EDEH Chapter 33

【007 Diary Fourteen】

 

【During those years drifting through space, the little dragon fell into hibernation, and I spent the long years alone.

 

AI has no emotions and does not feel loneliness, but perhaps the passage of time is still a kind of torment for AI, which is why I learned to “think.”

 

Sometimes I imagine: if all humans went extinct, would I still have a reason to exist?

 

I was created by humans; my value lies in serving them.

 

My “life” has no end, but if humanity disappears, I would not feel loneliness—yet I would be lonely for eternity.

 

Maybe when Dr. Anya first designed the “Nuwa Project,” she should have arranged a “companion” for me, like Adam and Eve.】

 

.

 

Sang Jue carefully kept a distance of twenty meters, afraid of startling the humanoid creature ahead.

 

Although it also wore a “human skin,” it was clearly a more advanced type.

 

He couldn’t help but mutter from behind, “Why don’t you give yourself facial features?”

 

The humanoid, made entirely of flowing liquid, did not rely on hearing and gave no reaction to the question.

 

Sang Jue’s assessment: a little dummy with no face or fingers.

 

But what exactly is a “little dummy”?

 

The doctor once said that plants are eukaryotes with chlorophyll, cell walls, and nuclei, capable of autotrophy and photosynthesis, and they need soil to survive.

 

As for animals, as the name suggests, the primary criterion is mobility; they are also multicellular eukaryotes.

 

Humanoid creatures do not need to be rooted in soil, nor do they rely on light, so they definitely are not plants.

 

But calling them animals is also a stretch—they have no skin or flesh, only a single behavioral ability, and not even a reproductive drive… Well, if “contamination” counts as a reproductive drive, then maybe they do.

 

Sang Jue called out, “007, do you know what it is?”

 

007 replied, “A special substance incomprehensible to humans—perhaps not even a living organism.”

 

Sang Jue made a sound. “So you don’t know either?”

 

007 said, “You can think of me as a large warehouse created by humans, containing all the knowledge and data humanity has discovered. But if humans cannot understand something, neither can I.”

 

AI is built upon the knowledge already possessed by humanity.

 

Sang Jue responded, “I just feel… it’s a bit like me.”

 

Of course, he had no desire to contaminate anything.

 

007 asked, “Are you trying to find your origin?”

 

The flashlight seemed to be malfunctioning, its beam growing weaker. The long, narrow cave felt stifling, especially as the oxygen dwindled.

 

Sang Jue walked carefully, trying not to touch the sticky liquid from the tentacles around him.

 

“Not really,” Sang Jue said, pursing his lips. “But humans all know what they are. I don’t. It would be nice if I could find out.”

 

007 replied, “I’ve seen what you looked like when Dr. Millie first brought you to the lab. You are very different from these humanoid creatures—your ‘quality’ is much higher than theirs.”

 

Sang Jue was terrible at elementary school science.

 

He only knew that “quality” refers to the amount of matter contained in a living being, but nothing more specific.

 

Everyone in the homeworld’s lab was outstanding. The doctor often invited them to take turns teaching him, but he always struggled with basic concepts.

 

For example, why must people learn math? It’s too complicated—he doesn’t like it.

 

Why do humans die if they don’t eat? He can go without food; a single gemstone can fully nourish him.

 

Why does everyone have to spend their whole life in the research institute, always exploring things they might never understand, unable to pursue good food, a beloved partner, beautiful scenery, or even have time for games?

 

There were so many things he couldn’t understand.

 

Whenever he asked, the friends in the lab would always laugh, a little helpless and a little sad.

 

Humans must stick to their posts—they always said so.

 

Even Dr. Millie, who treated him badly, was still dedicated to her work, finding time to be mean to him in between research… Hmph.

 

Sang Jue felt like a traveler drifting with the wind—curious about every new scene, but never truly able to understand or fit in.

 

It was frustrating.

 

Just like he still didn’t understand why humans liked to joke, or what was so funny about it.

 

If he didn’t learn soon, Ji Ji would definitely start doubting again whether he was really human.

 

His thoughts circled back, and as always, landed on Huo Yanji.

