113: Chapter 113 Bridges of Civilization

The council adjourned.

The clamor and arguments were left behind in that damp cave, replaced by a silence heavier than rock.

The few survivors walked out of the headquarters by unspoken agreement and climbed the highest watchtower on the outskirts of Newborn City.

This was a masterpiece of the "Infrastructure Maniac," built from solid blocks of obsidian, still smelling of the burnt scent from the cutting arrays that hadn't fully dissipated.

Cold wind poured over the top of the tower, making their robes flap loudly, as if countless lost souls were whispering in their ears.

Beneath their feet was the nascent "Newborn City."

It was less a city and more a massive construction site.

Countless points of light moved in the darkness—tens of thousands of survivors, whether locals or original players, all busy working for tomorrow's livelihood.

The sound of tamping earth, the clinking of metal and stone, and the occasional low shout of a spell coalesced into a chaotic yet resilient symphony.

"I don't agree."

Skillful Hands Mending's voice was somewhat broken by the wind, yet exceptionally clear.

She didn't look at anyone, only staring at the distant horizon where the "Stargate" once stood.

Now, there was nothing there, yet it remained like a scar that would never heal, branded onto the retinas of every surviving player.

"We should seal it off completely using the strongest laws and the thickest barriers, making it disappear forever, forever." Her voice trembled, her hands tightly clutching the hem of her clothes. "Do you still remember 'Appearance is Justice'? The last time she messaged me, she said she'd saved enough contribution points and wanted to exchange them for the newly released 'Starlight Feather Raiment' fashion set. She said she'd wear it for me to see after the battle... She said the cherry blossoms on Earth were blooming, and she wondered if there would be any here too."

Her tears finally fell silently.

"She'll never see them now. We have no cherry blossoms here, and Earth... has become a place we can never return to. That gate, to us, isn't hope; it's torture. Every time I look in that direction, it's a reminder of what we've lost and that we've been abandoned here. Why keep it? To keep this longing, this despair?"

Her words were like a blunt knife, repeatedly cutting into everyone's hearts.

Immovable as a Mountain tightened his folded arms, the muscles on his resolute face tensed.

He thought of that group of lunatics in the "Divine Wind Battalion" who were always charging. They always said that after the war, they'd go home and open an internet cafe called "The Ancestor."

Infrastructure Maniac irritably scratched his hair and cursed, but didn't know how to refute her.

Only Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet silently wrote something in her notebook, her lenses reflecting the scattered sparks from the construction site. No one knew what she was thinking.

"It is no longer a door to go home."

Outlaw Zhang San spoke, his voice calm as ever, yet carrying an unquestionable power.

He stepped forward to stand side-by-side with Skillful Hands Mending, his gaze also fixed on that void.

"From the moment we chose to sacrifice the 'Data Link,' the 'return' function of that gate for us was logically erased. Now, it is merely an objectively existing 'Spatial Weak Point,' a physical phenomenon. What we are discussing is not whether to go home, but how to handle this 'phenomenon'."

He paused, giving everyone time to digest this.

"Sealing it off is certainly possible. We could expend a massive amount of resources to construct a Law Forbidden Zone, causing the coordinates of the two worlds to completely miss each other. It would be simple and safe."

"But..." His tone shifted, his gaze becoming deep. "What right do we have to make this decision for the people on Earth? And what right do we have to completely sever the last connection between our fallen comrades and their hometown?"

"Connection?" Skillful Hands Mending raised her tearful eyes, her voice full of confusion and pain. "The people are gone, what connection do we need?"

"We need proof," Zhang San's voice lowered. "A set of coordinates proving they existed, fought, and sacrificed. 'The Romance of the Science Guy'—he was a pure scientist, and the final 'thesis' he left behind saved us all. On Earth, he might have been just an ordinary researcher, but in our world, he used his life to interpret the ultimate romance of science. If we send the news of his sacrifice and his theories back in a safe manner, isn't that the best way to commemorate him?"

"We can turn it into a bridge."

"A bridge?" Infrastructure Maniac was stunned.

"Yes, a one-way, strictly encrypted and filtered bridge for cultural exchange between civilizations." Zhang San's speaking speed began to quicken, his mind operating at high speed, and the light of creation reignited in his eyes that could see through rules.

"We don't need population, and we don't need resources. But we need knowledge and ideas. Earth's modern medicine, materials science, sociology, psychology... these things are of incalculable value for rebuilding a riddled civilization. We can guide the 'players' of this world to study this knowledge, complete 'decryption' tasks, and grant contribution point rewards. This can greatly enrich the depth of our civilization and prevent us from retreading the old path of cultivation civilizations where power is everything."

"Conversely," his voice carried a hint of warmth, "we can also filter out the safest and most beneficial knowledge from this world and send it back. For example, certain gentle breathing techniques sufficient to strengthen the body; for instance, a pharmacopeia of a hundred harmless herbs; or even... some basic technologies sufficient to change the fate of ordinary people."

