Chapter 47: Wildfire Burns, Spring Breeze Blows

When Diao Chan emerged from the site, Xiao Yao was waiting for him on the 777th Layer.

He held a suitcase in one hand and cradled the brain tank containing Zhao Meiyou’s brain in the other. He handed the suitcase to Xiao Yao. “Everything you need is in there. The rest is up to you.”

Xiao Yao took the case, his expression steady and composed. “Don’t worry, Vice Dean.”

“After all this…” Diao Chan chuckled. “Just call me Diao Chan.”

“Got it… Diao Chan,” Xiao Yao replied. “The dean’s original brain should have successfully repelled the Creation brain by now. Ten minutes ago, the God Statues across the Metropolis suddenly lost power one after another. Qian Duoduo must have felt the backlash. All the magnetic fields have shut down. So far, the plan is going smoothly.”

“Good.” Diao Chan nodded. “Get going, and be careful.”

Once Xiao Yao was out of sight, Zhao Meiyou spoke up. “So, now that we’re alone, can you finally tell me the last part of your plan?”

“Zhao Meiyou, you’ve still got the mind for that?” Diao Chan looked at him in surprise. “I figured after seeing Qian Duoduo, you’d be wallowing in despair for a while.”

“Fuck you,” Zhao Meiyou shot back. “My wife and I are doing just fine.”

Diao Chan stared at him in genuine shock. “What did you two talk about?”

“That’s between husband and wife. Listening in would give you needles in the eyes.” Zhao Meiyou paused, then pressed on. “So, what’s your next move?”

From what Xiao Yao and Diao Chan had said before, the Metropolis was being devoured by the site. It would eventually transform into a new quantum field threshold, with Qian Duoduo linked to the God Statues’ magnetic fields, giving him control over the entire city. That’s why they were disrupting Qian Duoduo’s brain to interfere with the fields—their only shot at saving the city.

Zhao Meiyou could guess the rest. The site’s consumption was probably irreversible, meaning they couldn’t just peel the Metropolis away from the quantum field threshold. The most likely plan was to exploit the sudden failure of the God Statues’ magnetic fields, when the Metropolis Government would be too busy with its own chaos, and evacuate as many people as possible.

But that raised new questions. With so many people in the Metropolis, how would they evacuate? And to where?

“What’s in the case you gave Xiao Yao?” Zhao Meiyou asked.

“You already guessed?” Diao Chan started leading him toward the Lower District. “It’s some things my mom left behind.”

The first time Liu Qijue and Little Mister found Diao Chan in the reincarnation cycle, they’d discussed the Metropolis’s future.

Their conclusion? The city probably didn’t have one.

But humanity was different.

How could they abandon a city while maximizing the preservation of its civilization?

They’d both thought of the Metropolis Ban.

The first clause of the Metropolis Ban: No space exploration.

As his memories resurfaced, Diao Chan gradually recalled discovering a base Madam Diao had built in the Metropolis’s depths when he first took over Diao Family affairs.

That base housed the Metropolis’s last spaceship.

It had taken them a long time to locate it and painstakingly restore the vessel.

“The core civilization data has all been uploaded to the ship,” Diao Chan explained as Zhao Meiyou listened. “It has capacity for tens of millions—enough to carry a huge chunk of the city’s population.”

“As for what’s in the case,” Diao Chan added flatly, “it’s the ship’s core power codes.”

Zhao Meiyou didn’t ask how Diao Chan had gotten the case, just as Diao Chan wouldn’t pry into what he’d gone through in the site. “All right, so we’ve got an escape plan. But what about the Metropolis? You can’t just leave it hanging.”

Halfway through, he jolted. “Wait—you didn’t build a nuke or something, did you?”

“Of course not,” Diao Chan said. “Though it’s close enough.”

“We built a quantum bomb.”

Zhao Meiyou had first created a quantum bomb at the Ancient Capital Research Institute. Its detonation had severed the entire institute from reality, turning it into a new site, while everyone caught in the blast wave became archaeologists.

“Liu somehow got hold of your old data and replicated something similar. Xiao Yao’s gone down to activate the ship. Once it’s airborne and clear of the blast radius, the bomb detonates.”

“What do you mean ‘something similar’?” Zhao Meiyou’s scalp prickled. “This thing—a hair’s breadth off and it’s total disaster. You sure it’ll work?”

