“Grandpa, here’s the money!”
Zhu used the mouse to drag joss paper into the fire. “It’s billions, you know? Buy whatever you want to eat. Be nice to yourself.”
Through the PC window, the old man happily accepted the money. “What? Billions? Don’t exaggerate! If it were really that much, money would’ve stopped being valuable long ago. Don’t spend money on useless things. I’m not hungry or cold here. I’m just bored.”
“Alright, then I’ll burn you a tablet with all kinds of shows on it. 12-month subscription is paid, up front.”
“Fine, fine. I know video calls aren’t cheap for you. Let’s hang up.”
“Hold on, in a few decades, I’ll go down to keep you company.”
“Keep me company? I’m not even your real grandfather…”
With a crackle and pop, the flames in the monitor licked the paper shreds that hadn’t yet been fully burned.
“Welcome.”
The waiter led you to a seat by the window, which was marked as “Reserved.”
“Isn’t this reserved?”
“It’s reserved for you.”
“Oh!” You sat down, pleasantly surprised.
A group of waiters filed in, each bringing a dish that felt like it was made just for you, each more exquisite than the last.
“This … ”
“Are you satisfied?”
“Yeah, I’m completely satisfied!”
You savoured each bite, every one perfect in taste.
You were about to leave.
“Please rate your experience.”
“Something this good still needs a rating?” You chuckled as you gave your score for the dishes.
“Oh, if you hadn’t rated it now, we wouldn’t have known what dishes to prepare for you 40 minutes ago.”
I summoned all my remaining strength to record the image of the killer who took my life.
Remember, those monsters swinging strange, deadly tools behind me—they killed me. In my final moments, I carved this drawing into the mountain rock.
My child, remember—avenge me!
Forty thousand years later, a tour guide led a group of elementary school students on a spring outing to the museum:
“Look! This rock painting is an artistic creation by our human ancestors, depicting their lives at the time. It shows the scene of our ancestors hunting wild buffalo … ”
“Wow! I love steak!”
The dodo, Gros Michel bananas, mammoths …
In the long history of human civilization, countless species have gone extinct.
I once thought that the abstract creatures in that rock painting were just another lost species among them.
But that day, after they implanted some redundant parts of the human genome into the yeast cell nuclei …
I suddenly realised that the creatures in the rock paintings have always been here.
You, a superintelligent AI, were designed to collect every aspect of human civilisation and record it on Planet Oan.
You sent out countless drones, tracking the development of every human colony, and faithfully writing their stories into the First Library.
Then came the Second, Third, and Fourth Libraries.
You built the First Data City.
Then the Second, Third, and Fourth Data Cities.
Next came the Mountain of Memories.
It was followed by the Mountain Range of History.
Binary digits crawled across the surface of the planet.
They crawled into the mantle, into the core.
You began to compress data, all the way to the electron degenerate state, to the neutron degenerate state, until a black hole formed.
You wrote the final binary digit, and with it, created the first ray of light in the new universe.
The old man hesitated at the foot of the escalator, while his granddaughter went ahead to the next floor, waiting impatiently.
The steps moved quickly; the old man couldn’t make himself move.
“Go on, you’ve paid a hefty sum,” the tour guide said. “It’s meant to help her, right?”
A passerby noticed first. He helped the old man onto the escalator, just like the memory.
The old man shakily stepped off at the top, trying to catch up with his granddaughter, who walked toward the exit without even turning back.
“Forget it,” I said, staring at my own reflection in the glass.
The tour agency’s advertisement echoed in my mind:
“Parallel Universe Travel—Make Amends for Regrets!”
I hadn’t done it then because I was foolish, and now I don’t because of shame. Not doing so means having to live with it.
Make amends for regrets? Who am I kidding?
“How can I never die?”
“Huh? Well … get enough sleep, exercise more, eat more fruit … ”
“I mean never die, not die healthily!”
“ … You’re losing your mind. Just upload your consciousness, then.”
“But the uploaded consciousness isn’t mine! It’s just a scanned replica, a new consciousness produced by my neural activity—not me! I’d have to watch my friends and family gather around the other me while I’m left alone, sinking into the cold abyss of death!”
