"What's wrong."
Seeing that Luo Xiaoli's expression was a bit off, Zhao Xuerou walked over and asked.
Zhao Xuerou had just caught a glimpse of her deep in thought, stroking the cold wall, her eyes filled with a multitude of emotions.
Often, the human eye possesses a unique charm. When gazing into the expanding and contracting pupils, it is almost like a long time tunnel, through which one can see all of past and present lives, as well as all that fate has created in a person.
Whether it is sadness, vicissitudes, or full of hope.
But Luo Xiaoli didn't speak. She shook her head, her pupils filled with endless mist that buried everything—her doubts.
She has always been very intelligent, and she could sense that perhaps there weren't so many coincidences in her life, and that the ordinariness of her first ten years or so might just be an illusion. Like the white wall before her, thick and layered, concealing the hidden world within.
"This looks like an opera house. There are signs on the entrance, but I don't quite recognize them," Ke Bing called out from a short distance away.
"Alright, that's enough for now." Luo Xiaoli abruptly withdrew her hand and walked towards the railing beside the river. Zhao Xuerou followed her, and the two stood together by the ivory-white railing, watching the flowing river.
Ke Bing painstakingly looked at it for a while, then used a translation app on her phone to find the name of the opera house on the map. She waved and called out as she walked over.
Before she could even hear Xiaorou's sigh, she heard her exclamation.
"It's so relaxing. I haven't felt this way in a long time. These days I feel like a donkey on a leash, going around and around the millstone of the Federation, so tense that I have no room to rest. I wish I could stay by the river forever, even just to look at the scenery would be nice."
Ke Bing replied, "That's why I said you're destined for greatness. True strength lies in taking the world as one's responsibility, don't you understand?"
"I don't want to be a strong person, it's exhausting. I'll only do this one brave thing in my life. After leaving the Federation, I want to live an ordinary life, not thinking about anything but eating, drinking and sleeping..." Zhao Xuerou said with a bitter face, her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth turned down. She sighed as she spoke, but her voice suddenly stopped, and she didn't continue speaking.
Eh... It seems like the things I find tiring are being done by others, and this arduous journey with no end in sight is being continued by countless others. What kind of belief drives them to achieve prosperity and peace?
She was thinking about it.
But those two or three sentences of conversation made Ke Bing forget about the name of the opera house that she had just found and translated. She put her phone back in her pocket, and that was the end of it.
People often say that new clothes are worse than old ones, but old friends are worse than new ones.
They didn't think about the meaning of the following paragraph for the time being, but instead wanted to take advantage of their rare vacation to shop around the malls and buy lots and lots of new clothes.
The clothes they brought from Lan Jing's house had been worn countless times. Every morning when they woke up, they were faced with these clothes, which was simply unbearable for the fashion-conscious group.
The three got into the car and, amidst cheers, sped towards the city's largest shopping mall.
······
Unlike the jubilation in the city, the atmosphere in the Federation's top-floor observation room was solemn. Few dared to speak, and even their breathing was slow and even.
These researchers, whose eyes are filled with wisdom and enthusiasm, are the pioneers that Zhao Xuerou just thought of, who move forward with their beliefs in order to ensure the well-being of those who remain behind them.
Some of the pioneers who lost their light have become monsters, neither human nor ghost, and they are still in a deep sleep.
Oqi, pushed out of the glass jar, was bound hand and foot, his head tilted to the side, eyes tightly shut, sharp teeth bared from the corner of his lips. His gruesome condition made Jiang Cheng, who was watching, feel a deep sense of oppression. He remembered long ago in Lanjing, seeing a little girl with broken legs begging on the streets, even facing the prospect of having her organs sold after they became useless… How similar his feelings were then to now.
It's unbearable to watch.
The chip developed by Wan Xingyan has been embedded in the front end of the robotic arm. Jiang Cheng waved to signal the researcher on the side that he could start working, and that person pressed the control switch for the robotic arm.
The cold, mechanical object hanging from the top slowly moved to the back of Ochi's neck. A blade, as deep as ice at the bottom of a lake in December, emerged from its alloy sheath, pressed against his mutated skin, and precisely inserted itself into the tiny gaps between the scales.
The knife is cold enough to freeze nerves, and Ochi may not feel any pain while in a deep sleep.
With such an easy up-and-down movement, the skin on its neck was cut open, revealing tender flesh and the pulsating nerves wrapped around it—a sight so real it was almost jarring.
A few millimeters further in, there lies the dense spine, connecting to the skull.
The chip was placed in a groove between the skull and the neck bone, and a very cold liquid sprayed out from both sides of the silver blade. Before the drops of blood could flow down, they formed blister-like conjunctivaes that rotated and coagulated.
Open... sew up.
The process, performed with precision, lasted only a few seconds before the robotic arm retracted, and the chip was firmly embedded in Oqi's body. The researchers' tension increased from that moment on, because after the command was output, they would see the real Oqi! The real individual who had been struggling painfully beneath layers of chaotic consciousness.
He was still alive, but he was dragging his crippled body, crawling through the abyss.
What flowed beneath the remains was not blood, but a transparent, viscous liquid—perhaps the fading consciousness.
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