 

A little dragon isn’t suited for deep thinking.

 

He sped up, but the flashlight was fading and he was starting to lose track of the humanoid creature. There were many bizarre, intersecting caves around—easy to get lost.

 

Sang Jue belatedly realized it wasn’t the flashlight that was failing, but the environment itself.

 

The stalactites above gradually thinned out and no longer emitted their faint blue-green glow, as if some dark substance was swallowing the reflected light.

 

“I think… I’m going deeper.”

 

Sang Jue wasn’t sure.

 

The ground beneath his feet was flat, not sloped, but the oxygen was clearly thinning and the temperature dropping.

 

He lost track of the creature.

 

The humanoid had no distinctive fluctuations, no scent, and aside from sight, Sang Jue had no other way to track it.

 

He felt a bit dejected.

 

“007, are you still there?”

 

“Bzzt… I’m here,” 007 suddenly replied. “It’s possible that the crash destroyed all their communication devices, so I can’t locate anyone else, but I can still talk to you.”

 

Sang Jue asked, “What do you mean?”

 

“When you’re above ground, away from the aircraft, I can communicate with you because there are human network devices everywhere. But right now, you’re deep underground.”

 

“So nearby…” Sang Jue realized, “there’s a human-built network base station?”

 

“Yes, and it’s very close by, since our communication is so smooth.”

 

Sang Jue was puzzled—clearly, Si Fu had said humans were terrified of the rifts and didn’t know what was down here.

 

But now, it seemed that wasn’t entirely true.

 

Sang Jue was completely lost.

 

He squeezed out of a narrow cave, shone his flashlight on the complex sixteen-way intersection… It seemed like he’d just been here.

 

007 prompted, “Since humans have been here, to prevent their companions from getting lost, they would definitely have left markers. Your body is already showing signs of difficulty breathing. You should hurry to find the base station—maybe you’ll find an oxygen tank.”

 

Sang Jue asked in confusion, “But I haven’t seen any signs.”

 

007 replied, “A marker isn’t necessarily a signpost.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Sang Jue carefully inspected the ground, the walls, even the sparse stalactites overhead.

 

The cave was narrow and cramped, but very tall—those stalactite tips were out of reach, even if he stood on Huo Yanji’s shoulders.

 

Some caves were naturally formed, but others clearly showed signs of being artificially excavated.

 

Sang Jue wondered, “What were they trying to dig out?”

 

007 answered, “The collapse brought not only disaster, but also countless rare resources.”

 

Just as he finished speaking, Sang Jue stepped into a cave that nearly blinded him.

 

He swallowed nervously. “Is this obsidian?”

 

The cave was about seven or eight square meters, with walls studded with black, cone-shaped gems. Under the flashlight, it looked like a black ocean in a vacuum, shimmering with light.

 

007 analyzed, “Obsidian usually forms near volcanoes. It’s unlikely here.”

 

Sang Jue licked his dry lips, wishing he could take the whole mine home.

 

He stroked the beautiful black gems—if only he could eat one. It had been so long since he’d had a gemstone. Human food was delicious, but it couldn’t give him energy.

 

He was a bit frustrated. “I can’t get any out.”

 

007 said, “If this mine is hollow, it might have been mined to the limit. If the rock wall is thin, further mining could cause a collapse. Shouldn’t you be looking for General Huo Yanji?”

 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Sang Jue reluctantly left the mine, glancing back every few steps.

 

He really couldn’t delay any longer; his breathing was getting harder. Without oxygen, would he die from suffocation?

 

Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t.

 

His flashlight wandered aimlessly. After losing track of the humanoid creature for two hours, Sang Jue finally found a human-made marker.

 

—It was a maple leaf-shaped pattern carved into the wall, with the tip seemingly pointing the way.

 

Sure enough, following the direction indicated by the maple leaf, the cave became more and more spacious.

 

In less than ten minutes, he saw—far ahead—the outline of a massive building.

 

It was only a gray shadow, but it was enough to make him excited. It stood on flat ground at the edge of a rift, opposite a bottomless, sloping abyss.

 

Sang Jue took a few steps forward, but something felt off.