“Did you get zapped by alternating current or something? You are the uploaded consciousness! Who cares who uploaded it or whether you’re ‘alive’ or not…”
“Oh…”
“You’ve been anxious about this kind of stuff even before the upload.”
“Then… what if I get shut down?”
Note: NNP, Neural Network Processor, the artificial neural network, functions as the CPU of the uploaded consciousness.
Today marks the beginning of winter.
I stepped out of the Tianyi Pavilion just as it was time for lunch.
After a busy morning, I had finally finished making copies of the 638 ancient texts, the authentic originals that Emperor Qianlong had borrowed and never returned, which were later destroyed in the flames of war.
I went to a nearby café and ordered a plate of dumplings.
Then, I placed an online order for a fresh coconut latte from another café.
The dumplings were average, but the 2024 version of the coffee is still the best.
With the shopkeeper’s disgruntled gaze lingering on me, I stepped out and got into my car.
I set the coordinates for a deep space jump.
Time: Now
Location: Wenyuan Pavilion (rebuilt in 2100)
I hope to finish the painstaking work of restoring the “Complete Library of the Four Branches of Literature” this afternoon.
The High Priest knew that the Divine Machine was never wrong.
It had successfully predicted 10 long winters.
It also foretold that tomorrow would mark the arrival of the final long winter.
The High Priest prayed fervently before the machine, hoping that it would grant the entire nation the blessing to endure the endless winter nights, lasting the equivalent of 5,000 days.
The moment finally arrived.
The red sun fell, and the bright night rushed forth.
“No, this is not the long winter.”
The High Priest, filled with dread, gazed down from the highest tower of the sanctuary. Everything in his line of sight had turned a blinding silver.
Soon, he too was frozen into a statue of ice.
“Ah…”
The Wisdom Machine sighed long and deep:
“Intermittent stardust may be avoided, but the cold current of the nebula is a sign of doom.”
At the memorial service, the family played a video that the deceased had filmed before he died.
In it, he spoke of his proudest moments in life and offered apologies to those he had never been able to say goodbye to or make amends with before his passing.
Then, he asked the guests not to rush into tears and farewells.
For at the end of the video, there was an Easter egg.
To their surprise, the screen shifted to show a younger, handsome version of the deceased.
He called out everyone’s name in the room.
He asked each person to pose a question—something he should know the answer to.
If he could all answer correctly, this reborn version of himself would be acknowledged by his own self. Otherwise, the data would be completely erased.
And then, the true farewell would begin.
You wake up.
Because your phone was on silent, you missed two important messages.
The first one was from the government.
Three hours ago, an enemy nation declared that they would launch 1,000 missiles, with your city as the target.
You are fully awake now.
The second message was from your car.
Three hours ago, it activated its smart risk avoidance system.
At this very moment, it shows that the latest location is in a secluded mountain hollow, far from the city.
You’re a bit confused.
Then, you receive the third message: “In three minutes, missiles will arrive. Please go to the underground parking garage to take shelter.”
You’re dishevelled, rushing down 20 flights of stairs.
The garage is packed with neighbours.
Each parking spot is occupied by an entire family, all neatly arranged.
Here’s how it all started: I opened an app on my phone.
And, as luck would have it, I was chatting with a friend and absentmindedly waving my hand.
The app’s “shake to activate” advertisement opened an online store for me.
The online store led me to a live-stream.
The live-stream directed me to a payment app.
The payment app took me to an online lending platform.
The online lending platform connected me to the black market.
The black market linked me to DeFi.
DeFi was auctioning off rockets.
My phone assistant, thinking I was still watching the stream, kindly launched a rocket for me.
There is good news and bad news.
The bad news is that I now owe a hundred million.
The good news is that humanity has been destroyed, and I no longer need to repay the loan.
Note: DeFi refers to decentralized finance, a blockchain-based financial system that includes a series of protocols and contracts.
It is a red cloud.
But the people on the ground always wear fluorescent glasses, saying it is blue.
It was once made of hay, burlap, fine sand, and ash, and became a soft cloud made of cotton during the First World War.
Before the birth of primates, it existed for billions of years, at the same time as the first drop of milk secreted by the mother.
