Chapter 171: The Flower That Asks Questions

The fourth flower bloomed at noon.

There were no signs, no omens, just as the time had come for it to bloom. But this flower, upon growing, was not in the form of a flower—it was a slender silver stem, at whose tip hovered a constantly shifting geometric shape: sometimes a cube, sometimes a dodecahedron, sometimes an irregular polyhedron that could not be named.

"It's asking a question." Xiao Yu stood before the flowerpot, tilting her head and listening for a long time, "Not with words, but with……changes in shape. Each shape is a geometric expression of a question."

Blank Body 007 rolled to the edge of the flowerpot, the sphere's surface displaying a data stream of rapid calculation. Three seconds later it reported: "I have parsed the first seven questions. They are: 'Is there a possibility of infinite existence within a finite space?' 'Does pain contain more information than pleasure?' 'Do lost memories count as having existed?' ……"

It paused, and rare chaotic ripples appeared in its gray‑mist core: "I cannot parse the eighth question. The question itself is questioning the validity of the concept of 'question'."

One of the Silan Advisors—the sphere numbered "Logic"—immediately drifted over. Its smooth surface extended probing tendrils, and the moment they touched the "Question Flower," the entire sphere shuddered violently.

"A cognitive logic paradox has been detected." Logic's voice stuttered for 0.3 seconds, "That lifeform's mode of thought is based on an 'infinite regress chain of questions.' Each answer spawns a new question, and the difficulty of the questions grows exponentially. Contact exceeding three minutes will overload the standard Silan logic core."

It swiftly retracted its tendrils, and a fine crack appeared on its surface—not physical damage, but a "break" on the logical level.

Old Zhao was repairing a crack in the pipe organ. He used the most traditional fish glue and thin wood strips, moving slowly as if restoring an antique. Li Xiaofeng stood beside him, helping to hold the panel, watching his father's hands, thick with old calluses, gently spread the glue.

"Dad," Li Xiaofeng suddenly asked, "If you could ask this world only one question, what would you ask?"

Old Zhao didn't look up, using tweezers to pick up a fallen piece of bark: "I would ask: 'Is my wife doing well over there?'"

"Just that?"

"Just that." Old Zhao glued the bark back to its original spot, flattening it with his fingertip, "Big questions let smart people like Xiaofeng ponder them. I just want to know……whether the person who has waited for me to come home half a lifetime now has a place to sit, and whether the tea is hot."

He paused, then added: "Chen Mo once said, civilization is a pile of answers to countless small questions. Someone has to ask why the stars shine, and someone has to ask what's for dinner. Both are important."

The panel was glued. Old Zhao wiped sweat with his sleeve, looking at the "Question Flower," and said softly: "But this flower……its questions seem to have no 'big' or 'small' distinction. Each question can punch a hole in the sky."

The Question Flower began to affect its surroundings.

The first to show abnormality were the thought patterns of the Plant Network Connectors. Old Zhou of Iron Anvil Town was forging iron, suddenly stopping his hammer, staring at the red‑hot iron lump and muttering: "What if 'hardness' itself is an illusion? If all matter vibrates at the microscopic level, am I striking reality or probability?"

The old man at the reservoir sat on the dam, looking at his reflection, and asked the person beside him: "If 'I' is merely a collection of neural signals, what is that 'I' in the reflection? If the shadow has consciousness, would it think I am its shadow?"

Even the thirty‑seven Blank Bodies began to "ask questions"—not with words, but their bodily forms started to unstablely change: 007's sphere would expand and contract, as if asking "Where is the boundary?"; 008's arm shifted between solid and gas, as if asking "What is the state?"; 009 split directly into two translucent entities, then merged, as if asking "Does identity exist?"

The most serious were those three awakened alien consciousnesses.

The Vortex Civilization suddenly stopped "drawing" gravitational‑wave patterns, its frequency becoming agitated: "If our art is merely the inevitable expression of physical laws, is the concept of 'creativity' self‑deceptive?"

The Gaseous Civilization's chemical bonds began to collide disorderly: "If thought is merely a chemical reaction, is 'free will' merely the chaotic manifestation of a complex system?"

The Possibility Civilization first manifested a physical form—a trembling clump of light, its voice carrying a fluctuation akin to "fear": "If 'possibility' itself is determined, do I still count as 'possibility'?"

