The wreckage of the starship spins slowly in the void. Black blood oozes from the access card in Administrator Lu Zhao's hand. Behind him, through the viewport, the death of formatted universes plays out like a slow-motion fireworks show. The Trisolaran galaxy flattens into a splash of ink, like traditional Chinese landscape painting; the Shang Dynasty starfield boils inside a colossal bronze cauldron; and the asteroid impact that wiped out the dinosaur civilization blooms into the pattern of an ammonite fossil.
"These aren't lives pulsing in those bubbles. They're code glitches," he says, swiping his finger across the console. My teddy-bear moon suddenly projects a billion sleeping human faces. An ouroboros coin rests beside each pillow. "Even pain is just pre-programmed seasoning."
The red-clad maiden's spinal armor suddenly contracts, its crystalline scales digging into my energy core. Agony floods me as deleted truths surface: The administrator is the original Lu Zhao. After his mother's death, he remade the universe into a game, all to harvest enough emotional energy to resurrect her. And all of us players, including me, are just his split-off "emotional batteries"!
"Time to recharge," he sneers. The bridge floor liquefies, revealing an ouroboros coil that stretches across the galaxy. At its center, his mother's body lies frozen, a half-finished sword made from the Nestorian Stele and crystal bones plunged into her chest.
The teddy bear's left eye suddenly shoots out a crater laser. The administrator blocks it with ease. Amid the flying sparks, the five-year-old me climbs out of the freezer projection. My frozen hand slams down on the coil's control panel:
Maximum Privilege Authenticated: Despair Level 100%
The entire galactic coil overloads and ignites. Three hundred and sixty prism clones burst forth, each wielding a weapon of despair: a paper sword folded from a terminal illness notice, a short spear rolled from a layoff letter, an ice pick formed from a divorce agreement. They charge at the administrator in a tidal wave.
"Useless," he flicks his wrist, summoning an impenetrable shield. The prism clones shatter on impact, but the shards stick to the barrier. Each piece reflects a false memory of "mother still alive" from some universe!
The real killing move activates. The maiden's spine detaches from the armor, coiling around the frozen mother's body. When the spine's terminal plugs into the Nestorian Stele hilt, the blade suddenly extends, piercing the administrator's chest.
"This sword... forged from your regret," the maiden's voice crackles with static. "What pierces you is... the unspoken 'forgiveness' from mothers across all universes..."
Instead of blood, the administrator's wound spurts out the broth from convenience store hot pot. Where the broth splashes, copper-colored cell membranes sprout on the starship walls, reenacting the miracle of Cambrian life.
"You win," the administrator slumps in front of the console, jamming the access card into his chest wound. "But the resurrection protocol is tied to the galactic coil..." The viewport behind him suddenly shows Earth: All the ouroboros coins hover above the cities. As the countdown hits zero, six billion people stop breathing simultaneously. Streams of their soul-light converge, surging toward the frozen mother's body.
The teddy-bear moon disintegrates. Xiaoyu's quantum rose roots, entwined with Dr. Lin's crystal remains, shoot through the void. The rose pierces the mother's chest, forming a triangular brace with the Nestorian Stele hilt. The roots greedily absorb the soul stream, and the smiling faces of all players appear within the rose petals.
"No!!!" The administrator rips open his chest, pulling out a core chip pulsing with ouroboros patterns. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me..."
The five-year-old me leaps out of the projection. My blue-tinged fingers snatch the chip. An arctic chill races through the chip, freezing the administrator solid in an instant. The child turns to me and smiles. The teddy bear suddenly speaks, a mix of the calf whale's cry and the maiden's voice:
Protocol Override: Marinate Despair with Hope
The child shoves the chip into his mouth and starts chewing. As ice crystals spread across his body, the soul stream from Earth suddenly changes course, flooding into the rose roots. The smiling faces within the petals break free, transforming into stardust that adheres to the galactic coil.
Cracks spiderweb across the administrator's frozen form. Just before he shatters, his pupils reflect one last image: I'm holding the five-year-old ice sculpture of myself, curled up inside a giant cocoon woven from the maiden's spine. Outside the cocoon, the rose, now filled with soul energy, transforms the mother's body into a glowing chrysalis, forming a binary star structure with the cocoon.
Two heartbeats echo through the void. One from the glowing chrysalis, one from the cocoon. Between the beats, the administrator's lips, now turned to dust, form three words:
So jealous
(End of Chapter 20)