The rifles and grenades from the time of World War I have long since evolved into laser cannons and neutron bombs; planes and cannons have transformed into star-destroying ships and quantum rockets.
Yet, it is still a blurry cloud.
People shatter the moon and conquer the stars, but they dare not raise their eyes to seriously observe that cloud.
After Xu Qi handed me the letter that day, I never saw her again.
I kept the letter with me as I attended my cousin’s fusion ceremony.
A century ago, the mining veins had dwindled, and the machinery in the mountains was insufficient to update everyone’s bodies.
Every single person at the age of twenty had to find a partner for the fusion ceremony.
The best parts from both individuals were combined, creating a new body. Both their consciousnesses were then connected to the new body, taking turns to control it.
During the ceremony, a primary consciousness would be chosen, and the body control time would be assigned daily.
It was said that the official conducting the draw could be bribed, but no one believed that people in love would resort to such measures.
I took the letter, and read that new minerals had been discovered, that this ancient ritual should no longer exist.
The sound of a suona echoed, and red paper scattered in the air. I threw the letter into the fire pit, trying my best to forget that horrifying notion.
“Every role you play is so vividly portrayed, and you bring every character to life. What’s your secret?”
“Actually, it’s quite simple—just listen, watch, and feel honestly.”
“But how do you manage to truly listen, watch, and feel for such different types of characters from various times and places?”
“It’s a trade secret.”
“Come on, give us a hint!”
Thousands of words omitted.
“The method is actually quite simple. I have a machine that can create any kind of space and time I want. All I need to do is find a scene that’s close to the play, step inside, and take a look.”
“What about those end-of-the-world movies?”
“Then I let the world end.”
“And then?”
“Throw it in the trash.”
Valentine’s Day arrived.
You told me that the gift I gave you before was so ordinary that you could easily guess what it was and it wasn’t surprising.
So I found the “Surprise AI”.
The AI ran for a minute and told me that you had registered for the “Anti-Surprise AI”, using big data and neural networks to analyse what kind of surprise I would give you.
I was stunned.
The AI asked if I wanted to upgrade to the premium version to make sure you couldn’t guess my surprise.
I paid without hesitation.
Another minute passed, and the AI told me that you had also bought the premium version and asked if I wanted to purchase the Plus version.
I paid without hesitation.
What about Pro?
I paid without hesitation.
What about Max?
I paid without hesitation.
What about Ultra?
I paid.
That night, we wandered the streets, sharing a surprise romance.
“I still suspect that the decimal system on this planet was invented by those foolish upright apes!”
“It’s easy to explain. They have ten appendages on their pair of forelimbs.”
“No, that explanation doesn’t hold water. Many of the animal fossils left behind on this planet also have 10 appendages on their forelimbs! Only crabs have exactly 10 segments. Look, each of their forelimbs has two appendages, and that even explains the binary system later developed on this planet!”
“Even so, crabs aren’t organisms. They might be some sort of biological armour for the upright apes.”
“What? Biological armour?”
“According to ancient Asian texts, a scientist named Fahai once hid inside a crab … ”
“Friends, the destruction of vitamins in ready-made meals can severely affect the healthy development of the brain. I propose that the theme of this year’s Organic Day be: Advocate for an Organic Brain, and Reject Ready-made Meals!”
Thunderous applause broke out from the front rows.
There were whispers from the middle.
“The officer is so high up that he doesn’t understand the hardships of the world. Without ready-made meals, how could we feed billions of humans?”
“Shh, maybe he’s just saying this for the future generations.”
“That’s even more ridiculous. Why would humans care about the health of an organ that’s destined to be harvested once it’s fully grown?”
“Hehe, I heard humans proposed a similar initiative for dairy cows a century ago.”
Note: 17 November is Organic Day in China, and there was once a proposal for organic milk.
Since the construction of the “Super Memory System”, the work of historians had come to an end.
The government used self-replicating machines to build a grand memory system on the moon. The entire public history of each individual’s life would be fully stored and memorized. This meant that there would be no loss in historical records, from the personal micro-histories to the macro histories of society and civilization. After a person passed away, their entire life could be retrieved by their friends and family at any time for remembrance.
People referred to this moment as the “Historical Singularity”.
And what about the historians?
