Chapter 166: Gray Tide Approaches

At four o'clock in the morning, the tide's sound changed.

It was no longer the regular, soothing waves crashing on the shore, but a broken, sob‑like whimper. Lao Zhao, who was sleeping at the seaside observation post, was the first to wake—not because of the sound, but from a sudden palpitations in his chest, as if a cold hand had clenched his heart.

He rushed to the post's window and, through his night‑vision goggles, looked out at the sea.

Under the moonlight, the water was no longer the "primordial deep blue" of the newborn hues, but began to fade—extending from the shore outward, a distinct gray‑white boundary was advancing slowly yet inexorably. Outside the boundary the sea retained its color; inside, it turned into a lifeless, gray‑white tone like an old photograph.

Even more frightening, the gray‑white boundary was "pulsing"—not the rise and fall of waves, but a regular throb, like the heartbeat of a gigantic creature.

Lao Zhao grabbed the communicator: "Anomaly at sea! Color Devourer—it's ashore!"

Almost simultaneously, the plant‑network alarm detonated in everyone's mind. It wasn't a sound, but a cold, stripping frequency, as if someone were rubbing an eraser across your retina.

The makeshift school's campfire had not yet fully died down. Han Qing sat beside the embers, his silver body resembling a statue in the dim light. He was teaching Unit 007—the sphere that had once accidentally scratched a companion—what "watch‑keeping" is.

"It's not guarding," Han Qing explained, his voice a blend of electronic tones and human timbre, "it's… staying awake so that others can sleep peacefully."

On Unit 007's surface, a ripple of confusion appeared: "Inefficient. Seran units should enter standby during non‑production periods to conserve energy."

"But what if someone needs you?" Han Qing pointed to the distance, "like Lao Zhao on the shore, if he needs help now."

Unit 007 fell silent. Its gray‑mist core rotated slowly, as if computing. Then it said, "If we preset 'being needed' as a higher‑priority task, watch‑keeping can be incorporated into the efficiency model. But how do we quantify 'being needed'?"

At that moment, an alarm sounded.

Han Qing sprang to his feet, rainbow patterns flashing instantly, like suddenly illuminated circuitry beneath his silver skin. Unit 007 also sensed it, its sphere contracting and emitting a warning buzz.

Other blank entities gradually awakened, gathering together without panic—they still didn't understand panic—but with clear "anomaly state detection."

Unit 008, whose arm had once been scratched, now sported fully fleshed skin; it faced the sea and reported, "Detected large‑scale perception deprivation. Frequency signature matches 87% with the 'civilization regression weapon' in the Seran database."

In the underground chamber, the organ began to play automatically.

It wasn't Su Yu playing; instead, the seventeen crystal cores inside the instrument resonated—memories of the faded ones trembling. Lin Shouzhuo flipped through Ai O's notes, his eyes widened behind his reading glasses:

"Found it… Ai O recorded this. It's not a natural phenomenon; it's an early Seran civilization development—the 'Cognitive Purification Weapon,' used to format colonies overrun by 'emotional pollution.' But it should have been banned three thousand years ago!"

Su Yu rushed to the instrument, hand pressed on the keys. Through the multicolored roots, she "saw" the scene at sea: the Gray‑White Boundary's advance was accelerating, now having swallowed three hundred meters of coastline. In the devoured zone, even the rock textures vanished, turning into smooth, featureless pale planes.

"It's eating 'details,'" Su Yu's voice tightened, "It's not just about color—it's erasing the uniqueness of things. Wherever it passes, everything becomes… a uniform 'nothing.'"

Kaiwen stared at the terminal, his complexion pale: "Scans show its power source lies in a deep‑sea trench, eleven thousand meters down. But its area of effect is expanding—its diameter now reaches fifty kilometers, and it grows a kilometer every ten minutes."

Lao Zhao's communicator cut in again, his breathing heavy: "It's ashore! The gray‑white is crawling up the beach! The sand… the sand is turning into identical gray‑white grains, like mass‑produced by a factory!"

Su Yu burst out of the underground chamber and ran to the shore.

In the darkness before dawn, the Gray‑White Boundary resembled a moving wall, silently devouring everything. Where it passed, even the sound of waves vanished—not silence, but the sound lost its "texture," becoming a monotonous white noise.

Han Qing followed, the rainbow patterns on his silver arm flickering in the sea breeze: "My Seran component… has data. This weapon is called the 'Homogenization Wave.' It erases individual differences, turning everything into a uniform 'standard unit.' The Seran civilization once used it… to deal with rebellious colonies."

"And then?" Su Yu asked.