His words plunged everyone into deep thought.

This was no longer a painful topic about "going home," but a grand vision of "inheritance" and "responsibility."

"What about the risks?" Immovable as a Mountain asked in a heavy voice; he was always the calmest core of their defense. "A passage is a passage. No matter how it's encrypted, there's a possibility of it being cracked. What if certain forces on Earth want to get their hands on the power here? Or what if something in the void can use this weak point to locate both worlds simultaneously?"

"That is why we need 'Rules'."

When Zhang San spoke those words, that imperceptible "sense of discord" hidden deep in his consciousness flashed by again.

It was like a splinter buried under a fingernail of the soul—tiny, yet impossible to ignore.

In his clenched fist, his nails almost dug into his flesh.

The shadow of Fairy Yunshang flashed through his mind.

That woman was the pinnacle of manipulating rules.

Could the "Rule Embers" born from her obsession with "Order" be lurking within the Sea of Laws of the new world?

Would this "bridge" connecting the laws of the two worlds become a breeding ground for its resurgence?

His heart sank, but his face showed nothing.

"The 'access rules' for this bridge will be set by us," he said, suppressing the abnormality in his heart, emphasizing each word. "I will personally design a set of the lowest-level law protocols. It will not be a 'gate,' but a 'mailbox.' We can only send information packets one-way in the form of encrypted data streams to an untraceable 'virtual address.' Furthermore, every transmission will consume a massive amount of 'World Contribution,' requiring a unanimous vote from the Guardian Council. This will be enough to prevent abuse and keep the risk to a minimum."

"I... I still feel..." Skillful Hands Mending's lips moved; she was still struggling.

"Mending," Zhang San's voice suddenly softened as he turned to look at her, "didn't you always want to build an orphanage for those NPC children? You want them to live good lives. What about Earth? Our parents are there, our relatives are there, and countless people we know or don't know. If we have a chance, just a chance, to use a bit of the insignificant knowledge we've learned here to prevent any one of them from suffering the torment of illness... shouldn't we try?"

"We can't go back. But we can make our hometown better. This, too, is a form of protection."

These final words were like a warm current, finally melting the hardest layer of ice in Skillful Hands Mending's heart.

She was no longer grieving for the home she couldn't return to, but had found a new meaning in a hometown she could protect.

She slowly nodded, tears welling up again, but they were no longer purely bitter.

"I... agree."

"Passed unanimously." Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet closed her notebook and spoke in a declamatory tone, "The first resolution of the Guardian Council in Year One of the New Era: To cast a bridge of civilization and connect the fires of two worlds. This resolution will profoundly affect the future direction of both worlds."

...

One hour later.

The former site of the "Stargate."

This was a distorted space that had been torn by laws and then forcibly mended; the shrieking echoes of the spatial storm still lingered in the air.

Outlaw Zhang San stood alone at the center.

The others had all backed far away, watching him with solemn expressions.

His eyes were tightly closed, his entire mind submerged into the deepest Sea of Laws of the new world.

After becoming "Living Legends," these surviving original players had all gained partial low-level permissions over the world's rules, and Zhang San was undoubtedly the one who had gone the furthest.

His consciousness, like a precision probe, traveled through the vast law codes, searching for the coordinate singularity that connected to their "hometown."

Found it!

He didn't attempt to construct any grand passage. Instead, carefully, as if dismantling a precision bomb, he drew out a thread of karma from that singularity that was billions of times thinner than a hair.

Then, using his full understanding of the system, he began to weave shackles and layers of firewalls onto this Karma Thread, constructing the "one-way mailbox" protocol he had spoken of.

This was an extremely mentally taxing process.

That discordant "rigidity" occasionally drifted from the depths of the laws, trying to interfere with his construction, as if a cold will seeking absolute stasis was resisting any form of "exchange" or "variable."

Cold sweat broke out on Zhang San's forehead.

He knew that was the lingering poison of "Fairy Yunshang."

It couldn't attack actively, but it could exert an "inertial" resistance at the level of rules.

He ignored it, focusing even harder on condensing his will and the permissions granted by the new heavenly dao into the sharpest carving knife, engraving the foundation of this "bridge" into the laws, stroke by stroke.

Finally, the protocol construction was complete.

A shimmering, semi-transparent data port that only he could "see" floated before him.

He slowly opened his eyes and extended his trembling right index finger, the tip condensing a massive amount of contribution points allocated by the council.

He was about to send the first "information packet" of the New Era.

What should he send?

A cultivation technique?

A blueprint for a magical artifact?

No.

The eternally calm face of "The Romance of the Science Guy" appeared in his mind.

He thought, if it were him, what would he send to his hometown?

The answer was self-evident.

Zhang San's fingertip lightly tapped the void.

A data stream composed of pure information silently vanished into the port, crossing immeasurable time and space, shooting toward that azure planet.

The content of that data stream was very simple—so simple it was just an insignificant chemical structural formula and a brief description of its discovery and cultivation method.

Its name was—

Penicillin.