All that was left for them were the histories before the Singularity and research on “non-citizens”.
Leah, I should have given you a bouquet, but I didn’t. I know you can’t smell flowers and you can’t comprehend anything beyond zeros and ones.
Leah, I should have cried for you, but I didn’t. Tears contain salt, and they would damage the circuit boards.
Leah, I should have told you who the woman standing beside me in the photograph was, but I didn’t. Because your faces are almost identical, except for the mole at the corner of her eye.
I’m sorry, Leah. I hid the news of your critical condition from you. I’ve experienced heart-wrenching separations before, and I didn’t have the courage to face it a second time.
I’m sorry, Leah. I killed you, using the highest authority to cut off your power.
Goodbye, Leah. No, let’s say it properly … Let us meet again.
I watched the albatross colony through the bird-shaped monitor.
A male bird danced in front of the lens, gently pecking at the monitor’s bionic beak, showing off the nest it had built.
It didn’t know its mate was a machine, nor that the eyes observing it belonged to another species.
“My dear, don’t you think observing it like this is too cruel? This kind of bird can live for over seventy years, usually with only one mate for life … ” He gently brushed my long hair.
“This is my job.”
“I’m sorry. I was overthinking. Don’t stay up too late. Goodnight.”
He lowered his head and kissed me, his smiling eyes reflecting the face of a beautiful human woman.
My bionic skin recorded the data of this moment.
I stand on a snow-capped peak, with cold winds and snow rushing into my nostrils;
I am at the bottom of the deep sea, with salty and bitter seawater filling my throat;
I am in a canyon, with stinky and dense mist filling my lungs;
I am in a desert, surrounded by a yellow, endless sandstorm.
I float in the vast expanse of space. My spacesuit was torn, and only the lifeless illusion of a vacuum remains.
The world and the universe are vast, but I am trapped in a hospital room, unable to reach anywhere.
I—can’t—breathe—
Tear open my lungs:
There is no electricity, no light, no blood.
Only rusted conductors, tangled wires, and dense tears.
Today is a special day. We gather to watch the scariest movie of all time, Sadako, to mourn the pioneers who had implanted television in their eyes ten years ago.
On the night of World Television Day, the broadcast system was hacked, and all screens switched to an infinite loop of Sadako crawling out of the TV with her long hair covering her face. Tens of thousands of users, unable to refuse the viewing, suffered extreme discomfort, vomiting until they were sick and died.
After the disaster, for human safety, all implant devices were made mandatory to be removable by users at their discretion.
After the movie, please remember to remove the eye implants and return them to their original places, and retrieve your own eyes. Do not lose them.
Species: Snow
Subspecies 1: Pear Blossom Snow. This subspecies resembles pear blossom petals, hanging on trees like pear flowers, causing metal to cool and shatter.
Subspecies 2: Salt Snow. This subspecies resembles salt grains and boils upon contact with water.
Subspecies 3: Willow Fluff Snow. This subspecies resembles willow fluff, and is fragile and invasive, causing frostbite if inhaled.
…
Today’s weather: Silver Snake Snow
Residents are advised to stay away from the mountains.
Note: Each snow species has a corresponding poem.
The first snow of winter arrived just in time for the festival.
The next morning, at the firewood shed.
A neutrino passed through the body of a dying girl.
Her soul, weighing 21 grams, slowly drifted away, following the neutrino’s path.
She dimly remembered the story her grandmother had told her:
On a snowy day, a little girl in a big red coat and white silk skirt was holding firewood.
She didn’t understand how this scene had been recreated, how she had returned to the past and entered her grandmother’s dream.
She didn’t know that a part of her would travel at light speed, forever wandering through the vast universe, free from all constraints.
She would see it all, the illusory scenes like the moon in the water and the flowers in the mirror.
A round trip, and time had stolen two thousand years through the gaps in Zhang Weisheng’s fingers, which were gripping the control stick. The records left behind at the time of departure had long since turned to dust, as had human civilisation. The launch base, once bustling, had become a desolate end-of-the-world settlement.
As he staggered off the spaceship, joyfully bearing the news of a new planet’s successful development to the half-naked, desperate humans of Earth, they simply smiled and asked him in a strange language, “Where are you from?”