"The colonies survived. Everyone lives, but no one rebels, no one creates, no one… asks questions." Han Qing's voice grew hoarse, "They became perfect, efficient, error‑free… components."

In the distance, the first batch of blank entities also reached the shore. They stared at the Gray‑White Boundary, not fleeing but seemingly "analyzing."

Unit 007 rolled slowly toward the boundary, stopping ten meters away, extending its newly grown, translucent hand. It did not touch, merely "measured."

"Perception deprivation intensity: erasing 7.3 billion information units per second." It reported, voice still flat but faster, "At this rate, in seven days it will reach the makeshift school location. In fifteen days it will cover all newly‑colored zones."

It turned, and the confusion ripples on its surface transformed into a more intricate pattern—like tangled strands of thread.

"If it devours me… will I revert to a 'Standard Seran Sphere'?"

That question caused all the present blank entities to "look" toward Su Yu.

Su Yu walked to Unit 007, grasping its translucent hand—now warm, though still slightly cool.

"You won't," she said confidently, "because you've already learned 'guilt,' learned 'sharing,' learned to ask 'what if.' Those are your 'details.' And it…" She glanced at the approaching Gray‑White Boundary, "its greatest fear is 'details.'"

She turned to all the blank entities: "The organ left by Ai O preserves humanity's most precious details—the 'useless' memories, the 'inefficient' emotions, the 'redundant' moments. And you…" She watched their differentiating forms and emerging expressions, "you are the new details."

Han Qing suddenly said, "My memory Star Map… has a finding."

He raised his right hand, the rainbow patterns projecting a hologram: not a starfield, but a seabed topography map. A flashing red dot marked the Color Devourer's power source. Beside the dot, a golden mark—left by Chen Mo.

Next to the mark was a line of small text:

"If it awakens, go here. Ai O left a 'key' that can shut it down."

The golden mark's location was in the central Pacific, at a seafloor volcano crater never explored by humans.

"But," Kaiwen's voice came through the communicator, laced with despair, "given the Gray‑White Boundary's advance, we can't build a deep‑sea probe that reaches there within seven days. Seran technology might manage, but…"

From the direction of the observation tower, the team leader's voice arrived. It had already exited the sleep pod, its mirrored face reflecting the distant Gray‑White Tide:

"The Seran observation station has a Standard Exploration Submarine. Maximum depth: fifteen thousand meters. Round‑trip time: six days twenty‑three hours."

It paused, the mirrored surface turning toward Su Yu:

"But using it requires high‑level Seran clearance. And my clearance… was just frozen by the homeworld because I activated 'participatory learning.'"

Dawn arrived, yet the sky remained dark.

The Gray‑White Tide had already engulfed the entire beach, now beginning to erode the first newly‑grown forest along the shore. At the moment the trees were touched, all leaf‑vein patterns, bark scars, insect‑bored holes—everything vanished, turning into smooth, pale, plastic‑like faux trees.

Inside the makeshift school, humans and blank entities gathered around the organ.

Lin Shouzhuo turned to the final page of Ai O's notes, his fingers trembling: "Here is a description of the 'key'… not a physical key, but a frequency segment. A tuner must play a specific chord to activate it at the crater."

"What chord?" Su Yu asked.

The old man lifted his head, his clouded eyes blood‑shot: "We must simultaneously play seventeen different Emotional Frequencies—sadness, joy, anger, calm, love, hate, hope, despair… and they must be perfectly synchronized, with error no greater than 0.1 seconds. Ai O said… this requires 'perfect Resonance.'"

He looked at the blank entities present: "But you… you still don't possess that many emotions."

Unit 007 rolled to the organ, its surface flashing a rapid loop of all the "expressions" it had learned—confusion, curiosity, guilt, joy, the satisfaction of sharing…

"I know twelve," it said, "five more to go."

Other blank entities counted in turn: Unit 008 knows nine, Unit 009 seven, Unit 010 just learned the third…

Altogether, thirty‑seven emotion‑learning blank entities will possess… two hundred sixty‑one Emotional Frequencies. But each knows a different set.

Han Qing suddenly spoke, "I can fill the gap. My Seran component has the theoretical data for all Emotional Frequencies; I haven't experienced them, but I know what they are."

He looked at Su Yu: "But I need someone… to teach me how to turn them into 'real' ones."

The gray-white tide had advanced to a point five hundred meters from the school.

The sea breeze brought its presence—no smell, only a feeling of 'nothing'.

On the observation tower in the distance, the reflection in the captain's mirror showed a crack for the first time.

It wasn't a physical crack; it was calculating the feasibility of some kind of…… Violation operation.