Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Three years have elapsed since the climactic battle.

On that day, the eastern and western poles emitted an absolutely stable frequency in unison. From then on, the creatures ceased their relentless assault on human strongholds, and matter no longer contaminated one another. Humanity found constancy amidst the distortion. Later, that frequency came to be known as the "Bell's Chime."

The Highland Research Institute, credited with the discovery of the "Bell Sound," and Mr. Boli Joan, were forever etched into the milestones of human history.

The Highland Institute, in its pristine white building.

Verdant vines cling to windows and railings, a testament to the former mutant creeper that had once safeguarded the research facility. It had naturally perished a year prior, its seeds scattering across the institute's soil, only to sprout and flourish during this year's spring. Distant mountains are veiled in a gauzy layer of white mist, beneath which lies a lush expanse of greenery. Everything is as it should be, tranquil and serene, reminiscent of any ordinary day in the spring of 2020.

In the corridor outside the laboratory, a wheelchair sat unattended.

Perched atop, Boli Joan sat as ancient winds swept through the abyss, climbed the mountain's peak, and finally caressed his snow-white hair.

At his side stood Lu Fen.

"In 2020, I was 15, studying physics at university," an aged voice recounted. "After that, I often dreamt of being transported back to that year, standing on the lecture stage, in my mentor's office, and in the center of the sports field. I would declare loudly to them all that the Earth's magnetic field was about to vanish, urging that we must prepare in advance."

He paused, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. But every morning when I open my eyes, it's still this messed-up world I see."

Fortunately, the world is still as terrible as it once was, perhaps even worse, but at least we no longer count the days until our inevitable extinction.

Boli Joan looked down, holding in his hand a copy of the Interstellar Coalition Daily, its cover adorned with the date and time – April, 2164.

One hundred and thirty-four years after the disaster, humankind seemed to have finally become at home in this world of cutthroat competition.

Many would recount the final war, where the Northern Bases opted to rescue the Highland Institute, otherwise, they wouldn't have held out long enough to decipher the stable frequency. The Dungeon Base chose to aid the Eastern Poles, or else they would have crumbled, unable to transmit their frequency. Both decisions were rooted in the innate human compassion and won with the narrowest of margins.

A single squadron was all that remained to defend the High Ridge Institute, while a thousand paratroopers were the sole reinforcement for the Northern Base. The final, desperate struggle against humanity's extinction was not a grand war, but a low, mournful wail. Its existence, evolution, and demise, though perceived as crucial amidst the shifting tides of the world, proved time and again to be powerless and insignificant.

Indeed, the human species, in essence, had perished.

Infected by the "Absolute Stable Frequency," they eventually gained permanent immunity, and on occasion, they could even assimilate monster genes, acquiring their formidable traits and forms while retaining their sanity. This could be seen as a triumph for the Fusionists, albeit not through their theories or methods.

After peacefully integrating with the monsters' genes, humans grew stronger, less reliant on their limited weapons and equipment. They began to fight monsters with monster-like tactics, using simple means for offense and defense. Some humans chose to leave the bases, returning to the ruins of cities or establishing small settlements in the wilderness.

In short, the cities disintegrated.

With less than five thousand survivors worldwide, they could no longer establish grand societal structures or armies of old. Small settlements radiated outward like stars, centered around the Eastern and Western Poles and the Highland Institute.

The external monsters, still in need of sustenance, continued to prey upon them. They no longer lusted after human genes; most of the monsters that had survived had already assimilated human DNA. In a sense, under the global frequency, both humans and monsters had found stability. The intellectual superiority of humanity was a thing of the past, an undeniable fact.

The tolling of the bell signaled humanity's survival, the end of their era. They began to exist in this world as just another ordinary species, struggling to endure.

"Others might call it a descent," Boli said, gazing ahead, "but I believe it's an ascent. We're retracing our ancestors' journey with new accomplishments and insights."

In the open space before the white building, young scientists clad in lab coats moved busily among their instruments.

Suddenly, a burst of exuberant chatter erupted, and in the midst of it, a young man triumphantly held up a beaker filled with pure water. The scenario was clear: through sampling and reproducing the frequency of substances, they had successfully infected another material with the frequency of distilled water, transforming the dark, murky contents of the beaker into a glass of pristine, pure water.

