Chapter 168: Deep Sea Departure

The submarine hatch opens on the sea surface, like a silver giant whale surfacing to breathe. It is thirty meters long, wholly streamlined, its surface made of Seran's liquid‑metal material, shimmering with rainbow hues in the morning light.

"Maximum crew six." The team leader stands beside the hatch, a crack spreading across his mirrored face down to his chin, yet his voice remains steady, "Round‑trip time six days twenty‑three hours, error no more than twelve minutes. Food, water, and oxygen circulation systems have all been adjusted to human standards."

It pauses: "But the home planet has already detected my Violation. The assessment ship is re‑configuring permissions and is expected to fully take over the observation station in twelve hours. At that point, if the submarine does not return, they will initiate a forced recall protocol—regardless of where the submarine is."

Han Qing is the first to step onto the gangway. The silver "medal" on his chest glints faintly in the dawn, and the rainbow network coursing beneath his skin glows like an aurora: "I can sustain seventeen kinds of emotional Resonance for at least seven days. That is the necessary condition to shut off the 'key.'"

Su Yu follows, cradling Xiao Yu's sunflower—the flower grown from the dreaming seed, its pistil containing a deep‑sea map already transferred to the submarine's navigation system. She glances back: the organ remains at the temporary school, guarded by Lin Shouzhuo and Lao Zhao, thirty‑seven blank bodies forming a circle, learning how to maintain an emotional shield to block the gray‑white tide.

Li Xiaofeng suddenly rushes over, shoving a waterproof‑wrapped parcel into Lao Zhao's hands: "Dad, this… take it."

Lao Zhao is checking his gear—not weapons, but a set of deep‑sea repair tools; he insists on coming along because "Aeon's device hasn't moved in three thousand years, it definitely needs some pounding."

He opens the parcel: inside is the cracked photo frame and a bag of handmade candies.

"Candies?" Lao Zhao frowns.

"From Xiao Yu." Li Xiaofeng dares not meet his father's eyes, "She said… the deep sea is dark, eating something sweet can recall the light."

Lao Zhao remains silent for a long while, then stuffs the photo frame into his close‑fit pocket, dividing the candies in half for Su Yu: "Chen Mo also loves sweets. Though he won't admit it."

Han Qing takes the other half, peels one and puts it in his mouth. The rainbow network flickers faintly as the sweetness melts on his tongue: "His body in the southern ruins… in the last few hours, kept traversing the plant network 'tasting' the candy Xiao Yu gave. Data shows that gave him an extra twenty‑three minutes."

Kaiwen stays on shore, his terminal linked to all the submarine's sensors: "I will monitor your positions and vitals in real time. If…"

He does not finish. But if the submarine were to wreck at ten thousand meters depth, the monitoring data would be the final proof of their existence.

Unit 007 rolls to the hatch, complex geometric patterns surfacing on its sphere—its newly learned expression of "worry": "We… will keep learning. When you return, I may have learned 'the anxiety of waiting.'"

Unit 008 extends a fully flesh‑colored hand, gently touching Han Qing's rainbow network: "Um… will this glow in the deep sea?"

"It will." Han Qing nods, "And it will change color with emotion. If you see rainbow‑colored light rising from the sea surface on land… that means we succeeded."

The submarine begins sealing the hatch. In the last slit, Su Yu sees Xiao Yu standing afar, holding the multicolored sunflower, waving at her.

The child's mouth forms: "Take Uncle Chen Mo home."

The hatch closes, and the world sinks into silver‑white stillness.

Inside the submarine is more spacious than imagined. Six floating seats surround a holographic console, the display showing the deep‑sea map and the gray‑white tide's real‑time advance line— that line has already swallowed a kilometer of coastline, but is temporarily blocked by the organ's emotional shield.

Han Qing sits at the pilot's seat, the rainbow network automatically linking to the control interface. No learning required; his Seran component instantly grasps all operational principles.

