually took to process any problem.

Then, it said:

"Your perception is not wrong. Within the past seventy-two hours, I have monitored seven extremely faint 'temporal anomaly' signals. The source is unknown, the direction is unknown, and the intensity is extremely low, almost negligible. But they do exist."

"Temporal anomalies?" Zhou Zhe frowned.

"Yes. Not space-time folding, not gravitational waves, but something more fundamental—minute fluctuations in time itself. Like a drop of water occasionally falling onto a calm surface, causing ripples."

Zhou Zhe silent.

He thought of the Reapers' seventh signal—"Return." They had returned. But where did they return to? Back to where they came from? Back to that "countless billions of years ago"?

Were those ripples of time related to them?

He didn't know.

But he knew that something was gently fluctuating in the depths of time.

Night: Three Lights

Late at night.

On Mars, little cabbage's flower swayed gently in the starlight. It was "preparing" to set seed. Those seeds would sleep in the Martian soil, waiting for the day they would break through the earth, growing into new little cabbages. Those new little cabbages would continue to "talk," continue to "ask questions," and continue to "grow."

On Earth, the lights in Old Zhang's courtyard had been extinguished. But those blooming potatoes swayed gently in the moonlight. In a few more months, they would yield a new crop. Those potatoes would be dug up, eaten, or saved as seed to be planted again.

In the Cradle, the cafeteria lights were still on. Great Strength was preparing tomorrow's breakfast. On that wall, a few more new notes had been added. Each one was proof of an ordinary person's "existence."

Three places, three lights, three kinds of life.

They were all continuing.

Zhou Zhe stood by the window, gazing into the depths of the starry sky. The light of the Hive was still warm. The path of the returnees was still extending. Those ripples of time were still fluctuating extremely faintly.

He didn't know what they were. But he knew that whatever they were, humanity would face them.

Because this is what "existence" looks like—never knowing what tomorrow will bring, but always being ready to welcome it.

He turned and walked out of the room.

In the cafeteria, Lin Wan and Chen Mo were sitting together eating noodles. Su Kun was beside them, "listening" with her eyes closed. Lin Shen stood before the Memory Index Wall, looking at the notes.

He walked over and stood beside Lin Shen.

The two of them gazed at the wall, silent for a long time.

Then, Zhou Zhe said softly:

"Time has ripples."

Lin Shen didn't turn his head, just looked at the notes and said:

"I know."

"You know?"

Lin Shen was silent for a moment, then took the Emotion Storage Device out of his pocket, held it in his palm, and looked at it for a long time.

"A hundred days ago, I thought I would need this," he said. "But now, I don't."

He put the crystal away and turned to Zhou Zhe:

"No matter what those ripples are, we will face them. Because we are human. We 'do not forget'."

Zhou Zhe looked into his eyes.

In those eyes, there was light.

Not the kind of light from a pure white Poem Markings, but a more modest light that belonged to an ordinary person.

He smiled.

"Yes, we'll face it."

Outside the window, in the depths of the starry sky, those ripples of time were still fluctuating extremely faintly.

But in the cafeteria, the lights were still on. On that wall, the notes were still increasing. Those people were still eating noodles, talking, and living.

That was enough.