That landmark is the central park of New Town No. 7. It features three rings of lawn, with an artistic memorial hall in the center. The exterior of the memorial hall resembles a pair of upward-curling wings, its swept-back feathers formed by specially designed solar panels. When sunlight strikes them, they reflect a vibrant glow. For some reason, its designers opted for a traditional reinforced concrete structure, so it survived the nuclear explosion. However, its exterior has been repeatedly corroded by radiation and heat waves, and the original beautiful coating and decorations have vanished, replaced by a brownish-black charred layer.
Now, it is more like a pair of farmers' hands holding up the sky than a pair of wings with all their feathers plucked out.
When Dong Ershiliu saw it again, it was already far away from the city. He and his brothers were riding on the whale controlled by their mother, moving steadily and quickly eastward on the sea.
My mother had the ability to become a senior official, but she ultimately chose not to participate in politics. This had two sides. On the one hand, in a society like theirs, individuals without political power were relegated to the lower ranks of the "common people." Even though she possessed powerful psychic abilities, she was, on the surface, merely a tool controlled by others. Dong Ershiliu rarely showed any self-awareness, and most of the time she seemed like a machine. On the other hand, without political aspirations, she wouldn't be coerced by her faction colleagues. My mother could objectively view all known information and make her own judgments. When she learned of the annihilation of the expeditionary force, she immediately identified the underlying meaning:
In addition to the competitor in the northwest, an even more terrifying enemy has now appeared.
The mother searched the spiritual network for information about the enemy and discovered that it might be an ally of the competitor. She then decisively decided on the direction of escape without sending out any reconnaissance equipment.
Of course, it is impossible to take away all the eggs in the hatchery. Most of them will miss the opportunity to implant memories and transform their appearance, and then they will be taken advantage of by other members of parliament or destroyed by unknown enemies in the near future.
East Twenty-Six was undulating on the sea, clinging to the shells of barnacles that were parasitic on the whale's back, and looking at the coastline far away to the west.
He watched a golden meteor fall from the edge of the sky, its long tail like the soft, elastic natural silk thread in his mother's memory. The meteor was round and smooth, more like an egg nurtured by the sky than the historical data in the memory node.
He suddenly remembered the religious cult of his faction. Those people believed that the Son of God should be born from the earth and hatched from an egg. In more rebellious terms, the Son of God was born from a stone. Now it seems that the doctrine should be changed. The stone does not necessarily come from the earth, it is more likely to come from the sky.
The curvature of the Earth obscured further detail, and as the meteor plummeted toward the horizon, East 26 began to imagine what might happen next:
The farmer buried underground caught the Holy Son, and the withered earth immediately blossomed with bright red roses. The city's vitality was restored, the rampantly expanding fungi could no longer continue to wreak havoc on the underground passages, the strange red and purple plants that looked like flesh and blood restored to their original appearance, and even the wronged souls buried in the red soil were redeemed.
He heard many explosions, perhaps excited people setting off firecrackers.
The brothers' thoughts resonated through psychic power, and twenty-seven humanoids shed tears of emotion together.
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