“Of course it’ll work,” Diao Chan assured him. “We call it ‘similar’ because this quantum bomb packs fifty times the punch of the one you made.”

Zhao Meiyou: “…”

“No choice,” Diao Chan shrugged. “The Tower of Babel grew too tall.”

They were heading to the Lower District too. Zhao Meiyou had no idea what method Diao Chan and the others had used, but the citizens seemed to be evacuating in orderly fashion. On closer inspection, most were Lower District residents, with some from the Middle Layer District. Almost no one from the Upper District was heading down. Diao Chan was right—the Tower of Babel had grown too tall.

As for anything above the 900th layer, they were probably scrambling to repair the God Statues. Without the magnetic fields to maintain control, from that height, it was unlikely anyone would notice what was happening below.

Soon they reached the depths. Unlike Zhao Meiyou’s previous visit, shrouded in darkness, every streetlamp now blazed, turning night into day. There he saw the massive spaceship. One glance confirmed Diao Chan’s words—it was indeed tens-of-millions capacity. “Not bad. You pulled off something this big without the government noticing?”

“The government rarely comes down here. The most important spot is Heavenly Gate, and only you and Qian Duoduo ever use it.” Diao Chan gazed at the long queue in the distance, then called out, “Zhao Meiyou.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something you should know.” Diao Chan hesitated. “Even though Qian Duoduo has fully fused with the Buddha now, in that fusion’s chaos, a fragment of his original self still lingers.”

“Liu mentioned before that Qian Duoduo must have struggled a lot. I’m not sure if he discovered this spaceship down here, but he kept quiet about it. That’s no small feat—the government has top-level access on him. By protocol, he couldn’t hide it, but he defied the order anyway.”

“No idea how he pulled it off,” Diao Chan said, drawing a deep breath. “If his true self is strong enough to break protocols—even just a little—then after fully merging with the Buddha, there’s a chance he could rediscover it.”

“I know.” Zhao Meiyou blinked in confusion. “What do you think my wife and I talked about in the site?”

“…What did you say?”

“Husband-and-wife stuff. Can’t tell you.” Zhao Meiyou thought for a moment. “But here’s one bit: Brother Qian told me not to give up on him.”

He laughed. “Hear that? As if I’d ever give up on him.”

“Zhao Meiyou, did you even hear what I just said?” Diao Chan cut in. “We’re detonating a quantum bomb. The blast will sever the whole city from reality, turning it into a new site. And with this bomb’s power, even if people inside survive, without outside intervention to open the site, no one gets out.”

“Listen,” Diao Chan said deliberately. “A quantum field threshold isn’t some utopia. Once this is done, I’ll destroy the tech completely. No one in reality will ever open a site again.”

“I get it,” Zhao Meiyou said, still puzzled. “So you guys go your way, and I stay to save my wife. What’s the conflict?”

Diao Chan nearly choked.

He’d wanted to yell at Zhao Meiyou’s brain that he was suicidal, but as his close friend, he instantly understood. Zhao Meiyou couldn’t abandon Qian Duoduo.

After all these reincarnation cycles, if any faint tie bound him to this reality, Qian Duoduo was that vital spark.

As for civilization, ideals, and all they’d bled for back then—Zhao Meiyou had already given plenty. At the Ancient Capital Research Institute, he’d sacrificed everything an ordinary man could. Without the Fusion Experiment’s interference, he would’ve long rested in peace, honored in death.

“But you’ve got you and Xiao Yao. I’m not worried. The future’s looking bright.” Zhao Meiyou drawled lazily. “Qijue’s off living it up with his guy. Why can’t I enjoy some good times too?”

With that, Diao Chan simply said, “So you’re staying.”

“Yeah, I’m staying.” Zhao Meiyou’s voice softened, calm and resolute. “Like you said, my wife and I have a shot. Plus, I can guard the door from inside the site, keep any changes from spilling out into reality.”

What selflessness—facing death while still thinking of humanity’s welfare.

Diao Chan had nothing left to say. He cut in line and boarded directly, heading to the core lab. As soon as they entered, Zhao Meiyou spotted a cat on the control panel. “This little guy’s familiar… Holy shit, isn’t that Zhao Bujiao? Diao Chan, when’d you steal my cat?”

“You’ve got some nerve calling it yours.” Diao Chan was deadpan. “Figure out how long it’s been since you checked on that dump you call home.”

