Chapter 183: New Life Within the Cocoons

Late at night, the medical room only heard the rhythmic soft beeps of the monitor. Three cocoons floated in the energy field, their crystal surfaces shimmering in the dark with an iridescence like mother‑of‑pearl. Lao Zhao kept watch nearby, nodding off, his head bobbing, a soft cloth still draped over his knees—he insisted on staying awake himself, saying, "When the shells break, someone must be there to receive them."

The first cocoon's crack appeared at three a. m.

It wasn't a breaking sound, but a faint hiss like ice melting. From the top, the crystal surface sprouted spider‑web‑like golden veins that spread downward; wherever the veins passed, the crystal turned transparent. Lao Zhao jolted awake and leaned toward the observation window.

Inside the cocoon was no longer a spherical outline but a curled, semi‑transparent humanoid—four limbs and a torso, but with bizarre proportions: arms overly long, legs almost as long as the torso, and a head without facial features, only a smooth, mirror‑like curved surface.

At its chest, where the heart would be, floated a miniature swirling blue flower, turning slowly.

"Alive…" Lao Zhao murmured, his hand pressed against the observation window.

Seemingly sensing temperature, the humanoid inside suddenly stretched. Its arm rose, fingertips touching the inner wall of the cocoon. At the moment of contact, the crystal completely melted—not shattering, but turning into a warm, fragrant light mist like spring snow.

The humanoid stood up.

It was about 1.7 m tall, entirely semi‑transparent, its internal, flowing, multicolored "blood" visible—a fusion of emotional energy and Seran nanomachines. Most peculiar was its face: the mirror‑like curve began to change, reflecting Lao Zhao's astonished visage, then slowly "solidified," becoming a face about seventy percent similar to Lao Zhao's but much younger.

It wasn't a copy, but some kind of… homage.

The second cocoon opened at dawn.

Its hatching method was completely different—it didn't melt but unfolded like a flower bud, crystal petals spreading outward to reveal a seated figure inside. This figure resembled a standard human more, but its skin was covered with fine bark‑like patterns, and faint multicolored light seeped from the gaps.

It opened its eyes.

The eyes were pure silver, but within the pupils swirled the phantom of a Three Hundred Tuner. It spoke, its voice not from vocal cords but resonating through the surrounding patterns, carrying an ancient echo:

"We remember… wiping."

It raised a hand, looking at its palm—the palm lines were golden, forming a miniature healing‑forest map. Then it turned to Lao Zhao, its silver eyes curving in a barely perceptible arc:

"Thank you… for your 'wasting time'."

Lao Zhao was stunned for a long while, then pulled the last compressed ration from his pocket—the one engraved with a motorcycle—and handed it over: "Hungry?"

The figure took the ration but didn't eat, merely brushing the engraving lightly with its fingertips. The engraving glowed faintly under touch, projecting a fragment of Li Xiaofeng at five years old riding a children's bike.

The third cocoon remained motionless.

But the monitoring data showed the internal energy fluctuations soaring—not a sign of hatching, but some kind of… loss of control. When Kevin burst into the medical room, the images on the cocoon's surface were already shifting as fast as a faulty screen: one moment Chen Mo's back fixing a vehicle, the next a Conjugate pierced by a light beam, then a rain of light when "Logic" dispersed, finally freezing on the Seran homeworld's cleaning fleet cannon‑charging scene.

"It is undergoing… cognitive overload." Han Qing's multicolored chest tattoo flickered violently, and the ancient script left by Aeo automatically surfaced: "When a hybrid consciousness breaks its cocoon while bearing undigested traumatic memories, a 'consciousness collapse' may occur."

The cocoon began to contract, like a heart in agony.

From inside came intermittent frequencies: "Pain… too much… why… must remember everything…"

Xiao Yu was startled awake and ran in; the carrier mark on her wrist instantly resonated with the cocoon. The child knelt before the cocoon, hand pressed to the crystal surface, the light imprint extending up her arm:

"It's not that everything must be remembered," she said softly, her voice bearing a calm beyond her years, "it's choosing which to remember."

The cocoon's contraction paused.

"Uncle Chen Mo remembers the raindrops, not the shells," Xiao Yu closed her eyes, the light imprint beginning to "filter" the chaotic memory flow inside the cocoon, "Logic remembers the problem, not death. Conjugate remembers the bridge, not the wound."

She paused, adding, "Just like I… remember the song Chen Mo sings when he fixes bikes, not when he leaves."

The image shifts inside the cocoon began to slow.

Finally it settled on one scene: not any trauma, but this corner of the medical room—Lao Zhao's silhouette of night‑watching, the sky outside the window brightening gradually, the second cocoon's figure curiously inspecting the compressed ration, the first cocoon's "face" still slowly adjusting the details of its features…

A plain, warm dawn.