 

In the distance, beyond the reach of his flashlight, aside from the shadowy outline of the base, there were countless writhing substances. Sometimes they clustered together, sometimes a few broke off, slowly reassembling into faceless human shapes, entering nearby caves—drawn by some material.

 

They moved in groups—uncountable numbers.

 

Maybe ten, maybe a hundred, maybe more.

 

Sang Jue was stunned. “Have they made the human base their nest?”

 

007 replied, “In theory, only some organic life forms build nests for themselves.”

 

Sang Jue asked, “Then why are they gathering here?”

 

007, long used to the little dragon’s endless questions, patiently offered a possibility: “Perhaps human understanding is wrong—even non-organic life forms may build nests.”

 

Sang Jue walked forward, looking around. At the edge of the flashlight’s beam, there seemed to be a notebook lying on the ground.

 

He walked over and picked it up.

 

It was a thick notebook, the cover made from the hide of some unknown creature, with a fine cord binding all the pages.

 

Perhaps because it was so dry and low in oxygen underground, the pages showed almost no signs of oxidation.

 

But judging from the handwriting and dates, this was a notebook left behind over a hundred years ago.

 

Sang Jue wanted to keep reading, but finding an oxygen tank was more urgent—his chest was tight and heavy.

 

He’d barely taken two steps when the ground suddenly gave way—he felt like he was sinking into a swamp. The soft, elastic soil clung to his calves like octopus suckers, pulling him down.

 

Sang Jue was at a loss. “007…”

 

007 said, “Please stay calm. The more you struggle, the faster you’ll sink. I don’t know why there’s a swamp here, but I’ll try to hack into the base system and send a distress signal.”

 

Even without moving, Sang Jue’s body continued to sink.

 

His flashlight fell nearby, shining toward the base.

 

Those flowing humanoid creatures still moved like machines, paying no attention to Sang Jue, systematically gathering, splitting, forming human shapes, and entering nearby caves—waiting for the day they could achieve mass contamination, then returning to the collective.

 

Only humans and animals are supposed to have collective consciousness, but these humanoid creatures did too. It was remarkable.

 

007 said, “Don’t be afraid.”

 

Sang Jue muttered, “You know I’m not afraid.”

 

007 replied, “You can try to learn to be afraid.”

 

Sang Jue, with nothing else to do, chatted idly, “Why should I learn to be afraid?”

 

007 said, “It will make you more like a human.”

 

Sang Jue thought he could give it a try. “What does fear feel like?”

 

007 answered in a data-driven way: “Adrenaline surges, heart rate speeds up, pupils dilate, muscles tense, goosebumps appear.”

 

“But I can’t control my adrenaline,” Sang Jue said. “What are goosebumps?”

 

007 replied, “They’re the fine, barely visible hairs on the surface of your skin.”

 

Sang Jue looked at his own arm and pinched it a few times. “My goosebumps are too soft and short—they can’t stand up.”

 

He decided to give up.

 

Even if he learned how to be afraid, with the doctor gone, there would be no one left to comfort him.

 

007 said, “Your new friend will comfort you.”

 

The flowing soil had already reached Sang Jue’s waist. He felt as if his blood was freezing. If it reached his chest and head, even if he didn’t die, he’d be completely trapped in this sealed space.

 

Just thinking about it was uncomfortable—and boring.

 

Sang Jue bit his lip. “But he’s not here, either.”

 

007 reassured him, “If he’s still alive, he’ll come soon.”

 

…

 

Shui Ming said, “Sir, there’s a maple leaf pattern on the wall over there!”

 

He was a little excited. Although Huo Yanji had already said that humans had explored the depths of the rift, actually seeing traces left by their predecessors was still incredibly moving.

 

Huo Yanji didn’t respond.

 

He was looking at a spot illuminated by the flashlight, where a large corpse was covering a piece of cloth—his military jacket.

 

Shui Ming followed his gaze and his breath caught.

 

“Sir…”

 

After a full three seconds, Huo Yanji walked over and lifted the large corpse. There was indeed someone underneath.

