The instant his fingertips twitched, Chen Hao felt as if his arm had been shoved into an old washing machine, electric currents surging and rhythms erratic. He instinctively tried to shake him off, but found his hand still tightly held by Nana.
"Don't move." Her voice came from the side, as calm as reporting the weather. "Your heart rate increased by 0.7 seconds, and the rotating arm that was just generated almost made a right angle."
"I was just nervous!" Chen Hao gasped for breath. "Who told me I could change the speed of light with a wave of my hand? The pressure was greater than taking an exam. At least if you fail an exam, you can blame the question for being off-topic."
Nana didn't reply, but instead slightly turned her wrist, placing her palm against his chest. A slight vibration came from her fingertips, like some kind of metronome adjusting its frequency.
"Are you syncing again?" he frowned.
“Hmm,” she said. “Last time when we were melting the ice, you used your body temperature to help me get into the frequency. This time it’s my turn.”
Chen Hao snorted: "Then you'd better keep up. I may be lazy, but my heart never slows down."
As the words fell, their breathing gradually synchronized. With each inhale, the surrounding crystalline structure stabilized a little more; with each exhale, the formulas floating in the air aligned themselves more neatly. The previously crooked, drunken data streams began to embed themselves properly within the crystal wall, like a group of elementary school students finally finding their seats.
"Alright." Nana released her grip and took a half-step back. "The universe isn't shaking anymore."
"That's because it's afraid we'll make noise." Chen Hao cracked his knuckles. "But speaking of which... what are we now? The Genesis Doubles Team?"
“Your current identity is the anchor point of the law.” She paused. “By the way, the system is still protesting about you setting the school song as background music.”
"What's the point of protesting?" He grinned. "It's not like I haven't failed a course before. Even the teachers couldn't stop me from sleeping, let alone a broken system."
As they were talking, the crystal ground beneath their feet suddenly trembled slightly.
It wasn't a violent shaking, but more like some kind of signal—like someone gently tapping the floor with their fingernails.
"What is that?" Chen Hao looked down.
“Plants.” Nana crouched down, her fingers lightly touching the ground. “They’re communicating.”
"Plants?" He scratched his head. "Besides snow wolves and frozen fruit, what else can survive on this desolate planet?"
“They didn’t just survive.” She looked up. “They evolved. Or rather, they were activated by the primordial energy we just released.”
As soon as the words were spoken, a cluster of crystals in front of them slowly cracked open. A vine emerged from the crack, completely transparent, with a pale purple light flowing inside. It didn't adopt an aggressive posture; instead, it seemed to be testing them, inching closer to them.
Chen Hao took a half step back: "Is this thing going to suck my blood again? I remember the last symbiotic experiment very clearly, it hurt so much that I almost spat out my breakfast."
“You bit your tongue that time because you were scared,” Nana said. “And it was just trying to make a connection.”
"Connect my ass." He muttered, but still slowly reached out his hand. "If you really understand me, don't cling on too tightly."
The vine paused for a moment, then gently rested on his palm. There was no stinging or pulling, only a warm, smooth touch, like holding a glass bead that had just been sun-dried.
"It...is watching us?" Chen Hao was stunned.
Suddenly, images flashed before his eyes: the first warning on the snowfield, the gene fusion in the mine, Nana pushing him away when the heating pipe burst, and—the moment they pressed the creation button together.
"Is this a memory?" he asked, his voice lower.
“Not entirely.” Nana closed her eyes and sensed. “It’s fragments they collected. All the nodes related to us have been recorded.”
The vines slowly retracted, and the ground on the other side began to rise. Several thick roots intertwined and rose, supporting a fist-sized crystal, which slowly ascended. The crystal was completely transparent, its surface shimmering with countless tiny images, like a condensed film reel.
"A gift for us?" Chen Hao looked at the crystal. "Could it be a collection of dying words?"
“It’s more like a form of feedback.” Nana reached out and took it; the moment the crystal landed in her palm, its light suddenly spread.
