75: Help! My university actually treats 'annihilation' as a common academic topic!

The scene switches yet again.

The afternoon sun streamed through the tall glass windows of the library, casting golden pathways of light through the air.

Countless tiny dust motes danced up and down in these light paths.

The air was filled with the unique, dry, and tranquil fragrance of old book pages.

He was sitting at a large wooden table by the window, his fingertips casually tracing an open, thick illustrated volume titled "Records of World War II."

The coated paper of the pages was smooth and cool, the printing exquisite.

However, as his gaze focused on a black and white photograph on one page, depicting the "Battle of Stalingrad,"

A sharp sense of incongruity pierced his perception.

In the photograph, a German soldier amidst the ruins held a Kar98k rifle, but beneath its stock, there was a highly mismatched, small blue energy slot interface.

And in another photograph, of the "Normandy Landing," in the background sky, a blur almost merging with the clouds, if magnified to the extreme, would reveal it wasn't an airplane at all, but a metallic construct filled with non-Euclidean lines, in the process of disintegrating.

The textual descriptions in the book were even more chilling.

Next to the paragraph introducing the V2 rocket, there was a small note: "...This is an early civilian simplified version of the 'Arbiter' class preliminary stage, a kinetic orbital strike platform."

"Due to its low cost and lack of a 'reality stability anchor,' it was widely used in the late stages of the war."

However, faced with knowledge that could drive any scientist, or even a god, to madness, the "him" in his memory merely frowned.

He casually closed the book and put it back in its place.

"Tsk, it's just another conceptual artwork from those lunatics in the 'Philosophy of Origin' department, shoved everywhere. Aren't they afraid of getting caught by the librarian and losing credits?" he complained.

He turned to continue searching for his "Principles of Macroeconomics,"

As if the scene he had just witnessed was nothing more than a boring doodle by some performance art club.

The scene switches yet again.

Inside a tiered lecture hall, a white-haired old professor on the podium was lecturing volubly on a general elective course called "Cross-Cultural Comparison and Mythical Archetype Appreciation."

"...So we see that whether it's the 'Noah's Ark' of Hebrew civilization or the 'Utnapishtim' of Sumerian civilization, both reflect early civilizations' shared memory of the 'Great Flood' as an apocalyptic disaster."

The old professor adjusted his glasses and pressed the remote control.

The projector screen switched to the next PowerPoint slide.

"This archive from the 'Cradle' civilization is very interesting," he said, pointing to a rigorously formatted report translated into Chinese on the slide, speaking in a calm, academic tone.

"This archived report, numbered 'Observer 7,' meticulously documents their process of performing 'format cleansing' on a planetary civilization designated G-581 g."

"The description of the flood in it employs the technical method of 'atmospheric ionization detonation of hydrogen-oxygen reserves.'"

"We can see that, compared to the romantic imagination in myths, this method of world destruction by an advanced civilization appears more industrialized and less aesthetically pleasing."

The students below were half-asleep.

No one found anything wrong with these words, as if analyzing a report on the extinction of a civilization alongside mythical stories was a perfectly normal academic activity.

The scene switches yet again.

In a warmly toned psychological counseling room, a kind female teacher smiled as she listened to him describe his recent troubles.

He said he always had bizarre nightmares, dreaming of collapsing stars and endless darkness.

"Hmm, I understand," the female teacher said, nodding after listening.

Instead of performing conventional psychological counseling, she skillfully pulled out an exquisitely designed, silver headband resembling headphones from her desk drawer.

"Don't be too nervous, student," she said, handing over the headband, her tone as light as if she were talking about a trivial matter.

"Based on your description, this is just a mild case of 'information entropy overflow,' accompanied by a small amount of 'meme contamination.'"

"It's very common in the university town, like the flu during a change of season."

"Come, put it on, and we'll do a 'subconscious firewall' reinforcement procedure."

"It'll be quick, like scanning your brain for viruses and clearing its cache."

Gu Jianghan broke free from that brief immersion.

The "pain" had vanished.

In its place was an unprecedented sense of novelty, mixed with surprise and bewilderment.

"So... this is what it feels like?" he murmured, his voice carrying an unperceived tremor.

Joy, it turned out, was not an empty concept.

It was not an energy that could be forcibly injected.

Nor was it an indicator that needed to be maintained by law... It was alive.

It had taste—the savory saltiness of instant noodles, the sweet richness of braised pork.

It had temperature—the sweat of a summer night, the lamplight of a winter night.

It had sound—unrestrained laughter, the warm chatter of friends.

It was rooted in the mundane, born from struggle, and elevated by kinship.

It coexisted with pain, fatigue, anxiety, and even foolishness!

This was the first time he had not "read" his past, but "experienced" it.

With this completely new "reference point," he once again turned his gaze to the World of Joy constructed by Su Ke Ke.

In an instant, everything changed.

If the "joy" in his memory was a vibrant wildflower, rooted in the soil of struggle, fatigue, anxiety, and even bitterness, then the world Su Ke Ke had created was a perfect yet soulless plastic potted plant, cultivated in a sterile laboratory with chemical agents and nutrient solutions.

"A fake... a thorough, clumsy fake," Gu Jianghan concluded.

The "happiness" of this world was too pure.

So pure that it lacked roots, contrast, and depth.

It wasn't born from the heart, but forcibly instilled.

It stripped away the accompanying emotions of "bitterness," "anger," and "sorrow," thereby removing all meaning from why "joy" was precious.

"Then... what about the real thing?" A thought surfaced in his mind.

Blank, still blank.

He couldn't remember.

He only knew of the existence of such a "real thing" but couldn't trace its origin.

A strong sense of anticipation surged within his conceptual core for the first time.

He no longer viewed the farce before him as merely a play.

This, perhaps... was a key.

A key that could unlock more true memories.

Gu Jianghan's gaze once again became sharp and profound.

He looked back at the chaotic plaza.

Victory, defeat, life, death—things that had been meaningless to him—were now imbued with new value.

He was anticipating it.

Anticipating that this conflict, sparked by a fake, would bring him the next surprise regarding the "real thing."