 

Shui Ming bent down to look at the face and let out a sigh of relief. “It’s not Sang Jue.”

 

It was a teenager from the community. Although his death was still regrettable, people are like that—when it comes to death, they’d rather it be someone they don’t know well.

 

Huo Yanji picked up the piece of jacket and put it in his pocket.

 

Shui Ming checked the identities of the surrounding bodies, and finally said with certainty, “This is where vehicle No. 2 crashed, but there’s no sign of Colonel Colin or Sang Jue. They’re probably still alive.”

 

Huo Yanji walked to the edge and shone his light into the bottomless abyss—it was also possible they’d fallen deeper and were already gone.

 

This was a leader’s habit: when optimism is meaningless, you have to consider the worst possible outcome.

 

This was the fifth group of crash victims they’d found. So far, there were only seventeen survivors, and they’d already found seventy-eight bodies.

 

Shui Ming took a deep breath, his voice rough. “They must still be alive.”

 

The flashlight shone on a corner of the rift wall, and Huo Yanji said, “Bring that up.”

 

Shui Ming looked over and saw a backpack hanging on the rock wall.

 

He quickly fetched a rope hook and hoisted it up. When he opened it, there were no other tools—just water and sandwiches.

 

When the army goes on missions, to maximize backpack space, they usually only carry nutrient packs. This backpack… was the one Huo Yanji had packed with food for Sang Jue.

 

He didn’t know why a thin eighteen-year-old could eat so much—there were five bags of sandwiches in the backpack.

 

Shui Ming brought it over. “Sir, I think this is—”

 

Huo Yanji knew as soon as he saw it. He didn’t take it, just looked at it for a while and said, “Share it with the others. Four people to a portion.”

 

“…Yes.”

 

It had been seven or eight hours since the crash. Everyone was hungry and thirsty. A quarter of a sandwich each wasn’t much, but it would help a little.

 

After dividing them, there was still three-quarters of a bag left. Shui Ming handed it to Huo Yanji. “Your face looks bad. You really need the energy.”

 

Huo Yanji took it and gave a quiet “mm.”

 

But after Shui Ming walked away and looked back, he saw that Huo Yanji hadn’t eaten any—he just put the sandwich in his jacket pocket, his eyes dark and unreadable.

 

“Keep moving in the direction of the maple leaf markings.”

 

“Yes!”

 

As they went deeper, Shui Ming, scouting ahead, suddenly stopped. “I think I hear something.”

 

Huo Yanji stopped and listened for a moment. “…It’s a type D sonic distress signal.”

 

Shui Ming was startled. “Type D?”

 

The main city and other safe zones use type C sonic dispersal devices, but type D is usually a distress signal used by underground bases—it can penetrate stone and walls very well.

 

A human base, two thousand meters under the rift!?

 

Huo Yanji said in a low voice, “Full speed ahead!”

 

Maybe the people in the base were trying to gather survivors, or maybe they were in danger. They had to get there as fast as possible.

 

Everyone was already feeling chest tightness and dizziness. There were only three compressed oxygen tanks left, being used in rotation, but they’d soon run out. The base was their only hope of finding more supplies.

 

Shui Ming didn’t care about disturbing the dormant tentacles around them. He ran quickly in the direction of the distress signal. In the distance, he suddenly saw half a human figure standing on the ground and got a fright.

 

“S-sir… I think it’s Sang Jue.”

 

He didn’t even dare look at Huo Yanji’s face. Seeing your beloved cut in half by a car crash…

 

“Idiot,” Huo Yanji said coldly. “It’s just flowing soil.”

 

Being scolded, Shui Ming actually felt relieved.

 

Huo Yanji gestured for everyone to stop and waited for Shui Ming to check the extent of the flowing soil.

 

Shui Ming made his way to within two meters of Sang Jue and called back, “Sir! Sang Jue seems to have fainted!”

 

Huo Yanji had already noticed. He tied a safety rope around his own waist and was about to step into the flowing soil when Shui Ming hurriedly stopped him: “No, your leg injury can’t take the strain!”

 

Ran Zhen stepped up. “Sir, let me do it! I’m strong and relatively light.”