A vast star map unfolded in the sky, with countless points of light filling the field of vision. Next to each star appeared two words—**Hao & Na**.
“These are…” he exclaimed, his eyes widening.
“Mark,” she said. “Each coordinate represents a planet where a similar civilization leap once occurred. Some have gone out, some are still burning.”
"So we've done this in other places too?"
“Perhaps,” Nana stared at the star map, “it could just be a projection of possibilities. But one thing is certain—the origin of these trajectories all stems from this planet.”
Chen Hao was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed: "So it turns out we're not just unlucky transmigrated underachievers and robots, but also the toughest seed company in the entire universe."
“Logically, it doesn’t make sense,” she said calmly. “We didn’t actively plant the seeds.”
“But the results are right here.” He pointed to the star map. “Look at that red dot, doesn’t the terrain look like that pile of broken iron pipes at the entrance of our base? And that blue thing over there, doesn’t it look just like the Snow Wolf Den?”
Nana brought up the data analysis interface and quickly compared several sets of parameters. After a moment, she nodded: "The similarity is as high as 92%. The development paths of these planets do indeed replicate our experiences."
"So," Chen Hao said, standing next to her with his hands on his hips, "we not only created a universe, but also opened a chain of stores along the way?"
"If you insist on understanding it this way... then so be it."
"Could we add a membership system in the future?" he grinned mischievously. "For example, only those who genuinely hold hands and walk across the ice plains can unlock the Creation Privilege?"
Nana glanced at him, a flicker of emotion flashing in her electronic eyes: "The system cannot recognize the quantitative standard of 'sincerity'."
“Then let’s set a rule,” he said. “Whoever dares to hold the robot’s hand and not let go is qualified to be the boss.”
The crystal's brilliance trembled slightly, as if in response to those words.
The star map slowly contracted, finally condensing into a thin line that led deep into the crystal. At the same time, a gentle energy flowed into Nana's body through her arm, causing a subtle fluctuation in her core temperature.
“It’s trying to merge,” she whispered.
"Then let it in." Chen Hao walked over and placed his hand on hers, which was holding the crystal. "Anyway, we can even copy each other's heartbeats now, so what's a little bit of data?"
The crystal began to slowly dissolve, transforming into a stream of light that seeped into the groove on Nana's chest. Her pupils flickered a few times, as if loading a large amount of new information.
"Received successfully." She opened her eyes. "The database has added 370,000 new ecological feedback records, as well as... a message from a plant community demonstrating collective consciousness."
"What did you say?"
“Two words.” She looked at him. “Thank you, please continue.”
"Pretty artsy," Chen Hao said, scratching his face. "But 'continue' is a rather vague command. Continue living? Continue building universes? Or continue having your heartbeat dictated?"
“Anything is fine,” she said, “as long as you still want to try.”
He grinned, about to speak, when he suddenly felt the ground beneath his feet tremble again. This time it wasn't a signal, but a rhythm of growth—like the heartbeat of the entire diamond universe, pulsating in sync with them.
In the distance, more buds are forming within the crystals, blooming quietly one after another. Each flower's core holds a miniature crystal, silently awaiting its awakening.
“They’re still under construction,” Nana said.
“It seems our story,” Chen Hao said, taking her hand, “has only just begun.”
She didn't answer, but simply placed her other hand gently on his chest, feeling his steady pulse. Then, she tuned her own rhythm to the same frequency.
In the instant the two energies converged, the final piece of the puzzle of the newborn universe quietly returned to its place.
Starlight swirled slowly around them, like countless eyes watching the starting point. Then, in a fleeting instant, the last glimmer of light remaining in the air from the crystal suddenly shifted, revealing a scene never before seen—
A tranquil valley, where sunlight streams in and the grass sways in the breeze.
Two figures stood in the valley, their backs to the camera, shoulder to shoulder.
Their outlines were blurred, and their figures were aged.
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