Chapter 153 Epilogue
At the end of March this year, just before the completion of this work, the author was invited by Nanjing Normal University to attend an event in Nanjing, and had a last meeting with Zhao Bowen during the break.
Lao Zhao is always busy and in a hurry. He still wears the iconic tortoise-shell frame glasses and dark windbreaker, but what is different from previous times is that he wears a blue medical surgical mask. This period of time, it has been raining continuously since the return of the south wind, and the temperature is very low. He buttoned his clothes high, held a black umbrella in his hand, and sat down in front of me.
"Oh my, it's really not peaceful. This damn epidemic keeps coming in waves." Zhao Bowen muttered, "When will it end?"
"How is Nanjing doing lately?" I asked.
"It's not too bad, not as serious as Shanghai." Zhao Bowen sat down on the chair, took off his mask, and casually filled the teapot for himself. They were old acquaintances, so naturally he was not polite.
We met at a roadside restaurant in Xinjiekou and sat near the door. At six o'clock in the evening, a drizzle started outside and soon colorful umbrellas were put up on the street.
After a few pleasantries and mentioning the recent situation of Bai Zhen, Wang Ning and others, Zhao Bowen said that these old guys are all living a comfortable life and are not affected at all. Old Bai is still spending his time renovating the house in his hometown of Lulou Town and goes back regularly to supervise the work. Wang Ning was recently asked to be a volunteer for epidemic prevention. He was so busy that his legs cramped and he cursed all day long. His superiors had expressed their intention to promote him, but he refused. After this incident, Old Wang had a very clear understanding of his own abilities. He knew that he was not fit to be a department director, so he recommended Xiao Zhu to his superiors.
As for Zhao Bowen himself, he kept silent about his recent work. When the author asked if there was any follow-up to this matter - so much intelligence has been sent back from the First Base, is it enough for you to make up? He just smiled mysteriously, and his smile was meaningful.
Seeing this expression, the author knows clearly: there is a big project, but it is not known to outsiders. Don't be surprised when you see any news in the future.
"Here, here is the manuscript. Please review it." I took out a thick stack of printed manuscript paper from my backpack and threw it on the dining table. "If you have any opinions or views, please feel free to raise them."
Zhao Bowen took it and flipped through it, then shook his head: "You don't have to show me this. I've been following your series. I'll read every chapter you update, and I've even posted comments in your comment section."
"Which one is you?"
"Keep it secret." said Lao Zhao.
"So what do you suggest?" I asked.
"I don't have any suggestions. I don't understand literary creation. My opinions are just like an amateur guiding an expert." Lao Zhao smiled and slapped the manuscript in his hand on the table. "I admire you for writing so detailed and consistent. What if you really mislead readers to go to Crescent Lake to fish for the time capsule? In fact, the capsule is not there."
"Crescent Lake is so big, it's impossible to fish it out."
"Are you going to use this when you publish it?" Old Zhao pointed at the manuscript on the table, "Will you make any major revisions?"
"Well, use this one, don't change it."
"So... in the end you decided to name her Banxia?"
"Yeah, she has to have a name, right? Or are you not satisfied with this name?"
"No, no, no, I'm very satisfied. This name is very good. The headquarters has always called her by her code name. Yang Yang and the others call her Miss. Others have given her names, but none of them sound as good as yours." Zhao Bowen said, "She should have a very good name."
"What's the point of a name in a world where there are only two people or even one person left?" I said.
"Your name is an anchor in people's memory and a trace of your existence in this world," Zhao Bowen said. "A person without a name is like the wind, which disappears as soon as it blows."
"Time flies. Almost two years have passed in a flash." I said, "According to her age, the girl should have been born by now."
Zhao Bowen thought about it and nodded:
"Well, she will be 19 in 2040, and she will be born in 2021, so she may only be one year old now."
"Teacher Zhao."
"Um?"
"Is she still alive?"
"I believe she is still alive. Although it is impossible to verify, I am willing to believe that information will shape reality in the process of transmission. Teacher Tianrui, this is why we commissioned you to write this book. Now that our future has returned to the black box, she will have a different future, or we can create a different future for her." Zhao Bowen looked far away, "This has always been what we hope for and what we strive for."
“There is still a long way to go.”