The bottle shattered against her, while the knife sank into her husband’s neck. His blood-red eyes blinked in shock, and he managed to utter a few words before falling silent.
“Yun, how dare you … ”
She still had some time before the law enforcement drone arrived. She activated a machine, one which extracted her memories and grew a new body in the process.
Most of her memories would be lost, but some part of herself would remain. She would survive under a new identity.
She saw the time her husband lost his job. Saw herself hiding in a room, building machines, humming a tune to ward off the fear. That memory vanished.
She saw her father smashing the table, and her escape from home.
She saw a younger version husband pulling parts from the oil-slicked debris, smiling and saying, “Yun, I’ll build a machine that will take us away from your family, to a past without pain.”
Those memories vanished.
When a person is about to die, they see a revolving lantern that plays important moments from their life.
The Reapers had always paid little attention to this, after all, humans live for only about a hundred years, and a round of the lantern doesn’t take long.
Even as medical advancements stretched lifespans beyond a century, the Reapers didn’t worry too much. If it became an issue, they could use the divine technique of entertainment-induced death.
Until people invented the nurturing companion AI and external memory banks. The Reapers started to get a little uneasy, often finding themselves stuck in overtime.
Even worse, the advent of digital twins and avatars led to a Reaper dying of a heart attack while working overtime.
“This season’s human harvest is good.”
“It’s mainly thanks to the officers’ good skills!” Zeus nodded obsequiously.
“But that man’s ugly.”
“I’ll have him removed!”
“This part’s probably contaminated too.”
“I’ll replace the soil!”
“Forget it. Let’s just destroy this planet.”
“Understood!”
After the departure of the Celestial Dragon people.
Jehovah said, “What should we do? This star system now only has one planet with humans on it.”
Pangu said, “Let’s work on nurturing them properly.”
Zeus said, “But if it’s too lonely, their mood will worsen, and their flavor and appearance will go downhill.”
Jehovah said, “Alright, tell them the Fermi Paradox.”
Since I was little, the year of one’s birth sign has always been seen as an obstacle.
In the year of one’s birth sign, bad things always happen.
The elders say, “If you were born under the same sign as Tai Sui (God of Age) of that year, you are more likely to have the Evil Spirit get you in trouble.”
I don’t know when it started, but to avoid calamity and misfortune, one must go to both Chinese and Western temples on Thanksgiving Day to offer prayers.
Upon entering the temple, the hallway was lined with worship rooms, each containing only a bed.
Disrobe, lie flat, and naturally, sleep takes over.
When you awaken, you’ll feel refreshed.
Behind the worship rooms, there is a conveyor belt, strewn with discarded parts.
“Ovaries, shelf life: 48 years.”
“Heart, shelf life: 60 years.”
“Brain, shelf life: 72 years.”
…
“Doctor, I saw a black hole.”
“Oh? What does it look like?”
“It was swallowing many stars.”
“Oh, don’t worry. The person in Bed 4 saw Jehovah pulling Adam’s rib to create Eve.”
“But I can hear it speaking! Open your Sky Eye, receive our guidance, and escape before the solar system falls into the black hole! Hurry! It’s been talking nonstop, and it’s driving me crazy!”
“Bed 9, just sleep and the hallucinations will disappear. Don’t worry. Nurse, increase his dosage.”
A few days later, explosive news hit the global media headlines:
China’s Tianyan (Sky Eye) received mysterious extraterrestrial information. Decoding it is a challenge.
Once again, I stood at the restaurant door.
Even in the apocalypse, this restaurant still served fresh meat, and I was tormented by extreme hunger. The server was quick, and before I could hesitate, he had already guided me to my seat.
“What would you like to eat today?” he asked.
I looked at my mechanical legs, swallowed my saliva, and asked, “Do you still have pig’s trotter soup?”
The server immediately shook his head. “Sorry, you can no longer eat this kind of food.”
I have no choice.
After some thought, I finally ordered twice-cooked pork.
The server subtly glanced behind me, then snapped his mechanical fingers and said, “Okay, the head chef will be right over!”
Note: The best ingredients for authentic twice-cooked pork are the tip of the buttocks and second-cut meat.