“I’ve been busy,” Zhao Meiyou said shamelessly. “Zhao Bujiao’s a survivor anyway. You planning to take it to the stars—?”

His words twisted oddly mid-sentence. Zhao Meiyou gaped as Diao Chan injected Zhao Bujiao with something, then began dissecting it. The strangest part came next—the cat’s body liquefied under his hands, growing larger. Its skull opened, revealing… nothing inside.

“I knew Zhao Bujiao wasn’t the sharpest,” Zhao Meiyou muttered. “But I didn’t realize it had no brain at all.”

“Strictly speaking, Zhao Bujiao isn’t a cat.” Diao Chan worked deftly on its head. “It’s Liu’s Creation. In Site A173, he used quantum matter to manifest the ‘concept’ of a cat into reality. When you didn’t know the truth, it was a cat. But now that you do, it’s not.”

Zhao Meiyou: “Schrödinger’s Cat?”

“Exactly.” With that, Diao Chan did something Zhao Meiyou never saw coming.

He transplanted Zhao Meiyou’s brain into the cat’s body.

Zhao Meiyou had become a cat.

He stared dumbstruck at his paws. “…What the fuck?”

“Zhao Meiyou, I don’t need to explain what Schrödinger’s Cat is.” Diao Chan purred and rubbed his head. “Right now, aside from your brain, you can be considered a quantum existence. That boosts your chances of survival after the bomb goes off. And you’ve kept your original brain—it’s an eigenstate outside the superposition… In other words, if your sense of self is strong enough and you’re lucky enough—maybe one day, you’ll be able to walk out of the Site on your own.”

“But you’d be better off not coming out.” Diao Chan added immediately. “Who knows what you’ll turn into? It could just end up as another mess.”

Zhao Meiyou took a long moment to come back to his senses. “…Diao Chan, you’ve been too damn good to me.”

“Cut the crap.” Diao Chan’s voice and expression were icy. “I won’t open the box for you myself, and I won’t give you a funeral.”

“That’s enough.” Zhao Meiyou sighed with feeling. “That’s more than enough.”

“One last thing.” Diao Chan said. “That Qian Duoduo in the Site who told you ‘don’t give up on me’—that was probably his actual consciousness.”

The cat on the table had been thinking of jumping down, but at those words, it tumbled straight to the floor.

“You didn’t guess that?” Diao Chan blinked in surprise. “Then why are you still going to save him?”

“I thought it was just a fragment of Brother Qian pieced together from my own subconscious… so in a way, it was still part of Brother Qian.” Zhao Meiyou clambered back up. “Wait, that was the real Brother Qian? How the hell did Liu Qijue pull that off?”

“When we got out of the vehicle, Qijue basically handed control of every outpost over to us. Put another way, at that moment, we were him—we could control the Site and recreate a lot of things from reality.” Diao Chan explained. “But you’re different. Your brain is two-way linked with Qian Duoduo’s, so part of his consciousness could have leaked into the quantum field threshold back then.”

“And you guys weren’t worried about something going wrong? What if the Buddha noticed?”

Zhao Meiyou could only laugh wryly at what he heard.

Qian Duoduo’s mainframe was hooked into the Metropolis core and the God Statues’ magnetic fields all around, and it had already merged with the Buddha. He couldn’t even cut power to the guy’s mainframe and drag him out by force. All he could do was wait for the quantum bomb to blow, then search the Site for whatever scraps of consciousness remained. If he got lucky, maybe he could preserve a fragment of self, like Liu Qijue had done all those years ago by dissolving into the Site on purpose.

“See ya.” With that, Zhao Meiyou waved a paw at Diao Chan. “The rest is up to you guys.”

Diao Chan still walked him out, all the way to the spaceship hatch. Before vanishing, the cat turned back for one last look. A kid nearby exclaimed in wonder, “Look! That cat’s smiling!”

The cat let out a meow at the child, flicked its tail, and disappeared into the brilliant daylight.

Eons passed. The New Compilation of Human Civilization records that in the middle of the second millennium, Earth endured a cataclysmic disaster that nearly wiped out humanity. But a visionary soul staked it all, leading the last spacefaring crew on their journey and preserving the spark of civilization.

As long as that spark endures, it will one day ignite a prairie fire.

Many years later.

“Mr. Diao and Teacher Liu both said we’re not supposed to come here…” The boy lingered by the door, hesitating as he eyed his companions nearby. “This is the spaceship’s main control deck. What if something goes wrong?”

