RotA – Chapter 79

The afternoon’s brilliant sun passed through the clouds, shining down upon the ruins where the final battle had erupted.

For a long time, no one had come here. This human base, which once floated high in the sky, had long since been covered in the dust of ages during countless deathly silent days and nights.

A cargo plane landed near the research institute. A dozen or so researchers were in the dilapidated buildings, sorting through data and objects worth taking away.

The long-deactivated power system was started up again. Yi Shuyun stood before a dusty console, exporting all the erroneous research data from the past, one file at a time.

“Is any of this still useful?” Ye Qing walked to Yi Shuyun’s side, deliberately lowering her voice. “The past is in the past. The black vine energy can’t be extracted, the Floating City won’t be taken back. These things can be laid to rest here forever, just like the dead… The mistakes the institute made in the past can all be left unmentioned…”

“The tens of thousands of human experiments were real. And it’s also true that during more than fifty years of experiments, the institute killed people indiscriminately. This isn’t something that should just be turned over like a page with the passing of an era. Future generations have the right to know everything that happened here,” Yi Shuyun said softly. “The crimes we committed serve as a warning to them. Every detail is worth remembering… Only by remembering clearly can we avoid repeating the same mistakes.”

“No matter how posterity views us, every single one of us must admit the mistakes we’ve made.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help but sigh softly. “If the personnel at the Secret Research Institute back then had been willing to admit their mistakes, perhaps humanity would never have ended up in its current predicament.”

Ye Qing lowered her gaze for a moment, saying no more.

The smell here wasn’t pleasant; it was permeated with the sorrow of a bygone era.

Light streamed through the shattered glass window into the dilapidated data room, illuminating its gloom and dampness. Motes of dust floated in the light, silent yet incredibly conspicuous.

She knew that from the moment she became involved with the human experiments, Yi Shuyun had never stopped blaming herself.

In truth, it wasn’t just Yi Shuyun. The other researchers involved, as well as the military that had guarded the human base, were all tormented by similar self-reproach.

Much of the time, they couldn’t tell if they were saving people or killing them.

Research had proven that infection didn’t necessarily lead to mutation. Those who were infected all wanted to live, yet in the end, they died under a cold, ironclad rule.

Everyone knew that the Base’s human experiments were no different from murder. Not a single person who signed the agreement and entered the institute’s experimental operating rooms ever walked out alive.

The so-called “voluntary sacrifice” was more like selling what little life they had left to secure better living conditions for their families.

Because of this, over the years, quite a few people had been given up on by their families and directly “sold” to the institute to sign the agreement. As long as their families forced them to sign, they were all considered “voluntary.”

They would cry, feel pain, and be afraid. When their bodies began to change, they would have emotional breakdowns. All of this was like a series of small thorns, testing the limits of every witness’s endurance.

And so, in Ye Qing’s eyes, Yi Shuyun gradually grew numb, her joys and sorrows seemingly sealed away, never to return to that night when she had hugged her knees and wept before her.

How many soft-hearted people had used self-blame to build an iron wall named “Atonement”—imprisoning themselves, yet protecting their true nature.

Everything was over now. Could those trapped by self-blame still live for themselves?

“Doctor…” Ye Qing called out softly.

“Hm?” Yi Shuyun turned to look.

The dust was too thick in the light. She squinted and waved a hand, failing to see the glint of tears in Ye Qing’s eyes.

Yi Shuyun said, “Don’t just stand there doing nothing. Go next door and see if there’s anything not broken that we can take back to the Underground City.”

Ye Qing nodded in acknowledgment and ran out of the ruined data room.

The returning cargo plane flew through the clouds—a sky that the people who grew up in the Floating City knew best, yet could never return to.

But the survivors didn’t feel sad or regretful about it, because they knew all too well that sky didn’t belong to them.

Perhaps it was too cold up high, and people’s hearts grew colder too.

The ground was good. The people of the Old World had all lived on the ground. Though the world was vast, human homes were everywhere.

Unlike them—some hiding in the sky, others concealed underground. So many had died without ever truly returning to the surface.

The world, after the boundless dense fog had dispersed, was unfamiliar to humanity, yet filled with infinite hope.

The era of chaos and disorder passed, and an era of order arrived.

The old laws no longer existed. All research had been restarted, and every new discovery brought immense joy to humanity as a whole.

Time moved forward, neither fast nor slow. The people who had once been driven out by the ecosystem finally returned to the surface, building a brand-new home upon a stretch of wasteland.

A highly respected, elderly senior passed away. The still-under-construction surface base erected its first tombstone, and countless people laid newly planted flowers before it.

Yi Shuyun took over the Overview of New World Species that he had been unable to finish compiling before he passed.

She no longer conducted any experiments or research related to humans, focusing wholeheartedly on the characteristics and habits of New World species.

The world was so large; researching so many new species would be an extremely long process. But then, the exploration of the unknown is inherently endless.

“The people of the Old World believed that humanity would one day fly away from Earth, leave the Milky Way, and journey into the vast cosmos,” Yi Shuyun said. “I used to think that was all a joke, that human civilization would be silently annihilated in the Great Filter. But now, I’m starting to believe. We survived the darkest hour, and so we have a future of infinite possibilities… Though I certainly won’t live to see that day, I can do something to lay the foundation for its arrival.”

Re-learning this world that had become so unfamiliar was the cornerstone for humanity’s voyage toward a bright future.

As Yi Shuyun spoke, she turned to look at Ye Qing.

This girl had been with her since she came of age. In the blink of an eye, more than a decade had passed. Now in her thirties, she still stayed by her side, just as she always had.

“Life is so much more stable now than before. Haven’t you ever thought about starting a family?” Yi Shuyun asked casually. The moment the words left her mouth, she was overcome by an inexplicable sense of awkwardness.

Ye Qing tilted her head and asked in return, “Hasn’t the Doctor also been alone all this time?”

“I’m already old, what’s the point of thinking about such things…”

“You’re not old. In my heart, the Doctor is still the same Doctor from all those years ago.” Ye Qing smiled. “I won’t start a family. The Doctor is my family… I said it back then, I’ll follow the Doctor for my whole life.”

Her tone held an indescribable stubbornness: “When I say a lifetime, I mean a lifetime.”

Yi Shuyun’s gaze froze for a moment, then a smile she couldn’t suppress rose in her eyes.

The sunlight then was brilliant, as if it could scatter all the gloom.

Ye Qing once again saw the smile that had long since vanished into the years. In that instant, memory and reality overlapped in the glint of her tears.

She had waited for the revival of all things.