Su Yu walked up to the Question Flower.

She did not try to parse the question, merely crouched down and gazed at the ever‑shifting geometric form. Then she extended her hand—not with her fingertips, but with seven‑colored roots sprouting from her chest, lightly touching the flower's stem.

The moment the roots made contact, the geometric shape ceased its shifting.

It stabilized in an extremely simple shape: a point.

"You are asking……" Su Yu whispered, "'Does a point have an inside and an outside?'"

The geometric shape trembled slightly, as if nodding.

Su Yu smiled. She drew a point in the sand with her finger, then drew a tiny figure beside it. The figure bent over, curiously looking at the point.

"For a point, there is neither inside nor outside." she said, "But for this tiny figure, the point is 'over there,' while he himself is 'over here.' The question is not what the point is, but……who is looking."

She then drew another tiny figure beside it, viewing the same point from a different angle.

"Look," she pointed at the two tiny figures, "the same point— the left figure feels it's on the right, the right figure feels it's on the left. The point hasn't changed; what changed is the 'looker'."

The geometric shape began to rotate slowly, as if thinking.

Then it shifted into a new shape: two intersecting circles.

"'What about 'us'?" a question arose directly in Su Yu's mind—not as sound, but as a direct conceptual transmission: "If two civilizations intersect, who does the overlapping part belong to? Or……does the overlapping part create a new 'us'?"

Han Qing's separated heart suddenly beat violently.

It hovered above the pipe organ, each beat releasing a ring of seven‑colored halo. Where the halo swept, those connectors plunged into philosophical panic gradually calmed—not because answers were given, but because the question itself became……warm.

Old Zhou raised his hammer again, no longer wondering "Is hardness an illusion?" but thinking: "With this strike, what shape will the iron take? Will that shape feel natural to the person using it?"

The old man at the reservoir looked at his reflection and laughed: "In the shadow, I am looking at the real me; the real me is looking at the shadow in the water. We are looking at each other— isn't that nice?"

The three alien consciousnesses also calmed down.

The Vortex Civilization began to "draw" a new pattern: no longer a pure gravitational‑wave function, but an overlay of gravitational waves with a human heartbeat waveform. "Perhaps art is not 'creating something new'," its frequency softened, "but 'using old things to say new things'."

The Gaseous Civilization's chemical bonds re‑ordered into a simplified model of a DNA double helix, labeled beside it: "This is our 'thought formula'. It's very like yours, but a few bond positions differ. That's enough."

The Possibility Civilization returned to its light‑mist form, but within the mist concrete images began to appear: a seed, a flower, a child, a star……as if it were trying to "decide" what it should become.

The Question Flower's geometric shape ceased its shifting.

It stabilized in a shape—a heart.

Not a perfect heart shape, but a lopsided, crooked one, like the kind a child first draws.

The Silan Advisor "Logic" extended its probing tendrils again. This time it did not immediately retract. The crack on the sphere's surface began to slowly heal—not physical healing, but a "re‑weaving" on the logical level.

"Record: detected a new cognitive mode—'Questions are not errors to be eliminated, but bridges for building relationships.'" Its voice remained steady, but the speech rate noticeably slowed, as if each word needed re‑evaluation, "This mode does not conform to the Silan efficiency model, but……it seems capable of producing a 'stability' that the Silan model cannot predict."

The other two advisors drifted over. Their smooth surfaces began to show extremely fine patterns—not cracks, but designs reminiscent of "thought grain."

"'Apply to expand the 'Perplexity Module' function.' Logic turned to the Team Leader, 'We need to learn……how to 'enjoy problems'.'"

The crack on the Team Leader's mirror surface bent into a more pronounced smile arc:

"'Approved. Next lesson: 'How to coexist with problems without being consumed.'"

Just then, the Plant Network suddenly transmitted a violent fluctuation.

It was not from the Question Flower, nor from the three thousand civilization seeds.

It came from the edge of the Ashen White Tide—the boundary that should have steadily retreated, but suddenly surged forward three meters.

It was not the tide itself moving.

It was the land where the boundary line lay; all its "details" were instantly drained. No process, as if someone had pressed the delete key.

Where the land disappeared, a line of text appeared, written purely in "nothing":

"Your questions are interesting. May I join?"

Below the text, a outline slowly emerged.

It was not Serlan, not human, not any known life form.

It was a "shape of the problem".