"Everything in this world, including our entire material world, can be regarded as information at the most basic level. Information is not an illusory concept. It can affect the surrounding world. There is a concept called work in physics, so information has the ability to do work on the outside world." Zhao Bowen said, "We should not separate information transmission from material changes. From our perspective, what the future will look like depends on the results we observe. When we lose the only observer, those unobserved black boxes contain infinite possibilities."
"Are you absolutely sure?" I asked.
"There is three-way confidence."
“What will the future look like?” I asked.
“No one knows.”
"Teacher Zhao, give me an answer from your personal perspective without taking any legal responsibility," I said.
Zhao Bowen thought about it, smiled and shook his head:
"This is the complexity of the world. No matter how accurate a theory is, it is only a fit to reality. I can't give you a definite answer, but I definitely see hope... At least we know the motive for the coming of the doomsday. Only by knowing it can we become the switchman of history."
"The source of the black moon?"
"Yes, Black Moon and Swordsman have now become two dark clouds hanging over the head of modern physics. Just like what Lord Kelvin said in his speech in 1900, the building of physics has been built and completed, and there are only some repairs left. The only thing is that there are two dark clouds above our heads, but we all know what happened later." Zhao Bowen said, "We are about to usher in an era of great change. As a physicist, I am luckier than my predecessors."
"Obviously, Black Moon and the Swordsman have both transcended the framework of modern physics. We previously believed that information transmission could not exceed the speed of light, but the characteristics of the Swordsman and Black Moon are instantaneous and even at a distance. When I discovered you, you also discovered me. Even the general phase cannot explain it. This is equivalent to it being able to discover targets outside the light cone within the light cone... Alas, every time we think we have insight into all the truths of this universe, there will always be some strange things that break in and tell us that what you know is just a drop in the ocean."
Zhao Bowen sighed.
"The center of the Milky Way is 26,000 light years away from Earth. We are seeing celestial bodies from 26,000 years ago. Doesn't this mean that they noticed us more than 20,000 years ago?"
"You can understand it this way. They are predicting the future." Zhao Bowen nodded. "Time obviously means different things to us and to Black Moon. In our view, time is the underlying code of the universe. It cannot be read, manipulated, or even seen or touched. But in Black Moon's eyes, time may be a progress bar... We can only say that they are coders of a higher dimension, and their understanding of the operating system is more thorough than ours."
"Humans are weak."
"Humans are also very powerful," Lao Zhao said. "Even if it is something as powerful and terrifying as time, we have ways to defeat it."
"What method?" I asked.
"Bury the time capsule." Lao Zhao replied.
I laughed out loud when I heard this answer.
"Don't laugh, I'm serious." Lao Zhao said, "We can bury a time capsule, wait for twenty years, and then accurately deliver it to someone. Although it is a small boat, it will eventually reach its destination after crossing the ocean. No matter how big the wind and waves are, it will not be overturned. This is how humans resist time. No matter how long the time is, there are always some things that cannot be erased. Time, cities, history, everything can be changed..."
"But love lasts forever."
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The rain outside the window was getting a little heavier. We sat down to digest our food after eating and drinking. It was just past dinner time, and there was a constant stream of people outside the door, men, women, young and old, all holding umbrellas, and the sound of car horns could be heard one after another.
We didn't speak for a long time, just turned our heads and looked out the window quietly, surrounded by the noisy voices.
Zhao Bowen lowered his head and glanced at his phone. "Teacher Tianrui, it's getting late. We should..."
He was suddenly stunned.
I was also stunned.
We looked at each other, stood up from our seats, turned around and rushed out, scaring the other diners.
Is it an illusion?
Is it an illusion?
Or is it pure coincidence?
As the two of us squeezed out of the restaurant and rushed into the rain, the faint, gentle voice like a mother coaxing her child seemed to still be in my ears:
"Little Pinellia... grow up quickly..."
"Where are the people? Where are the people?" Zhao Bowen yelled in the rain, soaking wet, spinning around everywhere, "Where are the people?"
I stood blankly under the street light, turned my head, and saw thousands of raindrops falling from the sky, crackling, and the road was covered with colorful flowers.
March 30, 2022.
It was cloudy and then drizzled, the lights in Xinjiekou came on and there were crowds of tourists.
Nanjing is still the same Nanjing.
But this time I know,
We live in the same Nanjing.
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(End of the play)
(End of this chapter)
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