- Much is being redefined, with new theoretical frameworks beginning to emerge. Uncertainty lingers about their accuracy, yet they advance steadily.

"To this day, I fail to comprehend the true nature of these frequencies," Boli Joan's voice was roughened with age, "Do they signify the fundamental constitution of matter, or are they mere designations for material properties?" she continued. "The notion that acquiring a specific substance's frequency could alter the fabric of reality is an unforeseen triumph, transcending all initial expectations."

"We remain insignificant, having attained only a superficial reflection of the real world through crude methods. Yet, even this mere projection is sufficient to offer temporary shelter to humankind."

Confronted by the vast wilderness, he murmured to himself, "In a hundred years, a thousand years, will we know more?"

Lu Fen propelled his wheelchair to the side of a cascading ivy, reminiscent of a waterfall. Amidst this season of resurrection, the uniquely shaped vines were dotted with a profusion of delicate white flowers. Each bloom was distinct in form and varied in hue, yet they coexisted harmoniously on the same vine.

"Have I been overly optimistic?" Boli smiled. "It's a challenging question whether humans will even exist a hundred years from now."

Existence remains fraught with peril, as dark clouds continue to loom. The issues of procreation and proliferation still lack a viable solution.

Boli Joan's worn copy of the United Daily, its edges frayed from frequent handling, rested open on page three. This particular page chronicled two notable events.

The first account tells of a scientist, through a stroke of serendipitous fusion with avian life, who gave birth in bird form to an egg. The hatchling within, astonishingly, transformed into human shape upon reaching its first year of age. The second tale hails from the depths of an underground city's stronghold, where a fertile woman has declared her willingness, upon reaching the end of her days, to enter the Simpson Crucible, offering up her vibrational essence for the sake of scientific inquiry.

"I'm reaching the end of my days," he said, closing the Daily News.

"Some of us managed to survive. All these years, I've been asking myself if I've atoned for my sins," he continued. "But I still can't confront what I did back then. I can only wait for death and let God judge my actions."

Lu Fen asked, "That's why you left the base back then?"

"Yes, I couldn't face my own conscience, nor could I align with the beliefs of the Tribunal," he said, looking at Lu Fen. "I am no match for you."

"I haven't done anything significant," Lu Fen replied.

Boli shook his head.

The vast spring wind swept over the mountain peaks, carrying with it the subtle fragrance of vine flowers.

"Both of you faced what I couldn't back then, and you held on the longest," he looked up, taking Lu Fen's hand. "Human interests come above all else. Thank you for ensuring that the base and the artificial magnetosphere endured until the end. That was the ultimate reason for humanity's victory."

Lu Fen replied, "Thank you."

"I've heard they're beginning to compile the 'Chronicles of the Base.' A hundred years from now, how will people judge the Court of Judgment?" Boli gazed at the eastern horizon, where dawn was rising. His eyes held a profound tranquility. "Some will criticize it, others will praise it, but one thing is certain: everyone will remember it."

He continued, "And you, child, will be remembered."

Lu Fen's gaze lingered on a petal, soft as velvet and pure as snow.

The sunlight transmutes it into a translucent golden crystal.

"Not necessary," he replied, his eyes half-closed, his voice even, as if everything Boli Joan had just said held no relevance to him.

The glow also illuminated the dark silver buttons and trim on his black uniform, enhancing his statuesque figure and impeccable features. His unusual eye color, coupled with his cold and distant expression, left an indelible impression on all who passed by. Amidst the nascent vines entwining the corridors at dawn, he stood within a surging sea of spring hues, yet seemed utterly disconnected from it all.

In the courtyard and along the corridors, many would secretly turn their heads to observe him. As the last of the Judges, he bore too many unresolved grudges and enigmatic mysteries. There were various rumors in the Northern Base - some said he was assassinated, others claimed he took his own life with a bullet. Only those in the research institute knew that the Judge had remained there forever - but none knew the reason.

"Look at me, child," Boli whispered softly.

Lu Fen turned to face him.