The third cocoon cracked open in the first ray of morning sunlight.

No melting, no blooming, just a direct "dissipation"—like morning mist meeting sunlight, silently turning into a pale gold veil.

Within the veil, a… shape beyond words emerged. It had no fixed form, like a pool of flowing mercury, but its surface constantly displayed various images: sometimes a flower, sometimes a hand, sometimes a waveform of a melody. Its sound was also a blend: Seran's electronic tones, human vocal timbre, and a note from an organ.

"I am… possibility," its frequency was as complex as a symphony, "Logic gave me a problem, Conjugate gave me a bridge, you gave me… the right to choose. So I choose 'not to choose'—maintaining a 'possible' state."

It floated before Xiao Yu, its flowing body surface reflecting a mirror image of the child's wrist mark.

"Carrier," it said, "you taught me that bearing is not carrying all; it is knowing what to let go. Now, let me become… the 'Connection' itself."

As soon as the words fell, its form suddenly stretched, becoming a slender, semi‑transparent light ribbon, one end linked to Xiao Yu's light imprint, the other piercing through the ceiling, extending upward—people rushed out, seeing the ribbon surge toward the sky, forming a second pathway beside the multicolored light strands of the consciousness bridge.

This pathway transmitted no concrete information, only a gentle "allow‑change" frequency.

On the Seran homeworld side, newly awakened individuals received the frequency. Their silver coating began to fluctuate unstably—not shedding, but becoming… elastic, like liquid metal gaining temperature.

The three new lifeforms stood on the open space before the temporary school, alongside humans, blank bodies, and the phantom of a Three Hundred Tuner.

The first—its face resembling a youthful Lao Zhao—was learning to smile. It tried seventeen different mouth‑corner curves, finally settling on a slightly askew one: "This… looks most like 'not fully learned yet'."

The second— the bark‑patterned figure— traced the healing‑forest map on the ground with its fingertips. Halfway through, it stopped, adding a small blank patch at the map's edge: "Here… is left for what hasn't grown yet."

The third— the possibility light ribbon— hovered in the air, its surface alternating reflections of everyone's silhouettes. It had no fixed shape, yet each person saw it as someone they knew, a moment, or an emotion.

Lao Zhao watched these three "children" for a long while without speaking. At last he turned toward the kitchen, muttering while walking: "When the shells break, we eat. I'm going to cook porridge— this time the salt will be just right."

Li Xiaofeng walked over, the gold‑bottomed rainbow pattern in his left eye resonating faintly with the three new lifeforms. He whispered, "Dad, they're… 'Error Signal' births."

"So what?" Lao Zhao replied from the kitchen doorway, "Aren't you one too? When your mother was carrying you, the doctor said your chromosomes were a bit 'abnormal', advised against it. I said, 'Abnormal is abnormal, I'll raise the abnormal.'"

He paused, looking at his son's heterochromatic eyes: "Now look, being abnormal turned out pretty well."

The Order Commander's trial was proceeding in sync on the Seran homeworld.

The scene streamed through the consciousness bridge: a massive pure‑white courtroom, the sphere of Order hovering at its center, its surface spider‑web cracks covering half its area. Around it floated three hundred judge spheres—smooth and flawless.

The chief judge's voice was icy: "Entity 'Order', you have violated seven core protocols. The gravest are: concealing 'emotional contagion' data, aiding 'contaminated entities' in escape, and …"

It paused, the sphere's surface displaying the leak analysis that Order had transmitted to Earth:

"Leak of the highest‑security cognitive isolation protocol information. According to the Seran Codex, this equals treason against civilization. Verdict: immediate formatting."

The Order sphere slowly rotated, the multicolored light leaking from the cracks brightening the pure‑white courtroom.

It offered no defense, only transmitted a segment of information to the courtroom—not words, but an "experience".

Earth dawn, the moment the three cocoons broke. Lao Zhao reached out to catch the melting crystal, the second figure said "Thank you for your 'wasting time'", Xiao Yu knelt before the cocoon saying "Choose which to remember"…

Then the scene switched to a Seran homeworld safe house, where images floated on the surfaces of seventy‑nine awakened individuals—raindrops on Chen Mo's helmet, the swirling blue flower's rotation, Lao Zhao's wrinkles…

Finally, the state change of all awakened individuals just after receiving the 'possibility' frequency: their silver coating softened, wavered, attempting… "imperfection."

Transmission ended.

Order only said one sentence:

"Please format me. But before that, please answer a question——"

"The 'Error Signal' you want to delete…… is giving birth to a new life form."

"Then, does the 'Definition' of 'Error Signal' need to be updated?"

The Judgment Court sank into a long silence.

And in the silence, on the surface of a judge's sphere, a hair-thin, barely visible crack appeared.

Inside the crack, a strand of extremely faint golden light seeped out.