Chapter 43 Part 2

Siselen explained that it was a frequency omnipresent in the universe, filling every corner, coming from every direction, unbound by gravity, mass, or dimensions.

“Like the cosmic microwave background radiation?” Horne said.

That discovery supported the Big Bang model. Siselen agreed with Horne’s analogy. “You can think of it that way. Humans discovered the microwave background radiation, while Azazel discovered the universal frequency—and they also found…

“…that the closer a life form’s vibration is to this frequency, the higher its dimension.” Siselen spoke slowly, each word clear. “The reverse holds true as well.”

Horne turned his head, looking seriously at Siselen as he pondered—so much so that he forgot to watch the path and bumped into someone passing by. He hurriedly apologized.

Horne asked, “What is this frequency?”

Siselen smiled, his facial wrinkles bunching up. Horne then realized Siselen might be even older than he had imagined.

“440 Hz per second,” Siselen said.

440 Hz per second. Horne repeated the phrase in his mind.

Just then, they passed a laboratory. Horne had no idea what was being researched inside; they had coincidentally arrived here.

Siselen stopped and knocked on the door. Horne stopped too.

The door opened to reveal a young man holding a laptop. Seeing Siselen, he respectfully said, “Doctor, long time no see.”

Siselen introduced him to Horne. “This is my student.” Then to the man, “This is Colonel Horne.”

The man bowed to Horne. “Colonel.” He paused, then smiled. “Colonel, you’re even more striking than I imagined. Your eyes are as pure as ice.”

Horne said flatly, “Thank you.”

“Come, I need to borrow your computer.” Siselen took the man’s laptop and tapped a few keys proficiently while muttering to himself in response to the man’s earlier comment. “Don’t casually judge others’ appearances. Even if they’re good-looking, it’s not appropriate.”

The man smiled and said, “But isn’t appearance just the universal currency in human society?”

Siselen’s gaze did not leave the computer. The screen light illuminated his face in a sheet of white, his pupils faintly glowing. He said slowly, “No, you must understand that the same abstract currency only circulates within the same stratum, and the stratum I speak of is not measured by money… Oh, here it is, Mr. Horne, listen.”

He raised the computer, and a sound emerged from it.

It was a single tone.

It lasted for a few seconds before Siselen closed the computer, handed it back to his student, and thanked him.

The door closed, and they continued walking slowly down the corridor.

“That was a sound at 440 Hz.”

Horne recalled the feeling of hearing that tone and described it uncertainly, “Clear, transparent?”

Siselen nodded gently, always smiling, clearly appreciating Horne’s rhythm. “Yes, when played as a sine wave, you feel the pure, transparent 440 Hz signal. Your sensation is spot on; it has the clearest frequency structure, with every overtone being a complete multiple.

“But what I must explain to you is that this is humanity’s projection of 440 Hz into a form humans can comprehend, because with human imagination and mental models, it’s impossible to glimpse this unified cosmic frequency, just as low-dimensional data struggles to perfectly reconstruct a high-dimensional space.

“Too low a frequency leans toward dead silence; too high, toward chaos.”

Siselen’s hand traced countless waveforms in the air, from low frequency to high, wavelengths shortening, periods compressing, as if sketching segments of fate’s symphony. On every note, every frequency band, an ecosystem existed, where countless civilizations were born, grew, developed toward eternity, or perished.

“In studying human history, I found that in humanity’s final years, the Earth’s frequency had far exceeded what humans could endure. Humans have an upper threshold for receiving information stimuli, but they were never satisfied, rapidly ingesting all information without selection or discernment, just inputting it.

“That was a kind of thrill, and this high-frequency thrill in the human brain’s nerves was no different from the pleasure at the peak of sexual activity. Many became addicted to it without understanding why.

“As information density increased, falsehoods and impurities spread, making people increasingly numb. Once trapped in that numbness, without newer, stronger stimuli, humans could no longer feel pleasure or even their own existence.”

It was anti-species: unable to sense one’s own existence, one’s own value, not knowing who one was.

Horne suddenly thought of that holographic game.

Siselen continued, “Some humans sought even more stimulation, frequencies soaring to 20K, 30K Hz, which they could no longer hear. They grew muddled, seeking more sense of existence, drifting further from 440 Hz, until they began fabricating dreams, chasing false selves.”

“That’s why the masks exist,” Horne said, clutching his chest. He felt a palpitation, but it quickly subsided.

He understood what Ais had said. Behind such behavior, their race had actually glimpsed more cosmic laws than humans. Humans always believed reality and falsehood were binary opposites—that falsehood existed only because truth did—but in fact, the masks created a reality where falsehood bred truth within falsehood. At essence, all was false.

They created the masks, captured humans, pulling them away from 440 Hz.