Though his gray-blue eyes were cloudy, they still shone bright, revealing an extraordinary wisdom, kindness, and sorrow that seemed to pierce through all superficial appearances.

"At times, I think you've found release, yet at others, you haven't," Boli said. "Three years have passed, and things are progressing for the better. Can't you still confront your past?"

"No."

- The answer was unexpected.

Lu Fen met his gaze directly, his tone calm and unwavering. "I am without guilt."

"No Judge would utter such words."

"The interest of humanity supersedes all else." Lu Fen turned slightly, his silhouette backlit by the endless dawn light. "My conviction has never wavered."

"You, however, live in torment."

"I have known the pain of judgment," Lu Fen admitted. "Now, losing him is my sole suffering."

"I have never encountered such a tranquil and composed child," Boli closed his eyes, lost in reminiscence. "He emerged from the unknown into this world as if destined for trials. Yet, the hardships of this realm could not mar his essence. My days are numbered, and all I yearn for is to see him alive once more."

In the prolonged silence, they gazed at the laboratory behind them.

On the other side of the wall, the young assistants were busily recording data, more so than usual, as if it were an extraordinary day. Through the window, a transparent square container, resembling a crystal coffin, lay horizontally on the snowy white ground. Inside the crystal casket, a pale green nutrient solution held sway, within which snowy white mycelium sprawled and intertwined, forming a pristine cocoon that vaguely resembled the shape of a human body.

It grew swiftly, evolving from a tiny spore the size of a jujube into a long, soft mass of mycelium. Like the fledgling bird that had suddenly transformed into a human infant, it, too, assumed a human form one day.

Across countless nights, Lu Fen would bend low, peering through the interwoven mycelium to behold that familiar silhouette.

"Is that him?" he asked Boli Joan.

"He's an asexually reproducing mushroom, with no distinction between his main body and his spores. I can assure you that their genes are identical, their frequencies in perfect harmony. Biologically speaking, they are one and the same," Boli smiled gently and whispered, "In your ancient legends, there is the tale of the phoenix being reborn in flames. For such simplistic life forms, this is indeed the case. Death becomes a new beginning, reproduction a means to perpetuate life."

"Will he remember?"

"I don't know," Boli shook his head. "It depends on whether a soul or memory is also a predetermined frequency. A mushroom knows from birth what nutrients it should absorb. Where does its memory come from? I lean towards the belief that, on some unknown scale of the universe, they are the same being. You need not worry about it."

Lu Fen's gaze shifted to the distant horizon, his cold and composed expression unchanged. "I hope he forgets everything."

"Why?"

"Lu Fen and the human base have only brought him pain," he said. "I hope he never experiences any of that again."

Boli shook his head. "How do you know what this world is like for him?"

Lu Fen's voice fell gently, "So I accept whatever the outcome may be."

Boli remained silent, and in the stillness of the laboratory, the sudden beeping of instruments echoed, followed by the cries of the experimenters and the clattering of objects hitting the ground. These intermittent sounds carried through, conveying to those outside a glimpse of the events unfolding inside.

As the dawn broke, the morning light fell upon the aged form of Boli Joan, as if signaling the resolution of his final concern. Feeling an immense burden lifted from his shoulders, he turned his wheelchair towards the laboratory, his gaze softening with each passing moment.

Lu Fen, however, didn't turn back.

"He has awakened," Boli Joan said, "Why not see him?"

Amidst the chaos of sounds within the laboratory.

After a long while, Lu Fen spoke.

"Once, you asked me how I truly viewed him." His voice seemed to come from a distant place: "I've thought about it a great deal."

Another prolonged silence followed, as golden sunlight cascaded over the eastern mountain range, and a crimson sun rose on the horizon.

In the breeze, he closed his eyes. Like a statue of a waiter, an image of a pilgrim – each resembled him, each had worn that same expression before the night of judgment arrived.

He spoke calmly, "He is the one who judges me."

A door creaked, and light footsteps halted nearby.

On the mountaintop, amidst the dawn light, mist, and gentle wind, a clear, soft voice echoed.

"Lu Fen?"

The author says: The main story has concluded.

Tomorrow's chapter will be from An Zhe's perspective.