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry!” The girl in the room waved a hand grandly. “My dad says the Expedition Team’s found a good habitable spot. We’ll be planetside and living on the ground in no time!”

“B-but what does that have to do with us coming to the main control deck?”

“Of course it does! I’m gonna be a scientist like Mr. Diao someday! And marry Teacher Liu!” The little girl puffed out her chest proudly. “Scientists don’t fear hardship! A mere control deck is nothing!”

“I still don’t get why we’re even here…”

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand even if I told you. You’ll figure it out when you grow up!” The girl ignored him and patted her companion beside her. “All stacked up? I’m climbing.”

They were all just little kids, needing to stack up to reach the massive control console. The girl seemed the most nimble, leading the way up and then hauling her friends one by one. Finally, she clapped at the boy by the door. “Come on! You’re the last one!”

Mustering his courage at last, the boy grabbed her hand and scrambled up, plunging straight into a vast Star Sea.

Somehow, the girl had opened that display. The console now showed a breathtaking expanse of stars.

Awestruck by the pure, overwhelming beauty, the children gaped. Someone shouted first, “I know that star! It’s the central star!”

Far off burned an intensely hot central star, its surface at two hundred fifty thousand degrees Celsius radiating dazzling light. A golden phantom flickered quietly, swelling like a billion years of glory.

“That’s Taurus CM, the heart of the Crab Nebula, about six thousand three hundred light-years from Earth.” A voice laced with amusement spoke from behind them. “What are you kids doing here?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. She whipped around. “Teacher Liu!”

“You lot again. The central fountain you broke last time still isn’t fixed.” Xiao Yao smiled. “If you want to stargaze, head to the museum district rooftop. Better view there.”

“Teacher Liu, Teacher Liu!” The girl tugged at his sleeve, firing off questions. “My dad says we’ll be back on the ground soon—is that true?”

“It’s possible.” Xiao Yao ruffled her hair. “Diao Chan’s still in hibernation. We’ll know more once he wakes up.”

“Yay!” The girl threw her hands up. “Dad says stargazing from the ground is different. Ground stars are like glitter, nail polish, and salt in a rice bowl!”

Xiao Yao couldn’t help laughing. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a pretty spot-on comparison.”

“Teacher.” The boy raised his hand. “I heard that on the ground, when people die, they don’t get recycled. They just get buried or cremated. Is that true?”

“It is.” Xiao Yao nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“’Cause it seems like such a waste to just bury a body. There’s so much it could still be used for.”

“Long ago, Earth’s soil was so fertile it didn’t need corpses as fertilizer. Burying the departed was more about honoring emotional bonds.”

“I know about that!” Another child raised a hand. “We studied this ancient poem the other day: ‘From whose home comes the dark flute’s song? It scatters on spring winds filling Luoyang. Hearing willow songs in the night’s tune, who can hold back feelings for their homeland?’”

“Exactly—homesickness, parting, life and death. Human emotions come in all kinds.” Xiao Yao nodded. “You’ll come to understand as you grow.”

Once the children had dispersed, Xiao Yao stepped up to the vast star map they’d opened. He stood silently for a moment, then tuned into a channel.

By the ancient calendar, it was spring on Earth now.

From whose home comes the dark flute’s song?

It scatters on spring winds filling Luoyang.

Hearing willow songs in the night’s tune,

Who can hold back feelings for their homeland?

“Dad, Father, I’m doing well. Diao Chan’s doing well too.” He thought for a moment, then said softly, “If human civilization unfolds in cycles, I think we’re on the verge of seeing dawn.”

Cities rise and fall, fall and rise again—karma’s endless wheel, inescapable it seems.

But what’s precious is that it never truly ends.

“…And Dean.” Xiao Yao murmured. “I wonder how the Dean and Brother Qian are doing.”

He lingered before the vast star map for a long time, until the Terminal lit up. A staffer informed him that Diao Chan had just awakened from hibernation.

“Got it.” Xiao Yao hurried out. “I’m on my way.”

The door closed behind him once more, leaving only the stars gleaming in the darkness.

Some time later, the channel Xiao Yao had tuned flickered to life. A page popped up on the screen.

The homepage was blank, no source code anywhere—just a tiny paw print in the lower left corner.

And smack in the center, one word.

“Meow.”