But Horne could not understand why Hels had agreed to wear a mask. With his abilities, he could clearly refuse. Or had the Tower threatened him? But that did not make sense; if the Tower could threaten him, they could kill him.

Horne felt as if he had fallen into a fog, piercing the clouds only to find more gray clouds above.

“Azazel was once closer to 440 Hz than humans, but now they are distant again. In the years they found Earth, the two races’ frequencies drew infinitely close, making it hard to say whether Azazel discovered humanity during their long interstellar journey, or if humanity’s own delusions actively sent them the coordinates.”

The two races profoundly attracted, entangled, and destroyed each other.

Horne fell silent for a moment before asking softly, “So what does this substance, this frequency, represent?”

Siselen shrugged. He nodded back at someone who greeted him as they passed, then turned his attention back.

His voice had grown slightly hoarse from talking. “All expressions of this frequency are deliberate descriptions tailored for different species to comprehend. Though I tell you now that this cosmic unified substance emits a detectable frequency of 440 Hz per second, it’s merely an approximation of the fact, not comprehension of it itself.”

He cleared his throat and said, “Thus, some aliens harbor a wish for peace. They yearn to return to the original, pure frequency, to touch the universe’s highest revelation. For all species, tuning the frequency is not just survival regulation but the key to connecting existence and harmony.

“However, those lifeforms long immersed in chaotic, disordered frequencies have lost perception of 440 Hz’s clarity, dissolving themselves amid accumulating falsehoods and impurities, scoffing at truth, filled with doubt and refutation, unable to understand anymore.”

“Unable to understand, only perceive? Clear, transparent?” Horne muttered to himself.

“Yes, 440 Hz—peace and tranquility, orderly harmonics. For humans, I know, it’s calm, without a racing heart.” Siselen said.

Horne felt that Siselen embodied this frequency forever: neither fast nor slow, serene to the point of near tranquility and dead silence, even in speech and word choice. Perhaps it was also an illusion from his age. Horne vaguely remembered that during treatment, even when he broke down abnormally, Siselen never showed a hint of losing composure.

Soon, Horne frowned. He thought of other things—things that made his heart race.

He did not quite understand. “Fear and tension bring a racing heart, but if you love someone, or draw near to them, doesn’t that also make your heart race?”

At his words, Siselen smiled, the slow, deep laugh unique to elders. He shook his head and sighed deeply. “No, loving someone does not make your heart race. What accelerates it is fantasy, desire, stray thoughts toward them. Love does not stir turbulence or anxiety; love itself is auspicious, serene. Feel it carefully: after the heart races, what remains?”

Horne could not imagine love, but he could imagine a racing heart. The last time, he had been in uncontrollable fear, and to cover it, he had done and said things he should not have.

Thinking of it now, instead, he calmed down.

He asked, “But don’t the books all say loving someone makes your heart race?”

“The books also say the will is boundless desire,” Siselen laughed.

They had walked more than halfway down the long corridor. From here, they could already see the people standing in the hall. Horne spotted Han Ya, with another man beside him. Above the door next to them, an emergency red light stayed lit, with the word: Evacuate.

Siselen’s voice sounded in his ear. He suddenly asked an unrelated question. “Mr. Horne, have you ever loved anyone?”

Horne stopped, unsure how to take the next step. His lips moved slightly as past fragments flashed through his mind like drifting duckweed. He could not say what—or who—he was thinking of.

They were dried oil paintings: shattered seas, briny sea winds, white doves under blue skies, muddy roads, distant stacked mountains—many interwoven scenes of pleasure.

After a moment, he said, “No.”

A while later, he added, “What is love?”

He was not ignorant of the word’s meaning; he just wanted to know how Dr. Siselen understood it.

Siselen stopped, turned, and faced Horne.

“It depends on which level you place ‘love’ at. If just between people, I believe that allowing others to be themselves is respect, and on that basis, still willing to exert effort to help them become better—that is love. From studying human literature, I found that true love leans more toward what humans called friendship, while most human common notions of romantic love are two people’s entanglement, symbiosis, inseparability.”

Horne thought of his conversation with Hels in the holographic game room that time. Though Hels had said it to deliberately change the subject, it aligned perfectly with Siselen’s view.

Horne murmured, “Most people want that frequency, that symbiosis. Word of mouth spreads it, so people think it’s right, common sense.”

Siselen looked up at the ceiling, as if piercing through the material to gaze at the lonelier stars, his aged voice saying, “What humans perceive as right is not the same as cosmic truth—often directly opposed.”

Horne’s heart calmed. He said nothing, because he suddenly realized that since entering the Underground Base, he had not seen Hels again. Then he immediately felt it was unimportant, not so much wanting to see him.

Right after, he thought of more.

Hels… where had he gone…

A terminal message transmitted at that moment.

Hels: [Colonel, still mad at me?]

Heat surged to Horne’s ears again. He immediately closed the terminal and took a deep breath.