"We have three hours of safe descent time." His voice echoes in the cabin, "After that, the home planet's permission re‑assembly will begin jamming communications. Kaiwen will set up a relay station, but data transmission will have a seven‑minute delay."

Su Yu watches the port window— the submarine descends, the water shifting from light blue to deep blue, then to opaque ink black. The lighting system activates automatically, beams cutting the darkness, illuminating occasional deep‑sea plankton.

Those organisms… some are fading.

"The effect has already spread to the deep sea." Lao Zhao points to a deep‑sea fish outside the window turning gray‑white, "It even forgot how to swim—look, it repeats the same tail‑flap, like a jammed machine."

The fish's motion is indeed uncanny: perfectly identical arcs, perfectly identical frequency, like a programmed toy.

At three thousand meters depth, pressure begins to show. Though the submarine has a gravity‑regulation system, everyone feels an intangible 'weight'—not physical, but mental. Darkness, high pressure, the unknown, and the gray‑white tide devouring the world above.

Su Yu suddenly speaks: "Han Qing, do you still remember the song Chen Mo hummed while fixing the car?"

Han Qing, monitoring life‑support data, is startled for a moment: "I remember. But only the melody, no lyrics."

"I have lyrics." Su Yu hums softly, the folk tune Chen Mo often hummed before the disaster, she adds words:

"The rails rust yet the road remains, the streetlamp dies yet the stars stay, the house collapses yet the trees stand, the tree falls yet the roots remain…"

Lao Zhao joins in, his voice hoarse: "Roots sink into the soil awaiting spring, spring comes and they sprout, sprouting yields new leaves, green leaves bring light…"

Han Qing's rainbow network begins to pulse rhythmically with the song, as if keeping time. His Seran component calculates: this meaningless repetitive melody can lower anxiety index by 14% and boost team cohesion by 8%.

Yet his human side feels… warmth. Like suddenly feeling a cup of hot tea in the icy deep sea.

He adds the final line, voice light: "Light need not be abundant, a little is enough, a little can wait for the next sunrise."

The singing stops. The cabin falls into brief silence.

Then the holographic console flashes an alarm: five kilometers ahead, massive energy fluctuations detected. Not the gray‑white tide, but some… living, gigantic presence.

The submarine slows, the periscope automatically rises.

As the image appears, everyone holds their breath.

It is an undersea volcano, but the crater is not lava—it is a huge, slowly rotating silver vortex. At the vortex's center, a vague structure is visible— not natural, but a precise geometric form, like an inverted tower whose tip points toward the planet's core.

"Aeon's device." Su Yu looks at the map provided by Xiao Yu's sunflower, the coordinates match perfectly, "But that vortex…"

"Is the energy source of the homogenization tide." Han Qing pulls up scan data, the rainbow network flashing rapidly, "It is siphoning the ocean's 'details', converting them into uniform, pale energy. Yet the device itself… is protected by a shield. The shield's frequency is…"

He pauses, a tone of disbelief in his voice: "It is the 'cradle of civilization' frequency used by the Seran civilization three thousand years ago. It was a protective shield for nascent civilizations. Why… is it here?"

The submarine continues approaching.

At the vortex's edge, a line of massive Seran characters suddenly emerges. The script is ancient, no longer in use, but Han Qing's Seran component auto‑translates:

"Warning: This device is a 'civilization diversity repository'. If shut down, three thousand homogenized civilizations will lose any chance of restoration forever."

"If kept active, the currently active civilization will be homogenized within fifteen days."

"The choice is granted to the discoverer."

"—The Sower·Aeon·Seran Tis, and three hundred willing sacrificial Seran tonalists, left on the day of escape."

On the holographic console, two buttons appear:

The left is red, labeled "Shut down device, save current civilization".

The right is blue, labeled "Maintain device, preserve restoration possibility for three thousand civilizations".

And the submarine's life‑support system shows:

Oxygen reserves, only enough for the return trip.

If staying here more than twenty minutes, surfacing will be impossible.