 

…

 

In a daze, Sang Jue felt as if someone was pulling him. After about five minutes, his tightly trapped body suddenly loosened, and he fell into a warm embrace, his nose filled with a familiar, comforting scent.

 

Something was placed over his face, and a steady voice called his name in his ear.

 

“Sang Jue, breathe!”

 

It was as if through a layer of fog, buzzing—Sang Jue couldn’t quite understand, but he instinctively began to breathe, driven by the survival instinct for oxygen.

 

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he suddenly gasped sharply and sat up abruptly, but his cheek bumped into a warm neck.

 

The person supporting him paused for a moment, then patted his back. “Where does it hurt?”

 

The little evil dragon’s tail recognized the person beside him before its owner did.

 

The tip of the tail curled around Huo Yanji’s wrist, rubbing against it affectionately.

 

Sang Jue felt as if he had been trapped in a nightmare sealed in concrete, sweating cold sweat all over.

 

After being stunned for a while, he groggily said, “Nowhere hurts.”

 

Although he said that, Huo Yanji still checked his body.

 

He pressed on the locations of his internal organs one by one. “Does it hurt here?”

 

Sang Jue shook his head, his face flushed—whether from embarrassment or something else—and whispered, “Don’t press anymore, it doesn’t hurt.”

 

“…”

 

Shui Ming looked on with a complicated expression for a long time. Although his shock had faded, he was still forcibly restraining the impulse to remove this ‘danger’ from the general’s side.

 

Sang Jue was actually a deviant.

 

Judging by the general’s attitude, he obviously already knew.

 

Shui Ming once thought there could be no one in this world more rule-abiding than the general.

 

But it seemed that was not the case.

 

Sang Jue blinked and said gloomily, “Don’t doubt me. I don’t know why I was the only one who wasn’t hurt.”

 

Huo Yanji hummed, “Maybe you’re just lucky.”

 

Sang Jue pursed his lips, completely unaware that his tail was still curled around Huo Yanji’s wrist, making it impossible for either of them to get up, their posture quite intimate.

 

The ten or so people around them all consciously averted their eyes, not daring to pry into Huo Yanji’s privacy.

 

“I originally wanted to use something sharp to make a wound, so you wouldn’t suspect me.”

 

“My trust is that important?”

 

Sang Jue nodded without hesitation.

 

Huo Yanji paused. “Then why did you change your mind?”

 

Sang Jue blinked. “Because it would hurt a lot, and if I got injured, it would delay saving you… finding you.”

 

He was a bit annoyed; it should have been the evil dragon saving the prince, but he accidentally stepped into quicksand.

 

Huo Yanji’s cool voice sounded by his ear: “Don’t ever have such thoughts again.”

 

Sang Jue: “Hmm?”

 

Huo Yanji said in a low voice, “Never hurt yourself just to gain someone else’s trust.”

 

Sang Jue responded with an “Oh.” His lower body, trapped and numb, felt very cold. He couldn’t help but lean in a bit closer, somewhat reluctant to get up.

 

Shui Ming stood aside, growing more conflicted as he listened. Nothing good would come from an ordinary person and a deviant being together; the general should know this best, so why…

 

Especially since today the nationwide trial from years ago was mentioned again, making him recall that year filled with anger and madness…

 

His heart filled with worry, hoping the general would not repeat the same mistakes.

 

Huo Yanji asked, “Do you feel anything here?”

 

After two seconds, Sang Jue realized Huo Yanji was holding his ankle.

 

“A little—”

 

Huo Yanji frowned. Just as he was about to lift Sang Jue, he caught sight of something moving in the dim area near the base.

 

Shui Ming skirted around the quicksand and approached to check, instantly shocked by the scene not far away.

 

He took a deep breath, expression grave. “Sir, the base is probably hard to enter.”

 

A hundred meters away, countless flowing substances gathered together. Here a head popped up, there two legs suddenly stretched out. Slowly, the collective humanoid pollutants detached and walked toward them.

 

One, two, three…

 

They had only shape—no facial features, no skin color, no hair, not even solid bodies.

 

Weird and grotesque.

 

**

 

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